A New Post!

I basically need this picture so I can link to it elsewhere. It all has to do with my obsession for Lost. This is going to be the mother of all (recent) blog posts because I promised you the story of the Valentine's Day Surprise, plus I just finished an eight-page sociology paper that I want to share with you all. And besides, it's been a heck of a while. But first, for your reading pleasure, I'll also include a transcript of a conversation that went down in my film class the other day and had me rollin'.

Girl [interrupting teacher]: Wait a minute! Didn't you say we were going to have a special guest this week!?
Teacher: Oh, you mean like we had the other week when we talked to a real cinematographer who worked on the set of CSI?
Girl: No! I mean, didn't you say you were going to have someone in here to observe your teaching, and we were supposed to make really good comments and make you look good?
Teacher [turning to the gentleman sitting next to her]: Heh heh, yeah, I kinda prepped them that you were coming last week, kind of as a joke, and kind of so they would be prepared.

[beat]

Girl: Oh. This is a really great class.

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So a few days before Valentine's Day this year, I decided to make some enchiladas (I make really good sour-cream-based enchiladas, based loosely on my mother's recipe). As I was at the supermarket purchasing the ingredients, mostly on a caprice I decided to buy some red food coloring and make special Valentine's enchiladas. Valentine's Day Surprise, I would call it. As I mixed tons of food coloring in with the filling, my roommates expressed their disapproval. I can't blame them; It really did look more like a Jell-o salad than anything one would want in his spicy Mexican food. But if I think something is funny enough, you can't stop me from doing it.

The Valentine's Day Surprise was a huge success! Meaning that I thought it was delicious AND hilarious, while no one else would really touch it. Over the next couple of days I ate tons of that stuff, as well as making other special Valentine's treats, like Valentine's coconut juice, Valentine's milk, etc. Man, I think I am funny.

Of course, none of that was at the forefront of my mind on February 14th when I was staring, in complete shock, at the bloody stool in the toilet in the college's men's room. My thoughts went kinda like this:

"Oh. Crap. I am broken. How far up my digestive tract am I bleeding? That is so much blood! Aaaaaaa! Do I need to take this to a doctor? How am I going to get that out of there!? Maybe there is a plastic bag in here like lining the trash or something. But then what? Do I go to the rest of my classes? Can I just carry that thing around with me in my backpack? Surely people will smell that, even through a plastic bag. Maybe I should call one of my roommates. Should I even be standing up? What could have caused this!?"

At which point I remembered the Valentine's Day.

Surprise!
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In case you are trying to call me, don't. My phone's battery died. And then I broke it. And then I lost it. It's pretty much the Rasputin of phones. And if you left me a message at any point in the last three weeks, I don't hate you (probably); I just never got it. Some day when I have recovered from the financial crisis I like to call "tuition," I will get a new phone.
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Finally, here is the paper I wrote today. It's mostly a book report for my sociology class. I find this stuff to be terribly interesting.

Analysis of “Michael Jordan and the New Global Capitalism”

Michael LaFeber was wise to chooses Michael Jordan and the Nike Corporation as his subjects for his book, “Michael Jordan and the New Global Capitalism.” First of all, because attaching the name “Michael Jordan” to the title of his book (and subsequently telling Jordan’s life story throughout) was guaranteed to sell more copies of the book, thus getting his message about a new global economy to more people. Secondly, because Jordan’s story really does align well with the history of this new economy. Jordan’s career falls somewhere between example and metaphor of American culture and technology and their effect on the world. Finally, this book is about power. It is about a powerful man, who represents a powerful nation. The central argument of the book seems to be that America’s ability to change the world is massive, and that we as American citizens must now wield that power responsibly.

The first chapter of the book (pp. 27-48) is all about basketball. This chapter details the history of basketball, its inclusion of blacks in professional leagues, and the beginnings of capitalist endeavors to make a profit from the sport. Also discussed is the subject of Michael Jordan’s home life in North Carolina and his college years of playing basketball. LaFeber uses this chapter to set the stage for the broader economic and political topics that will be discussed later, as well as to ease the reader into a long-range sociological way of thinking about things that we 21^st-century Americans take for granted.

Chapter two contains an interesting section entitled “Enter the Transnational Corporation.” Here we are introduced to Nike, a company that is American, but somehow has more than half of its employees, as well as more than half of its sales, abroad. (p. 55) The idea of a corporation dealing internationally is not a new one, LaFeber informs us, but the idea of the new transnational corporations of the 1980s differed from that of their predecessors in a few major ways. These new corporations no longer relied primarily on American markets while dabbling in foreign markets, they traded less in goods than in ideas and designs and knowledge, they relied extensively on foreign labor, they committed huge amounts of capital to overseas advertising, and most importantly, they were able to transcend national barriers and therefore were immune to many of the governmental restrictions formerly placed upon corporations. (pp. 54-56)

Later in this chapter we learn of the history and impact of satellite communication technology on the world. Wealthy and powerful men such as Walter Murdoch and Ted Turner created enormous cable networks that would cross international lines that could bring the same news and entertainment (and naturally advertisement) to people all around the world (p. 71). Turner, we learn, banned the word “foreign” from his broadcasts on all stations, preferring to think of his network as global instead (p. 72). The fact that satellite television preceded the internet might help to explain the idea that America’s culture became so pervasive on the world scene; after all, the most important difference between the two is that the internet allows two-way communication, whereas satellite television allowed what America was broadcasting to be seen by the world without allowing for a response from the world back to America. According to a statistic from the book, 80 percent of European television programs came from the United States, whereas only one percent of American shows originated somewhere besides the U.S. (p 110).

