A Natural Death

Here's one I wrote a while back on the topics of death and assisted suicide. I dug it up today because my buddy Mark says he's been thinking about those topics. So this one's for you, buddy.

On the way over there

Father said something

I didn't understand

about youth

in Asia and Mother horrored at him

as though he had just said “murder”,

dropped the M-bomb

[embalm] in our happy family van.

“She had to be alive

so our son could have a chance

to meet that woman who used to sing

and make strawberry cheesecakes,”

she said,

“and besides it's just the moral thing to do,

the natural thing.”

I had no idea

until we had arrived

that we were going

to visit a woman's old srange feet;

claws, veins, and coldness;

great grey gargoyle's feet

at the end of a

slab

of a bed.

I did not want

to touch the old strange woman attached to those feet,

yet strong adult hands

firmly pushed my narrow scapulas

and all of me

toward the alien tubes,

tubes robbing the death from her nose;

toward her eyes, eyes

like bitter cold mood rings;

toward her teeth

like a wooden chest in the attic

whose cracks have widened with time;

toward matted grey hair

[grave hair]

like frosted grass concealing warm bugs.

Mother said

she used to sing things

with a once unblistered tongue,

shout hello to her grandchildren

from her porch

with a twinkle

in her clear sapphire eyes,

but all that was here

was like some unearthed

and eroded artifact

that offered no hint as to the essence

and spirit

of the ancient civilization that had once possessed it.

Then terror and dread

[dead]

as a crow's leg of a hand

appeared from under the yellowing crocheted afghan

[shroud],

one of the hands that mother said

used to bake strawbury

pies and roll meatballs.

It acted autonomously,

clutched and explored my shrinking face,

her skin cold like ashes

where one might expect warmth.

Life--

no, aliveness--

pulsed in and out of those tubes

to her nose and body

like thick bitter cough syrup through a straw

and then she looked

at me,

or rather something dark and outside looked at me

through my great-grandmother's eyes.

I was on display here

for a fossil to observe

like a Bizzarro museum.

My inside places got all cold and hard,

and my clothes slackened a bit.

Exhausted,

she released me

and I backed away,

away,

not caring if I bumped into a chair

or a stack of flowers on a TV tray,

doomed to perish

with their faded

recipient,

or best those foreign metal canisters of essence

forcing aliveness into the worn

[worm] body,

away

from the dust of that sterile

lifeless tomb

of a

living room.

there were adult whispers then

and strained feigned faces

while I sat in the coroner

drawing shallow frowning faces in my breath

on the window,

trying to shudder off the

dead

flakes of her skin on my young face.

Months later

they buried those feet

along with the rest of the woman

I had met that night

where a little decay

would finish making her into dirt.

Left unburied

was the part that Mother righteously said lives on,

the part that sings and makes spaghetti,

the part that sadly I had never met,

it having departed long before our delayed encounter,

her carcass having been draggled through the morals of relatives

and in the end left alone to survive.

Storm

Happy Mothers' Day, everyone. Here's a poem I wrote about my own mother a few years back. It's based on the account of Peter as found in the Bible.

Storm

The clouds finally burst one December night with a phone call,

Lightning travelling along the wires,

Thunder awakening her where she slept,

Tossing and turning

On her flimsy wooden fishing boat,

Alone.

A woman

On the other end of the line

Said he's not coming home

And in a moment the sun was gone from the sky.

Soon the storm was raging,

The depths of hell dumping down from the heights of heaven,

Her delicate head getting heavier with the weight of the cold rain,

The swells trying to toss her off kilter,

Children clinging to her thinning wet housedress,

Apostles huddling in terror,

Ghosts on the waves,

Bills in the mailbox,

No one to steer the ship.

The whole universe waiting for her to face her storm,

Grab the wheel,

Save them.

But the wheel had come loose,

The rudders were broken,

The ship could not be steered.

"I cannot even save myself!"

She yelled in her prayers at night.

"I cannot weather the storm."

She rocked herself to sleep,

Hugging the cold places on her back where his arms belonged.

The long night dragged on,

Creaking timber,

Cracks in the boards where the water was forcing itself through,

Where she couldn't keep everything together.

And in the fourth watch of the night,

Sometime in mid-January,

In the center of the pitching waves and the pitch black,

She looked out over the tumultuous sea

And faced her God.

She could barely discern his face

Through the rain and mist and darkness and distance,

But she called out to him.

"Lord, if you are there, please bid me to come to you."

And he said, "Come."

She looked around at her small house,

Two kids to a bed,

And she looked at her empty résumé,

And she looked at her empty cupboards,

And then she peered over the edge of the small boat,

And looked at the murky, stormy water,

And imagined all the eels,

And sharks,

And tentacles down in the sludge.

Finally she looked up at her Lord, who was still beckoning,

And she stepped off her porch

With her briefcase and a sack lunch,

And went to work.

She did it!

She was doing it!

She didn't need to swim.

She could walk all the way.

And she sat behind her desk,

Filing papers and earning money.

But then she knocked a stack of papers off the desktop,

And she bent to pick it up,

And she looked down,

And she saw the swirling sea,

She saw that the wind was boisterous,

That no one would ever love her,

That her children would starve

And she'd never make it on her own.

She was afraid.

She started to sink,

Up to her neck in bills,

Over her head with raising a family,

Drowning in cold turbulent loneliness.

With her last breath she gasped,

"Lord, save me!"

Immediately,

Jesus dived into the water,

Sank into the sadness with her,

Stretched forth his hand,

And caught her.

Wet, and shivering,

Tangled in seaweed,

He pulled her onto the boat,

Wrapped her in a towel,

And hugged her to let her know she was safe,

His arms warming her back.

He closed his eyes,

The clouds parted,

The wind ceased,

The boat stood still,

The bills were paid,

The children were fed,

And the spots of longing on her back had vanished.

When the sun came out,

Pouring golden light on the gray sea,

And she was made perfectly whole,

Jesus left her side.

She stood again,

Went to the edge of the boat,

Looked out across the gentle waves,

And whispered over her placid sea,

"Thank you, Lord, for rescuing me.

Please help me learn how to walk back to you on my own."

She got out of bed, got ready,

And went to work again

With a prayer in her heart.

Easter Eggs

I know it's June already, so here's everything I've done all rapid-fire:

I went to Hero's wedding. Very posh.

Went hiking in Bryce and Grand canyons with the roommies. Astounding. Can't wait to get my pictures developed. Hurt my ankle and prevented us from getting to the bottom, which was way depressing.

Moved. I live with Pinetree and Chris and a kid named Nate and a loveable Spaniard who drives me nuts sometimes but I like him anyway.

Saw Heather Angela Hawks and her husband.

Hung out with all kinds of friends from back home, most notably Carrot.

Got into Fiddler on the Roof in the ensemble with Pinetree and Robb. It seems way fun, but the practice schedule might be too demanding.

Have an interview Thursday for a manager position at the restaurant where I work. That would be a major blessing.

Had my youngest brother come and stay for a few days, which was taxing. He reports that I'm old now, and that I care about things like "other people" and "not getting arrested." Well, it's not so much that as I was just worn out. I love that kid, but I have NO IDEA how to actually talk to him.

Joined a book club with Alecia, Pinetree, Garrett, Blueshorts, and some friends from work. We are starting with "Black Like Me," a non-fiction book about an investigative reporter in the 1950s who dyed his skin black and went about the south recording the differences in how he was treated. My month we'll be reading "The Things They Carried," a fantastic comprehensive novel about Viet Nam soldiers.

Got addicted to "Lost" and have now seen every episode in order with all our buddies except for the last four, which I'm sure we'll watch before too long.

