Hell in a Handbasket!

It's a pretty common phrase that we hear (or see on bumper stickers on cars that belong to people who seem to think that everyone in the world is dying to know what their opinions are on all of the world's most serious issues such as presidential elections, global warming, and eagle scouts (actually those are a completely different breed of bumper sticker applicators, but that's a totally different post.  Or at least a third level of parenthetical goodness.  And I usually prefer to never go more than two deep.  If you have a hard time keeping up with how multi-terraced parenthetical statements work, watch Inception... or re-take algebra 2)) nowadays.  Usually it's spewed out after a discussion about drugs, immorality, wars, starving children, or something of the like.  But what about the more alarming issues like young children who cuss in movies (it is funny, though, isn't it?  If you don't agree with me on that one, watch Hardball, yes the one with Keanu Reaves, and tell me it doesn't make you laugh), terrible drivers, and inappropriate oversharing on Facebook?

There are a lot of serious causes for concern in the world these days.  This post isn't about any of the above woes of the world.  It is instead about an entirely different issue that has been troubling me a lot lately: poor elevator etiquette.  What has this world come to that people no longer seem to understand how you behave on or around an elevator?  It's as if parents have stopped teaching their kids the rules of vertical transportation.  I still remember when my mom explained to me the ways of the human version of one of those tubes at the bank.  Apparently I'm alone in that.  So in order to do my part as a concerned citizen and a member of this troubled world, I have included a brief explanation of how to properly behave when playing the part of the boarder as well as that of the exiter (that is exiter with an I, not to be confused with Exeter which is the fourth oldest of the constituent colleges of Oxford having opened in 1314.  It has common rooms like in the Harry Potter series, and in recent years has competed on an intercollegiate level in sports such as fencing, rugby, basketball, darts, croquet, and wine-tasting.  I kid you not.  You can learn more here)



The Boarder
When you're waiting to get on an elevator, you stand back from the door but still in front of it so as to be easily seen. This helps to establish a good common understanding between everyone waiting to get on and everyone on board as to who all is going to be involved in the marvelously intricate operation.  But more important that the visibility issue (at least while we're still discussing the boarder.  This does become critical when considering the exiter) is the standing back issue.  There isn't much that upsets me more than someone I like to call the barger.  You know, the guy who stands with his nose pressed to the door then bolts in as soon as the doors open.  That's not how it works!  It's just like public transportation; people that are getting off get off, then people getting on get on.  You must wait at a safe distance until it is clear that all who intend to disembark have done so, and then you may advance forward.  When you get on before people exit it's as if you're walking forward with one of those big SWAT crowd control shields that no one can get past. So for everyone's sake, stand back and in clear view, wait, then enter.

The exiter
The key to exiting is all about being clear with your intentions.  For starters, don't dawdle.  If the boarder is practicing proper decorum, he is waiting for you to get the heck off.  If you don't move quickly enough, he will assume that you are not exiting on this floor and will begin to advance.  If you then make your move late, we encounter the same SWAT shield mentioned above.  Only this time it's your fault.

Next step.  Don't hide in the corner.  Like I said earlier, maximum visibility is essential.  If it's one of those elevators where the door isn't the whole front wall, but it instead kinda jogs to one side or the other, stop going to the damn corner.  Once again, a proper boarder will check to make sure no one is exiting and then proceed forward.  If you're creepily lurking in the shadows trying to hide beneath the surveillance camera that doesn't exist, then they probably won't see you and will begin to advance.  What does that give us? Yet another traffic jam at the door that gets credited solely to you.  In summary, stand in plain view and get your butt moving.

To put it simply, elevators are a wonderful technology.  Yes they can be slow and sometimes inexplicably stinky, but they are a joyous alternative to stairs for our lazy generation.  It is a technology that has improved lives the world around, but the deterioration of common decency in today's society is something we encounter on elevators every day.  I am here to make it known that the only thing that separates us from the animals is the manner by which we magically ascend and descend our enormous towers in which we conduct business with people all over the world and play card games without having to actually handle a deck of cards.  That is, except for service animals.  It doesn't separate us from them because they ride the elevators with us.  So for the sake of civilization, have some manners.