The one-way nature of this exchange is supported by more statistics in chapter three. Here, LaFeber concedes that Europe and Japan did indeed supply the American market with many of their goods (mostly in the form of electronics, vehicles, and high fashion), but he is quick to point out that “(t)he $2 billion or so of high-fashion exports into the United States were dwarfed by the many billions of revenue generated overseas by Nike, McDonald’s, and Disney.” (p. 81, emphasis added)

LaFeber interweaves these facts about the early effects of huge American corporations on the world (along with the first intimations we see of resistance from a foreign nation, France) with stories of Michael Jordan’s growing athletic success and national stardom.

Michael Jordan and the head of Nike, Phil Knight, both benefited enormously from the new global communications and economy that were in place by the 1990s. Knight had found that it was lucrative for him to move his business to where there were fewer regulations imposed on employers. The first Nikes were manufactured in Japan in the 1960s, but with the boom in communications technology on the 1970s and 80s, Knight saw that “production could be done nearly anywhere.” (p. 103) As Japan became more successful and started endowing its workers with more rights, LaFeber reasons, it became more profitable for Knight to move production of his merchandise to other Asian countries, starting in Korea, Indonesia, and Viet Nam, and landing eventually in China. (p. 104). A Reebok official referred to this constant movement (in which his company also engaged) as “chasing wages around the globe,” and admitted that “[t]here has to be a better way.” (p. 155)

Sadly, these new Asian sources of labor were beneficial to Nike precisely because they exploited the workers. According to U.S. women’s groups, the “Indonesian, Vietnamese, and Chinese workers… suffer from inadequate wages, corporal punishment, forced overtime, and/or sexual harassment.” (p. 144) 90 percent of the workers in Vietnam were “women who worked twelve-hour days [and many] reportedly fainted from exhaustion and malnutrition (p. 148). Adding to the ethical problems of manufacturing in impoverished China was the 1989 killing by the communist Chinese government of “large numbers” of dissenters, which caused Congress to restrict trade with the nation. Fortunately for Nike and other transnational corporations, President Bush vetoed this restriction. (p. 105)

Not only did new communications technology supply new, cheaper sources of labor, but it also provided entirely new pools of consumers. Unfortunately, many of these target groups were unable to afford the products with which advertising aimed at them tantalized them. Reports surfaced of inner-city children selling drugs or even killing each other in order to obtain the Michael Jordan Nikes they had no licit means of acquiring (p. 91).

At the same time as these more negative aspects of the Nike company were coming to light, Michael Jordan experienced a succession of setbacks to his image. He was at the center of scandals that focused on his gambling, his association with shady characters, and his refusal to wear Adidas paraphernalia in front of the world at the Olympics (pp. 96-101). As Jordan felt his privacy diminishing, and in the wake of his father’s murder, he retired briefly from the National Basketball association (pp. 121). In the interim, he played professional baseball, though his statistics weren’t very impressive.

During all of this (the exploitation of Asian laborers, the advertising targeted at poor black audiences to whom Nike nor Jordan reached out, and Jordan’s personal tragedies and shortcomings), the media and technologies that had once elevated Jordan and Nike to their global statuses turned on them. LaFeber describes a “Faustian bargain” that they had made with the media: they had put themselves under the world’s microscope in order to make money, but were stuck under the microscope when there were certain aspects of their existence that they would prefer to have remained unexamined (p. 115). Sales of Nike products, as well as sales of other Jordan-endorsed products, continued to climb, but Jordan and Nike had to pay “a price for being dependent on the new media.” (p. 153)

As Nike and Jordan grew rich off of other countries, those countries began to show signs of change. Sneakers hit the runways in Paris fashion shows (p. 109), South African street gangs “called themselves ‘The Young Americans’ and the ‘JFKs,’” (p. 138) while McDonald’s (another Jordan endorsement) shut down German, Austrian, and Swiss street vendors (p.140) and reached the point where it was feeding “one percent of the world’s population each day.” (p. 156). This cultural influence America and its corporations was having on the world is what is called “soft power,” soft because it’s consensual and not a forced influence like military might or political maneuvering (p. 109). One is not to believe that the word “soft” implies that the power is weak; American soft power had a very real effect on other nations, “not only chang[ing] buying habits in a society, but modify[ing] the composition of the society itself.” (p. 157)

This could be a good thing. One could cite the new existence of a small middle class in China as an example if U.S. democracy beginning to have a positive influence in a foreign market. The fact that American goods were not forced upon other nations, but rather traded (p. 156), highlights a major difference between this new “cultural imperialism” and the old traditional “imperialism” against which the Americans fought in the Revolutionary War.

The problem, as the world saw it, is the same as with capitalism here in the United States: he who has more capital begins with an advantage (p. 164). And on the global scale, this means the U.S. The United States had the upper hand on capital and the new technology because at the end of the Cold War, it had “adjusted to the post 1970’s technology and Communism had not.” (p.162).

The final chapter of the book focuses on the effects of the terrorist attacks on the United States on September 11^th, 2001, on the global economy. Interestingly, the terrorists, who were fighting against the overreaching arm of American cultural, economic, and military influence, were able to accumulate power and perform their terrorist acts only by using the very communications technologies that had been used to spread that American influence in the first place (pp. 166, 181). Osama bin Laden was, in a way, the anti-Jordan, while his shadowy terrorist alliances became the anti-Nike. Bin Laden used his popularity in the Islamic world and the power of satellite television to sell people on his political ideals, while Al Qaeda took advantage of the same border-blurring transnationalism that Nike and other American Corporations had been enjoying for a few decades now (p. 173).

