Yellow Lives

On Engagement

2011-07-17T19:24:00.000-07:00

I must be ADD. Because the title of this post made me think "On engagement, on!" Like cheering for it somehow would raise the spirits of just about any single guy out there who is looking for engagement. Is that what guys are looking for? I always thought it was a girl.

I just have a few thoughts about engagement. Well, thoughts on the general subject. My first thought is: I STILL do not understand what people mean when they say things about enjoying the engagement stage. I've had a few people tell me that I should live it up, enjoy being engaged, and all that. I don't really understand that, honestly. To me it's a little like saying "Hey, you starving man over there-you should enjoy smelling that home-made bread. Seriously, man, enjoy it." Sure, there is plenty to be enjoyed, but the excitement about what's coming makes me a bit impatient. That, and the fact that we decided to get married a month after getting engaged is making preparations crazy. And my mom crazy. It's making preparations and my mom crazy. I'm sure it doesn't help when I go bouncing off the walls, singing away about getting married in the morning and such. "Girls come and kiss me, show how you'll miss me. . ." Honey Bee, please don't be jealous.

Oh, did I mention that I'm getting married? I am! I'm getting married to the most marvelous kind of girl possible. Because she already has a nickname, I'll stick with it, and refer to her as Honey Bee. She's marvelous, and I'll spare all of the the run down about her numerous and various virtues. Let it be enough to say that I love her, and I'm looking forward to loving her more as time goes by. Which is very different from when time goes out. Or when time goes bad. Yeah, that's no good. Rotten time is at the heart of almost all indigestion problems.

I've also noticed that people love to tell you how excited they are for you. Just the other day, when my brother Basserpercusionist (it's been a while since I've referred to him in this blog so I hope that is his nym) and I were having a brothers day, he was so excited for me he told me so about ten times before I said I thought I had an adequate idea of how excited he was. I find it ironic that in a world where marriage is so often belittled, people still get really excited for others when they're getting married.

For my own part, it still feels pretty unreal. By that I mean that it doesn't really feel like I'll be getting married. I look into my future, and I see bacon. Okay, I don't really see bacon, I see me doing mostly what I've been doing for all my life. Marriage presents an entirely new world to me, one that, unlike the mission, my preparation has been second place until only a few years ago. I spent the first nineteen years of my life so focused on going on a mission, knowing that it was expected of me, and that I wanted to go. When I left of my mission I was gung-ho, ready to serve. So much so that I didn't feel any homesickness until about three or four months into my mission. It took that long for the shine of 'being on a mission' to wear off, and for reality of what I was facing to really set it. Coincidentally, that's about when my trainer got transferred.

The years since my mission have been anything but clear as to what my main objective should be. Marriage, definitely important, but education was also vital, as was choosing a career path. I arrive, then, on the engagement scene much less prepared than I was for the mission scene. Those who know me well know that underneath the bubbly exterior I enjoy having is a mind that deliberates to an almost faulty extent. I deliberate on most everything, and when I think the subject is eternally important I deliberate more than is probably healthy. Honey Bee will tell you that I certainly took my time making a decision to even date her, let alone marry her. I am certain that I have made the right choice and that I am going to have happiness greater than any I've known to date, and I'm excited for that. But how do you quiet a mind that is so used to weighing every possible outcome, especially the bad ones? It's my nature to think of what could go wrong, as well as how good things could be.

So I don't understand the enjoying of the engagement stage. I find myself in this limbo land where I'm excited on one level and concerned on another. I'm moving forward into something I don't know. It's dark there. Each step lights up a little (am I in a nintendo game?), but the future still has a lot of unknowns. Being engaged, I could still pull the plug (I'm not going to, in case you're worried. The certain/excited part of me is, in the end of the day, the stronger part), so my mind still works over what could go wrong, or how amazing it could be. I'm a peace loving man, especially when it comes to my own soul, so this limbotic (is that word?) stage I find myself in is not so much fun.

Still, it's pretty early in the whole thing. Heck, I'm getting married and the engagement is still going to be a pretty new thing. I have no doubt that when the day dawns it may just be a lot like when I went on my mission. The waiting will be over, Dad and Mom may cry, and I'll be excited out of my mind, to the point where I won't actually remember much of what happens.

I can't wait.

Quick Thing

2011-06-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

So, I've decided that Facebook is missing something. An app that suddenly dawned on me. And because this blog is about Facebook, and because I don't much care for Facebook, actually, this is going to be a short blog. Because I've realized a power Facebook could give me.

I COULD MEET MY FRIENDS' FRIENDS.

Woah, that's right, hold on to your socks, because the power of that statement might just shift them a little. Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to stretch. Either way, can you see the power of that statement? No? Oh. Well, then. Never mind.

In all seriousness, though. Well, okay, maybe I'm running at about eighty percent right now. Which would not be enough serious power to avoid a Klingon. But, it would be enough to say that I no longer have to wait to be introduced to the people that my friends know. I'm going to start stalking them before I've even heard of them! Woo! Power to the people! And by people I mean stalkers! Yeah!

It is pretty cool that I can see who my friends know, though. Of course, Facebook friendships are so shallow, it's entirely possible that my friends' friends are only Facebook friends with benefits, you know, that give you sweet deals in farmville and the like. And that is the only benefit of a Facebook friend I could come up with.

I told you it would be quick.

100

2011-05-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

I recently took a facebook challenge and answered one hundred questions about myself. Most of the questions were pretty bland. Things like what are you drinking now, what's your favorite color, have you ever kissed your best friend's sister's boyfriend's sister, that sort of thing. Apart from being obvious questions, I realized that they tell no one anything about me. At all. I mean, sure I get the latest scoop about the strange pathways love may take, but past that I divulge nothing from answering the one hundred truths. They weren't specific enough to be revealing, they weren't probing enough to be uncomfortable or embarrassing (not necessarily a bad thing) and they were nothing like me. I mean, the questions had no soul!

That's the problem with social networking. Those sorts of things always seem to be created by people who mostly just want to see how many people will repost them. Well, today I celebrate 100 posts, and so I'm going to answer 100 of my very own made up questions. Since I don't expect anyone to repost this, I am under no obligation to make these questions non-specific to myself. Oh, and as much fun as this will be, I reserve the right to answer the questions as cryptically as I want. After all, this the internet, and anyone can look, so answers on here will be for anyone, and I'm leery of answers for anyone. Answers for Anyone. I think that's what I'll name my band.

Question 1: What would you name your non-existent band?

Answers for anyone

Question 2: What would this band consist of?

People, a piano, three guitars, a harmonica, and an interpretive dancer who sometimes plays the tambourine.

Question 3: How do you deal with stress?

I punch a punching bag. Or I work out. I don't look like I work out, though. I also like to eat cookies and play music when I'm stressed. Only cookies will do, though. And stress cookies have to be crunchy, or they're ineffective. Stress Cookies would be a good name for a toy.

Question 4: What's your biggest fear?

Hurting other people on accident. I'm serious. I was always a little large for my age (as a kid, now I'm pretty average sized) and I was always scared I'd accidentally squish someone or something. Of course, that could have been a super power too, if I had looked at it right. I'd be like Poe from Kung Fu Panda. People would say "What're you gonna do, big guy, sit on me?" and I could say "don't tempt me" and then tummy bump them and knock them to the floor and sit on them, where they would be at my mercy.

Question 5: What fake super power would you have?

Well, since the heavy weight champion thing of number four is pretty cool, but a little unhealthy (think of the arteries!) I'll have to go with something different. Hmmm. . . if I could read minds I'd know if girls liked me or not, and I'd also become the worlds most amazing gift giver. If I could teleport I could visit anywhere I wanted to any day, and then come home at night. (why is it that teleportation is always limited to how far you can see? That's dumb) I think my favorite would be a super awesome duper brain, though. Then you could be like the mentalist, who basically seems to read minds. You could also create transporters (or really really fast crafts. Not like arts and crafts. Fast that kind of craft is a little weird) and you could use your amazing brain to act like a jedi. That would be pretty sweet.

Question 6: What real super power would you like to have?

As a clarification, a real super power is like a gift of the Spirit, if you're Mormon. If you're not Mormon a real super power is like a talent, only better because it's not always something that you can easily learn, and involves more than things like sports or music. I'd like to have the real super power of confidence/faith. It seems like most of the things that get done in this world are done by people who have confidence, not necessarily by the people who are the most naturally talented.

Question 7: You're stuck in a room for the next ten hours. What do you do?

Well, first I'd probably explore the room, see what there was by way of furniture, entertainment etc. Then I'd set about waiting to get bored. After I got bored (or antsy. Pretty close to the same thing? Oh, by the way, it wouldn't take that long) I would start thinking of a way to entertain myself. I'd probably start talking to myself. I'd check my email (if there was a computer), and then I'd look around for an opportunity to exercise. I would do push-ups, ab workouts, and if possible some pull-ups. It would take up a lot of time. Because I go really slow. If I had time left over, I'd probably let my mind wander.

Question 8: What's your favorite dessert?

Cookies. Specifically chocolate chip cookies that use oatmeal as part of the batter. Mmm mmm good.

Question 9: What's your favorite smell at Christmas time?

Pine. Freshly cut pine trees. I love the smell of freshly cut wood too, but that's not really a Christmasy smell.

Question 10: If you could go anywhere tomorrow (within normalcy) where would you go?

To a dance. Almost anywhere, anytime I'd love to go to a dance. Though most times I'd like to go with someone.

Question 11: What's one thing you wish your friends knew and understood about you?

How much I feel like showing vulnerability is like showing weakness.

Question 12: What's the first physical thing you notice about a girl/guy?

For me it's a combination of all facial features. Though, I must admit a very nice smile goes a long way. But then again, so do really beautiful eyes. They're almost mesmerizing. Like to enchant someone.

Question 13: What's the first non-physical thing you notice about a girl/guy?

There's a lot of possibilities here, because I find myself being impressed with girls a lot. How kind one is, how ready to have fun another is. How quick to laugh someone is, how easily someone gets along with others. How strong someone's convictions about what they believe is. How well what they say and do match up. Most virtues are fairly noticeable, especially if you're looking for them.

The one thing that most attracts me or I notice is how they express love for other people. I've seen a lot of girls who are really good at expressing that love. I'm kind of envious.

Question 14: What do you enjoy in your daily routine?

Hmmmm. My daily routine is fairly unpredictable at present. I get up late often, but sometimes early. I work out sometimes, but often don't. Bleh. I read/study sometimes, but often don't, I go to work almost daily, but that's probably not what I enjoy in my daily routine. If anything, I like the moments when my mind takes flight, almost literally, and my body goes chasing after it, shouting for it to come back so that I can think. But away my brain goes, exploring new avenues and venues and any other nue thing it can find. Ha. Nue. I think I just said I like daydreaming the most. That's terrible. Liking fantasy more than reality? That's a problem. Maybe I'll go eat a cookie...

Question 15: Who do you admire in your family?

Everyone. But because I know what the next question is, I'll say my sister Eliza. Woah. I just used a real name. When does that ever happen?

Question 16: Why do you admire them?

I admire my sister because she's just so dang unsinkable. I know, I threw her in a pool once. Okay, that didn't really happen. But if it had she'd probably float. She's one of the most determined people to be happy and to just do what's right, to keep at it, and to fight the good fight. She could probably take me out if that's what the good fight required. She might have to use a bazooka, cause I'm solid as a brick, but she could probably do it. She's amazing!

Question 17: What is the perfect gift for you?

For me? If it's from someone I like, probably the gift of a little bit of time. I took the quiz in the "The 5 Love Languages" book. Turns out that my language is quality time. No surprise there, really. I think the best gift you can give is showing someone that you want to spend time with them/have been thinking about them. Coincidently, it's really impressive to me (and I think lots of people) when someone I'm interested in dating shows by what they say or do that they've been thinking about me, without actually saying that they've been thinking about me. That's right, got to work it in there slyly. Clever, like a duck. Like a duck? Seriously, where did that come from? Anywho, if it's a family member, going on a trip exploring the world is marvelous, if it's a friend, just going to do something with me would be the best gift ever. On most days.

Question 18: What can a girl/guy do to make you melt?

Tickle the back of my neck. Seriously, I don't know why, but it makes me want to stop everything I'm doing and just enjoy it. Just to be clear though, if a guy tickles the back of my neck (outside of family, where I'll just say "what the heck?") I'd probably punch him in the stomach. And then apologize profusely. Profusely. How could something just be profuse?

Question 19: What do you think about when you are quiet?

Often nothing at all. Or I think about what I'm looking at. Or I think about the projects of the day. Which sometimes include girls. Not that you should think of girls as projects. Or a hobby. Yeah, girls probably wouldn't like to be referred to as an enjoyable hobby. Maybe I'll try that next time I want someone to be my girlfriend. I'll say "Hey, I spend a lot of time thinking about you and doing stuff with you anyway, would you like to be my most consuming and enjoyable hobby?" I'll let you know how that goes over.

Question 20: What makes you angry the fastest?

Historically it's been when guys mistreat girls, but I'm finding more and more that injustice of any sort from someone who doesn't have any real checks is a flash point for me. I get upset over the sorts of things that political parties do that change the face of the nation, I get upset about people abusing their children, I get upset over spiritual leaders lying to their congregations, I get upset about people who are in a position to change things and are only interested in their own furtherance. Blah! There's so much to do.

Question 21: If you could change anything in your own world, what would it be?

My own world being what I could conceivably change, I think I'd start with my schedule as it currently is. I'd go back to when I was dedicated to going to bed early and getting up early to exercise, study, and be productive from the get go. After that, I'd change my attitude so that I was more courageous to say the things that really matter. Have conversations that make me uncomfortable (does it seem wrong to anyone else that the more uncomfortable something is, the more it seems like we ought to do it? Maybe it's just me), and just be in general more willing to do.

Question 22: What's something that you struggle with?

I struggle with my emotions. And my emoticons. And emus. Mostly, I struggle with understanding my emotions. It feels like I still have a long way to go before I really know myself, and I'm kind of excited for the journey, though I can tell you there's going to be some pretty bumpy parts.

Question 23: What's something that you do well?

I do music well. Yep.

Question 24: Where do you go to feel peace?

Hmmm. There's a lot of places. The mountains, my backyard, anywhere I can sit and be still for a minute, my living room and front room where the pianos are definitely get frequent flyer miles too.

Question 25: Are you actually going to write/answer 100 questions?

Turns out making up one hundred in depth questions is pretty hard/exhausting. I'm pretty burned out here of answering questions about myself, seeing as it's a subject I'd rather not spend too much time divulging. Plus, I'm about to turn 25, so 25 seems like a pretty good number to stop on. So, no, I'm not! Ha ha ha!

If anyone reading this is interested in knowing more, I love answering questions. If they're not my questions, I may even come up with more clever answers.

Ironic

2010-12-17T22:08:00.000-08:00

I was doing some blog-cleaning, and I found this lovely little tidbit from a draft that I was working on during the semester but never posted. I wish to share. I don't dream about sharing it, which is good because that means probably my wish is not straight from the heart and doesn't have any sort of Disney connotation with it. Phew!

"I've decided that, in some ways, academia is not actually interested in you learning anything valuable, just in turning out results. Thus I have lots of experiences, but very little time to actually work through them and divulge the secrets that I have learned, because I'm so darned busy reproducing what they've told me that I don't have much time for unstructured learning. That makes me structured. Like a house. Some would say a house of brick. Except I think that's mostly used in reference to girls, which I am not."

Wasn't that fun? This post really isn't about the myriad of rather fun ideas I've had for blogs, this is an ironic blog. Not a clean out the wrinkles, not that kind of a blog, but rather a talk about why the internet/electronic entertainment in general can be a bad thing, or a good thing. Mostly why it can be a bad thing, which makes the fact that I'm posting this on the internet sort of ironed. Ironic.

Anyway, I was thinking today, as I tickled the old ivories (they laughed), that it was amazing how even when I got completely enveloped in a song, and time went by rather quickly, I was fairly cognizant of my surroundings and also of my general situation. How I felt, what I was thinking (mostly about the notes, but you know how it is when you play a song that you've played millions of times before. Or maybe you don't. If you don't, ask me sometime, I'll try to explain. And I'll use my words), who was around, that sort of thing. I can get pretty engrossed while playing the piano.

But, as much as I love playing the piano and as much as I seem to disconnect from the real world, it is nothing compared to the disconnect I have when I'm on the internet, or watching a show on tv, or when I'm playing a video game. That disconnect is so total it renders me, um, stupid. That's right, I'm rendered stupid. If you're a nerd you can laugh now. If you're not a nerd, feel free to laugh. . . now. My sensors shut down and, for awhile, I think that I forget that I exist outside of my basic thinking modulus. Or whateverlus. It's like the world becomes two dimensional. Which is really sad because then I become two dimensional, which is anything but what I really am. Obviously, I must be three dimensional because I can conceive a forth dimension. But not really a fifth. What would that be like? Something that could move more than one direction in space time and something else as well? Maybe energy is a dimension. That'd be weird. No, that can't be it, to simplistic, and we can add and subtract energy all the time. But we can't add total energy. Maybe the universe is expanding because . . .

Woah! Serious digression! Anyway, the point is that electronic media is facilitating me taking away my own depth. I love my depth. I want to keep my depth. I understand why one of the apostles in this last conference said technology could leave you in the cold heart of isolation. Just look at it, we're more connected but feel less so all the time. (How many friends do you have on facebook? Would you be number 505 for me?) The ease of texting has made us lackadaisical in our approach to talking to one another, tv shows portray hookups instead of lasting relationships, and fast food is still nasty a lot of the time. That last one doesn't really have anything to do with what I'm saying though, it was just fun to say.

I've never been very good at the balancing thing. I seem to go from one extreme to the other. As a kid I would play video games all the time during my free time, until I realized how stupid it was, then I would play nothing at all. Until I decided I wanted to play again, then I would play for a long time again. A vicious cycle, and avoidable if one learns to balance. My suggestion then? Shoot the computer. No, wait, I meant we need to balance. Differences in how we socialize are not always bad, but any extreme always is. I'm tired of trying to build a relationship with someone through text. It's hard to have a friendship built off of bytes.

It's Been Awhile

2010-12-16T00:10:00.000-08:00

You know, the title kind of says it all. The truth is that I'm writing this at one o'clock in the morning, when all wise and sane people have gone to bed. The fact that I just finished watching The Sorcerer's Apprentice and How to Train Your Dragon has nothing to do with the fact that I'm writing. Actually, the fact that I saw that other people are writing has to do with the fact that I'm writing. It's been long enough that most people will not read this, after all most people haven't read any of my blogs. Not even most of the people that I know (and that's reducing the number considerably) have read any of my blogs. In fact the number that have read any is pretty small, and the likelihood that they will read this is pretty small as well.

So I pose a question to myself. Do I really believe in the concept of truth prevailing, of goodness winning the day, and that love always seems to come out as the winning emotion? You know, that's an interesting question. Wait, what? No offhand answer? No cry of "Love Conquers All" or whatnot? (what is a whatnot? Or a whonot? Or how about a whosenot? A whonot might be something you'd find in the chocolate factory, though. I'll let Mr. W. Know. (No, not George)) Anyway, I've decided that most stories don't really reveal how complex real life is. And it's not because the decisions are that much more complex in real life. It's because there's a mixing of stories.

I'm kind of curious, when you take brownies out of an oven, what story do those brownies tell? Well, the brownies' story, of course, you say. The fun thing is, the brownies are made out of a lot of separate parts. We don't really tell the story of the sugar, or the chocolate, or the eggs, or the flour, or the whatever else you might add (salt, butter, a hint of vanilla. . .). But, as humans, are we brownies, or are we actually more like the various parts?

I must be pretty tired to be talking like this. I guess that this also has nothing to do with what I really want to say. To answer the question, though, I think love does win, but that's just because I hope to choose it in the long run. Evil can't win, it's not as powerful or pervasive as love. Don't believe me? How many evil people do you know? How many people do you know that fall in love and learn (albeit briefly for some) how to put love before greed? I think the human tendency is to love. Perhaps shallowly, but it's there.

What I really wanted to say was this: it's nice to have people to talk to. By talk I don't mean text. I mean talk to. I think we could all use someone like that. So if you want to talk, let me know, chances are I'm up for it.

A Point of View

2010-05-23T21:34:00.000-07:00

I realise it has been well over a year. Hello, Internet.

It's amazing what writing can do. I know full well that at most three people who actually know me will read this, and perhaps two more, even with all the myriads of people who participate in the wonderful world of the www with all the dot-coms attached.

That being said, I still find it therapeutic to write here, as if somehow a shout into the endless noise of the cyber-communications will be heard and felt by some other feeling individual, not by soulless advertisements or unfeeling databases. I probably shouldn't come back into this writing realm by being negatory in my explanatory session, but I've never been good at not doing that, especially when who I'm writing to here may very well be only myself.

As a side note, I'm pretty close to one hundred posts. Maybe I should celebrate some how. . .

My brother got married this week. I've heard lots of people express what they think I should be feeling, or in other words what they expect me to be feeling, and I have to admit most of them have missed the mark. I fully expected to be happy for him, which I am. I fully expected to be glad that he's progressing, which I am. I failed to predict, though, how much it would feel like he's going where I can't follow. In other words, it feels a little like I've lost a best friend.

Which is worse than just silly. He and his new bride will be living close by, and he is my brother. He's not going to be physically going anywhere. So why should I feel like I'm losing a friend? Yest, even with all the reasons of why not to feel this way, I do feel. I needed to say that. It's been an emotional couple of months.

Goodness, I hope I'm not becoming a drama queen.

Action!

2010-02-27T07:00:00.001-08:00

I hope nobody takes this blog the wrong way.

And I hope, really hope, that nobody quotes me out of context. Why? Well, because I think I've figured out why I've had such issues with dating, and why it seems that I can never get anyone to be interested in me for longer then it takes for the next hobo Joe to come along. Yes, I am a hobo Joe, and I don't mind admitting it.

Anyway, back to the title. I've figured out what all girls really want. Yep, that's right, all girls really want is action.

Now, before you start thinking I've turned into a cynical guy who thinks that you have to jump straight into kissing for a relationship to work (I don't, by the way. All studies seem to indicate the opposite) let me explain what I mean by girls just want action.

First, I understand that from a scientific point of view, girls are more prone to attachment than guys. I'm not sure I believe this from my own experience, but I've been told that the hormones that girls have actually make them more susceptible to attachment. That's kind of cool, actually, because that gives a pretty strong argument for a monogamous sort of relationship anyway (for girls at least-guys should do it just cause. That's right, I don't need a reason). If you think about it, that means that girls would react well to anything that indicates commitment. Sorry guys, if you really want to get in well with the ladies, you have to be committed. Oddly enough, that's not what guys are hard-wired for, but I guess we can learn.

Second, I've had long and involved discussions with people about the interesting paradox I call the Darcy Paradox. This is in reference to Pride and Prejudice. The majority of girls that I've spoken to have said that they much prefer Mr. Darcy to Mr. Bingley. I don't really understand this, since Mr. Bingley had, for all intents and purposes, a much more impressive resume. I mean, he was kind and gentle, comfortably well off, accomplished, and a good hearted man. Mr. Darcy on the other hand was anything but (okay, at the beginning) gentle and kind. What woman wants to marry a jerk?

For a time, I was borderline obsessed with this idea. Kind of creepy, huh? Anyway, Tolkien boy presented the idea that the reason why so many women prefer the Darcy's in our lives is because they prefer to have control. I didn't totally agree, I would say they like to feel committed to, one hundred percent. Darcy's redeeming quality was that no matter what he did, he couldn't help loving and being committed to Elisabeth. Again, I'm oversimplifying, but there's the point. Girls want words and actions to represent commitment.

You know the phrase, moderation in all things? It's kind of a skewed sort of thing in this case. I've known girls who were delighted when the guy that they liked showed one hundred percent commitment, that called a lot and did a million little things for them. I've known guys that enjoyed it when girls did it for them. Other guys/girls who had partners in crime like that called them clingy. I'm oversimplifying the issue, then, by saying that all girls really want is some action, but I think it's an important point that many guys, well at least me for the first 23 years of my life, have overlooked.

Then there are the players who know all too well how powerful that commitment appearing action is for the womens of the worlds. They've learned to master the art of appearing to commit even though they never do. Meh.

I invite comments, from the four of you who will read this. Oh, and I guess any add companies that for whatever reason decide that my readers want Viagra or some other drug, you can try and comment too!

An Idea. . .

2009-10-09T09:22:00.001-07:00

Most observant people would admit that America does actually have problems. Well, the same can be said for any country, but living here makes these problems just a little bit more important to us. We hear about these issues consistently. The media likes to throw all of these problems up, displaying them in all their polluted state, so we don't ever really forget it at all. Thankfully this impels us to think about solutions, and maybe we can come up something good.

For a long time the media focused on the problems surrounding illegal immigration. It truly is something that must be addressed. For the sake of my own sensibilities, I will refer to this problem as the problem of undocumented residents. There are some inherent issues whenever there are undocumented residents. Beginning with an atmosphere of distrust. Not only do the undocumented distrust most people that aren't or haven't been in a situation like them, those who are already a part of the system distrust undocumented immigrants. This distrust foments the formation of gangs, leading to further crime, misunderstanding, and a lack of cooperation.

Another problem we face is that undocumented residents have accessibility to emergency health care. I believe that all humans should be treated where possible, but I do not believe that there are people who shouldn't have to pay anything for it if they have the capabilities. People who are not taxed, and do not pay up front for health care in fact get a free ride at the expense of the tax payer. Government procedures sometimes help people in this situation, but that is when the person is actively working to get into a situation where they can pay for their own health care.

Yet another problem is that the children of people who are undocumented receive many of the consequences of the situation. Because of the situation, their children may be out of school when they could be in it, learning. The lack of education means future difficulties obtaining good employment, which becomes a vicious cycle of poverty.

Obviously, there are problems involved with having undocumented residents. I've heard two solutions that are opposite and nature. One, find them all and get rid of them.

Imagine the consequences of that action. Families of partially legal residents would be torn apart; the expense to the taxpayer, through the expenses of the law enforcement, would be astronomical; our would image would be seriously damaged, not to mention our political relations with Latin America countries; and our society, our culture would be less diverse.

The second, opposite solution is to grant amnesty to everyone who is currently here. While this takes care of most of the negatives of the other option, it ignores the fact that undocumented residents have, in one way or another, taken advantage of the system and do have a debt to society, as does any legal resident.

I have an idea that I think deserves discussion. An idea to improve not only the lives of the undocumented residents, but the mutual feeling of trust as well. I hope you will read the entire idea before forming an opinion. This idea is focused toward those who are already here, and does not go into the lengthy discussion required for actual immigration law reform.

Conditional amnesty would be granted to those undocumented residents living in the USA. I'll discuss the conditions in a moment, but this amnesty would grant that they could remain in the USA legally. Special immigrant status could then be assigned. Those in this bracket would have protections, as does any legal resident of the USA, extending to limited health care and an assurance to quality of living. Included in this would be mandated minimum wages they would receive from employers. Politicians can work out if this should be the same as for a citizen of the USA. They would be assessed taxes to pay for this "assurance to quality of living" that would help cover the cost of emergency health care, law enforcement, and basic municipal maintenance required wherever there are people living.

The condition to this amnesty is that they show a good faith toward becoming contributing members of our society. This could be accomplished in a variety of ways, such as the payment of a fine (which seems more like a punishment then a show of faith), mandatory classes in English (if necessary), and my personal favorite-service to the community.

While fines would be a short term resolution to our problems with the expense of health care and law enforcement, that would not address the real problem, an attitude of distrust and misunderstanding. I believe that offering the option of service to the community would promote an appreciation among any people for the society that they live in, and a desire to protect it's beauty. This would help the immigrants trust and protect the society that they are working toward being a member of.

The positive consequences of this sort of action would be extraordinary. Trust and appreciation between members of the community would increase. The beauty and functionality of our cities would become greater. As a society, we would be more capable of dealing with problems, with unforeseen catastrophes that plague us. We would have lower crime rates as gangs were replaced by serving communities. We would be able to give all the members of our community an opportunity to live the American dream.

It was pointed out to me that mandatory service for immigrants looks like indentured servitude. That is an image that ought to be avoided at all costs. We know how ugly slavery is. We wouldn't want to be like that, we wouldn't want to be seen in that light again.

I invite an open discussion about this idea. I would love to refine it to such a degree that it could be presented to President Barack Obama, or some other political figure who could then work out a way to implement ideas to help reform immigration law.

Degradation

2009-10-09T09:18:00.000-07:00

I believe that one should support his president. Oddly enough, that might make me a hypocrite for what I am about to say. That being said, I continue on in my current train of thought.

I recognize President Obama's amazing story as one that epitomizes the American dream, a man being able to become anything he works towards. The mere fact of his being the first African American president makes him noteworthy, and that accomplishment should stand recorded in history throughout the ages. Having said that, I become increasingly concerned about the world society, and what is being lauded as heroic. As I understood it, the Nobel Peace Prize is something that has stood as a symbol of the heroes that often go unnoticed, ordinary people who have done extraordinary things to further the cause of humanity and peace.

Words, for me, and especially words that have had little time for impact, are nothing if not backed up with the action required to make those ideas become actual results. Awarding President Obama seems to be awarding words, not actions. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. The Nobel Peace Prize committee awarded that illustrious prize to Al Gore in 2007. It was rumored (apparently the nominees are kept secret for fifty years) that at the same time Irena Sendler had been nominated. Al Gore made a movie. Irena Sendler was instrumental in smuggling out or assisting over two thousand Jews to escape the Warsaw ghetto in Nazi occupied Poland. If the Nobel Peace Prize committee truly chose Al Gore over Irena Sendler, it would be a clear message that merely talking about current "popular" issues is a much better thing for humanity than saving thousands of children.

I believe President Obama could do great things in his presidency. I believe that many of his ideas could become very positive policy for America, and greatly influence the world. What I am sad about is that a prize that I saw as something special for heroes who have done great things is becoming a lip service for popular politicians.

Campus with a capital A (for awkward)

2009-09-10T08:32:00.000-07:00

The pressing matter of school work is such that this is going to be very short. Yes, blog readers anonymous, I give you only a short entry, because I wanted to say something. Yes, something that has been on my mind. I've decided that, for all of my making fun of them, college campuses really are awkward. I've come to this conclusion because no one, and I mean that in the most general sense meaning that there are a few noted exceptions, of the opposite gender will meet my eyes unless they know me. Even I fall prey to this ugly social norm. Not always, and definitely less than it would seem most people do, but the fact remains, people are afraid to look me in the eye.

I figured it must be that my eyes have boogers in them. I mean, they're embarrassed for me. "Look at that guy. I bet he doesn't even know he's got eye boogers." I'll have to remember to check for that each morning. The other conclusion I came to is that I'm so attractive that girls have heart palpitations whenever they look at me, meaning their not meeting of the eyes is merely a matter of self preservation. Yes, that's right, I'm sexy, look away, quick! It's definitely not because I'm so hideous that I'm simply disgusting to look at. After all, I have been working out lately.

Maybe the reason people are loath to meet eyes is merely because they're terrified what might happen if they do. I'll admit that I believe that all men (and women when I'm being completely honest) have a little bit of the social awkward/creepy person in them. Or something that appears close to it. For instance, I personally have the temptation to say such awkward things like "Hello attractive person" or something like every time I actually do get the rare pleasure of locking eyes with a girl for a brief, heart pounding moment. Maybe, then, people avoid me because they can see the mischievous little guy behind the eyes who enjoys making others feel off balance.

Whatever the cause, go out and enjoy some socially accepted and awkward norms today. Make sure you don't meet anyone's eyes, though. I hear they have police for that sort of thing, and no one wants to be branded as "creepy."

Once Again. . .

2009-08-16T10:27:00.000-07:00

Ah, to return once again to the void that is cyber space. To think that the only thing affected (or is it effected? I've never been good with vowels. I much prefer consonants-much more strong and defined) might well be some grand storage unit that will blink for once second to recognize the fact that new little zeros and ones have been stored in such a manner that they may be translated into something as silly and potentially odd as this blog, it makes me giggle. Or maybe the truth is simply that I enjoy laughing at myself, and my own unique, ethnic manner of saying things. I was told that there will be a new term, "Davidic," meaning in the manner of David. The only problem I see with that is that it may well be thought to be in reference to the biblic Davidic, which could lead to some misunderstandings. Especially because people seem to remember David most for his first public triumph and for his only recorded indiscretion. Indiscretion, ha. We've got too many nice words for when people make a BIG mistake.

Well, considering that I went from saying that it's nice to be blogging today, and to remember that I really do enjoy writing in a very loose manner (meaning that my writing is often unfocused. See prior paragraph for an example) to talking about David of old, let me just come full circle and say, it's nice to be back.

