My Grandma Posts

Growing up my Grandmother was always the sweet old lady that lived in the tough part of Salt Lake City, collected yogurt cups, and was ferociously devoted to her religion. When I was about 6 she decided to serve her church as a missionary. This meant that she would go around attempting to bring people to her church. She was sent to Virginia by her church. One thing I remember is going to family events and listening to my aunts and uncles talk and laugh about the stories she sent from Virginia. They would tell me about this woman that my Grandma was sharing an apartment with (as a missionary of her church you were paired up with a member of the same sex for the duration) and how she just couldn’t get along with her. I remember them laughing about how cantankerous this woman made my Grandma. These stories were repeated even after my Grandma passed away. A Decade later, I now understand how these stories of my odd couple like grandma’s relationship with her missionary companion helped impart familial values.
Reflecting on it more, I can see that these stories were a way to communicate the importance of individuality, venting, and religious devotion. As I performed the same service, as a missionary for the same church, like my Grandma once did, I see how the values have transferred to me. At times I was paired up with people who had difficult personalities. Then I remembered laughing at my crazy grandmother and her missionary friend. She was willing to put up with an “insufferable” woman just to do what she felt her religion required of her. That value transferred to me and I told myself I was willing to as well. Even now, I look at my extended family now I can see that value currently reflected in the way they live. I would write home about how I couldn’t stand the person I was living with. I knew it was okay to vent to my parents because they were probably at home laughing about how I couldn’t get along with my friend and about what fights we had that week, just like they laughed at Grandmother back then. Most importantly I remembered that while my aunts and uncles did laugh at my Grandma for her quirkiness, it was a loving thing and not out of humiliation. From their way of communicating these incidents I was able to understand that it was OK to be me. They would love me even if I was quirky.

Opening Night

I finally feel like blogging again. These last couple of days I have felt overwhelmed by all that I have going on including: 18 credits of school, a large part in a theater production, two part-time jobs, an intense inner life, and no social life. But now the show has opened and I feel a lot of stress leaving my body. Or could it just be Regina Spektors voice (sorry Whit!), she kind of relaxes me.
I am starting to adjust to Logan. Last night, I even made an effort to be social. I went Laundry Basket Sledding down this large hill outside our apartment. When I stepped into the basket I realized I couldn't completely fit so I let my feet hang out the front and pushed off. I started to move and closed my eyes and screamed. I felt the wind in my hair and opened my eyes, and found that the wind was blowing my hair not my motion down the hill for that had stopped and who knows how long I was closing my eyes and screaming like an idiot. When I had found I stopped I was immediately taken back to a place of shame! I was in a black bathing suit sliding down the blue slide only to find myself stopped. Yes, I was the fat kid stuck on the slide. In an attempt to get better speed I turned my self around and began to push myself with my feet. That worked better, I wasn't the fat kid stuck on the slide, I was the smart fat kid who got stuck on the slide but realized he needed to be innovative and figured out how to get himself down.
Last night after the show there was a talk back about the play and what it means. It was a fascinating discussion about communication, propaganda, and projection. I love theater, let me rephrase, I love good theater (OK I'll be honest I love laughing at bad theater also) because in it is so much about life. Something that really struck me about the talk back was about how passionately people felt towards certain things that I had portrayed on stage. Some of the assertions people had about my characters motives on stage were right on while others were wild inferences. Theater is what one brings to it I've decided.

Fate?

Do you ever wonder is there is a moment in life that turns the axes of everything. One moment you are determined to be a meat packer in Duluth the next you find yourself applying for a master's program emphasizing in Dom Deluise Studies or Palin-tology(a cute title I saw on Time this week). I am looking back at my life, always a sign of maybe just a teensy bit of "the blues" as they are so called, and wondering when those great moments of change could have occurred. Was it the time Taylor Kaelin called me "twinkle-toes" while I was batting at a little league game in Burgess Park or the time I was talking to Jenny Webster in the 200 hall of Lone Peak and she asked me if other people found me intimidating. Perhaps, a major life change happened as I strolled the Streets of New York with me friend Trevor Wright only to find myself walking into the point of a finger belonging to a homeless man who said, "you are a very attra...no, wait," and moved his device of projectile implication to Trevor's face,"you are a very attractive man." I'll never know but somehow out of all the events that have happened I can vividly remember these moments because the created some doubt in self-perception and perhaps caused hyper-focus on things that don't matter. What I find so humorous about these events is that if I went back to those with whom they happened (minus Trevor) they would probably not even remember them. Yet, in the static space between my temples I can recreate them. Bizarre what sticks with us.