Also interesting is the way in which America’s vision of a peacefully globalized economy was hobbled at the same time Jordan’s career was ended due to knee injuries (p. 171). The spread of the American economy into other countries had flourished at the exact time that Jordan’s career and fame had, and in 2001 and 2002, both felt the effects of having driven too hard and too fast.

America by this point was so engrained in the cultures and economies around the world that when it suffered from a major technology crash during the years on either side of the terrorist attacks, it ended up hurting other countries (those which relied upon American purchasing power to pay for the goods they produced) even more (p. 172). The American government’s reaction to the terrorist attacks had similarly devastating effects overseas. For example, new government sanctions against immigration “prevented the movement of cheap, or highly specialized, labor from one country to another.” (p.173)

The September 11^th attacks had other sociological effects on the world, as well. The American government hired an advertiser to try to sell American democratic and capitalistic values to Islamic nations (p. 182). It also began to attempt to censor the news media with regard to the war in Afghanistan that ensued after September 11^th (p. 183).

LaFeber points out that not all of the effects of the new globalization are negative. One huge benefit appears to be the fact that as women in developing nations are made more aware of international issues, they have slowed their birth rate, leading analysts to believe that the once-impending crisis of an ever-expanding population has now been averted, as it looks like the world’s population might level off at 9 billion, instead of passing the 10 billion mark and continuing indefinitely. (p. 184). LaFeber claims that due to the new technology, “women were watching satellite television, [and] learning about small families and contraceptive devices from western television programs….” (p. 184) “U.S. expansion and profits,” he asserts, “were neither naturally good nor naturally evil.” (p 186)

The book ends on an embittered note, contrasting Jordan, who has unprecedented international clout but has never taken a public political or social stance, with black baseball pioneer Jackie Robinson, who in the 1940s inspired blacks across national lines with message of human rights (p. 188). LaFeber’s message here is clear: A powerful entity, such as Michael Jordan, or, through metaphor, The United States of America (which in actuality means each of us, the American people) has a responsibility to make sure that its considerable power, which is by nature neutral, is used responsibly. Jordan and Nike could have reached out to the inner-city youth, to the impoverished blacks of America, or to the practically enslaved workers in Nike’s overseas factories. The same technology that has created such an imbalance in the world market has also been used to educate and liberate people and to do an incredible amount of good. But if we Americans are not careful and respectful with the enormous influence this book proves we indeed wield, we have the potential to do an incredible amount of harm.

P.S. Thanks for all the feedback on the previous post! I love you guys! You inspire me to write more often.

P.P.S. I kinda came out to my entire Sunday School/bishopric & wives dating panel on Sunday. It was... great? More next time? Maybe.

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.

Reruns

I've decided to just post some things I've written in the past. These are my favorite entries from my other blogs and a poem from a while back. Meanwhile, i'm working on something really big, so enjoy these while you wait. This bit is from my whiterobbit blog, which I have decided to dicontinue:

Tuesday, May 17, 2005
A Guessing Game For You

Pinetree and I walked to Smiff's in the rain last night at about 3:30. And guess what I found there! Really, guess.










Ok, if you guessed "a new way of life," you're correct! Dingdingdingding!!!! Yes, that's right, friends and neighbors, I discovered the lifestyle that is known as "Hungry Man." A pound and a half of food for about two dollars. Hungry Man is my new cult religion. Like if my beer-battered chicken and cheesy potato wedges assigned me a wife and instructed me to move to the mountains, I so would. I'm shaving my head and drinking the punch on this one, folks. In other news, I helped an old lady take apart her screen door today. Part of me was imagining that it wasn't really her screen door, and I was just helping her steal her neighbor's screen to let all the flies in. My youngest brother will be here in a few hours. Man, I am happy, even though my throat feels like it has tiny little wolverines or badgers truculently trying to claw their way out like a tracheotomy. Nobody at efy seems to be taking me seriously when I tell them I can't be in charge of the dance instruction. Really, I have tried, and I can't learn to dance. It's my learning disorder. I'm dancelexic. Oh, well. They'll learn. The fools.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Last Requests
Today is a stay-in-bed sick day. I'm sapped, tapped, trapped. Oh snap. I haven't felt this bad in eons. My little brother is here. I think he's still asleep on my couch. I don't feel like going out there to check. Maybe he'll bring me some delicious juice or a french dip sandwich. Mmmm. And raspberry cheesecake. We went to the Nutty Putty caves last night. Except that we were relying on Betty to find the way. That and some directions we had that were written like this:

Left after gate
mile marker 7
straight on
lots of cows
north
Redwood road
big hill
all the way
S curve
right
second driveway
left

Needless to say, we did not even find the turnoff. Instead we pulled over and ironically had that bonfire that had been rained out the previous night. Can I just say how great it is to hang out with girls named Betty and Veronica? I love that. I almost forgot! Free frosty week happened! On Sunday The Ring Bearer and I went to Wendy's after midnight, and they were still giving out free frosties! "Well, how many can we have?" asked The Ring Bearer cordially.

"As many as you want," said the lady in the menu.

We conferred for a moment and then got six. No wonder I'm sick. I assert that I still feel a tad disconcerted any time we go to fast food here and all the employees are white. Damn white people, stealing all the minorities' jobs.