I have A Red Headed Friend With the Last Name of a Material (ARHFWLNM-in case I make reference again. Hey, that almost rhymed!) for my abrupt return to the realms of the unseen and unheard, to where my voice is as a whisper coming out of the screen. Spooky. Someone should make a movie. Or maybe they already did. . . anyway, thanks ARHFWLNM for suggesting it, I'm afraid that my long absence from the writing scene has made it rather difficult to come up with a plot, and I needed to get back to writing as soon as possible, so as to return to at least some semblance of good writing. I don't think it will happen here in any great way.

I have a confession to make. Two, actually. The first one, which does not fill me with shame, or even a hint of regret, though perhaps a little trepidation, is that Major Bubbles (that's me, just to remind myself) has finally chosen a major to pursue. It's an interesting thing, deciding. I've always thought of it as a limiting of the prospects, as somehow making my future less expansive, as if by deciding to pursue something, I would immediately have less potential. Hence, in the major decisions of my life (and often the smaller ones, as many of my friends will attest) I am reluctant to make any sort of real decision. "Let's wait and see how it plays out" I say, hoping that the best the way, the way with the most potential will burst upon me one day, like the sun, creeping over the horizon, filling me with the zeal of a new day, with fresh opportunity and a newness of life. I don't think it works like that. It's more like the sun is already up, and I'm in a shaded place, and once I take a step, maybe two, I burst into a marvelous light that was just waiting for me to step into it and suck it up. And then get burned. Okay, not really, maybe just gloriously golden. Oooo- alliteration- me likey. Anyway, I've realised that the making of a decision is what actually opens up the path for you. Eventually you come to a place that's not just a crossroads, it's an open plaza with an infinite amount of choices. If I use another analogy in this paragraph, you have my permission to shoot me. Cybernetically, that is. Really, though, the decision opens up opportunities. Unless it's a bad decision. Those have the tendency of taking away the options. As soon as I decided to pursue physics, a plethora of new choices to be made sprung upon me, and I felt a little like the little kid in a toy store where you can touch everything and not get in trouble. If you ever find that store, let me know, I'd like to spend a few hours there.

My other confession is that I watched a proclaimed chick flick, and I liked it. Yes, readers, I watched "You've Got Mail." Shameless. It even calls it one of the best romantic comedies ever. Yes, a most definite chick flick. Actually, I've seen commercials about how manly men (that term seems somewhat redundant, doesn't it?) haven't watched that particular show. Seriously. It was a car commercial. Anyway, it was a shamelessly chick flicky movie, and I, yes I, well, I loved it. I've been sick for the past while, and the truth is that I was laughing so hard I had to pause the movie various times so that I could finish coughing, get a drink, grab another cough drop, and settle back in (I have a wonderful movie watching couch that feels kind of like it's hugging you all the time. Marvelous). Maybe I should apologize to all the manly men out there (wouldn't womanly men be an oxymoron? What other phrases could you use? Boyly man? Girly man? (okay, I've heard that one) non-genderly specific man? Maybe I should rethink my phraseology), but I don't think I will. Mostly because watching the silly movie made me happy, and I definately needed that in the middle of my sickness.

So, get out and make those decisions, and watch those ethnically inappropriate shows. I'll be sitting here on my non-genderly specific blog site (figuratively, of course), enjoying the blogs I have already written.

The First Last

2009-04-27T20:45:00.000-07:00

This blog is meant as an addendum. An addendum to a very blessed year.

Perhaps you think me a bit religious for stating it that way. The truth is that I'm a lot religious, and possibly even more so then before, which means that it will most likely be leaking out in what I say. I hope, however, that I will continue to tickle neurons in a pleasing manner, and not go about beating them with yea verily's. Yea. And verily.

Anyway, yes, it is a post script, an ipso facto, a post mortem, an after death, and a lot of other things that I can't recall nor would you really be that interested if I could. I'm normally the type to celebrate the end of something. Partly because it signifies a relaxing of sorts-the end of the day brings the sweet release that is sleep (to sleep, perchance to dream. . .of that one girl I saw today. . .Okay, so Shakespeare didn't actually right the last part, but we all know that he was thinking it, or something close unto it), the end of a semester means lots of parties and more time, the end of a week brings a time for resting, the end of a job normally brings new and exciting opportunities, the end is almost always accompanied by something even better, something new and fresh. Something that is to be celebrated.

This year is most definitely a year that has many things coming after. I can only recall once in my life when I have ever wished myself back at the beginning of a stage-and that had more to do with what I hadn't done during my time then what I had. I find myself, now, in the interesting position of wishing that I had more time, just as I am.

It's hard to say exactly why I feel this way. There are friends around, and while it may be true that the amount of association will decrease their friendship most certainly will not. There are positions that have ended that ought to feel more of a relief than a sadness. There are responsibilities that are no longer mine that I ought to be glad to see go. There is a period of indecisiveness and lack of direction that is drawing swiftly to its end that I should be cheering out with the greatest enthusiasm.

And yet, past all of the reasons why I should be glad to welcome the next moment in, I'm given pause here at the end of this one. It's been a time of happiness, a time of friendship. This time has been among if not the best time of my life. I am hesitant to let it leave me.

Funny thing, though, it will whether I let it or not. The only question is, will I end up sitting around complaining that I missed my taxi, or will I go ahead and hop on the next one that comes along? Yeah, I think I'd like to get wherever it is that I'm going. I guess I can just be glad that there's always something better on its way.

So look out Major, here comes the world.

And, I'm Back

2009-04-26T11:05:00.000-07:00

It is the undesirable truth that I am wont to let things slide in my life when other factors become so insanely involved that I must indeed focus almost all of my psychological effort on them. That being said, rest assured that I am still full of quips about dating and relationships, seeing as I seem to know as little about them as I did before, and my poking fun is really a very small mind trying to get a grasp on a rather large subject. Much like black holes, which I discovered this semester to be small in size but rather large in implication. I think I can safely say that I'm flattered, for the most part, that one of my friends bequeathed me with the term of an emotional black hole. Though I might have preferred being referred to as a white hole-not that I'm racist or anything of the sort, but it's just more adequate description of both my skin color and my disposition. If you want more explanation, just ask me, I'll be happy to pontificate for hours on end. Because that's what I do. I pontificate.

Whatever.

Anyway, I'm back! Yes, it's been a long blogless existence for the past while, and much has occurred and been transcribed. Or just scribed. Among many other things, I've discovered the joys of owning a cell phone, and seeing minutes fly by in a relativistically disgusting manner. I think that cell phones warp space-time to the advantage of the phone companies. How else can something so small use up so much time and cost so much money? It's boggling. I have discovered something, though. Something that is vitally important for existence. It's so impactful, actually, that I think I would rate it above black holes, above all of astronomy class, and maybe, just maybe, even above chocolate chip cookies and ice cream on sunny Sunday afternoons. Yeah, it's that important.

Putting it simply: no matter how many gadgets you have to improve/facilitate connection with others, your social life will not change if you don't.

It churns out that our electronics merely act as an extension of our own conscience. If we're the type that sat by our phone in the olden days (or doors if you are even older than phones) waiting for someone to call, the only difference between today and then is that instead of sitting around and waiting, you'll be walking around anxiously while repeating to yourself: "Why isn't anyone calling me? I'm a loser!" Well, hopefully you aren't doing that, but I sure did.

Whenever I used to walk into my house, the first thing out of my lips (after the cordial greeting of loving parents and all that warm fuzzilicious stuff) would be "did anyone call for me?" Does that make me sound like a girl? I hope not, because the truth is I still do it, even though I'm now the owner of a cellular device meant to make my life so much more gratifying and instantaneous. I barely know how to wait for anything anymore, now that I don't have to. Anyway, the point is feminine or not, I really do/did ask all the time if someone had called for me.

You lovely ladies might be thinking "what a slob-always waiting for the girl to call, never taking the initiative to make the first call." I really so no reason to defend myself, seeing as in my experience I'm not the only offender in this regard, and when was the last time YOU went out on a limb to show special regard for someone? Huh? Huh?*

Anyway, my point was not to complain. My point is that people don't change when they have new technology. I discovered this one day as I sat in my room, thinking about and looking at my cell phone. "This was expensive" I thought. "What the heckola is it doing for me?" I sat, I looked, I willed someone to call me, text me, give me the shivers that are only slightly related to the vibration the phone makes (actually, it still creeps me out to have something vibrating in my pocket. I yelled at work the other day and was the proud recipient of some very odd looks) and then I suddenly realized "Hey, I can't expect anyone to call me if I don't call them!" So I called a friend of mine, just for the heck of it. And then I texted another person. And then I started a tradition of making at least one random text per day.

I admit, it's been a fun experience to do so. For the most part, people respond in a positive manner, and I feel good about myself. While it is true that as of yet I still don't get non-recall type calls, it doesn't really matter. I have discovered that, with cell phones and other stuff, what you send out you will get back.

And that is a long post for a really short discovery.

*I actually think it's admirable of girls to wait for guys to call, in case you were wondering. The changing dynamics of this world have me all confused about where exactly I draw the line, but I thought you'd like to know that really, guys can be awfully chicken. I know, I am one!

Anyone for court?

2009-01-20T09:29:00.000-08:00

Is anybody else worried? I guess that I am, in the deepest sense of the word, a lot more conservative and anti large government then I thought I was. Not that I plan on going and buying guns and stockading myself. First off, I don't have any crazy girlfriends, so I would be lonely, and second off, I think my dad would be mad if I made the government blow holes in his newly constructed garage.

Plus, I'd get hungry. Yay for the nobility of laziness!

Anyway, I say that I'm worried, in this case not so much because of the government as a whole. I'm thrilled to welcome, along with the entire society of the nation ( I hope) our newest president, who has the promising aspect of having the impossible expected of him to look forward to for at least the next four years, maybe eight. My worry comes, rather, from some human rights progress that has been made by our court systems.

It seems that this past June, the supreme court made a ruling on a petition that directly affects how states are able to prosecute people. Specifically, in the case of Kennedy vs. Louisiana, our highest interpreting power decided that it is cruel and unusual punishment to inflict the death penalty on any person who has committed an individual crime that did not intend the death of the victim or that did not result in the death of the victim. In other words, unless someone died, the death penalty is now a no no for the entire nation. Which could be seen as either a triumph for human rights world wide (I'm told that most developed countries don't even have the death penalty) or a blow to state rights. I'm not sure how I feel about this particular issue, so I will desist.

However, I am a wee bit concerned about how the court has legalized morality. I'm worried about how they interpret it. According to the sylibus of the Kennedy vs. Louisiana case, the Amendment’s Cruel and Unusual Punishment Clause “draw[s] its meaning from the evolving standards of decency that mark the progress of a maturing society.” Trop v. Dulles, 356 U. S.
86, 101. The standard for extreme cruelty “itself remains the same, but its applicability must change as the basic mores of society change.”

My dad says that societies must change how they enact laws, and that it's actually healthy. I admit, I find it just a wee bit creepy that our morality, especially as it relates to our judiciary system, where it is so vital that it be clear, is defined by the progress of a maturing society.

Perhaps, though, I'm just overreacting.

Working under the influence. . .

2009-01-19T09:01:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this at work (shame!) and under the influence of music. Horrid, I know, because not only will I be prone to making frequent stops so as to assuage my guilty conscience, but I will also be making periodic, rather nonsensical insertions of music lyrics.

Such as this: When marimba music starts to play, hold me close, make me sway.

Which actually has something to do with what I wanted to say. Which is, simply, make me sway. Well, music does that, as does dancing in general, because I love dancing. I was at an institute function on Friday where there was dancing. I was entirely set on going home as soon as the music started, having had a couple of bad experiences with the type of music (it's just hard to dance to, it's not bad) that is often played at those types of circumstances. However, after the music had started, there was a spirit of frivolity and enjoyment that I just could not neglect. And so I merrily joined in with those people who were shaking themselves about in a wee little jig, and I discovered that I still love dancing. Almost to the passionately stage, but not quite. It's a little bit before passionate and a little past indifferent interest. It's an indifferent passion. I love oxymorons!

The holding of members of the opposite sex, no matter how contrived or practically meaningless it may be, is something of delight. I mean, of course, that hugs, snuggling, cuddling, massage giving, hand holding, etc, are all wonderful experiences. Dancing definitely is included in this list. Yep, definitely.

I've reached an interesting stage of life. I think most people go through stages, and I find myself on the brink of a new one. One of my friends (actually two of them) stated in quite a state of vexation that they were ready to be engaged. I refrained from pointing out that they're not in a serious relationship at the moment because, well, I didn't want to get my eyes poked out, I value their friendship, and let's face it, we live in Utah, and when has not being in a serious relationship stopped anyone from getting engaged within a month? Life is crazy.

Don't think for a moment that I'm saying that I'm ready to be engaged. Because, when I think about that, I most definitely am not. First off, I wouldn't have any idea how to ask the question, I have no experience with not flirting (I have been referred to many times as a constant flirt, I have become somewhat consigned to it), and more importantly the idea of me being engaged is just weird.

The thing is this: I feel open to the possibility of a more dedicated relationship. I think I've been afraid of girls in general for most of my life, so this is a big step for me, just being open to the idea. Having observed my friends and such, now is the time when lost of problems will arise, I will be in a constant stage of vexation, either because things are going poorly in the relationship sector or because they are going well.

Humans are so weird.

And, now, see, I have posted, and can get back to my guilt free monotonous work. Viva Vexation!

A marble, a song, and a story.

2008-12-07T12:30:00.000-08:00

Returning to one's blog, in order to begin afresh and find joy once again in the art and action or writing can be an interesting challenge. After all, I am accustomed to being of a witty disposition and a charming display of character in writing. Now, the problem becomes how to portray that once again when I am so very much out of practice. I admit that I wondered if I should open with a blatently bad pun, a horribly concieved joke, or a simple reference to a rather humorous situation, such as is common among those people who are in the dating phase of life.

But, in this case, I desist, because this blog is about the Christmas Spirit that is so much talked of.

I've heard that the Christmas Spirit can be defined as a lot of things. The pure love of a child, the accepting and giving feeling that comes from giving the perfect gifts to family and friends alike, the joy felt by so much sharing in music, the laughter of parties with friends and family, the happiness and peace of the time all are things that have been said to be the Spirit of Christmas. I discovered a little bit more of what Christmas is like, and I wanted to share it with as large a group as possible.

The story is really what portrays the Christmas Spirit, because it ties in the marble and the song. These past couple of weeks the Ogden LDS Institute performing groups have been preparing to present their christmas show, "Where Are You Christmas." The show is about a young mother who is trying to do a million and one things, and on top of that she decides to do a christmas pageant. She works hard at it, and eventually becomes discouraged, realizing that she has lost the true spirit of Christmas and the peace that Christ gives us. In a peaceful realisation she comes to know that Christ loves her, accepts her, and she finds once again the spirit of Christmas.

For this show I played the part of the rather frustrated husband who can't understand why his wife wants to do so much. It was a fun part, if only because I got to scream in frustration, and then have people laugh at me. It's a lot more fun to have people laugh at you then you think. Anyway, there is one scene where I'm carrying an exercise bike (so my 'wife' can do exercise during rehearsal of the christam pageant) and I set it down in frustration. During the last performance, though, a marble popped out of the handle of the exercise bike. I'd done this scene plenty of times before, and I've never had the marble experience, so I thought that was kind of random.

Part of the show is that there was a little kid who acted as our child. During the last perfomance, he bonked his head while playing around. Bonked it pretty good, too, because he had a monster goose egg afterward. However, he was pretty upset, and that's not that great. Turns out that he likes marbles. A lot. So I gave him the marble that had popped out of the exercise bike to play with. It calmed him down and distracted him from the pain.

And then came nearly the final scene, where Jennifer (my 'wife') sings to the Christ child in a nativity. It's a moving scene, and has always been a favorite of mine. The song is a mix between "Who is this Child" and "What Child is This." During that song, I realized that it wasn't so random that the marble had popped out of the bike. It popped out of the bike on precisely that night because Jesus, of who they were singing "This, This is Christ the King" loved that little boy, and wanted him to be happy. I contemplated on all the things that Christ has done to make me comfortable, and to forget pain, and I realized that that was the Spirit of Christmas. The very personal love of Christ in my life making me want to be a better person. More like Him.

And so, Merry Christmas to all! May the Spirit of Christmas find you this season.

The Problem

2008-10-04T21:02:00.000-07:00

Once again we return to the subject at hand and heart. Okay, mostly heart, because that's the organ associated with feeling, and sometimes feelings are so interesting that they must be discussed to the most minute detail, that the things of life may be displayed in their true color. No, not pink, not black: yellow.

Actually, I thought I'd just share a little thought that I had. I've discovered my one and only problem with the love shared in fairy tales. I say fairy tales in general, because I can think of some exceptions to the idea that I'm about to present (Beauty and the Beast being one of them. I knew I liked that show for a reason), so it must be taken as a generic rule, with some specific exceptions. Indeed, it may be said that there will be disagreeing in the minds of many who meander along these words, with the same disinterested interest that one finds in a cat, interested in seeing where a bug will land. Ready for the kill, it waits, not interested in where the bug flies, but interested in where it will land.

Um, yeah.

The part of fairy tale love, the thing that is most difficult to get my head around, and in the end the thing that makes fairy tales not like real life is one thing, and one thing only. I personally think that certain types of people (and in many cases certain specific people) cross paths because of how happy they would make each other. I also think it entirely possible that these people would be attracted to each other at some stage. I also think that "happy ever after" is a distinct possibility, as long as it's understood that happily ever after is not a naive thing, and that anything that isn't naive feels pain at times, though in many cases these pains do not detract, indeed may add, to a deeper more genuine happiness.

So far, I believe in fairy tales. Here is the part that I am incapable of reconciling myself with. The idea of love as a force so powerful that it transcends agency. This idea of a love as almost an external force that drives men and women to do things that, quite frankly, they would ordinarily not do, is a little hard for me to swallow.

Case in point: what would have separated Cinderella from the other girls presented to Prince Charming that night? He had not spoken to her, had only had the chance to see Cinderella to make the decision that she was the one, over all the other girls. Now, I'm not a girl so I can't say this with total conviction, but I'm pretty sure that girls don't want a guy who is going to judge them purely on their looks. Because, if you don't think it was a looks based thing, then it had to be some sort of external force working on Mr. Charming. I have a hard time thinking that an external force could do that, transcend decision.

The problem in my mind is that the minute that the true love is found, the decision is made. There's no struggle. There's no inner battle between opposing forces, there's no decision made. I understand that some people actually make decisions in the moment, but it seems like most of the people who are like that go on making new decisions every minute. I think it would be tiring to be finding your one soul mate every other day. Just imagine how tired your singing voice would get. True love's kiss would definitely no longer be the most powerful force in the universe.

And here's a random question: If Giselle had kissed Prince Edward whiles still in Malaysia (or whatever the place was called), would it have been true love's kiss? Because if it wouldn't have been, does that make you nervous about the person you're dating right now? Imagine the implications for married people. But if it were, what would that say? Random, I know, but there you go.

Yeah, that's basically the problem that I say. Fairy tales in a general sense seem to hover around this idea of an external force that both transcends choice and circumstance (true love will always make the way in fairy tales. It's never actual people making the way).

Personally, I worry about the fact that I'm even taking the time to point out that actual love (real true love) isn't a chance thing. It's not something you win or receive, like the end of a betting routine. If that were true, I'd be worried. There's only one hero and one heroine that end up truly in love in the fairy tales, even though there's a lot of characters. Love is a choice, something you have to take a chance on. Something you have to decide.

We have to choose love? Spooky.

Happy Halloween!

Light

2008-09-28T19:23:00.000-07:00

I wrote a poem today, and I liked it enough that I thought I would post it here, seeing as otherwise most of you would never see it. Once again, I enjoy it when people tell me what they think the poem is about, and if anyone guesses it right I'll tell you.

Light.

The colors are dancing,
The light reflecting and refracting
As playfully it meets the water
racing on, never retracting.

Cool and clean, the water leaps
from rock to rock, and sings
as he bounds along his way; his quiet
song the talk of bards and kings.

Rushing forward, he comes to a plain
of slow moving land, and feels
to come, nearly, to stopping, where time
moves so quietly it seems to steal.

A wooded glade, a nearly small pond
Where peace and quiet abound
and everything moves slowly,
even tranquility resounds.

The water, though, can't be content
to stay and stay in that glade;
For water still is never clean,
but with such a wait turns a nasty shade.

Passing by the dam
that slows the water so,
he accelerates, exhilarated
to once more easily flow.

He continues his race, being joined now
by other waters, who follow the same course;
gaining speed and strength, they rush on,
following the way without remorse.

A moment before the plunge,
when the path falls away to leave water free,
affected by glade, by rocks, by dam
water is what he is, while the whole path he can see.

The colors are dancing
the light reflecting and refracting;
as playfully it meets the water,
he continues on, never retracting.

As an addendum, I didn't pay particular attention to punctuation, grammar, or capitalization, and mostly just focused on the affect that I wanted the words to have, or the sort of feel that I wanted to give to the poem. I hope you enjoyed!

Socially Backward

2008-09-21T13:42:00.000-07:00

Fridays. Or Saturdays. Fridays and Saturdays. People, we need to rethink this. In the culture that I'm used to, getting married to the right person is given as much stress, maybe even more, than getting a good education, good job, or even a good TV set. So, I've come to an interesting question.

Why the heck do we wait until the end of the week for to go on dates?

I can honestly say that by the end of the week I am exhausted. Not necessarily physically, because if I get the right amount of sleep I have about the same amount of physical energy every day, but mentally and emotionally I have had it by the weekend. I find myself yearning for quiet, for peace, and for a couple of hours just to think about the week. Now, if you take this exhaustion and add to it the fact that most serious social activity happens at the end of the week, when I'm already drained, I suddenly become somewhat of a socially backward person.

If you don't believe me, ask my friends who see me early on in the morning. In the morning I'm a bright, happy fellow who is chipper almost to the point of annoyance. However, come eleven o'clock at night I get very introverted, and I talk little. It's almost like a Jekyll and Hyde transformation, only I don't need drugs for it.

The same is true. Monday I'm bubbly and happy, but come Friday I just wander around, acting like my brain isn't really attached anymore and like I simply don't know what to do with myself. Emotionally, I'm spent.

It may be that this is just a phase, but I've been thinking: if during a date is when you're supposed to be getting to know people, it's not very fair that people are getting to know the Friday/Saturday me and not the Monday/Tuesday me. So, I've come up with a socially backwards plan for dating.

Why not have one day in the middle of the week off and one day at the beginning of the week? You know, like have Sunday off of work and school, and have Wednesday or Thursday off as well. That way you get one day at the end as well as one day in the middle.

I wonder if anyone will ever think about implementing my idea. . .

Just Because

2008-09-14T11:47:00.000-07:00

Every once and awhile I need to hear this, and the only person who ever proffers it is myself. So, I'm going to say this right here and now for anyone who needs it.

Stop it! Okay, just stop!

That's it.

Cookies!

2008-09-13T20:58:00.000-07:00

I found the cookies. Yep, that's right, nothing will keep me and my stomache from becoming one for quite awhile now. Actually, nothing will keep my stomache and me from becoming one for as long as the cookies last. Which turns out to be about five seconds ago. (As a side note, the spell checker says that stomache is spelled stomach, but that looks so weird to me that I'm going to leave it as it is).

Sigh.

It's interesting how fast things we take for granted disappear. I really was looking forward to having cookies tonight. My mom made these really amazing peanut butter chocolate bars that are always delicious, and I found them earlier on today, to my delight. You might ask "to what lengths is Major Bubbles willing to go to get his cookies?" I answer for you, willing to go the impenetrable darkness, the unbreakable security, the outright shockingness of the cookie jar. Works out well that way, because that's where my mom always puts the cookies (weird, huh?).

I'm in a slightly reflective mood (something that is not really that odd for me) about those cookies, and about my life in general. I've been super busy of late, as reflected in the amount of writing I've done. Between a play, choir, school, trying to work thirty hours a week (not doing well so far), and also trying to be a good friend, I have what I like to refer to as an excess of life. Being that busy makes it hard to just stop and think, but every once and awhile I get a gem of time to think. Normally my thoughts at those moments revolve around girls or relationships (whether they be of the romantic or not varieties), in varying states of annoyance, happiness, hope, and destitution. That's not the only think I have, though.

I also like to think about me. Oooh, so humble! Of course, I don't have any material to work with that's so quite immediate as myself, so I think it's excusable. Today I'm thinking about me and cookies.

I like to eat cookies from the cookie jar. One, that's where they're supposed to be. Two, every time I eat a cookie I see how many are left. Three, every time I want a cookie I have to get up from what I'm doing and physically go to the cookie jar (I've thought about coming up with a song about skipping to the cookie jar, or maybe the happy cookie song, but so far I've got nothing). Four, when the cookie jar is empty, the cookies are gone. I may be sad, but I know that they're gone, and for the majority of the times I don't go looking for more.

Right now I have a question. Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?

Another great thing about cookies is that you have to learn early on that you can't shove 'um down your mouth as fast as you want to. I tried that at an early age and found out that the Heimlich is not as fun to have done to you as it is to say. Yeah, my limit is about two at a time. Okay, my limit is really only one, but I eat it so fast you might easily be fooled that it's really two.

Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?

My favorite cookie is the chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. My goodness, you'd almost be willing to sell your soul for a batch of those. My mom knows that they're my favorite, so she almost always makes an extra batch, because she knows how fast I go through them. I once ate fifteen (or more, I don't remember because I didn't count) cookies in one sitting. Granted, I had a rather nasty sugar rush and later headache afterwards, but man were those cookies good.

Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?

While you think about it (or don't think about it. I'm not a mind reader, I can't tell you what you're thinking right now), I think I'm going to go and eat the very last peanut butter chocolate bar cookie thingy that my mom left. Yummmm. . .

Blended words

2008-08-31T22:28:00.000-07:00

Every once and awhile I have something I need to say, something that needs to be expressed the moment after it's felt. Even though it's much past when I'm comfortable being awake, now is one of the moments.

One of the worst things about these moments, though, is that it often involves not wanting everyone to know, but being unable to say it to anyone in particular. There are emotions that would be uncomfortable and even inappropriate to be shared with some people but would perhaps be suited quite well for other people. So I'm stuck in an odd situation of having something that needs to be said, but being unable to say it to anyone in particular (with the exception, maybe of my parents) and at the same time not feeling that it's appropriate to be shared with all.

When this happens, I always turn to my old standby; poetry. It's the best tool I have for saying something without actually stating it and also expressing myself in a way that is satisfactory for me that wouldn't give much away about myself that others don't already know. I think. Anyway, what follows is me poetically turning my thoughts inside out. It's coming out raw, so don't expect anything spectacular.

Blended worlds

A blender must be an exciting place to be
Swirls of color and sensation all
Mixing life together in a dazzling array
Of swoops and swirls.

Perhaps people even are like that blend
Of fruits and vegetables, ice creams and
Sweeteners, orange juice and raspberries
All swirling together.

The noise of such excitement
Can grind at times; while beginning
Or slowing down, but the middle of the incessant
Noise is bearable, even pleasant.

Each moment more life swirls by
To add to the color and flavor of the blend.
An excitement unparalleled inside
That machine Goes on and on, until it's done.

Speeding up or slowing down,
The blender is merciless in its march
I just wish someone could enjoy
The moments the blender stops.

Perhaps I wasn't as good at hiding the meaning behind this one. Perhaps I was. Only time (or you, the reader) will tell, and meanwhile, I feel better about the evening. I have a lot to think over. Goodnight, world.

A small (not short) story

2008-08-31T13:48:00.000-07:00

Hello blogger friends! I admit with frankness, I'm not blogging very much, though the reason is an understandable one. Between the life of a working full time student who also is involved with both a choir and a play, I'm a little sandwiched at the moment, and find little time for much other than taking care of the various things I've already committed myself too. Still, I found time today for a little bit of blogging fun.

I just barely started an introduction to fiction class. One of the first things that the book of that class mentions is the ending of books, about how some books are written merely for the purpose of enjoyment, while others accomplish that while still portraying a message. I decided to try my hand at a short story today. You can pick it apart as you wish (and in fact I'd be delighted if you did). So I hope you enjoy this small story.

Crossing Point
By Major Bubbles.

"The middle ground is always the worst," he thought, as he cautiously approached the opening of his cave. His heart began to race as the cold air that always mingles on the edge of the cave encroached his lungs, stinging his throat all the way down. He shivered as he got closer to the edge, the white, dead light from the world outside now beginning to overwhelm the warm and friendly yellow glow from inside his cove.

"Could something be waiting for him, just outside?" he wondered, his mouth dry and his breathing shallow. Wishing there was another way, he slowly poked his head around the corner, his heart beating so fiercely that he felt it pounding in his head. Trying with futility to quiet both breathing and heart, he stuck his head a little further out. Now, at this moment, when he couldn't quite see around the corner, but someone could probably see the top of his head, was the moment of greatest alarm. Trying to swallow his dry tongue, he pushed out far enough to see around the corner. A sharp intake of breath and. . .

Nothing. Even though it meant temporary safety, all his nerves were tensed, every muscle ready, knowing that any moment the clear horizon could be smudged by a hostile observer. Wishing for extra eyes, and trying to see everywhere at once, he crept further out into the cold, hard light. He felt exposed, cold, and vulnerable. Thank goodness the distance to travel across the middle ground was not long.

He made his way across, coming to the place just around the corner of safety, of another secluded spot. Clutching his only protection close against his skin, he sidled around the corner, wary of anything moving. Suddenly, there was a sound! The soft padding of something moving, quietly, slowly behind him. His heart began to race, the adrenaline in his body surging as he considered what to do. Fight? No, he was much to vulnerable and exposed. Flight was the only option. The quiet movement behind him echoed in his ears, pushing his heart to greater limits. Blood rushing to his head, he fled.

"A few steps more, I mustn't be seen!" he plead to whoever listens to human thoughts. "Let me not be seen!"

The soft footfalls behind drove him on. One step. Two. The sound grew greater, perhaps more because of his fright than actual fact.

He practically flew into his safety, into seclusion from watching eyes, pausing only to shut the way behind him. Flicking on the lights, he breathed a sigh of relief, comforted by the warm yellow glow of familiar lights.

"That's the last time I forget to take my towel with me to the shower," he sighed, beginning to towel off.

I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope that it was enjoyable. Feel free to pick it apart, I'm kind of hoping you do.

Vocabulary

2008-08-19T20:14:00.000-07:00

Fwidipan, who I have made mention of before, once caught me in a web of kindly meant fabrication. I have the tendency to assume that people are better at things then they normally let on, and so I also am wont to compliment people for skills that I have not yet had the chance to see in action. In other words, I assume that people are good at things when it's very possible that they are not. Such was the case, once, with Fwidipan, who sought to disabuse my ideas of her ability on the piano by saying "Major, you've never actually heard me play." Her timing was most exquisite, as I was in the process of explaining just how good she was to my mother. It's a good thing that those sorts of fabrications never do much to hurt my self esteem, or I may have been irreversibly damaged.

I thought about it later, though, trying to come up with a reason as to why I was so ready to accept that my friend was indeed the talented pianist that she later turned out to be, and I finally came up with a reason. Yes, my friends, I would very easily be scammed out of my mind (though it is still in debate how much good cerebral donations do anyone) because I based my opinion of Fwidipan's talent on one thing, and one thing only: her vocabulary was right.

Now, before you decide that I truly am a simpleton that enjoys writing nonsense on the Internet, and then checking to see how many people are reading it, I'd like to defend the intelligence of what I just said. I get a strange satisfaction out of sitting in front of my computer, checking the meter and saying "oh, look Bubbles, you got another one." But that doesn't defend my intelligence in any way. Now the defense may present it's case.

I call as my first witness my brother, who for the moment I will call Three (mostly because I'm stealing the idea from Tolkien Boy who for the longest time referred to me as four, and this is a pretty easy way to refer to someone in a nondescript way). My brother is a very intelligent guy, and understand computers and things to do with them and his job much more than I do. How do I know that? Well, because he talks about hard drive, gigs, memory, storing capacity, something to do with rams and fords, and other stuff like that. When a person understands (and can explain) the meanings and uses of the vocabulary, then more often than not they actually do know more about it than I do. Unless I can do the same.

Now, we go back to Fwidipan. She mentioned how much she loved playing different styles of music that I know I've heard of before, but most certainly couldn't tell you what they're like. Certain composers she mentioned (that I was vaguely familiar with) and I got rather intimidated. So, I came to the natural conclusion that she must be a good pianist.

Now, here's the clincher. Most of the time, and with almost all walks of life, I make up my own vocabulary. I'm worried that that means that pretty soon people will begin to either think that I'm a genius (which I'm not) or a simpleton (which I'm not) or just plain crazy (which I just might be. I've never been tested). What can I say? I'm a cahoodling maniacle. Of course, I might have just used two words that already exist (or maybe just one) that have absolutely no relevance at all to what has been said. Mlegh!

Not Sure

2008-08-18T22:00:00.000-07:00

"Where are the clowns?"