Spoke in church and taught Sunday School and then got called as a district leader in the elders' quorum.

Ok, there were two more things I want to report, which are the Easter Egg Hunt (which was actually quite a while ago) and the Water Balloon War, but those will have to wait until next time, merely because I think I actually have some fodder there for writing.

Odd Shaped Pots and Other Nonsense

Holy Hannah, I've been busy. Sorry I haven't posted recently. Here are the main items of business:

I went to Jon and Sara's wedding. It was so great. Here's the story in pictures:






















































































I am not even going to try getting all that crap in order. Well, actually, I tried really hard, and it is just pissing me off now, and it has caused further delays, and so I give up.

But the point is this: Weddings are a TON of work, but they are awesome when the people are so right for each other and they're worthy and stuff.

I got to be co-best man, and give a toast and everything. It was so much fun. I shared the theory of the odd-shaped pots. I think now we will change it to the theory of the odd-shaped tupperware, and I will explain it here:

So you're looking for the lid to your tupperware, and if your tupperware is square or round, you can find eleven lids that ALMOST fit, but not the one that actually does. If, however, your tupperware is like a heart or a parallelogram or some long, thin rectangle, it's easy cheese to find the right lid. It practically jumps right out at you. So it is for weird people who are trying to find their soul mates. They can scan the crowd and immediately rule out all the normals and the people who are odd but not their kind of odd, and all that's left is their mate. So it is with Jon and Sara. They were so easy to set up because they were also so perfectly right for each other and wrong for anyone else. And yes, that IS what I said in the toast I made at the reception. Thank you to Jessica for sharing the theory with me in the first place.

We stayed at Shelley's brother's house, which made for what is probably the most entertaining story from the trip. When we arrived, it was the middle of the night, and Shelley's mom let us in. She was also staying there as a guest. She tried to get me and Shelley to sleep on the same mattress together, but Shelley was like, "why Don't Natalie and I share and then Smurf can have the mattress to himself. Good thinking, Shelley. Her mom was all, "Oh, please, you'll be in sleeping bags, and you can just put your heads at opposite ends. Ah, converts. Gotta love them.

But what was really strange happened before all of that. Because, you see, the moment Shelley's mom opened the front door, I heard a terrible grinding buzzing noise coming from the house. And the noise didn't go away. It would beep on and off for a minute, and then be a steady on noise for a minute, and then back to the beeping. That first night at the house was hell. I could not stand the noise. When I asked what it was, Shelley told me that it was some sort of ant repellant system, and that we couldn't turn it off. She also said that she couldn't even hear it.

So, I didn't sleep much that night. The next morning, Shelley was saying that if the neighbor's dog didn't shut up, she would go after it with a baseball bat. I tried, but I could not hear the dog over the buzzing. People were starting to think I was crazy. So was I. The next night Shelley gave me ear plugs, and those helped tremendously. I found out that her little nephews had been throwing paper airplanes at me all morning and I hadn't stirred. The following day, the kids told me that the noise was just coming from a little box in the wall, and that we could unplug it at any time. They thought my suffering was funny, especially because nobody else could even hear the horrible loud noise.

I learned a few things at the wedding, though, like that if you are a woman, the word "tool" also means some sort of lacy crap that is nice to spread around at weddings. And that brides care that all their glitter is the right way up on the tables at receptions, but it still has to look just like it fell there naturally anyway. And that taking your friend to Denny's and then walking around with him outside Disneyland and letting him look through the bars but not actually go in may be a lame bachelor party, but sometimes it seems to be just what a stressed groom-to-be needs. And also that you should stop your toast the moment everyone goes "Aaaaaaawwwww" because it can only go downhill from there. And I hope Sara learned that caesar dressing has anchovies in it, and should not be served at your wedding reception when your husband is a vegetarian weirdo.

There was also a little bit of chaos when we couldn't find the dumpster at the church building, but that wasn't enough to go into detail about here.

Seriously, I felt a bit bad about the bachelor party. I told Jon that I was going to get him a cake with a stripper inside, but then I remembered the whole vegetarian thing. I love when I can tell a joke in such a way that the recipient will say two or three more sentences and then say, "Wait, what!?"

Other stuff has happened in my life, so here are the news briefs:

I went to California AGAIN (northern this time) with my mom and Mack and the maggot. I got to sit in the back seat with the maggot and Mom and Mack sat in the front. Here's a sample of the conversation from the trip:

Mom: "Straight!" That has an h and an i!
Mack: But you were still on g!
Mom: Oh yeah.
Me: Uh, mom, "straight" has a g in it too.
Mom: Oh yeah. "Objects!" That has a j!
Mack: You can't use words that are on the truck!
Mom: But it's outside the truck!
Mack: Do you want to be outside the truck?

The point of the trip was to go to my brother Ouija's sealing to his wife, who definitely should no longer be called "flavor" on my blog, since they've been married for a whole year now. So that makes two trips to California for wedding-type things in the same month. An odd fact about the sealing: I accidentally learned her new name when I was working in the temple as a set-apart veil worker. Weird.

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n has moved here. I have also discovered Goat. And Carrot is back from her mission. It makes me extra excited that all my old friends are back in my life.

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Work is great. I've been super busy with that and my choir and the activities committee. Also, I just want to say that I love my friends in my ward. They are excellent people, all of them.

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Rose invited Dee to her bridal shower this past week. So as far as we can tell, the wedding is still going on, but maybe it's no longer a temple wedding. It's hard to say. If this wedding happens, I'm so going. And I'm also so inviting all of you, but you have to act like you don't know me at all the whole time, capiche?

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See, you'd expect me to have more to talk about with a whole month gone by, but that's just not the case. Especially when I summarize everything as neatly and compactly as I just have. In any case, My next entry will have much more detail and will deal with the events from a much narrower portion of my life, and will therefore hopefully be much more interesting. Word.

Oh, and everybody watch the Backyardigans. From Nick Jr.'s website:

"Each 3D CGI-animated episode of “The Backyardigans” is a journey into the kind of fantasy play that happens in every little kid’s mind. They’re epic, musical fantasy adventures, preschool-style, fresh from the minds of Five kids – a precocious penguin named Pablo, a laid-back moose named Tyrone, the appropriately named Uniqua, a shy kangaroo named Austin, and a Happy Hippo named Tasha.

"Every day they meet in their adjoining backyards to explore wherever their imaginations take them – be it a deep tropical rainforest, an enchanted castle, or a vast ocean.

"On each fully realized adventure, “The Backyardigans” sing and dance to tango or tap, jazz or hip-hop, calypso or operetta, rockabilly or Irish jigs.
That’s right, it’s a musical. “The Backyardigans” explore different types of music just as they explore the whole wide world without ever leaving their backyards.

"And best of all, after each adventure, they always get home just
in time for a snack!"

Seriously, you guys, this is my new favorite TV show after 24. I've only seen one episode, and the kids were superheroes and the music was salsa. It was so catchy I could hardly believe it, and the kids were pretending JUST like my friends and I used to at that age. My four-year-old sister was singing along and making me pretend to be the various characters with her. It was enchanting. I also loved that some of the characters had black voices. thy were all so freaking cute. I know that the Backyardigans is true with all the fiber in my beans. Amen.

Bob Ross Russ Rose

"Gay is the new pink."

A girl said that in my dream last night, regarding the new positive regard (and even trendiness) which popular society holds for homosexuals. I don't know if that's as funny when it's not a dream, but it sure cracked me up.

I got a job. Los Hermanos again. I start Monday or so, I think. I'm really glad I don't have to wait to take the server test. So soon I'll be back serving tables, which I absolutely love.