I know it's our constitutional right to bear arms, but I am crazy, sick, delusional, and seriously wondering if I can stretch that to include the right to fire warning shots into my ceiling in the general direction of the noise of my upstairs neighbor playing the guitar and singing loudly for up to eight hours a day. I hope my brother gets here soon with that cheesecake. Oh, wait, that was an imaginary scenario. Well, maybe I'll order out. Or maybe I'll just lie here and die. I'm afraid to fall asleep on my back lest I drown in my own snot. If I'm dead by tonight, somebody cancel my subscription to Entertainment Weekly. I don't want my bum roommates mooching off my cold dead body. If they want to learn about the most anticipated summer blockbusters and Hollywood's scandalous gossip, they can fork over the money themselves. Bunch of vultures.

Friday, May 27, 2005

Racherella Smurf
I worked for one hour today. I'm SOOOOOO broke. Oh, well, by the end of the summer I'll have money galore. I crashed L80's night last night with The Ring Bearer. Racherella bought me dinner. I love that girl. I don't think she realizes that I seriously would marry her. And go live in a trailer somewhere and be happy and poor and unemployed. No more Los Hermanos. We won't need to buy clothes; we'll wear the dirt from our land, and we'll subsist on berries that grow naturally in the back yard, like deer. And we'll have shot all the neighbors with our muskets, so no need to worry about getting the authorities called on us for dressing our adopted dozen black babies in nothing but Mother Earth. And I guess we'll shoot the deer while we're at it, so they quit eating our damn berries.

I want my 99 cents back

Hot chick

Corned Beef Hash

Warning: I know it seems absurd with such a title, but this post is rated PG-13 or 15 or so.

My friend Banjo and I got so good at Taboo that we could do them all in one or two words.

Banjo: Bubbles

Smurf: Root beer!

Banjo: Not at a crime

Smurf: Bannister

Banjo: Doo doo doo

Smurf: Tchaikovsky!

We could get up to 14 or 15 in one turn. The trick was to boast about our mental connection while at the same time acting like we'd never played before. "So is this kinda like Password? We're really good at Password."

Then we'd destroy them.

There was one card that caused us particular consternation, however. It was one that read "corned beef hash." Banjo had never tried it, and he couldn't ever seem to get a grasp on what it was from my descriptions. "Wait, it's dog food for people? I don't get this."

Then came Youth Conference 1998. We did a canned food drive for the homeless as our service project. One of the bags that were left for us contained a can of precious corned beef hash! I was ecstatic. This was our chance!

When we got back to the church where our dance would be held that evening, we set down our bags with all the rest, but I walked away with one stray can in my hand. I walked toward the room where my backpack was stored, but the door was locked. I turned around to find some other place to stash the hash, but there were some church-lady types coming up the hall toward me. I ducked into the men's room and looked around for a hiding spot. I noticed one of those air-freshener things high on the wall, so I stuck it on top of that where it wouldn't be noticed. I did my business, and then as I was washing my hands I noticed the problem. The can was clearly visible in the mirror. I got it back down and peeked into the hall. The door to my backpack was locked, and the ladies were still barricading the other end of the hall with their gossip. I was getting desperate. I looked in the stall.

Then I got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE SMURF
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

I took the wrapper off of the can (container), took the lid off of the can (toilet), and stuck the hash in the water in the back of the crapper. I would come back for it later.

Later:

During the dance, I was walking by that hall to get a drink of water when I noticed that the room with my backpack was open. I made haste, running inside the bathroom, throwing open the stall door, and--

--and the fat Mexican kid inside the stall had been masturbating when I first burst in, but now he was yelling at me. "What are you doing in here!?"

"What are YOU doing in here!?" I gasped. I was far away from the stall by this point.

"What's your problem? Why don't you knock?" he demanded.

"Why don't you lock the door?" I countered, "especially if you're going to be doing...." I fled.

In my head the whole time, I was just thinking, "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHGHHHHHHH."

A few minutes later I saw el Mexicano gordo y masturbante back on the dance floor with some innocent young girl in his manos, so I cautiously slipped back into the bathroom, retrieved the can, and packed it away in my backpack.

Banjo and Tox and I ate it the hash the next morning, and Banjo got to see just how barely tolerable the stuff really was. We had learned our lesson, though: never ever ever steal from the homeless. Bad things happen. There was one positive outcome of the whole ordeal, however....

Banjo: Masturbating Mexican

Smurf: Corned Beef Hash!

We were unstoppable, baby.

Road Trip Report Part 2

And now back to our regularly scheduled program. (And sorry, by the way, for taking so long. I promise I will be posting very regularly from now on.)

Anyway, there was some b**** at the wedding who kept ordering us about. One of those horrible type-A busy-bodies. I really wanted to tell her off, but I don't really know who she was. We were imagining that maybe she just comes in off the street and bosses around wedding parties just for fun.

They did the whole traditional wedding with me escorting one of Flavor's sisters down the aisle. I pretty much hated that. I had to stand there in the line the whole time with a pink tie on. Now here's the best moment from the trip. Are you ready?

The bishop asked that whole thing about in sickness and in health, yadda yadda yadda. Ouija answered, "I do." The acoustics of the room were great, and for some reason, at that moment, I realized the solemnity of what they were doing. I just let the echo of his voice wash over my ears. Then it was her turn. The bishop asked that long boring question again, but this time I really paid attention to the words he was saying, picturing my brother and his wife in sickness and in health, rich and poor, etc. When it came to the end, she answered clearly in her soprano voice:

"Why not?"

Well, she brought the house down. After that stunned moment of silence, everbody was laughing. It was so unexpected. In that moment, I knew she was family. Nanny leaned over to me and asked, "Does she really want us to answer that?" I told him to forever hold his peace.