I've decided that there are many things that may be counted on in life. The fact that I will be more serious when I'm physically exhausted is one of them. That I will be more spry and basically overly euphoric when I am physically brimming with energy is another. Yet another thing that I can count on in life is that my mother will continue to love me, that my father will continue to be there when I need it (and consequently kick my rear when needed), that friends will always be important to me, and that little children will always, always make me smile.

The problem is that there are things of which I am in a constant state of not counting on, or in other words that I am unsure of. For instance, I am unsure as to where the stinking clowns really are, though as Sondheim seemed to know, I'm begining to suspect that they may be closer than I could have expected or wanted. I'm unsure as to what I want to do with myself career wise, I'm unsure as to the whether tomorrow, and I most definately do not know if the apple I'm going to eat after writing this is going to be as scrumptious as the last one I ate.

It's odd that those things of which I am unsure could cause more commotion in me then the things of which I am sure. For instance, I know that if I go on a date, I will have a good time. Past experience has proven this to be the case almost exclusively, so I spend a sinfully small amount of time actually premeditating a date. This comes with a dependant clause, though (I'm thinking of opening it up with a 'because'), because if I should be very attracted to the girl, all bets are off.

I would explain, but that would give a large part of the "me mystery" away, so I will not be explaining, and you may draw all of your own conclusions. I suggest using a pencil.

Thought Tank

2008-08-17T15:11:00.000-07:00

Salutations from the mind of Major Bubbles. It would seem that brilliance is not as hard to come by as would be imagined, or at very least that good ideas for very random and interesting blogs are not hard to come by. It's getting them to stay that is the problem. Perhaps I (being the mind and power behind this very blog) should take the time to consciously write down ideas, therefore assuring that those ideas stay concretely in the conscious world.

You see, I as a brain have a problem that is very difficult to overcome. I process more information, more electrons that fire, and more unknown stuff than any one computer, or probably any current string of computers does. I'm not sure (seeing as my carrier has not taken the time to present the knowledge to my connection to the outside world, the senses) whether this is the truth, but as a mind I'm allowed to be as vain as I want, as long as my carrier is good at repressing or at least masking that vanity in a more socially acceptable atmosphere.

Still, I have a problem. I've taken control, for the moment, or my carrier, to make sure that everyone may know that it's not HIS fault that there are long lapses in interesting and rather unique blogs, but rather that it is MY fault. Major Bubbles' Brain. If you want to, you may call me Charles. I will know explain the problem that I have is wont to make it difficult for the Major to display the normal brilliance that I am the author of but he gets all the credit for.

My thought tank has a hole in it. This is no laughing matter, I assure you. Other people have referred to this same problem as attention deficit disorder (and done so mostly in jest, though I'm told it's really quite a serious issue). Every brain, or I at least, takes a moment while it's still in the development stage to order a thought tank, a great big vat where all the information can be stored, either to be swirled together or kept separated by tiny vials of precious information. I can't tell you what a mess it makes when information that is supposed to be kept separate from the rest of the soup is smashed open and mixed with all the rest. I understand that happened to Albert Einstein's brain once and the result where some rather controversial theories that threw everyone into a stew. I digress.

My point is, my thought tank has a leak. I've been coming up with new and brilliant ideas to put into the mix, and so I store them in the tank, only to come back five minutes later to discover that my precious thoughts have all leaked out onto the floor! It makes a terrible mess, and as any brain knows, the more thoughts get lost, the more the carrier has to blow his or her nose to get rid of all the congested thoughts that end up pooling there. (That's what nasal congestion is, didn't you know?)

The effects of a leaky thought tank are disastrous. Not only does it lead to a congested respiratory device, it also leads to short attention spans and very short term memory. When I say short, I mean the shelf or tank life of a thought is about four minutes. The carrier of the brain (as is the current case with mine) then exhibits attitudes that other carriers associate with mental instability. Talking of random things, thinking that things are happening that aren't (that's some of the thought that ends up stuck in the tank), and the such.

So please, if you see my carrier blowing his nose consistently, or even if you notice a slightly maniacal tendency with him, be considerate and forgiving. He's trying to deal with leaky thought tank.

Church

2008-07-27T14:22:00.000-07:00

Not everyone is confident enough in their masculinity to admit to certain things. Which, as it turns out, is a good thing, considering that if women became confident enough in their masculinity it would just mess up the entire social setting to which I have grown accustomed and to some degree have learned to survive in. But, that being said, not all men are confident in their masculinity to admit to the facts of life that might be considered all together not nearly masculine enough. In order to ensure all of my readers that I am, indeed, very masculine and have no conflictions about such thing, allow me to do a little pig speak and make some rather manly guttural sounds.

Grunt! Grunt! Snort! Grunt! Arrr!

Okay, the last one is worthy of being debated as to whether or not it truly is a manly guttural sound, as both the arr sound is not all that guttural and the arr is also used by both female and male pirates alike. Oh well, I'm hoping that you, the reader, are appeased and will not doubt my manhood after I make a rather unsuprising admission. But I'm not going to let you into the show.

I watched Pride and Prejudice last night. The long one. By myself. And I liked it. I really have no qualms about admitting this, because the truth is that anyone and everyone ought to enjoy it, or at least anyone who enjoys the display of human follies. Either way, it was a romp, and I had a good time.

And now, on to the actual blog!

There are many things in life that are repeated so often as to become almost unconsciously familiar. Or as in we're so familiar with them we're almost unconscious. The problem is, in some of those situations, being truly unconscious is a very, very bad thing. Even being unconscious of the situation, a common and understandable enough occurrence, can lead to some rather sticky situations, speaking both metaphorically and literally. When it comes to being in church, unconsciousness to both the situation and unconsciousness in general is a sure fire way of having some very good people having the time to make their own little jokes, and even finding a little humor in an otherwise common setting.

Take for example, the man who sits in front of the congregation. Or woman, for that matter, though I have observed that for the most part it is a man who is more likely to forget the situation, being so very familiar with it, and begin to do some very odd things indeed. Said man, in front of the congregation, would be thought to be uncomfortable enough, with one hundred eyes watching with differing degrees of interest, to actually pick his nose. I have noted, however, that some, especially if they be of the younger variety, have not seemed to uncomfortable with displaying the insides of their nostrils to the entire congregation. Worse is when they then ingest said nostrily entrails. Which sounds nasty, even to me. I have seen it happen, though. So take care, it could happen to you.

Another is when people find the speaker addressing the congregation to be of such a familiar tone as to be almost as bad as early morning classical jazz radio show hosts, those who are hired if and only if they have the capacity of making a hummingbird fall dead asleep in mid flight. Then if happens that those people slowly, ever so slowly, succumb to the sultry sounds of sleep. This is bad for two reasons. One, it's very possible that people who give in and sleep peacefully will begin to snore. If you don't think this happens, just look around next time you're in church. Someone is bound to have their head down, and is also just as likely to jerk upright suddenly, elbowed by either a concerned parent or by an embarrassed wife.

But snoring isn't the worst of it. Oh no, the worst is when drool begins to escape. It's silent, and therefore twice as deadly. Once someone has drooled, the damage is done, and no amount of elbowing will fix it. There will be forever, or for the next ten minutes, a wet spot at the top of the collar or tie (I'm assuming it's a man. I'm not sure, would it be a west spot on the necklace or neckline of a woman?) of said slow spitter (that's what drooling is, right? Slow spitting?). This will invariable lead to some interesting second glances and, of course, the knowing smile and repressed snicker. Which has nothing to do with candy bars.

There are other general no nos and human foibles that come to play at the churchy time. Parents actually admitting they're addicted to graham crackers or gummy worms (or cheerios. That's a famous one too.). The tabu talk surrounding a reported single person sitting awfully close to another single person (believe it or not, I heard someone pronounced to be thinking of marriage, based solely on the closeness of their sitting position to the girl they were sitting by). And I'm sure there are many others that I can't think of.

I think I'm going to go have some graham crackers now.

Crazy Man

2008-07-25T22:13:00.001-07:00

I admit without any sort of embarrassment that the title refers solely to me! Hey, this blog is about me after all, and so it should come as no surprise that I actually reference myself continually and with no effort to conceal the fact that I am, indeed, the star of my own blog. If I can't shine anywhere else, at least I'll shine to myself. I also admit that this blog was written way too late at night and under the influence of an overexposure to Strong Bad emails.

It turns out that I am insane. Oh yes, my friends, I'm a stark raving lunatic. Okay, I'm not stark naked and I'm not really raving, either, because I'm not foaming at the mouth and it's been a good long while since I said "nevermore." Okay, that was bad, but hey, it was an illustration albeit in words and not pictures of what I'm saying. I've gone crazy.

I think it was a gradual thing. I began to notice it this summer, when school had been out of session for a good month or so and the natural regression into a state of survival only had begun once again to take its reign. That's when I noticed that I was starting to forget what I was doing or what I had said. Now, it wouldn't be too bad if I forgot what I was doing, say, last week. I could even excuse if I was going downstairs to do something and on the way I forgot what I was doing. But no, it is much worse than that. I began to forget what I was doing and saying in the middle of doing or saying it. Imagine my regret when I was halfway through the swing of a hammer, and suddenly my mind caught hold of the idea of a painted pony, running across the skies, reds and oranges dancing across his face. The streaming cape of velvet clouds he wore was a royal mix of purples, oranges, and beautiful pink, only to disappear the moment the hammer made contact with my left hand. And then there followed a string of inexcusable words that definitely did not describe the painted pony running cross't the sky.

It's worse, or at least I feel more crazy and stupid (but more the latter, I'm afraid) when in the midst of a sentence, I trail off and often wander off. I can't imagine but that my friends and family are becoming worried about me. "Yeah, so I was at work, you see," I might say to my mom. "I was thinking that maybe we should do something about. . ." I say while mindlessly wandering off in the direction of downstairs, the vague idea forming in my mind that my sock drawer is out of alignment and must be rectified. Right in the middle of the sentence. I seriously need to work things out.

My favorite moments of craziness, though, are moments when I actually enjoy them, and can find humor out of them. It seems like the voice inside of my head doesn't really have an off switch that I have access to. It just so happens that sometimes that voice in my head gets out of my head, and begins to use my mouth to provide everyone around me with a random display of my brain.

It normally goes like this. I'm in an elevator. I'm alone. I begin to talk to myself. Saying such things as "Oh I don't know, Mr Smith, I don't think Bond would appreciate it." "Oh, I know he would." I answer myself, now assuming the character of Mr Smith, Bond's nearly equal sidekick who kicks every body's butt but is never heard of, ever. This conversation continues on, silently, as people get on the elevator. The elevator in my office is slow, though, and one can only hold so much drama as my personal conversation inside the mind for so long. To be as inconspicuous as possible, I begin to mutter under my breath. You might here such treats as "wapow! Fwish!" or even a "frankly my dear, I don't darn, ever. I hate socks." Yes, I enjoy my personal conversations to the degree that I even forget that others are around, and speak full bore sometimes. Or is it full boar? Anyway, my point is that I have become certifiable.

Just think, though. Now I can become a famous writer so easily. I was so worried that I would never have any sort of personal or mental issue strong enough to be considered a truly great writer, but now that I'm insane, I won't have any problems at all!

Mwa ha ha ha ha!

As a disclaimer, I'm not really certified, not yet at least, and hope never to become so. My sympathy is to all people who actually suffer from diseases that might actually make them have more than one personality, or personality problems, or whatever. I feel that I've been very blessed in this category, and hope to help anyway I can for those who may not be quite so blessed.

Black Cats

2008-07-20T20:54:00.000-07:00

People aren't the only ones with personalities. Well, maybe personalities, but not animalities. I admit that I heard something that made me think of that (horsality) so I cannot claim any sort of cleverness or creativity for saying it that way, but animals most definately have their own unique way of dealing with situations that make them oh so lovable some days and oh so ready to be beaten the next.

I have a pet. Her name (at least she used to be a female. The fact that I feel conflicted calling my pet an it proves that I'm a little bit trepeditious about the whole idea of surguries to make people into the gender of their preference that is different from the one they were born into, but that's a philosophical or religious discussion for another day. I have neither the time nor the patience to debate it now. Unless someone were to call me and tell me something provocative. At which point I would probably debate) (reminder, I just said Her name) is Tuxedo, or Tux for short. She's black, excepting on her belly and paws which are white. Hence the name.

Like all cats, in the dark Tux's eyes reflect any light in a rather creepy fashion. I get the chills everytime I see the narrow slits reflected in the light like golden slashes of fear, blazing through the night. Which is odd because normally when I see the eyes she's looking up at me, and the only time she actually looks in my eyes is when she wants me to pet her, ergo she is in a compassionate mood.

Anyone who knows my cat, though, will also know that she's a demon. I'm writing this blog for the sole purpose of describing a scene that is altogether too common. Or was. Tux has gotten older of late and is not nearly as psychopathic as she once was. That being said, let me describe the scene.

It's late. Dark out. Curtains drawn, all lights inside have been turned off. I find myself downstairs, the house still, silent except for the occasional sounds of an older house settling. Thirst tickles my throat, taunting me, tempting me out of bed, upstairs to find cool relief at the hands of a loving water tap.

In near delirium, I stumble from my bed and head upstairs. I get to the top, thinking of the long and nervous road before me. My mouth's already dry, but if it could it would be dryer, as my pulse quickens. Heart beating furiously in my chest, I listen. Listen to silence. With shallow breaths I take one step. . .two. I relax, all remains still. I take two more steps when suddenly a noise! The sound of little feet! But, there's nothing to be seen, nothing except a swift shadow. Oh no, not agai. . . AAAAAUUUUGH! Gaaaa, tux attacked my feet in the dark AGAIN! I'm bleeding! Oh, the pain!

So, it actually never hurt that bad, but it always did make my pulse go like none other. You can't see a black cat very well when there's no light, and hearing the noise of impending pain, even if it won't be that bad, is always frightening. If I ever have a heart attack, let Tux run at me when I'm not looking, and my heart will jolt back into submission.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Some Dead Guy

2008-07-18T11:03:00.001-07:00

I really don't have much to say for this blog. If considered with my other blogs, this is very odd.

I have, of late, been almost excessively committed in time and effort to the creation of art. I say art because there's enough of me in it, or enough of personality, that it can be considered such. There is enough creation of both the beautiful and the rough together that it becomes, by nature, a thing of art.

I have been involved in a play. I continue to be involved, actually, with the opening night being not too far off. Most everyone who reads this blog is already aware of this fact, but I figured that I would not be being fair to the other actors of the play, and that I would not be giving an accurate dipiction of either my life or my mind set (which seems to be set utterly on random. Does anyone know how to stop a random generator that's going on in one's brain?) unless I made mention of the play here.

It's a musical. About a dead guy. Or a mostly dead guy. Who wants to go on vacation. If dead guys can go on vacation. It's called Lucky Stiff.

I'm sure that if the authors of the show ever read how I just described it they would make sure that I was a very UNlucky stiff. It's a lot more complex than that, and turns more into a show about how to live by taking chances and doing new things, and has an odd twist at the end about how we should be forgiving and loving and, ahhh, isn't it so nice?

If you don't think it's going to be funny, I can tell you it most definately is. The script is hilarious, if not exactly how I would have done it. The acting has been spectacular and I'm excited to see the final product come together two nights before we open August 1st. Oh, how I love the last minutedness of community theater.

Showing at the Terrace Plaza Playhouse, it's sure to be a delight. So come. And say Hi to me when you do. Because then I'll feel validated. And I like feeling validated.

Pig Talk

2008-07-17T20:46:00.000-07:00

In my normal manner of starting in a way that is completely unrelated to anything else in the blog, I hereby state that I have been on an impromptu sabbatical. I understand that all great writers of any era have always needed a time when they get away from their work (which is understandable, most people switch careers at least five times in their life) and my current lack of greatness rating means that I'm entitled to even longer periods of rest. The world seems to think it's backwards, though, and gives much more licence to truly great writers for rest taking and sabbaticals, which makes no sense to me, because if they are so great you'd think their tolerance level would be much higher than one who was not so spectacular.

Anyway, I'm done now and plan to actually blog with more than a random effort, but concerted and controlled I will go forth and blog many a blog, type many an ill fonted letter, and generally make a fool out of myself.

I also take this opportunity to announce to one and all that my brother, Tolkien Boy, and I have started up a blog of poetry. Mostly because we both enjoy writing it, and the easiest way for it to share it with each other is through blog. If ever you should feel the desire to read some amateur poetry that is almost qualifying of the grand (but not quite great) rating, then feel free to peruse. The blog's title is Ebulliency. As of right now I don't actually know what that means, but I like it, and I'm sure it's something wonderful.

So, this week I began a new workout routine, benefitting from my friend's mother's interest in having a beach body. The workout, referred to as P90X is supposed to give you the body you want (within limits, of course) within 90 days. I do not know as of yet whether the program will give the results I'm looking for. That might be because I continue eating, and if anything am eating even more than before, and it might also be because the results I'm looking for are impossible. I want to look like the instructor, and heaven knows, as well as anyone who has met me, that I don't have black hair or dark eyes. Sigh, I will never be tall dark and handsome. However, having one and a half of two of those will suffice. (I'm only half tall. It's a little like being half naked only better).

And so I began this exercise program. I have seen things in a new light since then. New work, new vision, new life, new energy, and a new understanding of pigs. Yes, the swirling feeling that I get as I lay, hyperventilating, after each and every workout that I do (which is basically every day excepting Sundays) watching the ceiling reel to and fro like a drunken man (or woman, we're equal opportunity here), has brought on new revelations, as has my experience following these close to drugged experiences.

Basically, the soreness has not left me since Monday. It's beautiful, but it's death at the same time (beautiful death, sounds like an abstract poem or funny movie). Every time I move the muscles in some part or t'other of my body files for a divorce. You can imagine what my poor brain has been through, with all the legal issues of keeping my body together, and every once and awhile (which translates to every time I move) my brain has to stop worrying about somethings when I move.

For instance, the pride control gets short circuited. I no longer care much what I look like when I move. Mostly I just want to move in the least painful way possible. If that involves crawling on the floor till I get near enough to a couch to kind of slidle up into a sitting position and then get up on the couch, I'll do it. Even if I look like nothing more than an ambitious worm.

But that's not the worse. Oh no, the sound monitor shuts down as well, and all sorts of things start coming from my mouth. Near obscenities aren't all that uncommon, but by far the most frequent thing that comes from me that you will not hear when I'm not sore is pig speech. That's right, I've learned a new language. I can talk Pig. No no, not pig latin, I can talk pure Pig. Yes, I suddenly understand why it is that every time they move (and sometimes even when they don't) you here guttural grunts coming from some unpopular animals.

Oh well, I guess that one can only process so much. After all, looking and sounding like an idiot is not nearly as important as not being divorced of your right thigh. But let's face it, my new found language is not going to help me any with my dating tactics.

Ah, the Wind

2008-06-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

In my life there have been many experiences that have shaped the way I look at things. Experiences with family members have led to a deep appreciation of faith, of music, and of dice and card games. Friends have been influential in forming a love of acting, of playing sports, and of enjoying just sitting around learning more about people I don't live with.

Fear has played a vital role in my appreciation of wind.

I need to point out right now that I love the wind. On hot summer days, it cools the world as it playfully dances across fields and roads. It's usually soft and comforting fingers slide across me, like a beautiful woman massaging aching and burning muscles, relaxing all and causing a smile to slide across my face. Yes, I love the wind.

It hasn't always been so. I remember as a child my family loved hiking. We'd sweat and toil up the mountain side (how you can sweat up a mountain is beyond me), our hearts pounding, or at least mine always was, as we reached the top and rested, proud of the accomplishment and awestruck by the view. I can't understand why houses that are often described as being shanty and dirty can look so beautiful from the top of the mountain, but anyone who has been up there know that it truly is a breathtaking sight. Being the curious child that I was, I enjoyed seeing what over the edge of the mountain face looked like. Invariably, I would see the dizzying drop or steep incline below me, and begin to feel as if someone was trying to push me over. It was always the wind I attributed this to. The wind wanted to kill me.

I'm not sure exactly why I felt the wind had such malicious intentions. He (at that time the wind seemed a stern man, I've since learned that that is quite incorrect, the wind is most definitely a woman) was gentle enough in the valley, but on the mountain where so much depended on one step, he seemed brutal and unkind. The wind most definitely wanted to do me in.

I had this reinforced on a trip eastward for a family reunion. As is often the case in the Nebraska area, there was a tornado right when we were driving through. As we drove, you could see the Semi-trucks tipping back and forth, leaning in the wind, and it was frankly freaky. I was terrified, and my dad must have been concerned as well. We pulled off into a rest stop, where we watched the wind push garbage cans and later on vending machines around. It was like some big jedi was using the force in an attempt to make me hyperventilate, and it was close to accomplishing its goal. We were luckily only on the edge of the tornado zone, and it passed after about a half an hour or so, but after that my fear was set: the wind didn't like me.

For a very long time, so long that I don't care to admit to it, any breath of wind would make me tense up, ready for garbage cans to come rolling around and hit me, or roofs to break off and smash me, or just to be picked up and carried away, never to be seen again. This lasted a long time.

One day, though, I realised how silly it was to be afraid of the wind. So, on a particularly stormy night, I went out and had a conversation with the wind. I felt her pull me this way and that, I felt her scream past me in a gale, seeming to hurl obscenities and threats at me.

And then, in that storm, I understood the wind. It might be that it's just the changing of air that's trying to get from one very compressed and over heated area to somewhere not quite so warm, or it might be a plethora of scientific explanations, but I decided then that it was simply another one of God's creations, and that He was talking to me through it (or her, I prefer thinking of the wind as a woman now. Does that say something about me?).

Every time a cool wind blows, when trees sway back and forth in simple rhythm to the playing of the wind, I think of God's voice in my life, or I just relax and enjoy the sensation of receiving a free massage. Oddly enough, I relax more for those massages then ones that even the most gentle woman has ever given me.

Hug Me, Dang It!

2008-06-19T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'm not really used to using exclamation marks in the title, partly because my upbringing has led me to abhor all over uses of the exclamation mark. I still remember the correlation my dad drew up between the uses of exclamation marks and the speaking style of a stereotypical valley girl. Like, oh my gosh! This paragraph has so much pizazz!

Or something.

However, in this case, I felt that an exclamation mark might just give the effect I wanted to the title. Why's that? Because even though I have a tendency to hide any and all real passion as deep as I can, there it is. Hidden below many levels of alternating happiness and yellowness and quietness, there lurks a quiet friend. A friend who may be denominated as a Jekyll or a Hyde. Some days, he comes up to show a passion in what is good, a passion for what is most appropriate, a passion for the way things ought to be. It's kind of fun when he surfaces, though most people seem to find him a little unnerving.

Also hidden, though not quite as evil as the Hyde of story book making, a more basic type of passion lurks. It's a natural sort of thing, but I'm not really going to talk about him right now.

No, I'm going to talk about something amazing, that's linked to each and every one of our passions: our bodies. No, this is not a sixth grade movie or slide show about how amazing our bodies are, or even a presentation on general hygiene or the upkeep of failing organs (my eyes and hair, both very necessary to that part of me I refer to as self image, are weakening like a flute player running out of air), but rather the statement of something I've come to believe about my body in particular, and by extension, every other person's body as well.

Satan must be pretty darned ticked at us. If you believe in the story of the rejection of him and his followers as found in the King James version of the Bible, you'll know that he actually doesn't have a body. The more I think about it, the more I realize that we were all pretty smart not to go down that road. Because, spirits, as many people are wont to remind us, are not the most feeling of creatures.

What senses do physical bodies have? Sight, smell, touch, um, there's two or three more, I'm sure of it. Oh, yes, taste and hearing. Can you imagine never having had strawberry cheesecake? Oh, just the thought of eternities without cheesecake are enough to make me glad I went the right way. Even just a strawberry, fresh, with just enough zing in it to make you know your mouth is awake, but at the same time sweet and refreshing. Yeah, I'm glad I have taste.

Now, I'm not sure if these senses are something that are unique only to our physical frames. However, can you imagine what it would be like to go through an eternity without smell? The clean (but ironically dirty) smell of the good earth, just as the rain has fallen, the honest smell of saw dust from working on a garage or other projects that your father has put you up to do, the sumptuous smell of lasagna as you walk in the door, the sweet feeling of smelling home made cookies, the enchanting smell of a woman's perfume (if you're a guy. Girls, please don't be enchanted by other girl's perfume. You can like it, sure, but no enchantment.) and the list gets too long. It's awesome to have a body.

Oddly enough, touch seems to be something that our bodies just can't get enough of. As infants, our growth and development has been proven to be retarded if there is no one there to just hold us, to rock us back and forth and to physically touch us. As we grow up, we hold mom and dad's hands, giving hugs and kisses. More older still hormones take us on a wild ride of wanting to hold other girls' hands (or guys, you know what I mean you silly people) to kiss (at which point in this blog my face goes red, evidence of my own standing in this sector) and other things. Throughout life, one of the major ways of communication is a simple touch.

I've talked before how hugs can actually become a rather developed form of communicating. I should mention that one of the five love languages, according to that one guy who wrote the book "The Five Love Languages" is physical touch. Our souls, the conjuncture of body and spirit, cry out to enjoy the body that they've been given, to take advantage of the marvelous gift that we've received for having chosen to follow the Savior at the first. The spirit, something that seems to me to be less adept at giving hugs, sure does enjoy hugs.

And in my case, every so often the spirit demands them.

People need hugs. Go give them one. It's nice. It's even nicer when the person hugs back.

Poetry Soup

2008-06-08T09:38:00.000-07:00

Once again, it has come time for me to share a poem. And so, here it is, the unrefined (meaning roughest draft there could be) jumblings of my brain.

Poetry Soup

As slashes and swirls
Dance across the page,
They paint a picture with
Less than a thousand words.

An angry “The” got up
To clash with a defensive
“And” who sought nothing
But to bring two “The”s together.

Vowels and consonants
Raced each other in a whirl
And bumped a comma who
Was avoiding the period,
Not wanting to be a semicolon.

Every once and a while
A consonant and vowel
Crashed into others
And a conjunction was inevitable.

This crazy dance got faster
And faster as the words,
Punctuation and letters got more
Heated, passionate, and moving.

Till it seemed this literal soup
Would exceed its bowly limits,
And that is when this paper filter
Fell in the soup, then all that
Literary movement got stuck on a page.

Why

2008-06-08T09:36:00.000-07:00

“I’m a team player. No, I’m not a polygamist.”

This blog has absolutely nothing to do with the saying; I just thought it was funny, so I put it here with the intention of making someone smile. If you just smiled, whether at what is quoted here or at me actually taking the time to tell you that I put it there just to make you smile, (and if you happen to be one of those lovely ladies with whom a crush is forthcoming, then that was meant specifically for your smile, ‘cause it makes me go all gooey on the inside) then I have succeeded in my quest.

I think making people smile is a good sort of quest.

All of that is beside the point. As many of you know, and as those who don’t shortly will, I enjoy music. I have enjoyed music since the days of my youth, when we actually have home videos of my Dad getting out his guitar and playing some song from the primary. The primary, as you probably know, but for the sake of clarity and also to make myself feel good about my own capabilities of description, is a place in my church where little kids go to learn about God and all of the things he does for us. One of the most powerful tools of teaching, both for children or adults, has always been and will always be music.

I can’t say that I’ve always been the most inspiring when enjoying music. In the home video I mentioned before, it ended on the happy note of me deciding that it was “my turn” to sing, and when I didn’t get my way, I started crying. I’ve had great lungs since very young, it seems, because the crying was louder than anyone’s singing. Perhaps the best part of the whole thing was that, after I started crying, the camera went to my dad who then said “this happens all the time.”

Kudos to me. Anyway, I love music and always have. I have to thank my mom for that, for her love of music and for gathering all of us kids around the piano to sing songs, secular and sacred, that seemed to bind my family together, and throughout time those melodies have traveled the distances and times between my family members and have united us together in harmony. Oh, goodness that was sappy.

In my love for music I gravitate towards singing opportunities. One of which is a choir that sings with the institute of religion that I attend. We sing a large variety of songs throughout the fall and spring semesters, with plenty of opportunities for performance. I love this choir, so when a friend asked me to name a few good reasons why she should return to the choir next year, I was a little befuddled. Who wouldn’t want to return? I gave, as my reasons, the chance to get closer to God, and also the chance for social interaction.

It’s been about three weeks since that choir took a break for the summer semester, and I’ve had the chance to think about what I said, and what my reasons are for going back to the choir next year. In an effort to redeem my lack of eloquence before, I’m going to bear a little of my soul and explain why I’m going back to choir next year.

I was right about the social interaction, for one. I have a great system of friends now, because I was in choir. There are lots of sects that are Zionistic, one of the more famous of today is the FLDS ranch “Hoping for Zion” in Texas that has been in the news of late. Basically the idea of being one community, united in effort and ideal, is something that most people like. In a choir or band, this happens naturally; there’s one leader, one person that everyone follows to some extent, and the intent of everyone in the choir is to produce something that others find beautiful, that is pleasing to the senses, and that makes the singers/performers happy. You can’t go to the same class every day and have the same basic intent as sixty people without making friends. Perhaps that’s why religion is good at bringing people together as well.

Now, the reason number one that here appears second, that going to choir gives the chance to get closer to God, deserves a little more explanation than just that sentence. I am deeply religious, and so this point is particularly important to me. I’ll explain what this choir has done in this respect, specifically for me.

Service, getting out and following the example of instructions of a loving God as far as the treatment of others, is a marvelous way of coming to understand what an amazing and loving character God really is. When you come to know someone, and to serve them, you begin to see what God saw when He made that person, you feel love for them, and you begin to understand how important every last one of His creations are to Him, and how much care he puts into their lives. Music is one of the most comforting influences that I know. Singing in person, or hearing live music, is often much more powerful than listening to a recorded song. Singing then becomes a great service of comfort, and as you sing, you’re servicing not only those who hear, but yourself. My soul responds to that feeling more than many other things in this world, and it makes me happy.

In the midst of service, and especially when singing a more religious type of song, something else occurs that is worth noting. In Doctrine and Covenants, a modern book of revelation, the Lord says “My soul delights in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me.” Each song we sing, whether it be specifically worshipful or not, becomes a prayer of faith and devotion if sung in the right attitude (and as long as it’s not sung in a disrespectful attitude), and therefore every moment we spend singing is time spent worshipping God. I love to sing, and I love being closer to my Lord, so having both at the same time is better than having your cake and eating it too. In the choir I participate in, that means an hour every day of singing and worshipping. It’s only natural that one would get closer to the Lord because of that.

There is one more reason why I’m returning to choir. The scriptures speak of singing the song of redeeming love. I can’t say that I know exactly what that song is, but I can say that as I sing, I feel love for my God, and I feel His love for me, so it becomes a song of love, and a work of love to be there, singing.

There is something beautiful in music. If music be the food of love, sing on ‘till I am filled with joy.

Magic

2008-06-07T14:46:00.000-07:00

Magic. That’s what this new template reminded me of. Magic.

Magic has played an important role in my life. How ironic, something that doesn’t exist being so important to me, a being that I know exists, and as Descartes might tell me, I’m the only thing of which I’m sure exists, other than God, and yet something that is accepted by everyone, almost, over the age of twelve as being something completely not real is, for me, something that still plays an active role in my life. Even Harry Potter’s creator would admit that this world needs imagination and not magic, but I say that the world is full of magic, we just don’t realize it.

I’d like to invite you into a little portion of my brain. It’s beautiful there, this small portion. Imagine yourself on an average parking lot. Nothing really that spectacular about the lot, just a gentle downward slope to the north. The lot is adjacent to a beautiful old building made out of red brick. The lawn of the building is always kept green, except in early spring when it is airated and little children take turns believing the clots of dirt are first dog poo and then grenades, to be thrown at any and all enemies whenever you come in contact with them.

It’s a pleasant scene, but it’s not the place I remember as magical, the place that is still magical to me. Just north of the parking lot, there is a deep gulley, cut out by the constant eroding of a determined stream. With sides that are steep, the gulley is more like a small valley, creating it’s own atmosphere, it’s own feeling, so different from that of only a few feet up and to the south. One descends a mere ten feet to find all outside sounds have been cut off, and the only sound is the omnipresent bubbling of the stream about twenty feet below. The sides of the gulley are covered in lush undergrowth, and trees that appeared dwarfish from the parking lot suddenly become towering giants, seeming to hide tree-elves, those scheming tricksters who wait to play trick on the unwary travelers. If you listen closely, you might just hear a raccoon playing in the stream, or washing his food in preparation for the family supper. Thick foliage and trees effectively block houses from view, and it’s like stepping back in time, to when knights feared of demons and dragons, where elves walked freely and talked with men, and hobbits, though skittish, could be convinced to trust their noisy cousins.

I always thought I would find something unusual there. Wake up one day (after camping) to find a small dragon looking through my things, or perhaps that I should find that I had woken up in midst of a real forest, somewhere I could wander around forever, only to come out and find myself in a strange world, a strange place where anything was possible.