Seriously, fans of music, check out pandora.com. The folks there did something they call the Music Genome project. They took music and analyzed it for its different attributes, and put all the information into a huge database. Then they created Pandora, which is designed to help you to find new music that you will like because of its similarities to what you already like. You go there and you type in the name of a song or a band that you like and it will begin streaming music like a radio station. It's truly amazing. I love almost everything that comes up. And if you dislike something, you just tell it and it will skip it. On Sunday I typed in Mormon Tabernacle Choir and was delighted when it started playing hymns, spirituals, and folk sings all morning. And the rest of the week I just type in a song that fits my current mood and they will play tons of music in that exact same mood. I know pandora.com is true with all the fiber in my beans.

I talked to the Bish about the Rose sitch. He was surprised to hear an old familiar name. He said that he and Rose and my previous bishop had had a special meeting once and confronted her with her roommates' allegations that she was a man. She was unable to refute the claims, but they were unable to prove it, and as she vehemently denied the charges, they let the matter go. The bishop was most interested in the tangible evidence I'd brought (namely, a photocopy of her driver license and her immigration papers), and asked if he could keep them to bring them to the stake president, who'd reportedly been right in the thick of the whole scandal when Rose was living here. So I don't need to worry about it any more, and Bish said the evidence was exactly what they'd been waiting for. So we'll see what happens next. There will doubtless be a mess, but hopefully I'll be a few steps removed from it. D and Wiggle are afraid that if Rose is confronted with the evidence, she may put two and two together and come blaming them, since it was their basement where the documents were stored when Heather Angela Hawks rifled through the boxes and scanned everything.

N is moving here this week. I am so friggin' excited. Lad is coming in two days as well. Wiggle and I are going to see Guster in Section 6, row 1, seats 17 and 18, when they come to town on March 30. Woo-hoo.

24 was SO good last night. SO good. Jack Bauer is the man.

And my little brother Rusty got photoshop, and this is his new picture, which I think is hilarious. This kid had the Bob Ross painting instruction kit when we were little and LOVED to watch the show. I know he's white, but really, he's my full brother. Promise.


Oh, and happy Valentine's day, I guess. This seems like a non-event to me, more than ever this year. Oh well. I have been invited to do things with two different Connies, which is SUPER weird because that's my mom's name, and I am named after my dad. I don't know if I'd be comfortable with either, so I haven't responded yet. We'll see what happens.

Chaito.

Looking Up

Ok, so I have not felt like blogging at all lately. So to make up for it, this is going to be the mother of all blog entries, full of anecdotes and philosophy and a road trip and links and pictures. Seriously, this blog entry is going to start giving birth to other blog entries. I hope you can appreciate this.

Some people who call themselves the Provo Late Knights came upon my confessions blog and invited me to join their ranks. My friend Ryan from efy is in the group, and he vouched for me, so they let me in. What they do is make movies, which you can see here if you have Quicktime 7 (which comes with iTunes). They are mockumentaries about life in Provo after midnight. We filmed one last week that introduced me as their nemesis, but you will have to wait a week or so before they get it all edited. I'm excited for the release, and also to start writing the next one.

Ryan also invited me to the Sundance film festival with him and some cool friends from his ward. We saw Gwyneth Paltrow. I was surprised that she is actually a lot more beautiful than normal people. It was weird. I'd always assumed that movie stars would look less glamorous in person, but not so. We saw seven short films (one of which was Gwyneth's directorial debut), and then they had a Q&A session afterward with all the directors. I asked a question about the lighting to one of the other directors, whose film was better than Gwyneth's, and wasn't funded by Vogue Magazine. We also had some delicious pizza. Man, that was some good stuff. Ryan is a really superior person. He has been going through some tough times lately with the passing on of our mutual friend Carly, but in my own times of turmoil I have really appreciated his involving me in his life. He's a good friend.


My choir went to St. George last weekend. It was such a great experience. We went and saw the new Joseph Smith movie that replaced Testaments. That movie is the best the church has ever produced. I cried through the whole thing. I want to go see it again. Anyone who reads this and is close enough to Salt Lake City or St. George to go watch it, please do. It will change you. Also, I became pretty good buddies with my friend Brett, since we roomed together. The two of us had a great time with our car buddies, Shelley (my efy co-worker) and Jessica (went to Wicked with me). Our entire choir was more bonded afterward.


We had auditions after our concert this last week, and my friend Snake from the ward tried out, and he made it in. He won't be able to come to our Wednesday practices, so it's my job to tape record the practices and then do practice with him one-on-one at his house. I'm excited to work with him; he's a really great guy.

I asked a girl on four dates tonight. Her name is Natasha and she's in my ward. She's in a marriage prep class and has an assignment to go on four dates with the same person. She was telling me this while I was playing bartender at my friend Mike's birthday party, mixing her a drink (non-alcoholic, of course). So as I was leaving the party, I suavely said, "Hey, Natasha, if you need any help with your homework, just call me."

"Did you have a specific class in mind?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"OK! I'll call you."Her enthusiasm was accompanied by a warning that this is quite the commitment and might require a lot of work and planning and time. I guess there are some tough stipulations. Meh. She seems like a cool girl, and what the heck else am I going to do with my weekends?

Well, besides the fact that Kelly stopped me at church and asked if it would be all right if we went on the date she accidentally stood me up on before Christmas. So I'm also going to do that next week. I'll probably let you all know how it goes.

I ordered pizza from Little Caesar's today. 25 pizzas. They're for my ward skating party this Saturday. I'm excited for it.

I clipped my nails for like an hour on a bus ride last week. I got them all short and perfect. Now I have an ingrown pinky nail. I always wondered why you can't get an ingrown fingernail, but now I know that you can. It's starting to turn green and I keep bumping it on stuff. OOOOOWWWW!

There's a job fair I'm going to tomorrow. I need a new job. Desperately.

Tomorrow night after choir practice I'm going to go with my new friends Chris and Garrett to watch them film something. They're going to shout in the square on campus, things like "I'm wearing women's underwear" and "I don't wear deodorant." The thing is, they're two of my favorite people in this ward. Very intelligent and aware of people and of current events. I could see myself living with those two. They are really cool. I try to hang with them whenever we have big ward functions. Garrett is the one who wrote about my fireside in his blog. Chris has set up a website similar to the hundred hour board, only where anyone can answer, and he wants me to be the editor. He's going to set up advertisements, and I will get 50% of any profits he makes off of it. That's pretty exciting. Everyone go there and ask or answer questions, ok?

My friend Alex passed this website along. It's my new favorite website, and you all should check it out.

The Mermaid called me up out of the blue to tell me she wanted to go to Costco. We went. I bought cheese, ham and cereal. It was a much more pleasant experience than the time I only bought vinegar and chili. We had a good talk. She had just broken up with a boyfriend, and talked for a substantial amount of time about how she needs a boyfriend who is more concerned with being good than being cool, and someone who is not materialistic but is more free with his things. I just nodded and said yeah, I could see her with someone like that. The girl is beautiful, but I never know what to think with her. One would have to fend off many other guys to really have anything with her.

I doubt I'll ever get around to talking fully about our roadtrip, so here are several of my favorite pictures from that time:


Over here on the left is when I was pretending to be seasick on the ferry. We had lots of fun on that ride.



This is me, Pinetree, Blueshorts, and Keri on our way into Seattle on the ferry. Seattle is the coolest city! I love the puget sound, and even fell into it!



I couldn't stop laughing about this campfire. It took us about an hour to light it. There was so much wind it kept getting blown out. Lad and I had to hold that tarp while Pinetree went through about 100 matches trying to get it lit. It was great.



