Fall Break, Day One

Dear all,

Yesterday, M. and I decided to get out of the house. We work and work and work and work some more until we feel like the mining dwarves in that Disney movie and we work and work and work except we don't have any gemstones to show for all that work work work work, if you get what I'm saying. (Bear in mind that I'm not sure that I know what I'm saying.) So, yeah, we needed to get out, so we got. Out.

Well, not so fast. First, I went to an orthopedic (or orthopaedic, if you're British) doctor in the morning about my hips. He thinks that I have a tear in my acetabulum labrum and I might need surgery. Alas. Well, once we get decent insurance, that might be an option. I've always wanted to add to my cool scar collection.

I also had to interview a faculty member from an academic department that we tutors in the USM Writing Center weren't familiar with--I got the "Administration of Justice" Department. (Rather grand sounding, eh?) See, in the Writing Center, we get students from every department, every major, so we need to be jacks-of-all-trades, knowing what each and every department wants in the essays they assign. It's a large undertaking, but the faculty member I interviewed was really patient, so the process went pretty well. That, and, since it's Fall Break, I could actually find a parking spot on campus.

Melanie and I had been looking for something nifty to do. We thought about driving to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to visit Whole Foods and stock up on organic bananas (I'm allergic to regular bananas) and visit the temple, but the temple wasn't available (it's a small one), and I had a hard time justifying the need to drive 2 1/2 hours for bananas. (Fortunately, I found a place in town that has organic bananas--AT $1.26 A POUND.) (Yes, I bought them, slave to appetite that I am.) So we were looking for somewhere else to go when we stumbled across this working farm that lets visitors pick their own vegetables. "Wow," I said, "we could do our shopping and vacationing in one fell swoop!" Also, Melanie discovered that the farm had a "Peanut Pit," kinda like the ball-pits at McDonald's playgrounds--a large pit filled with peanuts that we could play around in. (NOTE: As further proof that I am an official Wild 'n' Crazy Type Guy, I didn't understand--I thought that the Peanut Pit--and I'm sure that's not the official name, but it's what I'm using--was a water tank filled with a mixture of water and peanuts, and I thought that it was some kind of alternative spa treatment or something, swimming around with all the peanuts. And I was STILL WILLING to do it.) (Or at least see it.) (Okay, I wasn't going to do it.)

Off we went to Mitchell Farms, located outside of Collins, MS. On their website, they had all these pictures of happy people in shorts posing on haybales, picking vegetables, etc. Once we got there, though--

*Cue creepy music*

--there wasn't anybody around. Sure, there were some surly-looking guys working on tractors and winnowing peanuts, but, aside from the funky wagon we'd seen driving in (more on that later), we didn't see much. There was a pumpkin patch, but it wasn't really a pumpkin patch--just a bare plot of earth that had pumpkins for sale scattered across it. There were some period-piece cabins, but nobody was in them. There were Native American tipis (!), but, nope, nobody there.

And then the wagon came pulling up.

A long wagon, nearly twenty feet long, decorated with enormous orange cut-outs of peanuts with smiling faces ("Howdy! I'm delicious!" I imagined them saying), pulled by a tractor with another surly-looking fellow at the helm. The wagon was full, we learned, of people from a retirement home nearby, and there was an elderly lady with a microphone giving them a tour of the farm. We heard some of her spiel; here are some highlights:

"My husband and I got married when I was fifteen and he was seventeen." (They said it wouldn't last, she said, but it did.) (Man, I wasn't even dating when I was fifteen.)

"Those are tipis over there. Nothing's in 'em, but we put some rocks in there, and the kids love playing with 'em." (Of course! Rocks! Just what I wanted when I was a kid!)

When the group disembarked (which was rough, because the surly guy parked the wagon on a hill, and one guy in a wheelchair started rolling out of control when he got off), we joined them in touring a farm museum that they had there; it was filled with all sorts of farming/Southern/domestic kitsch--one wall in the museum was covered with nothing but dozens and dozens of antique cheese graters. I stared at it with one of the ladies from the retirement home. "That's grate," I said. She didn't get it. (Across the room, M. just shook her head and laughed.)

