A Proposition

I'm going to present a proposition - not The Proposition, a fine film directed by John Hillcoat, who is also directing the adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize winning novel The Road, and judging by the first pictures popping up on the interweb, he's doing a fine job - to you, my dear readers, whoever and wherever you may be.

I love dashes (and parenthesis).

Back to the business at hand, my proposition is this: if enough people (i.e. one or two of you) are interested, I am willing to make some of my other written works available for your perusal. This could include short stories, parts of my unfinished novel, personal essays, poetry, scripts, and anything else I can dig up.

If you have time to kill and actually want to read something else I've written, even after reading this blog, then just indicate that you are interested by leaving a comment. Thank you for your time.

101 Pages to Go

Yesterday I started reading the California Supreme Court's lengthy decision declaring Proposition 22, the measure passed by California voters in 2000 defining marriage as between a man and a woman, unconstitutional. I know this issue polarizes people and can quickly create an atmosphere opposed to civilized discourse, and lately I have been thinking somewhat about the various sides of the issue.

Some people have voiced their displeasure at "the work of arrogant activist judges" seeking to overturn the will of the people. Others announce that homosexual organizations are plotting to destroy the family and everything we hold dear. I think both opinions are extreme and not likely accurate of what is going on.

I decided to start reading the actual written decision to see how it could inform me on the situation and the thought processes of the California Supreme Court justices. I opened the pdf and saw that it was 172 pages long, and I doubted that I would do much more than skim through it. I started reading at the beginning and was quickly fascinated. The Chief Justice's writing is clear and usually very easy to follow, and that helped me understand from the very beginning where the justices were going with their approach on the issue and how to logically follow their explanation.

I have read 71 pages of the decision so far, and it has been an oddly pleasant experience. I'm not going to get into the politics of the matter yet, or maybe ever, but I would recommend to those who want to educate themselves on this issue to read the actual court decision. It is very easy to access on the internet and will provide an excellent understanding of this case, precedents of past cases, and the reasoning used by the justices.

Knowledge and education are the keys to a successful democracy. We're lucky to live in an age when we can choose to educate ourselves with relative ease and such tremendous resources at our fingertips.

Sometimes you feel like a nut...

Sorry, this blog will not be about Almond Joys or Mounds candy bars. It's about Slurpees.

I had two Slurpees last week. It had been a long time since I'd partaken of one, probably at least one year if not longer than that. Slurpees and I have had an interesting relationship that culminated my freshman year of college with a near-death experience. I will definitely blog about that experience later.

I want to talk about the most recent Slurpee I had, a mixture of wild cherry and banana flavors, admittedly not the greatest combination of flavors. I spent my Sunday evening watching Rad, a so-terrible-it's-great 1986 film about a BMX racing teen, and playing games with a group of friends. Around 11 p.m. someone mentioned something about 7-11 and making a Slurpee run once the clock reached 12 and Sunday became Monday. I thought that was an awesome idea, and at midnight, five of us piled into a car and made the journey to 7-11.

We got our Slurpees and left 7-11. Our driver, Elyse, asked if any of us minded going for a drive to Springville to drop off her friend Rachael. We were all in high spirits and on the verge of Slurpee-induced sugar highs so we, of course, went along for the ride. When we got to Springville, we decided to continue on our spontaneous road-trip and headed towards Hobble Creek Canyon. All the while we were listening to music and enjoying ourselves immensely. As we continued up the right fork of Hobble Creek Canyon, we eventually decided to stop the car and have an impromptu dance party on the side of the road.

We found a spot to park the car, rolled down the windows, jumped out, and started the impromptu dance party. The bulk of the dancing (i.e. flailing around wildly and trying not to look terribly white) was done by myself, my former roommate Joel, and Elyse's friend Rachael. The pictures I've included, taken by Joel, show us doing the move of the night, something we saw in the movie Rad. We probably looked really stupid, but we had a lot of fun.

Look at us go!

After dancing spastically for more than half an hour, we got back in the car and returned to civilized life. It was such a random, spontaneous celebration of life. It left me happy and exhilarated. I hadn't done anything quite like that for some time, and to be completely honest, I missed all the similarly random and stupid things I did when I was a more carefree and spontaneous teenager. I used to always do weird things like this in high school. Maybe it was because I lived in a small town like Vernal, Utah and had to create fun wherever and however I could. Maybe I've lost something or at least been ignoring a part of who I really am while going through the motions of being a mature and responsible adult preparing for the rest of my life.