This was our breakfast the morning of camping. You can't exactly tell, but we're on a cliff facing the ocean. It was a beautiful morning.




And here is my good buddy Pinetree playing on the beach at sunset. I didn't touch up this picture at all. Isn't it beautiful?






This is me being all contemplative at the same sunset a few minutes earlier. That has to be the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen. This was at Ocean Beach in San Francisco.




Pinetree again. This thing just got prettier and prettier.








That's me on the left and Pinetree on the right. I got kinda wet out there, but it was so worth it for these pictures, I think.





I loved how far out one could run on that beach. The tide was very low.










My dad sent me a coherent e-mail. It was the most lucid he's been in months. He said he printed out a copy of the letter I sent him and keeps it on him always. He says this is his new lease on life. I hope he takes full advantage of it. Thanks to those who have been praying for both of us.

I had a great talk with my bishop on Sunday for an hour and twenty minutes. I went in there to talk to him about my Dad and my hellish nightmares and my general ennui. He told me I might be depressed. I said I'd always been a very happy person. He said, "Well, yesterday I went to a seminar and it had three parts. first, we learned about homosexuality. Second, we learned about pornography. And third, we learned about depression. And the doctor who talked to us told us that there are two types of depression. Chemical depression, and then depression that is brought on by a trauma."

Well, I thought that was an interesting little preface. If you're new to reading my blog and haven't read all the archives, you might want to click here before you keep reading today's post, or you'll be like, WTF?

Anyway, it was interesting because I realized that the bishop was right. I have been suffering from depression. Not any permanent kind, but one I really need to work through. I also talked to him about the unfairness of things, that my dad can make bad decisions and in the end, I understand that he needs to be punished, but how could a loving God allow those of us who live righteously to be deprived of the ones we love because of the bad choices they make? The bishop told me a story that was the flip side of that, about how when he was twenty-nine, he almost left the church, but decided in the end to stick with it. And then recently one of his older children approached him and said that he was so grateful for the decision his dad made to stay in the church, because think of all the progeny that would be affected. And then suddenly I saw how it IS fair. That if we weren't allowed to have a negative impact on other people, we wouldn't be able to have a positive one, either.

I had gone to speak to the bishop with my perennial concerns about failure. I had been afraid to get close to people because I knew the bad choices I might some day make would eventually leave anyone I loved in a lot of pain they didn't deserve. But the bishop helped me to see that on the other hand, my failure to grow close to someone would deprive them of all the joy I could bring, and that in the end it's only a matter of personal choice and application of the atonement of Christ that will determine whether I'll bring more sorrow or joy into others' lives. So my new goal is to do good, to be proactive in helping others and focusing on their needs rather than trying to sort out my own life before I can begin to focus on anyone else. Because it won't happen that way.

Then I got around to that other topic. That whole "same-sex attraction" thing, to borrow the church's euphemism. I really hadn't planned to talk about it, but since he brought it up....

The bishop was incredibly informed. He had done a lot of praying and soul searching in the twenty-four hours since he had been to the seminar. He said that he's recently been dealing with another young man in my situation, and hadn't known what to tell him. He inspired me with his confidence in my ability to make good decisions. He astonished me with his perceptiveness into my character, and his compassion for my plight. And he gave me a paper to read. By a Dr. Jeff Robinson.

Dr. Robinson is a devout Latter-Day Saint psycho-therapist who has counseled innumerable young men and women who struggle with same-sex attraction. The paper the bishop gave me was in actuality a transcript of a discourse he had presented to a similar group of bishops a few years ago. The following is my own summary of that paper. It's not intended to be a condensed version of his work, but rather a showcase of the points I found most relevant to me.

The good doctor has found three characteristics that virtually all of his subjects have in common. First, they are highly emotionally sensitive. Second, they are above average in their intelligence and introspection. And third, they have an acute sense of right and wrong and a compulsion to do right. Check, check check, all of my gay friends who read this just went in their heads.

So, Dr. Robinson has this theory. He asserts that you take a young man with these three qualities, and you stick him in a society that teaches him to avoid sexualizing women, and he will build up protective walls against the future likelihood of that ever happening. Meanwhile, because of his emotional sensitivity, he begins to feel different from other boys. He wants to be rough-and-tumble, to be admired by the other children for his prowess, but begins to realize (and resent) that his strengths lie in other areas. Still, he watches those boys who represent what he wishes he were.

Then puberty strikes. And boys are aroused for the next several years. Pants too tight? Aroused. Pants too loose? Aroused. Bumpy car ride? Aroused. The boy walks around aroused by everything in his environment.

Now, the "normal" boy, because of social messages he's received, and because he is captivated by the differences between them and himself, begins to dwell on the female body, and it becomes directly linked to his sexuality.

For an example of how much the societal influences affect our sexuality, Dr. Robinson points out that in some African cultures, fat women are attractive. In others, women are more sexually attractive to men if they are missing their front teeth, if they have their necks stretched out by rings, or if their earlobes are pulled down to their lips. Obviously, sexuality is influenced a lot more than we like to think by what our society teaches us.

For this exceptional boy, something goes askew at this juncture. Because of the messages he's received from society, he is not letting himself dwell at all on the female body. And because of the differences between himself and other boys, he is fixated on them at this point in his life where things are becoming sexual. His body learns to have sexual responses to males instead of females.

Now, of course, he doesn't want this to happen. But the moment he notices that it's happening and labels it, he's cementing it. "Oh, no. I'm gay. I'm gay. I'm gay."

If this were a wound, contends Dr. Robinson, we would give it time to heal on its own. If it were a disease we could medicate it. If it were a syndrome we would seek treatment. But it's not those things. It's something we've learned. To get rid of it would be like his saying "Rudolph the red-nosed" without your thinking "reindeer." Your brain has learned that and that's what it's going to keep doing.

That doesn't mean it's impossible. If you did want to stop thinking "reindeer," you would have to replace it with something else. So you might try to say "Rudolph the red-nosed buffalo." Repeat five thousand times.

Now here's the problem with these introspective, hyper-sensitive, highly intelligent, perfectionist boys: "buffalo. buffalo. buffalo. buffalo. buffalo. reindeer. Oh, crap! I just said reindeer again! I always say reindeer! I guess I'm just a reindeer person! I'll always be stuck on reindeer!" And now he just said "reindeer" lots of extra times.

What he should say is "buffalo. buffalo. buffalo. reindeer. oh, I used to say that a lot. buffalo. buffalo." The more he kicks against it, the more it has hold over him, like the man struggling to his death in quicksand.

Dr. Robinson says that most of the young men who come to see him approach their homosexual attractions like a knight approaches a dragon. They think they need to charge the dragon, exchange blows, get a bit scorched, but in the end, though they lie bleeding, singed, and muddy, the dragon will be vanquished and they will be alive to tell of it. The reality is that the best way to deal with this dragon is just to fend it off, retreat a step, keep that shield up, step back again, and again, and again, until you're far enough away that you can just turn your back on the dragon and walk away. He'll probably always be a speck on the horizon, but he'll no longer be a nuisance.

The conclusion Dr. Robinson's speech brought tears to my eyes. He says he tells his patients that if he had a pill in his cabinet that would cure them of homosexuality, he wouldn't give it to them. When they invariably ask why not, he tells them that he's sure Heavenly Father has just such a pill, and that he's sure they've asked for it, and that He's always said no. He said that in the end it would be this struggle that would help us to reach exaltation. That these young men are the sort that he feels would fall to pride without this burden to anchor them down, that they would be the very ones to do great things to the point where they wouldn't feel a need to use the atonement, and that Satan targets them precisely because of all the potential they have to do good. And he also asserts that we can still do that good, if we can learn to walk away from the dragon.