blogging while bleeding

in desperation for cash I have gone back to blood letting twice a week. Apparently my blood is magical and allows people to heal if used. For my service I am compensated $30. Yes, another scheme by a corperation to squeeze the life out of desperate and poor students. What makes this entry unique is that I am actually giving the golden serium as I type. Yes this is how dedicated I am to the art of blog. Attached to my left forarm as some surgical tube with a needle at the end, inserted into my elbow pit. If you have never given plaa before you might cringe but really it is semi-comfortable. Actually the most painful things are the movies they force us to watch. Today Is an Owen Wilson film festival, and not his good ones. Sometimes you got forgive actors for doing movies just for money.
I've decided writing on a blog from a PDA is time consuming. I think I'm done.

Fat and Sassy

State Per capita income(2007) Rank in US (’07) Pct. of US avg. (’07) Pct. change
Montana $32,458 41 84 +5.4
Alabama $32,404 42 84 +4.9
New Mexico $31,474 43 82 +5.2
Idaho $31,197 44 81 +4.3
Utah $31,189 45 81 +6.1
Kentucky $31,111 46 81 +4.6
S. Carolina $31,013 47 80 +4.2
Arkansas $30,060 48 78 +5.6
W. Virginia $29,537 49 76 +4.7
Mississippi $28,845 50 74 +6.7



As I sat through my Natural Resources Economics and Policy class I was bored, almost petrified that I would never find another thing excitable in life. My teacher was showing a power point presentation, otherwise known as the bane of a modern college students learning experience. When on the screen I was shown a slide which showed states which had the lowest per capita income in 2007. I was surprised first to see that Utah was in the lower 10 than I took a closer look and saw that the list for low income was similar to another 10 state list. Food for thought. Pun absolutely intended!!!

My Favorite Drug Themed Movies

Meth Ad from around 1999-2001



Heroin Ad from around 1998



Pee Speaks the truth




A Puppet show which seems to be the result of a drug induced hallucination

My Favorite Cha-Cha Q & A's

Question
What if I'm in love with cha-cha, and not absractly but a literal love that can only be fulfilled by physical means?

Answer
Well, since ChaCha give you all you need by cellular phone, just put your phone and vibrate and...well we love you too!

Visit Source Website

View info about your guide Ruth C.

Question
What was life before cha-cha like?

Answer
Why worry about the past... it is behind us.

Visit Source Website

View info about your guide Peg Z.

What to Blog?

I am in the northern highlands of Utah again. Though this time, I am not so depressed to be here (and then came the cold). I have been struggling actually to get to classes. I went to each one on Monday and Tuesday and I just kept asking myself what am I doing studying this if I find it so boring. I guess my Dad would say I need to adjust my attitude. Yet, I have had ingrained in my mind since the age of "Rookie of the Year," and "Blank Check," that man was meant to pursue what he loves. Granted, those cautionary tales eventually taught that it was silly to follow your dreams because you'd be more happy like you are. But, like most movie goers, I forget the message but love the jokes and way cool music. Perhaps these were movies funded by the Bourgeoisie to keep those pesky middle class kids in the income class they belong. "Dreams only lead to wanting what you had before," said Warren Buffet to the son of a school teacher. He then pats me on my head and sends me off to my future 3 bedroom 2 bathroom house on a quarter acre where my first wife, two-five years younger then I, and two children (rounded of course) will live until I have my mid life crisis and marry my daughter's best friend after she has graduated from college.
Wow was that bleak. I love learning but I think it perhaps hard for me to come back from perceived freedom to a structured schedule of learning. Perhaps the key to success is saying to myself, "I don't need to be here but I choose to be here. I learn because I want to." Who knows?
Today I Cha-Cha'd for the first time. What was the opening question? Is there anything wrong with thinning hair? My first response: There is nothing wrong with thinning hair, some scientist believe it to be a genetic defect. Yes, there is nothing wrong with genetic defects apparently. Maybe they are using the Webster's definition of defect because from Oxford I came to understand defect as a pejorative.