Thinking about this incident has helped me remember how adamantly I, as a teenager, refused to believe that I would ever let myself become a boring adult afraid to have fun and not care what anyone else thinks. I am not saying that I have become that boring adult, but I have definitely been underusing the spontaneous and random side of my personality. Of course, it helps to associate with people who can bring out that side of one's personality. Too much of my life these last few years has been spent in solitude. I haven't done enough to keep my spastic and spontaneous self alive and well. That's a part of who I am that I don't ever want to lose, and the Hobble Creek Canyon impromptu dance party helped me realize that.

The Least of These and Me

The only thing worse than finding your cupboards empty on Saturday is finding them empty on Sunday. I made a trip to Macey's to pick up a few items to get me through the next week or so, and as I was loading my groceries into my car, someone pulled into a spot near mine and honked their horn. I looked back to see if I recognized the car; when I didn't, I turned back to my car. The honking continued, and when I looked back again the driver motioned for me to come over. The passenger window was down, and as I lowered my head to see what was up, I saw an old man, his skin dark and creased, well-worn and beaten by the sun. He started talking, and though I could hardly discern what he was saying, I managed to piece things together. (I probably hadn't had to struggle to understand an elderly person like this since returning from my mission in Brazil almost three years ago). Apparently, the man had been in the hospital recently and tried to explain to me that something was wrong with his eyes. He held up a few small pieces of paper with written instructions from a physician. I managed to decipher the handwriting and discovered that the man had an appointment later in June for cataract surgery. He held up another paper, and I could tell that it was an order for a prescription. He told me that he had tried to have the prescription filled, but it would cost $28 and he only had a pair of fives. When he said that, he held up the two five-dollar bills, and asked if I could help him out. I didn't have any cash on me - I almost never do, except when I have to do laundry - and I told him that I didn't have any cash. When I said those words, he threw his money down onto the seat of his car. I told him I was sorry, got in my car, and drove away.

I am always bothered when people solicit me for money and I have no cash to give them. I'm not bothered by the request; I usually wish I could help them a little, but in this era of direct deposits and debit cards, it takes more effort to get cash than it is worth putting forth. There aren't that many people who solicit money in Provo, but, interestingly enough, it has happened to me most frequently in the parking lot at Macey's.

I remember an incident on my mission when someone approached my companion and me and told us a story about how he had had some back luck and didn't have enough cash for the bus fare to his hometown. His story seemed very credible, and I wanted to believe him. I decided to help him and gave him some money, not a lot, but enough to actually help him. We also gave him a Book of Mormon and a pass-along card and told him to look up the Church to repay us, so to speak. I don't know if he ever opened the book later or tried to contact the missionaries. Maybe he pulled a quick one on us and suckered me out of my money. I don't know and likely never will, but I don't think it really matters what he did. What matters is that I tried to help him and did it, I believe, out of good intentions. Maybe he used the money to purchase drugs or alcohol, I don't know. Another time, in the same area, a man came up to us and asked for money, telling us his family didn't have any food to eat. His story was a little less believable, but my companion and I decided that if his family really didn't have any food, we would do our best to help them out. We told the man to come to a small store with us, and we would help him get some food for his family. We didn't buy much, maybe a bag of rice and some beans, but if they truly were going hungry, it would have been sufficient to help ease their suffering. We tried to get the man's address so we could share a message with his family, but he seemed ill at ease with that idea. He ended up leaving quickly, and we never saw him again. We figured he'd tried to pull the wool over our eyes and secure some drinking money, and we had to laugh at how, if that were true, we had ruined his plan.

Returning to what happened to me today at Macey's, my conscience piped up as I was driving away. I felt like I probably could have done something more for that old man even though I didn't know what, but there was one thing that really bothered me about our exchange. When he held up his $10 and asked for my help and I could only tell him that I didn't have any cash, he immediately threw his money down on the car seat. He did it so quickly and almost automatically that it caught me off guard. Not only that, but it seemed such a disgusted gesture, like he was offended when the complete stranger he flagged down with his car horn in a grocery store parking lot didn't offer to buy his prescription drugs. He didn't seem disappointed with my answer; he seemed angry, almost like he was entitled to my money because he asked. He could very well have needed help, but I didn't have any to give him and am not in an extremely stable financial situation currently. If he had responded differently, mumbled a "thanks anyway" or something like that, I would have felt really bad for not being able to help him.

