Sour Mayonnaise

An Ergonomic Appeal

2009-08-27T21:40:00.006-06:00

God, we need to talk about this prayer setup. My ergonomics adviser has recommended a few changes ...

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, and Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise. This week's theme: 'Ergonomics'.

Training Day

2009-07-23T20:23:00.009-06:00

Harry Pendleberry was anxious to get a start on his day. He had five important tasks to accomplish, all of which didn't need to be done until next Friday, but he had the motivation and desire to finish them up before the day was through, making this the first week in his life when he wouldn't put things off till the last minute. He looked out the window as he was buttoning up his shirt.

"Hmm, looks awfully dismal today," he said to one of his house plants. "I was hoping for the sun to help me with my errands." Indeed, Harry had always depended on the weather to reflect his mood. Without the support of a bright shining sun and a clear blue sky, it would be difficult to maintain the kind of energy he had been feeling all morning. Unfortunately, things were going to get a lot worse.

As Harry stepped outside, he heard a loud rumbling sound, almost like thunder, but with a bit more sharpness than usual. The sky darkened noticeably, as Harry pulled out his list of things to do. Item 1. He had been looking forward to this since last night. He had even dreamed about pulling out his pen and crossing it off the list. He had felt the pleasure that would come from this accomplishment, and anticipated it more even now. However, he was put off by the lack of support he seemed to be getting from his surroundings.

Eventually Harry reached his destination, but with quite a bit less optimism than he had begun with. His list was now forgotten in his back pocket; marking item 1 off the list was the furthest thing from his mind. It was now training, and Harry didn't like the feel of it. Large rumbling streams of trains poured down from the sky, and it wasn't looking like it was going to let up anytime soon. Harry dodged the larger trains, keeping particularly cautious of the engines, which had a tendency to burst out small chunks of metal in all directions. The incredibly sonorous crashing that accompanied these drops made it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand, deafening Harry to his own thoughts.

When the trains finally ran their course, Harry found that he was safe and unscathed. He had forgotten what he had set out to do, but perhaps that was for the best. "I should go back home and water my house plants," he thought. "They'll be expecting some water on a day like this."

Dear Santa

2009-07-09T13:17:00.003-06:00

Dear Santa,

I have written to you with numerous desires in the past. When I was eight years old, I wrote you a letter that contained a list of over 120 items that I wanted, with the ones I wanted most of all circled and highlighted. When you failed to get me even one of those items, I sent the same list the next year, unfazed, but again received the same troubling result: nothing. I sent it again, this time with an explanation of why these items were important to me, knowing that you’d see in your kind heart the reason for obtaining these items for me. I was once again disappointed that year: you got me a drum kit. A drum kit!? Of all things, a drum kit!? I didn’t want drums. There were over 120 other things I wanted more than drums.

I was confused more than I was upset: how could Santa have gotten this so wrong? Is he just a retard? That’s what my friend Walter said. But Walter can be a jerk sometimes, so I kept on believing in you, that you were going to come through, that you’d actually get me one of those 120 items. I sent you the list again each year, up until I was twelve years old. That’s the year you got me the fish tank. Fish!? I hate fish and you know it. I had to feed those fish for two whole years before they finally died in the muck-infested waters that I never cleaned. Then I had to figure out what to do with the tank; that was the worst experience of my life.

It’s been twelve years since the date I finally tossed that fish tank into the dumpster. I still haven’t forgotten what you did to me. I’m writing this letter to you, Santa, to plead with you for one last gift. Forget all the other 120 items: this year all I wish for is an alternate reality in which you actually exist, in which you actually show up on Christmas day so that I can look you in the eyes and tell you how much I hate you. So I can finally pay you back for all the years of miserable gifts and unwanted trouble you caused me. If I could have this one thing, that would make up for everything you haven’t done for me in the past.

Sincerely,

Richard Powton

::::::::::::::::::::

Santa’s eyes glossed over with tears, which quickly froze in the cold arctic climate. His cheeks puffed up red with pain as he realized that once again, he would be unable to give Richard what he wanted.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Alternate Realities'.

The Boy Who Cried

2009-05-03T21:01:00.001-06:00

A: Hey, look everyone! It's the Boy Who Cried Wolf!

B: No, that's not him. That's just the Boy Who Cried.

Touch

2009-04-06T17:59:00.009-06:00

Sometime in my youth, most likely in grade school formally, but also in my own free time, I read a book called The Chocolate Touch. I think most people end up reading this book at some point in their childhood. Basically, it's like King Midas, only instead of everything the protagonist touches turning to gold, it turns to chocolate. Well, the scene where he kisses his mother and she turns to chocolate has remained very vivid in my mind ever since. For me at the time, it was the scariest image I'd ever encountered.

There was some Goosebumps-like book where two kids go to the morgue and a presumably dead body under a white sheet sits up suddenly. That hair-raising moment has also remained with me ever since. Funny, as I'm writing this, I am suddenly remembering the long-lost name of this book. It was called Scared Stiff.

There was also a story in Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, called "Bloody Fingers," that gave me nightmares. Despite this fact, I continually read that story (and the others in the series) throughout my childhood.

While I'm sure all of these stories are actually quite tame for me now, I know that they succeeded in scaring me at the time. How they did that, I don't think I'll ever know. That's the magic of storytelling, I suppose. They got me at the right time and in the right frame of mind.

This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Touch'.

Eleanor

2009-03-26T18:06:00.004-06:00

Hantry had never had a friend before, but he had plenty of opportunities to make one. In the past three years, he had actually found that by not doing much different than he usually did, he could make friends with practically no effort at all. His new friendship with Sandy was the most surprising. A girl his same age, she had come up to him out of the blue and just started talking about the most random things. Their first conversation was about hard-boiled eggs and their taste compared to halibut. Hantry had never considered himself a food critic, but after their conversation he had a better idea of what it would be like to be one. Investigating this line further took him to a small halibut shop near school, where some unusual people hung around. There he ran into Johnson McNabb, a friend of his uncle, who came over to the house often enough, but never spoke to him. Now with the excuse of halibut, they spoke for a full hour and a half. The next day, Johnson McNabb was over at the house to watch some TV with Hantry's uncle:

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

JOHNSON MCNABB, a seventy-something man with gray hair wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, sits on a large couch in a dirty living room. HANTRY, a young 12 year old boy, is eating popcorn and playing with a lobster.

Johnson McNabb: I once knew a girl named Eleanor, but that was a long time ago. Back in those days, a lot of people knew girls named Eleanor. It was a pretty common phenomenon, not even worth making a fuss about. In fact, I never did find out for sure if she was the same Eleanor as a friend of mine knew. I just took it for a fact that it didn't matter either way. Sometimes I wish I did find out, because I think back on it and realize that I don't have a clue, and now my friend is dead and gone and no one can tell me if I should connect the image I have of his Eleanor with the mental picture I still have of my acquaintance Eleanor, or if I should keep the two separate. Things like that really drive you crazy towards the end of your life, you know. And I plan on ending my life sometime in the near future, so I really should get this figured out first.

Hantry: Why are you telling me this? Does it matter?

Johnson McNabb: Not one bit for a fellow like you. In fact, you'd do good to put Eleanor and all of this awful business out of your mind. Pretend I never said anything of the sort.

Hantry: Okay

EXT. STREET - DAY

Hantry walks down the street with his young friend SANDY.

Hantry: Hey, Sandy. Do you know anyone named Eleanor?

Sandy: Not really. Eleanor Roosevelt, but I don't really know her.

Hantry: You know of her?

Sandy: Yeah.

Hantry: Well, Johnson McNabb was over at my house this morning, talking something crazy about Eleanor, and told me to forget it.

Sandy: That sounds like the type of thing Johnson McNabb does. I'd follow his advice and forget about it.

Hantry: Alright, Sandy. I'll do that.

The two reach a crossroads.

Sandy: Well, I need to get going. See you later, Hantry.

Hantry: You too, Sandy.

EXT. PARK - DAY

Hantry is sitting by a slide in a playground, watching many kids come and go, playing. Hantry asks each child as they come out of the slide if they know Eleanor.

Hantry: Do you know Eleanor?

Child 1 shakes his head and runs off.

Hantry: Do you know Eleanor?

Child 2 shakes her head and runs off.

Hantry: Do you know Eleanor?

Child 1 shakes his head and runs off.

Hantry: What are you doing on the slide again? I need to ask others, you know.

Child 1 continues to run.

Later that evening, Hantry prepares for his bedtime. He is brushing his teeth, thinking of all the nonsense he went through that day because of Johnson McNabb's request that he forget about Eleanor, and cursing him for bringing it up in the first place. He knew he'd never know an Eleanor, and it was pointless to argue with that. Even if he knew an Eleanor, he wouldn't want to. So what was the point? Exactly. Nothing. Hantry was through playing games. He spat out his toothpaste and rinsed out his mouth. Then he ran outside and screamed for Johnson McNabb to get over to his house immediately.

Johnson came running, apparently from behind some bushes to the side of the house. Hantry went up to him calmly, and stated matter-of-factly, "You sir, are a lame duck." After he said this, Johnson McNabb disappeared into thin air. Hantry felt vindicated and rearranged his hair on his scalp. Eleanor Roosevelt peered from behind the bushes with a smile on her face. Hantry returned home and fell asleep in his bed.

THE END

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Eleanor'.

Snowflakes

2009-03-16T22:59:00.005-06:00

Boris Pasternak wrote a remarkably beautiful account of falling snow in his short novella, "The Childhood of Zhenya Luvers" (Детство Люверс):

The heavens quivered, and down from them tumbled whole white kingdoms and countries. They were countless, and they were mysterious and dreadful. It was clear that these lands falling from goodness knows where had never heard of life and earth: coming blind from the northern darkness, they covered them over without ever seeing or knowing them.

For me, there has always been something magical about snowflakes. Their very nature makes one reflect on life and look towards heaven. Even after understanding how they are formed, and the science behind it, there remains a captivating feeling associated with them. They provoke a child-like response that urges one to catch, play, and twirl. The snow that sticks to the ground does not have the magic, and increases its association with cold. As the snow remains and gets dirty and slushy, it loses all connection to the snowflakes that it came from. But at that moment, as it falls in the form of individual, inconceivable snowflakes, there remains an indescribable connection to a magical, unknown realm somewhere far beyond our understanding.

Poverty

2009-03-12T19:01:00.006-06:00

Young Albert Einstein awoke one morning ready to take on the world. He knew that he'd been treated unfairly by most everyone he'd met, that he hadn't been given a chance to prove what he's worth to the world. He was fed up and ready to make a break for it - run off to Honolulu.

But young Albert didn't have the money for such a trip. In fact, he didn't have money for anything at all. His parents raised him in the most abject poverty, without a roof over his head, without a sole to his shoes, and without a penny to his name. Poor Albert even had to beg for admission into the school system himself, which almost didn't accept him due to his wild haircut, which he couldn't afford to have cut.

But fuck all that. Einstein was going to make it to Honolulu today, even if it meant giving up his own life, his chances at a future career in science (he'd been under the tutelage of a well-known professor of Physical Sciences, Dr. Isaac Lowenblatt, for quite some time, and was promised a chance to apply for a renowned scholarship in exchange for doing his dishes and laundry every evening), and his familial ties to family and friends (his best friend was a turtle named Gifford who lived under a rock near an old pond).

His trip commenced with the goodbyes: goodbye Rowena, young little child (his stepsister of only five years), goodbye Jackson, a well-known figure on Einstein's block (he was young Albert's favorite juggler in a circus performance group that made regular public appearances, often for free), and goodbye Gifford (with whom the reader is already introduced).

After his goodbyes, young Albert started walking. He got as far as Prague when he realized that he didn't know where he was, or the best route to get to Honolulu from there. He bought a map and asked a few questions of the clerk, only to find out that his dream of going to Honolulu was not nearly as strong as he had imagined. He lost his determination after about an hour of looking at the map. He decided to go see Gifford at the pond and just say to himself that the pond is in fact Honolulu, and that the other Honolulu not only doesn't exist, but is the least desirable place to visit in the world.

Well, I needn't tell you the rest of the story. You are well-acquainted with Einstein's future accomplishments. He became one of the best-known names in science, having risen from his place of poverty through his intellect and hard work. But, even after all of his many accolades (and, yes, remuneration for his time served in poverty), Einstein never made it to the real Honolulu. He never thought back to that moment in Prague, when he gave up his dreams for a life with Gifford. Nor did he care that Honolulu was a real place that denied him his chance to make something else of himself - something greater than anyone could ever have imagined. Einstein died peacefully, thinking little of his impoverished beginnings, and not at all of Honolulu. Gifford was by his bedside, on the table, immovable and still. He had died 15 years previously, and was now in the great Honolulu in the sky. Einstein, rest in peace.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Poverty'.

Trends

2009-03-09T22:47:00.006-06:00

FRED: Trends!! I see trends!! JOE: What's the big deal, Fred? It's just Trends. FRED: I hate trends. All I ever see all day are trends. JOE: Well, I'd say you're pretty lucky. Last time I saw Trends in the daytime was about a month ago. FRED: I'm not talking about Trends the person. I'm talking about trends in general. You know, like trendy people and such. JOE: You don't think Trends is trendy? I'd say he's very trendy. He even has that new sweater that all the girls are talking about. FRED: I don't know what you're talking about. I don't like trends. JOE: You're not making any sense. TRENDS: Hey guys! JOE: Hey Trends. How's it going? TRENDS: Great! How do you like my sweater? JOE: It's fabulous! I'd say you're very trendy, wouldn't you? TRENDS: Well, I sure hope so. I am Trends, after all. JOE: You have a good point, Trends. TRENDS: Well, gotta run. Bye guys! JOE: Bye, Trends! FRED: I hate Trends.

Prosperity

2009-03-05T20:27:00.004-07:00

Old man Carter lived in relative prosperity. What this means, of course, is that he lived in a state of utter poverty, but was unwilling to admit to his complete downfall in the rough economic times he was facing, and preferred to think of himself as semi-prosperous. This he did through a clever means of self-deception.

Instead of going out to buy groceries and other necessary items, he simply decided he didn't need them anymore. As a result, his cupboards were completely empty, and he felt he had a great opportunity to fill them with various other items. He found some tinsel and some old ornaments in front of his neighbor's house, and took them without asking. He also found some old metal cans in the parking lot at the bottom of the street one day. In addition to these treasures, he would sometimes build things of his own by cutting down a tree or two from a large field not far from his home and nailing the wood bits together to make small wooden items which he called "wilygigs."

Not long after old man Carter had begun to live his life in relative prosperity, he was visited by a young whippersnapper by the name of Fred. Fred was old man Carter's grandson, but since he had long since disowned any of his family ties, he preferred to think of him simply as a young kid he didn't know. Fred had come over on the prompting from his parents, who were kicked out of the house immediately if they ever got it into their heads to come visit their father (/father-in-law). Fred hated everything about old man Carter (as he preferred to think of his grandpa) except for the wilygigs. The wilygigs fascinated him, and made him feel at peace in life. Sometimes he would go out with old man Carter to collect the wood for the wilygigs. Old man Carter allowed him this intimate look into his relatively prosperous life, but knew that such an arrangement could not last long. One's fascination with things like wilygigs quickly wanes, and, sure enough, Fred stopped coming a few weeks after he had begun.

Old man Carter preferred the silence to any visit from strangers. For him, the wilygigs were just one more unnecessary item in his life - proof of his prosperity, since they served no purpose other than to take up space that was once filled by vital substances. He decided that life as a relatively prosperous individual was far better than it was when he was truly prosperous. Although certain things were always just out of his reach, he had his wilygigs, he had his peace, and he had his space. For old man Carter, this was all he needed.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Prosperity'.

Sentiments

2009-03-02T17:17:00.006-07:00

EXT. STREET - DAY MAN1 is walking down the street, wearing a business suit. He is stopped by MAN2, who looks to be homeless. MAN2: Excuse me, sir, but I would like to give you something important. MAN1: Oh, no thank you, I'm really in quite a hurry. Perhaps some other time. MAN2: I don't think you realize what I have to give to you. I'm a collector of rare sentiments. MAN1: What sort of sentiments? MAN2: Very rare ones, sir. Sentiments you've never seen the likes of, I'm sure. MAN1: How do you go about collecting them? You haven't got any money, do you? MAN2: Ah, you can't buy sentiments like these, sir. No, no. Sentiments like these need to be found and nurtured and cared for. Sentiments don't just fall into your lap, either. You really need to be on the look out for them, spend every waking minute searching for them in order to spot them. That's why I gave up my day job. MAN1: You had a day job? MAN2: Of course. Just like you, sir. I used to work at Carlyle Electronics, down in the Quido Valley. Of course, back then they were just a small startup company, just about to make their name in the marketplace. I was one of their top-tier employees, brought on to help them make the transition to multiple market sectors. Of course, nothing could take me away from the draw of sentiments, not even the prospect of a six-figure salary. No, sir. MAN1: Well, I feel sorry for you, but I really must be going. MAN2: Sorry? Don't feel sorry for me, sir. I'm the one with sentiments. I have so many rare sentiments that I'm prepared to give them out to whomever I feel needs them. You strike me as a rare individual yourself, and so I'm offering you not only one of my sentiments, but also a chance to take part in the allocation of the other sentiments. What do you say? MAN1: I'm afraid you haven't convinced me of the need or the draw of these sentiments, so I really must decline your proposition. MAN2: That's too bad, sir. You could have been somebody. We would have made a great team. I hate to horde the sentiments, you know, but unfortunately, those who respect their power are rarely those who need them. I like to find people like you, people who could change their entire life in the search for the perfect sentiment. I really wish you'd reconsider. MAN1: I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, enjoy your sentiments and try not to lose them all. If I ever have the urge to assist in this sentimental endeavor, I will contact without delay. MAN2: Alright, I'll mark you down as a future prospect. Enjoy the rest of your day, sir! MAN2 makes a mark in a dirty, torn notepad that he pulls out from his coat pocket. MAN1 continues on his walk to work, stepping with urgency to make it to his meeting on time. MAN2 puts his notepad back into his pocket and looks out into the distant crowd of people on an even busier street. Looking out for traffic he makes his way across the street to join the crowds.

About a Ball - Victory!!!

2009-03-01T16:13:00.006-07:00

In between my studying, I have found ample time to enjoy myself in playing a rather simple, yet challenging and fun game called About a Ball (click here to download). The game was designed by my friend John at Whatnot Studios as a demo while he works on more complex projects. The game proved to be especially difficult at the very last section of it, forcing me to play it many times before I was finally able to beat it, but beat it I did.

I'm not sure how good a score of 6609 is, so I'll continue to play until I get that number better. I really can't say enough good stuff about this game. It's simple and short, so you can play it during breaks in your schedule without committing too much of your time, it has enough variation to keep it difficult and enough consistency to allow you to improve with practice. Download this game, you won't regret it.

Sanctuary

2009-02-26T21:07:00.004-07:00

The small ant named Fred rushed as fast as he could across the sand. This was not good. He had strayed far from the other workers and was now alone in foreign territory, far away from the anthill he called home. This wouldn't be so bad, but he repeatedly found himself in situations that were more than dangerous, and very likely to end in his death. He was almost eaten by some of the largest bugs he'd ever seen, and now was being chased by a giant creature.

He saw safety up ahead: an anthill. It wasn't home, but it looked enough like it that it should be able to provide a much needed respite in his time of trial. He dove into the network of tunnels that made up the complex anthill. Sanctuary.

The other ants looked at him with disdain: he was not one of them. He looked similar, alright, but he didn't have the features of a worker from their camp. Nor did he have the same care and concern for his fellow ants: he was a loner, and loners are not welcome in the ant world. You stick together or you deserve the fate that comes your way.

The ants were about to rally around and kick this no-good loner wanderer out of their territory when the giant creature did something none of the ants had expected: he stomped down on the anthill with a mighty power unknown to them. The ants who were not squashed in the immediate attack ran as fast as they could, searching for whatever safe position they could find: behind plants, bushes, trees, etc. Unfortunately, there was little else besides sand around for quite a distance, and the sand was no sanctuary if not built up in a large hill.