The bishop is going to talk to Dr. Robinson to try to arrange for me to meet with him. I am so excited. I feel he really understands these issues, and can really help me in my own quest to do what's right.

I read the paper in the bathroom right before my shower yesterday. Then I had to run out for FHE (Sharkbite was like, "Smurf! Shoes and socks now!" Funny how my FHE dad sounds just like my real parents two decades before) , and I accidentally left the paper on the back of the toilet. I went and watched 24 with Kip and Wiggle and Jessica after that, and half-way through I remembered the paper and could think of nothing else. When I got back, Sharkbite was the only one home. He talked with me about all the normal things (politics, women, why he doesn't fit in), and when I finally found a covert moment to nip into the bathroom to retrieve the discourse, I found that it was gone. Awkward. I have no idea what he would have done with it, what he might have thought of it, or why he would filch it, but oh, well. Maybe it's something he needs more than I do. HA!

Ok, I'm going to finish this beast off with some pictures of my choir trip. Hope you enjoy!


This is Shelley beating me at air hockey. I had to whip off my tie in the middle of the game, and Jessica said it was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen me do, so I did it several times. We got in trouble for taking pictures in here.





Here's me eating chinese food. Did you know I once went several months without using a fork? Chopsticks only for me, thank you. For everything from steak to macaroni and cheese. I love chop sticks. I was posing for the picture, by the way. I don't really eat like that. Embarassing!







<<-----Over here you can see the courtyard of my friend Tara's house. The place was beautiful! This is where all the girls from the choir stayed.


And here----->>
you can see the living room. The view was incredible, but the place didn't really feel like one you could live in.




At the outlet mall, we were really bored, so Shelley and I got some sidewalk chalk and a bouncy ball at KB Toys and started a rockin' game of four square. Shelley kept hitting strangers. This was yet another opportunity to whip my tie off all seductively.





This is me and Shelley pretending we play the piano.









Here's me and Jessica. Shelley took this picture because we looked like an old married couple in it. I'm in the T-shirt because my neck got really terribly painful burns on it from whipping my tie off so many times. TOO sexy! TOO sexy!


Tara's mom had me peel the tomatoes for the guacamole, so I put on a little cooking show for the choir members. They said aloud what they thought I was thinking, as well as the thoughts of the tomatoes. From left to right we have Brett, Lisa, Married Brett, Treanna, and Ryan.



And finally, no, that is not a dead marmot on that woman's head. It is her actual hair, and I hate it. And also I love it. Shelley and Jessica had to take the picture with this woman in the background at the assisted living center just so we would could look at it whenever we want. Thank you, ladies. I hope you all love and hate it as much as I do.

A Letter to my Dad

I just sent my dad a letter, and I felt like reposting it here. I haven't been able to write lately, but this is a pretty good gauge of how I'm feeling about things. It's in response to a letter he sent me, in which he told me about how he'd been in the hospital with "one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel," in his words.

I love you dad, and I miss you, too. I hope you really are making changes. You really scared us there. I thought you were gonna die. Don't do that again. You're better off getting yourself committed or going to jail than ever getting that drunk again. I didn't sleep for a week after you went to the hospital. Every time I dozed off I would have nightmares. I keep remembering all the good times we had when I was little, and how happy and alive and in control you were. Are you still the same person? That seems really sad to me that that man I knew would one day have to go through what you;re going through now. What happened? Was there some point of no return? Some bridge you crossed that you now regret? I worry about spiraling down like that. Like the old man. I don't think I've cried so much in my life as I have this past while, not knowing what would happen with you. I don't want to lose you, Dad. And I don't just mean death. I mean the good kind caring clever person I know you are. You wrote me a letter when I was on my mission about potential. You have closed a lot of doors in your life, but I know you can find peace. You feel guilt for missing your grandson's birth, but the Lord can take that away if you let him and if you really want to change. You can make up for it by being around for the rest of his life. I will pray for you, but you'd better be praying for yourself. I don't care how much guilt you have; you need to talk to your Father in Heaven. Before it's too late, Dad. The atonement doesn't just help take away our past mistakes, but it gives us the power we need to not make them again. You have to ask for that help. If this is the turning point you say it is, then you'd better not be drinking any more at all. No smoking, no drugs. If you're still doing those things, then maybe you'd better consider how much deeper yo ucan sink before yo uhit bottomn and start coming up again. The answer is that you can't go any deeper. Next time you "hit bottom" you'll die. Please don't do that. I never met your dad. Please hang around long enough for my kids to meet their grandfather. Please be my dad again. I love you. Sorry if I sound like I'm scolding you. You just scared me so bad. You're in my prayers, and the prayers of my friends. BE GOOD. Love, Me

Party Favors

Birthdays are great! I totally indulged myself in amazing people for my birthday. The Neverbird took me out to eat, and it was my choice, so we ended up at Chik-Fil-A, since that's what I was craving. To me, that's one of the more up-scale fast food joints. She got me the new Nickel Creek CD (listening to it right now). Plus some candy. Her roommate sent me a check for ten dollars. Then we came back to my place to get ready for the party.

So, I've decided the best way to report on this party is to give out awards. This will be like that annoying thing they did in the pinewood derby in cub scouts where everyone gets an award, even if it has to be very obviously made-up just so everyone feels special.

Most enthusiastic about Taboo: Red Leader
Most inexplicably upset about getting buzzed in Taboo for saying "state" when "United States" was clearly on the list, but also giver of best new violet-blue sweater and all-around good guy: Chris
Funniest overall: Squirrell, who also rocks at Taboo.
Most likely to have said things only with the vain hope to see them end up on my blog: Hero
Strangerishest: Some guy called "Rob" that seemed to come with Red Leader
Most awesome to watch in group situations because he's always so visibly aware of what's appropriate in any situation: Pinetree
Most noticeably absent: Racherella
Purveyor of the nastiest food (tofu): 'Dice
Best magma red personality: Moose
Most embarassing gift ("In the Shadows of the Net: Breaking Free of Compulsive Online Sexual Behavior"): Blue Shorts (followed closely by the rainbow suspenders from Pinetree)
Bluest at the party, plus awesomest new toy (some sort of tiny, ultra-bright blue light on a carimexican): Blueberry
Best Trivial Pursuit card-reading voice (okay, that was Sunday, but the effects held over): Scotty E
Best manipulation of the thimble game to get her seat next to me back, plus major cool points for knowing the name of Splinter before he turned into a rat: Neverbird
Longest-desired present (newest Astro City comic collection): Wiggle
Nicest surprise to have there: Toasteroven
Traveled the farthest (from Tennessee): Russell
Most fantastically awesome roommate (provided all the pizzas and sodas and actually came): BAWB
Nicest on-line birthday wishes: Allison, my dad's ex, then El Veneno.
Weirdest on-line birthday wishes: Party Smurf, who is secretly just another incarnation of Buh.
Cutest answering machine message: The Maggot, as prompted by Mustard, singing "Happy Birthday." Close second to Topsie and Boston, who called from the line of Space Mountain, and left a sort of conjoined message. A distant third goes out to Gravy, who said that he'd sent a package this morning.
Most adorable gift (a wrapped cookie with a candle Scotch taped to the top): My home teacher.
Biggest apology to: Purple Brad, who tried to take me out to lunch but couldn't get me alone for long enough. Second place to whomever I've forgotten. I'm sure there must be somebody.

I also heard from Ouija, Nanny, my Dad, and Nanny's wife. Dad's in rehab. Fat Aunt Carol reports that he lost his job, yet again. No surprise given the state he seems to have been in according to his recent blog entries. He reports that he's getting disability now. I don't know how I feel about that on a moral level, but I'm sure glad I he's not going to be homeless. I was worried about that.