In the 25th chapter of Matthew, Christ teaches that whenever we feed the hungry, give a stranger a room, clothe the naked, or visit the sick, we are doing those things unto Him. "Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" (Matt. 25:40). Likewise, whenever we turn away one of our unfortunate brethren, we turn away the Lord. These scriptures, along with what we learn in the Book of Mormon, particularly in Mosiah 4, have had a large impact on my life and point of view regarding the treatment of the downtrodden and needy. I wish I could help more people; I like the feeling of helping others, not that I am anything special, but there is satisfaction and joy in helping our fellowmen and women enjoy this life a little more. I've never felt a greater sense of purpose in life then when I was focused on serving others; I think the times when I felt most directionless or confused with life could have been prevented had I not been so utterly focused on myself and my wants and needs. It's paradoxical that when we help others and forget about our selfish desires and preoccupations, we actually achieve greater clarity and insight into our lives and how we can improve them. Somehow we find the answers we need precisely when we stop dwelling on how much we need those answers and start thinking about other people.

I could use some of that clarity right now. I'm in a situation where I have a lot of time to myself, to use however I see fit. The future looms ahead of me, dark and uninviting, like a distant yet quickly approaching thunderstorm on the horizon. I have some very important decisions to make (where to go to grad school, whether I enter a Master's or PhD program, whether I will proactively seek to make my living as a writer or merely write on the side, etc.), and as the time for making them approaches, it will be very easy for me to focus all my time and attention on myself and my future. Obviously, I want to make the best decisions for my future, but I'm afraid that will be difficult if I fall into the snare of selfish preoccupation. "Then volunteer or something like that," you might be saying. And I respond with an "easier said than done." Truly serving "the least of these [our] brethren" requires more than a few hours a week. It's not an action repeated weekly, monthly, or even daily; it is an attitude. True Christian service is an offshoot of charity, the kind of love Christ manifested in everything he did. Obtaining that level of love is not an easy task. I have felt it at various points in my life, but I have yet to make that exalted type of love a permanent fixture in my life. It's something I want, but I'm forced to wonder how long it will take and how many people I'll dismiss with the phrase "I don't have any cash" until I obtain that kind of love and will truly be capable of serving and helping my brethren and, ultimately, helping myself become the kind of person I know I need to be.

Across the Universe

I recently watched Across the Universe. I always meant to catch it in the dollar theater, but I never got around to seeing it. I think the lackluster critical response probably influenced my lack of initiative in seeing the film, but I added it to my Netflix queue (now with more than 400 titles). I bumped it to the top of my queue after seeing King of California with Michael Douglas and Evan Rachel Wood. I thought the beautiful Ms. Wood was fantastic in that film, and I then felt a desire to see Across the Universe if only to see her performance. I bumped it to the top of my queue, and it arrived this week.

For those who don't know, Across the Universe is a film set in the 1960s and highlights the turbulence of that era. But what sets this film apart is that it is a musical and all the songs are Beatles songs. I am a huge Beatles fan and was curious as to how the movie would utilize the music. In the end, the movie just reminded me how great the Beatles were, and whenever someone would start singing I just wanted to listen to the authentic version. I don't think I would have had any problems with the music if their arrangements were somehow comparable to the originals or unique in some way. Some of the songs were well done, but I continually found myself enjoying the visuals much, much more than the music. And the visuals are often very memorable and extremely creative.

Along with the poor Beatles covers, Across the Universe tells a very typical and cliched 60s-era story. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, everything is great, drugs are involved, Vietnam butts in to things, someone gets drafted and set to war, people are involved in protests and rallies, boy and girl quarrel then get back together, etc. If you're going to make a musical with Beatles music, do something to make the story unique. Naming characters after people mentioned in Beatles songs is not enough to create a compelling story. If anything, the names are misleading. I kept expecting Maxwell (the name coming from Abbey Road's "Maxwell's Silver Hammer") to smash somebody with a hammer like he does in the song. That would have been dark and haunting, but it would have definitely made the story more unique. As it is, I really struggled to feel much for the characters because the story of the 60s has been told so frequently and there was nothing to differentiate this story from all the others.