And, as they realized all too painfully: even a large hill of sand is no sanctuary against intruders of the giant sort. Their life was hard, their comrades were dead, and their existence was over. These ants who survived, the loners, looked on as the giant creature stomped his way into the sunset, over the fallen bodies of their dear friends.

Fred cursed the day he had been born and continued his search for safety and sanctuary, knowing he would never find what he was looking for, but looking nonetheless, for this was his destiny.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Sanctuary'.

A Heavy Box

2009-02-23T16:38:00.009-07:00

The room was almost cleared out. After nine days of non-stop lifting and carrying, John had just about finished moving all of his stuff to his new apartment a few floors down. There was just one item left in the far corner: a heavy box.

John couldn't even remember where he had acquired this box, nor could he remember what the contents were. He had made a point not to look into any of his boxes during the moving process, so as not to slow himself down with memories and reminiscences. However, in this case, he would have to make an exception. He had tried to move the box earlier, to no avail. The box wouldn't budge from its spot no matter how much effort John put into it, and John was no weakling - after all, he had managed to carry his couch on his back all the way to the elevator and down to his new apartment with no help from anyone else. "What could possibly be in this box," he wondered, "to make it so damn heavy?"

John carefully cut into the tape holding the box shut. When he was able to view the contents of the box up close, he was startled by his discovery: the box was completely empty. John gave another try at lifting the box off the ground, only to find that he was entirely unable to make the box budge in the slightest. Tired from the long moving process he had already completed, John decided to leave the box here for the next owner to deal with. He had moved most of his stuff out, and that would have to be sufficient.

***

A few days later, John was getting himself situated in his new apartment. He had finally arranged his furniture the way he liked it, and was about to sit down to watch a football game, when he heard a light knock on his door. John looked out the peephole. Not seeing anyone there, he assumed the newspaper delivery must have come late that day, and he opened the door to retrieve his paper. However, rather than finding the expected newspaper, John saw the same heavy box from his previous apartment. It was now standing directly in front of his door, and as much as he tried, he could not move it one inch.

"No, no, no," he said to himself.

He was upset at the reappearance of this inexplicably heavy and annoyingly immovable box. He opened a note that was lying on the top of the box. It stated:

Dear Tenant,

This box has been found in your previous apartment. Please remember to vacate completely when moving from one apartment to another.

Thank you,
The Management

P.S. You have been charged five dollars for your negligence.

John hated the management, and was already kicking himself for not moving out of the building when he had the chance. He couldn't think of a good way to explain that he, a capable and strong man in the prime years of his life, could have difficulty moving an old box from the confines of his apartment. Nor could he imagine asking anyone for help in lifting an empty box away from his doorway. This predicament wasn't going away, no matter how much thought John put into it. He decided to go pay the five-dollar fine immediately, to at least clear his conscience.

Oscars

2009-02-22T15:11:00.003-07:00

What has happened?

I usually look forward to the Oscars like others do to the Superbowl. For me, it's more than an event, it's a monumental moment in history. This ceremony confers awards on those very films that will continue to be discussed and cherished for generations after generations. Even the awards that go to the undeserving films remain a force to be reckoned with. It is always entertaining, and superbly interesting, to see which films are considered to be the best by those in the industry.

I disagree with those who declare the meaninglessness of Oscars. Of course, I have always known that the best films are not always awarded with the Oscar, for reasons that may be political, financial, or social. And sometimes, there are just too many good movies in one year to honor them all. Nonetheless, the receipt of an Oscar is a profound statement - a statement that this film, at this date, under these circumstances has been seen as being important enough to go down in history for the honor of mankind, throughout the ages.

This brings me back to my original question: what has happened? This year I have not seen a single one of the nominated films, apart from Kung-Fu Panda. What has happened to my love of cinema? I continue to enjoy films, but I have failed this year to spend any of my money or time to seek out the best movies. And this is a growing trend with me. Last year I saw very few of the films, and the year before that, I had also seen only a handful.

It's a pity, because, despite the critics' statements that this is a dull year for films, many of the movies look genuinely interesting. I hereby plan to have an Oscars night when the films become available on DVD, in which I will watch each of the films that win any of the major awards. Hopefully, this will renew my passion in cinema to its former glory.

Forest

2009-02-19T18:08:00.006-07:00

Billy's home was located on the edge of a small stream, beyond which was a large forest filled with tall trees and rich soil. Often, Billy liked to go exploring in the forest, even though his parents prohibited such action due to the danger of losing one's way in the similarity of the various trees. This explanation never made much sense to Billy, who knew that every tree, like every person, was a unique creation that could be identified through various marks and features, not to mention their helpfulness in pointing the way home for him when such time came. His parents could never embrace the trees the way he could - not mentally, nor physically.

One day, while Billy was hugging the barky exterior of one of his best tree friends, he heard his mother scream his name. This caused him great alarm, for it was a most unusual sound to hear from his mother. He had grown accustomed to the sound of her irritated voice, yelling for him to come home out of 'the damned, cursed forest from Hell,' but this scream was different. This scream said, 'if you don't come back home right this instant, I'll have to slit my own throat to stop my screaming.' Billy said goodbye to his friend the tree, and to his other friends the trees, and made his way determinedly home, towards the offensive wailing of his mother.

When he got to the edge of the forest, Billy remained out of sight of his mother for another few moments, to gauge the anger of his mother. She did not look irritated, but frightened. She gave another loud scream, "Billy!" Billy came timidly out of the trees, crossing the stream carefully. He looked up to see his mother's face now completely calm, and simply irritated as usual. "Billy, I've told you a thousand times, don't go into the forest. Ever. Got that?"

"Yes, mother," came Billy's usual response.

While everything seemed normal at dinner that night, Billy couldn't get the frightened look of his mother out of his mind that entire evening. He had trouble sleeping, and decided to go ask the trees what they thought the matter was.

Billy had never crossed into the forest at night before, for fear of being caught by his mother, and because he was usually quite tired. However, he didn't have any fear of the forest itself. The forest was a home to him that his actual house could never be. He had a connection to his tree friends - he understood them, nurtured them, caressed them, but to Billy, it was they who understood him, they who nurtured him, and they who caressed him. It was a place of safety and solitude - a place to figure out life's problems.

Billy went into the forest that night without any thought of the next day. He didn't worry about what his mother would think when she saw the dirt on his shoes. He didn't care about what she would say when she noticed that he was tired and sluggish from lack of sleep. He simply wanted to be with his friends - to be safe.

The forest calmed him that night, and helped him to forget about his mother's earlier scream. His memory of that day, and of any day, was replaced by a sense of calm and peace. He hugged the tree and fell asleep. When he awoke, it was still night out. It seemed as though an entire night had passed while he was dozing amidst his comfortable surroundings, as he felt completely refreshed and renewed. When he got back home, being careful to wipe some of the dirt off his shoes and place them back in the same place as he got them, he tiptoed up to his room and crawled back into bed.

Billy never visited the forest in the daytime again, finding much more strength and vitality in the trees at night. Their comfort and solace was much more helpful at night, and he didn't have to worry about his mother's yells (or screams!) ever again. The forest assured him protection from all other fears and provided him with an entire childhood of good memories and pleasant dreams.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Forest'.

Imagination

2009-02-16T20:15:00.004-07:00

Marthur's imagination was very complex and intricate, or so said his closest friends, Bartholomew and Rex. Marthur first met Bartholomew when he was only six years old, but they didn't see each other until he was almost ten. Up until then, he was lovingly referred to as his 'imaginary friend,' because of his active imagination. Marthur's mother, Marjorie, allowed the friendship to continue, even after Bartholomew materialized, since he had proven himself to be a good influence on her son's upbringing. Bartholomew taught Marthur how to eat beans with his fork, and soup with his spoon, something that Marjorie had been trying in vain to teach him for years. Marthur's father, Arthur, liked Bartholomew because he was so much more interesting than his own son.

Rex was a different story entirely. Rex was Bartholomew's imaginary enemy, and he taught Marthur to hate him with every passion of his being. However, Marthur was a rebellious child, and decided to befriend Rex without Bartholomew's knowledge. Over the years, Rex and Marthur formed a very close bond, and soon after, Rex also materialized. Since Bartholomew only knew Rex as an imaginary enemy of his own, and not as the imaginary friend of Marthur, this materialization did not have any similarity to Bartholomew's own conception of Rex, and so went unnoticed by him as his most hated enemy.

Marjorie and Arthur loved their son, but by his fifteenth birthday they began to fear him terribly. Marthur had taken on qualities of both of his once-imaginary friends, and their bitter hatred between one another had altered Marthur's personality for the worse. He now tried to kill his friend Bartholomew by throwing knives at his wrists, now tried to squeeze Rex in a mighty bear hug that would cause his eyes to bulge out of their sockets. Marjorie and Arthur never noticed this strange behavior, but they noticed instead something they termed 'the evil eye.' Marjorie's mother had acquired the evil eye fairly late in life, and Marjorie had had to deal with this strange enigmatic quality while caring for her mother in her later years. Arthur hated this task of caring for his mother-in-law, and so any remembrance of those terrible years was enough to send him over the edge. He sought solace in drinking.

Arthur soon became a raging alcoholic, who ranted and raved about his son's evil tendencies, and his fiendish friends. Marjorie became depressed at the thought of caretaking for her son in the same manner that she had for her mother, and was so heartily saddened that she fell into a state of absolute depression. She drowned herself in a bowl of water while trying to wash away her tears. Her father found her the next morning and swore to never drink again. He was back at the liquor store three hours later.

Marthur hadn't noticed any of these strange goings-on in his household. He was so taken with an inner struggle of love for his friends while hating each one for purely personal reasons that he hadn't had previously. They had built up within him to the point of bursting. He soon realized that it was not the fault of his friends at all, but rather his name. He hated that his parents had combined their names to form a terrible corruption of each. Marthur was both uncommon and abhorrent. He decided that all of his problems would be solved with a name change, and asked his friends which name he should choose. Rex said Rex. Bartholomew said anything but Rex. Marthur went with the latter, simply because it gave him more options.

Rex felt both angered and slighted. He vowed to never appear to Marthur again, and took on his imaginary form once more. Bartholomew instantly recognized Rex as his most hated enemy, and realized why he had been so apprehensive about his friendship with Marthur over the years. He hated Marthur for going behind his back and befriending his enemy, and he too vowed to never see him again. It was then that Marthur went in to his parents room to tell them the news about the name change. This moment caused him to rethink his decision, and he forever lost his very complex and intricate imagination. He no longer saw any imaginary friends, for he realized that in life, there are no friends. He said a final goodbye to both Bartholomew and Rex, realizing that they could no longer hear his voice, or see his face.

Superstition

2009-02-12T18:49:00.004-07:00

EXT. SIDEWALK - DAY

EDWARD is walking along the street, drinking coffee. He sees PAUL running along the other side of the road in the opposite direction. Paul's hair is tousled, his clothing tattered, and his glasses askew.

EDWARD: Hey, Paul! Paul!

Paul glances over at Edward, disoriented. He continues to run. Edward runs across the street, dodging some traffic. He reaches Paul at a steady pace and slows him down. They stop running near the side of a small inner city park.

EDWARD: Paul, Jesus, what are you running for?

PAUL: I'm escaping destiny.

EDWARD: Oh, shit, not again.

PAUL: What do you mean? I'm escaping destiny. It must be done.

EDWARD: Paul, you look like shit, dude. Let me get you a cab so you can go home and clean yourself up.

PAUL: No! No cab! If I step into a taxi right now, that will be the death of me. I must walk.

EDWARD: You're not exactly walking, Paul, you're running like the Dickens. If I were you, I'd slow down before I pull a muscle or twist my ankle in a pothole.

PAUL: I'll be fine. I just need to escape my destiny.

EDWARD: I'm sick of this shit, Paul. You're always escaping your destiny in some stupid, fucked up way. I don't care what you saw, or who told you what, or any of your other bullshit excuses, running from your destiny will not produce a single positive result in your life. You'll only fuck it up further.

Paul takes a brief glance down at his feet, pondering Edward's words. He brings his head back up and looks at him seriously in the eyes.

PAUL: You're standing on the crack, Edward. What do you know about fate?

EDWARD (annoyed): Paul, my mother is already on her deathbed. Standing on some arbitrary crack in the sidewalk is not going to assist her in any way towards her imminent death.

PAUL: And yet, you moved your feet. It seems even you are attentive to fate's clues when you need to be.

EDWARD (smiling): I guess everyone is a little superstitious. You just need to take it easy, though, Paul. I worry about you.

PAUL: I'll be fine. Just let me forge a new destiny.

EDWARD: Sorry for the hold up. See you tomorrow then?

PAUL: Tomorrow, unless fate steps in to screw me over.

Paul begins to run in the same direction again. Edward waves goodbye as he continues standing on either side of a large crack in the pavement.

EDWARD: Watch out for the cracks, now!

Paul waves back, continuing his run.

PAUL: You too!

Edward walks back to the other side of the sidewalk, and continues to head in the same direction as before. He is careful to avoid every crack he sees.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Superstition'.

Victory

2009-02-09T16:16:00.006-07:00

INT. JACK'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

ROBERT, JACK, LILY, and BILL are playing monopoly.

ROBERT: Park place, huh. I don't think I'll buy that.

JACK: Are you sure, Robert? If you buy it, you'll have a monopoly.

ROBERT: Yes, I'm sure. Don't try to second guess my own decision. I know it'll get me a monopoly. The same monopoly I got last game, and the same one that you skipped every time around the board.

LILY (giggling): And I stayed in jail just to avoid you over there.

ROBERT: Exactly. The Boardwalk-Park Place combo is the worst monopoly in the game. I never have enough money to build on them, and no one but I ever land on them.

JACK: You sure land on them a lot, though. So, if you don't buy it, I will, and you'll be paying me for the rest of the game.

ROBERT: I won't be paying you much, though. I've got the other property.

JACK: You'll really let that property go to waste in your hands? You know you'll trade it to me eventually, when you get into hot water with Bill over there at Indiana and Kentucky.

BILL (excitedly): Yeah, I've already got houses on them.

LILY: You're always so lucky, Bill.

ROBERT: I'm sure the money from free parking will help me out when I need it. No deal, I ain't buyin'.

JACK: Okay, your loss. I'm buying it, though, and you're going to be sorry.

CUT TO: TWENTY MINUTES LATER

They are still sitting around the board playing monopoly. Robert rolls the dice and moves his playpiece.

JACK: Oh, that's Bill's property! You owe him two hundred dollars more than you've got!

BILL (excitedly): And it doesn't look like you had any luck with free parking all day!

Robert holds up his boardwalk deed, already mortgaged.

ROBERT: Will you take this instead?

BILL: An old mortgaged piece of junk, this late in the game? (pause) Throw in a railroad and you've got a deal.

CUT TO: TWENTY MINUTES LATER

Lily is sitting on the sofa, eating popcorn. The rest of the players are still at the game.

LILY: Aren't you guys finished yet?

JACK: Just about, Lily. Robert's going to land on his beloved Park Place this turn, on which I now own a hotel, and he'll be out.

ROBERT: I am not! I haven't landed on it since you told me I would.

JACK: All the more reason for you to do so now.

ROBERT: That's absurd. I'd have to roll a three. What are the odds of that?

BILL: Three out of, um, twelve, I'd say.

ROBERT: What? Really?

BILL: Sure, there's twelve numbers possible, and so take the three divided by the twelve, oh, right, so, um, one in four.

ROBERT: One in four? That's not right.

LILY: Are you really trying to do math right now? Isn't this supposed to be a game? Fun? You know, relaxation?

JACK: Not relaxation for anyone playing against me. It's a struggle not to lose to my supreme skill, as you well know.

LILY: Yeah, well, at least I get to eat popcorn. Maybe I lost on purpose.

JACK: Just roll the dice, Robert. Let's get this over with.

ROBERT: Okay, no three, here we go.

Robert rolls the dice. Three.

ROBERT: Crap!

LILY: As if you didn't see that one coming.

JACK (enthusiastically): Ha ha! Victory!

LILY: What about Bill? You haven't one till he goes out.

BILL: I think I've lost.

LILY: You can't give up! You have to play till the game is over.

ROBERT: I thought you just said that playing was more stupid than winning.

LILY: I may have meant that, but I didn't say that.

Robert walks over and grabs a handful of popcorn.

ROBERT: It sucks to lose. Well, go ahead and roll, Jack.

JACK: It's Bill's turn.

ROBERT: Okay, then, Bill. What do you need to roll to get this game over with? I need to go home soon.

BILL: Um, I need a seven to survive. Anything else, and I'm going to be dead in the water.

LILY: Roll Bill, you have a seven in twelve chance of survival, by your calculation.

BILL: I haven't calculated a thing.

Jack hands the dice over to Bill.

JACK: Just roll, Bill. I want to see all that money of yours come my way finally.

Bill rolls. Seven.

BILL: Hooray, a seven!

Robert and Lily groan. Bill moves his piece, carefully counting seven spaces. He lands on Park Place.

JACK: Ho ho! Give me all your money! Victory!!

ROBERT: What? It's over?

LILY: Finally.

ROBERT: I thought you said a seven would be a good thing for you?

BILL: I just said that so not to jinx it.

LILY: That worked well, didn't it.

ROBERT: I should've tried that. Good thinking, Bill.

Jack continues to count his money and be in very high spirits.

ROBERT: Well, I've got to get going. It's been fun.

LILY: You know, I should go to. Thanks for having us over, Jack.

Jack is too busy counting his victory money to listen. Bill gets up from the floor.

BILL: I don't really have to go, but I'm going to. See you later, Jack. Good game.

Jack doesn't look up from his money.

JACK: Victory is mine! I've defeated you all. Come again soon for another speedy defeat, if you dare.

Robert, Lily, and Bill all say their final goodbyes at the door before they leave. As soon as they are gone, Jack stands up abruptly.

JACK: Victory feels so good.

THE END

Disfigurement

2009-02-05T17:20:00.006-07:00

INT. - EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING - DAY

CHARLES and his colleagues, MATT, ROY, and DAVID, are standing by a row of six elevators in a crowded office building. They are wearing expensive executive-style suits and ties, carrying the finest briefcases.

DAVID: It's been one hell of a long week, hasn't it?

ROY: It's been one hell of a long month.

MATT: We've been waiting about a month for this elevator.

Matt pushes the already lit up elevator button impatiently. Charles stands back a little from the group, looking at his reflection in the elevator doors and feeling his beard with his hand. The elevator arrives and the doors open. The group enters the empty elevator.

MATT (comically): What floor?

David and Roy laugh.

CHARLES (seriously): One.

CUT TO:

The elevator doors open on the first floor and the group exits together. David and Roy go one direction, while Charles and Matt go another.

DAVID: See you two on Monday.

MATT: I don't plan to be sober by then, but I'll do my best!

Matt and Charles continue out to the street.

EXT. STREET - DAY

Matt and Charles are walking down the street in the same direction. Charles remains pensive while stroking his beard, and periodically looking at his reflection in windows of buildings. Matt is talking continuously.

MATT: President Brewster really called me out today in that meeting. I was hoping he wouldn't notice the lack of sales made by all teams in the last quarter, but old Brewster's got a keen eye. Why, he even saw through my graphs and charts that I so thoroughly hacked up. I really thought he wouldn't notice. (etc. etc. continue continue)

They reach the subway stop. Matt turns to go down the stairs while Charles continues to walk straight ahead.

MATT: Well, see you later, Charles! Don't forget to have some fun this weekend.

CHARLES: No problem, Matt. See you on Monday.

INT. - CHARLES'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charles is changing out of his suit, periodically looking at his reflection on his tie rack in the large walk-in closet. He walks around, almost pacing, as he gets undressed. With his shirt unbuttoned and his belt undone, the phone rings. Charles walks over to it and answers.

CHARLES: Hello?

SANDRA: Hey Charles! Can I come over?

CHARLES: You want to come over tonight?

SANDRA: Yeah! It's the weekend. I thought we could make popcorn, watch some tv, have sex. You know, the usual.

CHARLES (smiling): Okay, Sandra. Give me about fifteen minutes to prepare.

SANDRA (giggling): If you make the popcorn before I get there, make sure to save some of that hot butter for me.