Happenstance

Once again in London. Hopefully the weather won't be as devastating as last Sunday. Poor Felecia (a classmate), nearly got hypothermia though, I don't know how sorry I feel for her. She had the opportunity to purchase a poncho but refused with the remark, "But I love the rain!" I asked her if she didn't want to be seen in a poncho because they were hideous but she quickly said she really did love the rain. Well after one hour and forty five minutes standing on ones feet in frigid rain ones fondness for precipitation can easily sway. She shivered and hurried us to the train station to go home. Yet I found that my windbreaker, was just that, and not a rain breaker. I was eager to get out of the rain too. I have just resigned myself to the fact that on vacation I will be wet whether it's hot or cold. You see, I was just as drenched after a day of walking around Venice.
Today I hope to see some plays but to be honest I am waiting on money. Also I have looked at the TimeOut this week and am compelled to see no plays. This is unusual because I usually have a list of must sees when I come. Maybe this is a bad time for London Theatre. Yet, I will probably end up seeing something at the National Theater. They have tickets for students that cost £10. They release them on hour before the show. Umm, I just checked my watch and that is in 20 minutes. So I am off.

Rain in the Globe

Lately I have been very scatter brained. We are six days away from performance and I am still struggling with memorization. I am attempting to dissect the cause of the synapes breakdown and as of yet haven't descovered it. I often get frustrated that my brain doesn't work the way I want it to but I am starting to think that intelligent people don't fight with their brains but work with them, or maybe it's the insane people that don't fight their brain. Well insanity and intelligents are pretty much interchangable.
The womb expulsion day has once again happaned and we have survived 7 years since the end of the world day. To celebrate we went into London and saw some shows. The first was a Noel Coward inspired piece of nostalgia based on the film Brief Encounters. Brief Encounter's follows the inception and imminent termination of a middle class 1930's british affair. Pretty tame stuff in our day but it is a classic and has a fantastic soundtrack of Rachmoninoff's moody piano concerto's. I thoroughly recomend the film for that purpose. Perhaps I will make it a thursday night feature. Anyway, the stage production was magical. To begin with we were in the front row and the actors playing the doomed couple sat right next to us as if it were a cinema back in the 30's. They sat politely and talked. Then suddenly the lights dimmed and a film began. THen the action began, the woman explained she couldn't go on decieving her family. There was a fight and then something magical. On the screen was a living room with an older gentleman calling Laura. He did it many times until the actor left the man and cliumbed on stage and with one last hesitation climbing into the screen. The next shot was of her with the man who had been calling her name. He hugged her and was so glad she had come back. IN the audience the man remained. He watched with sorrow as he sat back down. It was a poigniant moment. The film then began at the beginning of their relationship and I wondered if this movie and play we were going to watch was really the movie in this mans mind. Was he doomed to repeat these images in his head forever? ANyway that was only one magical moment. It was inventive and heartbreaking. It reminded me so much of why I love theater. Later I was given a bun by an actor. I consider it my birthday present though I am sure everyone that sits in my seat gets this prize.
Next we rushed to see a play at the glob theater on the banks of the thames. Thanks to a monsoon though we didn't stay for long.
Thanks to everyone who thought of me. I hope that I get to see you soon.

Swaddled in eight pounds of chocolate and clothes

There is a new type of smuggling occuring on low cost airlines throughout europe. Many know that these airlines severly limit the amount of baggage and wieght one is allowed to carry on. Myself being terrible with metric wieghts always find myself scrambling to lighten the load. This new type of practice is wieght smuggling. Yes friends I was eight pounds over in Italy. My solution, wear about 8 layers of clothes. This of course is easier for the larger man. Yet with this normal precaution I was still overwieght, the bag not me. I quickly remembered the milka bars I was transporting. I slipped one into my cargo pocket and realized how inconspicious it was. 15 milka bars later I was on my way and the airline non the wiser.

The days of nether region

Highlights of the last three days includes seeing a man being taken down by the police for being drunk. I use ˝taken down˝ seeing as how i was more of a passing out motion then police grabbing the man. I've bought dozens of Milka bars, bags of Softis, and lastly copati, which are ˝indoor shoes.˝ The chagral moments have been the heat which is causing severe friction in areas where fat touches one another. So far I've had a rash in my left armpit, on my arm where my watch is, and the last is past my perimiter and the safety kids taught me that I'm not to share that with anyone but I can tell them my number, my telephone number. Every night in the hostel I come home and just sit with my legs apart and curse my thighs. The people in the hostle are most likely offended but at this point in the trip I am far beyond caring if people think that.
So I have been on Elder watch since I arrived and I've only seen them once and wasn't able to ask them to let me in the new chapel. I want to see inside the new and only permanent LDS church in slovenia. They built it upon the rock, not on peter. But to no avail. Otherwise I have just been hanging out and detoxing from the theater group I have been with. Such negative energy do I feel whenever I was some of them. I need hits of seratonin when ever those people are around.