I think Across the Universe could have been something special. I don't know what they could have done to make the music better, but when every song merely reminds the viewer that the original Beatles song is far and away superior, something needs to be done. If they had created a more compelling story and combined it with the creative visual approach, this film could have been far more compelling. I know that some of my friends (even those whose opinions I trust) liked this film a lot, but it wasn't for me. I gave it 3/5 stars on Netflix but only because half stars aren't available; otherwise it would get a 2.5/5.

Prozac and Late Night Drives

People who know me probably think I'm fairly well-adjusted, but for all the external appearances of normalcy, there are a lot of things about myself that I would love to change. First and foremost, I wish I could make myself more outgoing, more social, more confident than I am. I tend to be hyperconscious, especially in uncertain social situations where I am around people I don't know very well and who don't know me either; I worry about doing or saying something stupid and giving the people I want to get to know better a reason to ignore or think poorly of me. That hyperconsciousness is manifest most in my timidity. I so often want to push beyond that timidity, to engage people in conversation, but even when I gather all the courage I have, words fail me and my brain seems incapable of finding anything worth talking about. It's frustrating beyond belief, but apparently not enough for me to drastically change.

Too often my timidity gets the best of me. Recently I have had chances to be more social - it helps that there are fewer people in my apartment complex - and yet I find ways to question myself or I let my timidity inspire cowardice or hesitance. Worse yet, if two social situations are to occur simultaneously, I've found myself choosing the situation that least facilitates the kind of personal growth I am seeking. I don't know if I am just choosing the easy way out, or if there is some definite obstacle that I need to overcome.

Anyway, whenever my timidity gets the best of me, I end up fairly upset with myself. Not raging mad or anything, just disappointed and almost resigned to a terribly lonely fate. Tonight I decided to go for a drive, even though I was tired and was fairly certain that after reading for a few minutes, I would fall fast asleep. I hit the road and set my music to shuffle. Not too far into my drive, a song by The Polyphonic Spree came on. The Polyphonic Spree are an awesome band I first started listening to one year ago. They are led by the former frontman of Tripping Daisy (another great band), and the group numbers some twenty people. They have all the usual rock instruments, but they also have horns, strings, other instruments, and a chorus of singers. With so many people involved in making music, you would expect the sound to be massive - and it is. The best way to describe their music is that it is like someone figured out how to administer Prozac aurally. Their songs are so happy and full of life that listening to them always puts a smile on my face and beckons me to sing along at the top of my lungs.

Tonight was no different. After that first song randomly played, I decided to listen to their album Fragile Army for the duration of my drive. By the time I finished driving aimlessly to Spanish Fork and back, I felt much better and found myself full of energy (explaining why I am posting this at such a late hour). Good times.

I decided to share a small dose of The Polyphonic Spree with everyone. I chose three of my favorite songs and made a downloadable mini-mix called "A Dose of Prozac," essentially the opposite of my first mix. I'm not sure if that mix helped prompt this one or not. Anyway, everyone should check it out. I vouch for this band and for the three tracks I selected. If you listen to them and they do not make you happy, check your pulse.

More $$$

I had to take my parents' car (which I've been driving for the last week and a half) in to the dealership to have it looked at. The dealership is in Orem, and that meant that I would be taking the car into Orem without a ride back to Provo. I decided that I would tough out the wait by chilling at the nearby Orem City Library. After reading One Hundred Years of Solitude (which I am enjoying a lot) for about an hour in and sleeping for twenty minutes, I decided that I needed to get some air. I left the library and decided to walk to Savers, a nearby thrift store. For the last year or so I have been occasionally frequenting thrift stores for the sole purpose of buying books. You'd be surprised how often I find books worth purchasing and how little I pay for them. Today was no different. I ended up purchasing five books for $3.00. That amounts to sixty cents per book . Now I have five more books that I need to read. Happy happy joy joy. Happy happy joy.