Sandra hangs up.

INT. CHARLES'S BATHROOM - NIGHT

Charles washes his face at the sink. He dries off and looks at his image in the mirror. Pensively looking at his features, he brushes his beard. Abruptly, he reaches under the sink, rummaging around for something. He finally finds an old bottle of shaving cream. He rubs it all over his face. He gets a razor from his medicine cabinet and begins to shave, slowly.

CUT TO:

Charles runs the water in the sink, washing his face off with his hands. He grabs a towel and dries off again. He looks again at his image in the mirror, seeing a face with no skin at all in the places where he shaved, as if the skin had been peeled off by his shaving. Charles reaches his hand up to feel the damaged area, but feels his normal face, skin and all.

CHARLES: What the hell has happened to me?

Sandra KNOCKS at the door.

SANDRA (from hallway outside): Hey Charles! I'm a little early, hope you don't mind.

Charles runs to the front door.

CHARLES: I'm not ready yet. You'll have to give me a second.

Charles rummages around the closet.

SANDRA: What do you mean? Don't you want to see me?

CHARLES: I do, I do. I don't think you want to see me at the moment, though.

SANDRA (giggling): What, are you naked?

Charles finds a scarf in the closet and wraps it around his face. He opens the door. Sandra comes in and looks at Charles's face.

SANDRA: What's that scarf for? Where's the popcorn?

Sandra walks over to the couch and sits down. Charles closes the door and walks to his living room.

SANDRA: Take that silly thing off and sit down here.

Charles walks over to the couch and sits down. Sandra grabs the scarf as he does so and unwraps it suddenly, jumping onto his lap and kissing him all over his face.

CHARLES: No, Sandra! Don't!

Sandra continues kissing. Charles forces her off of him.

CHARLES: I said no, Sandra! What's wrong with you?

SANDRA: What's wrong with you? Why are you pushing me like that?

Charles stands up and faces Sandra on the couch.

CHARLES (indicating his face): Look at me! I'm a freak! I had some sort of accident, and I haven't had time to figure out what to do. Just leave me alone for one second.

Sandra looks confused.

SANDRA: Well, it is a little weird that you've decided to shave after all these years, but that doesn't mean you have to make such a big deal about it. I mean, after all, you can grow it back if you want.

CHARLES: Grow it back? Can't you see I've been mutilated! I've skinned myself alive. I'm a bloody-faced freak!

Sandra stands up to inspect Charles's face. She sees a few cuts from his poor shaving job, but nothing terrible.

SANDRA: Sure, there's a little blood here and there, but nothing that won't heal itself up in a little bit. Boy, you have been a long time without shaving, haven't you? To get all scared about a little blood like that.

Charles gets a relieved look in his eyes. He feels his face with his hands.

CHARLES: You mean, I'm fine?

SANDRA: Sure you are. And I love you more than ever.

Sandra jumps up and kisses Charles on his face repeatedly. He holds her for a moment, then lets her down.

CHARLES: You can pick a movie, I'll get started on the popcorn.

Charles walks to the kitchen. As he is pouring some popcorn into a large pot, he glances over at his reflection in the stainless steel toaster on the counter. He is met with the same disfigured face as before.

TO BE CONTINUED ... (at a later date)

[This is getting too long, and I have more work to do. Sorry for the lack of resolution. The basic idea is, he always sees a disfigured face for the rest of his life, but only when he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He is in constant need of reassurance that his face looks fine and that he is indeed hot. Sandra will leave him over this, he'll lose his job, he'll become this vagrant walking the streets asking everyone how his face looks. Eventually he'll break every mirror he sees, in a desperate struggle to not have to deal with his disfigured reflection.]

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?. This week's theme: 'Disfigurement'.

Ventriloquism

2009-01-29T21:50:00.009-07:00

INT. SUSAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Three women in their late-twenties are gathered in a small apartment. They are eating various snacks and interacting with one another while the television plays its advertisements in the background. SALLY is sitting on the couch, but turned away from the television. SANDRA sits at the table, facing Sally to engage her in conversation. SUSAN is in the kitchen, open to the main room, preparing more snacks for consumption. All are in jovial spirits.

TV: You think I'm talking, but I'm not.

SALLY: That's the third time this break! I can't believe the trouble they're going to to advertise such a stupid product.

SANDRA: I know. As if anyone would actually pay money for a ventriloquist act.

Susan sits quietly.

SALLY: Yeah, aren't ventriloquists pretty much despised and hated by pretty much everyone?

SANDRA: Except maybe for mimes.

SALLY (laughing): Those two would make quite a pair, wouldn't they?

SANDRA (mimicking the voice from the TV ad while acting like a mime): You think I'm being annoying, but ... I actually am!

Susan clears her throat.

SALLY: Is there something wrong, Susan?

SUSAN: No, nothing at all.

INT. SUSAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Susan is cleaning up after the party. Sally and Sandra have gone home. Susan is rinsing off the dishes.

SUSAN: Some friends. Sally thinks she's so smart. Sandra with her witticisms.

Susan opens the dishwasher next to the sink and goes to place the plate she has been rinsing into the dishwasher, only to find that it is already full of clean dishes. She turns off the faucet and begins to unload the dishwasher instead of rinsing.

SUSAN: I don't think they realize for one moment the difficulty involved in ventriloquism. Nor do they even fathom the great good it can serve the world. It's rendering a service, God Damn it!

Susan angrily throws a plate against the wall. It shatters to small pieces on the floor.

VOICE: Ow!

SUSAN: What was that? Was that you, Mr. Plate?

Susan walks up to the pieces of plate on the ground, looking at them closely with her face about an inch away from the remnants of the plate.

SUSAN: Did you say something?

Susan clearly ventriloquates the response from the plate, as her lips move ever so slightly.

PLATE (SUSAN): Don't hurt me.

Susan gets a look of pity on her face.

SUSAN: Oh, you poor thing! I'm so sorry. I was mad at my friends Sally and Sandra. I would never be mad at you. Here, let me fix you up.

Susan pushes the broken pieces next to one another, aligning them in a plate-like fashion. What results only somewhat resembles the previous plate.

SUSAN: There, do you feel better now?

PLATE (SUSAN): Not really. I'm still broken.

Susan gets a shocked look on her face.

SUSAN: Oh, you ungrateful little plate! You're just as bad as Sandra!

Susan turns her back to the plate, calming down slightly. She looks over her shoulder and sees the plate in its same position. Susan again gets a look of pity on her face. The plate sits still.

Susan runs over to the plate again.

SUSAN: I'm sorry. You are still broken. You'll always be broken. It's all the fault of Sally and Sandra, and people like them who don't understand.

Susan falls onto the plate, exhausted, sobbing.

INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - DAY

A commercial is being filmed. People are standing behind large cameras filming ACTOR 1 at a podium on a prop stage, made to appear as though it is in a large conference center. He is presenting a PowerPoint presentation with lots of charts and graphs. Other ACTORS take part in the commercial, filling various roles.

ACTOR 1 (confidently): So, you see, the fiscal year ending 2009 resulted in a profit margin of just over 8.2%, while last year's fiscal budget only factored in a 5% net increase in sales. I now turn to the floor for questions.

Actor 1 is performing in front of an audience of cardboard cutouts that only somewhat resemble a live audience of business professionals. ACTOR 2 stands up in the midst of these cutouts to deliver his lines.

ACTOR 2: I do have a question for the distinguished speaker. How do you talk with such eloquence and style? Don't you get frightened on stage in front of a large audience?

Actor 1 looks into the camera with surety.

ACTOR 1: You may think I'm talking, but I'm not.

The DIRECTOR, standing behind one of the camera operators, waves his hand to indicate 'CUT', and points to the monitor beside him, which begins to play the advertisement previously seen in Susan's apartment on the television. The advertisement logo "Ventriloquist Professionals" appears, with information about the product in smaller type below, along with contact information. A VOICEOVER pronounces the benefits of the product to the viewer. The director watches this monitor for review of the full ad.

VOICEOVER: Let Ventriloquist Professionals help you give your next speech, presentation, lecture, or seminar. Contact toll-free: 1-800-555-ventriloquist, or email ventriloquisthelp@ventriloquistprofessionals.com. Join thousands of others who have improved their speaking style with the help of ventriloquism!

The director again waves his hand and points to ACTRESS 1 sitting in a chair behind a secretary desk on the set. The cameras turn on and focus on her as she repeats her lines.

ACTRESS 1: I used to have such trouble getting up in front of my colleagues to speak. But look at me now!

The camera pans to ACTRESS 2, who is crouched below the desk. Actress 2 turns to the camera to deliver her line.

ACTRESS 2: You may think she's talking, but she's not!

DIRECTOR (waving his hand): Cut! That's a wrap. (pause) For now.

ACTORS AND CREW: You mean there may be more of these stupid commercials?

DIRECTOR: If the company keeps making them, I'll keep producing them.

Susan suddenly appears with a clipboard in hand, walking up to the director.

SUSAN: Hello, are you Artful Dodger, the director we hired?

DIRECTOR: Oh, you must be Susan, the representative from Ventriloquist Professionals. Pleased to have you on board here.

SUSAN: Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine. We're very pleased with the work you've been doing on these commercials.

DIRECTOR: Well, that's great. I'm glad to hear it. So, what can I do for you?

SUSAN: Well, that's the thing. These commercials don't seem to be getting the right message out. Focus groups, and personal experience, have shown that even after watching these commercials 20 or 30 times, the majority of respondents still feel that ventriloquism is a mock service with little or no value in the daily lives of people.

The director gets a look of misunderstanding on his face.

DIRECTOR: You mean, you actually take these commercials seriously?

SUSAN: Well, of course. It's what we do.

DIRECTOR: You ventriloquate?

SUSAN: Yes! That's my profession.

DIRECTOR: You're a professional ventriloquator?

SUSAN: Ventriloquist.

DIRECTOR: Oh my God, this is too much.

The director turns to the crew.

DIRECTOR (loudly): Did you hear that, fellows? These commercials we've been making are being taken seriously. Susan here is a professional ventriloquist!

The crew laughs heartily while pointing at Susan. Susan gets a look of indignation on her face and turns away.

VOICE: You're fired.

The director turns his head towards the voice, but sees only a large video camera looking him in the eye. He looks at it unbelievingly for a moment, then turns and sees Susan walking away purposefully.

INT. VENTRILOQUIST PROFESSIONALS BUILDING - DAY

Susan walks down the large hallway of the ventriloquist offices. She knocks on a door that says "PRESIDENT - ARTHUR MCNALLY" on it, and enters halfway into the office.

SUSAN: Excuse me, Art.

Arthur, sitting in a large chair behind the desk, rotates around to face Susan. A small ventriloquist dummy sits on his large lap. His lips move only very slightly while the dummy speaks.

DUMMY: Yes, Susan. Come right in.

Susan looks at the dummy for a moment and gets a look of realization on her face.

SUSAN: Oh, yes. Thank you, Art. I came to have a word with Arthur, actually, if that's alright with you.

DUMMY: I guess you can speak to him if you want, the big dummy!

ARTHUR: Hey now, Art. That's not very polite.

DUMMY: It's not very polite to be so fat either!

ARTHUR (laughing): Well, you have a point there! Isn't Art wonderful today?

Susan only smiles slightly.

SUSAN: I'm afraid I'm not much in the joking mood today, Arthur. I had to fire the director of our commercials.

ARTHUR: The "You think I'm talking, but I'm not!" commercials?

SUSAN: Yes. They were being treated in an incorrect and irreverent manner unbecoming of the ventriloquist profession.

ARTHUR: That's a shame. I was really hoping to turn the image of ventriloquism around. So many people think only of silly has-beens with dummies on their laps telling stupid jokes to themselves.

DUMMY: Who are you calling a dummy, you has-been?

ARTHUR: Not now, Arty.

SUSAN (not paying attention to Art's aside): I know. It's so difficult to explain the professional ramifications that our organization can have for people. When ventriloquism is put to its proper use, it becomes much more than a mere jovial past-time. It is elevated to a way of life. One that I marvel in the beauty of.

ARTHUR: You've done good work here, Susan. I think it's time to call it quits.

Susan gets a look of surprise on her face.

SUSAN: You're firing me?

ARTHUR: No, I'm firing myself. The world isn't ready for us yet. Our kind must continue to practice our craft unseen, offering our help only to those in great need. Being of service to our fellow being, for that's the only way we can survive.

SUSAN: I see what you mean.

Susan looks seriously into the eyes of the dummy.

SUSAN: It has to be this way, doesn't it, Art?

The dummy nods its head in response.

INT. SUSAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Sally and Sandra are again sitting around at Susan's house, as before. They are eating various snacks, and the television is on in the background.

SALLY: I am so glad that those stupid commercials are off the air now.

SANDRA: Yeah. Guess the dumb ventriloquists finally realized they're useless.

Susan sits back silently. There is a KNOCK on the door.

SALLY: Oh, I bet that's Billy!

SANDRA: Billy's coming?

SALLY: Yeah, I thought he might like to join us.

Sally opens the door to Susan's apartment. In the hall way she sees a TELEGRAM DELIVERY MAN in uniform.

TELEGRAM DELIVERY MAN: Telegram for Sally S. Trumet.

Sally takes the telegram and closes the door. She unfolds the old-style piece of paper and reads the note: "Can't come to party. Busy with friends. Billy." Sally walks back into the main room.

SANDRA: Who was it?

SALLY: A telegram delivery. From Billy.

SANDRA: A telegram? They still have those?

SALLY: No. No, they don't.

Sally sits in silence for a moment, then suddenly crumples up the telegram in anger.

SALLY: Oh, he makes me so mad! I wish I could tell him off, just once, without falling apart into tears.

Susan clears her throat.

SALLY: Is there something wrong, Susan?

SUSAN: Nothing at all. I think I can help you.

SALLY: You can? How?

SUSAN: Ever heard of ventriloquism?

A look passes from Susan's eyes to Sally's. She instantly understands.

SALLY: He'll think I'm talking, but I'm not.

Sally and Susan continue to look at one another in silence.

SANDRA: God, I hate those commercials.

THE END

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?. This week's theme: 'Ventriloquism'.

Eifen Deifeiffen

2009-01-22T16:31:00.005-07:00

What Bobby didn't know was that Eifen Deifeiffen was about to occur for the third time in his life. He had never taken notice of Eifen Deifeiffen before, nor did he know what it was, but it was about to change his life in ways you will hardly be able to imagine.

This tragic case of Eifen Deifeiffen took place on the 6th of March, 1992, when Bobby was eight years old. He had been told by doctors that the scar on his left leg, and the lack of one of his kidneys, were both due to past traumatic events. They did not mention to Bobby, nor to his parents, that these were in fact symptoms of early childhood complications due to Eifen Deifeiffen. This is because no medical examination or screening could have conclusively proven Eifen Deifeiffen to be at the root of Bobby's issues. Eifen Deifeiffen was still largely undiscovered at that time, as it remains today. Instead, the doctors had to come up with elaborate scenarios in which Bobby's leg had been badly injured during his fall into a window well on his third birthday. The kidney loss was explained by complications at birth.

Although Eifen Deifeiffen is rarely noticed, it happens at least once to everyone. My Eifen Deifeiffen incident came when I was 32 years old, just starting my new job at a downtown law firm. I was excited and anxious to begin this new phase in my career; but imagine my dismay when I saw that Eifen Deifeiffen had set in. I tried to shake free of it, to battle it back, to cast it from me at all costs, but to no avail. I enlisted the help of friends, relatives, neighbors, and I even wrote a letter to the President of the United States, but no one could release me from the clutches of this unseen condition. In fact, no one seemed to care or to notice. I was forced to give in, to allow Eifen Deifeiffen to do its deed, and I awoke the next morning to find that my left eye had deteriorated, leaving only an empty socket with remnants of pus.

This personal assault on my character caused me to begin my quest to remove the villainous Eifen Deifeiffen from this planet once and for all. I began to follow Eifen, learning from past sufferers the motivation for the rapid and seemingly unpredictable onset of the disease. I traced Eifen from Stockholm, to Paris, to Rome, and even to Senegal, just missing him each time. I continued to learn about him, to become one with his thoughts and actions. I began to see the signs and marks of his imminent coming at every corner and in every face. I knew that I would have to find him and remove him as soon as possible, or else I risked losing my mind, or worse, another eye.

Just as I began to become dismayed, thinking I would never find the answer to this madness, I caught Bobby out of the corner of my eye. Little Bobby. He was only three years old at the time. His parents were on their way out of the emergency room, where they had taken him after discovering the odd scar on his leg that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. I knew immediately that I had just missed Eifen's most recent attack. I could sense him in the proximity, I could feel his influence, and his joy. I also knew that he would seek Bobby out again, for he had not completed his job with this one. He had attacked too soon, and Bobby had managed to escape his grasp, at least partially.

I only learned later, after studying Bobby closely for the next five years, that he had had an earlier run in with Eifen. The kidney incident was not spoken of often in the home, nor did Bobby have any knowledge of it, but Eifen let me know about it in his own way. Eifen was beginning to make more sense to me, and he was often giving me clues that allowed me to form a full picture of his work amongst humanity. I continued to wait, knowing that Bobby was soon to experience his third Eifen Deifeiffen incident in his lifetime, and one he would not forget any time soon.

I began to become rather excited, anticipating one of Eifen's greatest accomplishments in all of history. I was looking forward to this. Wanting this. Needing this.

March had begun just five days before, and I was beginning to get anxious. I knew from the signs and marks that Eifen was leaving around Bobby's house that the event was just a few days away. However, the marks began to fade. The signs disappeared as if they never existed, and I was left to wonder if I had been mistaken. Perhaps Eifen had decided not to subject this boy to a third wave of assault. Perhaps I was doomed to forever live in a world where Eifen remained a mystery, an inexplicable phenomenon that went unnoticed and unseen by the rest of the world. I made a pact with myself, with Eifen Deifeiffen and all that he stood for, that on this day, the 6th of March, 1992, I would see to it that Eifen's plans were carried out. That Bobby would receive his third and final visitation from Eifen, one that would end his life for the good of all mankind. One that would simultaneously fulfill both my goals and Eifen's.

I leapt out from hiding, and showed myself for the first time to Bobby. He couldn't fathom what I had in store for him, as I covered his head with a dark cloth and led him into his empty household. There, I waited. I waited for Eifen, knowing that he would come, that today was the day, that he would finish what he had started with this boy and I would be able to remove him from the Earth. I got what I wanted.

Eifen's arrival was a sight that I will never forget. The horrible anguish that was caused to Bobby, the glory that this gave to Eifen, and the excitement that coursed through my veins, all combined to create an atmosphere of euphoria and death. I knew that time was short, that I'd have to act quickly. As Eifen was doing his deed, wretching poor Bobby's heart from left to right, pounding and releasing, forcing and tugging, I made a precise calculation, one that I had practiced many times in anticipation for this event, and thrust a sharp dagger into Bobby's chest, drawing blood and stabbing Eifen in the process. Through the metal end of the blade I felt Eifen squirm up into my flesh. He had left Bobby behind, writhing on the floor in a semi-unconscious stupor, while I continued the battle with Eifen below my skin. His power, even after being wounded, was without comparison to any worldly force, and I quickly found myself brought down to the lowest brink of agony and despair. I fought, and struggled, and pulled, keeping Eifen out of my bloodstream, away from my vital organs. He continued to produce pain and misery in every portion of my body that he could touch. I realized that I was going to lose this fight.

These incomparable hours of battle lasted long enough to allow Bobby to regain complete consciousness. He looked up into my eye, and I returned his gaze. I realized that he could see, that he understood. Eifen was his battle now. I had failed.

I used the last of my remaining strength in one final push of power, thrusting Eifen from my body. Eifen left the room, injured, hurt, but not overcome. His effects remained in me, and I knew I would never recover. I saw the blood pouring from Bobby's wound. It was clean. He would get better. His parents would be home any minute now, and he'd be able to get the help required. The doctors would chalk this one up to bad luck again, an attack by a one-eyed villain, but they would not suspect the real cause, the true suspect of this attempted murder: Eifen Deifeiffen.