Each day I felt that way, I’d wake up in the same gulley. The morning there was always breathtaking. The stream combined with the steep sides made for chilly mornings, where the cold was trapped there, so waking up there was always a lot of dew around. For a few precious moments when the sun came up, high enough to be seen from the gulley floor, everything glittered, like a thousand diamond drops on each leaf. It was beautiful.

However, there is a dilemma: I still believe in the possibility of a lot of those things. I am not that odd in this belief. I find things like dragons, impressive animals and talking beasts to be a lot more believable than many of the fantasies regarding relationships that are thrown at me from modern entertainment. Perhaps this betrays a small amount of jadedness on my part, but so I see it. Magic, then, happens all the time, but in different ways.

And so, my friends, look! See the magic. There’s little things all the time that speak of beauty, of fairy dust falling, of potion dipped arrows, of greatness. Feel the magic. No, I don’t want you to go to Disneyland.

Regression

2008-05-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

It seems that when one wants especially to jot down all the jumbled up thoughts and observations that moment is precisely when those thoughts refuse to organize themselves into anything resembling coherency (which may or may not be a word, but for the present circumstances will be allowed past any and all detectors of falseness, seeing as this is, as you will see, nothing more than a schematic of my thoughts and often I think false things). Having said that, I say now, what a wonderful thing (which I have recently been told is a completely guy adjective, no pun intended for those who have seen "That Thing You Do.") it is to once again be joining the blogging world in trying to make sense out of the insanity that is my life inside my brain, which I assure you is much less organized than my bedroom, which my mother insists on referring to as the climatic chaos of an otherwise well developed habitat. Okay, maybe she doesn't say that on a regular basis, or at all for that matter, but it sounded fun in my head, so why not put it here?

This is, after all, an attempt on my part to get rid of a serious case of writer's block that I've had for almost a month now. Thoughts of how much I write about dating and relationships (which, coincidentally, take up a rather appalling amount of my thought time) and my complete lack of material, or the exact opposite of over abundance of writing material, have kept me in the dark as to what I should write about. Once again, in an allusion to the mad mad world that is my life, I told my mother that I feel the need to go on a date, but that I'm at a loss as to where to start. To which my mother wisely responded "well, you might try starting with calling someone and asking them out."

Word well spoken. Perhaps, I thought, those words would be a great motto for anything. It becomes a strange thought to do so when thinking "I really feel the need to go to heaven." I doubt that asking out heaven would really be the ticket, though a slight play on the words, and taking it more of in a symbolic sense than in an actual literal sense, might be exactly what one is needing.

The point of the rambling that has gotten me to this point is, of course, to say that the way I have chosen to get over my writer's block is to simply write. And write I am, (that is not correct but I don't care!), writing whatever random thoughts cross my mind! I'm hoping that what ends up recorded here will be both thought provoking and nonsensical, seeing as that is the type of writing that I find most enjoyable.

I think I'll start (or continue, as the case may more accurately be described) with an observation that came late last night, after I had finished being sick. See, I was sick for a long time, and spent, quite literally, the entire day in bed yesterday. In my delirium, though, I pondered over reactions that some girls had to a show, "The Holiday" I believe it was called, and comparing those reactions to other reactions from the feminine gender. I'd like to say right now, though, that the movie portrayed some pretty screwy philosophies. One of which was that physical displays of affection are cheap things that can be bartered about with reckless abandon and will not have any affect at all on what happens to the true love of people. I say true love because I mean the actual thing that joins two people together for more than just the duration of hormones. It's kind of weird, really, but different physical displays, hugs, kisses and, yes, the three letter 's' word that is so taboo in my culture (or at least in my head) that I will not actually write it here. Though, if movies are any indication I can spell it out, as long as I don't say it, and be a-okay! That's an odd thought, when you consider that I'm writing this.

Anyway, my point was about the reactions (I told you I would write this as it came to my mind! It's you're own fault if you didn't believe me). I've discovered a fool proof way to be attractive. Seriously! I've discovered something absolutely amazing. It seems that I was incorrect in my assessment of the character of Mr. Darcy, and why he's so attractive to otherwise logical women, as well as my overall assessment of the attractiveness of each and every one of Ms. Austen's male characters. What makes a man attractive (are you ready for this), are the three 'B's. British, Bounteous, and Beautiful. Yes, I thought of that while I was delirious, and yes, it made me laugh.

I realise that some people will disagree with me. They have obviously never been in a room predominated with females, all very vocal about their varying states of attraction toward male actors. Yes, indeed, after much thought, I have come to this fool proof conclusion. If you are British (the most important part of this being that you have a British accent, because it gives off the air that you know what you're talking about and you sound oh so sophisticated, which as Tolkien Boy, and English major, informs me, is actually a fact, that British accents make people sound more intelligent, even though they just may not be) which is unfortunately something that can only be given through birth but, in a pinch, just living in England until you have a believable accent will do, you're doing well. Now, if you're a rich British (that would be bounteous), then you're doing extremely well, and chances are you will be meeting someone important to you within the weekend.

All of these may be trumped, though, if you don't happen to be beautiful. I've found that small discrepancies on this account are forgivable, if you have the other two 'B's, but if you don't have one of the other two 'B's and are sadly lacking in this particular acronym, you're bound for trouble. Oh, the sad and sorry state that is life.

Actually, that brings up another thought. Are men thought cowards if they don't kiss a girl? Thanks to Disney and other related companies, the type of importance that is connected with a kiss ought to make the first kiss something of a ceremony, special and important. So, the question comes, when a guy is hesitant about kissing someone, does that make him a coward, or just wise to not go around sharing something that special with every girl he finds physically attractive? I've heard that emotional attraction can only grow with time, and that physical attraction is the only thing we have to go off right at first, and so I just have to wonder, if someone guards their lips, does that make them weak, or does it just mean that it's important to them?

Maybe it just means that they don't have very much experience kissing and so they put a whole lot of thought into the whole thing.

Probably.

I discovered something amazing. The reason that Nintendo games aren't really that satisfying is because you can't talk about them with your friends, really. I mean, if you talk with them about loads of yard work, and how beautiful your yard looks now, the things you've done, and about the sexy new tan you have (I'm borrowing someone else's words at this point, I'm sure) then you have something that other people will listen to. But if you start talking about "game high points" and "records," most people don't really find that all that interesting, and it's actually pretty hard to talk about.

Not that playing Nintendo is a bad thing. I love it, especially when I really don't want to think about anything at all. Then Nintendo is great, because I don't have to think. Maybe it's due to the fact that it's basically a computer that generates information based on a set amount of rules and those rules must be followed throughout the game and are relatively finite in number. That would mean that our impressive brains lock onto the "code" or set rules extremely quickly, and then they go on computer mode, where they basically produce what is required at the correct moment. Our minds become little more than computers. And computers don't think. Which means, at that moment, we don't think.

Look out, Plato, here I come.

Well, I think that about kills my writer's block. Or at least I hope so. I hope that you enjoyed my ramblings. They may not have been as rambling as I'd hoped, but, hey, nothing organizes like seeing the chaos written down.

Completely Random

2008-04-29T07:55:00.001-07:00

Amidst the strife that surrounds my life at this time of year, I've had a lot of really strange thoughts and seemingly random observations. For instance, I've noted that I dislike seeing beautiful women. That might be because my heart does a little flip and belly flop every time it happens, and that can be painful, and may lead to heartburn. The scientists are still debating as to the validity of that statement.

Finals is a great time to get frazled. Everyone expects it of you, and honestly, it's a natural thing that happens. I've actually discovered that taking tests and writing papers can be more enjoyable than some classes are. For example, my current political science class is of such a kind that I would probably be better off not going to class (which I will no more forever) and just reading the book and taking the tests. It's not really that much different from what I do anyway, seeing as the minute I sit down, open my lab top, and connect to the Internet my mind checks out anyway, and my professor could announce that the entire class would be receiving 'A's on the final as long as they were willing to go and talk to him before hand, and I would completely miss it.

I've had a lot of interesting experiences this semester with my laptop. One day in Spanish, the professor was explaining a rather potent piece of poetry when I guffawed out loud. You see, I was chatting with a humorous friend, and the joke she had said moments before was the type that made it hard for me to control the laughter. I was subjected to one of the most evil stares by the professor. Good thing she was a substitute and not my regular teacher.

I've also found out a lot about girls. I have been chastised a few times for contradicting myself here in this blog. Self contradiction seems to be a human normality, and I no longer feel bad about it. Philosophy may hold that contradiction means weakness, or even that when one contradicts one's self then it is a sign of lack of intelligence, but I've come to the conclusion that all imperfect beings are in a process of gaining further understanding, and so it becomes very common to contradict what one has said before, as greater knowledge becomes part of who we are.

I mention self contradiction because I've discovered that everyone, including myself, is confused. I mean it. There are a few basic truths that anyone can know, but past those building blocks of knowledge the grand majority of everyone is just as lost to what is really going on as I am. For example (this is part of what I've learned about girls. Hold your breath, here we go!), I understand that girls would like to be appreciated for their talents, their personality, their way of thinking, and the different things that describe them, and not (heaven forbid) for their divinely shaped bodies. If I'm wrong in saying that girls often express the desire to be cherished for their personalities and their amazing souls over physical appearance, you may correct me if you wish (but I probably won't believe you). Now, if you take that idea, and compare it to a statement I heard, "Dating really is a game. You have to talk to a guy two or three times before he'll even consider asking you out on a date," from the very lips of a pretty sensible girl that I know, you must concede the contradiction. If a guy is expected to ask a girl out before he even talks to her, what must he judge on? Looks, and looks alone.

I realize that this particular argument has many holes, but just to add to the feeling, another person I know stated that she was waiting for a missionary, and the specific thing that she listed as being important was that he is taller than she is. I understand that girls enjoy feeling protected and taken care of, and that this may lead to girls desiring someone they date to be larger than themselves, but the emphasis is still the same. it was a little disconcerting, really, though I was glad for a little glimpse into what someone thought.

I may have inflamed countless people by now. It's kind of fun, actually. You see, I'm just as confused as you are, and must therefore not be taken any more seriously than the most foolish, or any less seriously than the most wise.

Girls are not, by far, the only ones living a double life. Guys as well (and I should know, I'm one of them) frequently lament the fact that no one actually appreciates "them." You know, the part that they hide so that no one can see, the part that they make very sure will never see the day light, and then they complain that no one seems to understand them. Sound familiar? Well, let's just say I have a lot of personal experience with that one.

I really didn't mean this to be solely about oddities of the various genders (or perhaps just of people in general), but there it is. Perhaps, in the end of the day, we'll all realize that what we truly want is to feel appreciated for everything, for our minds, for our talents, for our bodies, and yes, even appreciated with our weaknesses and faults; and maybe, just maybe, when we realize that we already do that to others, or when we start doing it to others, we'll realise that it's already happening.

Windows

2008-04-20T21:26:00.000-07:00

This poem comes as the realization of a promise I made to a friend, Annie, a while ago. Here it is, a poem:

Windows

Windows with crystal clarity
Show worlds just beyond our feeling,
That with their vibrant colors
Our breath, our words they’re stealing.

Content, one may consider
A view through crystal of celestial blue,
Free of clouds of strife, the very sky
Reflected in paradise’s dew.

Though the scene may show
Either deep heaven or shallow cover,
The beauty holds the viewer still
In awe of the heavenly color.

Another opening may betray
A glimpse of deep blue-green ocean,
Where shining sun reflects in rays
And enchants like a wizard’s potion.

A window there is that gives a view
Of liquid earth, a deep brown foam
That speaks of life, and with its charm
Makes a heart feel at home.

And yet another view is had
Of golden fields that glow;
That fills one with bursting energy
And lifts when one is low.

Satin black can be seen
And commands the viewers eye
It holds it steady to be sure
It catches each glint passing by.

These and other sights
Have been my pleasure to see.
Each window shows true beauty
And a glimpse of eternity.

Threads

2008-04-20T19:40:00.001-07:00

Having something that reports to you about the viewing of your blog is an amazing thing. I have discovered that, shocking though it may sound, I have more people who visit my site on or directly after the day in which I post something new! Like flies drawn to a light, guys to a beautiful girl, or girls to a life-loving man, there is a dramatic increase in how many people actually look at my site after I post something. It behooves me to post more often, then. That being said, let us on with this blog.

College is a befuddling and interesting experience. Befuddling because it establishes a pattern, a set way of doing things, and then it puts kinks all over that pattern, like someone who crochets and intentionally puts a few weird angles or odd colors, just to give the feeling of chaos. Weaving in and out of every day's repetitive journey are strands of beauty that may be anywhere from blatantly obvious to divinely subtle, and are easy to miss if one doesn't pay attention. There may be a smile from a nearly unobserved but beautiful person. Perhaps, as one walks along a bird will sing a strain that resonates deep though it be but a simple tune. Every once and awhile, a thread reveals itself as being both long, beautiful, and masterfully woven into the very fabric of life, as a great creator puts on the touches to a tapestry of grace and wonder.

I'm normally not a particularly passionate person. There are few subjects that really create any sort of true emotion, the type that causes me to wish for better things (in the subject in particular) or that evoke the kind of actions that are normally accompanied by deep feeling. Among the few is this country in which (for the most of the people who read this) we live. The United States of America. Ever since I returned from Mexico, I've been so grateful to live here. This, my friends, is a land where opportunity is common commodity, and where anyone, with drive and ability, can become anything. I never felt that as strongly as when I had just recently returned to America. I do not know if this same opportunity exists everywhere, but I know it exists here. I love this country, and am grateful to have been put here.

Recently, there was a show done by the Ogden LDS institute entitled "This is a Great Country." I was blessed with the chance to be one of the hosts for that show. Normally I don't mention specific details about anything that I do, because I enjoy thinking that some of the people who read this have no idea who I am, but I will make an exception this time. I enjoy acting, and that really was the idea I had in mind when I auditioned for the part. Of course I was excited that I got the part, and have enjoyed it.

There is something that I didn't realise until the show was actually going on, though. Something beautiful. Patriotic shows are uncommon for the Ogden LDS institute. I understand that they only happen every decade or so. It is not very likely, then, that I should be part of a patriotic show, and less likely that I should be a host. As I thought about that, I realised that I had been placed in a particular place and time, just to bless me. There was a thread, going back to before I left on my mission, that had woven nearly unnoticed through a couple of years in my life. There truly is a master weaver, and I'm grateful for that particular thread in my life.

Perhaps most of the time I don't find threads that are that long or that graceful. However, I find threads that make my life beautiful.

Once Again

2008-04-15T20:54:00.000-07:00

I was recently shocked to discover that there are blogs of people that I actually know in real life that are dedicated completely to dating. I thought that I was the only one who was compulsive and obsessive enough to actually write as much as I do about dating and relationships and the general turmoil of my soul that results in these blogs that are often contradictory and rather incoherent. Indeed, shocked I was. As was Yoda. However, I was afterward told by a good friend that really, dating is an important element of the lives of people found in my circumstance (that is, single, not dating anyone seriously, and being told by society that we are all freaks and should have some good sense beat into us, even if it must be done with awkward moments and bad dating experiences). How I love our culture!

This blog is actually not about the adverse effects of society on my sanity. No, indeed, that argument is nearly impossible to truly take one side or the other, seeing as my sanity was already in question long before I ever entered the arena of "on the market." A coworker referred to a recently engaged person as "off the market," which was an accurate reflection of common opinion, though I admit I don't appreciate the feeling behind the words. Once again, I digress.

Have you ever noticed that during life we have love cycles? I wrote about them in "Provoking" which was not received with open arms, but the principle was still a true one. Jewelsp suggested that the dark parts of the cycle, the times when no one is appealing as a romantic interest, come at moments when one is hurt and recovering. It's easy to understand how a broken heart would have a hard time risking injury again. Those moments of complete romantic abstinence are only part of the cycle, though. I understand that some people have learned to avoid those ugly parts well, and get through them quickly. However, it is still part of a cycle, and one that is pretty violent in my life. In one day I can go through and entire cycle. Starting out where all and every attractive girl is a romantic interest, then where it settles on one particularly attractive person, the hopes (of that day, week, month, year) then begin to be formed, then either satisfied or crushed. If satisfied, there's a small circle back to the hopes part, and more hopes are built up and either satisfied or crushed. If the hopes of the person in the cycle are crushed, then it seems natural to move into a period of hurt.

This hurt takes many forms. To start off, most people seem to just feel hurt. They feel weak and incapable of reaching out to anyone (and most of the time feel the need to have someone reaching out to them). Then the defense mechanisms set in. Some people have the destructive sort of mechanism, either loathing of all around them or self loathing, where no one is good enough or they'll never be good enough. Frustration abounds, and yes, I have been in this stage before, and I'm very familiar with the easy transition from the ache to anger. Not a good way to go, really. There are other defense mechanisms, such as hiding pain and making yourself busier. You might try acting as if nothing is the matter, or one might even act more cheerful than before.

Eventually there is something that brings the sharp realization that you have a problem. Oh, by the way, I'm talking to myself here. If it just so happens that none of what I've said applies to you (it might just be likely), you may discount what I've said, because this is all to get ready for what this blog is really about, anyway. When the realization comes that you are hurt, and that you need healing, there's lots of places to seek it. There are plays that help you work through emotions that are portrayed on stage that are similar to the ones you have, there are scriptures and prayer for greater understanding, light, and compassion, there are a multitude of things that help us feel what we have to feel in order to begin healing.

Once healing begins, we make a slow climb to the top of the cycle, with little encouragements here and there, a smile, a friendly hello and hug, a random phone call or email. Whatever the way, we end up once again attracted to everyone (and attractive to lots of people, I might add), and in love not only with other people but also in love with life and ourselves.

Now, I wrote all of that so I could write the next part:

Love songs are a natural stimulant of this cycle. Seriously! Love songs encourage love in general, which helps us be interested in everyone. I say that loosely, of course. If everyone was interested in everyone the world would be as crazy as I am. Love songs also push towards singular attraction: that special feeling toward a special someone. Yes, love songs can be the catalyst to push a young man or woman to action.

This is usually where love songs get me in trouble. That might be because some songs are clearly written for some types of people. A song that features long blond hair has me forgetting all about the brunette beauties that I know. And don't even get me started about eye color. Plus, there are certain songs that just go with specific personalities. Argue with me if you will, but the truth is that some songs just match!

Is it bad that I'm convinced into love by a song?

Anyway, love songs also help us past the hopeful stage, either in the direction of satisfaction and enjoyment of being preferred and preferring another's company, or into the crushing of hopes. Do you think hopes give out a juice when they're crushed? I think it must be a pretty sour one.
Mostly, for me, love songs make me face the fact that I don't have the relationships that my overactive imagination would have me believe that I have. I sing or listen to the words and say "gosh, that's not my life." And then a tear falls. Oh, so sad.

Love songs can also help one feel the emotions needed for healing to begin, and even instill new hope. I love love songs.

My personal love cycle might be described a little like this:

"Feeling Good" -- "Come to Me, Bend to Me" -- "You Don't Know Me" -- "Alejate" -- "If I Can't Love Her" -- "She Was There" -- "Feeling Good."

That's about what my last cycle through love songs was. Even one song can go through almost all of the stages of this cycle. Fore example, "If I Can't Love Her" features hopes and aspirations, the darkness of despair, anger about hurt, and the defense mechanism of cutting one's self off from the world. It's an amazingly bitter song, but it helps to get a lot of emotion out when one sings it.

So, there it is, once again, a story about something to do with love. I wanted to write something different, I really did, but my life is distraught right now with all the tests and various activities that are going on. So, if you didn't enjoy this, I'm not sorry, because I liked writing it.

So there.

A Poem!

2008-04-07T07:07:00.001-07:00

Once again, all you yellow lovers (and yellow haters who happen to be reading this), it's time for another poem! There were a few interesting things that happened while I was writing this poem, so I hope you enjoy.

Footpath

I arose one day
To find myself surrounded
By trees, I was in a forest,
The song of birds sounded.

The trees were high
The canopy was thick;
Only allowing the occasional sight
Of sky, of clouds, of sun light.

Looking closer to my level
I saw thick foliage all around me
And though some small footpaths went from my spot
The way ahead I could not see.

“Perhaps I’m in a dream,”
I thought; the twilight of that shaded
Place made it seem surreal.
But no, there is no imagining that is that real.

I felt an urgency to move on
From that place of my stirring
Toward some real or imagined goal
That my spirit was luring.

One of the occasional rays of light
Illuminated a small game path
Barely perceived upon the forest ground
I began to follow it like a hound.

One step, two, the path seemed clear.
Then, abruptly,
It was gone.

I looked around, where should I go?
I could still feel that pulling
Something that called me on,
Though the twilight was lulling.

Another path
There! Off to my right
I started down with haste,
Grateful for the sight

The path was etched
By others who had passed
I followed with happiness
Moving quickly at last,

But as I went the trail thinned,
Lightened,
Then disappeared altogether;
Or so I thought.
Confused I paused;
What now?

All around me a wall of shrubs
Blocked all view of feasible ways;
To blaze a trail through the this thick hedge
Was as desirable as throwing myself from a ledge

There was one path that seemed
To go straight through the most thorn’d bush
But the path was so faint, I was unsure
And to a slightly less prickly way I was lured

And so I pushed through, where it seemed best
Through pressing plants and clinging vines
Until before me a blackberry plant formed a wall
Impassible, formidable, and tall.

And so I went back,
And went through the prickles
To follow the faint path;
A tree had fallen along that way
And made across the blackberries a highway.

And so I went on
Ever trying to find that place
That called and said “come find me.”
I’d follow a path
It would disappear
Each on in succession
Would take me ever more near

But each path in that forest
Would never go as far
As I would have liked.

The twilight in that grove slowly faded
As the unseen sun lied down to rest
And declare an end to that day’s work.
So, I made my night’s nest.

When I awoke again
I had returned to my bed
Where reality is what everyone says
And not what goes on in my head.

And so, my friend, I leave
You to wonder, if real or false
Was this twilit wood
Or even if as to being it should.

Two Questions

2008-04-04T09:06:00.000-07:00

"If you run your hand along the rail, watch for bird poop."

This blog is a little different than normal. Mostly because this time, instead of me telling you my thoughts, I would like to know yours. I have two political questions that are interesting me lately, and I would like to know all of your thoughts. And so I pose you these questions. Seeing as these questions are in affect yes or no, an explanation is of course desirable.

First: Do illegal immigrants have any sort of contract to obey the laws of the country in which they are residing?

Second: Is illegal immigration a capitalistic institution?

I have a few thoughts on these subjects (which I’m sure will be forthcoming). But I’m curious of your ideas. Let the debate begin.

Words

2008-04-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

"The truest friend does not doubt, but hope"

"In the game of life, choose the orange car."

"Pleasing everyone is impossible. Just worry about pleasing God and yourself."

"Getting is most of the fun. Having is only fun if it's a relationship."

"Smile. Almost always someone will think you're beautiful."

"You never know who likes you. Might as well act like everyone does."

"Judging is different than condemning."

"Making others smile is a lot more fun than trying to make yourself smile."

"Love is impossible to describe, impossible to mistake for long."

"To love one's self is the beginning of a life long romance."

"To laugh at one's self is the beginning of a life long comedy."

"God is love."

"Honesty before comfort."

"When playing the dating game, the first move is checking the hand."

"People change. Let them do it."

Words form one of the most powerful forces that we experience in this world. I can think of few things that move me to action as words do. Because words are humanities intent to communicate, to give understanding and meaning to what is seen as well as what is not seen, they are a powerful tool because they transport our emotions through the sometimes cold and lonely space between us. Like the sun shining through dark rain clouds, words illuminate our lives, they can do amazing things. So, here I'm sharing a few words that I like. Some are mine, some are quotes.

"Smiles have power."

"Saying sorry isn't hard if you actually are."

"It's just barely possible that you might be wrong."

"Happiness is the true objective of everyone. If you help others find it, you might just find it yourself."

"Thanks!"

Feel free to put your own phrases in. There's always something wonderful to hear.

Sorry

2008-04-01T07:51:00.000-07:00

Many times in my life there have been reasons to feel sad. Sad because of physical pain, sad because of being denied some privilege (that was especially present in my youth), sad because of rejection from those I thought my friends, lots of reasons why to be sad. The worst sort of sad is the sad because my own actions have been uncalled for, that they have caused pain in someone. This is a bad sort of sad.

I have been informed that I have reason to be sad, and I wanted to apologize, because I hope that it will help. An anonymous person stated that something that I said in my last blog was like a slap in the face to all my female friends. I’m sorry or in other words sad because of that. I really didn’t mean it as an insult, nor to say that I don’t appreciate girls in general, but rather that romantically I have been dormant in past experiences. Another comment was just as true, that often those moments are brought on by rejection, but the point here is that I am sorry if I hurt any of my friends.

I appreciate the patience that my friends show me. Women are the handiwork of divinity; I believe that with all my heart. I’ve always been glad for the touch of kindness and gentleness that they have provided in my life.

Mostly, I’m just sorry if I hurt you. I really didn’t mean to.

Provoking

2008-03-30T16:34:00.000-07:00

"If love is a game, why should I be worried about being a player?"

I understand that one word titles are a good way to go now a days, so I decided to not worry much about the title of this one, and leave it to one word. Does that make me lazy? I probably should not have started with the saying that I did, but it goes well with the title, don't you think? Do you agree with the phrase?

Today, like other Sundays, I was blessed to be in good company with many friends. I was in a choir function type thingy, with plenty of good times to go around for all. The very foundation or reason for choirs necessitates that there be an almost equal number of male and female counterparts, which means that I was blessed with an array of wonderful women. I'm not exactly sure why it is that the choir that I'm in should be blessed with girls who are not only talented but also beautiful, but such is the case. At times like these (as in, on a daily basis) I'm caused to reflect on the various emotions that go screaming through my heart at the speed an emoted electron. Do electrons have emotions? I guess that it's unimportant whether they do or not (I'm guessing most people think no), especially considering that for the current blog, I'm not really interested in electrons, but in the odd workings of my own sometime oversized sometime undersized heart. Yes.

There is a reason why I mentioned the lovely display that almost daily is mine to behold in choir because it gives me the perfect staging area for a thought that I'm going to express. Women and men are different in only a few things, I've heard (though more and more I've been able to note the differences in a much easier way), and those differences cause distinct actions or chemical reactions. It's never chemical actions, it's always chemical reactions (which might explain why certain circumstances have the affects that they do). I've decided that, at least for me, there is something about the chemicals in my body that greatly affect the way I act, especially when it comes to the opposite gender.

I'm enchanted by the women that surround me. Divinity's sense of beauty is nowhere displayed as plainly and evidently as in woman. Only a God could conceive of a creature whose eyes could make your heart stand on end, ready to jump out at any moment and collapse in a heap as an offering to beauty; whose smile is like a drop of sunlight that clears away all the darkness of the soul; who with a tender word can remove all fear and doubt. How could someone's hair evoke images of pureness and herald angels?

What can I say? I'm smitten.

So, here's the odd thing: at various times in my life I have honestly been able to see and appreciate the beauty of women, but at the same time been completely uninterested in knowing any of them any better than I already did. That's not the best way of putting it, let me try a different approach, that also does not really capture the emotion, but will help: I was uninterested in having any sort of deep relationship with any of them. Odd? Yes, I think so; one assumes that closeness is always longed for.

I was explaining this today during my time with the choir, and most people didn't really get the point. It might have been because I first termed this oddity "my periods of sexlessness" (basically, that I had no real sex because I had no real want for emotional attachment. It made sense in my mind, I promise) and later on (as a near suggestion from one of my male friends of the choir) "the male menstrual cycle." Provocative to say, I know, but really I was just trying to come up with a way that was easier for women to compare with. It didn't work. Mostly they (the women of the choir whom I told) were just shocked, and didn't really get the idea at all.

Have you ever got fed up with the members of the opposite gender? Even to the point of a near murder of any true interest in any of their party? I'm sure that both groups have fallen prey to this malicious intruder, and so I hope that the girls who will no doubtably read this will forgive me for saying that such has been the case with me. Not now, necessarily, but it has been the case that I lose interest in any sort of showing of interest at all in the opposite gender. I've ranted before about my particular misgivings about the whole system, so I won't subject any reader who hasn't abandoned me by now to those memories. But the fact remains that a seeming chemical reaction has been produced to kill all real killer instinct, in the relationshipal sense. For me this has lasted up to a year, so something tells me that it's not just a mood swing.

I probably have already devoted to much time to this particular subject, so I will leave it at this: be kind to the opposite gender if they're a little slow to pick up on things. Maybe, just maybe, their chemicals all got together and decided to reject the system altogether, and the person is just trying to work out this odd hormonal imbalance.

This is one of the worst blogs I've ever written. How embarrassing.

Oh, the tangled webs we weave.

A Rant

2008-03-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

This is the second blog I've written today, so please make sure to read both blogs, because both took very little time but were enjoyable to think up and write. So here it is: A Rant. This poem is actually titled "If"

If:

If, when I saw you,
I smiled and said hello;
Taking the time to call your name
To give you five minutes of fame.

If, when I saw you,
I said that it was nice
To see you one more time
So your jokes I could mime

If, when I saw you,
I asked you on a date
To go and do something fun
Perhaps to play out in the sun

If, when I saw you,
I was honest with my words
As I said that you were a good friend
The type that only God does send

Would you think that I loved you,
In any way more than just friends,
Because to you I’d always been true,
Like most everyone ought to be?

Would you pull me into a corner?
Would you ask if I cared?
Would you ask where we were going,
Even if you barely dared?

And what if I were to tell you
Even with my inner grief
That I do not make choices that fast
Then I’d heave a sigh of relief

I do not think I’ll be married
Anytime soon, you see
Every time I go on two dates or three
I must turn tail and flee

For it seems that my greatest sorrow
Can be summed up in this rhyme
When it comes to truly knowing me
Most girls haven’t the time.

This poem was inspired by thoughts that have been floating around in my head lately. It appears that there is an anomaly in Utah culture, or perhaps I should say Utah Mormon culture. I don’t think Mormon culture is a bad thing, per se, but there are extremes to be found left and right, and the one part of this culture that I wish to discuss this evening happens to be running around rampant for all parts of the state, and most especially (it seems) among the types of girls that I come in contact with. Maybe the guys too, maybe even I have this extremity as part of my psyche, but I hope not.

There is a “I’ll be getting married first/soon,” type mentality that is driving bonkers. I gave it this name, but basically it’s the idea that marriage must of a force come as the very first priority in any situation, and with any type of friend. I admit, shamefully, that at moments of weakness I have found myself a victim to this ideology. The idea that every relationship must be weighed by it’s potential to provide a soul mate. Too bad, really, that such should be the case. We cancel ourselves out of some really wonderful experiences by not allowing the moment to grow.

I’d like to share an example of closing off options. I don’t mean to say that this is always a bad thing, sometimes the options that are at hand feel awfully good (that’s so good it’s awful) so being closed is not a bad thing at all, and sometimes you wish the option had never been opened in the first place, in which case it’s usually okay to close it up. But, having said that, too often I (and I like to think I’m not the only one – it makes my silliness more bearable and less dagger like) fall prey to the “Okay, been on one date (or two, three, even up to five), now I know that person!” And then I think “well, I don’t know if I’m really a match for that person, on to the next one!” and I don’t even give it time to see what’s up. Sure I have a good time, but ask on a second (or third or fourth as the case may be)? Please, I already know them. I’ve been on one date, right? I had a serious conversation, right? I asked how many kids they wanted to have, what more could I need to know? (I’ve never actually asked that on a date, seems like it’d be a pretty creepy question to ask. Especially because mostly I’ve been on first dates)

I hope the point I’m getting across is slightly clear. My first point is that it takes more than a couple of dates to get to know someone. I say this as much for my benefit as for anyone. On a personal note, it’s really weird to deal with someone telling you that you’re not a match for them after two dates. I understand that this is not normal, but it makes me wonder if I’m really missing out on that much by not asking people on more second dates.

Another crazy thing that happens with this whole “Marriage First, Fun Later” mentality is that otherwise confident guys are driven into the paintwork, because they suddenly worry that just by asking a girl out she’ll think he’s smitten with her, that he loves her, and that just like the princes of fairy tales (and therefore Fake, Fake, FAKE!) he’ll swoop down and carry her off, and in three months they’ll be kneeling across an alter. I understand that girls are carried away in swoons of fantasy, and that this is all well and good, but please let the guy figure out how he feels before asking him to determine what sort of relationship you’re in. Most people that I know take some time to really understand how they feel, and one date is not enough time to really explore how much they like someone. Second dates are rarely enough time, as well. It may be asking a lot, but please, PLEASE! Forget the girl and get a life! Okay, I was joking, I actually wanted to talk to the girls. Don’t force guys into deciding what they feel before they really do. It takes patience, I’m sure, but let him figure the situation out. It’s better that way, anyway, because then you can see if you really like him.