The worst day of my life

This is the aforementioned first encounter I ever had with writing for pleasure. I wrote this when I was sixteen or seventeen. I had to try about 50 different email and password combinations to get back onto my old myspace profile (ya know, from back in the day when that was the only social media site) to find it. But here it is. Enjoy!

The worst day of my life came crashing down upon me like an avalanche. Utter pain and devastation can't begin to describe the total torture and suffering I experienced. There were no escapes or options, just dead ends and traps. I searched and searched my whole world to pick up the scattered chips of my life, but they were simply out of reach. I entered a state of depression that seemed inescapable. Nowhere to turn for answers. I knew exactly the problem, but a solution was nonexistent.

Yes, yes... my hand no longer fit in a pringles can. How on earth was I supposed to deal with this catastrophic situation. Once you pop, You can't stop! Everyone knows that! But now I was forced to stop. That, my friend, is redefining the verge of breaking the laws of physics. Tipping the can is out of the picture, because anyone knows that once you tip that sucker past about 3 degress from vertical, those oh-so-tasty crisps of magnificence are everywhere. Asking for help is nowhere near being an option because someone that can successfully delve into the nether regions of a can of pringles is bound to try one, and as we know already (because it is the main source of this trifling predicament) once you pop... you can't stop. So BOOM! There goes the whole can if I solicit the help of a now uncontrollable glutton. As you see. I am trapped. Am I now destined to spend the rest of my munching life crunching down doritos, and cheetos, and chili-cheese fritos (Isn't is amazing how the entire chip world peacefully settled on a beautiful rhyming scheme?)?

Oh no, my fine, fortunate, feather-fingered friend. I will have no such doom. Give me death before a world without pringles and that whimsical bodiless man on the can. I cry my plea now for BIGGER CANS (hoorah)... and thus bigger chips???? Oh I must not let myself get so excited when the hope supporting my jubilation is so perilously unfounded. But just imagine the magical world that would ensue if we were to break those fiendish bonds of the three-inch demon and spawn a utopia of four-inch splendor!

Right now my behemoth bear-claw buddies... WE UNITE! Make a difference. Envision that dream I call tomorrow, and make a difference. Embrace the struggles you endure everyday of your life; snapping crayons every time you sit down for an enjoyable coloring session, bending spaghetti noodle forks every time you endeavor to cut a firm piece of over-cooked pork, losing indefinitely, coins between the seats in the car, crushing small creatures every time you try to so gently caress their beautiful furs. Remember all of the pain these experiences, and many others, have brought you, and MAKE A DIFFERENCE!

The Triumphal Return

Recently, I have discovered within myself a serious desire to write. Part of that is probably because I have been spending a lot of time going back and reading Michelle's blog over the last couple years. I've been jealous of how she gets to openly share her thoughts and feelings. I think that reading has caused me to realize that I have zero outlet for my creative juices.

Now, I haven't exactly done a lot of writing for recreational purposes. I wrote something once about the devastation of discovering my hand no longer fit in a pringles can, and I think that was pretty much a hit. It probably could've gotten published in the New Yorker. My only other experience, though, is something that I look back on and make fun of myself for. We were having a poetry session in my eighth grade language arts class (why do they call it that? It's English!), and I decided to take it (and myself) very seriously. I sat down one night and started to write a poem. It was about how much I miss the simple good things in life. I started to point out examples of some of the specific things that I feel are missing from the world. And I kept going. I think it ended being about two and a half pages of all the things that I think we need more of as opposed to the things of which I think we need less. Then I proudly read it before the class the next day... after about ten minutes of reading aloud followed by not nearly as many impressed and moved responses from girls as I was expecting, I realized I had kind of gone crazy. Other than those two things (one good and one bad... very very bad) I have never really let myself write for the sake of writing. But now I am going to try again.