Things I miss about the States:

Not feeling like I was the largest man in the country
Earning Money
Best Buy Tuesday
My Family
Foriegn Film Thursday with Friends
Things being a resonable price

There is no place like home that's why I suggest you live everywhere

I often sit and listen to the mundane thoughts that go through my, I don't really have a choice. Last night I was having a terrible time breaching the fortress that is the Slovene border. Unfortunately, the train I was planning on taking from Venice to Ljubljana was sold out. I was a little surprised because Ljubljana isn't exactly what most people are looking for in their European experience. Turns out the trains final destination was not Slovenija but Hungary, Budapest (home of the baby arm incident) to be more precise, which based on lack of train tickets must be wildly popular (but only after the fiersome five visited ealier this year, did the divided city achieve such fame, I'm sure).
So I decide to go to Trieste, as it is 23 KM from Koper, which seems to be the only other way to sneak in. I figured I could catch a bus in Trieste and then grab a train to Ljubljana. If I don't I am stuck waiting in Venice until the next night anyway so I asked myself what could it hurt.
I just realized that Tom took this train the day I nearly went ballistic because I missed my plane to Klagenfurt. I had to pay (but really my Mother) an extra $100 dollars to fly into Salzburg, 8 hours after my scheduled flight. Poor Tom had no communication from me because I was without money seeing as how Ryan air had shot me with a bullet I paid for. Tom got in around 2 am and I was suppose to meet him so we could go to the hostel. Instead, I walked like a drone around Ljuljana until I saw through clear glass St. Thom the saint of blogs. That was one of those days I was told to go home early because I looked like...well you get the point (mlos). I should add that the reason I was late for my flight to Klaggenfurt was because my Flight into London was an hour late and I waited an additional 45 minutes for my bags to be unloaded from the plane. In my mind I pictured a little Slovenian running around the landing strips inorder to prevent and landings and then moving on to the baggage compartment to cast a disappearing spell on my luggage, Slovenians descend from the Leperchaun linage of Ireland.
So now I am sitting in Trieste, which happens to be one of my favorite cities, so any excuse to go is fine by me. I get there and realize that there isn't a bus until 6 AM the next morning. It's at this moment I solidify my belief that I am not the Victor Frankel of my generation. Perhaps I am his antithesis. I started to get these feelings of desperation and lonliness. I was stuck in Italy with no place to go, no place to stay, and no razor blade to call my own. I wondered why I travel alone, why I am always alone, why I worry that I don't feel as close to people as I would like. You know those moments of cheesiness that you assume will lead to a paradigm shift but are quickly forgotten about after you've gotten what you wanted. Twenty minutes of moping later, I decide this is a blessing because A)there is no way I'm going to find a place to sleep tonight which meansB) I don't have to pay for a place to sleep tonight. Ahhh, the joys of being homeless. I gently lay my bag down (as my mother would be offend if I treated her bag with disrespect). I unzip the lockings lips of the bag, the container of my only possessions at present and grab a sweater to use as a pillow. The transition is complete, I am officially a hobo. It is more simple than one assumes. To seal the deal tomorrow, I will jump onto a moving train, and then playsoulful tunes on my harmonica for hours telling people I used to give water to the elephants at the circus until everyone was killed in a freak tight rope fire.
The time is 11 PM and I decide to set my alarms for 6 AM. I am off to REMless bliss.
At about 1:15 I am tapped and told something that didn't fully register. I had enough sense to mutter ˝no comprehendo.˝ Which I am pretty sure is spanish but the guy got the message. He started to speak in English asking me all this questions. In my mind I thought, ˝Oh, great its my first day as a hobbo and I'm already being arrested for loitering. The nice Italian Police Man asked me where I was going, what time I planned on leaving, and if I had documentation. I had the suspision that he thought I was drunk. I don't blame him. He then tomld me that I couldn't sleep in that part of the train station and they moved me to a halway where I and 3 other people slept. I wondered who these people were, why there were no bars in this prison, and who would rape me first. I was so tired I had no time to worry about my safety but, as a precaution I strapped my bag around a pole connected to the floor. Mind you it was just a strap and I'm pretty sure it could have been stolen just as easily. At about 5:40, when I could sleep no longer because the sweat left from the previous day was turning into a rash around my groin, I found that the minimus security prison I was taken to was in serious need of gaurds. The jail break was quick.
As I arrive at the bus station, I change clothes, for fear pictures already are circulating Italy demanding my capture and also inorder to prevent more heat rash. I stepped onto a bus driving me to freedom, Koper, we are driving and I see a sign that states we had entered Slovenia, and my heart rang with pride I had learned a lesson, that any problem can be solved by sleeping on it. I then took a bus to Ljubljana, this was the slow bus but it was beautiful. It went through mountains and forests. As we descended into Ljubjana most my anxiety had disapeared and I remembered why I fought so hard to get here. I arrived and immediately went to the center of the town. As I sat below the statue of Preseren(Slovene hero and national anthem composure(which incidently and appropriately is also a drinking song)), this sense of familiarty overwhelmed me, In the morning sun I see people I had tried talking to before in this very spot, I see people I never had the courage to talk to, and I see people whom I couldn't have talked to, because they usually only conversed, with themsleves. Relief fills my soul and I am OK. I think I love Ljubljana so much because it feels like my home when I can't go to my other one. And I am the type of person that needs one of those.