Eventually, we tired of all the cheese graters and antique tin cans and odd posters. (One featured a quote from Lyndon Johnson: "Sometimes you just have to hunker down and take it like a [donkey] in a hailstorm.") So we went outside and found a small animal pen. Inside were two goats, one of which was reclining in the feed trough and defecating on his food; three rabbits; and two miniature donkeys--I believe it was a mother and her, uh, baby donkey. The donkeys were quite friendly, and we hung out with them for a while. The baby donkey liked to stomp his hooves, so M. named him Stomper. The mother donkey had a dark streak across her side, so we named her Streak. Yep, there we were, Stomper, Streak, M. and me, shooting the breeze and trying to get that obscene goat to stop pooping in its feed trough.

By now, if we squinted, we could see our sanity slowly dripping away from us, so we bid a hasty retreat. We did drive by a cotton field, though, and we stopped and took pictures, which we'll retrieve as soon as we can get the pictures off M.'s cellphone.

Then we went to the Farmer's Market and the New Yokel Market, which had organic bananas, and all was well. The end.

So what do you do all day when you don't have a job?

Good question. It's nice for about a week and then you get bored and antsy. Though I would never wish being unemployed on anyone, the experience has given me an empathy for those who are or have been in similar situations that I would have never been able to completely understand unless I'd been through it myself. First of all, I feel guilty for not having a job yet and for being at home all day not earning money, and worried at the bills etc. It's an interesting feeling, especially since just 2 1/2 months ago I was so busy that I never had a free moment for anything. It would be nice if I could relax, but that's not my style. I always have to be working on some useful project.

So in an effort to contribute, given the circumstances, each day when I pick up Jeff from school I give him the run-down of the tasks I have tackled that particular day. (I hear this is common of women who stay at home with the children). Poor guy. I talk his ear off, and he is so overwhelmed by having too much to do with work, school, church etc. that we're kind of on opposite ends of the spectrum. I jabber on and on because I have been alone all day and need to hear my own voice. For example, "Today I sent my resume to X and X, sent a followup email and called X and X, made a breakthrough with this family line, talked to the insurance company about the car wreck, updated the budget, put air in the tires, made dinner, wrote a letter to my friend X, cleaned out the microwave, vacuumed, folded the laundry etc. etc." It's truly ridiculous. I try very hard to stay positive. I think everyone feels a need to contribute and do something they enjoy--that's why being unemployed is such a hard thing for people. So I'm grateful for the perspective I've gained through this experience.

To further keep myself busy I've been volunteering transcribing old Baptist Missionary Society letters/journals from India for the Southern Baptist Historical Library & Archives in Tennessee. It's very interesting, but slow going. Here's an example of a page I transcribed this morning.



Also, something that's been kind of fun is that one of Jeff's distant relatives in Indiana has given all his family documents and photos to me because he has no one to leave them to when he dies. He sent me this cute little Bible from 1881 that belonged to his grandfather. It made me think of my friend, Danna Richards, who collects old Bibles as a hobby.

Some color and excitement for the blog

Though we still don't have a camera and cannot show you pictures of ourselves, I finally got the scanner set up the other day, so at least I'll be able to share something!

I was so excited on Tuesday when I received a little package from some of my favorite people: my sister-in-law Erika and my nieces Libby, Abby, and Kally. They colored me pictures during conference. Libby's picture of the "M" library and Abby's Halloween masterpiece are just the pick-me-up I needed. Thanks girls!

Rescue

Today we rescued a poor little sun-bathing turtle from imminent death. He was hanging out (or rather hiding inside his shell) in the middle of the road next to our apartment complex. Jeff, with his keen eye, spotted the little guy as we drove past. A car came careening down the road just as we were trying to get to the turtle, and the car didn't slow down despite our frantic waving and dancing; however, the turtle was miraculously spared. He was not too pleased to have Jeff pick him up, but we placed him on the lawn and hoped that we had saved his life--if only for a short time.