My time comes to an end now. I have been able to record what I know about Eifen. I may have been mistaken on some, I may have underestimated his power, but I've observed his destructive force and I know it must be reckoned with. I trust Bobby to do this for me, to continue the work I've begun. Judging by the signs, he's due to receive a fourth visitation, and I'm confident that he'll overcome in a way that I could not. By the time the doctors find out about Eifen Deifeiffen, the cause of so much pain and anguish, the bringer of misery and misfortune, the most powerful destructive force to humankind, its threat will have already been extinguished. I am as sure about this as I am in my imminent death. I mark Eifen's passing with an equal amount of awe and sadness. He was a part of life that is not easily noticed, but definitely not soon forgotten.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Eifen Deifeiffen'.

Sour Mayonnaisse

2009-01-18T12:21:00.001-07:00

Huh, all this time, I never noticed the fact that a typo had reared its ugly head in the title of my blog. It's sort of like when you have something stuck in your teeth and no one tells you. Well, it's been fixed. Enjoy the sour mayonnaise.

Vice

2009-01-15T16:31:00.008-07:00

"Hey Jim, what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing much, just the usual shit, you know. That sort of thing."

Sam had gotten used to Jim's lack of response to personal questions. In fact, he had come to expect it, and never deviated from his response, even if he didn't have a hell of an idea what Sam was trying to explain. "Yeah, I follow you. Same ol' shit, as the proverb goes."

"Well, there is something else that I've been meaning to talk to you about," Jim said, with hesitation in his voice. He could tell by the look in Sam's eyes that he had passed the point where he could easily step back from his announcement, shake his head and say, "naw, nevermind, it's nothing." Sam, on the other hand, expected Jim to say something along the lines of "naw, nevermind, it's nothing," and therefore prepared his response, "no problem, don't worry about it," well in advance. Due to Jim's faulty appraisal of the situation, Sam would not get to use these words in this situation, but would instead need to carry on through prompt improvisation.

"You know the Disney film 'Dumbo'?" Jim blurted out, suddenly. Sam actually did know the film very well, as he had watched it as a child numerous times a week as he would fall asleep. However, he hadn't seen it in well over ten years now, and responded, "That's the one with the elephant and circus, right?"

Jim expressed his excitement, "Yes, exactly, and a little mouse too. Dumbo has big ears and learns how to fly." It all came back to Sam vividly, not just the big top from the film, with the circus director and the animals, but also the entirety of his childhood memories, fond recollections of his younger sister, his various toys in a large yellow chest in the corner of his room, his adoration for his teacher, Mrs. Penchmond.

"That's a good flick," Sam responded. "I used to watch it a lot. My sister never got into it. She always preferred the newer animated films still coming out nowadays." Sam surprised himself with how open he had become as a result of these childhood memories. He hadn't spoken of his sister with any of his acquaintances, not even his closest friends, and certainly not with Jim. Just mentioning her existence seemed to lift a great burden from Sam's soul.

"Well, then you'll know where I'm coming from, perhaps," Jim continued. "I have a sort of a problem. A vice, really. Something I just can't shake."

"What, like a big problem? Something you need help with?" Sam offered, seeing that this was difficult for Jim. "I'm not sure how much help I can be, but I'm glad to try my best." Even though Sam would never have expected Jim to come to him for advice on anything, this was a position he had been in often enough. Things seemed to come natural to him, and his life, from the outside, evoked a sense of perfection. He had never struggled to get a good job, he had all the merits to allow for complete satisfaction with his position, and, furthermore, he seemed to be able to get any woman he wanted without any effort at all on his part. In this position, dispensing advice to others was a usual task, and one that Sam was well-familiar with.

Jim hesitated again, thinking over how his other confidantes often mocked and derided him for many of his lesser problems. Will Sam be able to understand? Will he be able to help me overcome this? he thought to himself. As he pondered this internally, Sam made a move to look at his watch; clearly there would be little time to sort things out. Perhaps I should wait for another day, another time he thought. But something within him urged him to get this vice off his chest, once and for all. If Sam couldn't help, no one could. "I like to dress up in a pink elephant costume and dance around my apartment to the soundtrack of Dumbo," Jim suddenly blurted out.

This unexpectedly brought back another rush of memories to Sam's mind. He could see his sister, vividly now, as if she were standing right in front of him, dressed in pink and dancing around the room. Marks on her skin that he had forgotten existed were brightly illuminated in his imagination, and an overall sense of helplessness and loss filled his entire body.

"I don't know what to do," Sam finally responded. "But Jim, you called your actions a vice. That's no vice. I've seen vices in this life, vices I myself used to be subject to, and your actions don't constitute any such thing. Keep on dancing, Jim. No one will give a shit."

Jim was comforted by this. He had never heard such utter sincerity spoken by his friend. He was glad for having taken the risk to open himself up, to probe his own depths and release it into the atmosphere for all to absorb. "Thanks Sam, I needed that."

"I did too, Jim. I did too."

About a month later, Jim asked Sam in passing how his sister was doing. Sam responded his usual "not bad" that was expected in such situations. He managed to stifle his snobs until later that evening, when he cried for the first time in over a decade.

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Vice'.

Exodus

2009-01-08T19:21:00.009-07:00

Young Exodus was always striving to become the sort of person that his parents and peers expected him to be. However, this was very difficult to achieve, because of the high standard that they held him up to.

"Exodus," his father once said to him, "I want you to be as big and strong as your Uncle Patty and as small and gentle as your Great Aunt Clara." This apparent contradiction in no way confused young Exodus, but it did make him wonder how he could ever achieve such a conundrum. For Exodus, such tasks were often his focus.

When young Exodus was even younger, he asked his father why he was given a name that seemed so strange to other people. His father replied that they had named him after a multitude of people that had escaped oppression thanks to the help of God. Younger than young Exodus didn't understand this explanation, nor did he like the look of righteous indignation in his father's eyes when he said it; Exodus would never ask this question again for the rest of his short life.

But, Exodus's life didn't end all that soon. He made his way slowly from the cradle, to the stroller, and even up until his first car at the age of 16. "You've finally arrived at manhood," his father stated plainly, "Now you can go out on your own, and escape any tyranny that oppresses you." Exodus drove down to the grocery store and bought some milk and eggs. His father thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but Exodus could tell that he had disappointed him.

Exodus's life ended abruptly when he fell into a small stream not far from his house. He was trying to cross it on his way to his friend Steve's home, which was located a small distance away on the other side. Exodus always felt very calm and peaceful at Steve's house. His parents were the only ones who didn't give a weird look when he introduced himself. Steve always prepared great meals of ham and eggs (but never eggs and ham). The food was exquisite, the friendship strong, and the home comfortable. Steve burnt the toast and set off the fire alarm a moment before Exodus took his last breath in the water of the small stream; the sound of the alarm drowned out his final cry for help. His body wasn't noticed until the next day.

Upon finding the body, his father looked on with approval. "You found your escape, son. Now let's hope I can find mine."

This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Exodus'.

In the beginning...

2008-12-05T13:20:00.005-07:00

1: "In the beginning was the Worm, and the Worm was with Gom, and the Worm was Gom."

2: "What the Hell? You've got your letters all off."

1: "Gommadn it! I fuckem it up again!"

2: "Yeah, you're a real mudbass."

One year ago today ...

2008-12-01T14:09:00.003-07:00

It's been exactly one year since I last posted anything on this blog. In a desire to move the advertisement for "The Golden Compass" down the page a little bit, I am posting this message.

Am I ready to start blogging daily content like some of my friends (cf. Chide Chode Chidden, Whatnot 8.0)? Probably not. I'm coming up to an especially busy week, and generally I tend to stay quite busy. My creative energy hasn't had a desire to express itself in blog form for a whole year now, so it's unlikely it will suddenly explode with output now. If you see a post tomorrow, however, then there may be reason to expect more. I'm not dead, and that's what matters most.

Daemons

2007-12-01T00:50:00.000-07:00

The website for The Golden Compass, soon to be released nationwide, has a section where it devises a daemon that reflects your inner soul based on a questionnaire of 20 personality questions. You answer the questions and it configures one of many daemons based on your answers. Mine is Euthalias the Ocelot--at least for now. You get to visit my page, if you wish, and answer a few questions about my personality and subsequently change the appearance of my daemon for the next few days. It will then harden into whatever you make it, hopefully giving a true picture of my soul for eternity...

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Euthalias means I'm solitary, flexible, modest, humble, and spontaneous ... so there! My ocelot's awesome.

A Match Made in Heaven

2007-11-24T00:28:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know, it is now quite official that I am getting married, and very soon. Therefore, a formal blog post relating to my personal life is in order, I believe.

I will be marrying Claire Larson on December 14, 2007. For more information about how we met, see our wedding site, which contains as well directions to the Springville Art Museum, where our open house will be held this Saturday (tomorrow!), November 24, 2007. Any reader of my blog who gets this message in time is more than welcome to come and crash the party. We will be serving moderate refreshments and you can meet my lovely bride to be, as well as our close families and friends. The event starts at 7pm and goes until 9pm.

Claire and I have begun a together blog where we will post more details that pertain to the both of us together, as a new sort of entity. This will keep me from turning this blog into a personal sort of "Oh my gosh I love Claire so much" sort of blog, which the together blog is sure to become (unless of course, Claire finds a way to manage me).

Thanks for your good wishes and kind words. I hope to see you all at the event.

The Interconnection of Mr. Daily

2007-11-24T00:15:00.001-07:00

For all you fans of movies out there, a new one has just popped up on the internet called The Interconnection of Mr. Daily. The remarkable feature in this film, however, is not its potential to become a blockbuster smash despite its never having been released in the theater or on DVD, but the fact that I, yes, your most humble and dashing blog-post-writer, I wrote the screenplay for the film, and I, yes, I the magnificent and benevolent one, I helped produce and make this film.

If you want to know more about it, you can follow the link above by clicking on the name of the film. Another option is to go to the main website of Bombdotcom Productions and read the blog post I wrote there explaining the details of the film, and urging our readership to view the film for a multitude of reasons. Since this blog is all about me, the film is now part of the required viewing catalog for anyone who wishes to continue reading this blog. It is also available on YouTube, so, get at it.

For anyone interested in reading the actual screenplay, it is no longer available on the internet, but I'd be glad to email you a copy. Alternatively, you can wait until I make it available on Celtx, which should be soon. In the meantime, you can read some of my other scripts on there.

For Sale Only

2007-11-11T01:54:00.000-07:00

So, I began to watch the film 1408 today, and found the following image looking back at me:

I was confused. "Am I allowed to watch this film?" I thought to myself. "Or must I go out and attempt to sell it?" The message seemed quite clear: in order to get any use out of this film, I would have to sell it. Unfortunately, I had rented this film from Hollywood Video, and would have had to answer to them if I sold it. I thought that perhaps I should take the matter up with them, since they clearly rented the film to me, and did not sell it as they should have. Ultimately, however, I decided to watch it. Who ever took the advice of a screen that appears for only two seconds before the film even begins?

Bill Clinton in Utah

2007-11-04T21:19:00.000-07:00

The big event today was taking place up in Salt Lake City, with the visit of former President of the United States Bill Clinton to the University of Utah. He came to support his wife Hillary in her political campaign for president.

I accompanied my brother and mother to this event, which cost us each $50 dollars to attend. In exchange for our money we received red wristbands which gained us entrance to the seats on the floor. We sat about 12 rows back, on the right hand side, looking at the podium. The ballroom sat around 1,500 people, with some in standing room only for $30 dollars. Arriving early (about 2:00 PM, the event started at 3:00 PM, and Clinton didn't begin speaking till well after that), we were able to get good seats, and even shake hands with him afterwards.

His speech felt more like a political discussion with a good friend whom you respect, rather than a pro-Hillary rally. Bill assured us that Hillary would have his vote even if she was not his wife. He had a great understanding of world politics and the important issues that America faces in the future. He argued that Hillary would be the best-suited for dealing with these problems. His points were convincing, and I am now much more a Hillary supporter than I was previously. It will certainly be interesting to see how the race for president turns out this year. I find it very interesting that Bill Clinton said that he liked all of the Democratic nominees, and even a few of the Republican ones.

On the local news channels, my family got plenty of screen time. My brother, Jacob, was interviewed by both KSL channel 5, and Fox News channel 13. He's quoted in the KSL news article as saying that he is Clinton's greatest supporter in Provo (I can be seen in the background in the video feed during his interview clip). In addition, my mother and brother were both interviewed and quoted in the evening news. We taped it, of course, so if you wish to see it, just come on over sometime!

Hooray for Bill. He is a wonderful speaker with great ideas and an amicable personality. It may be worth it to vote for Hillary just to keep him in some official capacity for our country as the first First Man. I'm sure our nation's status would be improved around the world if this were the case. I for one am not at all disappointed in spending $50 dollars on Hillary's campaign for the honor of meeting and listening to this great man.

Pandora -- New Music

2007-11-02T17:44:00.000-06:00

I know I was introduced to this a long time ago, but I haven't begun actually using this very cool internet radio until recently. It allows you to name a band (or bands) that you enjoy, and it proceeds to play similar sounding music from various artists, including the one you named. The system they use to determine the validity of a song based on your song choices is quite incredible. I rarely get a song I don't like, and when I do, I simply click on the 'thumbs-down' icon and I never get that song again, nor any songs similar.

I have been introduced to many new artists through this device, and it's also the best free internet radio I have found available. It never cuts out on me and keeps me with the type of music I like. I've set up a few different channels based on what sort of music I may be in the mood for, and I'm able to keep good songs of certain types on their respective channels. I highly recommend this for anyone that's allowed to listen to music at work, or that likes to listen to music while browsing the internet.

P.S.

2007-11-02T00:04:00.000-06:00

P.S. - Thanks for reading this whole letter, even though it was really long-winded and not very understandable. I know I have the tendency to divert off-topic sometimes, and in a letter it is more difficult for me to remain laconic. I hope it's not too annoying for you and you get at least a little bit out of it. You are a great person to have read all of the pages without merely skimming through them or skipping them entirely. I'm sure you can assist me in these matters without too much trouble. I really do appreciate your help in these matters, and I eagerly await your response.

P.P.S. - I just realized I forgot to write a letter to go along with this P.S. I hope it makes sense anyways and you're still able to help, because I'm totally done writing.

P.P.P.S. - That letter doesn't make any sense at all. I just read it. There's no way I'm sending this out to you, so don't bother reading it. Thank you.

P.P.P.P.S. - I changed my mind. I've written the body of the letter. It follows:

Dear Sir (or Madam),

Please read the following P.S. remarks and tell me if they would be fit to publish in your magazine P.S.: Snippets from the Ends of Letters. I have worked hard to create P.S.'s that stand alone in their brilliance while also supplementing the letter they go to. Here are a few ideas I've had that I feel would truly help your magazine's readership in their enjoyment of their bimonthly perusal:

[editor's note: 281 paragraphs excised for length]

I have many more P.S. remarks on their way, but I thought I would send a small sample first. You're welcome. I await your reply.

Sincerely,

JS

P.S. - XOXOXO.

A Crude Sexual Remark

2007-10-16T22:03:00.000-06:00

I usually get a kick out of the explanations for some of the MPAA ratings for films. There are the incredibly specific ("pervasive strong bloody violence"), oddly classified ("sci-fi destruction," as if the fact that it's sci-fi as opposed to any other destruction changes things), or extremely ambiguous (the catch-all "thematic elements" comes to mind). It just shows the faultiness of the system, and the subjective nature of the rulings. However, when I popped in my rented copy of "Off the Black" today, I found what I believe to be the most absurd rating of all time. I was greeted with the following image:

Now, whether or not the film actually deserves the R rating, the MPAA makes a bold move here in singling out one specific instance of crude sexuality ... not even a whole scene or anything building up to that scene, but rather, a single remark is the sole reason for the R rating. This implies that everything else in the film is hunkydory. It provides little assistance to the potential parent trying to decide if this film is alright for his/her child to view. "Thematic elements" would even have been better here. I can actually see how this film could receive an R rating -- I'm not opposed to that. It's the implication that the R rating comes from a single phrase spoken as an aside that really had little to do with the plot of the film.

I don't get too upset when I see these explanations, because it's mainly just funny. However, if I were one to determine my movie watching based on the rating of the film, this sort of explanation would not satisfy my requirements. If I were going to miss out on a film, it would have to be for a better reason than "a crude sexual remark." How the MPAA ratings still hold any sway over people's viewing habits, I just don't understand.

Abortion

2007-10-12T11:19:00.001-06:00

An article in the New York Times today, entitled "Legal or Not, Abortion Rates Compare," reported the interesting findings of a survey of various nations of the world with regard to abortion rates and legality of the procedure in those nations. Briefly summarized, it found that abortion rates were higher in those areas where the procedure is illegal. Furthermore, the chance of death from such procedures was much higher in those same areas. This has compelled me to list some of my thoughts on the issue of abortion, which deviate markedly from those of other members of my religion.

I think that women should have full rights over their bodies. When a woman becomes pregnant, she becomes the caretaker for the human embryo housed within her womb. Of course, not all caretakers are as good as others, and some cause considerable, at times unrepairable, damage to the fetus through the imbibing of alcohol and use of other harmful substances. In many states, there are laws against such actions in order to protect the future life of the fetus. Therefore, I think a woman should have the option of cancelling her enrollment in such a course that would require her to give up her rights to certain legal activities. While it is true that abstinence would be the ultimate preventative measure, women can not always maintain that high standard. Should a minor slip-up result in a minimum nine month sentence of pain and misery for a woman who has no wish to be a mother? Should a child be born into a world where he is neither wanted nor cared for properly?

Many equate abortion with murder, saying that death of a human life is the same, regardless of when it takes place. However, it is necessary to examine the differences between life in the womb and life after birth. In the womb, the fetus is dependent on the mother's life-force to stay alive. It is a part of the woman's body, attached and connected, unable to move about freely. It is not an autonomous being at this point, because if it were removed from the woman's body, it would die. Even if science reaches the point where an embryo can be cultivated and nurtured outside of the natural womb, I don't think these would be seen as equal alternatives to a normal pregnancy. If a woman sees another being utilizing her resources as an unwanted partnership, then she should be able to terminate the relationship. The child is not truly born until he is removed from the womb, and until then, he should not have the equal rights of a child. If a child is considered the same life both inside and outside of the womb, then why do we celebrate a child's birthday on the day of their delivery? Shouldn't this be traced to the point of conception, if life has officially begun at that moment?

Of course, there are limits to my overall permission for abortion. I think that a woman should have to make her decision early in the pregnancy. Once she has begun, then she must accept her choice and see it through to the end (except, of course, in cases of medical emergency where her life is in danger, or other extenuating circumstances that I may not be aware of). In other words, I don't think a woman should be able to end the life of a fetus the day prior to her delivery date just because she wants to; at that point there'd need to be a better reason. I think all abortions should be done only after discussion with a competent physician, and only after proper counseling has been completed.

I realize that this puts me in the minority in my religion. I personally feel that this is a matter of free agency; limiting a woman's right to choose in this aspect is not at all in keeping with our Church's doctrine. While I would never want to miss out on the opportunity to raise a child that God has granted to be conceived, it is not up to me to force that upon anyone. Prohibiting abortion causes many more problems than it fixes, and I feel that it is the wrong course to take in making society a better place.

I'd love to hear comments telling me I'm wrong ... I'm always open to altering my perception of important issues. This issue in particular just gets me upset, because it seems like everyone in Utah sees it as a cut-and-dry topic: abortion=murder=bad, and I disagree.

Why I read fiction . . .

2007-09-27T00:13:00.000-06:00

I've had a hard time understanding how some people can claim that there is little value in focusing on the reading of literature that is not steeped in reality. These are the people that think that if you're not reading a biography, historical account, informational books, or anything else regarded as non-fiction, then you're essentially wasting your time because you could be doing something better. I can't see how they can maintain this viewpoint when there is so much to be had from the reading of a well-constructed, well-written fictional story. I suppose this is because I've never had a chance to get much out of non-fiction, as I'm usually too bored by page two to understand much of what is being talked about.

Here are a few things that I find most interesting about fiction. This isn't to say that these can not be found as well in non-fiction, but simply, that they do exist in fiction, and, in my opinion, to a greater and more accessible extent.