Italy

Coming from England to Italy must be similar to going from Lincoln, Nebraska to New Orleans. It is a beautiful steaming mug decorated with ornate religious symbols which all spell out "God is our number one Dad!!" I am hoping to include more pictures and videos on this blog but have run into technological roadblocks of tron size proportions. All the computers at internet cafes seem to be 4 years old and without SD card readers. I guess you don't come to Europe for the overwhelming advances in computer science (big shout out to N-Shels).
Also a new goal is trying to be more positive about this trip because if Eleanor Roosevelt taught me one thing it was that only I can make myself feel inferior, oh and she did teach me that Lesbians can be the president of the United States by marrying a politician and giving him polio.
Well off to a Art Historians wet dream, the Uffizi.

The Inneptitude and Latitude of the crazy one

Wow, I think my experiences so far in England have proven to me that hindsight is really some chubby 5 year old boy sticking his tongue out at you and giving you the bird. I only say this because of the sour taste of disregarded intuition. Yes as I was getting myself involved with yet another study abroad I had the distinct thought that perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea to go however, my desire to get away prevailed over that pesky thought. Well after 5 days of lackadaisical organization and whip-induced acting I can say never ignore your old Intuition. I am so sick of being here that I feel like running away and finding the nearest flight home. Yet I have been to China and Ghana and have pleasant enough times. Even there when times got bad I never wanted to leave. Perhaps it is the nature of my study. We are doing about 7 hours of "class" a day and then required to do homework outside of class. This would be fine except the class is only 3 credits. I am just venting and no one likes this so I will describe with absurdity what is going on. Two days ago we went into London. To get there early for National Tickets we woke up at 5:40 AM. The only reason I am awake at this time normally is to save the nation from bad music. At about 6 we trecked over to the train station which is a good 3 miles from where we stay. On the way there our chaperone told us to go right with the pretext that it would save us walking time. 10 minutes later we were in a location 50 feet from were we had been told to turn right to save time. I would excuse the lack of directional orientation except it had happened many times during the first couple of days and this was like the 15th time she had been to Northampton. Secondly, I was expecting a phone call from a friend that lives in London and I told our chaperon that someone would be calling. Well I was a bit disappointed that on the day that we went into town I never heard from my friend. The next day we were trying to get in touch with a local actor in our production and the chaperon could not figure out how to see if he had called so I called the voice mail line and found one new message and whose voice should I hear but my London friend. After I hung up I said, "my friend called on the eighteenth (which was two days ago)." The Chaperone's response, "Yes, but did Simon leave a message." I was so infuriated with her cultural and for that matter emotional Lag. Thirdly I live with the top competitor for most bizarre and mundane inquirer. I promise I haven't heard such inane questions in my life. It's always ,"Where are we? When can we go above ground? Who am I? WHy is the sky blue? Are you going to kill yourself with a gun or this passing car? Which is more annoying my voice or my complete lack of knowledge of proxemics." You know things like that. Fourthly, I have real issue when people take extreme latitudes with my time. I understand that we haven't much time before our one performance but I hate not being told a start and stop time to rehearsals and being told 12 hours before hand that we are having a rehearsal. The lack of organization is killing me.
On a final note, I am starting the P with Mr. Horton. That man is evil. Only a sadist could construct a work-out so intense and long lasting. I believe plyometrics won this bout. I don't really have a schedule and there are like twelve different work outs so I'm kind of just trying them all. Moral of story my legs want to hurt me after all I did to them.