Which leads me to my last complaint of the evening, or rant, or whatever you want to call it, which is directed only to girls, because at the moment I feel like ranting at your gender in particular. I hope that you have the sense to give yourself enough time to understand how you really feel about the situation before you close yourself off to anything. Someone told me that this is the time for correct decision making, and I whole heartedly agree. Take the time, and realize that going on dates does not always equal marriage, nor does it even always mean ‘set apartedness.’ Give yourself some room, give the guy room. Please, don’t try to force the speed of anything. If it’s supposed to be quick, it’ll happen quickly, I’m sure of that.

Coming from a guy who’s not afraid to admit it, if you don’t, you’re going to scare the willies out of the guy. Either that, or the guy won’t have the guts to say slow down (once again, to my shame I’ve been there), and the end won’t be very fun.

Did that make any sense at all? If not, I’m sorry, but it felt so good to write it, that I won’t be taking it back. So there.

To rant, to sing, perchance to dream.

Language Police

2008-03-24T06:59:00.000-07:00

The nice thing about this blog is that the only person who really has to feel bad if there is nothing here is me. Isn’t that nice, you can enjoy this nice, empty space that’s right here guilt free! It would be wonderful if all of life were that way, but it seems to be an acute irony that the moments that are unfilled we must feel some guilt attached to it. Not only do we have the pain of emptiness, but we feel bad about having that emptiness altogether. A double dose of pain. It’s an interesting state of affairs.

That last paragraph made no sense, and certainly had no relevance to the short blog that I intend to write this evening, being Sunday, but will most likely not be posted until tomorrow evening, Monday. So it is that I begin this entry, yet another example of why it’s not good to spend too much time thinking. Almost anything can be humorous if you think about it long enough, or analyze anything enough.

For example, have you ever considered what would happen if the reactions we have to certain situations were literal? I mean, if what we say when most we’re surprised were taken literally, it could account for hours upon hours of amusement. Let’s say one of you sneak up on me, and catch me in one of my less guarded moments, the moments when I happen not to be taking great care of what issues out of my mouth. There is a wide variety of things I might say, some more vulgar or provocative then others, but for the sake of the blog, let us consider that I say something that for me is borderline expletive.

“Holey Crap!” might be the term used in this case (I honestly hope it wouldn’t, I’ve been trying to exterminate all those sorts of phrases from my own usage of vocabulage, but once and awhile this one does escape me.)

Now, apart from the humor of seeing me frightened, this particular phrase can be interesting if taken literally. Stop for a moment and think. By uttering this phrase, what am I suggesting? Am I suggesting that the fright was so great as to ensure the excretion of excrements (can I say that?)? Am I exclaiming at a rather remarkable sight? What would move me so as to exclaim something that seems completely unnecessary and inappropriate for the situation? What kind of an image do those words evoke? Obviously they’re meant to create more an emotion than an image (if you wish, go ahead and ponder on what my exclamation would look like if it were an explanatory clause describing an image), but those words seem to me to evoke more of a feeling of mild disgust than that of fright. Perhaps, if I were more literate, I would say something more along the lines of “Oh my beating heart!” Perhaps I might say “my jumping soul!” Or, if I was really feeling ambitious, I could say something a little longer, like “My heart pounds as if to leave my chest, my blood runs hot through all my veins. Oh fear, I know your name.” Though, honestly, you’d probably look at me pretty strangely if that were my reaction to being frightened.

The same curiosity holds true when you think of the uses of different adjectives and adverbs. The most unusual are expletives and mock expletives. Have you ever tried to explain in a different language what “dang” means? Telling someone that the tool you are using is only a little bit better than on the highway to hell doesn’t have quite the same affect as you might wish. Because the literal translations lose a little bit of the feeling in the language jump, it becomes difficult to come up with a proper replacement. For instance, in Spanish there’s a word that’s really quite offensive, but the literal translation for it is “guy,” or “gal,” respectively. When I get really mad, all I have to do to keep myself honest is look at someone and say: “You are such a guy!” Whereupon they look at me with an odd look, and then put me in a straight jacket. It would be really offensive in Spanish, but because the actual word is so silly, it means nothing once you change it.

Now, if you think about the various expletives used in modern society, it’s a lot of fun to think of the literal meaning of some of our more vocabulary challenged friends. When a four letter word is used every other word, it can make for a really interesting image. Try it sometime.

I personally think there should be a language police. When someone says something that is completely out of place (such as my holey excrement statement) there should be someone there to blow a whistle. “Foul! Flagrant misuse of an adjective!” It might make my life more interesting, but at least I wouldn’t worry as much about our slow revolution to the cave man setting of emoting through grunts. We would probably be more volatile, though, considering our history with music, and our grunts might even take on new levels as we bang our heads up and down, and then onto something, and then we would be unconscious.

I think the idea of language referees would be especially fun in relationships. Communication is hard enough in this world of wild and crazy people, and it might just help us all be better if we settled into using words that actually exist and can be used in a proper way. “Foul, exaggeration!” “Five minutes time out for flagrant use of cliché!” You might even have some really interesting calls: “Five point deduction for incapacity to form a complete sentence!”

You would be surprised the misuse that our language receives. These things should be taken care of. So, next time you hear an exclamation, don’t just think of the feeling, think of the meaning of the words use, and please don’t copy everyone else in their sillitude.

“Foul! Word invention!”

Lovely Day

2008-03-16T15:51:00.000-07:00

There are at least three possible subjects for this blog, all of which would be equally interesting and entertaining, depending on what type of entertainment you seek. If you seek humor, I could speak of a gaping hole in my back (I am officially holey) which I would use as a parody on my own life, and how most of it is complete, with the few exceptions that are like open wounds. It would be funny, I assure you. Is it weird that my parents are more concerned about a flaming sore than I am? Or I could talk about spring break, adventures taken in surfing, dating, and nintendo playing. I admit the last took much more time that I anticipated or was healthy for me, and I am now penitent. Partly because of the massive amounts of homework that face me. I could write about the joy of childhood, and how I never really got past the age of eight or nine in my mind. My body is pretty big by now, but it's not a good match with my childlike brain. What can I say? Flying cubes fascinate me, and make me feel like a little kid in a toy store.

But, no, as fun as all of those might be, I've been very thoughtful lately. As is a common event with the deeper emotions of any soul, these things should not be understood by anyone unless that person is willing to understand them. Not be understood unless willing to understand? Does that sound silly to anyone else? Anyway, the point is that I like sharing what I'm feeling, but sometime I have to share them in such a way that in order to grasp the true meaning of what I'm saying you either have to know me or be willing to put a little effort into understanding my twisted brain.

The best way to say a lot while actually saying very little is through poetry. I like poetry, though judging by the comments left by people it would seem that, of the entries allready found in this blog, the poetry is the least popular. However, I'm not writing this for you, I'm writing it for me! So there! I'm going to post my poetry, and there's nothing you can do about it!

I guess you could stop reading. I've heard that literature unread is a dead thing, but it's living in me, so I'm not too worried. I hope you enjoy this poem.

My Own Road

The road behind is well worn.
Ages of men walking there
Have broken down all the thorns,
Giving the path signs of wear.

Since the beginning I’ve had
A map, a plan, a set way;
Through all the hard and the bad,
Friends who lead with what they say.

But here the marked path ends
Atop a small hill that brings to sight
A gorgeous surrounding, beauty all around,
Until the view is blocked by a massive mountain.

The way to go is up, this much I know.
There, where others have gone,
Taking roads that were all their own, unique;
And now I stand on the hill, deciding my own path.

To my left a valley small
Of a golden field that glows
With sweet grass that to me calls
To play, and my travels slow.

To the right a shaded dale,
With a pond of clearest blue;
Where sun twinkling cannot fail
To capture your gaze, it’s true.

Between the left and the right
Endless choices may be seen;
Some are beautiful to sight,
Others present country lean.

I may be standing here
For awhile, the way I want to take is unsure.
I’ll choose eventually what for me will shine
As the best, because you see;
The road I choose will only be mine.

Because I wrote this poem, I naturally like it. There were a couple of stanzas that suprised me with their imagery and how close they came to the reality of the situation, but, then again, you might not know what the reality is, and I don't want to make things too easy for you.

Ah, but life is lovely, isn't it?

Homework Sonnet

2008-03-06T20:34:00.000-08:00

It just so happens that in my Spanish class we are currently studying various works done by dead spanish poets. That being, said, one of the structures that most facinates me is that of the Spanish sonnet. I recently had a humorous conversation with a friend that made me want to write a poem about the subject discussed. So it is that I present the "Homework Sonnet." I confess that it did not work out the way that I was expecting, but you can be the judge of its comparable worth, or lack thereof.

Homework Sonnet

Today’s homework fell in love with a beautiful lady.
He laughed with happiness as he went along with her.
He left with what I’d written, and now I’m not sure
What I was thinking, he took my thoughts with acts shady.

Homework is happy to be with her, and I understand.
Anyone would be glad to be with someone so beautiful,
Smart, funny, loving, happy; a person so dutiful,
Who could fill someone’s life with just a brush of a hand.

My teachers say I should spend more time, more effort thinking
About my homework, so I their demands may satiate,
Saying all of this work a good life to me is linking.

Even though all should combine against me in this debate
My heart cannot yield to their cry, from this it is banned;
The truth is that more than despise it, my homework I hate.

Thank you.

I apologize for the lack of writing in the past days. You would be suprised the stress that is introduced into one's life by having three tests on nearly the same day.

Truth and Masks

2008-03-01T19:42:00.000-08:00

I have a continuation here! A continuation of a previous blog, titled "snighted." I finally have come to a conclusion as to one of the reasons I felt the way I did, and why I felt snitty and gritty. With a little bit of sauce thrown in on the side. Most likely those of you already familiar with this blog will have guessed the subject of my discontent, but let's wait a little bit before discuss that particular idea. I'm going to do something that, for the most part, I have not done in this blog. I want to explain something that the scriptures taught me.

I'm an avid believer in things that I can't see. I believe in lots of things, things that are true, things that are important, things that are trivial, things that are beautiful, things that are mediocre, and things that are just my own fantasy making me want to believe. Most of the time the things that I believe that don't make my life more wonderful come with a lurking suspicion that they aren't really true. I don't know if you can really say having an insurmountable doubt can be coherent with belief, but after all, if it's not true, then it's not really faith, is it?

One thing that I believe without having doubt is that the book called "The Book of Mormon" is an inspired work. It comes straight from God, and it's a divine thing. Most everyone who reads this blog probably already knows where I stand on the issue, but I rarely describe why. I believe in this book implicitly for a couple of reasons. If you wish to speak logically, I could talk about the amazing accuracy it has at keeping track of all the tiny details that most of the time go astray in contemporary writing. The little things like names, places, time frames. The Book of Mormon has about three different stories going on at nearly if not exactly the same time at different parts of the book, and keeping track of all those different details seems to me to be a pretty difficult task for anyone that didn't have divine help. I know I couldn't. The Book of Mormon is also historically accurate as far as science has determined. Logically, it would make sense that it's true then, it makes matters simpler on that face.

However, the true basis of my belief has a lot more to do with personal experience with the book. First off, every time that I read it, I get a happy feeling, a peaceful assurance that life really is good. I love happiness and feeling like things will work out, so anything that helps me to feel that is naturally attractive. That's true for just about everything, even girls. If they make me happy, I like them. Weird, I know. Digressions apart, no matter what I read in The Book of Mormon, it makes me happy, it makes me actually relax and feel at peace. That constant comfort is one reason that I know that the book is good. The second reason is that the Book of Mormon opens my mind. Before I explain this point, I just have to say the third reason that I know The Book of Mormon is true is that God told me so, through the Spirit. I know it's true.

The Book of Mormon opens my mind in ways that are hard to explain. It feels like most of the time that I wade through a mental bog, where nothing is really clear. When I pay attention to what I read in The Book of Mormon, though, the bog is gone and the world is like a clear morning right before the sun comes out, when everything is beautiful and new. Every day can be a wonderful renewal, and reading that book clears the congestion away from my head. It's my key to the door of understanding, and I'm not talking about just spiritual matters. I was blessed to learn something about relationships, and what girls want, and it came on the tail of a thought that I had while I was reading The Book of Mormon. That book is celestial.

I've taken the time to say because I needed to say it. I learned something today while I was reading. During a soliloquy by one of the prophets of The Book of Mormon, Nephi, it says "Do not slacken my strength because of mine adversities." Problems, or adversities, come in many varieties, and often mine are the mental type that I create on my own. I've noticed, though, that these problems are my excuse for being weak. When I have problems, I have the tendency to excuse my weakness because it's just a little harder. Things that normally I would do with a smile become dreary and hard, just because of something else that might be going on. Understanding that such a reaction is a common thing, even for a prophet, gives me courage to not do so in the future, and to try hard not to fall prey to that.

And now I come in a full circle to explain my snittiness, what has been on my mind and has become a subject of consideration. And yes, I'm afraid that it does come from my varied experiences in the dating or not dating scene.

People wear different masks, of that I'm completely aware, seeing as I do it myself. Maybe it would be easier if every time we changed our attitude we had a physical mask that we could put on to reflect that change. It would be pretty cool, because I would have some wicked masks. Maybe something simple sometimes, a plain wood deal. Perhaps other masks would be more exotic, with feathers, or buttons, or maybe musical instruments. Maybe some wouldn't have a mouth, or eyes, or one would cover ears (that one would be fun in some circumstances, though maybe not very nice). There would be the interested mask, the uninterested mask, and things would be very easy to discern.

What frustrates me is when there is a change of masks that makes no sense. I'm thinking of specific instances, so please don't assume I'm talking about you, unless I actually am talking about you. If you're a guy, rest assured that I'm not talking about you, but I think if you are a guy you will agree with me. Imagine this: you go on a date with a girl that you're kind of interested in, and you have an enjoyable time. You think that it's likely she had a good time as well, because all the signs are there. She was smiling as she said goodbye, she hugged you with both arms and for longer than half a second, she laughed during the date and actually talked, and everything seems to be good. Then after the date, you see her in a situation that's pretty common, say you have a class together. She acts like you're just any other guy. No one special at all. Perhaps that's the real indicator of whether or not someone is really interested in you, but it is frustrating to think during the date that maybe your interest is mirrored in the girl, only to find out that it's not at all. Sigh.

In defense of all the girls who have unwittingly fallen into the category of mask changer, I admit that when I go on dates my goal is to make the girl I'm with have as good a time as possible. That's just gentlemanly. I worry now that I've inadvertently given the impression that I like someone when I liked them as a friend and not as a romantic interest, but it's still frustrating to see masks change.

Thanks for reading the whole thing. The first part is most definately more real than the second

I'm Alive!

2008-02-26T07:40:00.000-08:00

There are a number of things that constantly remind me that I exist. I understand that the great philosopher Descartes would say that the fact that I can think well enough to present this blog is an example of my being. Inner beauty or putressence aside, though, there exists many outside experiences that for me are a constant reminder of my being alive. It's great to be reminded your alive, and it's even better if the experience is a pleasant one. For example, a really good hug can remind me how very alive I am. Dancing has the same sort of affect, and I admit that dancing is a more enjoyable reminder of my existence. If you see me being euphoric, most likely I've just danced with or been hugged by a beautiful girl. Does saying that make me shallow? I don't believe so, but you never know now a-days.

Temperature is a great reminder of being. I can imagine no other experience quite so exhilarating as early in the morning waking up, going to the bathroom, and having to come to grips about your life on a freezing toilet. There is nothing that will ensure your being sure of your own existence like an early morning meeting with a cold toilet seat. Trust me, I know. Actually, it has that affect no matter what time of the day. I always know that I'm living after those types of encounters.

Another signature of life is the feeling right after a particular challenging workout. That feeling where you can't do anything without every muscle in your body screaming in pain, wanting to commit suicide in a million different ways. Cremation being one of them. That feeling is exhilarating, and when I have it there is no philosophical doubt in my mind that my body really does exist. I know that I'm alive. It's comforting to know that.

What is it that makes you know that you're alive? There are other things that I've heard that I don't completely agree with. I heard once that a bleeding, broken heart is a good way of knowing that you're alive, but I'm not sure if I agree with that. The feeling of deadness (complete relaxation) in arms and legs right before you fall asleep lets me know that I'm alive, as does certain types of music.

I love life! I'm so glad that I know that I exist, and that I really am alive.

Snighted

2008-02-21T08:37:00.000-08:00

Is it possible to have a whole day make you angry? Is it really possible to be made angry? Doubtful, it is truly doubtful that anyone or anything can make you angry, anger being an emotional state and not a physical reaction. That being said, I was mad this last week. I had a very old fashioned perturbance, and I couldn't help but express it in both my facial and verbal expressions. I apologize to all who might have felt it's blunt.

I feel the need to explain, though. For me, getting into a snit (does anyone even use that phrase any more?) requires a chain of events to take place, because there are few issues that I feel strongly enough about that will incite any sort of dormant aggressive or agitated tendencies that I might have. The beauty of that is my personality is practically anti-drama. All dramatics that aren't of my own making bow before my commanding presence and ability to blow off almost anything. I hope the emotional tricksters aren't listening, I'm afraid they might just put me to the test. It truly does take a string of slightly unrelated occurrences for me to become truly agitated. To gloss over the first of the particular day that I have in mind, I was (and currently am) still getting over a slight disease that has the annoying quality of staying in both throat and nose, even though the rest of the body has long since healed. It's too bad, really, that the nose and throat should be the slowest of the all the appendages I deal with. After all, I use them a lot, and it's very evident to me when they are not running at one hundred percent. For the story's sake, that's point number one.

Point number two. I'm a nice guy. I admit it, though there is some bad feeling associated with the positive statement. Often the term 'nice guy' is used to refer to someone who is nothing more than a black hole filler, a person that is there and is a good friend, but not all that interesting romantically. In the day of my snit, I had a feeling that is not uncommon to me but is easily combated when my defense mechanisms are not compromised, that my entire existence might be termed as nothing more than the filler in people's gaps, and I as a person was not really valuable as much more to anyone. It was (and is) a selfish thought, the type that is created by an adversary only to make it so that all humor is sucked out of a situation, and normally I would shrug it off with a laugh, but this day I was all ready low, and it was like being punched while on the ground. Not a pleasant feeling, and a little harder to shake off. Especially because I felt like I was carrying around an aura of death, and should anyone enter my bubble, they would die. That's an interesting mental image to be sure (and I might have cackled evilly when I thought about the possibilities with some less favored friends of the day). Point two-I felt like I was useless.

Up till this point I was mostly just unhappy. Not really angry, as anger is a secondary emotion and I have a fear of commitment so I don't normally move to the next level. But no, every once and awhile I am spurred to action, and just like a horse will brake into a gallop if spurred correctly, I mentally broke (into a gallop-it was a beautiful experience, really. You should all mentally get onto a high horse sometime. It's liberating) when my coworker said something. While unable to recall the words completely (it took me a moment to realise what comment had upset me, and when I finally did my short term memory loss had already kicked in) I am still capable of recalling the gist of the words.

In a random thought, never try to use thin toilet paper when violently blowing your nose. It's a messy experience.

The idea of what my coworker said was basically this: I asked about the necessity of calling after a date (evidently this is done by normal people), and among the reply came this idea; girls KNOW (emphasis added because I tried to correct this word and was put down in my attempt) that if a guy doesn't call in the first week he's not interested. Because girls KNOW (yes, I did that on purpose again) that guys have short attention spans.

When I finally realised what that statement meant, I made myself upset by dwelling on the idea. In my twisted brain I made this interpretation: guys will lose interest in anyone or anything in the span of a week. Why should I find this so much of a bugger (the official word used when something it perturbing)? WHY? Oh, that's a pretty simple explanation. Basically, what you're saying is that guys are not faithful, nor are they true to their own feelings, and even they don't really have more than a physical interest. By throwing this idea out there, and that guys are so simple as to lose an attraction in the short space of a week, my coworker inadvertently awoke a silent bull. Silent because I wasn't physically exuberant in my frustrations until I was alone. I understand that others around me noted the unhappiness, but I doubt many people knew how upset I really was. Maybe I didn't even know.

I here must pause and ask the question, do girls really think that? It might explain my lack of ability in the love arena, but do they really think that guys lose interest that quickly? I think it would be a very damning trait of my sex if such were the case. Perhaps it most frustrated me because for me it isn't true. It's about the furthest thing from the truth, actually. I can form crushes in seconds, but the reversal is not such an easy prospect. Enough soul-bearing and baring. In an honest request for information, do girls really think so little of guys?

Following this mental outburst, I went to a meeting where once again I could not shake the feeling of un-importancy. Childish and foolish it may be, but it is still the truth of what I felt.

Then I came home to a piano that understands me, and who let me beat on it soundly until a rescue came in the form of vigilant friends. I will refrain from speaking of what happened then, because honesty is goodness as well as our my friends, and I'm afraid that any attempt on my part to explain my feelings during that evening would not be a correct representation of them or their kindness.

Whatever my feelings were, though, I was helped out of a trying circumstance. I remained with lingering doubts of importability (and no, I'm not talking about going to another country and seeing if the United States will import me) to just about anyone (including my friends) but I am grateful for them taking the time to notice my snit-i-tood and be kind enough to do something about it. Maybe I should reach out to someone in a snit a little more often, just to say thanks to those who've done it for me.

I have now officially been snighted.

Why I Look Like a Bum

2008-02-18T09:38:00.000-08:00

Blood-shot eyes, a three day beard, ill-fitting clothes, lying around doing nothing, scraggly hair, and the overall appearance of death.

No matter what any of you think, I’m not really a homeless person.

There’s a reason for my present state of unpresentableness. It’s not because I have succumbed to the now fading fashion of looking completely disgusting, but rather because I now have an excuse for it. Maybe every male character at one time or another just needs an excuse not to worry about shaving and making himself look handsomish. Of course, the same might be true for girls (most of the time I shun away from using the word ‘female.’ Apparently it makes people feel like I’m comparing them to cattle. Definitely not my intention.) The point is that this week I actually have had a good reason not to shave or care much for my appearance. Or at least an acceptable excuse, maybe I haven’t really had a good reason at all. However, none of you have seen me, and most likely by the time you do see me I will have resumed my reasonably tolerable level of attractiveness, so do not be dismayed.

A random thought just crossed my mind, and I must digress enough to share it. Handsome is an odd word. Where did it come from? It would seem almost a joining of two very common words: ‘hand’ and ‘some.’ I’m not sure that I like being described as a man who has some serious hand going on. Maybe the word really is quite risky, and we use it out of complete ignorance. Not that my supposition will change much. I just thought it was a random thought.

This actually brings up another random thought. Is the measure of how much someone loves you is if they still want to be around you when you stop taking care of your appearance? I would imagine that would be a great trial to go through, being used to see someone looking like a queen or like a king and then seeing them as a bum. Like me! Would you still love me?

Enough digressions and random statements. Now must come the reason for why I currently look like a bum. There are not many reasons that are considered adequate in our society for a goatee, let alone a full beard, and heaven forbid you should look like a mountain man. One could be just as sure to have as many comments about the sanctity of shaving as they would the importance of marriage. It’s kind of a silly society that places as much emphasis on the state of your facial hair as on your marital status. I love exaggeration.

Perhaps the one thing that is considered a slightly adequate excuse for facial hair and hobo appearance is that of illness. Yes, this past weekend has been a time of serious sickness. My personal symptoms were tiredness and vague annoyance at having my temperature taken ten times in one day. Apart from the humor of seeing my parents much more alarmed than I was about the high temperature of my disease, I also enjoyed (in my moments of clear thinking) the irony of instead of being stuck with cupid’s arrows on Valentine’s day, I was being attacked by a thermometer. It was at the time vaguely annoying, but after the laughs that are normal for when sickness starts doing odd things with your body functions (such as sight), I realized that it was quite humorous, and in the odd chance that out of the someones that I know, if any of them were to result in a more serious relationship, it would make an interesting story for later valentine days. Of course, maybe girls don’t find sickness stories as interesting as guys do. Maybe they find guys interesting, though, so I might have a chance.

It’s been an interesting weekend, though. My whole house-family (those still living at home) I’ve learned more about how each of my parents respond to sickness than I ever thought I’d know. For instance, my mom believes in getting better, and then as soon as is possible returning to the various tasks of motherhood. She was the one who nursed my father and I during the more intense parts of our flu tragedies, and still continues to nurse us as we go through the final stages of recovery. My mother is the most amazing nurse in the world, the most kind, hard working, and charitable one any infirm could wish for. My father is the undefeatable sort, not stopping unless the illness is of such a character that anyone else would lie on a couch, covered in blankets, only making himself known through groans and requests for aid. My father, however, is the sort as to keep moving and working (sometimes even on construction projects) until his body will simply not allow him to move. Then he spends his time studying.

People’s reaction to sickness is varied. Really, though, this has become a long blog just to explain the fact that I look horrible. It seems that rambling is my way of life. Well, if you didn’t enjoy it, it’s your own stinkin’ fault. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Though, that might be because I now have brain damage due to a prolonged fever. (Not seriously, please don’t ask) Maybe that’s why I’m having such random thoughts.

Six Months

2008-02-16T18:48:00.000-08:00

The bright sun reflected of the cool white snow, the rays warming the color and feeling of all they touched. “What a yellow beginning to the day,” breathed Major Bubbles, the frigid air freezing his breath before him. He felt the cold air burn his lungs as he inhaled deeply, treasuring the sensation of cleansing that always comes with cold weather. A last long intake of both scenery and atmosphere, and then he slid into his car, started it off, drove toward school. While on his way he passed a business that proudly displayed the sign “We hire class C-Workers!”

“What a tragedy,” he thought. “The economy is so bad that an honest business is driven to seek after the employ of sub-standard employees.” With this depressing thought plaguing him, he arrived at school.

The college campus was as always a mixing pot of experiences and exposures. As he passed a philosophy class he heard words floating out “we see, then, that the sin of smiling is much greater than that of stealing, or even frowning. It is bad philosophy to smile. . .” Major couldn’t help but partake in that particular sin as he contemplated how reflective those words were of his college experience. He wondered who, if anyone, would ever really thank those who dared to smile, and pondered on the prospect of writing a short report titled “A Salute to the Brave: A Salute to those who Smile.” Or maybe he would call it “Dare to be Different: Smile.”

As he meandered on towards his class, thoughts lost in awards won and prestige gained by amazing writing, he heard a voice coming from behind him.

“Major Bubbles! Don’t you walk away from me without saying hi!

It was Pelirojo, his red-headed and beautiful eyed friend. She had always seemed to him the depiction of a character of out of some Disney love story, the type that gets hopelessly lost only to find the man of her dreams. Such was her naivety and her optimism. After the usual exchanges of what’s ups and how you doings, Pelirojo asked

“How’s your botany class?”
“It’s great!” He replied. “We just learned about how if there weren’t any botanists, we would all starve in four days time.”
“Those geeks, they’re taking over the world.”
“Yeah, all they need is to form a geek attack. Maybe that would be better than having everything run by politicians.”
“Whatever, you know you love your politics.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Everything seems too cold and calculated in the political scene. Much like my love life.”
“Oh, you poor baby. Do you need a date?”
“I’ve never begged for one, but I’m about too.”

At which point Pelirojo laughed, and began walking down the hall to her class, chanting along the way “Major Bubbles needs a date! Major Bubbles needs a date!”

“What a weird woman” he thought, walking along the way to class. This thought fresh in his mind, Major Bubbles saw his friend, the Awkward Politic, coming toward him, a smile on his face.

“Politicians really are a different kind of geeks,” He thought, seeing the lopsided, endearing smile of his friend. “I still love them, though. Maybe if the geeks attack they form a counter attack of their own. It would be the geek attack II, like some sort of horror movie.”

“Ugh, I’m so tired!” said the Awkward Politic, mirroring in words what the picture of his face said. “I’ve been exposed to so many dating eccentricities lately that I just don’t know what to do. Between keeping one relationship light and friendly and trying to make another into a more serious engagement,” (he winked on that word) “I’m exhausted!”
“I wish I could sympathize.”
“Oh, don’t give me any of that. I know you’ve been dappling in your own yellow love.”
“Red is probably a better word to describe my relationships. They all have big warning signs. That or open, bleeding wounds.”
“Give me a break, Major. Your heart gets plenty of nutrition.”
“True, but even yellows need some serious flirting every now and again.”

Excusing himself, the Awkward Politic raced off to class, and left Major Bubbles to meander into his philosophy class. A few moments later, the professor cleared his throat, a clear message that class was about to begin.

“Today we will be discussing the morality of subliminal messages.” He said, starting his slide presentation. What then followed was an interesting discussion which was unfortunately lost on Major Bubbles, who found himself engaged sending his own messages across time and space to WM-Star, who was in dire straights for amusement.

“I’m so bored today, no one’s in my office,” the message displayed itself across the screen of Major’s laptop.
“You could try entertaining yourself. Maybe you should do a one man play.”
“Okay, that was random.”
“Sure was! What’s up with your schedule today?”
“I’m going to water aerobics later.”
“Isn’t that only for old people?”
“Like you could do it.”
“You’re probably right, I couldn’t do it.”
“What are you going to do tonight?”
“Uum and I are going to Salt Lake.”
“Whatever, you never go anywhere.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll show you, WM-Star.”
“I was joking!”
"Thanks for saying so. I’d better go. My teacher is saying something about how subliminal messages cause insanity. It sounds like something that I’d better learn.”
“Okay.”

Major stopped messaging just in time to hear the professor say “and that will be the question asked on this week’s quiz. Make sure that you each of you include ‘a question answered’ in the preamble of your report.”

“I sure hope that Fwidipan was listening” thought Major, trying to catch his friend’s eye near the front row. Fwidipan was always engaged in the moment, and didn’t mind sharing with her more rambling friend the moments he missed while wandering through the vacant spaces in his brain. She was the intelligent type, quick to notice and to help. She smiled as Major approached her.

“That professor, he always talks to fast,” said Major, “I didn’t even catch the question that’s going to be asked on the quiz.”
“Were you off wandering the vacuii of your mind again?” Fwidipan said sarcastically.
“Well, you know me and my amor vacuii. I can’t stand having my mind in one place, at any time.”
“One of your more admirable traits, I’m sure.”
“It’s not my fault that my mind works faster than the professor teaches.”
Bantering back and forth, they headed toward the institute building. As was usual for that time of year, banners were hung everywhere, announcing an upcoming Christmas dance, second only to Valentine’s dance as the most awkward date in history.

“’Christmas Power’ is the theme this year? The people in charge of planning these things seriously need to work on their one liners” said Major.
“Well, why don’t you come up with one in your Christmas blog?” Fwidipan sensibly suggested. “That’d be best, and then we wouldn’t have to listen to you complain.”
“Ouch. Maybe I could say something like ‘Christmas: a true black hole filler. It fills the emptiness of your heart.’”
“Oh, shut up.”

On that pleasant note the two parted ways, Fwidipan off to one class and Major to another. As he walked down the stairs of the institute, he couldn’t help but overhear the conversation of those headed to class on the other side of the street, the secular one. “The institute building is weird,” he thought. “Where else can you hear about soul suckers and Ford trucks all at the same time?”

Having descended the steps and entered his class, Major Bubbles heard his instructor talking about the various improvements that had been added to each classroom, including new projectors and screens. “Ah, newness” breathed the instructor, happy with the new toys that littered his room. The class, rowdy at the prospect of the upcoming dance, settled down to enjoy a session of spiritual delights. “Now we all know that a dance is coming up,” said the institute instructor in the usual obvious manner of all such teachers. “Just remember: dating can decide your divine potential.”

“That’s a horrible social alliteration,” said Musical G furtively to Major. “I would never use that, ever, not even in a rhymet.”
“What’s a rhymet?” asked Major.
“I’m not really sure.” Replied Musical.. It’s somewhere between a rhyme and a little girl.”
“A little girl?”
“Hence the ‘et.’”
“You are so strange.”
“What can I say? I’m a jigsaw puzzle.”

Wondering at how Musical’s last statement had anything to do with what was said before, Major turned his attention once again to his institute teacher, who was discussing the ills of smoking. “You all know it’s bad.” He said. “It’s like walking through perfumed pockets of the plague, and it will kill you. There is definite death involved.”

“What a macabre teacher,” thought Major as he left the class. “Maybe he’s just trying to get attention. Maybe he’s screaming in silence for some attention.” Being drawn up in these thoughts, and what should be done about them (do you report a need of attention to an institute instructor’s superiors?), Major didn’t notice his brother Basserpurcusionist until he was almost on top of him.

“Major!” shouted his brother as loud as he could, laughing within himself to see Major jump.
“Basserpurcusionist!” shouted Major back.
“How are you? Do you have any plans for the weekend yet?”
“You mean the dance? No, it’s going to be just another Saturday night for me.”
“Well, I’m going to start a blogathon,” said basserpurcusionist.
“You have fun with that.”
“Oh, I will. I think I’ll title the first one ‘And He’s Off!’”
“How very original.”
“Oh, be quiet you. Just because you don’t have any plans doesn’t mean that you should be bitter towards those of us that do.”
“I’m sure your date with the computer will be very rewarding.”
“Mleh on you and your family!”
“You are my family.”
“Good point. Mleh on you and your posterity!”