I know I mentioned in a postscript two posts ago that I was considering starting a book club, and I am now more seriously considering it. Both the Provo and Orem library have a good selection of book sets for reading clubs. At least one person has expressed interest, but let me know if anyone else is interested in forming a book club.

$$$

I was driving on north University Avenue this afternoon. As I neared the Chevron gas station, I saw that regular unleaded gasoline now costs $3.75 a gallon. "What is wrong with this planet?" I half screamed, half moaned.

Just thought everyone should know.

Movies, an Official Declaration, and a Couple Acronyms

I have watched at least one movie each day of this month. I've reached a point where I will watch a movie not necessarily because I want to, but rather to keep the streak alive. I know it cannot go on forever, but I'll probably try to keep it going until June rolls around.

All this has led me to think about the very act of watching movies. I'm not going to get theoretical or philosophical about the nature of film or the relationship between art and reality - I could but I won't - but I will make one simple observation: there is a drastic difference in the experience of watching a film by oneself and watching a film with one or more other people. The group experience also varies according to the number of people; watching a movie with one other person is very different than watching that same movie with ten people.

Location also plays a large role in determining the movie watching experience (the dark theater is much different than a living room or bedroom), but I won't delve into that.

What I'm getting at is this: while nearly all of my formative and most cathartic movie-watching experiences have occurred when I watch films alone, I absolutely enjoy watching films with groups of people - though enjoyment does hinge on the quality of the group dynamic. For the last few months I have been trying to organize, to varying degrees of success, movie nights. There were the two Cheesy Mormon Cinema Nights, the Non-Cheesy Mormon Cinema Night, the Groundhog Day celebration, and so on. Some movie nights were admittedly better than others, but not even the poorest of turnouts has dampened my enthusiasm for movie nights.

This blog provides all the evidence I need to say that I am a sharing person, and I love to share the things I love, especially literature, music, and film. That being said, I am hereby declaring my official intent to create a film-viewing group, a movie club or whatever you want to call it. (This reminds me of the reading group I participated in as a college freshman that never really took off. I called it the Pseudo-Intellectual Short Story Reading Society. I found the acronym - PISSRS - hilarious; oh to be juvenile once again).

I am writing about this intent to create a movie group because I need to know if anyone is interested in doing this. If people are actually interested, we would agree on a time that works best for everyone while remaining flexible and open to accommodating extenuating circumstances. Everyone would have input in deciding the films we would watch, and there would be no restraints on genre or even excellence (watching a terrible film for pure enjoyment is a worthwhile endeavor). One week we could watch an absurd comedy, the next a soul crushing drama. One week a mindless action movie, the next an informative documentary. Everything is fair game - even marathons of television programs. As a Netflix subscriber, I have access to a very extensive selection of films. Basically, there are very few films we could not obtain. We could even take field trips to see current theatrical releases. I'm getting all giddy just thinking about it.

I think this could be a lot of fun if people are committed to making it happen. Anyone reading this who happens to be interested and willing to fully participate, let me know. Even if just a handful of people commit, I foresee many enjoyable experiences taking place. I'll hold off on giving this group a name until others can participate. That will give me time to come up with something better than the Pseudo-Intellectual Movie People Society (PIMPS). Anyone?

Postscript: I'm also open to the idea of starting a book club.

This band will not leave me alone.

Okay, I seem to keep posting about things other than what I have been meaning to write about. This post will be no exception.

I first heard The Ting Tings in an iPod commercial. The song, "Shut Up and Let Me Go," caught my attention just enough to make me find the band name on the internet. Once I learned their name, I searched Youtube and found some of their music videos and live performances. Pretty soon I was hooked on this British duo's catchy indie dance music. (It probably doesn't hurt that I find the singer extremely attractive).

Anyway, they have a handful of songs that will not get out of my head. Here's the video for one of them; it's called "Great DJ."

How to Obtain My Awesome Mix

So only one person has given me feedback concerning my mix, "The Beauty of Melancholy." The feedback was positive, by the way. What concerns me is not the lack of feedback concerning the mix, but rather the lack of people downloading the mix. I know this blog is read by a handful of people at most, but those of you in that select group should be excited and eager to listen to this mix. I put a lot of time into it, probably more than I should have, and though it may not be noticeable, the mix was very carefully put together. I really think people, if they enjoy music, will enjoy this mix.