The Shoe Capital of England

I had just completed my trail of tears when a little one hung his window from the first floor of the Abbington Guest House run by a Ms. Spence. The spout, known as my forehead, was on rain and my clothes soaked. "What are you looking for?" hurled down the young lad. "The blanket infected with smallpox, please," I screamed in my mind but ended up muttering, "someone to check me in."
"Wha?"
"Someone to Check me in."
"Have you checked 127?"
I felt like I was boarding at an old school European establishment. I rang the bell at 127 and no one answered. "I stand at the door and Knock...I Stand at the door," Kept running through my brain. "Yeah they'll be sorry they didn't let the both of us in," I threatened cognitively then returned to my previous resting spot.
"Any Luck?" Asked the mini-face on the first floor.
"No," I answered.
"Did you go through the glass doors and knock on the next door?"
What was this kid, a senate inquiry council? "Yes, I did!!"
In a window three houses down I saw the familiar face of a classmate and he asked, "What are you doing?" I wanted to tell him I was waiting for Godot but it seemed existentially superior in tone, and that is not how I roll. I wonder how I must have looked holding the metal handle that was once used to pull my suitcase. This piece had broken off oh...about a mile ago on the "smooth" streets of Northampton. My clothes were soaked in sweat from the self-assured short journey from the train station to the B & B that ended up being 2 and a half miles in total. I must have looked pathetic dragging one bag while pushing the other broken in front of me saying various words that my mother has told me I can no longer type on this blog.because on my mournful sojourn an elderly gentleman took my bag and told me I was "struggling" in a most euphemistic tone. Oh well I suppose we all need help from our friends be they close or a random old man in England. He started pushing my bag and then asking my inflammatory questions about US policy (You know the typical European-American conversation). Then he started walking me in a direction away from the way I intended to go. Silently I followed but anxiety filled my gut. Who was this elderly Pakistani holding my suitcase leading me to a strange place. I began to picture a canvas bag over my face and my feet in water while I was being connected to a battery. About five times I almost grabbed my bag and told him this was my cross to bear, and mine alone. I would have sold Bush out just so long as I could live. Then we stopped at a corner and he asked me if I knew the rest of the way. He must have felt my fear. I said yes and began to march forward. I almost felt like crawling into the nearby park and finding a nice patch of trees and preparing myself to die. But I didn't, I continued remembering the proud heritage my pioneer ancestors. Pioneer Children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked. Funny enough that song mentions nothing about heat rash on their ever-rubbing thighs. Abington street was about a 1/2 mile from the attempted terrorist incident.
My classmate let me in and I entered my shangra-la. The place is wonderful. When I saw my begrudged Teacher she sayed, "Oh I sent you an email telling you to take a taxi. I sent it this morning was that to late." I told her no but inside I wanted go all french revolution on her Marie Antionette comment.

Melty Plastic People Making Fires

I have done it, I have done it. I made it to my destination without making a weepy phone call begging my parents for money. It helps when you don't miss your airplane and don't pay $100 dollars to get there.
Friends and Family I am staying in the one year calm of Belfast. Of course I refer to the age old religious riff of Cathi-s and Prote-s. As I type, there is a group of drunken Irishmen (that turned out to not be a cliche) bellowing out old military hymns about the bodies of catholics burning or something pleasantly similar to that motif. I saw one year calm because last year marks the incident of faith-based voilence. I guess you could call it Daddy-issues on a grander scale. "My God's better than your God."
"No my God is way better than your God."
"Oh yeah my God can clear an entire island of snakes."
"Oh yeah, my God can create printing and make literature available to people in any walk of life."
"You can't read."
"Well neither can you."
"Your Mom."
"Your Pa."
"I'm going to kill one of your leaders."
"Well I'm going to blow-up your children."
"I hate my Father..."
"I hate my priest too..."
With that slight detour concluded I will now explain how I was kicked for my God-given talent of snoring at, what I presume is, an illegal decibel. I went to sleep and attempted to plug in my CPAP machine otherwise known as the fighter pilot get-up. Well the piece of sleep saving device would not start. I tried for several seconds and it just wouldn't work. I want to bed offering a silent prayer to both the Protestant and Catholic God, not knowing which one worked at my current local, and asked that I wouldn't snore too loud, because I knew asking to not snore was a miracle too large to ask. I was awoken when a man kicked at my bed and told me know one could sleep because of my "racket." I told him I was sorry but that I couldn't get my machine to work. He told me to sleep on my side. I said fine but knew in my heart this jack-ass would probably kick on my bed. I called him a jack-ass because only moments before did he say I was F@cking ridiculous. This is when I prayed to both God's to give me the patience to not end the year of religious peace. I fell asleep. I again was woken by someone kicking me and verbally abusing me. This was turning into my worst hostel experience ever. I said I was sorry and tried to stay up so he could fall asleep before me. Again the familiar kick, it was at this point I started intentionally snoring. I blocked airways and slept on my stomach and even cupped my hand over my mouth to amplify my lung seizures. In my mind I thought if I can't sleep neither can you. He woke me up again, and again. Finally I moved into the hallway and slept on the floor. At about, 7 AM I woke back up and went into the room. He was just getting up so I thought what is the worst thing I could. It was snore as he packs up to leave. I gave him the best send off I could offer. I hope that he is punished by both Gods.
Today is the day before marching day. They celebrate by lighting a fire larger than Cuddles house. I will report more later.