Chuckling to himself, Major bid his brother adieu and set off towards his car. “This world has too many slighting influences” he thought as he saw a young girl and a young guy kissing. “There seems to be a frantic dash on the part of just about everyone to conform to the normal, to the picture of what’s wanted.” The couple then separated their faces, and the guy gave the girl one white rose. That one rose was enough to result in yet another kiss.

“Now there’s an example of flower power,” thought Major. “If I were that guy I’d buy a dozen roses and give them one at a time, just to see how long I could draw out the experience.” Smiling at his private joke, Major got into his car and drove home.

At home, Major did the first thing any red-blooded American of this generation would do when he finds himself in an empty house. He turned on the computer and got on the internet to see who else was on. His elder brother Tolkien Boy was connected, and so they struck up a silent long distance conversation.

“How are you?” Major Bubbles messaged
“Pretty good. And you?”
“Oh, can’t complain. What are you up to?”
“Nothing much, I was just reading a book called ‘The Hugging Art.’” said Tolkien Boy
“Looking for suggestions?”
“Eh, who needs them?”
“Your mom needs them” said Major, in the customary brotherly bonding manner.
“Your mom is my mom,” Tolkien Boy retorted.
“It doesn’t work if you take it literal like that.”
“Oh, well then. I heard you had a late night last night.”
“I did indeed.”
“What were you up to?”
“Nothing much,” said Major. “I did lots of little things, wasting away my time on the computer. I saw a teaser for the new video ‘The Yellow Factor.’”
“Really? What did you think?”
“Only one word: Fan-fricking-tabulous”
“You only thought one word? That’s kind of depressing.”
“Quiet you. Hey, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”
“;) Bye!”

Signing off the internet, Major Bubbles wandered over to the kitchen table on which was laying the daily newspaper. Across the paper’s front page was boldly printed “Voting: Democracy or Bureaucracy?”

“The quality of the news nowadays is pretty sad” thought Major. “They’re worse than basserpercusionist’s blogging woes.” Thinking on his brother’s amazing writing talents, Major then returned to his computer to look at the latest edition of his brother’s compositions. “Two Apologies: Two Blogs” ran the title. As Major was reading this blog, the phone rang.

“Bubbles residence.”
“Hi. Is Basserpurcutionist in?”
“I’m sorry, he’s still at school.”
“Oh, well, when he gets in, could you tell him that Annie called?”
“Oh, Annie! I didn’t recognize your voice. This is Major. What are you up to?”
“Not much, just trying to get a hold of your brother.”
“Looking for a little flirtaunting?”
“You always think things that aren’t true. I need to get an assignment from him.”
“Oh, so he’s your boss now.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s for a music class.”
“I see. Well, I’ll let him know you called.”
“Thanks Major. Bye!”
“Bye, Annie.”

After he hung up the phone, the bubbling up in his stomach along with some very unique noises alerted Major to the fact that he was in need of nourishment. As he went to the fridge in search of food, he noticed a little magnet, hung so carelessly there, that said “I’ll never see a poem as lovely as a tree.” While pulling out a frigid container of orange juice, Major thought “I wonder if poem writing is like singing in silence?” Pouring a glass of juice, he took a long, cool drink.

Major Bubbles heaved a sigh and leaned back from his computer, glad that after three days he had finally finished his anniversary blog.

“Do you have any closing remarks?” asked Tolkien Boy.
“Only this: never write a blog while under the influence of the flu."

Closing Remarks

2008-02-10T15:10:00.000-08:00

And so it is that another chapter of Yellow Lives draws to a close.

Today is the final day of the two week blogathon. Thanks to all of you who participated, and I hoped that you enjoyed writing as much as I enjoyed reading. Though this be a short blog, I promised that I would state the reason as to why I announced a blogathon in the first place.

Simply put, there is an anniversary on the horizon. I wished to find a significant way to celebrate that anniversary, and also to provide self satisfaction and pleasure to myself and maybe to others. That's right, I was selfish. But, I wanted to celebrate.

Because Valentines Day is Yellow Lives six month anniversary!

Yay to all who participated! You have celebrated in the freedom of speech and writing! Remember that there is such freedom, though it comes at a cost. I'd like to thank all of those who have participated (Thanks Annie and Janel), and wish you all a happy blog day!

Singing In Silence

2008-02-09T20:32:00.001-08:00

I needed to make up for the blogday that I missed. So it is that I present to you my parady on my own writing.

Sh. Be quiet and listen
What is that?
A softer than sound soliloquy,
coming in sweet harmony.

Be still a moment and hear;
the mountains are ringing
with laughter, they welcome the day
through nothing they actually say.

In silence the world sings today;
the colors shout cool melody,
the blues are soothing harmony
that create lasting memory.

The soft glow of a loving place
Where friends and lovers meet
a gentle lullaby it croons
and leaving will always be too soon.

The faintest brush of divine paint
and a herald trumpet sounds
to accompany the voices clear
that are so silently near.

Even within, a quiet whisper
a strain so soft and sweet
swells in silent reverie
a soothing balm in its beat.

Shh. Stand still and listen
The silence is singing tonight.

Flirtaunting

2008-02-09T17:45:00.000-08:00

Today The Padres splurged and took my brother and his wife and me to Texas Road House. The food was excellent, and I was very satisfied with just about everything. There was only one thing I was a little disappointed with: my waiter was a guy.

When you have a girl waitress (at least, in my case) there is a perfect non-committal flirting situation. Sometimes flirting can have adverse affects, such as someone believing that you feel differently than you really do, or even the person flirting believing they feel more than they really do. Flirting is a strange beast, an irregular but regularly practiced art. It comes in many shapes and forms, and can manifest itself in some of the oddest situations. Restaurants are the best place for non-committal flirtation because you can be pretty sure that nothing will come of it. Plus, flirting seems to be part of the job description for waiters and waitresses (which is about the only reason I can think of to work in a restaurant), and normally has the affect of acquiring a larger tip for the waiter person.

Flirting really is pretty strange. When kids are small, anything from a snowball in the face or a tug on hair can be flirting. When we get older, it would seem that there isn't much change, really. Guys make fun of the girls they like. They make fun of other people as well, but invariably there is some sort of teasing that must go on to ensure that flirtation is successful. That might be because teasing is something that only occurs when the participants feel comfortable with each other. I couldn't consider myself truly someone's friend until I had made fun of them at least twice. It's a screwy world that we live in

There's touching flirting. I've already written about the shoulder tap, and that is just one exhibit of flirting by touching. There is the hand holding (a subject which becomes increasingly confused in my head. Just how many girls' hands are you allowed to hold at the same time? I don't mean simultaneously, but you get my drift), the hand on the bicep, there's the carrying of the girl in true princess style, there is the gentle touch on the cheek, a soft removal of a hair, there's even kissing (gasp!). There's lots of ways to flirt with someone by touching them. I understand that these methods are more important to girls than to guys, but I cannot be sure about that. It might make a good book, though; "Flirting Techniques Best Suited for Each Sex." I would write it myself and make lots of money, but the truth is that I'm just as lost as any other guy in that aspect.

There's word flirting. Normally this type is broken up into two groups. There is the teasing type that has already been talked of, and then there is the group of compliments. Some compliments are designed to be non flirtatious, such as calling a girl lovely. Actually, any compliment can become a flirtation if said in the correct way, time, and to the right type of person. Mainly, someone that you find attractive. I really enjoy this type of flirtation, because you can get really creative with how you compliment someone. As a warning, I would suggest being careful with how you use this particular type of flirting. It's like supercalifradulitiousexpealidocious; it might just change your life, or back you into a corner you weren't expecting. It can happen. Or so they've told me. Complimenting people feels good, though. Go ahead, try it. I'm doing it.

My personal favorite is singing. It's hard to find the right time for singing, because this type of flirting is so seldom used and such a powerful medium that you have to be careful when you use it. Mostly because the outcome is going to be one of three: the person being serenaded will enjoy it immensely (that makes singing a wonderful flirting technique), the person won't notice or won't care (the balm of the singer's life and my most common outcome. This happens a lot, especially if you don't let them know that you're singing specifically to them), or the person will become uncomfortable. Anyway it turns out, singing is an awful lot of fun to flirt along with, especially if you're pretty sure that she already likes you, because there are sure to be lots of compliments that follow. My head still hasn't deflated from the compliments that I received after a horrible performance for someone I liked once. Go on, sing to your woman (or man), it's so beautiful!

Whatever your flirting technique, you can take refuge in the fact that flirting is not bad. This is something that I have to grapple with every once and awhile, because my personal beliefs about what is proper for a gentleman were for a long time the strictest and most ridiculous. I remember when I would flat out refuse to hold a girl's hand, even though we'd gone on a couple of dates and both liked each other quite a bit. If I reveal any more than that, I'm afraid that you will all mock me, and though some of it might me flirtaunting, it's hard to distinguish that over the internet, and even my ego can take only so much. I have recently been shown, though, that thinking that flirting is a bad thing is a flawed idea.

Flirting has many merits. I have no doubt that if I had had a waitress instead of a waiter, and if I had been of a flirtatious mood tonight, I would've received my dinner in a more prompt and serviceable manner. Not to say they weren't so at the Texas Roadhouse, just that they may have been faster. I had one friend who quite unwittingly ended up with three hot chocolates for the price of one, just because our waiter thought she was pretty. People well practiced in the art of flirting have more dates, more girls/guys interested in them (and therefore more choice), and obviously more flirting. Is it right to be so? Well, I guess that's a personal decision, but I'm changing my mind about it. So if I flirt with you, don't be alarmed, I'm just trying out my new philosophy.

Disclaimer: this blog was written under the influence of love songs.

Two Apologies: Two Blogs

2008-02-08T21:19:00.000-08:00

Tonight my apology is two fold. The first must be that of a failing to write yesterday. When I returned home from various tasks, such as an evening class of Media Writing and safely conducting my father from a point a to a point b, I found that time had not only swiftly brought in its wings tiredness, but also lateness. The two combined, in addition to the nauseating pace at which my computer downloads all of its starting information, made writing a complete unhappiness. There is no sense in writing if it makes you unhappy, and I’m afraid that I failed you all.

Sigh.

The second is an apology to both Tolkien Boy and Annie. Both have repeatedly stated a certain type of encouragement, one that if followed would no doubt improve the over all quality of my life. That encouragement has been ignored on my part, or at very least not followed. Can you honestly say that something that is consuming in its presence is ignored if it is not carried into action? Hundreds of plans made and hundreds of situations played out and rehearsed, none of them actually coming to the light. When all the things that are in darkness are revealed, the time required to list off all the things in my life will take a dramatic increase after I reached about the age of ten when I made for myself a crippling self-awareness. Self awareness is a good thing, but it makes me play out how I would react to each and every situation. Or is that paranoia?

Either way, I plan to make up for both failures in two blogs.

Make up the first: Have any of you heard any good jokes lately? I’ve recently been very interested in finding new jokes that will bring laughter to anyone. I had the chance to act as a host for a skit night of the young single adults around here, and it was a good time, with lots of good and not so good jokes. I personally enjoyed finding all the different jokes that I could use, and saying them was almost as fun. For example, there was a joke that I heard from someone at the skit party:

My eight year old kid has a wonderful primary teacher. One day they were talking about faith, and the teacher was using China as an example. “How many of you have been to China?” she asked. Of course no one raised their hand. “So how do you know it exists?” One bright little kid said “because on the back of my toys it says ‘made in china’”

There were other ones, like the ten signs that it’s time to turn off the computer. One of them was you get up to use the bathroom at three in the morning and you check your e-mail on the way. Or, even better, after finding your e-mail box empty, you check it again, just to see if you got an email while checking.

There were lots of good jokes, and I’ll be sure to post some in a future blog. I’m sorry that that’s so short, but what can you do? That’s my life. Short.

Everyone did comment on how good I look in a Tux, though. . .

The second apology is a little more difficult to explain, and I wish to make an excuse in the way of a question. My question is one that has been perplexing me for some time and being a reflection of the situation is complex and puzzling. I don’t want to give wrong impressions to anyone, and I’m sorry that this is a departure from yellow culture, but I’m tired and I don’t write very yellow when I’m tired. It doesn’t help that I’ve developed the habit of clenching my teeth, either.

But here’s my question: Tolkien Boy and Annie both have told me that if I like someone (I leave it in the unsure if phrase on purpose-the situation is more confusing than I normally say), I should go ahead and tell that person. My question is this: At what point do you leave good sense in telling someone that you like them? One would think that there is an uncrossable line in both gentlemanly manner and logical thinking when someone should definitely not tell someone that they like them, and the opposite is also true, that at moments gentlemanly conduct calls for some declaration of appreciation. Where is the line? The different occurences and conversations leading up to the advice on the part of my brother and friend have obscured the clarity of the decision, and I am confused.

If you’re pretty sure the person has no interest at all in you, do you still tell them? If you think there’s a slight possibility that they like you, do you lead them on and then tell them you like them? If you know they think you’re great, I’m pretty sure you should tell the person that you like them, but if you’re not sure, what’s the best course of action?

What if you think that you make the person feel uncomfortable? What then? I can’t imagine that declaring some undying affection would make the matters any better (Mr. Collins has proved that quite efficiently) though it might bring a swift end to something that might otherwise be painful for a long time.

Though it’s not showing my strengths, and I hate it when this happens, I have no true inclination about what is right. I can tell you that at times my mind is called up to serious reflection and I wonder about what to do. At other times the matter is trivial, the food for thought when I am alone and tired.

If you think it’s confusing to read this blog, you should see the inside of my mind. It’s pink. It’s beautiful in there. Or so I’ve been told.

And, to end this blog with a goodnight, I’d like to quote a famous line:

Oh, what fools these mortals be.

Blogging Woes

2008-02-06T20:54:00.000-08:00

This blogathon has created a serious introspection into the art of blogging. I've learned a lot about why I enjoy blogging so much, and how often things I write can take on a completely different meaning than I was intending. The misinterpretation of blogs can lead to very lively conversations, and some very awkward situations. So, I now list my blogging woes.

Woe the First: It's very easy to say more than I want known. This leads to awkward conversations. For instance, I might confess that a friend (and because I don't want to embarass her I won't mention her name) told me that her gall bladder looks very fetching, or maybe that I have some serious intestinal problems (I don't), or that I actually like someone. When I reveal deep and slightly darkened secrets like this (sometimes in such a way that even I don't realise that I'm sharing them until after later), it can create uncomfortable situations, like someone cornering me about my intestinal problems (I usually use them as an excuse to vacate the area though.). Oh, woe is the blog.

Woe the Second: When I do reveal the secrets of my heart, the person who I was hoping would understand normally doesn't. It's a great irony, one that can be cruel. Most people will think I'm making reference to crushes, but actually I most often write to be understood by close friends, and very rarely have I written a blog precisely so that someone I had or have a crush on might understand me better. Not to say that my crushes aren't good friends. The point is, people don't understand what I write. A good example is the blog "Screaming Silence," which I'm told would be a good name for a horror movie, but that's beside the point. Not one person out of all the people that I hoped would understand a small portion of me through that poem really got the point. Just one is okay (especially because I wrote the poem to specifically avoid bluntly saying what I was trying to say), but often it's the case with many of my blogs. Oh, woe are those blogs.

Woe the third: Inspiration isn't like a tap for me. I don't have an on switch. Seriously! Though this blogathon was my idea and I'm sticking to it, I honesly struggle to come up with a blog that is either interesting or funny or both (as is evidenced by my latest editions), and I feel like the quality of my writing is slipping, when really I just haven't processed everything well enough yet. It's woeful.

Woe the Fourth: Blogging takes away from my popcorn time.

Woe the Fifth: Even though writing is more likely to represent my true self, I still miss the mark to give a true representation of my soul. Perhaps most people can see it anyway, but the person who's trapped under my epidermis is different than the one out on the blogging stage. At least I think he is. Either way, I wish to give a true representation, and alas and alak, I do not.

Woe the sixth: Blogs can create a sense of guilt, even though I only write them for my own enjoyment. If the blog is not witty, or if it is not long enough, or unique enough, then I feel anguish over the failure to improve. That is just wrong.

Anyway, this is a woey blog. What's more, I don't have time nor the inclination to run the spell check, which means you get this in it's raw form, without revisions. Enjoy.

Voting

2008-02-05T05:21:00.000-08:00

As an excuse for me, and to reduce the amount of stress with which I will end this day, once again I must have a non blogy blog. That basically means that I will not really write anything.

In fact, the only thing that I am going to say is that you should all get out and vote today. It's a wonderful day to exercise liberty. Plus, if you go out and vote, then I will have a reason to be here, in the elections office all day long.

Have a wonderful express liberty day!

One Word

2008-02-04T21:44:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is election day, and that means I will spend a total of twelve to thirteen hours in an office. As such is the case, I will limit myself to just one word, one word to explain my emotions

Gratiroticonsteraution.

Have a good night!

The Yellow Factor

2008-02-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

Every yellow character in the whole world is plagued by the yellow factor. The yellow factor, bane of the existence of many happy people and the only slight on an otherwise productive and wonderful social life, is what drives otherwise perfectly emotionally balanced yellows into reclusion, avoiding contact with any other human being of the opposite gender unless it be a smile or a handshake. It terrorizes humanity, and many are left bereft of happiness because of it. Yes, as I have alluded, this involves the happiness of people in the dating pattern, because that is what I talk about, so there.

It's always been interesting to me to observe how many people show their interest in others, speaking of a romantic or at least more than friends type interest. There is the nervous type, who the minute the liked person walks into the room they barrage everyone with an incessant flow of verbology. Then there are the exuberant type, who assaults the person that they like with compliments. There are the shy types, who avoid any and all actual signs of liking someone, such as a smile, making eye contact. There are even those that hide any liking behind a joke.

Mine is a strange road, the type of attraction I have and the way I show it. I like to think that all truly yellow types follow a very similiar path, one that to others, may be considered deceiving. The problem lies in the actual happiness and yellowness of my character. You see, the yellow factor is simply this: those who are happy, and act out of happiness of being with people (and therefore out of a sometimes shallow, sometimes deep love) must by nature confuse all those of opposite gender around them. Explanation: people who naturally are happy to see others and are willing to act so about anyone they are happy to see are more practiced in making others feel good, and so are more capable of doing so, in a broad sense. My point is that yellows have the odd habit (unintentional, I assure) of having many people believe that the yellow person likes them. Loving a yellow personality is a dangerous prospect, because everyone loves them, and because the happiness that they portray at seeing many people is often very sincere, it becomes nearly impossible to tell only from the social clues they give if there is any real regard on their part. It's the Yellow Factor.

I've known lots of wonderful yellow people in my life, who had an enchanting, quick smile and laugh, eager for good times and good company. I have had a crush (could you call this having loved?) on many of them, for just those reasons. The accompanying appreciation that they have for many souls endears them to many, and gives hope to people who otherwise might not dare to venture much past a head nod. I think yellows make the world a better place, but they also fall prey to the Yellow Factor. I realize that this sound like self praise as I am very verbally yellow, but honestly I am thinking of girls that I have known who are such. Fwidipan, who I don't think can be described as a complete yellow but certainly has some very amberish leanings, is one such person and is known of having people love her wherever she goes. I don't mean to embarrass her in particular, merely I wish to express that there are plenty of yellow peoples around that fall into this category. That is why, my friends, when loving a yellow, it is best to determine what is truly felt by open communication.

This Yellow Factor leads to some hardship, to be sure. I have come to realize, both through reading and personal acquaintance, that actions and words can often be interpreted in ways that are not completely adherent to the truth. While on a date I explained to my partner of the evening that I have the tendency to not show my complete personality to anyone until I get to know them better, to which she replied "so you're telling me you're a slow mover?" I'm not sure that's the best thing to ask a guy on a date (unless you'd really prefer they weren't), but I digress. The truth is that my motivation for saying that was to point out that my date most likely didn't know me, just a half me, polished and presented to the world to ensure that rejection is not complete, and that if my partner really wanted to know me, she would have to be willing to dig. See, there was a miscommunication (one that, I'm sad to say, was never really understood). The point of that whole paragraph was to say that we can be mislead by our perception of people, and that one must be careful not to fall prey to the Yellow Factor, to believe that a yellow is in love with you when, really, they are just nice people.

It becomes really hard to not have problems when a yellow is a close friend. By some divine blessing many of these wonderful people have the best shoulders for crying, the most understanding words, the most comforting hugs. It's hard not to fall in love with anyone like that, and it's hard for that type of people not to give the comfort. I have known no distress like feeling I could not comfort a close friend, for fear of that person believing that I was interested romantically in her. Perhaps this paranoia on my part is unfounded, and often I have crossed a rather uncomfortable boundary in order to play the role of comforting friend. Time only will tell whether or not I was wise to do so.

Does this blog make any sense? Perhaps I haven't really said anything that others don't already know, and perhaps there will be few who really understand what I'm saying (seeing as I have a rather rambling rhetoric in this blog). I was expecting to be humorous, but I'm afraid that I came off altogether too serious. But there it is, my friends. Beware the yellow factor. People who are loved by all are dangerous indeed.

A Teaser

2008-02-02T23:40:00.000-08:00

Friends and bloggers, lend me your eyes! For I come not to destroy hopes, but to fulfill them. Sweet sleep, robbing my eyes of light, will give back to the moon some tarnished beauty, and once, once and for all I will prevail! Indeed, my words are a stool, come sit on them!

All of the quotes or versions of sayings that went before are examples of things that can happen when I get tired. See, when I get tired a funny thing happens. I know how ridiculous I sound when I say things like what I just say. I know (for the most part) how foolish things will be coming out of my mouth long before my voice strings begin to vibrate, but when I’m tired, I don’t care! I could care less what people think of me, nor what kind of impression I’m leaving. Normally I am a very happy person, and there are few who can truly get me to shut up. Maybe if someone I really liked but was nervous around walked into the room that might shut me up, but honestly I doubt it. Along with this happy talkative nature is also an energetic need to be constantly doing, or something. However, when the time for sleep is come and I no longer have any real energy, this talkative and twitchy tendency turns into a rambling person who says weird stuff, and then states his exhaustion with life. Seriously, today I am willing to bet that if you lay me on a couch anywhere, I will fall asleep. Even if a girl I liked were sitting opposite me, or instead of a girl it were a firecracker, or even if it were a firefighter with a running hose, or maybe a boa constrictor, maybe a clown, or how about a cowboy, those are scary, good food, a killer something or tother, it would register little above the normal range, and I would be asleep within five minutes. That’s right, the only thing keeping me up right now is the fact that I started this blogathon, and I will see it to the end. I will! And if I don’t, well, oh well, I may survive shame and scorn for another day.

As lame as this is, this blog is only to introduce tomorrow’s topic, something that I have been thinking on for the past week or so, and now, with the completion of my first week in the date-a-week series of 2008, I have come to a conclusion. The conclusion I have come to is about something that I will hence call the Yellow Factor. Got you interested? That’s the point.

And now, I will fall asleep.

A Late Night

2008-02-01T23:54:00.000-08:00

Late nights can be amazing. Tonight my late night is just tired. It's gotten to the point where making a complete sentence in my brain is an abnormality. That being said, I fully intend to end this blog in three completed incomplete sentences.

I have discovered that an aforementioned (in another blog) accentricity of relationships, namely the two girl one guy thing, has a weird affect on the male of the company. In saying this I relate to both work experience and hanging out last night with WM-Star and Fwidipan. Though I enjoy myeslf with them and I can bear work with equanimity (I'm not sure that's a word and at this point I don't care), I can't help but notice in these situations how dreadfully easy it is for the male to become uninvolved with any and all conversations.

I told you, three sentences, that's it.

The Hugging Art

2008-01-31T21:36:00.000-08:00

I here state the obvious: there is a style and an art to hugging. Each hug given and received has a very clear message that it sends, something that speaks to the soul in ways that words cannot. In order to help myself and others to understand what each hug signifies, I include a listing of common hugs and their "signs." I will separate them into two groups: Normal occurrence hugs and after date hugs.

Normal Hugs:

The Handshake One Armed Hug (Manitus embrasus). In a truly humorous manner, two people (nearly always two males, though it has been know to occur with one male and one female) shake hands and, while maintaining their grip, hug each other with their other hand. This hug is meant to portray fraternal good will.

Bear Hug (Envuelvus sencila). This is your basic all encompassing hug. Depending on the length of this hug, there can be many signals given. A short but strong Bear Hug indicates affection of the friendly sort. Longer hugs may signal a feeling of vulnerability and need to be comforted, or they may also betray an inner desire for a closer relationship. For the majority of cases, the longer and harder the hug the greater the need or the desire, though all of those must be taken into consideration. At the point of becoming painful or embarrassing, this type of beautiful hug turns ugly, almost into a form of torture used mostly as a joke.

Suffocating Hug (Quitatis Airayti). The idea of this hug is to cause physical pain in another person. An extrapolation of the bear hug, the suffocating hug has been known to haunt the halls of brothers hugging brothers (or sisters), and is very rarely seen elsewhere.

Side Hug (Lado circulae). This hug is one of the more complex hugs. Two people are side by side and hug with one arm each, keeping an open position. For each situation it is different. If the two parties are of the same gender, it means sisterly or brotherly love and affection. Sometimes it may indicate that said person needs to touch someone in order to feel validated, comfoted, etc. When the two parties belong to distinct sexes, then the interpretation of this hug becomes a little more tricky. Depending on the person, and the situation, it is sometimes the only way that a person can express the want to truly hug another. In other words, it sometimes means that the person recieving the hug (often of the male variety) is a little dense, and will only really react to physical touch, and so the other party (often a female) breaks the "touch barrier" with a side hug. However, one must be extremely careful when interpreting a side hug in this manner. The side hug between two members of the oppostie sex may also be nothing more than a friendly gesture, or the expression of a need of comfort.

Tap hug (Tocaris evitu). Though actually hugging, the person giving this hug is for whatever reason trying to avoid the appearance of actual attachment to the person to whom the hug is given. With hands held stiff they lightly tap the back of the person they are hugging, sending the impression that they are not interested in a truly satisfying hug from that person. It might be because of the situation, the temperament of the person, or even the attitude of one person towards another, but the message is pretty clear: I would rather be dead than hugging this person.

For the sake of brevity, I know go to after date, or relationship determining hugs.

Two armed hug. (Doas brosos) Basically, each party hugs with only one arm, the other hanging limp at the side. After a date, this particular hug says "I will not ask you out again" or "don't even think about calling me."

Three armed hug (Trias Embrasas). This is where one party (from what I personally have experienced, usually the girl) hugs with only one arm, the other clearly taken out of the action, and the other party of the hug giving it his (or her) all, with both arms wound tightly. In the case portrayed this hug means the guy will probably call the girl again, and will just as probably get turned down.

Date Bear Hug (Envuelvas romanticu). A version of the normal bear hug, this particular specimen is a little more satisfying. Its meaning is that both parties are agreeable to another date, and that enjoyment was the final result of the date that is ending. The pattern of arms for this hug is important, as it sets it apart from its cousin, the romantic hug, aka the neck surrounding hug. The pattern of the arms is an "x" forming a criss-cross. One of the boy’s arms is above the girls and the other arm is below the girls other arm (and vice versa). The amount of enjoyment on the date, and the interest in future dates, can be measured by the strength and the length of the hug. A short hug means little interest (and in some cases can mean no real interest, just kindness), and a long and strong hug means great interest (and can be more enjoyable than a N.S. Hug) with a hint more of timidity in it than its cousin.

N.S. (Neck Surrounding) Hug. (Cabezitis envolvu) This hug is most often associated with romance. Though not necessarily and indication of any true regard, it is often an indication that both parties are very interested in each other, and wouldn’t mind expressing it with their bodies. Does that sound bad? I didn't mean it to sound bad. The most comfortable arrangement for this that I have found is that the guy places his arms across the girls back (around her waistline), and the girl arranges her arms behind the shoulders and neck of the guy. From this vantage point it becomes rather easy to progress to a different show of affection, that involving the lips, but considering that I have never truly kissed anyone, I would be the worst person to write about that.

There it is, an incomplete register of hugs. If you wish me to add any, just tell me, and I'll be more than happy to include your additions.

And that is why, my friends, when you finish a date and you enjoyed yourself, or if you didn't but you still like the person, hug them hard and hug them well. There is nothing as unsatisfying like a person who hugs with no real power. Hold them tight, dang it!

Flower Power

2008-01-30T20:36:00.001-08:00

The plants are out to get us.

It's a constant source of amuzement to me how cool plants really are. I enlisted in the ranks studying botany this semester only in the hope of being able to complete the required fields for my associates degree, but I frankly admit that I have so far thoroughly enjoyed my botany class, entitled "Plants in Human Affairs." The plants really are out to get us, and I have discovered that not only are plants amazing in ability, proportion, and complexity, but that they are master daters. That's right, I have discovered the secret behind the plants beauty, its flowers.

Flowers are complex structures with one intent only: to ensure reproduction. Each flower reflects the personal taste of each plant that it belongs too. For example, yellow and blue flowers are meant to specifically attract bees and butterflies. Their bright colors make it easier for the ultra violet seeing bugs to identify the plants for possible nectar. The wide petals of the flowers are designed specifically as landing pods for the flying insects, making the botanic exchange of chromosones much more likely. Red flowers are mostly aimed toward birds. The red is more attractive, more attention getting for an animal than for a bug. And you wondered why we like roses. It's because the flowers are out to control the world, and they're using our sense of asthetics against us.

The color of flowers is by no means the only weapon in its arsenal. There are many otherwise drab looking flowers that even still manage to carry out their jobs as man (or as the case may be woman) hunters. Flowers that are specifacally meant to attract near sighted bugs and animals (such as the beetle or the bat) may be white or greyish, or in other words not particularly exotic in their visage, but they emit a seductive smell, that these weak eyed creatures can smell for miles around. It reminds me of some perfumes that I've smelt. When the right type wanders up into my nostrils, I could care less who is wearing the perfume or what she looks like, all my defenses are down and, well, we'll leave it at that.

Girls seem to have learned a lot about attraction from flowers. Not only do they do their best to look amazing, and you can see what marvelous affect this has on the spaced out face of every male that they walk in front of, but they've also mastered the art of smell. The two forces combined can make a man nearly powerless in his efforts to resist womanly charm.

It's a good thing men have flowers, though. I mean, it's men who give the flowers. I finally understood why it is that traditionally it is the male figure of a relationship who gives the flower. First off, it shows that, despite popular beleif, men are intelligent in the ways of attraction. Why? First, it gives a girl an asthetically pleasing experience to see a flower. It's natural, flowers evolved that way so as to survive. Next, flowers often give off their own emotion evoking perfume. That way a boy can influence the feelings of a girl by simply presenting a flower.

Girls, do not trust guys who come bearing flowers. They know all to well the natural implications of flowers, and the feelings that they produce. Men who give out flowers can not be trusted.

Oh, and by the way, happy upcoming valentines day.

Slighting Influences

2008-01-29T20:10:00.000-08:00

At the beginning of this blog, the conception stage, I admit to having feelings that, while not comparable in their intensity nor in the actual benefit of the suffering, may be likened unto a woman giving birth. Woah! I can here the loud feminine reproach coming swifter than an eagle carried on the winds of a hurricane, and wish to stem the tide. I have, of course, made a slight allusion to the process of conceiving as being similar to the feelings experienced tonight as I sit and think on how to make merely the second instalment in my ambiguously historically marking blogathon. Only the second instalment, and I must already confess to vague wishes for it to be over.

You must understand, the very fact that you are reading this today, tonight, this evening, whenever and however you may be reading it, is an example of what I wish to discuss. Do you know of the heartening affect that a little cooked dough (also known as home made bread) and a collection of overly churned milk (also known as butter) can have the soul of a man? With the simple introduction of a very basic snack, nothing more than flour, water, a little yeast, sugar, cream, and a few other preservatives that are the only thing making it so my hair does not jettison itself fully from my head, I find myself in completely different spirits than I was not half an hour ago. It's amazing what an affect something that weighs so little can have on a being.

Not that I mean to infer that little people should by consequence be expected of little influence. Rather, it is a surprise to me the influence that little things (and little people) have on the world. I am not so big as to warrant the adjective, and so I can understand both the large and small variety, belonging to neither and therefore possessing a lack of bias for one side or another, (is it possible to posses a lack?), I am in a position to state with equanimity "Small or large, short or tall, all have an influence!"

Consider for a moment the profound influence of three small mice. Though they be blind, they have captured the hearts of many through first fairy tale and now ogre tale. A small species, one would not expect that such a being would have much of an impact on anyone. Not only are the three blind members of that race famous, but that species is also responsible for carrying Cinderella safely to the castle. Without those mice she would've never arrived, and therefore never had the pleasure of associating herself with the magnificent Prince Charming, of whom we have heard so very much about. A mouse. Well, a couple of mice. What an impact!