We thought we'd write about this since we never found a turtle on the road in Utah. Oh, and for Jeff's cousin, Madison, in Arizona, we see frogs and lizards all the time here.

Shingles

No--not the kind on the roof. Poor Jeff has shingles which is sort of the adult version of chicken pox--except for the pox hurt more than they itch. The doctor describes it as a stabbing-like pain. Suffice it to say that it has not been a pleasant last few days. Mostly older people get shingles, but I guess younger people can get them if they're under a lot of stress. Luckily, he didn't get it on his face, just on his stomach and back. Jeff likes to refer to his disease as my herpes (technically herpes zoster), but I prefer shingles.

Catching up...

It's easy to get out of the habit of posting to the blog. I guess it would be easier if something really interesting was happening or if we had a camera that worked.

Jeff continues to be super busy with school. Reading, writing, teaching...plus he just got called to be the Elder's Quorum President in our ward here. A lady in our ward who's also going to graduate school summed up the life of a PhD student best, "If I were to read all day, only taking a break to shower and eat, I would still never finish all the reading they assign."

I continue to look for a job. The pickins are pretty slim around here. For the time being I'll have to get something outside my field with minimum pay, but even that has proved difficult. Several people have told me that in Hattiesburg you should just be grateful to get a job--no matter what it is. The trouble I'm facing now for the few jobs that are available is that I'm overqualified. I've had to tweak my resume and cover letters considerably. I guess the key will be convincing people that they should hire me though I'm sure they'll suspect I'll leave when something better comes along.

The good news is that I've had some extra time and have made some huge break throughs in genealogy. However, I realized I was getting the job search and the search for Baptist missionary ancestors in India mixed up when Jeff found the following error on a cover letter:

Ms. X X
University of Southern Missionary

It's a good thing he caught that one!

A few highlights from the past few weeks:

Having my mom and dad visit us. Jeff had so much homework that I took them down to the Gulfport/Biloxi area (to the Gulf Coast) for a little sightseeing. Truthfully, there was not much to see but a whole lot of hurricane damage. They are still trying to rebuild from Katrina. It's amazing--entire hotels reduced to nothing. Then it happened to be stake conference weekend, but they were good sports to come to all our meetings with us. I loved having them here! Thanks Mom and Dad for going to a conference in Memphis and for driving five hours+++ to come see us!

Going to a wild animal orphanage in Collins where they adopt animals that people have taken on as pets and then realize after the fact that it wasn't such a good idea. They also take animals that state-funded zoos can no longer care for. This place was surreal. I was scared for my life. You could get within about three feet of the animal cages--lions, cougars, leopards, tigers etc. There were other animals as well, but the cats were the most unsettling. Again, we were the only ones there, and I jumped about three feet into the air when from behind us there was a raucous "HELLO!" It turned out to just be the parrots behind us, but I was sure that one of the big cats had started talking and was coming to get us. There's something unsettling about being that close to wild beasts in homemade cages. You can see every detail of their faces, know that they are looking right at you. Their menacing expressions seemed to be directed to us personally. Jeff convinced the owner to let him pet the burmese python. I opted out when she asked, "Do you have the scent of food on your hands?" and "He can sense your fear!" when the snake recoiled at Jeff's touch.

Jeff went to Houma (Home-uh), Louisiana, this weekend to help with hurricane cleanup efforts as part of a service project between Martin Luther King III and the LDS church. It didn't make the news that much, but Houma was the place when Gustav made landfall. He spent the day clearing out trees and nailing tarps to roofs.

Guess that's all for now!

A word about photos...

I apologize to all that we have not included any photos in our posts as of late. Sadly, our digital camera has been taken over by demons. Also, Verizon does not have digital services here in Hattiesburg, so we apparently cannot access our camera pics either. It may be awhile before we get a new camera because a couch for the living room has first priority (well, after paying the rent and other bills of course) once I get a job.