1.) Symbolism and Deep Meaning. Aside from the Bible and Book of Mormon, which could be classed by some as fiction, there exist no non-fiction books that I know of where deeper, unspoken meaning is attained through multiple readings. Reading an account of world war II, such as the Diary of Anne Frank (one of the few non-fiction works I've actually managed to read through without falling asleep at some point), is very informational, and can teach you a lot about an event you knew little about beforehand. However, by keeping completely faithful to the facts, there usually is little in the way of symbolic meaning to enhance the story.

With fiction, the story can be constructed in the way the author intends in order to increase the beauty of the general themes and ideas portrayed therein. Take for example Anna Karenina: on first reading, it seems to be a fairly straight-forward story about family relations and consequences of adultery. However, when read through more closely, you begin to see how the nuances of the characters relate to an overall world theme. A small scene like the steeplechase, wherein a basic (albeit exciting) account of a horse race is described, becomes an allegory for the rest of the novel. It is able to solidify the ideas and moral lessons of the story. These then relate to the rest of life in a way that is not soon forgotten.

Stephen King speaks of this in his book On Writing. He states that the story writes itself, as he sees it in his mind. But then, when rewriting, he has the opportunity to develop some of the themes that are naturally there. A good writer is able to add to the existing theme by including symbols and unwritten feeling to the work. This can not be done by a writer of non-fiction, because by adding details that did not occur in real life, the writer is by definition, then, writing fiction.

2.) Memorable Moments. True, there are many memorable moments in non-fiction accounts. One can not read about the Battle of Hastings without remembering the courage of the soldiers. One can not read an account of the Civil War without keeping in memory the horrible tragic consequences of our nation's past mistakes. However, these don't last very long. They rush past the brain like another story seen on the news. You recall periodically the story and the effects of it; you remember it when you go to a museum or other national historic site; but, all to soon, you forget about it and go about your day.

Not with good works of fiction. A good book remains in my head forever. I may not remember all of the details, and those symbols I mentioned earlier don't ever come to mind again, but the effect of the writing is etched in my mind for the rest of my life. This is because the reader becomes involved in the story, knowing that the story exists solely for him. Whether or not anyone reads about World War II, it happened. However, if no one reads about Don Quixote's adventures, then they are simply not there. No one would know, and no one would care, and that person is relinquished into the arms of nonexistence.

By being invested in the work, the reader is able to get to know the characters better than the characters know themselves. The author has created this person, and therefore knows everything about them--things that the person has no idea about himself. A good author lets the reader in on these secrets, while at times keeping the characters unaware. This allows the reader to follow the story closely, and have a say in the interpretation of the events as they happen. In doing so, the reader becomes the judge of events, not a viewer of historical facts.

3.) References to life. While the reality of the novel is not historical fact, it can at times be more real than life itself. Oftentimes, what appears to be the case is not always what it seems. More often than not, a matter of common simplicity is a rack of torment in the mind of a person. A good novel or short story can better describe these sorts of details, and tell that behind-the-scenes story in a way that historical biographies can not. A biography about Hitler will tell you facts about his life, how he came to power, who his closest advisors were, and how it is presumed he died. A fictional account of a merciless dictator who attempts to purge his country of all unworthy races, however, would be able to give a full view of the dictator's thoughts, feelings, and emotions, without being worried about stumbling over incorrect historical facts. In doing so, it can cause the reader to feel very differently about Hitler and the atrocities of his reign, than would a biography detailing, however correctly and in-depth, the account of his dealings.

By being more true, in this way, the characters and events in a fictional story come to life. They are able to be used daily in references, at times when you don't have the words to describe feelings or events. Rather than trying to describe the appearance of a large, scary looking figure, you can just say that he looked like Frankenstein. Rather than try and explain how your roommate seems to have two completely different personalities, you can just reference Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It makes life much more interesting, especially when two people understand the reference and are able to bring their own thoughts and feelings to the discussion.

There are many more things I love about fiction. Let the three numbered above suffice, however, as I am too interested in getting back to reading Demons by Dostoevsky to continue writing a blog that no one will read, and that is, unfortunately, classified under the broad term 'non-fiction'. I hope to be able to, someday, write a great work of fiction, because it will have so much more value to a reader than a worthless blog such as this. I urge anyone reading this who has ever thought that fiction is of little value to reexamine some of the great classic works by true literary geniuses. Your life will be greatly enhanced as a result.

Christopher Guest Intel Music Videos

2007-07-23T18:12:00.001-06:00

Two new music videos debuted today on intel's website. They are entitled "Everything has Changed" and "Set I.T. Managers Free" and are directed by the great Christopher Guest.

They are definitely aimed at the computer nerd demographic, and many of the inside lyrics don't have much impact on me. I'm not sure how effective these videos will be in selling intel's products, but they are fun to watch knowing that Guest was in charge. "Set I.T. Managers Free" is a really fun song, and a much better video than "Everything has Changed." They should both be watched if you consider yourself a fan of Christopher Guest or Intel.

Chicago, here I come!

2007-07-19T10:55:00.000-06:00

It's been a long time with no blog from me. Just a quick update from me here. I'll be going to Chicago at the end of this month for the annual IFT convention. I'll be staying with a friend for the three or four days that this goes on. Not only will this convention give me the chance to meet big name food industry professionals, but hopefully I'll be able to find some promising job opportunities in the Chicago area, since I'll be moving out there come December.

I have visited Chicago before. I was younger, perhaps 16? I can't recall ... I'm bad with that sort of thing. All I remember is that I had to fly out alone a day after my parents and family did, because I had to perform in a marching band competition. We flew to St. Louis, saw the arch, and then went to Chicago. At some point on the trip we saw all the church sites in the area (Nauvoo, Carthage, etc.). It was a very good trip, and I loved Chicago itself most of all. The tall buildings provided much shade and it was actually quite a beautiful city. Hopefully my memory isn't deceiving me, and the city is still amazing. I'll know for sure when I travel out there this month.

San Francisco, Scangi(sp?), and School

2007-05-02T21:37:00.000-06:00

San Francisco is a city of change - a city on the edge. This is seen quite literally in the steep slopes of the streets and the scenic views from the bay bridges, but also a figurative expression of this idea is apparent in the very fabric of the city's culture. During my weekend trip to the gorod of Bunin's gentleman, I managed to view a number of interesting spectacles, the most interesting of which was the one that occured Friday evening. This was the monthly bicycle ride down Market Street, meant to deter drivers from utilizing their automobiles by blocking the flow of traffic and taking over the street by sheer mass. The sight was incredible. People of all different types and with a broad range of bicycles rode down both lanes of traffic. What started as a small gathering, I am told, has now reached the point of tradition, with police blocking off the road to allow for a safer display by the riders. This sums up the nature of San Francisco perfectly. The city's denizens are pleased to perform their deeds without hesitation, ready to back up their beliefs with action. They live together, making change, embracing differences, and progressing to the future.

In San Francisco, I had the opportunity to eat scangi as part of our Italian fish dinner, although I can't seem to find this dish on any online database. They told us they were sea snails. They tasted like oysters, only with a rougher texture and less appealing mouthfeel. They were served in giant shells mixed in with the pasta sauce. They were sufficiently disgusting to prevent my eating any more than a single bite. I did swallow, unlike my fearful counterparts at my table.

School is back in full swing. I am taking three courses this spring, with the plan of not taking any courses in the summer. Of course, with a full scholarship, I might just take a couple of classes for fun. I am currently enrolled in an advanced writing class, a family history class (for that last required religion credit), and a time-consuming calculus class (required for my major), taught by a very cool Chinese Ph.D. student. His accent causes difficulty at times, but at least he's always smiling, and he doesn't make any mistakes in his explanations. I'm trying to devote most of my time to calculus, so I will actually understand it. So far it's been pretty easy, but since I haven't had math since 11th grade, I'm pretty sure it will be much more difficult for me than for some of the other students. Oh, and I hate math and always will.

Long Time, No Blog

2007-04-19T21:42:00.000-06:00

It's been awhile since I've last blogged. I feel like posting something today, in order to take my mind off all my assignments and tests due before the end of finals. My masterpiece has been postponed, due to the accumulation of schoolwork, as well as another important facet of my life, which could be considered my masterpiece. In any event, I'm still alive, and that's a good thing, in my opinion.

A few musings, while I'm at it:

VT Shooting:
My mind keeps thinking about how easy that could happen at BYU. I can almost see the news headlines: "Our hearts go out to the quiet Mormon community in Provo, UT, where no one suspected freshman student ______ ________ to attack his fellow classmates in broad daylight ..." Of course, I don't know who would do such a thing here, but it's every bit as possible as it was at Virginia Tech. And there's really not a good way to prevent it. You just have to realize the odds are against it happening.

Movies:
I've seen some very good ones recently, not the least of which is Grindhouse. I love Robert Rodriguez and everything he does, so it's no surprise that I enjoyed this film. This was like "From Dusk Till Dawn," only with less effort in character development and more effort in gore. It was masterfully done. It made me remember why I love movies so much. That discussion is probably best saved for a later post, however.

In connection with movies, my friends Steve, Patrick, Andrew, and some others were involved in filming a new comedy about people with disabilities. No, not those types of disabilities ... silly disabilities. Fake disabilities. It'll be good, I think. It was fun to be involved, even if it was only for a day. I wish I had more time to devote to this sort of thing. I'll post the link when it's available.

School:
I love studying, writing papers, and research. I've always known this, but this semester it has become more apparent than ever. I don't think I ever want to leave school. The idea of graduating in August and going to work is quite frightening. I don't mind working, but I would really rather study.

Chocolate:
I only like chocolate in small quantities, except for on rare occasions. This Easter made me realize, lots of chocolate at once makes me sick. I much prefer sour candies.

Canker Sores:
They really suck.

Russian Literature of the 20th Century:
About to go study for my final tomorrow. I just thought I should put a shout-out here to Chekhov, Andreev, Gorky, Bunin, Blok, Sholokhov, Babel, Zamyatin, Bulgakov, Kharms, Mandelshtam, Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva, Pasternak, Platonov, Solzhenitsyn, Shalamov, Aksyonov, Bitov, Petrushevskaya, Ulitskaya, and Brodsky for the great insight and meaning they've given to my life this semester. I didn't know half of these authors existed before the beginning of this schoolyear. I strongly encourage anyone wanting to read literature that describes life through uniquely developed eyes to seek out one or two works by any of the aforementioned authors. Contact me for recommendations.

Graduation:
I'll be graduating in August, but first I have to take calculus. I'm already worried. It'll be the first time in awhile that I'll be taking a class I don't want to be in, won't learn to love, and probably won't do well in. It'll be a lot of work that I don't want to do. Why it's required for the Food Science major is beyond even the faculty at BYU. Oh well, maybe I'll learn something.

In connection with graduation, I'll be taking tickets at the April commencement, famous for its association with Dick Cheney. I imagine I'll have a number of upset relatives of graduating students wanting to come in without tickets, and I will have to turn them away. Sad day for me. Sad day for everyone. I assure you all, Dick Cheney's speech will be very boring.

Ukraine:
I want to go back again. Last Summer I had an internship that allowed me the chance to go back and get paid for it. This Summer -- no such luck. Instead I'll be here taking the last couple of classes required for my diploma.

San Francisco:
My plans are set to fly out to San Francisco on the 27th. I've been wanting to see this city again for a long time. I haven't been there since I was young. Hopefully, I'll get to see the Full House house while I'm there, as well as some of the classic settings from Mrs. Doubtfire.

Masterpiece:
My masterpiece is being officially postponed until after school is completely finished. It just wasn't coming along as a masterpiece, I'm afraid; and I don't have time to spend on a mediocrepiece.

Blogs:
I'm still not sure how much I want to update this blog. It just doesn't hold much fascination for me. It's all Patrick's fault. He was the first to clue me in to the silliness of such things.

History:
I was just thinking today, in the shower, how cool it is that we lived through the year 2000. I mean, I can imagine people living in the year, say 1300, and talking about the year 2000, as if it was a date that would never happen. It was 700 years off, for crying out loud! But, here we are. Pretty cool. Why it took until the year 2007 for me to have this feeling, I don't know. I guess I'm about 7 years slow on the uptake.

My Dog:
He's in my room sleeping. I don't have the heart to wake him up. He's very old.

Band-Aids:
These are awesome inventions. I'm going to go look up the history of them on Wikipedia right now.

My Masterpiece

2007-01-27T21:12:00.000-07:00

I have decided to write a masterpiece. Sometime tonight, or in the near future, I will commence on this endeavor and you will all be blessed by the fruits of my labors. So, beware of that, and I'll keep you updated on the progress of the work. Masterpieces are cool!

A Year of Decision Ahead

2007-01-01T14:30:00.000-07:00

So, with 2006 gone, it's time to move ahead to 2007. This will be an interesting year, as it will be, for me, a year of decision. My first decision will be what to do with my Summer. I have the opportunity to go to Moscow and intern for the Summer. That would be cool, but would cost me a heap of cash. Financially, probably not the best choice, but, currently it's at the top of my Summer plans. Alternatively, I could stay in town and finish school this Summer. I would then be graduated by Fall, without dealing with that pesky Fall semester. However, what would I do then? Find a job? Am I planning on graduate school? I'd like to ... but then I must take the GRE sometime this Summer. I should probably do that anyways, so I can take it before they make all the changes they're planning to make to it. Even if I leave this Summer, I'll be graduating by the end of Fall semester, which would be around this time next year. So, I have to decide. I hate deciding things. I'm sure it will all turn out okay, but, still, 2007 represents for me the crashing down of reality on my world of educational bliss.

Death Becomes Me

2006-12-18T05:33:00.000-07:00

I am not dead, as many believe, but am slowly inching my way towards the slippery slope of perilous doom. I am up at 5:37 AM, for my third night this week of pre-test, all-night study. This means, unfortunately, that I must make up for this sleep at some point in the day. If, however, I fail to find the time, I will most certainly die. Since I foresee additional sleepless nights in my upcoming week, I think death could most certainly be in the cards for me. If this is the case, please, do not cease to comment on here. Go on with life, as though I exist. You can even set a place for me at your table; make it a Christmas tradition. Or just give me Christ's seat until he comes and demands it back -- I'll be more than happy to partake of his food. In the meantime, I seem to remember that my mom said she'd be making Cherry pie ... I'm going to go check the refrigerator to see if she really did. That may save me from death for a few more evenings, so keep that fine china away from my placemat for now -- I'm going to live.

An Overwhelming Undertaking

2006-12-10T00:34:00.000-07:00

I sit here pondering my previous day -- a day that has been complete for half of what some would consider to be the most important measurement that is commonly used in this society. I awoke late -- missing the entire morning -- leaving me with just the second half to finish what I have determined is the most important paper that I have ever had to write, and what others would likely consider just another paper. Nothing more, nothing less.

I regret nothing; I worked hard. It may not come to be any great thing, and at this moment, it has not generated even an inkling of satisfaction for anyone except myself. I worry for its completion. The conception came quickly, in a rush of grandiose insight and wit, and yet the research was delayed by my own selfish desires to increase other aspects of my living existence, and now I am forced to do in a day what should be done in no less than three.

The final product will inevitably be remarkable. While it can not be seen at the moment by others' eyes, or even by my own, its existence is soon to be created by my capable faculties -- and it is overwhelming. I write now in hopes that by the completion of tomorrow I am still capable of proceeding with my commendable undertaking. If I'm not, then my grade will surely suffer.

Danger: Keep Hands Clear!

2006-11-23T19:54:00.000-07:00

A little while ago, I went with my class on a field trip to a factory where they produce the little bags of salads. Near the machine that cuts the lettuce into little slices and mixes all of the cut carrots and cabbage into the salad mix, there was a sign similar to the one on the left. This sign, in case you can't see, contains an image of a hand that has each of the fingers sliced off cleanly, with little drops of blood falling out of the newly opened ends. This is by far the scariest image I've ever seen. After I saw that sign, there's no way I'm putting my hands anywhere near that machine. It seemed to me to be a little excessive for a warning sign. I mean, we all know what can happen if you place your hands near a sharp automated blade. The danger sign would be enough it seems, maybe with an image of a knife or something, for those who are unable to read.

In my tours of various other food production plants, I have noticed this sign, or a similarly gruesome one, on cheese vats, chopping devices, and fans. I'm beginning to feel that these signs would be fun to place around schools, near dark holes perhaps. It would be interesting from a sociological standpoint, at least, to see which kids would stick their hands into the dark hole regardless of the sign's depicted warning. I suppose then they'd learn to disobey such signs because the lack of any blade in the hole would be evidence to them that signs often lie. In fact, I'm starting to doubt the sign myself. I mean, I've never seen a blade make a clean cut like that through human flesh. It has bone to cut through, after all. I also think there'd be a substantial amount more blood than what is shown. Perhaps next trip I'll have to sacrifice a finger or two to find out - watch for it in your next salad.

Crossword Complete

2006-11-20T17:27:00.000-07:00

I'm not a crossword fanatic. I do the New York Times crossword that is reprinted in The Daily Universe each day, not because I have some specific goal to complete the crossword to prove my high-reaching intellect to myself, but rather, to waste time when I am bored and have nothing else with which I could occupy that time. Specifically, I tend to fill out the crossword puzzle during the 10 minute class breaks when I happen to have my next lesson in the same room as my previous lecture. My eyes also wander to the clues during my microbiology class, which proves to be quite fruitless. I get the most work done on the crossword puzzle during lunchtime, when I am busy chomping away at a tasty Subway sandwich. This required some skill at first, seeing as how I was used to eating two handed. I am now able to hold my sandwich quite confidently with one hand, while filling in boxes with the other. Granted, this only occurs on Mondays, and sometimes on Tuesdays. The other days of the week usually see me sitting with my sandwich, pondering over the possible answers to the incredibly difficult clues to events and happenings that I have never heard of.

The reason for posting this today, however, is that something happened that has never before occurred in all of my months as a crossword enthusiast. I completed the crossword puzzle. That is, I filled in each and every box of Monday's puzzle, and am quite confident that I did so correctly. And you know what? I feel no differently than when I finish all of the puzzle save a few squares. I never really look at the solutions to yesterday's puzzle, either, so I'll never know if I was right. And I don't care. I'm not a crossword fanatic.

Scholarship Exaggerations

2006-10-27T22:10:00.000-06:00

Tonight, I was honored at a departmental scholarship banquet in the Wilkinson Center. This was a nice fancy dinner attended by the faculty and staff of the Nutrition, Dietetics, and Food Science Department (NDFS), as well as other scholarship recipients and their parents and/or spouses. My mother and I sat at the same table as the dean of the college of biology and agriculture and his wife, as well as the department chair and his wife. This was obviously the most prestigious table in the room: front and center and all. It was table #3.

As part of the festivities, we were served a very tasty meal provided by BYU catering. It was fancy schmancy, and was a joy to eat. It was great to see all of the other people there getting their awards, and feeling just as uncomfortable as I was to see their biographical sketch in the award summary program that was handed out to everyone in attendance. None of us are quite aware of where they found this information. A popular theory seems to be that they took bits and pieces from our scholarship applications. Well, you know how people exaggerate on those. Exactly.

Here's what mine said:
Joseph Schlegel will receive dual degrees in Food Science and Russian. He would like to use both of these degrees in a future career. He served an internship with the Food Products Association, and was a member of the IFT College Bowl Team, which required an extensive knowledge of the terms and principles associated with food science. He organized a benefit concert for Russian orphans this year, and was able to help needy children receive supplies they needed. He has been a member of the BYU Slavic Club, Food Science Club, and took second place in a Regional IFT Food Science College Bowl competition.

Well, most of that is true, so I guess I am slightly amazing. But, it is really funny how it makes it sound like I organized this huge benefit concert all by myself, when in reality I was simply a member of the club that organized it; my duties included passing out flyers and helping to collect the donations that were sent in. It also makes it sound like I took second place in the college bowl, when in fact it was a team effort, led mostly by the team captain, who was not me.

They ended up reading these biographical sketches out loud for everyone when they had us receive our individual awards. So, there was no hiding from the extreme exaggerations listed. Many people were probably feeling quite uneasy. I had a blast.