Large people have an impact as well. For instance, in that classic "The Princess Bride," Fesic, (if that is how you spell his name) is none other than a loving giant, though not all gentle. Without his pivotal role, one can see quite clearly that the movie would've never reached it's climatic and happy ending. He was vital for the recovery of Indigo, the breaching of the gates, the finding of four white horses (I will one day learn why a white horse is necessary for marital bliss. I mean, Cinderella had them as well), and supplying the means for a miracle. Or mostly a miracle. Yes, my friends, big things have an impact.

My point, in all that I am saying, is that I have a large list of influences. I can honestly say that few are as moving or potent as the influences of love. I have said before how that is true, and so I will only touch on it now. Loneliness, giddiness, euphoria, listlessness, and good old fashioned joy (and, being honest, depression) can trace their roots back to love. The subtle variations in relationships, in my relationships to make it personal, are a source of constant movement, a constant influencing over my thoughts and actions.

The degree of validity of that statement is despicable to me. I know myself capable of great goodness, but also of great shallowness, all because of my ability to be influenced.

Not that influence is a bad thing. The Spirit influences us every day, in every thing that we do, and without it I would be a lost man long ago. A slight feeling that someone needs a hug, a smile, a listening friend influence us to action. A strain of music can touch our souls and move us to great eloquence, or even bestir anger and resentment. A hamburger may cause heartburn, a salad hunger, a word from others may invoke joy or regret; an empty house an empty heart, a good movie feelings of satisfaction; a moving quote may influence to deeper thought.

We are an affected people. I think we choose our influences. Thus said, what do you choose to influence you? A blond hair, a brown eye? A quick wit, or unfailing optimism? What influences you? I can say what influences me, but that would reveal far too much of my own soul, and even my blog is not privy to that.

And He's Off!

2008-01-28T19:47:00.000-08:00

I had a very brief inner struggle about the morality of starting this blogathon with a poem that I have already written, but considering both my present state of mind current unwillingness to be yellowish, I've decided that to begin in the past is permissible.

This poem hearkens back to before the mission. The date was November 11th, 2004. I surprise myself because, honestly, I'm not really sure what I was trying to say. I guess it's normal for me to write meaningfully ambiguous poems

Personal Quest

Nooks, crannies, crags, and cracks,
behavior and the brain, so folded.
Each fold, what does it hide?
A statement, a gesture, so telling
behavior and brain coincide.

A candle, burning, upon a stick,
trying to abolish darkness,
is lit, the light so stark
casts shadows in the crags
and accents all the dark.

I hold my light, small but growing,
and go forth, forth to meet the night
one step, two, my light grows dim
unsure, I wait. One moment, two.
Cradling the flame, the wick I trim

Carefully, slowly, the precious flame
peeks, finds room, grows brighter,
not enough to fill the space,
Not yet, but shows one step
one step on the path I trace

One step ahead I forge
this is my quest:
going forward, that is all,
and if you pass me, alright;
I'll reach you at the final call.

Blogathon

2008-01-28T19:39:00.000-08:00

Hello all you crazy people!

Let it be known and shown unto all you, blogger readers and writers, that this the day 28 of January or the year 2008 marks the beginning of a two week long blogathon in Yellow Lives. It is here decreed that all serious bloggers pertaining to yellow lives (that would be me) dedicate themselves to writing one blog or more per day. It is strictly understood by all those who may in some way be influenced by said writing that the blogathon is not a time for masterpieces. It is, yes, a momentous occasion, and the reason as to why said blogathon was endeavored in the first place will be revealed hereafter.

Let the typing begin, let the show go on, and let those who have waited receive there good things!

Another Saturday Night

2008-01-26T13:02:00.000-08:00

In my little world that is composed of the intricacies of my brain and its functions, I admit to writing this particular blog just so I can use the title. Which means that maybe, just maybe, the creation of this blog has nothing to do with the title. Maybe. The irony of the title is striking because the name for the blog came to me as I prepared to be accompanied by a lovely young woman on a date. It's even better that today is a week later, and I find myself alone, listening to the best of Nat King Cole. Apart from the piece of heart that gets ripped out of me every now and then, offered up to the songs he sings, I am honestly more content than I have been in awhile.

There's nothing quite as relaxing after a long week as just being at peace with oneself. That's not to say that a little company of the right variety would bad. . .

The dating ritual in Utah is one of the most absurd creatures I've ever encountered. First off, we're told to be meek, submissive, and the like. Although I know that I'm saying something completely against what we're actually taught, but how is it that guys are supposed to be meek, humble, submissive, and at the same time bold and courageous, unwilling to take no as a true answer? It's a great incongruity that at the same time as men are expected to be submissive, they're also expected to take the role and make other's submit to their will. Okay, I exaggerate, seeing as taking someone on a date isn't really making them submit to your will (emphasis added), but you see my point. How is that one such as I, who spent my entire life learning how to be obedient and take orders, should now be the one ordering others around? I feel like a penguin in the tropics, and trust me, it gets a little warm here.

I can hear all of the ladies who read this blog (not to say that only girls read my blog, but I'm talking to the specific group now) heaving a big sigh and saying "you're such a boy!" It might be that I can hear that since I've had that said to me not once, but twice in the last two days. While I am extremely proud of my sex and am glad that others are not left in doubt as to which gender I actually belong, I can't help but wonder at why they said that. If they were intending to be condoning, it didn't really work. I personally find that a validation of my masculinity is an abstract way of complimenting me, and so the "you're such a boy" spoken in derision becomes for me a compliment. Perhaps that's another reason why those of the female gender are so ready to term me as a young man of the extreme variety. I mean, if I told a lady that she was a girl, she would probably whip out some sarcastic remark like "you think?"

All of that rambling actually had a point, though. If you put together the fact that I am a male (I know, for some of you there is still some question. Let me lay your doubts to rest. I'll use a comforter, I promise) together with the idea that males are taught conflicting themes, it becomes much easier to see how I excuse myself to myself so often. For instance, let's say that I like someone in particular. See, I am humble enough to recognize that I like said person, that she's amazing and that nothing would make me happier than to say that I like her, that she's beautiful and amazing and a whole lot of nearly perfect wrapped up together in one stunning person. There's the humility, recognizing the truth. Now, this is were the weird part of my brain comes in. I feel bad, honestly, when it is the case that I like someone but lack the courage to tell the person so. Sometimes it turns out to be a good thing (I've been saved many a sure rejection because of that exact lack), but all in all it's an uncomfortable feeling. My mind has some amazing defense mechanisms. Let me show you one of them: when it is the case that my self imposed silence is driving me crazy, my saves the day by saying "yes, but she might not like you, and that's putting her in a bad position of you trying to impose your will on her." Oh ho, there is a lack of submissiveness! Ah, well, we can't be having that, now can we. Better that we suffer in silence, because that would not impose anything on anyone.

Do you know how stupid I sound saying that? I think this exchange happens mostly unconsciously, because if I take the time to actually realise what I'm saying to myself, I realise how very silly I'm being, and I either get over my fear and go say something, or I go home and play the piano, who always seems to understand what I'm feeling. At other times I've tried listening to music, but at those times I am consistently amazed that everything in my entire stinkin' collection of music has something to do with love, and all of my patience is required not to physically beat my CD player. Since the times when I turn to music is normally during the transit home, the one time I succumbed to my frustration I had a near death experience with the oncoming traffic. I've since learned to turn off my CD player when I'm upset.

Who knows what I'm really trying to say by all of this. Wait, I know what I'm trying to say. Just because no one else knows what I'm trying to say doesn't mean I'm crazy. Or does it? Speaking of which, any of you that have read my poem, what did you think it meant? Everyone I've talked to so far has no idea what I meant to say. Of course, sometimes understand is hard to come by with only two people. Poetry is of that amazing quality as to allow for personal translation of practically anything, so it might have lots of meanings, but I had only one in writing it. I'd like to find out, though, if anyone can guess what I meant to say. If you can, I might just give you a cookie. You know, the tracking kind.

Okay, that was pretty bad.

I hope you all enjoy your respective Saturday night. Though men might be boys and girls might be ladies, there are people out there you love you, probably, even if they never say anything. The weird thing is that the people who like you most are the least likely to say so. Or at least that's the case for me. Just be happy in the thought.

Screaming in Silence

2008-01-21T09:26:00.000-08:00

Can you hear that?
There's a roaring echo,
a whisper shouting to be
let in, a fearsome oath it decrees.

Just a moment. Listen;
a faint cry carried
large and quiet through
the darkness, arriving on a fearsome cue

The Silence is screaming tonight
its pervasiveness is oppressive;
and though the source is out of sight
persistently a torture it gives.

They say that when
in a void you scream
no one can hear, not one
in all the reaches of the sun.

but voids are unnecessary
because when silence screams
so few notice, fewer even dare
to show the screamer that they care.

A move, an inhalation
a slight twinkle in an eye
betray the inner novel; and
better than a picture is a sigh

Can you hear that?
The silence is screaming tonight.

Perfumed Pockets of the Plague

2008-01-14T20:49:00.000-08:00

It's a good thing that they have invented a meter that can show how many people are visiting a web site in any given week. While it is not necessary for me to have people actually viewing my blog in order for me to continue, it does give me a boost to know that others at least view if not appreciate what I write. I couldn’t help but notice that one out of the ten last blogs I have written has received a comment. I'll just have to assume that the things I say change people so deeply that they have problems expressing that feeling.

Enough of me pitying me. Onto the main show!

Though it is a more than daily experience for me to walk across the awkward sea of a college campus, I find each day an exhilaration. There is always something new, always something more to behold. There might be the sounds of construction that always seem to be going on but never seem to be going anywhere or perhaps the feelings of awkwardness from spying a pair of newlyweds, locked together in a much more close way than just fingertips. One might observe a freshman, new to the hugeness of campus running for all he's worth, forgotten his duties to social grace or stature. I love the see the sun, bursting over the tops of the mountains to warm a frozen cheek, a constant reminder of the infallibility of hope and eventual happiness. You might have harsh winds that bite at your cheeks and rob your lips of moistness. Anyway you look at it; the trek from one end of the campus to another can be a wonderful experience. Especially if others think you're crazy, because this frees you to do things you might otherwise feel restricted from doing.

The worst thing, when walking from class to class, is encountering yourself with a bombardment of nastiness. The air one moment is crisp and clean, that sort of cold quality that sears your lungs and leaves them feeling refreshed healed, only to be robbed of that revitalization by the sudden entering into of a pocket of plague. These pockets follow certain people around, and as you approach them there is little or no warning before they are totally upon you. One moment all is clear, the next the world appears through a hazy smoke, and the lungs and chest begin a battle. It's not a comfortable one, but they strive to reject the feeling of dirty that has suddenly penetrated them. I can think of little I enjoy less than going from cool air to the haze of a personalized industrial zone.

This encountering of smell is not always bad. When it takes on the qualities of Chicago on fire it definitely has adverse affects, but I have recently been reminded that a powerful emotion may be evoked by a different sort of olfactory experience. As I entered the building that I most frequent on campus, I was startled to have a pleasantly soft smell come to my then awakened senses. A sharp twist had been introduced to the smell common to many flowers, which had a most desirable affect. I stopped in my tracks, eager to go on experiencing this particular perfume. The odd thing about perfume, though, is that it often stays with she who carries it. It would have been idiotic of me to turn and follow that particular person out of the building that I had just entered, and so my pride bid me turn and save that particular extension of experience for another time.

I wonder what my pocket of perfume is like.

I'm a Jigsaw Puzzle.

2008-01-13T18:24:00.000-08:00

I hate to give the punch line in the title of the blog, but I know that the majority of those who read my blog mostly look at the titles and then move on. This lets them say they looked at my blog without actually taking any time to ingest the information. So, for those that read only the first paragraph, I say: “I am a jigsaw puzzle!” Don’t you wish that you were all like me, an intense gathering of bits and pieces that can’t be examined too closely separately unless you are thinking about the big picture. I’m sure that many of you are thinking that I can not have license to this typography of myself, and so I’ll just go ahead and say it, we’re all jigsaw puzzles!

First off, each one of us has characteristics that don’t really seem to fit one with another. For instance, I, Major Bubbles, enjoy music. I am appeased by the soothing quality of calmed classical, enthralled by jazz, and invigorated by the upbeat style of music. I revel in the different mediums of music, from voice to brass to string instrument, and even percussion. I love music! And I love boxing. Do those things fit together in your mind? It’s like when you try to put two pieces unsuited for each other together. You smash it down, wedging the projecting parts of the piece into the holes of the other, until it will not move. It may not be a good match, but when you’re two it doesn’t really matter. The nice thing about puzzles and people, though, is that all the pieces really do fit, you just to have to find where. For instance, my love for music creates a passion in me, a passion that often results in physical energy. I love doing things, love being active. Boxing is one of the most physically draining things of my experience. Boxing then does fit, only with a different piece of the puzzle. I’m a jigsaw puzzle!

I know that I’m not the only one who has this misfit pieces. One friend in particular is a constant puzzle to me. Because I think the world of this friend, I will refrain from using even the pseudo name of the person. This person is a very good person, and honest almost to a fault. I had understood that this person was involved in a prestigious performing group, but when this person was offered a chance to sing for a small group (mostly for our pleasure), backed down, claiming inadequacy. I know for a fact that this person is better than she/he said, but he/she still would not sing. I felt like it was a deception on the part of the person, and it didn’t really fit with what I thought of the honesty of said party. This probably reveals more of my psyche than I want to, but I digress. These were two pieces that, for me, didn’t fit. Most everyone reading this will have said by now “well, the person to whom he refers maybe easily embarrassed.” That’s a good point, and it took me awhile to come to it, sadly enough. Here’s the proof, though, that the two pieces that were incongruous are really attached to different pieces, but altogether make up a beautiful person, one that I especially enjoy knowing. Said person is a jigsaw puzzle.

The interesting thing about people is that our jigsaw puzzle ends up looking like one giant puzzle piece. I don’t think that we really end up looking like some perfect rectangle, like the popular puzzles that we put together. Rather, each and every one of us has nooks and crannies that lend interest, and make us more like a complex puzzle piece.

Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be a puzzle piece? There are a great variety of puzzle pieces. If we pick one up, lets say a flashy orange one, and try to put it next to a brown one, it might cry out “not there! Anywhere but there! Those brown pieces are so drab, all they do is sit around and talk about the basic blocks of puzzles. Please, not there.” Maybe you’d get to know a cool green puzzle piece that would say “It doesn’t matter where you put me, I’ll lend an air of calmness. Just don’t bury me in a sea of reds, they’re so agitated.” Perhaps you’ll find a place for a happy yellow piece “put me there, I’ll love it!” Either way, each puzzle lends a different color, variety and splashes of shades, making the puzzle beautiful and pleasing.

Are we all that different?

The problem is when we feel like we don’t fit where we got put. I know I’ve felt like that before. Can you imagine the discomfort of a puzzle piece being jammed where it doesn’t belong? The only problem is that we as humans aren’t as willing to be put as puzzle pieces are. We have the tendency not to accept where we’re put. Oh well, I’m sure that we’ll figure it out someday.

If I do something you don’t understand, though, just realize that I’m a puzzle! You’re just looking at the pieces, and you don’t see the whole thing yet. I’m pretty sure that if you could see the whole thing, you might just end up loving me.

Maybe it’s a good thing you can’t see the whole me.

A rhymet.

2008-01-10T21:35:00.000-08:00

Each day I awake
to see the bright sun shine.
At least when I sleep in.
Otherwise, I wake to see the night
chased away by rays of light.

In class I sit
to study and learn,
that is, when I listen.
Or maybe I'm lulled into dreaming
by a mind that is awfully scheming.

Other places
Other times
I do this or that. I'm occupied.
I hide in my business
Much too afraid of being without
something to do.
'Cause inactivity is the same for me
as for a blister, a shoe.

There's more to this rhyme that meets the eye. I cannot say that every moment of my life is always happiness, nor can I say that I understand myself all the time. I have learned, however, that the quiet moments I have all to myself when I am doing nothing and have no one around to talk to are the moments when most my devils scream for admission.

I find that the trick is not letting them past the front gate.

Social Alliteration

2008-01-06T21:29:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things about the week right after Christmas is the big headache of going through every last one of my presents that were clothes and finding getting them exchanged for clothes that are actually my size. This year I’ve been blessed with a jacket that was a size too small, a shirt that was two sizes too big, and a couple of shirts that shrunk right after I washed them. I know this because they were stylish, but now they are just suffocating.

But, all is not lost. Most of these are returnable (alas, the turncoat shirts will not be replaced, as they have had the condemning influence of laundry detergent all over them and have lost their smell), so there is no real damage done. In truth, I have already made a few voyages to insure that the cloth cut out in the correct shape is what I actually own. Therefore, having sallied forth and gotten my goods I have a leather jacket of almost criminal coolness and other assorted clothing.

I’m talking about my jacket because it has magical powers. No, I’m serious! You think I’m just talking for the sake of my blog, and that I need to spout sensational exaggerations to ensure the attention of my readers. I learned a long time ago that most of the people who read my blog don’t get past the first paragraph anyway, so why should I pollute my honest and benevolent page of emoting with such blatant misrepresentations of my own clothing? I do hereby declare the validity of my jacket’s magical prowess. It makes those who wear it transform.

I understand that it is almost impossible to understand the miracle, but let me explain what it is. Before Christmas I was, as many of you know, strange. Let us just say that I did not fit into the category of normal in any leap of imagination or of faith. Nor did I fit into the category of cool. I was a category all to myself, it appeared, and thus I preferred it. A few days after having purchased my jacket, though, I began to notice changes. I grew my sideburns out just a little. I combed my hair different. I even went so far to almost lay down my head on a girl’s lap, at which point my natural not cool defenders kicked in and forced me into a sitting position on the other side of the room. Either that, or the glare in her eye had made it clear that I was definitely not getting anywhere near her lap. Either way, I realized that something radical had happened. I had transformed into a normal nearly cool guy. I was stunned. How could I face my family? How could I face my friends? What would I say when their world was rocked with the realization that I no longer fit into the quietly crazy sidekick role?

I pondered over this turn of events for a long time. Then something happened. My leather jacket also seems to have a self defense mechanism, because it disallowed itself to be used when I was sweating. After having heaved a basketball around for a good two hours, I was not a pleasant picture. My jacket then refused to be worn. My hair went back to normal, and I’m pretty sure that my sideburns went back to where they were before. Suddenly I was quietly crazy! I was torn between relief and sadness at seeing this new side of me go. I think I cried. On the inside.

A new jacket does not stay unworn for long, though. Once again I tempted the waters, put on the jacket, and suddenly I was slightly cool again! It was irrational, but it was true. I had more comments about my clothes and about my looks then ever before. It was disturbing, and I didn’t know how to react. Mostly I made it a joke (which incidentally helped me become slightly less cool again). It was then I knew the truth. With my new leather jacket, I was a transformer.

To celebrate I shaved one of sideburns a little higher than the other, to show my now flip floppy character.

So there is a new hero to the scene. Major Bubbles, the amazing social phenomena! Seen now in hddvd…d…d. I am a Transformer!

Newness!

2008-01-02T16:41:00.000-08:00

When the government endeavors to create laws that put the power into the hands of the few, and diminish the power of the people, limiting their rights to progress, to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, it is the right of the people to complain.

I heard something akin to that from the television. Not exactly the normal place to look for reliable information, but I find PBS’s documentaries informative and interesting. That particular misquote came from Andrew Jackson, a particularly controversial president. Though Fwidapin might agree to the more negative view of him, there was enough good along with the bad to spark my curiosity. Why is it that one man can bring about such opposing views of himself as to be described as an “Atrocious Saint” or an “Urban Savage?” Most of the time I find oxymorons nothing more than a word game I play with myself to keep my mind engaged while I deal with dreadfully dull moments, but seeing it as an accurate description of an actual man’s character, I am led to ask why. Why would a man be described as both? I am not a historian, I do not claim any sort of previous knowledge or understanding, I merely claim interest. Can anyone answer why Andrew Jackson is still considered a great controversy?

But, that’s not really what this blog is about. Most people would probably say that Andrew Jackson is a terrible way to start a new year. That being said, perhaps I should apologize. I don’t think I will though, because, after all, it’s my blog, you sillies!

I’ve heard that the Mayans were wonderful astronomers. Can you imagine those stout little men, so often depicted as little more than fierce whiskey loving warriors as astronomers, running around in white lab coats? Although they probably didn’t wear the lab coats, their achievements are a wonder to us even today. I understand that they made a calendar so exact that it’s off only by a few minutes (or was it hours) even today, some fifteen hundred years later. Honestly, my calendar doesn’t even tell me what hour it is, so these guys must have been pretty intense. Can you imagine what sort of precision that must have took, to make something that changed ever so slightly every day, for thousands of years until the mystic date of April 6, 2012? Once again I saw a documentary about these people in which the calendar was depicted as a rather large clockwork type concoction, with lots of dials that moved. I imagine it was more like a sun chart, but never having seen the beastly day planner, I really couldn’t tell you.

But let’s go with the idea of the giant clockwork. In watches and clocks around the country, the small but pivotal movement of that great calendar is reflected, and such was the case as the world stood still (literally until midnight, then they were kissing like crazy) to watch the last few official seconds of 2007 tick by with the last one giving its most atlantean effort ‘till it was squished underneath a lighted ball. The world rejoiced, and all over the world little dials went like this: 7… 7… 8… 8… The world rejoiced because one miniscule number changed by one. Mathematically, this number is so close to insignificant it’s terrifying. In terms of historical or world events, the number one means so little that we laugh if we try and figure out the date of most anything (except the most recent occurrences) to be closer than within a few thousand, or even ten of thousands.

Why does the world rejoice over the change of one number, and only by one?

Probably because that number means a whole lot more than just its numerical value. I think people celebrate hope more than anything. Every 1^st of the 1^st month is an excuse to start new. It’s a reason to begin to mend bridges, to make new vows (I did see someone get proposed to on new years day), to do something better, to do something new. This hope is pretty silly, as we don’t change with the passing of one day. Not really, anyway.

Not that that should make us despair and give up on New Years altogether. Honestly, I think that just like Christmas and Thanksgiving should be continually on our minds, New Years should be a daily event. Maybe each day only changes the dials on the day switch, and only once every year it changes the year switch, but each day is a new beginning. I am a firm believer in changing our lives one day at a time, and I don’t believe that once every year is a good way to go about it. Each morning can have the New Year Spirit, just as each meal can have the Thanksgiving Spirit, and each moment we have with others can be filled with the Spirit of Christmas. Each day can be a holiday, and I’m glad about that.

So here’s to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And for the whole year round, and though it is terribly politically correct to say it (though I mean it in a terribly politically incorrect way) Happy Holidays!

As a disclaimer, I really am not normally this introspective and pondering. Most of the time I talk about complete nonsense. I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice of late, due to a lack of contact with the outside world. My office can hardly be referred to as outside, and apart from that I find it hard to wander far from my house during the winter break. I’ve been awfully boring this vacation.

Soul Suckers and Ford Trucks

2007-12-31T14:33:00.000-08:00

I seem to have an obsession for my new computer. It’s a lot easier to talk to than most people I know, and it has the tendency of responding exactly the way I expect it to. That being said, I want it known that this is only true for my leg warmer, and not for the cold calculating machine found on the desktop of a little place I like to call “Work.” It likes to refer to itself that way, so I don’t mind using the word to describe it. That machine located in the basement of a three story building is slowly sucking my soul away. I am dreadfully serious about this. My computer at work is sucking my soul away. I’m not sure I can last much longer

Do you think divinity has a sense of humor? I think it does, because if you think about it, how often do ironic things happen to people? For instance, a little while ago I wrote a blog about BHF’s.; those wonderful things that help us through those times when most we feel abandoned. I wrote about those, and now I strangely find myself in a situation where I feel the need to find one, and don’t like the implications of having one. I’m worried that my computer is beginning to be a bhf, because I switch it on with the intention of not having to deal with the hollow sound of my pattering feet in my house. I admit, my feet no longer really patter, and in the carpeted regions of my house the patter is pretty quieted, but the image of the only son living at home being upset by the hollow echo of his own feet is a tragic one.

My point is that I feel a void. Because of missions, rare opportunities of teaching in the far east (as in, Taiwan), new commitments, and similar things, I feel like my close friends are gone. I don’t mean to say that I don’t have friends, because I do, but I’m talking about ones that feel like they can drop by any time that they want to, or that you can call without any reason, when you just want to talk. I have lots of friends that I wish were that way, but at the moment they aren’t. And so it is that I find myself in the situation where I feel a void, but at the same time feel that it wouldn’t be right to try and make a friendship much closer. Why do I feel that way? Because I worry that by so doing I create a bhf friend who I only seek out because I’m hurting. That’s no way to start a friendship.

It’s kind of silly to worry about starting friendships, though. I’m not sure that I believe in dreams being a reflection of anything more than our own subconscious way of dealing things, but this morning I had a dream that I think reflects something of my own psyche. I’ll share this dream, and feel free to psycho analyse it all you want. I have, and I have determined that the majority of my friends are right. I am crazy.

To start off, I should tell you that none of my dreams have real visual clarity, excepting the ones that are really important, or really unimportant. The ambiguous ones are never clear. Is that redundant? For me, dreams are more the emotion associated with any one image, and the emotion has the tendency of creating in my mind a scene that reflects the emotion. In other words, I do not dream, I emote. But, because my highly sophisticated brain is able to turn those emotions into images, I will try to explain the story of this illuminating dream. It was a short one.

I found myself on a horse, a brown one that emoted strength, steadiness, and exhilaration. Along for the ride (on a different horse) was an important friend of mine, a very dear friend that I have no idea who he was, just that he was important. He was a close friend, someone that I wished the good opinion of. Thus far is what my emotions told me. I could tell that riding the horse was vitally important to my friend, and that wherever we were headed, he was impatient to arrive. In that freakily fitting way that dreams have of making the ridiculous become reality, I was in an old western type place, wide open rolling hills, no fences, no sign of civilization, and I’m pretty sure that the time was before the automobile was invented. However, of a sudden, I found myself located next to an old ford truck. It looked squared, like a really old truck does. I don’t know why in that scene where a truck should definitely not have been there was a truck, but there it was.

The truck wasn’t nearly as important as what was inside. Inside was a faceless person, a beautiful woman whom I emoted to be my love, the person who I wanted to spend as much time as possible with. I say she was faceless because there was never the impression made of any particular features. I mean, I knew she had a face (nose, eyes, everything), but they were without definition in my head. I knew she was beautiful, knew that she had blond hair, and that she was who I loved.

This is where my psyche comes into play. For me, there was at that moment of opening the car door, and kissing the girl’s hand, a decision to be made, around which the whole dream pivoted. Do I get in and shut the car door, leaving my friend outside, to go along his path, or do I leave my love’s side to pursue a friend so important to me, whose opinion I value? In that moment of angst, I awoke.

It made me think of many times I’ve stopped at the crossroads of a decision and been torn between two opinions, two people that I saw as being exclusive, either one or the other. I’m afraid that that’s a train of thought that I revert to all too often. I thought about it for a long time, and realized that in the dream I was being foolish. The best thing to have done would have been to take the girl, and put her on the horse, and then sat up on it with her. That’s more romantic than an old ford truck anyway, and we could have gone together in pursuit of my friend.

So often I leave an idea out, just because I think it excludes another, when really I should be looking to see how both ideas can make the world (and my life) something better. If I could do that, maybe I could stop having angst. Or maybe I just like to say angst.

And that entire blog was to only to say that I ought to not worry about strengthening friendships. Aren’t you glad you read it? Don’t you want to be my friend now?

Christmas Blog

2007-12-26T14:31:00.000-08:00

Today is a special day. I can’t imagine a more obvious statement to begin with than Christmas is a special day, but it’s still nice to say. What makes it a special day for you? I’d like to take you on a journey through a Christmas eve and Christmas day at the Major Bubbles institution.

First off, the Christmas Eve, for this Major, begins around six o’clock on the 24th, when dinner begins. Dinner each year can be something different, but it’s always accompanied by family and good times. We talk about what’s happened, about movies, about books, about science, we talk about just anything, really, and enjoy each other’s company. Having finished the savory supper (this year it was clam chowder), the family then departs to either the family room or the living room, depending on the size of the crowd.

After dinner, we have a Christmas program. Each year Dad writes an inspirational program full of singing, reading, and all around music and words of goodness. Definitely good news. This year we had a program full of little kids, seeing as there were many families that came to enjoy the good writing of my father. After the program it’s usually pretty late, so the family settles down to enjoy the late evening, and retire to bed early.

Christmas Eve night has always been a special one. I think for me it dates back to when I was a child, and we awaited to see the things that a saintly soul would leave for us during the night (or perhaps two saintly souls). While I was growing up, there were many things that were done to my house, and all of which required that I share a room with my youngest brother. Those were hallowed years, years that I won’t forget, and especially so with Christmas Eve. We would lie in our bunk beds, giggling to each other in anticipation and happiness. We’d talk about what the next day would bring, what we expected. We’d talk about the snow, about the family, about happiness, and just be little boys, excited for Christmas. Though I can no longer claim the little, I do claim the excitement and happiness each Christmas Eve. This year I was tired from the activities of the day, but still found myself very excited for the day to come.

Christmas morning, no matter how the weather may be, always dawns bright and clear. Since I was a boy we’ve always had the same traditions on Christmas morning. We wake up, gather into my parents room, and say a prayer. Dad then suggests that maybe we ought to eat before we have breakfast. After a rousing rebuke from the children, Dad leads the way upstairs to where the gifts have been lovingly laid out. The children’s eyes closed tight, it’s my father, with the youngest son’s hands on his shoulder, who leads the way up, with the youngest holding onto him, then the next, then the next, in a train, all following the other, all with eyes closed tight. Then there is glee as presents are opened, and all enjoy themselves. Mom acts as Mrs. Claus every year, handing each present under the tree to its recipient until there are none left. She always does it just right, so we end up with all the same amount of gifts.

After presents, there is always the ham breakfast, with cranberry juice and seven up. It’s traditional!

Those are only a few things that I associate each year with Christmas. I love the traditions, the happiness, the joy that’s felt each year around this time. I hope you all had a marvelous Christmas, and that the New Year will be wonderful.

And to all, a good night.

Black Hole Fillers

2007-12-22T22:32:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about voids. I was watching a television show, something that is abnormal for me, a show called "Life," and in this show the character is asked how he extracted information from a person over the phone, and he said: "I asked, and then I waited. People like to fill a void." I've all ready talked about the void of noise that we like to fill. It's interesting to relate, but I believe that people like to fill more than just sound voids. I think that people like to fill relationship voids as well.

A relationship void is a tricky subject. In jest I referred to it as the "gay guy friend syndrome,"
which elicited an exclamatory rebuttal from Pelirojo, upon whom I experimented the title. In the interest of public approval and understanding, I will simply refer to this particular point as the "Black Hole Filler."

I call this type of friend, or this type of relationship to which I refer a "Black Hole Filler," or BHF for short, because there are times in every one's life when we feel as if our emotions are really a gaping black hole. There is little if anything of worth found in the there and the wounds or the confusion that we are suffering is such that there is little light that can penetrate the darkness. At the deepest part of the night we may even look up and wish that a certain experience had never been ours, or that we'd never known someone, or that we could be taken away just to show everyone how sorry they would be if we left. These feelings are the worst kind of void, the type that allows us to forget faith, forget friendships, and lose love, if we let it. There are ways out of even this blackest of nights, and I have come to trust in God as a loving friend who really is within reach. It's finding where to reach that is the trick.

This really isn't only an offering of light to those in darkness. It's also a warning. A warning because often we as humans look for something to fill that void in many things. We may look for them in religion, in music, in movies, in entertainment in general, in drink, in lewd companionship, or in a plethora of other healthy or unhealthy things. Most of those don't really fill anything, rather they procrastinate the pain, allowing it to grow. One of the fillers, those BHFs that are common among the honorable are friends. Either friends that are all ready around, or those that present themselves for the occasion.

I believe that such friendships can be good things. It allows those in the Black Hole a ray of sunshine, something tangible, something easier to hold onto than faith. It also provides the filler friend with a chance to understand pain and trial better, which gives an opportunity to grow compassion. I do not mean it is better to rely on friends than on faith, just momentarily easier and sometimes the way that faith saves us. Relying on friends has its complications, which I wish to discuss.

First off, the intentions of both parties are rarely discussed and understood before entering in on a BHF relationship. They spring out of necessity. A person is in pain, and someone else wants to help. During the pain the person is invaluable, helping with a cheering word, a needed smile, a fond embrace or even touch on the shoulder. The BHF is there, to help move through the blackness, to point out the light so hard to see for the person in pain. It is possible that outside of this help, one party feels little or no attachment. It is easy to happen, and often happens on the part of the person in pain. Once the night has passed, the light house is forgotten. This forgetfulness is by now means limited to the pained, though, and often passes to those who are acting as the fillers. If neither party has any attachment, then the risk of hurt is minimal. We must be cautious, however, that we do not treat flippantly any connection or attachment that has been made. It's possible that both people involved see the goodness in one another, and thereby fall madly in love with one another. As long as that love is set up on equality, that's a good thing. Hooray for happiness.