Man, I hope all you people know how much I love you, and how much you're the reason I love life. I need you in my life more, with all of your idiosyncracies. And Hero, you know I love you, man. The party was indeed better because of your presence.

Also, most awkward moment: when everyone demanded a story. I shared the one about Jennifer Ortiz, and Roy, and the horrible trick my brother Ouija played on me, and the horrible thing Buh said. I've been meaning to tell that story on here since it happened in August. Some day soon, I'll finish talking about the summer, promise. At any rate, I'm once again too tired to spellcheck. Goodnight.

When in Doubt, Mumble

That's what yesterday's fortune cookie said. There's nothing quite like walking to a Chinese buffet in the freezing rain and eating by yourself, thank goodness.

"KOLKATA, India - A woman receiving treatment for diabetes at a state-run hospital in eastern India lost one of her eyes after ants nibbled away at it, officials said on Tuesday.

"The patient recovering from a post-surgery infection shrieked for help as the ants attacked her on Sunday night, but nurses told her it was normal to feel pain from the infection.

"On Monday, the patient’s family saw a gaping hole with swarming ants in it when they lifted the bandage on her left eye."

Mom and Mack have decided to buy a fire truck. Fluorescent green. "We put Santa up there and drive around in the Thanksgiving Parade!" I am afraid I'm doomed to be like this my whole life. I guess it shouldn't shock me any more. Not since my youngest brother decided to get rid of his bed and start sleeping in a dentist's chair.

"Did your tooth fall out!?" the freshman girl said to my friend Squirrell, just as the elevator doors were shutting. Squirrell looked down at the folds of his pirate costume to see if there was indeed a tooth on his person. We were halfway done with trick-or-treating, and we'd been given a LOT of the same generic Costco-brand hard candy, so it was possible.

Either she noticed how confused he seemed, or she thought he was gesturing toward his pirate costume with his chin, because she followed it right up with an enthusiatic "Oh! Did you black it out?"

Awkward. Because Moose, the Neverbird, and I (the four of us had all come to the freshman dorms together to hit them up for their extra candy or ewhatever else they might have there) knew what the girl didn't know. What Squirrell told her then, with his best wounded-looking face: "No. I have a gap in my teeth." Like I said, awkward. I loved it.

My roommate told me a joke:

The devil is taking someone on a tour of Hell and showing him the various rooms, as he is wont to do in so many jokes. So the guy keeps asking what's in each room. Here are the devil's responses:

"Here is where we keep the Hindus who ate beef.... This room is for the Mormons who drank coffee and tea.... This one is for the Jews and Moslems who ate pork.... And this one? It's for the Episcopalians who ate their salad with the dinner fork."

Went to the planetarium on a date with the Neverbird. The woman who gave the presentation was the most hideous basement-dwelling nerd you can imagine. You know the girls you see around campus who never take care of themselves, and then they mope to their roommates about how no boys even look at them? The type that all the boys go out of their way to avoid looking at? The kind for whom kindly visiting teachers anonymously leave bottles of conditioner on the doorstep? The kind who show up at the Good Will on the day the new used clothes arrive so they can pick the rack clean of frumpy, over-sized Eeyore sweatshirts? This lady was that type. Only now grown up, teaching at BYU, still unmarried, and with even worse posture than you'd expect. Like those moles on Super Mario World. Anyway, now that I've painted the picture, I can splain what happened.

So the lights were out, and she started talking about how difficult it is to prove the existence of extrasolar planets when we aren't even sure how many planets there are orbiting our sun. I shuddered, then whispered to the Neverbird that there are few things more terrifying than hearing that woman utter the words, "our sun." We got into all kinds of trouble that night for not being able to stop laughing. Actually, that happens pretty much everywhere we go. I contemplated dressing up as slim goodbody when we went to an organ concert in SLC. "OH!" I would gasp. "I think there has been a terrible misunderstanding."

Ah, life. I'm excited for Harry Potter. We're dressing up for that one. The Neverbird has robes and wands and everything.

Next Sunday I am speaking at a ward fireside. You all should come, if you can. I'll be telling a pretty interesting story. It'll be one I've never told on my blog. Anyway, that's all for now. It seems the more fodder I have for blogging, the less time I have in which to do it. Such a conundrum.

Twitch Lives (and Other Tidbits)

Some things that have been on my mind:

There is no "I" in "team." But there is an "I" in "win." Which is more important?

Asmond accidentally said "my TV" instead of " my teacher" yesterday. Paging Dr. Freud.

My dad has a blog now. He doesn't want me to show it to anyone. I have to say it's a lot like seeing your dad naked. Not very pleasant. I don't need to know all that stuff about him to know that I can love him unconditionally. But it seems I need to know it so that HE can know I do. So that's fine. It's pretty obvious that the love I have for him is unconditional, since he long ago broke any conditions I might have established.

Fennel (Foeniculum vulgare) is the most important species in the genus Foeniculum (treated as the sole species by many botanists), and is native to southern Europe (especially by the Mediterranean) and southwestern Asia. It is a highly aromatic perennial herb, erect, glaucous green, and grows to 2 m tall.

I am on a new diet. It's called the poverty diet. I need to get paid so bad right now. Hopefully I'll get my first paycheck from the library soon. I am running pretty low on energy. On the plus side, I got a loaf of the most aromatic and delectable Italian bread from Walmart for 97 cents.

I had my BC interview this afternoon. I was asked only one question: "How would you help keep your counselors focused on the purpose of EFY?" Luckily, I knew that the purpose of EFY is to bring the youth to Christ, so I talked about that. I think it went well.

My roommates and I stayed up until almost five of the clock this morning, discussing religion and relationships. Last week we did the same thing, only the topic of conversation was war. I love living with such articulate and opinionated people. We have the best talks.

This Jason Mraz song, "You and I Both," well, I love it. Check these lyrics:

"See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages forwards
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive"

Most of this guys music mentions words and wordplay. I want to meet him.

Once upon a time, N, Jolly John, and I think it was my brother Nanny and I decided we wanted to go swimming in the river, since it was a very hot day. So we went down the road to where there was a bridge we crossed all the time to get to my house. And we went through the wooded area a little bit, and tried to get to the river, but it just wasn't the best place because the blackberry brambles came right up to the water. So we decided to go right under the bridge itself. We went back up to the road and turned woodward as soon as the bridge ended. As the four of us started down the steep sides of the riverbank, with me in the lead, I ran into an almost invisble piece of fishing wire that sent a bunch of cans a-jangling. We realized it was a kind of rudimentary alarm system. As we doubled back and wound our way through the bushes toward the bridge, a spectacular mess met our eyes. Somebody had made a collection of sorts.

It was a veritable homeless mansion, really. Cardboard boxes and milk jugs and soda cans and baby-doll heads and bits of shiny silver plastic. All sorts of wonders, really. It was a fortress. There were curtains made of an old tarp on a pole. There were alarm systems set up on each side. There was a half-sunken row boat, and some red plastic ball floating out in the river with an anchor. A babydoll was nailed brutally to a tree. Another tree had a piece of yellow rope pulling it down toward the water. Closer inspection showed that the other end was tied to a submerged car engine. All over the concrete supports of the bridge in various shades of spray paint was the repeated message: "Twitch Lives!"

So we swam. But only very nervously, because we were afraid about a) all the junk that might be under the water where we couldn't see it, and b) Twitch's imminent return. We went instead to that little cafe I told you about last time, and we ate a delicious lunch.