I got to meet some neat people, and hobnob with the intellectual type. This is a completely different crowd of people, and one that I wouldn't actually mind being a part of. We'll see where my amazing future brings me, once I finish my job that requires both of my dual degrees.

Scutigera: My Friend

2006-10-24T15:56:00.000-06:00

First, some background:
About four months ago, I awoke in a most odd way. I slapped my face as hard as I could, while I was still asleep. This awoke me from my dream. Why did I slap my face? Well, I was in a groggy state, having just awoke, and I thought I had felt a tickle on my face, and naturally, I assumed that my fear had truly occured, and a spider had been crawling on my face. I probably would have forgotten about this by now, and just passed it off to a bad dream that made me believe a spider had been on my face, except that when I looked at my hand, a spider leg was on it. This leg was undeniably one that belonged to a spider, and I was quite scared that I may have upset him now (I know I would be upset if someone whacked my leg off!). I looked around without moving, hoping to see where the spider was. . .but I couldn't see anything. So, I slowly got out of bed, moving only the covers. I looked back at the bed, and saw no spider. I was about to leave, and get on with my day, when I decided to shake things up a bit, literally. I shook the covers, in fear that something would pop out and run up my leg. Nothing did. Finally, I grabbed my pillow, and shook it. Well, this is where I get freaked out, because out from under the pillow streaks this brown insect-looking creature. I thought it had a hundred legs, it was moving so fast. It ran right under the covers. Well, I knew I couldn't sleep in that bed ever again until I knew that that creature was dead and wasn't going to crawl all over me in my sleep. So, I grabbed a sunday school lesson manual (the closest hard object I could find) and held it like a racquet. I quickly threw the covers back, and swatted the racquet down hard. I hit it square, but, due to the softness of the mattress, the spider was not killed, and only paused briefly before running away down the side of the bed (on the side next to the wall). I was very afraid now, because not only is this spider pissed off at me for losing a leg, but now he's been swatted and is probably leaking some sort of goo everywhere he goes. I thought he probably hadn't run far off, and I could coax him back onto the bed. I pulled gently at the mattress cover, and sure enough, up he came. I hammered the lesson manual down on him. This time, I didn't stop. I swatted again, and again, and again, until I had pulverized him, and I knew he was dead.

Note: Don't you find it odd that I consistently refer to scary spiders and insects as 'he'? I do.

Now, the update:
So, a few days ago, I walk into my bathroom and see the exact same type of creature, hanging out on the wall behind the toilet. It wasn't moving, which was shocking, considering how fast his counterpart had darted off the bed. I ran into my kitchen and grabbed a small tupperware container (not yours, GM ... unfortunately, I still don't know where that is ...). With this, I attempted to capture the insect. As I inched close to it, though, it fell right down to the floor and started to scurry away. I quickly clamped the tupperware over him, coaxed him into crawling up the side of the container, turned it around quickly and shut the lid. I then threw that into the freezer, hoping to take it to the entomology room in the Bean Museum for identification.

This proved to be unnecessary, however. A simple email to the curator of the insect collection describing my catch was sufficient for him to give me the exact species name. Scutigera coleoptrata. Commonly known as the House Centipede. So, after all this time, the mystery is solved. That's what the scary creature was that awoke me in the night so long ago. And, another mystery solved: it states, "In an act of defense, when one of the house centipede's legs is held down, it drops that leg in hopes that the attacker will be distracted by the temporarily twitching appendage." Well, it's leg didn't deter me from smashing it to death, but, it sure gave a valiant effort.

I am very impressed by my friend Scutigera. He eats the spiders that I hate so much. He wasn't on my bed that night to bother me, he was simply ridding my sheets of bedbugs. Scutigera is one of the most beneficial creatures that I could have residing in my room, even if he is nasty looking. Looks can be deceiving: that's the lesson to be learned here. Remember it.

No Backpack - No Worries

2006-10-22T19:56:00.000-06:00

At 7:50PM, I had a twenty minute window before I had to leave to give a friend a ride. I decided that may be the only time I have to get a little bit of homework done for tomorrow. That's when I realized that I left my backpack, and every bit of my schoolwork, in my locker at the Eyring Science Center. This whole weekend, it never even crossed my mind. I guess that shows just how little I think of school on the weekend. I'll be getting up early tomorrow to get some of that work done that's due. That'll be fun. For now, though, it's back to forgetting about it.

Teach Safe S in Schools

2006-10-22T09:35:00.000-06:00

There's a need in our education system that is simply not being fulfilled. We teach and teach about the miracles of modern science, about the history of the Native American tribes, about the formations of the clouds; we have children memorize and learn the names of all of the counties in the state, the names of the Native American tribes, and the times tables; we teach them how to read music, decipher petroglyphs, and make ceramic pots. But, between all of this learning of unusable - yet interesting - information, we fail to teach children the value of keeping safe. You see, there is a certain act that many children, even at a very young age, contemplate doing. Many times, due to the pressures of their peers, this act becomes mutual, even ritualistic at times. When this happens, the consequences of such action becomes apparent and cause much difficulty for the family, friends, and teachers of such a student.

The tell-tale signs are clearly visible before the results of the final act are seen. Bloodstains on the sheets, perhaps. Or a child and his friend entering the garage and locking the door, in order to be alone. We all should be able to recognize what is happening. The big "S". Suicide.

Children are committing suicide at an alarmingly higher rate than we were when we were their age. The modern world, this modern society, is all the more troublesome and difficult to live in, and children can not always cope with the pressures and demands of the populace. This causes many problems at home and at school, when children no longer show up for classes or clean their rooms. Many of these problems could be assuaged if we would simply include proper suicide etiquette in the school curriculum.

Safe suicide has already begun to be taught by some school systems and has shown great results. Although the suicide rate does rise slightly with the implementation of such a system, the manner in which these suicides are performed is much more in keeping with the ways of proper living. No longer are children shooting their brains out onto the wall with shotguns, leaving only a bloody stump in the place of a head, and spilling out all of their cranial contents onto their personal belongings. They instead take caution and care to write a proper suicide letter, notifying their loved ones of their actions and the reasons pertaining to them. They ensure that the act takes place in a safe area, with the consent and approval of proper administrators. They learn how to handle unforeseen circumstances, and overcome their adverse effects. With these changes comes a greater appreciation for what they have done, and a better understanding of the mature nature of their actions.

Let's face it: kids are going to commit suicide. It's a basic human desire that requires fulfillment. We are no longer living in an era when it is okay to force children into living a useless and hopeless existence. I demand that all schools inculcate their pupils with the principles of safe suicide. Suicide is much too enjoyable of an experience to deny desiring children. Sure, such values should be taught in the home - but many parents are not fulfilling this necessary obligation. Their children are then having an impact on others, and the poor suicide technique spreads like wild-fire.

The fact remains: children are going to do it. Therefore, let's make sure they are doing it safe and doing it right.

A New Board Writer

2006-10-19T16:12:00.000-06:00

Hey, I've made a contribution without even trying. I simply answered the question posted on an online forum, and now I've been quoted on The Board. I keep this up, and maybe people will think I'm a board writer myself.

Same-Sex Marriage

2006-10-19T02:49:00.000-06:00

I was reading through today's posts on the board, and found an argument against gay marriages that I had never heard before. It struck me as remarkably absurd, so I post it here for your amusement:

"Marriage was designed, in essence, for conceiving, bearing, and raising children unto God. He wants us to raise our children under righteous principles so that it may continue from generation from generation. Now brings the simple truth: same-sex marriages cannot have children! There is no reason for me to dive in the physiology and why it is that way; we all understand it. If we allow same-sex marriage to continue, it will proliferate to a point that there will be a huge desire to adopt. So much, in fact, that a married man and women, who are unable to have a child naturally, may not be able to adopt. What would happen for you, Logos, if you were married, unable to have children, and couldn't adopt because there were so many gay marriages wanting adopt also? I would imagine that you would be devastated - your name-sake would not be able to continue."

First, I was struck most by the claim that same-sex couples should not be allowed to marry on the basis that they cannot breed. Following that logic, any heterosexual couple that is unable to produce offspring should also not be allowed to be married. Since when was marriage all about the children? Yes, that's its primary purpose, but certainly not a qualifying necessity.
Second, what's all this about homosexuals wanting to adopt? Yes, there are many that would love to adopt children, but I don't think it's an overwhelming majority. Certainly there are enough children available from the illegitimacy and cohabitation problems that were noted earlier in the answer to supply the highly interested and able homosexuals the ability to adopt without stealing the children away from heterosexual couples. And, the last time I checked, the adoption board will only allow an adoption to go through if it deems the home suitable for raising a child. What difference should it make to society, then, if every child that needs to be adopted is able to be adopted by caring and loving parents in the bonds of marriage? Seems like a pretty good deal to me - a hell of a lot better than we stand now.

I am in no way finding fault with The Board, or the writer of this answer. He was asked to give the argument for those that oppose gay marriages, and he did so. I'm simply using my disagreement with his points as motivation to finally type up some of my thoughts on the issue. I agree completely with his concluding points, for example: "I hope you can see, by these few examples, how same-sex marriage can, and will, affect our society," and "A minority of society, who are pushing for same-sex marriages, do not understand the huge implications of it." It is certain that allowing same-sex marriages will cause a drastic change to the way our society functions, as it attempts to respond to the unintended consequences of such a change. But, I believe that this change is due to come just as it has in other revolutions in the past (abolition of slavery, women's rights, voting rights at 18, etc.). Every time a change is made in policy, it, of course, affects our society. There are those who will claim the received consequences are bad, and others who will claim that they are good. However, this change is imminent, and we had better prepare ourselves for it and figure out how we can make it work, rather than trying to put a halt to the process.

Advanced - Mid

2006-10-14T00:54:00.000-06:00

It's official. I can speak Russian on the level of Advanced - Mid (which, I assume, is a shortened form of Advanced - Middle). It cost me $55 dollars to find that out. Should I pay the $10 dollars to get the official documentation sent to me? No, thank you. It served its purpose already ... now, here's hoping that was good enough to get on the Russian debate team next semester.
I suppose I should give some background for those of you that may not know of my reasons for testing my Russian knowledge. Ten people next semester will be allowed to sign up for Russian 490R - Russian Debate. This is the first time this class is being offered. It will consist of learning the principles of good debate, and then utilizing those principles to debate in the Russian language. The culmination of this course will take place at the close of the semester, when the team will fly to Russia to participate in an international debate competition against some native Russian teams.
In order to ensure the highest quality of students, they have required that everyone interested in signing up for the course take this Russian language proficiency test. I took it and got the ranking of Advanced - Mid. This is better than Advanced - Low, but worse than Advanced - High and Superior. This ranking is for the oral exam only, as the written portion has not yet been graded. I did just as well on that exam, though, so I'm feeling okay about getting on the team. 60 people took the test, so the odds are still slim, but there's no reason why it shouldn't be me, really. We'll see what happens, though. If nothing else, it's good to know I'm Advanced - Mid.

Fiasco

2006-10-12T10:29:00.000-06:00

Fiasco. This is a good word that, sadly, I don't use often enough. I suppose this is a good thing, since it means that I am not presented with many fiascos in my life. But, I do so enjoy exclaiming, "It was a complete fiasco!" Unfortunately, even when a fiasco occurs, I tend not to use that word to describe it ... actually, I rarely, if ever, speak to anyone about the event if it was, indeed, an authentic fiasco. In fact, I'd have to say the only time I ever use the word is in a hyperbolic sense. This, too, is a good thing. I'm glad the word exists. I'll have to thank the Italians next time I see them.

Taco Bell Letdown

2006-10-12T01:25:00.000-06:00

Last night, an odd occurrence took place. I was given a ride home by my friend (that's not the odd occurrence; he's one of my best friends, and is always there for me when I need him) and I decided to ask him to stop by Taco Bell, so I could both grab a bite to eat for myself (since I had not eaten for most of the day) and purchase a Cheesy Gordita Crunch for him, since he was so nice to come out of his way for the sole purpose of driving me home. Well, we pull up to the drive-thru, and wait for the little voice to respond. We know that someone's there, because the car in front of us just pulled up and got its food. We sit at the board for a good minute or so before we decide to pull up to the window. Upon pulling up to the window, a mean voice tells us that the store is closed, and 'the one on Freedom is open till 3.' This is taking place at 10:05PM, mind you. I, for one, was greatly confused. I thought Taco Bell prided itself on its late night catering. Assuming this was just a bizarre scenario that could only portray itself at the 9th East Taco Bell (a most unreliable facility, mind you), we drove to East Bay to try our luck with the good old stand-by. Imagine my surprise when we pulled up to my previous place of employment to find that only the word 'Bell' was in lights, and the rest of the store was completely dark. Closed. Closed at 10:00 PM.
Well, the story ends there, really. I was really in the mood for Taco Bell, and didn't get it. Instead, I had Wendy's for dinner.
I can't say I'm too confused though. It makes sense, if you're not doing enough business, to close up shop. But, it seems weird to me that Taco Bell now closes earlier than any other fast food restaurant (unless it's the one on Freedom, which is apparently open later now than it ever was before).

Letter to the Editor

2006-10-09T23:27:00.000-06:00

What causes one to write a letter to the editor? Don't people know that the letters to the editor are more often ridiculed and mocked than actually interpreted for words of wisdom and sage counsel? Don't they realize that their petty disputes are of no concern in the large scheme of things? Why do people subject themselves to this meaningless and wasteful endeavor?
Well, having now officially written my first letter to the editor, I can now shed some light on this issue.
I have often opened to the opinion page of the Daily Universe, in order to partake of the immense joy that occurs whenever I read the poorly written thoughts of my fellow students. I take great pride in knowing that I couldn't possibly care less about most of their grievances. Parking problems? who cares. Honor Code Violations? no big deal. R-rated films? okay, I disagree, but, what difference does it make. Dancing to Hymns is Blasphemous? OKAY, STOP IT RIGHT THERE ... THAT'S JUST ABSURD!
So, as weird as it may seem, that's the way the dancing to hymns letter struck me as I read it. I actually felt an extreme hatred towards the two girls who wrote that letter. How could people be that stupid, and then assume that they are speaking on behalf of the entire student body? Someone had to set this right. Someone had to let everyone know that I, at least, do not agree with these two loonies. So, although I was in haste to find time to study for my Food Chemistry test that evening, and I only had a 2 hour window in which to study, I found myself at a computer in the SWKT computer lab, typing up the following letter to the editor:

While I agree that "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" is indeed a beautiful hymn, I don't believe we can claim it as one of "our sacred hymns." A simple scouring of the alphabetical listing of hymn titles and first lines will confirm the fact that the song is no longer included among the other Hymns of Zion. Although beloved by the LDS community, the inspiring words were penned in the 18th century by Robert Robinson, and are sung in many Christian congregations throughout the world. It, therefore, falls under a separate category of songs for which performance art is valid, and perhaps even encouraged, due to the more rigorous restrictions placed upon the hymns.

I for one would much rather have a spiritually uplifting tune be the backdrop for a dance performance than, say, "Baby Got Back," by Sir Mix-a-Lot. During the performance, I found that my thoughts were centered on Christ and his Atonement; I'm sure many others' were as well. By stating, "Hymns should never be used in a routine or setting to garner loud, rambunctious approval from a riotous crowd," you are discounting the fine work and many hours of dedication that were put into producing the visual accompaniment to the music. The appropriate applause (for which President Samuelson himself announced approval) was not directed at the hymn, but rather to the performers, as appreciation for providing us with entertainment and inspiration. Any disdain could have been expressed by abstaining from the applause ritual.

Joseph Schlegel

Provo

So, there it is. I felt that that would be the end-all-be-all on the subject. I honestly thought that I was one of the few who would be confident enough to voice his opposing opinion through the public forum. I was, of course, quite upset to find that my letter wasn't even published until the following Monday, rather than that Friday, even though I had clearly turned my letter in on time (they used the title I supplied for my letter as the title for one of their other submissions). However, I lost all of my previous fervor once I saw the enormous amount of responses on the same subject. It instantly became another of the many issues that I couldn't care less about. I even read through my letter now, and, while I admit that it's not poorly written, it sadly joins the ranks of all of the many other letters in the overly hostile and uncouth clamor of BYU's elitist student body. I don't believe I'll be writing any more such letters in years to come, but, it was a good experiment, and I'm glad to understand a little better now, what compels people to subject their most passionate thoughts to the torment of an uncaring populace.

$55 dollars

2006-09-30T00:27:00.000-06:00

I lost $55 dollars to stupidity yesterday. I was signed up to take a test that usually costs lots more than $55 dollars to take, but, thanks to the good deal our program was able to get, the test was going to be at a reduced price; the best part, however, was that the program would pay for it all, so it was essentially free to me. All I had to do was get up on time, call the number, and take my test over the phone. Well, I did the first step: I got up on time. However, I had managed to forget that I even had this test to take until 9:30 AM ... I was supposed to call at 8:30 AM. Anyways, what it comes down to is that I just wasted money on a test I never took. I still have a chance to take it again, but I have to pay for it from my own pocket this time, which I've elected to do. That means I payed $55 dollars for the joy of sitting on my computer reading my email rather than taking a test. Totally not worth it. Do you know how many yams I could buy with $55 dollars? (Well, actually, put that way, it's not that bad. I don't really like yams that much)
Anyways, I'm glad I do stupid things from time to time. It makes me feel a whole lot smarter the rest of the time.

New Haircut

2006-09-26T19:30:00.000-06:00

Some people will find this post extremely exaggerative, others will think it's simply hyperbolic, but I assure you, it is neither. This post will deal with the greatest haircut that I have ever received. This monumental haircut occurred less than 2 hours ago, and I am still in awe of the marvelous mastery atop my skull. Looking in the mirror does not elicit any pangs of regret at the loss of the bulky mass that once adorned my cranium, but rather, I am overwhelmed with comfort and solace as I see that my face is in perfect harmony with its surroundings. The hair does not detract one's gaze, nor does it demand the attention of passers-by. It is, simply put: perfect.
How did I come to be the fortunate beneficiary of such skilled workmanship--workmanship that could not have been rivaled by even the greatest masters, such as Donatello, Michelangelo, Lysippus, or Bernini, to name a few (these are, of course, great sculptors--not hair stylists. I wonder if they could cut hair as well as they sculpted ... I mean, if you can chisel away at marble all day, and make a masterpiece out of it, you'd think hair would only be easier ... perhaps I am wrong on this, though. Perhaps hair requires a more delicate touch, a more firm command of one's hands to achieve success. After all, I believe scissors are a much different tool than the chisel or hammer. Edward Scissorhands proved, however, that a great hedge cutter could have cross over success, both in hair cutting (and dog grooming) and sculpting (ice sculpting, at least). Regardless, my hair was cut in a much more elegant manner than any of these artists could have accomplished. And yes, even better than Edward Scissorhands, wherever he may be)?
My story goes back many years. I was a young lad, 5 years of age. The annual Christmas Eve trip of Santa Claus was about to commence, and I was delighted for a chance to meet the pudgy man in the suit that would bring me presents. I decided to wait for him outside, on my front lawn. My parents were oblivious to the fact that I was standing barefoot in the frosty snow. They were asleep, all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. I was having a very informative discussion with Frosty, the snowman who had built himself on our snow-covered lawn a few weeks previous, about the possibility of spying Santa about his yearly chore. Frosty said that he often saw Santa, and, indeed, that the two of them were great friends. The discussion led to how he had come to life one day, a long time back. He said that Santa was the one who was able to grant him that wish. I was shocked. I never knew that Santa could grant wishes as well as hand out presents. Frosty, noticing my concerned and delighted face, responded that Santa doesn't usually grant wishes ... only to those who show a degree of sacrifice. Frosty stated that he had sacrificed his presents one year, receiving a lump of coal instead, in order to be granted a wish 18 or so years later.
I was elated. I could do this too! Only, I didn't need to come to life ... I was already alive. In fact, it didn't make much sense that Frosty had really sacrificed his presents, considering that he wasn't alive at the time, so presents would have been fairly useless. I suppose that's when he received his corn-cob pipe and button nose. All the same, though, it seems that coal would have only been a welcome gift in itself, and not the objectionable surprise that it is to most of us on Christmas morning, because it would only serve as yet another eye or button for a snowman. However, the sound of the approaching sleigh, and the red light from Rudolph's nose, pushed all of these doubts from my mind.
I approached Santa with a "HoHoHo", to which he responded, "HOHOHO." He asked me what I was doing up so late. I said I wanted to trade my gift for a lump of cole. "Just one lump?" he asked. I said, "Yes, indeed." "Whatever for?" he inquired, "I was told that children like presents more than coal. Have I been wrong this whole time?" "No, Santa, it's just that Frosty told me that if I asked you for coal this year, you'd grant me a wish sometime in the future." Seeing that I was now frost-bitten in more ways than one, he validated my proposal. "So it shall be," he announced. "You, Joseph Schlegel, shall receive any wish you'd like at a future date of your choosing." I said goodbye to my new friend in red. The following morning, I was delighted to see a solitary piece of dark black coal sitting in my living room, with my name attached to it. My parents were confused; I was crying with glee.
Now, knowing this background, I think you see where this story is going. To make the long story short (because, making the long story long would require me divulging the information of my life's proceedings for the last eighteen and a half years, which would take ample time, I assure you), I used my wish today, in a bold move, to receive the finest haircut that I have ever received. So, you see, there is no doubt that it is the best, because, after all, it was an Autumn gift from my pal Santa, who is still doing quite well, I promise.
I now reflect upon the object I saw that fateful Christmas morning that made my wonderful haircut possible: a single piece of coal, all alone, solitary. This is also known as uni-coal. Thank you.