The funny thing is that it seemed to be the prevailing attitude about the wedding. "Why not?" Well, Ouija, here's to hoping it works out for you. I just hope she doesn't have the same attitude toward divorce. But seriously, I think they'll be good together. I'm not sure about the legality of their marriage, but she at least seems funny.

Dad wondered aloud whether Ouija was ready for such a commitment. Fat Aunt Carol reproved him smartly: "Well, he's four years older than you were at YOUR first marriage, and HIS bride's not even pregnant." Touché, FAC. On a side note, Fat Aunt Carol had her stomach stapled and has lost hundreds of pounds. She's still the fattest one in the family, but she's no longer the fattest person I've ever seen. She's even taken up cycling, somehow. Maybe she's Fast Aunt Carol now. On an even further tangent, at one point my mother (whose mind must be slipping in her old age) almost introduced her to someone as "Fat Aunt Carol." We always have to be careful about that.

The food was Mexican and it was actually really really good. I had to sit at some dumb table while everybody paraded by, including my crazy former landlady. Awkward.

They threw the bouquet, and some little girl caught it. Then they threw the nasty garter belt. There were only maybe ten guys out there. It was me, Doan, Nanny, BamaBeau, and a few children. We were only a few feet away. Ouija didn't even turn his back to us. He just looked at me and threw it right at me. It glanced off my hand, and Nanny dived and caught it. The sad thing is that it's probably accurate.

We had pictures with my dad's side of the family afterward. That was great. I really felt a connection with my cousins. That was nice, since we've never been very close. None of them are even close to my age, so there's always been some distance. But I realize I have an interesting role as the oldest cousin. Natalie, age 15, told her dad that she wished we lived closer. They live in Reno. I had to agree. And John, 12, showed me how far he could bend his fingers and feet backwards, and told me he practices every day. I really got a kick out of that. He wants to bring me to school with him so I can do my contortionist act. Anyway, I hope we are able to stay in touch this time.

During those pictures, Doan, Wiggle, and BamamBeau decorated the car. They put some pretty unmentionable stuff on it, which was funny up until the point when the cousins wanted to go see the car, and there's ten-year-old Emily reading these horrible things aloud.


Emily reading the horrible things Wiggle put on the car


some of the terrible things Wiggle put on the car

When my mom saw that one, she said, "Oh, so that's why the call you Wiggle." Wiggle was so embarassed. It was great.

After the wedding, there was a dance, which I hate. The Maggot was able to charm me onto the dance floor, though. We danced for several songs, with me all bent over uncomfortably to reach her. After a while, I think I was looking drunk enough that she could tell I'd had it. She pulled me down to her ear and said, "I think you're tired."

"I am."

"You should go rest." And with that, she was gone. What a special little maggot she is.


(This is the only picture you get of the bride, by the way.)


That's my sister, the Maggot

After the wedding, Nanny couldn't find his pants or wallet. The girlfriend stayed with him, and my friends and I went to the store to buy stuff for the Nanny Challenge. The Nanny Challenge is a game Tox and some friends invented. What happens is we blindfold Nanny, then feed him the most disgusting things we can find at the store. Then he declares a winner based on what which was the most horrible to eat. This time I fed him a spoonful of hot chili oil. Bamabeau had pickled pig's feet, Wiggle had anchovy paste, Nestor had baby clams in oil, Doan had a brown banana smoothie with dirt in it, and we brought catfood on behalf of the girlfriend. BamaBeau won with the pigs feet, and Nanny lost, as always. Here's a shot of the winner:


We have a winner! (You can see the cat food I spilled on his shirt.)

After it was done, we put all the remaining ingredients in a blender with some Nyquil, maple syrup, and grape soda, and left our "smoothie" in the fridge with the hopes that his roommate would drink it. It turned out Doan had taken Nanny's pants, by the way, assuming Nanny had left already.

We went outside after that to change the church sign. It said, "Smile. It increases your face value." We figured out how to take letters from the other side so it would read, "Lying. It increases our church attendance." Alas, they had put a padlock on the church sign since the last time we vandalized it. After that, we went back to Tox's house to sleep.

Saturday: San Francisco

Saturday we found out that we had a stowaway on the trip. Our fifth and unknown passenger was Toasteroven's cold. It was living inside of me, and producing a whole lot of snot.

In the morning, Tox came with us to my dad's for breakfast. Dad gave us eggs and tortillas. The first batch was great. The second batch was burnt and horrible, so we clandestinely fed it to the yappy dog under the table. That shut up the dog and rid us of the eggscrement. Then we played Dad's SNL Trivial Pursuit DVD, which was wicked awesome, though it seems only Tox and Dad and I are really into SNL. Meanwhile, BamaBeau and Wiggle were getting a kick out of the fact that the yappy dog was trying to hump my arm. Have I ever mentioned that I hate the concept of pets in general? They are not family! If animals were meant to live in buildings, they'd have invented them on their own. This is why I'm not opposed to pet beavers.

Next we went and fetched Buh. Tox left us at that point. Wiggle climbed her first tree at buh's house.


the first tree Wiggle ever climbed

On the way out of town, Buh and I decided we were hungry and needed Jack-in-the-Box right then. BamaBeau was stressing about driving, though, and didn't stop. Soon we passed another Jack-in-the-Box, but no stopping. On our way to Oakland, in fact, we passed a grand total of 6 Jacks-in-Boxes, and never went to any. Each time, Buh and I would squeal like wretched children, "Jack-in-the-Box! C'mon! I'm soooooo hungry!" BamaBeau was unmoved.