There may be a problem with that. My track record. I've tried this before. This is the ninth post on this blog (I was shocked to find out it was even that many). As much as I wanted to write, I just never really got into it. But I think I've identified the problem. I was hung up on being overtly serious and philosophical. As much as I enjoy thinking about serious things and being a philosophizer, that is not what I am first and foremost. First and foremost, I'm a goof. I joke around, and I make nerdy, comedic observations about the world around me. So I am making my return to the blogosphere, and I am going to make it count by being me; by taking my silly, cynical, sarcastic, nerdy thoughts that flow through my mind on a daily basis and turning them into bloggertainment (hopefully).

Living Deliberately

we recently discussed the writings of Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson in my American Humanities class. I have always had a real love for the ideas that those men emphasized. Life truly should be simplified. It is meant to be enjoyed, not just gotten through. That is all incredibly cliche, and there are probably a million quotes inscribed on painted boards destined for living room walls that preach those notions. What stands out to me, though, is that despite so many of us being warmed by such ideas and loving the thought of meaningful living, so few of us actually do anything to apply those ideas into our lives. I am guilty. As we sat in class discussing this, I thought about how much I love Thoreau's views on life, but then realized that although I think that is exactly how life deserves to be lived, I was just going to go straight to work, work like mad, run home and stress over schoolwork. There is so much pressure. There is such a pattern of urgency and high demand in our society today that no matter how much a person believes that life is meant to be enjoyed at a peaceful pace, they will still find themselves striving for something; working and straining to achieve or to progress in some way. Sure anyone can manage to read more books or to go on more walks, but no one ever seems to attain to a life truly lived in a deliberate fashion. I have found, though, that love seems to be the greatest aid in moving towards that blissful state of existence. As I fall more and more in love, I find joy more easily. I seem to get more out of every day. And although the pressing matters in my life only seem to be piling higher, the pressure doesn't grow. Having someone to always walk at your side means that no matter how long the list of worries and concerns gets, there will always be at least one thing that is absolutely perfect and is just the way you want it to be. There is a lot of uncertainty in my very near future. But I don't ever feel intimidated by it because I know that everything is going to work out for my good. I've said it a million times, and I'll say it at least ten more; I can find immense peace in knowing that if I strive to take care of everything within my control and work hard, everything will end up where it needs to. It sounds foolishly optimistic, I'm sure, to many. But I believe it. I remain calm in knowing that I don't have to have every answer and I don't have to be able to do it all. I just need to do what I can, and know that everything will end up where it needs to be. Love keeps it all in perspective... Love is my leisurely walk in the woods without a care in the world.

Grampa

The following is my greatest attempt to recreate the words of my talk from my Grandpa's funeral.

I have to start by being perfectly honest. When I was asked to give this talk about what my relationship with my grandpa means to me and what he taught me, the first thing that came to mind was that the trash needs to be taken out when it's half full and to never put the lawn mower away until every blade of grass has been cleaned off of it. But, in all seriousness, it wasn't long after those thoughts went through my mind that my more serious answers came forth. More than anything else, what my Grandpa was to me was a disciple of Jesus Christ. He is one of the finest examples that I have ever known of a man who dedicated his life to following the example of Christ. That is what stands out in my mind when I reflect on the impact my relationship with Grandpa had on my life; his devotion to Christlike living.
There are three specific Christlike attributes which Grandpa exemplified in his own life which I want to focus on today. The first of which is his diligence and especially his desire to work hard and serve others. There was always work to be done. There was never a project too big and never a bit of help he wasn't willing to render. In fact, I think most of us can agree that he maybe didn't know how to not help anyone he could. Just the other day my dad was telling me about how a few weeks ago he was talking with my grandpa about the upcoming wood floor installation he was planning, Grandpa wanted so badly too help despite his condition at the time.
The next Christlike quality I want to discuss is his faith. From my perspective as a grandson, and I'm sure from any other, there is no doubt that he had a love for the Gospel of Jesus Christ. There are a couple memories that stand out in my mind that demonstrate his amazing faith. One of which comes from when I was serving as a missionary. Every letter I received from him left me more certain than ever before that he was certain that serving the Lord was the best thing I could be doing with my life at that time. He and his faith are always a source of strength, hope and joy in pushing me forward to be a better disciple of Christ. The other experience relative to my grandpa that taught me about faith came only a couple weeks ago. In fact, it came on the night of his fall. That night, my dad, Kory and I went to the hospital and laid our hands on his head to give him a Priesthood blessing. As we did the thought came to my mind that his faith was more than sufficient to be healed if it were the will of God. Then I thought about how my dad's faith is undoubtedly strong enough to heal my grandpa. I knew these things that night. There was no doubt. That experience speaks volumes about the faith of my grandfather. His faith is what allowed him to be the man he needed to be to raise my father to be the man that he is; the man that I can only hope to emulate. His faith allowed him to begin a legacy that I am now privileged enough to spend the rest of my life striving to fulfill and build upon.
The final attribute that Grandpa exemplified that I want to point out is his charity and love. There's not a lot to be said there because his love was just all-encompassing. It was unending. This was plainly visible at all times in his love for Grammy. There was never any doubt. It was always clear. But really, that was the way he was in all his relationships. His love was always to complete and so easily seen and felt. I think many of you here could echo my worlds when I say that when I spoke with him there was no way to doubt his love for me. My joys were his joys. My wants were his wants. His tenderness and compassion were so real.
If I were to sum up the effect he had on me, what comes to my mind when I think back on my relationship with him is his sterling example of being a disciple of Christ. That is what he taught me. That is the mark he left on this world. He has always, will always, and still does love, follow, and serve his beloved Savior Jesus Christ. I love him, and I can only hope to follow the beautiful path he laid in his life of service, faith, and love. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Love is. . .