Mormon Adz

2006-09-21T18:23:00.000-06:00

I have known for a long time that there were some reworked New Era ads that were done by Divine Comedy, but I have been hesitant to actually look into whether or not they were actually funny since, quite frankly, Mormon humor generally tends to make me nausious (case in point: The Home Teachers - I still feel like vomiting just thinking of that movie). However, I stumbled across these so-called Mormon adz online today, and found myself laughing out loud (which rarely happens when I'm reading something alone). For those of you that don't realize the significance of this, it means that I think these ads are quite funny (it's not often I can actually use the term 'lol' and mean it!).
I laughed out loud at a total of 13 ads. The others were either not funny, or only semi-funny. If I had to pick only three to share, these would be them:
1. It's good to sacrifice. But not cats.
2. Jelly is made of people!
3. LDSsingles.com

The others that made me laugh are:Don't run with cookie cutters, Eye doctor has a crush on you, Families are forever, Be Gladys Knight, Who paints the floor?, Put it on. Join the Medieval Club, Somebody has an eating disorder, Modesty in all things, We can all be winners ... loser, and Anthrax.
Actually, there were only a very few that I found to be unfunny, and certainly none were vomit-inducing. I might just have to check out the next Divine Comedy show.

Mmm ... Salad.

2006-09-17T00:56:00.000-06:00

Today, in the course of our return from 'The City,' my mother, brother, and I stopped in at 'Sweet Tomatoes' - a fine eating establishment designed after the manner of the bygone 'Souper Salad' of yore (apparently, Souper Salad still exists ... I thought it had gone extinct). This is a restaurant that is greatly needed in this age of extreme meat fascination - a menu that is devoted solely to the dispersion of salad and salad toppings. Of course, as a food scientist (which includes some nutrition) I have to confess that eating at an all-you-can-eat restaurant of any type (and eating as much as I did in this sitting) will not aid anyone in losing weight, and, thus, will not decrease the rising number of obese persons in the surrounding area; all the same, it is nice to know that there is a place where people may banquet healthily while still fulfilling their desire to eat-til-they-puke.
The fact is, I love salad. I think it is one of the greatest foods, especially when there is a long list of available toppings to include in this most delectable dish. My favorite toppings are, without a doubt, broccoli, kidney beans, and cheese. Within cheese, I include my favorite dressing: blue cheese dressing. I'm also a big fan of blue cheese chunks, when they're available, and enjoy sprinkling those around the whole edge of the plate to surround my salad with a bite of strength and pungency. Pickles are a common addition to my salads, and I've been known to add cucumbers if they look particularly fresh and crisp. However, under no condition will I add sweet pickles, as they are incredibly nasty. (It has come to my attention that sweet pickles may, indeed, be the last of the 'common foods' that I dislike, now that I have overcome my hatred of mushrooms (which I find to be quite tasty in most salads (unfortunately, they don't jive well with the blue cheese dressing that I so love, and, therefore, don't find their way on many of my salads))) In connection with kidney beans, I also enjoy garbanzo beans; peas add quite the touch to many a salad. And may we not forget the chopped hard boiled egg that I will always add. Mmm ... salad.
An interesting feature at this establishment was the bin of plain croutons next to the seasoned croutons. I found that I adore the plain croutons. They enhanced my salad to the perfect extent, allotting me one of my best salad tasting experiences (the blue cheese helped greatly, as well). Overall, I highly recommend 'Sweet Tomatoes' as a clean, well-organized restaurant for the whole family. In addition to the salad fare, you can find soups, breads, fruits, and potatoes, and a wonderful frozen dessert stand for all ages (with lovely english toffee bites - a most scrumptious addition).

A Marvelous Realization

2006-09-15T00:28:00.000-06:00

I sit, idling away my time at my computer, checking every webpage in my favorites list, double checking the pages in my favorites list, checking my facebook page and pressing refresh a number of times. I wait. I wait because I fear the time that is soon to come. The time at which homework is inevitable, as it is due the next day, and there will not be time to complete it then. The time is soon at hand. I don't want it to come, but it will be here soon.
But, wait. Tomorrow is Friday. We only have homework in that class on Mondays and Wednesdays. Tomorrow is Friday. I don't have that homework that I've been fearing. I'm completely free tonight. Oh sweet joy of joys. I can idle away my time some more. Heck, I can even blog a bit.

Rain, Rain - Come Again Another Day!

2006-09-09T22:14:00.000-06:00

Working the football game was long and difficult, considering I was standing the entire time with the weight on my right leg, since the left leg can't handle any strain. To make it more difficult, I had also worked the Priesthood Leadership Meeting in the morning, which required me to arrive at 7:15 AM. Well, apart from the excitement of the Marriott Center being highly overcrowded (unexpectedly), the use of new electronic scanners to check tickets at the football game, and actually seeing a number of familiar faces in the incoming crowds, it also began to rain in the 4th quarter. It was a good rain, too. It came down in just the perfect amount, so it gets you really wet, but feels greatly refreshing. The game was cancelled for awhile due to lightning, and most of the fans fled the stadium for safety. This left only the diehard fans for the conclusion of the game, which was wonderful, since BYU won. I hope the rain comes again soon, because it is so much fun.
Yeah, so I lied when I said it was long and difficult. It was long and fun, thanks to the 'godsent' rain.

The Hobbler

2006-09-08T22:40:00.000-06:00

This morning I awoke with the most awful pain in my knee, unable to bend it out of position for fear of reawakening the treacherous pangs of immense torment with each new move. I therefore called the Student Health Center to let them know that I was coming in immediately. I skipped my first class to hobble into the Urgent Care section of the Health Center, watching the ongoing dramatics of the many missionaries that were stationed in the waiting room. Apparently 9AM is a very common time for missionaries from the MTC to head to the emergency room of the Student Health Center in their gym clothes.
Anyways, I'll make the long story short: my knee cap was dislocated, and I was given a brace to keep it from happening again. As far as fixing the current problem, the doctor prescribed some pills (I have no idea what they do, all I know is I paid ten bucks for them, and I'm supposed to take one pill twice a day after eating) and told me to come back in 5 days for a meeting with the orthopedist. The brace helps me to walk - hobble - with greater ease, although it is still very obvious that something is wrong.
This gives me more excuse to stay in my room and study, which is good since I have an ample amount of homework due on Monday, and it must needs be completed. I will be working for much of this weekend, however, which should be interesting, since my job requires that I stand for long hours. We'll see how well that turns out. In short, this is just the sort of distraction I needed, and I'm going to make the most of it. Hobbling can be fun if you take it in stride.

Hike of Inspiration

2006-09-07T22:11:00.000-06:00

One of my best experiences in my life was when I hiked straight up the mountain near my house with one of my friends. This occurred in 9th grade. We were simply walking home from the bus, and looked at the mountain, and decided to climb straight up it. We took his dog as well, and no water or anything. (As a side note, it would be good to know that my friends and I are not the type to usually choose to do anything active with our time, but rather, to sit and watch movies or read books and the like). The climb was arduous, but the view fantastic. We reached a large ledge near the pinnacle of the peak, and sat down. It was a great moment for reflection and contemplation. The hike down was very treacherous, as the mountain is very steep, and covered with shaky slate as its base. I'm still shocked at how well his dog was able to manage the climb. We returned home tired and dirty, and oh so very thirsty.
Well, today, I decided I needed another such hike for inspiration, but decided I would simply walk up through the nice trail that goes through the middle of the two peaks, up toward the much taller peak behind them. When I approached the gate to the trail, however, there was a sign that said, "Trail closed to all users. Violations Punished." An odd sign, due to its use of the word 'users' and the past tense, 'violations punished,' as if it had already happened. Nonetheless, it was clear that they did not want to have me on the trail. Recalling the adventure of so many years previous, I decided to climb straight up the mountain again. After all, the trail is closed, but they can't very well close a mountain, now can they?
I was really enjoying my climb, but getting fairly tired, when I stepped on a rock with my left foot in an odd position, and something very peculiar happened. The knee just popped right out of joint: it looked bizarre and it freaked me out. Luckily, it popped back in as I moved it about, and it wasn't in a great deal of pain. However, when I tried to bend the knee, there was a bit of pain. Nothing fantastic, but enough to keep me from wanting to put any weight on it. I was up on the side of a mountain, in a rather precarious position, as I began to slide my way slowly back down, trying not to bend my left leg. I finally reached a flatter portion where there was a small trail, and took that the rest of the way, limping only slightly as I hoped to 'walk it off,' as my father was so often prone to teach during little league. The trail joined up with the 'off-limits' trail, from which I proceeded to head back home. I wasn't spotted by anyone, and my violation went unpunished.
Despite the knee mishap, I rank the hike as a stunning success (assuming that my leg has not suffered permanent damage, of which I am still uncertain). I was able to see a spectacular view that I had long forgotten. It is quite wonderful to look to the left and see springville in the expanse to the south. Look out and see Utah Lake in its widespread gloriousness from afar. Look to the right and see the campus of learning that is BYU. And look down to see my very own street, and my very own house, from a much different perspective. I really needed to get away from all of that.
Also, I was once again taught the lesson of dependence (this is the lesson that I have been taught more than any other, I think). When up on the mountain, I was all alone. I wished I had someone to help me get down when my leg was not of use to me ... however, I made it down on my own, it just took extra struggle. I wasn't worried at all, though, as it was not what would be classified as a serious problem. It was just meant to teach me a lesson, not put my life in danger.
I brought my book of Pushkin poems along with me on the hike, to read when I got to the top. I never reached the top, due to the leg problem, but I did sit down when I got tired and read a few verses. This poem struck me as incredibly apt and well-crafted, and I'm glad to have come across it at this time:

I loved you, and that love, to die refusing,
May still - who knows! - be smouldering in my breast.
Be not you pained - believe me, of my choosing
I'd never have you troubled nor yet distressed.
I loved you mutely, hopelessly and truly,
With shy yet fervent tenderness aglow;
Mine was a jealous passion and unruly. . .
May Heaven grant another love you so!

- Aleksander Sergeyevich Pushkin, 1829.

New Blog

2006-09-07T03:27:00.000-06:00

So, for those of you that may speak Russian, I have decided to start a new experiment. I have created a new blog, "Кислый Майонез," on which I am going to post entirely in Russian. This is for a number of reasons: 1 - I wish to retain my knowledge of the Russian language, and a blog is a good way to keep me writing and using my vocabulary; 2 - I have many friends in Ukraine that wish to know of my proceedings here, and I am unable to email them all each week, as I tend to be short on time; 3 - I want to improve my knowledge of the Russian language, by allowing those with more knowledge to comment on my blog, notifying me of mistakes, and including the reasons for their being in error. Hopefully, this blog will also provide an interesting read for native Russian speakers hoping to expand their horizons and learn about new people and places.
The content of the new blog will be very similar to that seen on this blog, with the exception being that it will be posted in Russian. I will not always cross-post; in fact, I doubt I will cross-post very often at all, since I'm not the biggest fan of translating my own words and thoughts into a new language. But, I will probably be discussing similar events in my life, and so, if you don't know Russian, you will not be missing out on too much. This new blog is more for me than for you, and it is an added bonus to those who know the language. In addition, they get to see my many mistakes, and thus see a very frail, human side to my personality (but, you've seen plenty of that, too).

Mackwynd the Paladin (New Home, and 3 of 3)

2006-09-07T00:08:00.000-06:00

Part 3 was a bit longer than I remembered. So, rather than take up the space on my blog with another lengthy post that no one cares about, I've decided to move the whole story to another site and simply provide a link to those who care about it. I plan to place all of my favorite stories on this site, incidentally. Not because it's a particularly good site (in fact, I don't endorse it at all, since it appears to never be updated, and will probably disappear at some point), but rather because it's free and easy to use. I'm not impressed with the design or layout of the site, however, and, therefore, it is just a temporary home for my stories. But, nonetheless, a home. So, for the full saga of Mackwynd the Paladin (or, all there will ever be of it, at least), you may follow this link. This includes the final section (part 3 of 3) entitled "The Adventure through the Desert." Thank you to those who have been following the story. I hope you've enjoyed it to some extent.

I have now also deleted the first two parts of the saga, in order to make the blog more concise in format. The first two parts can still be read in full at the above link, though. I've kept the original blog posts, but deleted the story from the posts...so the intro to the saga can still be read.

Mackwynd the Paladin (2 of 3)

2006-09-05T21:28:00.000-06:00

So, here is the continuation of the saga. I hope at least someone is getting a little enjoyment from this.

The Death of Taciturn

Edit: see this site for full story.

Mackwynd the Paladin (1 of 3)

2006-09-05T01:40:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, I decided to try and get into Dungeons & Dragons, because it looked like something I would enjoy. So, I found a group of friends and included myself in the festivities. The entire premise seemed great, and I think I would have enjoyed it if I had had enough time to devote to the hobby. However, I was taking 18 credits at the time. Combined with work, a new hobby was simply not in the cards for me. However, I did manage to write a pretty cool backstory for my character. I had decided to entertain the group with a new chapter at each new meeting, and I succeeded. For three meetings. Then I stopped going, because of the busy factor explained above. I have not returned to D&D since, and don't think I ever plan to. There are plenty of online role-playing games that I think are more up my alley. I do think that D&D could be lots of fun with the right group of people and lots of time, though. In any case, I've decided to post the three parts that I did manage to write onto this blog, in installments, the way they were read originally. Check back tomorrow for part 2, and the next day for the subsequent and final submission of this character description. I hope it is able to enlighten and entertain you in some small way.

Brief History of Mackwynd the Paladin

Edit: see this site for full story.

Steve vs. Sting Ray

2006-09-04T02:53:00.000-06:00

Sting Ray.

I had a great time tonight at Magical Science Club (our weekly sharing of writing samples, which takes place each Sunday night). I read a stream-of-consciousness work that I wrote one night called 'Oddities.' It was received quite well, causing me to realize that I must continue to write the main character's thoughts in the same fashion for awhile longer, and see where it takes the tale. I'm excited for that, since I really like the character a lot.
After all of the readings and some hanging out, a few of us decided to go out to Denny's for some tasty nighttime breakfast victuals. The bizarre awareness of the moment, however, is that during the time I was enjoying my new two sausage and cheddar bowl, Steve Irwin, renowned crocodile hunter, was being mauled to death by a vicious stingray.
While I was never a huge fan of the crocodile hunter, and rarely watched his show, I greatly appreciate the work that he did. He succeeded in entertaining people through education and daring. There are some people that you never expect to die; he was such a person to me. I mean, anyone who watched his show knows that he was constantly placing himself in perilous situations. However, he always amazed me by emerging from such predicaments unscathed and rejuvenated. Now he's dead. By a stingray.

Joseph Schlegel

2006-09-03T11:52:00.000-06:00

I did a search for Joseph Schlegel on Google (because that's my name (not Google, but Joseph Schlegel)), just to see what I would find. Surprisingly, I found that my Amazon reviews were the number one entry, while my blog doesn't show up at all. A couple of pages down, I found a BYU items of interest page that talks about my internship. After that, I also found the script that I submitted to scriptbuddy.com awhile back. However, the only way to get my blog to appear is to type in a search for josephschlegel or for josephschlegel.blogspot.com. I doubt anyone is searching for Joseph Schlegel anyways.

Overall, I was genuinely surprised by the number of Joseph Schlegels in the country. The one I was most surprised to stumble upton was the myspace page for a Christian rock group. The front man for the group out of Vail, Colorado shares my name. They're called The Ride, and if they ever come to Utah, you're welcome to join me at the show to shout praises to Joseph Schlegel. I think it would be fun to cheer for myself while they think I'm cheering for them. I suppose now I can tell people that I'm a famous Christian rocker and they'll believe me (because they never did before...). Thank you, Joseph Schlegel. Keep on rockin'!

Farmers' Market

2006-09-02T12:51:00.000-06:00

I love the Farmers' Market. The produce is very affordable, and it's a lot of fun to talk with the growers about their vegetables. I bought a container of wild blackberries for 3 dollars, a half a dozen ears of corn for a dollar, a basket of tomatoes for 2 dollars, and a large 10 pound sack of red potatoes for 3 dollars. In addition, I tasted a large variety of scrumptious offerings from the bread lady, as well as a very delicious jalapeno honey. It's fun to buy the food straight from the source. It felt like I was part of a special community.
For information purposes: the Farmers' Market is held every Saturday on the corner of 5th west and 1st South. This represents the first week at the Pioneer Park location, as verified here. This new location a vast improvement over the previous location, as it allows for your children to play without having to cross the street, and the shade makes for relaxed perusing. The vendors sit in little booths and sell not only vegetables, but tasty lavender ice cream (which I actually don't like all that much) and other wares (such as tie-dye shirts and jewelry). I highly recommend supporting your local community and buying some of the products ... you won't regret it.
In related news, I noticed they were putting up booths by the courthouse for the latinoamerican festival. I don't know if that's today or tomorrow but, that looks like fun too.

A Backwards Walk

2006-09-02T00:22:00.000-06:00

So, this one time, after the Friday Night Extravaganza (tonight), I was feeling quite chipper. So, even though it got out later than the last bus home, I was content to walk home. In fact, I was looking forward to having the time to reflect on certain things and just be happy about life. By the time I got to the corner of center street and 9th east, I decided it was time for a change. I turned around, and walked backwards all the way home. I had the time and had never done that before for such a long distance. I tried not to look around too much. It was lots of fun. I only tripped once, but did not fall. And, I hit a yield sign once when I stepped off the sidewalk at a corner. But, overall, a successful journey which used completely different muscles than usual (it works the calves like crazy). I can now say that I've walked home backwards from the corner of center street and 9th east. Hooray for me.

Infinite Journey

2006-09-01T14:37:00.000-06:00

So, after an immense amount of searching, I was able to find my file wherein I placed a number of my favorite writings. Most of these I had available to me on my computer still, but there were a few that I had not seen in many years. As a result, I think I may post them here on this blog every so often when I don't have anything else to post. It will give me an excuse to keep this thing updated fairly regularly. Please feel free to comment, as I love both criticism and adoration. A lot of it will not be good, because it was written in high school (but, mainly, because it's me that wrote it, and I'm not that good).
So, without anymore needless explanation, here is the first entry (although, I believe it was written fairly recently - most likely last year):

Infinite Journey

Glaring through all that internal haze,
Thinking of thoughts which sharpen your gaze.
Unable to doubt, that which was done,
Knowing inside what you haven't won.

Cancerous pocks, growing unseen -
Noticeable marks of your history.
No one will feel this. The pains go unknown.
Most will just think you've reaped what you've sown.

Life has a way of dimming you out,
Right at the end, when you start to doubt.
Nothing is done because there's no way.
A little bit later and all is okay.