We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. Wiggle was so excited. "Wow, cooool!" BamaBeau intoned, "I am so much cooler now that I've driven across the Golden Gate Bridge."

At that point, Buh, who'd only half been listening to the conversation, perked up. "That's not the Golden Ga--" I nudged him sharply in the ribs with my elbow.

Soon the truth was out. "Hahaha, you guys," I said obnoxiously. "I can't believe you guys believed me that that horrible dinky rusted little bridge was the Golden Gate Bridge. Hahaha." Some things are funnier to me than they are to a bunch of grouchies. I don't know why that is.

We got to Oakland and walked around on the roof of the temple. That's allowed--I promise.


Oakland temple

Then we went to the visitors' center. A busload of rambunctious Sunbeams came in and put their fingers in the holes of the feet of the Christus statue. That was cute.

Then one of those sister missionaries took us through the new section about the family. We walked from scene to scene, stopping each time to watch a video about a Utopian (or at least Utahn) family. The family was so saccharinely perfect, from their all-American accents to their color-coordinated wardrobe, that I actually began to be turned off by it. It didn't seem like they were showing us how to be a perfect family, or even conceding that being a perfect family takes hard work. Instead the video seemed to be highlighting the differences between a good family and a real one. Which is what I put on the comment card. And I kept the little eraserless semipencil. Oh, and that was after I fell asleep during the sister missionary's testimony. She was the scratchy-voice type. That's the worst type. I think that in the brain of a scratchy-voiced sister missionary, this is what happens:

Scratchy Drew-Barrymore-style voice=Emotional. Emotional=Spiritual.

It's not as though I fell asleep in the back of a tour group in a darkened room, either. Oh, no. This was just the five of us on a bench, lights on, facing her directly. Even as I slept, I knew she was looking right at me, but I couldn't help it.

Moral of the story: Don't go try to get a spiritual uplift from an annoying person when you're sick and operating on four hours of sleep each night for the last three nights and you really just want a Sourdough Jack more than life itself at that moment.

Next we went to Nestor's cousin's house. Buh and I were pleased with the serendipity of finding a Jack-in-the-Box on the same block as the house. We ate in the car (I got a strawberry-banana shake; I've been accused in the past of being sexually attracted to those things, and that might not be so far off) while the friends went inside. We followed when they were done. I was a bit bothered to learn that the cousin, whose name evades me because I was calling him "Gandalf" in my head the whole time, and his fiancé, who was named after the Loch Ness Monster, were coming with us. I sensed a power struggle coming on.

We decided to take Bart into San Francisco. That stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit. I pushed my way in front of Wiggle on the train, and stole her seat next to Nestor. Wiggle was to have none of that, so she pushed her way onto the seat as well. As the train was going under the bay, we slowly inched Nestor off the seat. We almost got her all the way off before she realized what we were doing. Meanwhile, Buh and BamaBeau had discovered that the Asian gentleman sleeping in the seat across from them had the exact same scar as Harry Potter! I don't know if it shows up as well here as it did in real life.




They would have leaned way in to get a better picture, but his little son kept stoically watching them photograph Dad. And also we have all seen The Grudge.

In San Francisco we saw a trolley, but then boarded a bus (at Gandalf's recommendation). We all had to stand. There was a creepy guy staring at Wiggle, so I moved between him and her. Then he stood up, and I totally got his seat. Yeah, buddy.

We got to Pier 39 soon thereafter, and I headed straight for the sea lions, since I find those to be infinitely more interesting than expensive imported novelties. Alas, mating season wasn't to begin until May and June, but we saw them do some interesting things nonetheless. The sun set right about then behind Fisherman's Wharf, which was beautiful with the lights and the water and such.


Fisherman's Wharf, sea lions, and the sunset from Pier 39

Fisherman's Wharf was our next stop. We ordered various bits of seafood from street merchants. I was kinda wanting to split off from Gandalf and his Loch Ness Monster, but couldn't seem to shake them. The fish and chips I ordered were gross, but I finished them off because they had cost me six dollars. I was hoping for battered fish but got breaded, which was yucky. I think maybe they just had a Costco bag of Van de Kamps under the counter or something.

Then I dragged everyone up to Ghirardelli Square for some ice cream. Wiggle bought the two of us a Foghorn (dark chocolate and raspberries--my mouth waters at the mere memory of it). The seating policy there is terrible. You order at the door, and then you have to find your own seats. Since there were seven of us, that proved difficult. We ended up hovering like vultures over a table of teenagers. Across from us was a Japanese family with its eyes on the same table. As soon as the first of the teenagers left, Wiggle and Buh sat down, thus procuring our spot. Those Japanese were so miffed! Anyway, we got the table.

There was a man sitting by himself at a small table against the east wall. He kept standing up and flipping off/cussing out some invisible person beyond our table. He was a 30-something, good-looking, buff Italian man. It was really creepy. We still never found out whom he was so pissed off at.

Then we took the bus (our transfers were still good) to China Town. Wiggle bought me a really cool knife with a sheath. At some point in the night I went insane, and started running around pretending to stab people, and walking like I had cerebral palsy, and saying strange things to the homeless. I helped Wiggle purchase a beautiful amber bracelet. I got a San Francisco hat. I don't wear hats often, but I thought it would be nice to get one. I also thought it would be nice to get a shot glass for BamaBeau's collection. I got him a rainbow-colored gay pride shotglass. I think I'm hilarious. We soon realized that all stores in China Town have the same trinkets, and I was still itching to get away from Gandalf and the Loch Ness Monster, so we devised a plan. We would take BART back to Oakland, say our goodbyes, and then drive back into San Francisco and keep playing. We proceeded accordingly.