The Riegn of Terror

I think my post about Lehi yesterday must have angered the Lehi God's because the caused my stomach to be expunged. This morning I was required to wake up at the ungodly time of 6 A.M. (Don't laugh Tom). As everyone should know I am very selfish with my sleeping time. It's as precious to me as neo-conservative attorney to Karl Rove. Needless to say, yet I continue to type, I slept in as late as possible. My goal was to roll off the left side and slip into my ACUs, as I was required once again to defend this country from musical terrorism (in the key of E I might add), and drive to the civil engineering disaster that is Saratoga Springs, then turn left and straight until mourning. Well I did wake up, I rolled(because that's how I do), I slipped but I didn't account for the terrorist counter attack. Confused? So was I. In the U.S. Army's infinite wisdom they have decided to switch the Army's headgear going from a stunning and slimming camouflage field cap to a unpatriotic french beret (though I fear reprocutions for being critical of the military's fashion sense). When we got them I was dismayed.
This was about the time that the Bush camp had decided France was an "enemy combatant." As I put it on I wondered if the army would change its official terminology from beret to freedom cap. I often wondered what it would cost the military to reprint field manuals and paperwork that once described how to wear the beret into how to post the freedom cap on a soldier's head.
I promise you I left it in the computer room. Yet I searched and searched but to no avail. It was at this moment I understood how directly terrorism did affect us for I no that the theft of my freedom attack was direct attack on the United States by the axes of evilness. I have preliminary suspects which may or may not include members of the Lackawanna Six, who I'm convinced have relocated to Alpine, Ut to destroy freedom (fries, dip sandwiches, and caps). So thanks to terrorism I was twenty minutes late leaving home.
Before I left I realized that I didn't have time for breakfast so I grabbed my herbal supplements and a bottle of water (sorry Rocky!). I slammed down the pills and I was on my way.
It wasn't too long into my drive that I learned I needed to make an extreme paradigm shift in pilling taking. It was probably not a good idea taking pills on an empty stomach. Not being one for scatological humor, lets just say I pulled a Herbert Walker. So as I am driving I feel this intense displeasure in what is often described as the pit of my stomach. I was like this is OK, it will pass and I continue to drive on. Seconds later I realized the fatal mistake. At this point I may have thrown up a little in my mouth. Relieved that I was able to contain the material, disgusted that I had just tasted detritus, I continued to drive. It was at this point that the gastric geyser blew. Unsafely I continued to drive and open the door just in time to have "it" spill on the road. Fortunately, no one was behind me. Continuing to drive I evaluated myself, as I am often told to do in disaster scenarios. Isn't the acronym RICE?. I felt better, so it was pedal to the metal. Bad idea. I was once again driving with my head hanging out the doorway. I imagined how odd it would appear to a person looking out their living room window, just pulling open the curtains to reveal the beginning of a beautiful day, but rather than that splendor saw a US soldier puking out of a moving vehicle. It was at this moment I recognized the true complexity of a terrorist attack. These enemy combatants I was attacked by did not only want me to be late they wanted American citizens to lose faith in their military force (even if they only are musicians) by seeing them at their weakest points like puking up water out of a moving vehicle. Not wanting to show the terrorist they had won I never deterred nor stopped my vehicle. I continued to drive not only to make to my gig on time but to show the impregnability of the American spirit. I felt like a hero refusing to let terrorism slow down this American soldier.
Other Highlight was Kieth, Assistant Manager, bragging to Mitch Mallory and I that he "pretty much had a 4.o," and that Brigham Young's nursing program would be foolish to not accept him.