From then on, every time we drove over the bridge, no matter how cold it was outside, we had to roll down the window and yell, at the top of our lungs, "Twitch Lives." Okay, eventually we forgot to keep doing that.

Later, with Tox, I think, I saw a homeless man digging through the recyclable trash can at High-Tech Burrito. Which was right next to that old scary bridge. And he was talking to himself. And twitching. Twitch lives!

The Hague (with capital T; Dutch: Den Haag, or officially Gravenhage) is the administrative capitalof the Netherlands, located in the west of the country, in the province South Holland of which it is also the capital.

I am changing my glossary to my "bestiary," at the suggestion of Asmond, who also mistakenly called it a "bestiality" yesterday.

In the words of Horatio the Great: "That is all."

For now.

Q as in Coupon

A lady said that to me on the phone once. You know how people always say "V as in Victor?" This black lady was giving me her password for her website when I worked at Tahitian Noni International, and she said "S as in syphilis, E as in eye, and Q as in Coupon." I couldn't tell if she was stupid or hilarious.

So Chris tells me I need to write something amazing to make up for my not having written for the last week while the internet was on the blink. The problem is, I never know what to write about. I wish my blog could illuminate the entire human experience. I wish people could read it and know in that moment exactly what it's like to be me. But I can't even write about things as fast as new things are happening to me. There's just no way. Like what Ed Harris' character says in "The Hours":

"I wanted to write about it all, everything that happens in a moment. Way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread, all our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it. Who we once were, everything in the world, everything all mixed up. Like it's all mixed up now. And I failed. I failed... no matter what you start with, it ends up being so much less... "

I was told by a friend today that I am hard to read. I get told that by my friends all the time. How can that be? I spend most of my social energy on being straightforward. Have I failed so completely? Even my best friends tell me that I'm hard to read. Possible reasons why:

1. I spent so much time in my youth hiding "who I really was" that now I've become inaccessible.

2. (This is my guess) I am so interested in other people and how they think and feel and exist that I forget to let thim into my world, as well. I feel like such an alien in the world. Sometimes people realize that I'm cutting them open and seeing how they work, that I've got them tied down in my spaceship, and it disconcerts them. Sorry, folks.

3. I'm just so open that I actually say all the things I'm thinking and people just assume there must be more.

4. I am shielding you all from the bizarre and banal thoughts in my head. We're sitting there having a conversation, and while I'm talking to you about how delicious the spaghetti is you think "I wonder what he is really thinking about, and whether he likes this spaghetti or he's just saying that, and if he's lying then is he doing it because he likes me or because he's trying to avoid having to talk to me about it?" and I'm thinking, "Man, I wonder why there aren't really any colors that start with 'D.' I mean, I guess there's 'dandelion,' but that seems like a stretch, and Crayola only carried that color for less than ten years, anyway. And it's kinda cheap to count colors that are just named after some flower. I wonder whether violets were named after the color, or whether the color got its name from the flower. Maybe it was just 'purple' before that. Man, this is good spaghetti."

I have a feeling it's a bit of all four.

...................................................................................

Those of you who read my blog and saw my concert last week can tell the rest how great it was. Lend me some credibility so next time I invite people top something, they come. Some really hot girls from my ward came, actually. That made me swell with happiness.

I made friends with the first chair violinist afterward. The kid is really cool. I introduced myself at Pinetree's behest, and we ended up hanging out after both nights of the concert. After the Friday concert we went on a nice little hike with Wiggle and Blue Shorts and Pinetree and everybody. We also had pizza at an underground place called "The Pie." That pizza was incredible. The Violinist invited me to do the whole conference thing at his cabin. So I did.

We drove up on Saturday morning. The cabin is at Sundance. We(when I say we I am including two other strangers who were there; there was nothing illicit going on, dirty people) listened to the Saturday morning session on the radio. It was pretty cold up there, so we sat with quilts, and then when the sun hit the porch I moved outside to the deck. The air was redolent with the smells of decaying leaves and pine smoke, and carried the sounds of the nearby stream and the wind through the aspen trees. Every time the chilly breeze picked up at all, the golden maple leaves would come tumbling all around us as though we were in a giant mystical snow globe. White and orange butterflies intermingled with the leaves. The trees themselves were yellow with a sun-kissed red spot at the top, exactly like a peach. I basked in the warm sunlight and the warmer spirit, listening to the words of the speakers. President Faust's words struck me particularly, as he spoke of gaining the image of Christ in our countenance and surrounding ourselves with those who have the light of Christ in their eyes. And about how the lord leaves us alone for a while to see if we will be righteous in the dark. I have always thought that: that maybe the good I do while the sun is high and the days are long just gets stored up for the long winters I invariably encounter from time to time--a sort of spiritual hibernation. Now I have to go read "The Ant and the Grasshopper" again. I think there might be more to that story. Maybe it's just the Greek version of the ten virgins.

Well, after that session, we hiked up to the waterfall. At one point, as we were crossing the logs over the stream that meanders through the meadow up there, a stiff wind came up and the motley forest to our left came ablaze with millions of tiny leaves flying high up to the sky and raining down all around us. We got up to the waterfall and I ran into my old friends Josh and Megan, and their baby. That was strange, since they live in California, but I was very happy to see them. My new friends and I sat around and sang hymns in four-part harmony over the roar of the falls and amid the flecks of white water that surrounded us like a mist.

We went back to the cabin, and listened to the rest of Saturday's conference (I must say I loved the tag-team combo if Elders Oaks and Holland--my two favorite apostles--on the whole woman issue). The Violinist made whole-wheat spaghetti (the new friends are hippies, by the way), and it was great to sit and be nourished physically and spiritually.

Sunday we had even more friends, and so we baked biscuits and cinnamon rolls with home-made lemon glaze and we had fresh-baked bread with home-made apricot jam, and mango juice, and pine nuts and yogurt. It was incredible. Sunday followed the same pattern as Saturday had, except that this time we lit a fire in the huge two-story fireplace, and sat in the couches in front of it as we listened, looking out the humongous single-pane windows that stretched from floor to ceiling on either side. There were stellar jays on the deck, and the leaves continued to shed themselves for our benefit.

When conference had ended, we listend to classical music and read books. The cabin was chock-full of bookshelves, which held, between the candles and teddy bears and model sailboats and pine cones and other bric-a-brac, tons of books. There were Caldecott winners and classics and camic books and religious books. We all sat there serenely, sanguinely reading and looking at nature and listening to the music and smelling the fire and feeling the glow of happiness and friendship. The entire experience was sublime.

Once upon a time I would have felt antsy about not doing anything, and not talking, but I think I am past that now. I just sat there and enjoyed the feeling I was having, and the knowledge that it was okay for me to feel that happy.

Anyway, if you find yourself wondering what's really happening in my head these days, it's probably a lot of this stuff, recycling through.

I have to go to work now, but one more story for the benefit of some ladies in Colorado:

I got home from work the other day and my roommate said, "Someone called for you. It sounded like Satan."

I laughed. "How do you know what Satan sounds like?" I chided.

"No, she said her name, and it sounded like she said 'Satan.'"

"Oh. That makes sense."

Sure enough, the message said, "Hey, smurf, this is Satan Satan Satan," and then faded out. Then back in the chirpy voice, "Call me back!"

"So how do you know Satan?" retorted my roommate.

"Oh. It's my mom." Thanks, mom. It's nice to have characters like you in my life so I can write about them. You're so weird. Elder Oaks says we can't get released from our families, so I guess there will be a lot more stories like this one in the future. Weirdo.

Wicked Awesome

Well, I'm a day behind schedule, so I'll talk about both of the things I promised I would.