All is safe and well in Hattiesburg

Just wanted to let everyone know that we're doing fine. We, along with most everyone in town, stayed inside almost all day yesterday, and the roads were near empty. We had some heavy rain and bouts of whistling wind pretty much all day/all evening (and it still continues) and the sky looks pretty ominous, but not even close to what they were showing on TV. They say we only got 3-5 inches in our area. We had tornado warnings throughout a good part of the day, and that was kind of unsettling to hear the sirens going off in the distance and coming from the TV periodically. There were some power outages, but our lights never went out.

Everyone in town pretty much breathed a collective sigh of relief. Gustav, at least for our area, was NOT a repeat of Katrina. I guess the worst that happened to us is that we were bored being cooped up all day long. The scene was reminiscent of the children's book, "The Cat in the Hat" --a boy and a girl staring gloomily out the window with the narrator reading in the background--“The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day.”

As I mentioned before, there are lots of refugees from down south staying in town, and the governor has told everyone to stay put until Wednesday. I'm sure there will be some damage and flooding for some when they return home. School remains closed today, which is probably a good thing, since a lot of local students with family near the coast traveled with their families to evacuate to other states etc.

The general feeling down here is that the media only thinks that Katrina affected New Orleans, when in fact many other places took a direct hit. I noticed yesterday as we watched the news that that was still the case (though understandable). It's been a bit difficult to sort out what's actually true coming from the media or if things are being exaggerated in order to get a news story. This morning I read on the local newspaper's website that there were "gaping holes where fists of air punched through" many billboards in town, when in fact, that was done beforehand as a preventative measure to keep the signs from catching the wind and toppling over.

Well, there go the tornado warning bells again...

Thanks for all your prayers and thoughts.

Another Saturday in Laurel

Yesterday we decided to go to a gator farm south of Laurel for our Saturday entertainment. However, after driving around in the deep woods (it was a little eerie, and we both agreed we were a little scared), the neighbor lady said it had closed down. So we decided to go to nearby Landrums which is kind of similar to Wheeler Farm in Murray or the Old West town at Lagoon except for it was the Old South. It's a little replica city from olden times--a blacksmith shop, a pig pen, a log cabin etc. Though that was a bit eerie too since we were the only ones there and there was cheery music playing in the background (it conjured up images of Ray Bradbury's "Something Wicked This Way Comes").

The highlight was playing in the "mystery house" where the floors are built on a angle. The house basically plays tricks with your mind. I got so dizzy I had to sit down and both of us were staggering all over the place.

On the way up to Laurel (heading north) we had passed several convoys of National Guardsmen going south to the coast as well as lots of motor coaches. We mentioned the convoy to a lady at Landrums, and I guess she figured that since we had recently moved there we had no idea what was going on and she proceded to tell us that a hurricane was coming and we better get ready!!

As Gustav approaches...

We thought some might be interested in what's happening in our part of the world. Everything and everyone is completely focused on Gustav right now. We've never watched a hurricane's movements so completely before. We have our home pages set to the National Hurricane Center and the MEMA (Mississippi Emergency Management Agency) website, and there's a new advisory out every few hours.

For those of you who don't know where we're living now---time to get out the map--we're in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

So far it looks like Hattiesburg won't be as badly affected as it was with Katrina three years ago, but they're expecting high winds, rain, and possible tornadoes. A big fear is damage from falling trees (the city lost 1/3 of all its trees last time, which is a lot since Hattiesburg was cut out of a forest). Apparently damage is always worse to the east of a hurricane (and we are east) because of the counter-clockwise movement of the storm.

The third hour of church was a combined meeting where they made sure everyone was prepared and answered questions, last minute instructions were given etc. We had to fill out a sheet with all our contact info saying how much water we had etc. A member of our ward works for the fire department and so came to church in jeans to give us some info and then left. We have members of the church from the near coastal town of Slidell living in our ward building.

For about twelve hours today they turned both sides of the major freeway, the I-59, into north-flowing traffic to facilitate evacuees from the coast. The roads have been jam-packed but traffic seems to be lessening a bit now. We're hoping that means most people got out early. To further facilite evacuation, they've turned all lights green on the north/south flowing highway 49 which runs through the center of town and are blocking east/west access to the road except for four e/w roads in town that are overpasses.