I've heard a lot about co-dependant, which I understand means that a person needs someone to need them. I suppose BHF relationship is a branch off of that. However, let us suppose, for the blog's sake, that a girl feels, for whatever reason, a void in her life. Here comes an average Joe (seriously, that's his name), who happens to find (we shall call her) Rachel attractive. Rachel seeks Joe's company, because he is a happy friend wishing to help an attractive friend out of a painful situation. Rachel improves. Rachel is thankful to Joe, but otherwise forgets him. Joe is hurt. Now Joe has a void. It becomes almost a process of pain. It's not something that always happens, and it most certainly is not only something that happens to the guy, but often the girl as well. I'm not sure how to avoid this. Maybe phone calls, or appreciation in more than distant words of praise would help, but on that front I am an amateur.

To sum up this entire blog, when someone is helping you out of something, or perhaps there is a good friend who is there for you when you have hard times, don't hurt that friend by forgetting her or him. I'm learning that those kind of friends are hard to come by, anyway, and even though we may walk as though blind, if we try to be aware, there is much we can do to make sure that if we ever need a BHF, we won't merely displace our Black Hole into someone else, but rather we will fill it with love. Love's the only thing faster than light anyway, so it can move in and out of Black Holes like nothing else.

Relationships in and of themselves are all to complex to lay out on a testing plate to explain it completely. Tolkien Boy told me that there is no previous experience for any relationship. Each one is different, and it's the truth. I only wished to put on aspect down here.

Oh, and just for the record, and so as to not provoke voids in anyone, I wrote this because of observations in others, and I don't currently suffer from or even feel that I am filling a Black Hole. I might be unconsciously helping some, but mostly I just continue to be myself, Major Bubbles, a Yellow.

Vacuii

2007-12-22T20:44:00.000-08:00

For all those interested, I discovered how to turn off the radio in Uum.

Christmas Power

2007-12-20T21:24:00.000-08:00

I am a fan of Christmas. Over all other times and seasons, it is the Christmas season that most captivates me. Having never graduated from the kindergarten of maturity, the entire season is enchanting to me. As the snow falls on this happy time, it glints in the light of street lights on the corners, catching each snowflake in a moment of delight, a small glint of stardust falling on a world that sometimes ought to forget what is commonly thought to be reality.

There is so much that could be said about the goodness of Christmas. There are the candies, the songs, the good cheer, the overall excitement of children big or small, the “new world” look of an earth covered in snow, the presents, the family, the everything. But, if one pauses to consider, how do all these things come about? Why is it that in this specific time, a short month between Thanksgiving and the 25 of December the world (or at least, the world that surrounds me) sets aside many of its realities to embrace its fantasies? Why is that we can be so loving during this time? Why make any exception to the twelve month agenda? What’s different?

I guess that for some people it’s not, really. Those people are wonderful. Let me tell you why I think that the Christmas time is different.

It’s hard to get people to agree too much of anything. I personally am a fan of fantasy novels, once again because I probably never understood the difference between reality and fancy. Others enjoy books that are based in reality, things that could’ve happened, where what is imagined is little more than a name and a life, instead of an entire world, an entire universe. Obviously I say it that way because I like fantasy. The point, is, that making the human race agree is a pretty enormous task.

In religion this point is even more sharply distinct. There are so many beliefs, in many gods, in no gods, in one God, in one god of three, of three gods in one. It’s confusing just to consider the nature of the belief in God, and the role that Christ plays in each of these beliefs is just as diverse. There are many who believe him to be a great teacher, some who believe him nothing more than a great leader, an interesting historical figure, a prophet, the incarnation of God, or the Son of God, born to be our Savior, our King, and our Friend. In this time of Christmas, many are led to sing to Him, to talk of Him, and just to think on Him, and what He means to them. I think Christmas is so special, because behind the majority of beliefs of Christ there is this one: That someone named Jesus Christ indeed was born. The effect that this had might be disputed, the importance attached to it changes with different people, but the fact remains that many, if not most people agree that a good thing happened when Jesus was born.

I think that’s where the magic of Christmas stems from. So many people agree on the point. There was a Teacher, a Leader, a Son born once upon a time some two thousand years ago. That concordance of belief molds us into one thing: a people united. If Christmas, with that sole belief that something good happened when one being was born into this world, can change the very atmosphere felt by all into one full of understanding and compassion, perhaps we should strive to understand, to believe a little bit more. Maybe by understanding each other we’ll be able to believe a little more. Maybe, just maybe, that would unify us, and we could have Christmas time all the year long.

Amor Vacuii

2007-12-12T18:09:00.000-08:00

This last week I took a test, a test in my least favorite subject of all. Art history. It was a source of amazement to me how the study of something so beautiful could make it, to me, so downright boring as to make my weary body decide that it's needs, mainly that of sleep, were of much more importance than my brain's needs to fully process the information that would soon appear on tests to be. There was a constant struggle in that class to remain awake, and I'm afraid to say that often the body won out that debate. I became cleverer as time went on, though, and soon found interesting ways of keeping myself alert, if not particularly attentive, during that torturous hour and forty five minutes. I resorted to poem writing, bodily experiments involving fingers and dancing, and the most expensive of all binge snacking. All of these efforts were valiantly made, though I have to admit for the most part they were ineffective at helping me achieve higher than a c+ on my exams.

That being said, I was able to retain consciousness long enough during one lecture to learn something about those in the early medieval times. Not only were they medi-evil, (it's like being mostly dead), but they had an absolute abhorrence to empty spaces. They would decorate everything and anything as much as they could, not leaving a single spot without some embellishment. Their walls become more and more cluttered, they're architecture absolutely befuddled with embellishment, and their paintings positively filled with frills and fluffs. All of this only confused my poor weary mind, and led to the welcome oblivion of unconsciousness.

But that "Horror Vacuii" as pronounced by the professor has stuck with me. I don't think we're really all that much different now. We find different mediums through which we express our absolute terror of all empty spaces, of all vacuums. We cannot stand it. I will show you why.

I love my car. There are few worldly things that I enjoy as much as the rumbling of my cars engine as it chokes into life each morning and several times after that, or the way it rattles my hand as I wait at a traffic light. (I'm told that the rattling is a sign of something terribly wrong, but I get a sort of sick satisfaction out of it) I love my car, except it's radio. Some mad man, terribly afraid that someone in the car would one day have to live in, dear me, silence as he drove down the road made sure that the radio will never turn off. Quite literally, the radio will never turn off, only go so quiet that you cannot hear it. I understand that my car in this aspect is freakish indeed, but I think it reflects a popular attitude. That silence, a vacuum of noise, is not to be tolerated. We must never have silence, and shun it at all costs. Can you remember the last time you took a car ride and listened to just the sounds of the car? It might just deafen us if we listened. Or, while at home, how often is there music in the background, and how often not? At my work, it's amazing if we don't have two sources of sound constantly blaring. True, one of them happens to be myself, but the point is that some sort of electronic equipment is constantly going, without a break.

This extends as well to when we walk, sit, anything. If there is no source of noise, we find one. Friends who don't talk to each other talk on the cell phone, or put one noise creator into their ears, so as to not have to suffer through the silence. I-pods, cells phones, ancient Walkman, radios, cameras that record sound bytes, all seeking to fill the vacuum.

I discover more about myself in that vacuum than at any other time. Can you breathe in silence? When all the noise is hushed, and the serenity of silence surrounds you, are you comfortable? Sometimes I am not. Those are the times I find a good book to read, I write on the Internet, or worse still, I make noise so I don't have to deal with the void.

A Question Answered

2007-12-09T16:40:00.000-08:00

I admit it; I am selfishly satisfied at the amount of replies which I received. I think my favorite reply to my question of why girls date jerks would have to be the reply sent by my friend WM-Star, who simply put it "jerks are hot." While I personally do not agree with this statement, I think it leads quite nicely into my personal explanation of why guys date brainless girls. I here thank Devastator for adding a more complete complexity to the answer, and I also thank every single last one of you for the answers you provided. Maybe I'll ask a compelling question on every blog, just so I can get so many comments.

I heard once that blue and green are the most aesthetically pleasing colors to the human eye. I heard various opinions as to why, such as the prevalence of those two colors, but my personal opinion is because they're both just plain beautiful. God knew that we as humans would like those colors, so he made the sky blue, the sea a blue-green, and the mountainside and rolling hills a beautiful and luscious green. At least, that’s true if you live in the east. It was made that way so we could enjoy it. I'm afraid that men indeed were created so as to be attracted to beautiful women, and especially women who pay minute detail to their bodies and the portrayal of them. It's a truth that at one point in time all men have to come to grips with. They just like beauty. So, it is that we come to the male version of what WM-Star commented, and even Devastator commented. "Girls who aren't so academically inclined focus more on appearance, making them more attractive.” is what was said specifically and "jerks are hot" could then translate into "less academically inclined girls are hot." I for one do not agree, but the point has been made by others, and so it must appear here. The hormonal imbalance so common to men is a driving force that causes even normally coherent males to the dating of silly members of the opposite sex. This is only one point, and in my mind is all too often left as the only point as to why men date silly people. Because, after all, in the movie Emma the character of Mr. Knightly is quoted as having said "Men of character, no matter what you may say, do not want silly wives!" It's a little bit of an extrapolation to take dating to matrimony, but it's basically the same principle. So, what character is it that drives men to date silly women? Is it solely because of hormones, a lack of sense in the face of beauty? You might say that such is the case, but I plan to show that it is not solely hormones that drive men to silliness, but something much more deep.

Men are males. Yes, I know this is an obvious statement, but look for a moment at what it implies. Males have been known to always try and show off how very manly they are. Bucks and many other animals head butt each other repeatedly to see who bows out first. Men get into boxing matches and play sports. Most male animals do not have one partner for life, and lamentably the idea of having lots of women is a sign of masculinity (deplorable, but the truth in the world. Not the real truth, but it is the image of the world). Men go to great lengths to show how much of a male they really are, even doing such things as eating sardines out of a can. Pretty gross, but they do it. Why? Because men are males, and males have insecurities. Big ones. The type that makes them act like suicidal maniacs, to show themselves as much as to others that they are not afraid, and that they will not be beaten. Insecurity is a hard thing to overcome, and only those "men of character" can truly overcome it. Insecurity, then, is the reason I name as why men date silly women.

This insecurity comes in different stages, or shows itself in different ways. One of the biggest is the "what if" insecurity. What if it works out, and becomes something serious? Perhaps deep down inside a man rings out the "what if this gets serious?" question, a frightening prospect at best. The average college kid has no means of supporting two people, is not emotionally prepared for such an adventure, and the idea of such a commitment is daunting. Thus, they date people that they know they would never actually marry, such as girls who are going on missions. I find it interesting that right before someone leaves on their mission, they suddenly become very desirable. It's either because they are no longer available, or because they no longer pose a threat to a peaceful, contentedly single mind. Or perhaps the men who are close suddenly realized what a good thing they were going to be missing out on. Either way, men date people they know will not pose a "what if" question: the silly ones. Perhaps the insecurity of lack of preparation pushes men to date silly girls.

There's more to it, though. Sensible guys look good and feel good when they are with silly girls. Why? Silly girls laugh at everything, think you're absolutely brilliant even if you're not, will smile at any activity, will not complain ever, and will not make you think. When a guy goes on a date with a silly girl, he suddenly becomes alpha prime. He's with a beautiful girl, she thinks he's funny and smart, and doesn't even mind telling him so. The insecurities are gone, and the ego of said male will grow and grow. I don't know anyone who doesn't like to feel like Alpha Prime, and a good way to feel that way is go with someone who will think you're amazing no matter what. I don't mean to demean in anyway the admiration that is felt toward someone when you truly do love them, but this silly over-the-topness is definitely something that boosts self esteem. Guys like that. It decreases their faults by comparison, and it also helps them set aside other concerns, like there concern that driving girls all around in contributing to harmful gasses that expand the hole in the ozone layer. Those types of concerns are enough to give anyone a pimple attack.

This silly attitude of laughing at everything and finding everything good about someone is a type of flirting. At least, that's how most guys interpret it. By nature no one does not like to be rejected, and the same holds true for guys. It may even be truer. This idea that you're important enough to be found and accepted is something that runs all the way back to when as children we would play hide and go seek. It's great to be the first one found, to run back and have someone chase after you. But what if no one chased, because you weren't worth the effort? Thinking that guys don't fall pray to these kind of insecurities is to think a lie. Guys like to be chased after as well, or at least accepted and allowed to chase. The idea of guys and girls chasing after each other is the fundamental of both hide and go seek and dating, meaning that both can be fun at any age. Except that dating is a little inappropriate for little people. Seriously. The point is that guys learn from a very early age that they are supposed to chase after girls, and it's a lot more fun if they're allowed to do so. Silly girls are flirty, according to the popular stereotype. This provides and excellent target for men to chase. A target that they are sure will enjoy the hunt. Insecurities about whether or not a girl will accept to be sought after are hard to overcome, and I fear in many cases lead to men dating rather silly women.

I hope I have not been too harsh on either of the genders in what I say. I realize that I may be putting too much emphasis on the role that insecurity plays in this dating anomaly, and I am positive that there is a much truer and complex answer out there, but at least that provides some sort of explanation. In defense of my gender in general, I know many men who do not date silly women for the fact that they are silly. I know many men of character who recognize that they are not sure about everything, that they do have insecurities, but they do not let them bother their actions. I salute those men, and also the women of character who do not date jerks because they know that they are better. I admire both genders for their various and diverse strengths.

And so it is, a questioned is answered.

The Question

2007-11-30T22:38:00.000-08:00

To whomever may read this:

I was posed a question a while ago by a friend of mine who (even though some of you will know who it is) I will refer to as Fwidhipn (please refer to the blog titled "thanks" for explanation of the acronym) because I really don't have a cool pseudo name for her yet. The question came in retort to a question that has become a popular one for me. My question to her was "why is it that girls date jerks?" to which she wittily (and maybe testily) replied "why do guys date brainless girls?"

Touche.

So, in the spirit of wanting to answer both questions I issue a challenge to all readers. I would like to hear a plausible argument for both sides, but I'm particularly interested in the answer of why girls date jerks. I would prefer that if such an argument be written, that it be written from a girl's perspective. I for my part am going to try to answer the question posed me. However, this is just a sampler, because I'm not going to actually discuss it here. I am, however, declaring my intent.

If you decide to actually respond to this challenge/favor/whatever, the options of delivery are:
a) Post a comment on my blog
b) deliver the answer in person to my person (that would be me)
c) e-mail it too me. No, this is not a desperate attempt on my part to get emails, but rather a wish to hear more sides to the argument than what I've heard all ready.

I hope that someone does respond. Otherwise I might not have anything to build up on or answer in my blog. It's becoming awfully one sided here.

Insanity

2007-11-30T22:36:00.000-08:00

Anyone who is familiar with this blog will no doubt recognize that many times these blogs come at a time when in order for me to achieve peacefulness with my own soul and passions I must take the time to write them down; to poke fun of them at times, and to cry about them at others. I like to put a happy face to the things that I do. I like to seek out what's best. I try my darndest to not show the slightest sign of unhappiness, and though to my mother there are tale tell signs of my discontent that show through like the sun burns through the morning mist, I find that the majority of people are incapable of seeing the truth, or at least commenting on it. I don't mean to alarm anyone while I say this. The truth is that the majority of the time I'm depressingly cheerful and happy. The problem is, the Lord has been so kind to me and let me be so happy, that the moment that I choose not to follow that particular pattern of thought, I find myself battling for all I'm worth. I'm afraid that I lack many necessary armaments to deal with that type of feeling. So, I normally let it go. It doesn't sit well with my stomach anyway.

But, that is just a slight tie into what I feel must needs to be discussed tonight. Yes, it is way past my normal bedtime, and I will no doubt be paying for this slight infraction upon my sleeping habits tomorrow morning, but I decided that since it's Friday night and I neither have a place to go nor am I dressed up to go there (to nowhere, I mean), I might as well take the time to present some interesting thoughts.

I heard once, thanks to the enigmatic (if that is a word) figure of Dilbert, that insanity is indeed the repetition of one action in particular in the hope that it will some day produce different results. In the light of such a revelation, I hereby declare myself insane. Not only insane, illogical, though in all reality they are synonyms for most people. Honestly, I have the tendency to futilely repeat myself over and over again, with the hope that something different will occur that has not happened before.

For instance, I act the same every single day. I get up, go to school, come home, eat some lunch, go to work, come home, spend time either with my friends, the piano, the gym, or the TV (though the last is rarity) and then go to bed at the unearthly hour of 11:00. And yet, I believe that someday I will get a better job. Does it not sound insane to you all? To go on, never requesting a raise, never using the means at my disposal to actively be seeking a job and yet believe that things will improve seems to me the very definition of insanity. And of course I'm just getting started. Knowing me, I have to throw in something about relationships, so I might as well just get it out of my system and say that the same holds true for my relationships. Even though I know that my actions have not procured the type of reaction that I wish for from someone that I like, I will continue to act the same way toward them. I normally have deep emotional beatings after such encounters with the opposite sex, which can be taxing. My point is that, even though I know that it's not working, I keep doing it anyway. Crazy. If you throw in schooling, friendships, hopes about finding a career path, you have a complete case for my insanity

I can still reason about it, though. Maybe that means I'm not crazy. Edgar Allen Poe would probably back me up on this. About the only hope that I have that I'm not really crazy is that I can still be rational about it. Though, in the case of Poe's tell-tale heart character, he started hearing a heart throb, though there was no sound. I guess my point is that if you see me fighting with my head, I'm just trying to get the wishful thinking out.

Thanks

2007-11-22T12:13:00.000-08:00

In the Spirit of the season, I have decided that I will dedicate a small moment to declaring a list of what I’m grateful for. Of course, this list cannot be all inclusive, as each day I’m becoming either more or less grateful for a large quantity of things. For instance, today I’m not particularly grateful for busy work, but ten years down the road I might be, because it might be my only source of income. That being said, here it is: a list of Major Bubble’s gratitudes. This is not in order of importance:

Socks
Warm Blankets
Uum
Hot chocolate on cold mornings
Journals
Blogs
Random hugs
Books
Computers
Grandparents
Big band dances
Pianos
Piano music
My voice
2 + 2
Mom
Dad
Basserpercusionist
The Friend For Whom I Don’t Have a Pseudo Name. (FFWIDHPN-Fwidhipn)
M+M
W+E
Tolkien Boy
Pelirojo
WM-Star
Unintentional naps (especially in Art History)
Young Less Attached Adults
My bed
Glasses and Contacts
Chairs
Music in general
Bananas
Pumpkin Pie
Christmas Wish Lists
Musical-G
The Awkward Politic
Bolivia Fanatica
Little people
Divine philosophy
Punching Bags
Crock pots
Washing machines
Refrigerators
Telephones, but not cell phones.
Dates (both the fruit and the non fruit)
The front porch moment at the end of dates
Horses
Cranky cats
Heaters
Hot from the oven homemade roles
Sweaters
Embarrassing moments in movies
Awkward moments in relationships.
Abusive little cousins
Undiscovered love
Strange smelling but good tasting foods
New experiences
Old people
An excuse to gather the entire family to one house to eat a meal.

Go out and thank someone for something. It creates warm fuzzies, and even though the politicians may disagree, this does not increase global warming.

Uum and I

2007-11-11T21:28:00.000-08:00

I was reviewing what I’ve done here, and I came to a startling realization. The blog that had the most comments (whether posted or no) and thereby the greatest impact on people was the blog titled “Major Bubbles needs a date.” It’s disturbing that my best work is done when I’m bemoaning my lack of popularity. Maybe all of those emo people have found out an important entertaining truth. People like to hear about other people’s problems. Perhaps the phrase “Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone.” Is not necessarily true. Perhaps, the truth is that no one wants to weep with you, but they sure do like to hear that you are weeping. Or perhaps that’s an extrapolation of something that’s not really true to begin with. That being that my best work is when I’m bemoaning. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to start out my blog talking about that.

I really like my car. It’s a red Saturn, as I’m sure that many of you who read this are aware, as I take any and all opportunity to tell people about it. After consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason I like it so much is because it’s so much like my personality. So, I’ve come up with “Ten Reasons why Uum is like me.” Oh, Uum is my car’s name. It has reference to the sticker on his butt. I’m not like Uum in this regard. I don’t like people looking at my behind, so I normally don’t wear any declarations there. That’s not the case with Uum. It seems that he like people looking at him from behind, so he proudly got his name practically permanently placed upon his backside. I will now proceed with the list.

10. We both make a very unique noise. WM-Star told me that Uum sounded like a golf cart, and though I don’t agree, I concede that he does have a special sound. The combination of a smaller (sorry Uum!) engine and collapsed mount make for a very unique emanation. I’m not that much different. Pelirojo told me that she enjoyed that I make sounds that only a first tenor can make. While that does seem to be an insult to my manhood, the fact remains that Uum and I both make very peculiar sounds.

9. We like things cool. I do not work well in heat. I find myself literally nodding off. I nodded myself right out of a chair once. It’s really embarrassing in a quiet room to suddenly find yourself on the floor, with people looking at you quizzically. Uum’s the same way. He can’t stand the heat. He hates making things cool for others, and complains especially on the hills.

8. We don’t like to be left alone. I swear that he growled at me when I got into him after about a three day absence. That and he turned the radio up on me, so that I nearly went deaf when I turned the ignition. He hates it when I don’t hang out with him. I’m the same way. I love people, and I don’t like being completely alone. That doesn’t mean that I have to have people always. I think I’d go crazy if that were to happen.

7. First gear kills us. Let’s face the facts, here. I don’t think I’ve ever met a car that I liked that was happy with being in first gear. Uum certainly is the same way. When I shift down to first he always complains. In a squeal he reminds me quite forcibly that he does not like first gear. And I can never seem to stay happy unless I’m running full throttle, doing about a million things a day. Actually, it’s only about four things, but they take up a lot of time!

6. We both like music. He has good taste, I have good taste, it’s a mutually benefiting situation.

5. We both require a lot of work. I have to take a shower every day. He has to have a bath every week or so (and a good vacuuming). I have to work out at least three times a week to be happy. I have to take him in for checkups monthly. Either way, I have to spend a lot of money on both of us, and it’s kind of distressing.

4. We both aren’t risky. I mean this in a sensual sense. I am definitely not risky in a sensual sense. I used to go to great lengths to avoid even touching a girl (definitely a clean from cootey freak) and I think that attitude has unhealthily carried over into my current relationships. Either way, a girl can be most assured of a lack of any sort of risk when she’s with me, and actually may become frustrated by my complete lack of closeness altogether (it’s happened before, it could happen again). Uum is the same way. I had Nina tell me that “only a returned missionary would buy a car without a back seat.” Well, Uum doesn’t like to be risky and I don’t like to be risky. It’s a good match.

3. The vitals are there, even if some of the smoothness isn’t. We both go fast, and we both get to where we want to be in plenty of time. The problem is, shifting gears is pretty rough. I once thought that I might be smooth (but never risky) and, while going from fourth to fifth gear (which would put me extremely close to the knee of the person sitting next to me, which is where most likely her hand would be) smoothly slide off the gear shift and grab a hold of the girl at my side’s hand, and ask, in a cool tone “want to help me shift?” Apart from being a horrible pick up line, I have been told recently that this is not smooth. Uum isn’t much better, though. While shifting gears he chokes, jumps, and sometimes dies. I haven’t died while shifting into smoothness mode yet, but choking and jumping is very probable.

2. Girls like us. Even without smoothness girls still like Uum. The first comment I hear from the female gender when they see him is “Nice Car.” I wish girls would say that about me. “Nice guy” or something like that. “Nice body” might be a little risky, though, so I steer away from that (that’s why I only go to the gym three times a week. Or sometimes only two). Anyway, for some reason girls like Uum, and they seem to like me too. Or at least that’s what it says on the strange notes I find on my doorstep every other morning. . .

1. We show empty a long time before we really are. The truth of the matter is, I could probably go about twenty miles on an empty tank. Or maybe even fifty. I’m pretty sure that Uum considers himself empty any time he drops below about three gallons, or a quarter of a tank. I’m the same way. If there is any hunger pain at all, oh boy, am I empty, and I had better get something in me fast or I am going to be grouchy. Both of us understand the need for nourishment, and are willing to make the actions necessary to achieve satisfaction.

Any way you look at it, Uum and I make a great team. And while there are some differences (for instance, he can keep going and going, but I always seem to need a brake), we get along well. That’s why going down the road of life for the time being it’s going to be Uum and me.

Subliminal Messages

2007-11-11T20:34:00.000-08:00

After reading through what I have written here, I would like to apologize to all of you sane people who have not yet read (or have no intention of reading) any or all of the Harry Potter series. I would recommend reading them, if you happen to be a fan of that type of genre, but, that being said, let us on with the show.

Hello friendly visitors. It’s a great day to be writing once again in the overly neglected Yellow Lives. My lives continue to be very yellow, and almost depressingly so, in fact. Is it possible to be yellow and depressed? From what I understand, it’s seen as an outrage if you are a happy person, and are suffering from one of those moments of sadness or serious reflection.

Serious reflection can be a good thing. After having heard the not so recent news of Dumbledore’s sexual preference, I have been seriously contemplating the subtle implications of modern media, books being the most powerful (and often the most subtle), with other showings in movies and plays. The more I analyze, the more I see that there really are many “subconscious” messages played before our eyes in a most furtive manner, and I would like to talk about what set off this particular bout of reflection.

Each of us have a type of entertainment that pleases us most. Some like books, some like movies. Yet others prefer the live entertainment of concerts, of plays, and such things. In each of these types of media, in the things that play before our eyes in a constant barrage of entertainment and enjoyment, there are subtle messages laid out before us, things that only become evident if they are studied and analyzed. Those things are not always pleasing the conscious mind, and as such must be realized if they are to be changed.

I’d like to point out one that is particularly upsetting to me. This would be that of the portrayal of the Christ figure in our entertainment. In every story of good and evil, there is a savior, someone who represents the forces of good. Some authors are very aware of this, and even go to great lengths to establish the connection, or the correlation of their character with the Christ story. This is a very powerful writing and entertaining technique. The grand majority (I believe that it was seventy or so percent at last count) of people in the world believe in a God, and believe in a Savior figure, so this type of entertainment appeals to our innards. Or are minds, if you wish to put it that way. But with the portrayal of the Christ figure, there comes a certain ability to make allegations of the Christ himself. What I mean to say is that, whether it is done consciously and purposefully or no, when you make a savior figure a certain way, and then attach certain flaws to him, then suddenly you make suggestions to the mind of all who view your creation of the character of Christ himself.

I am well aware that many people will believe this to be a rather absurd statement. I mean, who would believe that anyone would take the idea of a sexual preference of a wizard, a mythical creature, and attach it to that of Christ? I hope to show why this (and also the example of superman) is not such an absurd idea at all, but rather a carefully calculated way to insert an idea into the minds of the people.

The correlation between the depiction of the character of Albus Dumbledore and Christ is a very strong one. Take for instance Albus’ ability to do the impossible. In the last book it explains how he beat a wicked wizard who had, quite literally, an unbeatable wand. Albus’ presence is felt everywhere in the books. In the last book his eyes take on an “all seeing” role, in the first book, he claims that he had been watching Harry, and that he did not need an invisibility cloak to become invisible. Always he knew what must be done, and was carefully calculating the steps needed in every instance. He was the leader of a small resistance against evil. Perhaps the strongest evidence that the portrayal of his character is a direct correlation with that of the Savior is the moments leading up to his death in the sixth book. First off, in order to enter the place where the key to defeating evil was found, he had to shed blood. Then, after having crossed the lake he willingly drank a nasty drink, a compelling and disturbing similarity to the words found in the bible, “remove from me this bitter cup.” Add to that that at the moment of Dumbledore’s weakness, he is murdered, betrayed by one of his very own followers (which seems to be influenced by the idea of the “Gospel according to Judas” which was quite a topic of interest in Mexico for awhile, but that is a discussion for another day). All of these are compelling evidences that Dumbledore was meant to portray Christ. What bothers me is that after having made such a connection between the two figures, there is then the declaration of a homosexual preference on the part of Dumbledore. I can not help but think that the mind would make a natural if unconscious connection between the two characters, which would suggest to the mind that both are homosexual. I do not find that a very agreeable suggestion. There are some who disagree, but my beliefs are such that I reject the idea.

I do not wish to say that the savior character of every story ought to be perfect. Far from it, I say. What bothers me is when the savior figure is portrayed as something extraordinary, something inhuman, almost god-like, and then given atrocious flaws. I enjoy the depiction of savior folks as being just that: common people who are trying to help others. Take for instance Pancha from Emperor’s new grove. He’s just a good guy, but in no way is he portrayed as anything other than human, even though in the story he is in the end the savior figure. I enjoy that immensely. But, if you contrast that with the depiction of Superman, whose very name depicts godly attributes and superhuman traits, and whose origin and non-human nature naturally set him apart and put him on a higher plane, and then make that super heroic savior unchaste and, in the end not virtuous, then I have a problem. I think that in no one’s mind there would be any strong connection between the character of Pancha and that of Christ, but between Superman and Him, well, the connection is much simpler.

Recently I’ve been studying about argumentive papers in a composition class. I perhaps have not represented sufficiently the other side of the argument, and perhaps what I point out to be deliberate choices and planting of ideas on the part of the authors is really just them trying to create something interesting and palpable to the general public. Be that as it may, there must be consciousness on the part of the public (that’s us) what we accept in our entertainment. I probably will still enjoy reading Harry Potter, but I hope that Mrs. Rowling will not be offended if I choose to believe that Dumbledore is not gay.

In an effort to be politically or at least legally correct, this blog entry represents only my personal beliefs. It in no way is affiliated with blogspot or other related groups. What was written here is not necessarily what the authors of the mentioned works believe or what they were trying to do; it’s just what I see as the affect of their work.

Nutrition

2007-10-21T19:28:00.001-07:00

It has been brought to my attention that practically all of my blogs have something to do with dating or such subjects, which might give the wrong impression that I am obsessed with it. I wish to dispel these thoughts with an affirmation that I am not obsessed, just concerned that it's something that I'm supposedly supposed to be doing, and I have no idea how to go about the thing. It is a great nuisance. And seeing as this is the place where people are most likely to listen to me (seeing as they can do it when they have a free moment and not when I do), I gravitate toward talking about the thing that I need to understand, but few people truly want to discuss in person, that being dating. The the poor blog yellow lives seems like it would be better named yellow laments on a dating theme. That's a long name, though, so I think I'll stay with yellow lives. Who knows, it might just be a stage I'm going through.

That being said, I wondered if you could clear up a few of my nutritional doubts. I've never heard of any class of study released by the DDA or the RNA or the BFD concerning my questions, but I believe that they are worth considering, especially in this world rife with junk food and little relinquishes in good judgement in nutrition. That's right, there's something that must be done.

No one knows what's more healthy. M&M's that have peanuts, or plain M&M's. What's a guy to do? I contest that one could show that because of the protein content of the peanut in the larger and crunchier version of the M&M, the peanut variety is of much better value than that of the plain. These things are important. Imagine if a professional body builder approached a vending machine, to spend countless seconds worrying about whether the plain or the peanut will help his all ready rippling muscles ripple a little more? And what of the poor geek who comes to find himself in front of the coin alter, ready to give forth his tinkling little silver circles, the jangling of those coins being inserted to an insatiable machine an ode to the power of the digestive apparatus? What of him, as soon as his coins are set and the die is cast, what is he to do as he debates the future of those bright yellow packages? How is he to know, what will be his guide in finding the right nutritionally deficit experience? There is a definite need to look into these things.

This month would be the perfect opportunity for the emergence of such a study. I thought, as I wandered over to the forbidden but inviting cauldron of Halloween snacks, how can I know which one of these will add the least to an all ready overspilling body? Which can be taken with the least amount of guilt? Though I dread the answer that a truly scientific study is sure to give because the answer will always be the most detestable to the taste, there is something to be said for knowing exactly what badness is the least bad for you. It's like quantifying and classifying a sin. I think it would be very beneficial. Imagine if you could prove that recess peanut butter cups proved to have one percent less saturated fat than any other comparable candy bar, or candy circle. Suddenly one could participate in one percent more of such a good thing without guilt. Because, after all, it's not as bad as things that other people are eating.

It might also make recovery of an addict a little easier. Just like one addicted to smoking can use nicotine gum or those little patches, an addict to chocolate could use recess peanut butter cups to slowly cut back. This would make the meetings of groups like "Smokers anonymous" or "chocolate lovers anonymous" so much better. "Hi, my name is Major Bubbles, and I'm only eating one cup a day." It would be a wonderful change. And, as the end of the meeting, people could eat just the delicious peanut butter middle, to show their amazing ability to deny chocolate.

I think the world needs this study. We have a right to know. Let us rise up and demand this knowledge. We need to know as a people.