Love is unending. Love is not saying anything even when your arm has fallen asleep and is killing you but she just looks too perfectly peaceful. Love is a piece of heaven. Love is wearing a stupid hair net at work so your hair will still look decent when you get to see her after you get off. Love is hating good night. Love is priceless. Love is being completely willing to do absolutely anything no matter how ridiculous or unnecessary it may be. Love is begging the clock the hurry up all day from eight til six then pleading with it to completely stop from six til midnight. Love is being unable to stop thinking about her. Love is a precious, tender, perfect kiss that you don't want to ever end. Love is magical. Love is the greatest of all. Love is true. Love is when a sad and unhappy night is swallowed up in the hope for a beautiful, perfect tomorrow. Love is getting up ten minutes earlier to get a seat in the back so you can hold her hand.

Love is everything I need. Love is my joy, my happiness. Love is my dearest Michelle.

grapes... saving the best for last

So I was eating some grapes tonight. When I eat from a bundle of grapes, I always look for the bad ones first. You know, the small ones, the not-so-optimally-firm/straightup squishy ones. I eat those to begin with so that I can get any and all undesirable experiences out of the way early so as to not avoid creating an unpleasant undercurrent of sub-par grapes. I do feel a need to eat all of them (with the exception of any truly gross looking ones), but I always try to eat them in absolute order of very worst to very best.
How is that a source of inspiration, you may ask. I will explain. Today sucked. It was absolutely horrible. I had to get up at 7:30 after being up til 2:30 the night before. I couldn't stay awake in biology. I failed my biology test. The Rockies got knocked out of the playoffs... after giving up a ninth inning lead. I had to go to weird and boring FHE. It was just not a great day. I was looking back on it all tonight as I was brushing my teeth, and I thought about my grapes, and I had a thought. We don't get to choose when we get the good and when we get the bad. It just comes. Life is like eating a bag of grapes wearing a blindfold and big, thick gloves so you can't feel what the grapes will be like with your fingers. Seriously, though, we've all heard this idea a million times in a million different packages, but it's true. I guess tonight I finally came to realize how true it is; there will always be good going on and good to come. There will also always be bad going on and more bad to come. It's not up to us to decide we want to get it all out of the way at once. We don't get to take the bad only when we're braced for it. It just comes. It is simply a matter of responding. That's the only thing we have control over. You can either be really grossed out and throw out the bag of mostly delicious grapes or you can immediately throw in another good one. As for me, I'm up for another. Today was horrible, but even before it ended it was made sweet again by getting to talk to someone I love and getting to feel her love. So although I may not get to choose when I have one experience or another, I still believe that if I keep looking forward to a better day, I will finish my bag of grapes more satisfied than I could have ever hoped.