The hitch came while we were waiting for the train at the station, but not in the way you'd think. There was a Target ad lying there, and Gandalf and Buh and I scrutinized it and mocked the models and the tacky fashions. We could tell that the models had had the clothes photoshopped on in some of the pictures. They hadn't even really worn the clothes they were modeling! Anyway, the reason this was a problem was because I started to think Gandalf was really cool. Too bad it happened so late! On Bart, we discovered that we share the ability to bend our fingers all the way back. This was so great. Neither of us had ever encountered another with the same unique ability. We decided that we are a community now, and are going to try to become a protected class. Then I can get jobs and scholarships, I bet.

When we got off BART, we tried to take pictures, but the flash wasn't so hot. I came up with a solution:


not the most flattering angle, but it's the only way we could get everyone in it with Bamabeau's weak flash

Then we got back in the car and headed across the Bay Bridge. We had two breath-holding contests across the bridge. It's really long. I won the first and Wiggle won the second (though I did make it all the way from Angel Island to land again).

We had to go to the Castro, since none of us had ever been, and Eleka Nahmen had told me to see how everyone handled it. The thing is, the Castro is just one small street buried somewhere in this big giant city plagued with steep hills, tortuous roads, and one-way streets. Our plan of attack: drive whichever way was looking gayer until we got there.

We saw a billboard for a gym that had a big muscular guy on it, so we took the next exit. Then there was an intersection. "Well, we shouldn't go straight!"quipped BamaBeau [well, BamaBeau claims I said that]. We took a left and soon we saw a sign that advertized sausages next to a sign selling liquor. Hmmm. Sausage. And then Liquor. We went that way. Soon there were more and more rainbows. All in all, it took us about 15 minutes to find the place.

Parking was awful. We ended up parking on a hill in a space that was just barely shorter than the car. Then we walked. That was the scary part. At first it was fine, and we didn't see anything any more disturbing than what we'd seen in China Town. There were these hilarious rainbow stairs, and I got a picture when no one was around.


me in the Castro

Then things started to get scarier. The girls relaxed a bit when they realized they weren't the only ladies on the street. They were freaked out even worse when they realized that yes they actually were. There were some drag queens, some old men doing things to each other that I don't want to talk about here, and Nestor claims she saw some gross items littering the sidewalk. One walk up the street and a walk back to the car and we were done. I found it mostly amusing, but also a bit disgusting and terrifying. It was further proof that that is no way to live. Wiggle went into shock, and Nestor could only moan something about being "not okay."

We got really lost trying to find the real Golden Gate Bridge. BamaBeau and I sat in the front seat having forcedly airy conversation to try to alleviate the silent pressure that was building up in the back seat. When the girls started to notice that we were way lost in some deserted part of town, they became a bit testy. We found it soon enough, though, and stopped at the lookout point and took pictures. Buh and I even found a raccoon named Trevor that wanted to be our friend, but we only got pictures with Wiggle's camera. Ask her about them!




After that long day, we drove back to Tox's house.

Sunday: The Beach

We woke up really late and straightened a few things. Then we went to Subway. They were having a two-for-one special, so we bought two each: one to eat and one to stow. Then we went to Walmart and bought some supplies. Then it was off through Sonoma county to the beach. We really wanted to get there by sunset, but we were running pretty late. We ended up making it to the top of the hill and our first view of the ocean just as the sun was setting.






Steep Ravine campground was closed when we got there, so we parked at the side of the windy clifftop road and decided to carry everything down the steep ravine. I grabbed my sandwich, my sleeping bag, and one of the tents, and started down the road with Wiggle. There was a sign that said "newt crossing," but it was too dark to see any newts. We got down to the campsite and waited for BamaBeau and Nestor. When they got there, we realized they had left the other tent in the car. It was decided that the girls would sleep in the tent I had packed in, and BamaBeau and I would sleep under the stars (there were a ton). So we started to pitch the tent. That's when we realized there were no poles. It was decided that the girls would sleep in the tent like an envelope. Meanwhile, I was being all anal about people using flashlights. Flashlights are a pet peeve of mine for some reason. Just let your eyes adjust, people.

We ate our sandwiches. Mine had been flattened by my butt in the car, so I pretended it was panini and I think I liked it better that way.

We soon realized we'd not be able to light a fire, since the tide was high and it would be hard to get drift wood or walk along the beach. We decided to bless the sacrament (we'd gotten permission from BamaBeau's bishop before the trip to do the sacrament outdoors). BamaBeau had brought some San Francisco sourdough bread with him. And then he pulled from his backpack the cup we'd be using. I guess nobody had really thought about it beforehand. The cup was the shot glass I'd bought him in San Francisco. The gay pride rainbow shot glass. Yeah. Well, once BamaBeau realized how terrible an idea it would be to drink the sacrament from one of those, he went looking and returned with the lids to our water bottles. Those did the job nicely, thank goodness.

I should mention the frogs. There was a small pond near our campsite. The frogs in the pond were ridiculously loud. Wiggle had never heard frogs in real life like that. Well, as soon as BamaBeau started in on the first prayer, the frogs became very quiet. When we passed the bread around, they were silent. They stayed quiet until the very moment we finished. It was almost eerie.

I took a walk down to the shore about then. I sat on a rock and watched the white foam crashig around me. I started to pray. To be honest, I'd been hoping this trip would be a good chance to sort some things out in my life. I began to pray, and was startled by the bitterness in my voice.