Now looking back at all that was seen,
Thinking about this great mystery.
Realizing all possibilities lost.
Having a chance, but what was the cost?

Feeling uncertain that all was done right,
Piling up rocks of doom is your plight.
Overcoming this will be hardest of all.
On the journey ahead, it's easy to fall.

Progressing still, you walk ahead,
Under the impression that you are not dead.
Infinite and immortal, as you always were,
Struggling will be forever your cure.

Destination in sight, you set your goal.
Now you continue saving your soul.
You reach the end, and feel you've won,
But then find out there's much not done.

Meeting with others who've walked your path,
Together you'll continue avoiding the wrath.
What you have now is greater than victory;
The others among you are your own family.

You now have a chance to make it all right.
Do what you want, but keep it in sight.
Do not forget the person you are.
With those whom you love, you will go far.

A Good Week (and Another...)

2006-08-29T23:27:00.000-06:00

Since my last post, I have really only had great moments. I look back at my last few days only with fond memories. I have had great opportunities to make new acquaintances, forge new friendships, and strengthen old ties. I have been able to seek out such opportunities with very little trepidation. I am more confident about myself than I have ever been. It's a pretty good feeling, and one that I intend to keep.
In the meantime, however, my free time has been causing me to think a little too much about life, dreams, relationships, equations, desires, and other random miscellany - so much so that I think I'm going to explode. I'm glad I finally know the root of the problem: too much free time (and, more specifically, too much alone time (oddly enough, I've spent more time with friends this week than ever before, but, still, I think at the moment I simply require more social interaction than I once managed to get by on)). I've therefore decided to keep myself busy by forcing myself to be creative. I have finally started work on that movie idea I've had floating around in my head for a little while. I think it will be fun to try and get a full script done before school starts. It'll be interesting to see what comes of it, and it will get my mind off the miscellany, if nothing else (life, dreams, relationships, equations, desires...that'll stay, but the miscellany's gotta go!).
I won't be showing this script to anyone till it's done. I actually hope this will be good, whereas most everything else I write I usually don't think twice about and if it makes me laugh, I call it good, and could care less what others think. This one I'm making more for others than for myself. I think it could have an impact. In other words, it will probably be awful and never be completed, and, therefore, I don't want any part of it to see the light of day. But, so that my blogging public (that's you!) knows that I'm not just idly sitting around, that's what I'm busy doing for the time being.
I'm also reading lots of Dostoevsky before school starts, since I never have time to read during school. I just finished 'The Double.' I liked it a lot, and highly recommend it, although not if you haven't read any Dostoevsky yet.
My new favorite picture is 'The Farewell of Telemachus and Eucharis,' by Jacques Louis David (He's the guy that did 'The Oath of the Horatii'). I saw this at the Getty Museum in California, and liked it so much, I bought a 75 cent bookmark of it. I think it's an incredible work of art. My previous favorite picture, and one I still rank as my second favorite, is 'La Comtesse d'Haussonville,' by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres. My favorite statue is Donatello's 'David.' Why all this sudden interest in ranking art? Because, due to the vast amount of thoughts multiplying in my cranium, I have been unable to sleep well, and have instead stayed up late painting. And, I'm a horrible artist. It's fun to test stuff out, out my completed work is quite hideous. How these great masters like Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, and the other turtle (I know it was Raphael...I love his 'Madonna of the Meadow') were ever able to achieve their greatness, I'll never know. It's really very incredible. Incidentally, I think the same thing about my writing when I read Dostoevsky - it simply pales in comparison to his work. It's as if my writing were the infant language from which his grew, and I still have decades of work ahead of me to catch up...but, here's the catch: Dostoevsky was 25 when he wrote 'The Double.' I'll not be up to his level at any point in my life, but if I ever am, I'll be well into my 60's. It's simply brilliant to think about.
This is a rambling post if I've ever seen one, but it's much too late at night for me to bother revising it in any way. Maybe I'll edit it tomorrow if I wake up and decide it's revolting. In any case, you're stuck with it now.
Here's to hoping next week will be even more enjoyable, and fruitful, than this week. I am fully confident that it will be. (Then school will start, and it's back to busy work...but that's another post for another time).

Recent Trip

2006-08-21T11:09:00.000-06:00

This summer has been my summer of travel. I just recently returned from a three-month long stint in Washington, D.C., where I was one of many BYU students who decided to complete an internship in our nation's capital. As part of my job responsibilities, I was given the opportunity to travel to Kiev, Ukraine for a week to help supervise the work being done there. I was also given a week of vacation time, which I used to travel to Nikolaev, Ukraine and stay with a family I knew from my mission. After being in Provo for only a few short days, I rode with my friends to Riverside, California, to attend a wedding of one of my old high school buddies. All of these trips were what would be termed 'successful'; I managed to accomplish all that I planned, and was even surprised by many fateful occurrences.

Washington, D.C. was not at all what I expected. I accepted my internship early in the school year, and anticipated a short lonely summer. However, due to the extremely high cost of housing in D.C., I ended up staying in BYU student housing and taking two political science classes through Washington Seminar. This turned out to be a great experience. I made new friends that I would never have made had I been alone in D.C., or not been given the internship opportunity in the first place. I had a similar feeling as I had on my mission - that I was in the right place, doing the right thing.

I always find it interesting to list the items that I remember clearest from a trip. Sometimes, they are things that are not very unique or special; but, for whatever reason, these are the events I remember most vividly:

The National Zoo - 8 hours of walking, looking at every animal available. Who else did that on their DC trip? (I only know one other such person).

The Hirshhorn Museum - A rounded museum, perfect for looking at works of art by Anselm Kiefer.

White House at Night / Brick - On one of my first nights in D.C., I decided to catch a film at a well-known cinema for independent films called 'Landmark E Street Cinema.' I took the metro to the film, exiting at the Metro Center stop and walking one block to the theater. However, late on a weeknight (Wednesday, 11:00 PM), no one else was there. I bought my ticket, entered the theater, and watched the film 'Brick' entirely by myself. At the conclusion of the movie, I left the deserted theater by walking through a completely empty and almost entirely dark hallway. I reached the escalator and ascended to the street level, only to find that the Metro was closed. I elected to walk home via Pennsylvania Avenue, thus passing the White House on my journey. This walk took only an hour; the streets were completely deserted. A weeknight in DC affords quite the quiet peace on a mid-night walk. Even behind the White House, a street usually filled with tourists, no one was to be seen. I stood and looked at the White House alone, and had quite the rush of Potomac Fever.

Foggy Bottom School of Art - A couple of friends and I decided to become painters. We bought cheap acrylics and canvases at a local art store, and walked to the Jefferson Memorial, where we proceeded to paint the scenery. This event was captured forever by a group of tourists, who snapped a secretive photo on their camera as they passed. The flash of light from the camera caused me to turn my head, and I received endless pleasure from knowing that I am going to be in someone's photo album with a caption that says, 'Local artists paint by the Jefferson Memorial.'

Movies - I'll probably best remember sitting in the basement lounge of our building watching various films. My friends and I watched one nearly every night, and stayed up very late. These were very great experiences to see good movies and discuss various things with one another.

Mount Vernon - I went there twice, and had a great experience both times. The beloved home of our nation's first president is an incredible place. I wrote a whole paper on it for my class, so I'll just post that later.

There are really too many experiences over the course of three months to list them all, so I'll stop here. I could talk more about: The Safeway Run, Georgetown at Night, The Bar Band, One Fish Two Fish, A Walk to Remember, The Lincoln Steps at Night, A Museum Adventure, A Capital Tour, A Walk to Jefferson. But, there's even more than that. Really, it was a great trip.

Ukraine proved to be quite delightful, and I made a post about it when I returned, so I'll let that suffice. It was a lot of fun to be able to return to a place so far away and know that I have friends there. This world is amazing.

The travel to California was a great experience, from which I returned only yesterday. I almost agreed to travel with some of my friends to Missouri, which would have required me to leave almost as soon as getting back from California, so I'm glad I decided to opt out of that adventure. However, California was great. 11 of us in all made the trek to view the wedding of a good friend/close acquaintance/friend's friend, depending on who you were. For most of us, he was a good friend. We took two cars down; I rode in the backseat of the minivan, which held seven of us. It was a very fun ride down (half the fun, really). We noticed a sign for Historic Cove Fort on our ride down, and made sure to find out what it was through wikipedia. On our return trip, we made sure to stop by and take a tour, thus fulfilling our quest (actually, it was more on a whim of boredom, not a need for quest fulfillment...but, still).

In California, we went to the beach, the Getty Museum (the best museum I've ever been to, actually), Hollywood Boulevard, Mel's Drive-in (an institution, literally), and a number of other fine restaurants. This was the first time our entire group of friends has been together for such a length of time, and in such an exotic locale, that it was very interesting to see the dynamics of our friendship. I really see this as a sort of bonding experience to bring our whole group together - sharing in a common life event. Oh, and it was really funny too, since our sense of humor is hilarious.

The wedding went off without a hitch (thank goodness, since that movie sucks). They had a temple wedding, or are going to have a temple wedding (I wasn't too clear on when that was to take place), but the wedding we attended was the one for the fiance's family, since they are not members of the LDS church. It was great, because there's a rich Scottish heritage in the family, so they did a full out Scottish wedding at the Presbyterian church. Our friend wore a kilt, and so did all of the men who participated in the ceremony. The woman who conducted the ceremony had a thick scottish accent, and it was really fun. The girls all had very large tattoos on their backs, which I thought looked absolutely terrible with a wedding dress. That's just one more reason not to get a tattoo, I suppose.

The reception was fun. We were promised an all you can eat buffet, and instead were presented with gourmet plates (you know, the kind that are almost completely empty except for the lavish display of two carrots and an asparagus stick waving out from the sauce spilling over from the morsel of meat laying atop the succulent scoop of potato mash). That was a disappointment, but a tasty one, at least. They also had a bar where we were served Mountain Dew, Coke, Sprite, etc.

The return trip went by quickly, and we divided up the expenditures amongst all 11 people evenly. With the price of the wedding gift, the total came to $50.00 for each person. I was surprised by the cheapness, and quite pleased with it.

Now I'm back home again, in Provo. I'm ready to start school with a fresh new perspective on life due to my many travels this summer. I hope I've only changed in ways to make me more interesting. In any case, I know I have good friends.

Top 5 Cities

2006-08-16T15:22:00.000-06:00

In reading the 100 hour board today, I stumbled across a question concerning this site. Supposedly, after you complete this detailed quiz, it can tell you exactly where in the United States you would most prefer to live. So, I took the quiz, and here are the results (well, the top five, anyways). I think they're pretty interesting.

1. Grand Rapids, Michigan (That's right, Jacob...maybe we can move to Michigan together!)
2. Duluth, Minnesota (Cool name...Duluth. I could get used to that.)
3. Great Falls, Montana (I don't know...Montana? We'll see.)
4. Rochester, Minnesota (Looks like Minnesota might be the place for me.)
5. Ogden, Utah (Hey, that's really close to Provo! I could move there easily.)

The other cities are all very interesting as well. In short, I think I could live in any number of places in America and be quite content. I enjoyed my stay in DC very much, even though it doesn't land anywhere on my list. All the same, I recommend you check it out yourself. You might find out about a city that you never knew existed -- and it may be the perfect city for you. Go to http://findyourspot.com.

In a related note of interest, Salt Lake City, Utah landed at number 9 on my list, while Provo-Orem, Utah also made an appearance at number 11. It looks like this is the place for me after all.

Picture?

2006-08-01T17:56:00.000-06:00

I just noticed that I never bothered to upload a picture into my blogging profile. I suppose it doesn't matter since anyone who reads this blog most likely already knows me well enough to not want to see me while they peruse through my randomn creations and experiences, but all the same, I promise to get a picture, of me, up on here for ya'll. Ain't I grand?

City of God

2006-08-01T17:51:00.000-06:00

So, about a year ago, a good friend of mine recommended that I see the film "City of God" because it was really great. I had so many other movies that I wanted to see at the time, that I just sort of told him, 'yeah, I'll have to do that,' and rubbed it off my inner list of things to do. Well, I have now seen it, and it was really great. This is by far the best movie I have seen all summer. I highly recommend it. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that I like the camera work, the editing, the story, the acting, the style, and everything. 5/5, or 4/4, or however you want to say it, it's great.

Somewhere in the Dark

2006-07-22T00:17:00.000-06:00

A firefly glowed ominously bright, as the last drops of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon. The night continued to proceed as the bioluminescence of the invigorating creatures continued to explode in rays of radiation-like brilliance. Somewhere in the dark, a small group of youngsters in the up-and-coming Foggy Bottom Art School painted striking visuals on their mini-canvases using acrylic paint (purchased for a small sum at a local supply store). In the end, the fulness of the Potomac atmosphere was captured on two small and palpable palettes, while the finished products managed to recreate the vibrant scene witnessed by the modern-day tourists paying homage to Jefferson.
I am now an independent artist, and I need to let my artistic light shine, much like a firefly. I've been told that fireflies glow in order to attract mates; perhaps they glow because they are prettier that way. The idea makes me glow inside, deep down where no one can see it...and that's a special thing.

Crosswords

2006-07-18T22:35:00.000-06:00

Hey...so, I saw wordplay today. Good documentary about people who are really into doing crossword puzzles. Enigmatologists join forces with former presidents in this exciting romp through the multifarious facets of the English language, which shows us that by enclosing words into tiny boxes and forcing us to feel incomplete until we solve the clues which allow us to place the words into a logical order, the editor-in-charge at the New York Times, and unelected leader of the crossword community, Will Shortz, has brought together a diverse and eclectic bunch of people. Well, not so diverse. Sure, some are young and some are old. Some are gay and some are not. But, all are white, all are word-lovers, and all have nothing else to do. It is always interesting to see people who put such passion into their hobbies. It's also fun to see the Bill Clinton smile when he knows that the manitee is a sea creature on the florida license plate.
This film would undoubtedly have been interesting even if I had never seen a crossword in my life. However, due to the fact that I've actually acquired a certain interest in completing the daily crossword myself, I found that I felt a very similar feeling that many of the people featured in the film felt. It is amazing that, even though you may think you're stuck, if you look at the crossword puzzle long enough, and try enough options, eventually you get it. We seem to know things that we didn't even think we knew. It's pretty cool.
So, I'm going to do a crossword every day, because I think it's pretty cool. But, I will never get to the point where I'm timing myself to see if I can get below two minutes. And I'll never be able to do that. If I could, I would certainly time myself. However, I'm usually happy just to finish the puzzle. And even for that I usually need help. But, that's part of the fun really. So, good luck to all you other gamers, and I hope you all see this movie to understand the beautiful art of puzzle making a little more.

Phish: Live in Brooklyn

2006-07-13T15:46:00.000-06:00

I had the wonderful opportunity of attending my first Phish concert in over 4 years. This is partly due to the fact that they haven't been touring since 2004, but, I also haven't seen Trey or any of the others play individually since that time either. In fact, I haven't been to many concerts at all since before I left to Ukraine in October, 2002. I did see Moe. on New Year's Eve in Las Vegas in 2003. And I bought a ticket to Moe. out here in Washington, DC, but couldn't go due to my being in Ukraine again at the time.
I was expecting a fairly excited crowd for the Phish concert last Monday at the local Movie Theater. This show was the Phish: Live in Brooklyn concert that was apparently broadcast to movie theaters around the country simultaneously when it first aired, and now, due to it's release on dvd (which I have also purchased) was being shown again in select theaters around the country. Washington DC being the large city that it is, saw fit to show the concert at 9PM in a Regal theater in the Ballston Mall in Arlington, VA. I knew the crowd would be excited, because obviously only a true phishhead would buy tickets for $12.50 a piece to see a pre-recorded performance of a concert that happened two years ago.
But, I was just happy to be able to see my good friends Trey, Mike, Page, and Fish playing again. Up close and personal. The sound was incredible in the theater, almost better than seeing the band play live because there weren't the bad acoustics that come with some venues (like I'm sure a baseball field would have). It also didn't rain in the movie theater, which was nice. The audience was spectacular, dancing in the aisles and cheering the band on, even though I doubt the band could hear us (but maybe they did hear us...two years ago...there's a thought).
I was very impressed with the filming of this concert. It did well at focusing on the main points of the music, and highlighting Trey's magnificent work on guitar as well as Page's piano playing.
Overall, I was overjoyed that the evening went so well. Also, I thought the mall looked really great, and I think I'll go visit it sometime soon to do some shopping and 'chillin.'
After the show, my friend and I went to catch the 12:45 AM bus, which never came. We then ate at IHOP to appease my stomach ache. I thought a glass of grapefruit juice would help (I know, contradictory logic...I'll have to explain that later), but it didn't. In fact, I think it made it worse. I don't know what was going around, but when I got home that night, Glenn, my roommate, also had a bad stomachache, so, maybe it was something we ate. In any case, my friend and I decided not to attempt the 6 mile walk home, but rather, catch a $10.00 cab ride home. It was delightful and exciting and I would highly recommend the experience to anyone else. However, it was a one night only experience, so...you lose.

Okay, Here I Am

2006-07-01T08:56:00.000-06:00

Alright, it's official. I've posted a little note on my MySpace blog that I would no longer frequent that site, at least not for blogging purposes. This site will be sufficient for all of my blogging needs. I'm more than happy to field any questions at this point; just submit questions in the form of comments, and I'll be happy to get back to you as soon as I can. I'll give you a little while to ask your questions before I post anymore to this blog. In the meantime, please check the back posts at http://www.myspace.com/yarjka. That's my old blog, for anyone that's new to my life.

A Second Chance

2006-06-24T10:32:00.000-06:00

Okay, my friend thirdmango has convinced me to give this blogspot thing a second chance. My first post here will be what Novel Concept suggested: a listing of all things that confuse me about this site. If you know of easy ways to reduce the stupidity of the site as a user, let me know.
1) There was no way to title individual posts, and that caused me to highly doubt the usefulness of this site. I mean, without a title, there is no post, in my opinion. However, thirdmango showed me that in the settings, I simply had to set the title option to yes. Well, why in the hell did blogspot assume I wouldn't want a title? The fact that that's the default really upsets me.
2) The fact that each user has more than one blog causes me to question the whole concept of a blog (not that I haven't been questioning that concept since day one...I mean, blogs are really silly things). My idea of a blog is one that ranges in its topics from harpooned seals to interesting spots on the skin, and to give an option to bloggers to make a blog dedicated to just one topic seems to go against what I think blogs should be.
3) This is probably the biggest problem, and if there's a way to fix it, please let me know. I want to be able to see my finished post on the actual page, and read the comments, etc. as if I was not signed in, and just looking at my blog page. However, if I click to look at it, I am then taken to my blog with no link to return to my home editing page area, and have to sign in again from the start page of the site. This is completely annoying. I know, I could open my blog in a separate window, and alternate windows, but that's just not the way I usually work. It seems like it would be very simple for this site to include a link back to the signed in page from the blog page, or give the option of signing in again from that page.
However, overall you're absolutely right. MySpace is much less cool in it's layout, and is much less appealing to a person who wants to read a blog. Who really wants to sign up for myspace with all the hassle it entails just to be able to read a blog. However, I really like the subscription options, and the ability it has to link you to a page dedicated to the person who writes the blog...it's much more personal than blogspot in that way. However, it is clear that MySpace is more about relationships between people, and since I hate that, I really should switch to blogspot. Thus, the second chance.

2006-05-23T17:31:00.000-06:00

Nevermind that post....I've decided to stay on myspace. I like it better, for numerous reasons. This site is meg confusing.

2006-05-07T12:15:00.000-06:00

I have decided to adopt this website as the home of my official blog. This is due to the fact that I often write these little short stories, that I enjoy having other people read even though they don't particularly enjoy reading them. So, I need a place to post them, and myspace just doesn't cut it. Most people that blog do so on a blogging site, so it's high time I joined the bandwagon. So, enjoy (even though you won't) reading through my various theories and ideas, as well as some of my short stories. Many of these first posts will be directly transferred from my myspace blog so as to accomodate the change more efficiently. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to post a comment. Until then, have fun reading anonymously.