I think Jeff and I are personally in a very good spot in town. We're in a second floor apartment, and we don't have many trees close by that could fall on us etc. Clouds are already quickly rolling in from the south, and they expect the rain to begin around midnight (I take that back--it just started raining and blowing hard right now).

Oh, for those of you who are wondering about my job prospects, I was supposed to find out Friday if I got the job I've been interviewing for, but they had to cancel the last interview so that they could coordinate evacuation efforts for their campus in Gulfport. So it'll be at least another week before I know.

Also just found out that all schools are closed Tuesday.

Waiting for Gustav

Dear all,

Ah, it's lovely here in Hattiesburg. The weather is warm, the people are polite, and the English Department is a never-ending source of entertainment--that is, listening to stories about the professors getting hammered with the students at academic conferences. I guess there was some dancing going on in New Orleans, and then eight people crammed into a car in the French Quarter, and...never mind.

M. and I went down to the little town of Picayune, Mississippi last weekend. We were looking for "India 4 U," touted as the best Indian restaurant in Mississippi by someone in the program with me. Sadly, the restaurant was out of business. Looking in the guide book, M. noticed that there was a famous arboretum nearby--which, upon our arrival, we also found to be closed. The only thing left to do in town was visit "Paul's Pastry Shop," the world's largest maker of "King Cakes," cakes eaten at Mardi Gras. Inside each cake is a small, plastic baby figurine, and whoever gets the baby (hopefully not choking to death on it) has to host a Mardi Gras party the next year.

So, at the least, it was a nice drive, and, at the most, it was a lesson in Southern culture. We had some people from the ward over on Sunday to eat the cake (which gave me a royally upset stomach), and nobody got the baby; perhaps that's for the best.

The big news now is that, having had Hurricane Fay pass by us, we're preparing for the possible visit of Hurricane Gustav, which is currently glowering somewhere south of Cuba. We still don't know exactly where it will go; a lot depends on whether it hits Cuba or not. If it touches land, it loses energy; if it stays over water, it grows. Thus, we would love nothing more than for it to make landfall in some desolate, uninhabited part of Cuba--where it won't hurt anybody--and dump all its energy.

However, like I said, we're preparing. The calls went out from the ward last night to get our 72-hour survival kits ready. Bottled water is flying off the shelves at the grocery stores, and we need to keep the car gassed up. Right now, the weather forecasters are thinking that the storm--if it comes this way--would probably hit on Monday or Tuesday; we'll see.

Please pray for us and the greater Gulf Coast area; goodness knows that New Orleans doesn't need another hit from a hurricane.

Trouble at the DMV

We went to get our driver's licenses today at the DMV. The building was actually a trailer in the middle of nowhere in a forest (Mississippi style?). I brought all my proper documentation as listed on the website, but the not-so-nice government worker and then her supervisor put me through the ringer, saying that, "Yes, you can use the gas bill with your husband's name on it to prove domicile, but did you bring your marriage certificate to prove he is your husband? For all we know, you could be siblings, ma'am." I showed them my social security card with my maiden name. Apparently not acceptable. I had brought the printout of the requirements from the website, and I very politely pointed out that it said nothing about bringing a marriage certificate, but they just brushed me off and treated me like I was being unreasonable. As you can imagine, I was not pleased. So I sulked in a chair and looked at the dirty floor while Jeff got his license. Then I pointed and said, "Ha!" when I noticed the phrase, "The Hospitality State" emblazoned across Jeff's new license. I may look nice, but as you can see I get ticked off every now and again.

Longleaf Trace

Tonight we decided to explore the Longleaf Trace which is a biking/walking etc. trail that runs just to the north of our apartment complex. It starts in Hattiesburg and follows a northeastly direction for 41 miles until it ends in Prentiss. It's nice and flat, and I told Jeff I wanted to try to walk the 41 miles one day sometime during the three years we're here (though I'd prefer to make friends with someone that would be willing to be waiting in Prentiss with the car so that we didn't have to make the return trip). Apparently Hattiesburg does not have any sidewalks, so it's a good thing there's a nice walking trail close by (the only problem is getting to the trail without being hit by a car!)