I know that the mix has only been downloaded twice, and that has me wondering if maybe I was unclear about how to obtain it. Unlike most of the sidebar items on the right side of my blog, the mix section contains an actual link. To download the mix, one need only click on "The Beauty of Melancholy." They will then be taken to a site in which they click on another link, and the downloading process will begin. To open the mix, you will need a program that handles .zip files. Win-Rar is a good program that I use. It can be downloaded for free at http://www.win-rar.com. Using a zip program, you will then be able to extract the twenty tracks that make up the list; they will be in mp3 format and can then be imported in iTunes, Windows Media, Winamp, or whatever program you use to listen to music. That is all it takes.

Basically, I want people to take advantage of these mixes and enjoy them because I want to keep making them. I've always enjoyed putting a mix together, even when that meant recording from CD to cassette tape back in the old days. If anyone has any requests for certain artists or suggestions for mix themes, feel free to let me know. I am more than willing to accomodate you.

Shaving Adventure (and Postscript)

Yesterday someone from some city organization placed a green sign on my door informing me that my water service would be interrupted today between 1 and 3 p.m. No big deal. Just two hours without water.

I had forgotten entirely about the water interruption when I decided it was time to shave. Most days I don't bother shaving, but I have an intramural softball game tonight and must be cleanshaven if I wish to play. Once I covered my face with shaving cream, I tried to turn on the water to rinse the excess shaving cream off my hands. No water came out. It was then that I remembered that green note. What was I to do? Just remove the shaving cream and wait for the water to come back? I think not. The only water in my entire apartment was in a one liter bottle, and it was quite cold (perfect for drinking). If I was going to shave at that time, I would have to use that water. One problem: I don't like shaving with cold water. What did I do? I dumped all of the water into a pan, put it on the stove, heated it up, and then dumped it into the sink. I then shaved.

I wasn't sure whether I ought to be pleased with my ingenuity in locating and then heating the water for my shave, or whether I ought to have been embarrassed by my return to ancient methods of water usage. Whether it's a funny story or just an odd experience, it was my shaving adventure.

Yes, as can be seen, I am hardpressed for excitement these days. I need a job/life.

Postscript: This evening I spent an hour in the hot tub, relaxing and resting my muscles. When I got back to my apartment at 11:45 p.m., the door was locked. That meant my roommate had locked the door, and I hadn't taken my apartment key with me to the hot tub. I went to the back door, and it was also locked. At that point I wasn't looking forward to finding a phone to call and wake up my roommate. I decided to use a little skill I had picked up from working at Wymount Terrace custodial. Whenever we arrived at an apartment we were to clean and we found the door locked, we could almost always open one of the windows to let ourselves in. Even if the window was locked, we were usually successful. Anyway, I was able to open my kitchen window without any difficulty, and I climbed in, jumped over the sink and the dishes, and was in my apartment. Problem solved.

New Feature

I love music. I listen to music all the time. When I'm not listening to music, I like to talk about music. When I'm not talking about music, I frequently think about music. I like to think that music likes me back; that's why I rarely get annoying songs stuck in my head and can usually choose what songs I want playing in my head.

Anyway, I love to share music with other people. Ever since I became passionate about music when I was fifteen or so, I have always tried to get people to enjoy and love my favorite bands. This meant burning CDs for them, making them mixes, convincing them to go to shows, and so on. I have been pretty successful in this endeavor and have influenced most of my close friends' musical tastes in some way.

This urge to share the music I love has led me to create a new sidebar feature for this blog. I have put together a mix, a collection of 20 songs that I have titled "The Beauty of Melancholy," and I have uploaded it and made it available for download. I hope that people will take the time to download and listen to these tracks.

With a name like "The Beauty of Melancholy" you might have an inkling of what's in store for you brave souls. Sometimes I chose the songs for their lyrics, other times it may have been the melody or some other aspect of the instrumentation, but I find each of these songs melancholic yet beautiful. And I think that being able to recognize beauty in things that may be sad can be just as beneficial to us as finding beauty in the things that make us happy. I think to really appreciate beauty and truth ("beauty is truth, truth beauty, -that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." - John Keats) we must experience the entire spectrum of human emotion. I hope this mix might facilitate that pursuit.

Or just provide some listening enjoyment. Whatever.

