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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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. 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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