First, Colorado trip. I ended up going with some people I didn't know. Genevieve, Jessica, and Kip. Jessica and Kip know each other and bicker like elderly people and it's funny. Genevieve was quiet and worried a lot. We got along great.

We drove up to my mom's house and got there at midnight. She had porcupines ready for us, including some for Genevieve with oat meal instead of rice, since Genevieve has decided not to eat flour, sugar, or white rice to avoid getting diabetes. There is no history of diabetes in her family, nor evidence that such a diet would help to prevent it anyway, as far as I know. I think that sort of thing is weird.

The next morning, my brother went off to try out for Wheel of Fortune and the rest of us went to a farm with the Maggot to feed the animals. We stopped in and saw my bulemic step-sister, who's lost a huge amount of weight and looks terrible. In the evening Mom and Mack put on a huge barbecue. My brother got back and announced that he'd lost the drawing round and wouldn't be going on the show. The food was great: tri-tip steaks, barbecued chicken, baked beans, watermelon, corn on the cob, caesar salad, lemonade. There were chips and guacamole and salsa Mom made from vegetables she'd grown in her garden.

We went and saw wicked, which blew my mind. It was so clever and amazing and well-done. I was sad that it ended so soon.

When we got back to the house, Mom had made apple crisp and there was ice cream. We watched the first half of The Sword in the Stone and then we all fell asleep.

In the morning we went to church and then came home, just in time for practice for Rob Gardner's Joseph Smith the Prophet.

On second thought, I will have to tell you about the concert next time, because I can't find the info on it. See you soon, weirdoes.

Maggot & Me

Okay, this is me and my adorable little sister, the maggot. I know what you're thinking, and I can't explain the differences in pigmentation, either.

Meanwhile, to go with the previous post that was mostly about my mother, here's a new song for you. It's one Mom used to play for us when we were small. Pay attention to the words....

Nothing to Say

I have writers' block, so I figured I'd write about it.

Ok, actually, I don't have anything to say about that. But I do want to say that I really enjoy all the comments people have been making on here. Ring Bearer, that's not you or your social circle I was referring to at all, so no worries. We're still cool. Blue Shorts, thanks for the defense of Utah. All the rest, brilliant things you have to say there. And buh, when are you going to get your own blog? You always have the funniest things to say, and the coolest pictures you've made.

I have several projects in the works for my blog. One is to write short entries about all the people I know and talk about here on my blog, so you all don't feel terribly lost, but that's going to take me a long time. Another is to talk about my opinions on racial considerations in college admission practices, based on a conversation I had with my mom (is college making a democrat of you Mom? It seems like it is!), but I'm still doing research on that. A third is to bear my testimony of the gospel and explain the difficulty in doing so in a Provo context, but I'm not feeling that today. Instead I will share a little bit about my mom in Colorado and the things she's been telling me lately.

Mom amused me via phone the other day. She's back in college, and she's taking this writing class. One day in class, the issue of discrimination came up. "Um, discrimination is mostly for old people," one student asserted. Haha, that statement cracks me up. Of course Mom, the token old person in the room, saw the prejudice inherent in that remark. So what did she do? Probably what I would have done: she chewed them all out, focusing in on this one kid who's been making disparaging remarks about Mormons to other students before class had started. In the end she felt so bad that she decided to make brownies for the whole class as an apology. Way to be, Mom. I see now where I get that from. My immediate reaction is always to just tell people exactly what I think, regardless of whether it's nice, and then to reason it out later and finally grasp the reigns of the situation. Shoot now; ask questions later.

I was awakened from my nap on Sunday by a phone call from a lady with a Mexican accent that sounded pretty fake. "Heeey, what are you doooing?"

I looked at my watch (I wear a watch now!). 7:00. almost time for Latter-Day sounds. "Well, I'm going to my fireside group in just a minute."

A strange dirisive snigger carried across the wires. "Do you always tell strangers your business?"

Ha, you have no idea, lady. Instead what I said was, "Sure, when it's inconsequential."

"Do you know who this is?" Obviously someone immature, said my grouchy, groggy, garrulous brain. My mouth was more cooperative.

"No."

"This is your Auntie."

Aw, hell. "Aunt Laura?" I hate the word "auntie." "Ohntee." So pretentious and way too blue-blood for my white-trash Ant.

It was Laura, all right. Joy. I love how relatives in my family exist in cycles. They disappear for several years, either to go to prison or Mexico or oblivion, and then they show up randomly. Uncle Bob one time called us after an extended leave of absence, only to see if we wanted to join his MCI Friends and Family plan. Another time--no, this story's good enough to merit its own paragraph.

So one day my brother Ouija decided to stay home from tenth grade. He was sitting on the couch playing video games when a tattered, bearded man came into the kitchen through the garage and started going through the cupboards. When he noticed Ouija staring at him, he stopped what he was doing. "Oh, hey, is your mom home?"

"No."

"Okay, do you know who I am?" I think that should be our cue that we're talking to some relative. Turns out it was Uncle Bob, who had last been seen at Great-Grandma Kretchmar's Denver house a few years earlier. He had mowed half her lawn, collected the money from her in exchange for promises that he'd finish it the next day, and then disappeared. The next we were aware of him, his name showed up on a search of prison inmates in Arkansas, of all places. And now here he was in our kitchen. Even after Ouija figured out who he was, he made him leave. When Mom got home from work at the dentist's office, we went out into the garage and found that Uncle Bob had been storing his stuff in there and sleeping on a makeshift bed, out of view from the doorway. A few days later there were flowers on the kitchen counter with a note that said "love Bob," and he had disappeared again.

Flash Forward to last Sunday evening, and now Ant Laura is putting me on the phone with my cousin Felicia, who inherited her mother's fake Mexican accent, which Laura in turn inherited from all the Mexicans she hangs out with, not from any kind of genes or parental influences. I'm supposed to be congratulatitng Felicia on the birth of her first child. I'm sure there's no way she's old enough to be responsibly having babies, but I act excited for her anyway, playing my questions carefully to try to ascertain whether there's any father in the picture. She has named the baby "Jestiny."

"Well, that is so awesome that you have a baby!" said some enthusiasm inside me that I don't like to let out very often, because it grosses me out.

"No, it isn't," she said bluntly, obtusely.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry then."

Poor girl.

I got off the phone pretty quickly after that. They had called from Mom's house, and Ant Laura promised to come and see me when I'm in Colorado next week. Joy.

From Mom, I later learned that she and Mack had soon grown tired of the visit from Mom's half-sister, niece, and great-niece. While they were sitting around talking, mom suddenly looked panic-stricken. "Oh, Mack! What time was that meeting?!"

He tool the cue, and luckily, had just looked at his watch. "Oh, no! It's at 7:30!."

"Well, what time is it now?"

Mack looked ostentatiously at his watch. "Okay, it's 7:10."

"Okay, good," Mom lied. "That gives us a few more minutes to visit before we have to leave."

When 7:30 rolled around, Ant Laura showed no signs of leaving. Mom and Mack loaded up the Maggot into her car seat and just drove off. They drove for about fifteen miles, but when they came back, Ant Laura and her progeny were still loitering in the front yard, talking to my youngest brother. Mom went to a friend's house to call my bro, hoping he'd go inside to answer the phone and Laura and her brood would leave. He didn't answer the phone, though. Finally Mom and Mack and the Maggot ended up parked around the corner and waited in the darkness until the family left.

I'm so excited to go visit on Friday. mom is making porcupines, my favorite food. It's going to be such a good trip. That's all I have to say for now. Funny, I titled this "Nothing to Say," and then it ended up being my first major post on my family. I wonder what that means.

The End.