You and the Cap'n Make it Happen at Carl's Jr.

Saturday afternoon, during the halftime festivities of my strenuous physical efforts, I went to Carl's Jr. with my former roommate and current homeboy Jeff Mitchell for lunch. Jeff hooked me up with a stellar coupon from the interweb (free small fries and drink with purchase of a Western bacon cheeseburger!), and we ordered our food. Because half my combo meal was taken care of with the coupon, I felt like I needed to spend a little more cash to even things out. That's why I ordered the Cap'n Crunch milkshake.

I'm always tempted to try these weird combinations that appear in fast food joints. Who thought to mix Cap'n Crunch and ice cream? I probably never would have. If it were up to me, I would definitely go for other types of cereals long before Cap'n Crunch. There's Trix, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa Puffs, Raisin Bran, etc. (This entry is making me hungry). Despite the odd choice of Cap'n Crunch, I decided to try the shake. Those who know me ("you few, you happy few" - props to whoever catches the allusion) know that I love milkshakes. I could write a long entry on my tumultuous relationship with the Malt Shoppe, but I'll save that for later. I figured that it couldn't be too bad, and even if it was weird tasting, it was at least a milkshake.

Turns out that it's really a fairly unassuming milkshake. The flavor isn't all that bold or distinct, and maybe that's the way some people like it. I tend to prefer bigger flavors that jump out more, but I enjoyed this shake. Sometimes that pieces of Cap'n Crunch were too big for the straw, but I figured out how to eat them --- without a straw even. I was pretty proud of myself. I can't really recommend this shake or say that it was the best thing I'd ever eaten because it wasn't. It was good, but I doubt I'll get one again.

How was this for random? I do not know why I blogged about this milkshake when I have other, more serious, things I would like to write about. C'est la vie!

In the Meantime

I have been meaning to write another substantial post because there are quite a few things floating around in my head. Alas, I am in no physical or mental state to do so. I am pretty much exhausted right now. Here's why:

• I had an intramural soccer game, for which I shaved my precious beard. We won 7-0, and I had 2 assists. I thought playing ultimate frisbee a couple times a week would have helped my endurance some, but I found out that playing real soccer at full-speed still requires tremendous endurance. I've got to work on that.
• After returning to my apartment a sweaty mess from the soccer game, I jumped in the pool to cool off. I then proceeded to swim some laps.
• Later I was invited to hike up to the Y, and I went along with it. It was still a pretty easy hike, even in my energy-depleted state.
• Then an hour or so after coming down the mountain, I went and played ultimate frisbee at Kiwanis park for an hour and a half. I didn't push myself as hard as I normally would, but I still ran, frequently sprinting, a fair amount.

It was a physically demanding day, and right now, even though I would love to write a great blog entry, all I want to do is read One Hundred Years of Solitude until I fall asleep. And that is exactly what I am going to do. I'll write a better entry tomorrow.

The First Book of Summer

I have always loved to read. As a child, I used to stay up late reading. Frequently my parents would see that my light was still on hours after I had supposedly gone to bed, and they would open my door and tell me it was time to sleep. I eventually began putting a blanket at the foot of the door to keep any light from escaping just so I could read as long as I wanted. I cannot accurately estimate the number of books I read as a child and adolescent, but the number would probably be quite high.

I have continued to read quite a bit (being an English major definitely required a lot of reading), but I was never able to find much time to read for fun, to read something that I wanted (not needed) to read. Now, as a college graduate taking a year off before starting graduate school, I finally have free time for reading, and that makes me very happy. Already, just over one week since school ended, I have started and completed two books. While I will likely write about both of these books, I'd like to focus on just one of them right now.

Brian Doyle is an author that I had never heard of before taking my Creative Nonfiction Writing class, taught by Pat Madden, this last semester. We read a lot of personal essays by a lot of different authors, but Doyle always stood out to me. That was likely due in part because he was one of Pat's favorite essayists and we read a lot of his essays as a class, but, more importantly, there is something in his writing, in the words he chooses and the way he puts them together into sentences, that effects me tremendously.