The unheard comment

Today I was unusually motivated to call into one of my favorite radio programs (typing program makes me feel like my Grandma talking about her "soaps", love you G-ma!). Of course I speak of Radio West, a show of which I am an addictive listener. Trust me, if I could carry it in balloons I would. The topic today was about influential album cover art. I have come across a CD by the band Les Savy Fav. The cover has a picture of a man and woman nude in a garden surrounded by ravenous animals licking their lips and ferociously growling. The title of the CD was "Let's Be Friends." When I first saw it I couldn't help but chuckle at the cleverness. I wanted to share this cover with the lovable Doug Fabrizio and my happiness that Les Savy Fav had not gone with the trend of branding the band by using pictures of themselves but rather used cover art tot tell a story about what could be expected on the album.
So I called in. As I indexed the number into the phone I felt this rush usually reserved for opening theater performances or solo oboe performances. I was nervous and the adrenaline customarily contained was allowed to secrete. The phone rang and a woman anwered asking my first name. "Jeff," came out but not in my usual tone but that of a mid-pubescent boy. I was slightly embarrassed and emasculated. I wonder if this is how a eunuch feels post-op. She then asked where I was calling from. I took a deep shallow breath and wondered where I was calling from. I think I was in Lehi, I was driving, but opted to tell her where I was from for fear of someone assuming I actually had been bred in Lehi. "Alpine," I said in a more sustained tone. She then asked me what I had to say. I think those were her exact words though I might be post-traumatic. It was at this point I began to empathize with what George w. might feel every time he is asked to speak. I knew what I wanted to say but somehow my tongue was moving to the side to side when I wanted it to move up and down. In the end I think I spit something out about Les Savy Far. She seemed to be pacified by this statement and put me on hold until Doug would allow me to speak to him. I was left alone to drive, listen to the show on my phone, and recover. I was listening to some lady talk about the Beatles. I was wondering what are you doing you're just an ass-oicates degree holder from UVU. What could you possibly add? I was ruminating on this when I noticed that a woman was speaking to me. I slightly freaked out because I thought I was on the air but then I latched on to the familiarity of the voice. It was the producer asking me the name of the band again. I was like, "Les Savy Far, L-E-S S-A-V-Y F-A-R or maybe its F-A-I-R" She then said she was going to look it up on Amazon to include the cover art on their website. There was a pause and she said ,"Do you mean Les Savy Fav." And that was it, I was shamed. I imagined a 1992 Dan Qauyle ousting William Figueroa confidently saying "no the word Potato ends with E. Yep I'm so sorry it was an E." I apologized and shriveled along with my credibility. The next few minutes were a blur. As I drove Dan Qauyle's severed head appeared in front of me mouthing, "No I'm sorry its spelled with an E. You made a great effort...It's spelled with an E...an E...E..E, E, E!!" I arrived at my destination and sat for about 20 minutes listening to the guests discuss iconic cover art. Doug then said he was going to take a call and I felt nausea in my stomach. "We have Mike on the line.."
False alarm I then politley waited as they discussed emails and there own ideas about the influence of album art. Doug then ended the show and I was crushed. I wasn't going to be on the show because of a stupid R. Dan Quayle again came to me but he mouthed "R, R, R." The woman once again came to the phone and said she was sorry but they ran out of time. To which I replied, "O.K." I shut off the car engine and exited the car grabbed the bags of food I was delivering. Shutting the door I walked towards the building in blazing heat wearing a black catering smock holding heavy food in both hands.

Lets get ready to rumble!!!

Today I had to take one of my clients to get a haircut. As we were leaving the apartment he farted. Now I'm not one for scatological humor but after he passed the wind he said, "oh, not that way out!!" How can you not fall in love with that? Well I found out how you can not love that. This same guy the day before threw papers across the room and then stormed out because his roommate looked at him wrong. He then ran back into the kitchen and took a, what I can only describe as, 19th century Irish Boxing pose. This was after I asked him to calm down. He then got this look in his eyes that conveyed the attitude, "you guys aren't even worth the fight." Now I've held the fact that this man is 70 years old and has no teeth to speak with for the sake of dramatic irony. He went to his room after "the episode." Later he was heard muttering to himself, "I'm not going to get mad no more."
This summer has been very busy. I have three jobs I' am working at right now that consume my days. I hope it will be worth it when I go to London. If you haven't heard I am taking my acting to London. I am going to be in a play there. It is through Utah State so it is not nearly as prestigious as it sounds but I'm still excited to be able to talk vaguely with people about my acting experiences in England in the hopes of making myself seem more important then I actually am.