I had asked a few weeks before in the temple for Heavenly father to humble me. I've never done that before, and usually regarded those who recommended that practice with much contempt. On that occasion, though, I had realized that I had not been feeling remorse for my sins, and such a prayer seemed appropriate. I braced myself for the smiting blow from God. And it never came. And I started to wonder why.

Well, here I was on this rock after what was one of the best weeks of my entire life, praying in angry tones. I told my Heavenly father that I was so happy lately. And that was the truth. What I was angry about was that I never feel the Spirit any less, even when I do things that aren't right. And I was getting fed up with making the same decision every day, and getting the same results, and never knowing whether I was even happier living that way than I would be living the other way. I know so many good LDS people and so many of them are depressed and miserable. I don't know why that is. Yes, I know there are happy Latter-day Saints as well, but there doesn't seem to be real correlation. Just as there doesn't seem to be correlation in my life between how I'm living and how I feel.

All this came out on that rock. I also complained about how easy it was for me to be happy with just the nature and culture and family and friends around me and nothing else. And then about how I didn't know if I could really be happy with a woman for the rest of my life.

And the waves kept beating down on that rock, and the rock kept crying out to the waves to just let it fall into the depths of the sea.


this is where I sat and pondered

And then I Understood. It happens every so often when I pray. I Understand. What I Understood was this: it's not fair of me to ask the Lord to break me down and humble me. That's my job. If I'm aware it needs to be done, I need to do it. My tone changed then, to an apologetic one. I told my Heavenly Father how sorry I was for having approached him from such an unmoving stance, and how I hoped he would forgive me for always coming to him with my own list of demands and complaints, and never to see what he would have me do. If I were a servant, I'd have been fired long ago.

And then I Remembered. I Remembered how great my life is. I remembered that those things come from God, and I remembered that he is willing to bless me if I do what is right. Most of all, I remembered the time in my life when I had a girlfriends, and how happy and perfect things were then. They were even better then than they were on this road trip. I realized that I could be happy with a wife, and that she could be in on the adventure with me. And then the Spirit was there. The same Spirit I hadn't felt at the Oakland temple because my heart was not there yet. My prayer came to a peaceful conclusion, and I sat for a moment watching as the waves actually did their cadent work of breaking down the rock, only very slowly and much more gradually than the rock desired.

I went back to camp and Nestor was missing. BamaBeau and Wiggle had been freaking out, I guess. I decided that they should go look for her while I stayed at the campsite in case she came back. They were back after a few minutes, and it was a bit anticlimactic, except for the fact that they'd been afraid when they found her because of the spectral light reflecting from the grey blanket in which she'd been wrapped.

At this point it was getting cold, and we decided to go to sleep. Nestor went by herself to the bathroom, and a raccoon jumped out of the trash can and she screamed. That was funny. Then it was beddy-bye time. I was still sick and tired, so I went right off to sleep. So did BamaBeau, but I guess the girls had a little more trouble. A few hours later we were awakened by the sound of the girls being obnoxiously loud and playing steamroller in the collapsed tent. Wiggle told some crazy story about brocolli chewing off people's knees and something about Jell-o molds. Then they came up with the blessed idea to go for a walk. Thank goodness.

As soon as they were gone, BamaBeau and I hatched a plan. We stood up, gathered up the sleeping bags and the tent, and began to move everything to a different campsite. We started up the path with the tent dragging between us, but soon we heard the girls coming back up the trail toward us. "Into the bushes!" I whispered. We took off into the brush, but the problem was that it was dry and we made a loud crackling sound. We started all-out running, but soon there was a flashlight beam on us.

"Busted!" cried Wiggle over the roar of the surf. We knew it was true. Still, we maintained our course through the bushes and found a flat spot and lay down to sleep. The girls found their way over, too, and slept in their tentvelope. BamaBeau stolr Nestor's pillow for me. That was nice. Soon everyone was asleep.

Monday: Back home.

As I slept in, the others went to the ocean and took pictures of the sunrise and such.


that's Nestor


sunrise from our campsite


a stream at the beach


near the beach


lilies in Steep Ravine


the hills from our campsite


I don't know what these things are





Eventually I woke up and noticed that the "bushes" we'd run through the night before were actually poison oak. That was a bummer. We packed up and hiked all the way back to the car. We actually saw a newt crossing the road this time. His name was Toby. He didn't really want to be our friend, but he let us take this picture:


Toby the Newt

We got to the car after what seemed like forever. I slept all the way back to Tox's house. The we did a modicum of cleaning and packing, and we were on our way. I slept until Reno. Then it was Nestor's turn to drive. As we were driving and playing this game Wiggle invented where we name all the jelly belllies by color, the car started to do something weird. BamaBeau was asleep in the back seat. Nestor pulled over and they opened the hood and Wiggle declared that the belt had come loose and was trying to figure out which part was the belt. When Bamabeau was awake fully, he asked Nestor what had happened. She reported that she'd been driving, and then all of a sudden the car wouldn't accelerate and it would just make a noise like "VRZHOOOOM" when she hit the gas. BamaBeau explained that she'd simply put it into neutral. Oh, right. We got back in, she put it in drive, and we were fine. A while later we got pulled over. We were worried. I did my patented move where I put the seatbelt on under my arm so the cop can't tell from the back. The guy told us that one of Wiggle's headlights was burnt out, made sure everyone was over 18 (good thing we didn't end up bringing J; apparently it's illegal to take minors across state lines without written parental consent), and let us go without even a warning. That was nice. The rest of the trip passed uneventfully, and at 3:00 a.m. we were home.

The end.

p.s. I managed to get poison oak on my arms, legs, and lips, and I still have that dumb cold.