Brian Doyle is a believer. He believes in the worth of individual human beings, in his Catholic faith (with pure devotion), in prayer, in the ability of words to touch the human spirit, in the beauty of the small everyday events that make up our lives, and, more than anything else, in love and its redemptive power. His essays are infused with that love, and I felt that each essay increased my own ability and desire to love. I think it is impossible to read his work and not feel that love, to not be moved, often to the point of tears, as he describes his faith or his past or his experiences with his young children or his love for his wife or his love of humanity. And he does it in a way that is his alone, with short essays, long run-on sentences, and an utter lack of pretense and ego.

His collection of essays Leaping: Revelations and Epiphanies is an incredible work of art. The short length of his essays lets the reader progress quickly through the six main sections. There are too many incredible sentences and powerful paragraphs to list. I found something in each essay that moved me profoundly. I highly recommend this book, and I have decided to include one of the essays that most impacted me.

It is titled "Leap."

A couple leaped from the south tower, hand in hand. They reached for each other and their hands met and they jumped.

Jennifer Brickhouse saw them falling, hand in hand.

Many people jumped. Perhaps hundreds. No one knows. They struck the pavement with such force that there was a pink mist in the air.

The mayor reported the mist.

A kindergarten boy who saw people falling in flames told his teacher that the birds were on fire. She ran with him on her shoulders out of the ashes.

Tiffany Keeling saw fireballs falling that she later realized were people. Jennifer Griffin saw people falling and wept as she told the story. Niko Winstral saw people free-falling backward with their hands out, like they were parachuting. Joe Duncan on his roof on Duane Street looked up and saw people jumping. Henry Weintraub saw people "leaping as they flew out." John Carson saw six people fall, "falling over themselves, falling, they were somersaulting." Steve Miller saw people jumping from a thousand feet in the air. Kirk Kjeldsen saw people flailing on the way down, people lining up and jumping, "too many people falling." Jane Tedder saw people leaping and the sight haunts her at night. Steve Tamas counted fourteen people jumping and then he stopped counting. Stuart DeHann saw one woman's dress billowing as she fell, and he saw a shirtless man falling end over end, and he too saw the couple leaping hand in hand.

Several pedestrians were killed by people falling from the sky. A fireman was killed by a body falling from the sky.

But he reached for her hand and she reached for his hand and they leaped out the window holding hands.

The day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, wrote Peter, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up.

I try to whisper prayers for the sudden dead and the harrowed families of the dead and the screaming souls of the murderers but I keep coming back to his hand and her hand nestled in each other with such extraordinary ordinary succint ancient naked stunning perfect simple ferocious love.

There is no fear in love, wrote John, but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment.

Their hands reaching and joining is the most powerful prayer I can imagine, the most eloquent, the most graceful. It is everything that we are capable of against horror and loss and death. It is what makes me believe that we are not craven fools and charlatans to believe in God, to believe that human beings have greatness and holiness within them like seeds that open only under great fires, to believe that some unimaginable essence of who we are persists past the dissolution of what we were, to believe against evil hourly evidence that love is why we are here.

Their passing away was thought an affliction / and their going forth from us, utter destruction, says the book of Wisdom. But they are in peace... They shall shine, / and shall dart about as sparks through stubble.

No one knows who they were: husband and wife, lovers, dear friends, colleagues, strangers thrown together at the window there at the lip of hell. Maybe they didn't even reach for each other consciously, maybe it was instinctive, a reflex, as they both decided at the same time to take two running steps and jump out the shattered window, but they did reach for each other, and they held on tight, and leaped, and fell endlessly into the smoking canyon, at two hundred miles an hour, falling so far and so fast that they would have blacked out before they hit the pavement near Liberty Street so hard that there was a pink mist in the air.

I trust I shall shortly see thee, John wrote, and we shall speak face to face.

Jennifer Brickhouse saw them holding hands, and Stuart DeHann saw them holding hands, and I hold on to that.

New Beginning

This isn't going to be much of an inaugural post. I apologize if you were expecting something a little grander. This will actually be my first solo blog; I've always collaborated with other people, but I felt like it was time to step into my own. This blog will contain whatever I want to write about, but will likely contain a lot of writing on the books I am reading, the films I am watching, and the music I am listening to. I'll rant and rave at times and probably share some personal creative writing as well. I hope this won't turn out to be a spectacular failure, but if it does, I'll do my best to go down swinging.

Let this suffice until I can post something worth reading.