I love the evenings here. It's still comfortably warmish, but there's usually a nice little breeze. Though tonight I realized how heavy the air really is and actually noticed it was a little harder to breathe here. And the air always looks misty and akin to a mirage. Hattiesburg has an elevation of 220 ft. and Salt Lake City is at about 4,300 ft., so that's a big difference for us.

We were scared to death that some tick would latch onto some part of our bodies while we walked the trail, but thankfully, I think we're okay (at least for tonight!)

There's always a deafening "bug symphony" coming from any tree or wooded area here. Jeff tells me this is because of the cries of the cicadas.

We live right on the boundary of two counties (Forrest and Lamar) but thanks to the signs along the trail learned that we actually live in Forrest County (darn! we were hoping to break away from the KKK connection).

The Lauren Rogers Museum

When we moved to Mississississississippi, we swore that we would do something every weekend, even if we were dead tired. It was just one of those things that needed to be done--I mean, neither Mel nor I were particularly familiar with the South, and how could we have been? We can't let this opportunity go to waste.

So, today, we went to 1) the Petal Farmer's Market (Petal is the city adjacent to Hattiesburg on the northeast), and 2) the Lauren Rogers Museum in Laurel, which is about twenty-five miles northeast. (See? We live in the South. Everything, almost, is north.)

The Petal Farmer's Market was pretty pathetic. There were three tents, and we didn't even get out of the car. (As a side note, we went to the Hattiesburg Farmer's Market on Thursday, and it was much, much better. The tamale lady made some fine cuisine, indeed.)

The museum, though, was very good. We drove for a little bit--the speed limits are higher here in Mississippi, and you can cover some serious territory very quickly--and arrived in Laurel. It looked pretty descrepit at first, but we soon found the older, more historic part of town, which had some nice Southern-style mansions and such, one of which had been converted into the museum. Apparently, Lauren Rogers was a young man--yes, a man--who died soon after marrying. Anyway, the family estate got turned into a museum, which is proportionately very prestigious, especially considering how it's in a tiny town in the Gulf Coast. Heck, they even hosted Chihuly a while back (!). So, yep, it was nifty.

Driving home, though, was another matter. We were both starving, and we saw a billboard for a place called "The Flaming Pineapple," so, with a name like that, we had to visit. We took a wrong turn, though, and ended up back in Hattiesburg about thirty minutes later. Eh, oops.

So, so far, we've kept our promise.

Pictures from Family Goodbye Party

Finally, here are the pictures from our goodbye party with my family. First, a few of us did a session at the Bountiful Temple, and then we met for a late night "let's eat cause we're really hungry" party at a park by our house in Murray. As you can tell, we all had a wonderful time. Most of the photos are courtesy of my niece, Libby, who had the best time of all. We were glad Jeff's Aunt Gayleen was able to go to the temple with us too since we don't get to see her very often.

My ordeal this morning

Now that Jeff and I are sharing a car, I decided I wanted to clean it out. After dropping J. off to school at about 10 a.m., I stopped at a gas station, parked the car, opened all the doors, and deposited my four quarters in the vacuum machine. Nothing. I went inside the gas station to ask if the machines were working. "I'm sorry, but those don't even belong to us, so I don't know." So I tried the vacuum on the other side. This time putting one quarter in seemed to do the trick. When the power shut off after a few minutes, I added four more quarters thinking that the one quarter thing was just a fluke. Nothing. It was so hot and humid that by the time I'd gone through this whole process I was beyond "glowing" (i.e. sweating with style). A man was sitting on the curb in front of the convenience store at the gas station and seemed to be watching every phase of my ordeal very intently. He kept saying things to me which I imagine were about the vacuums, but I couldn't understand a word he said with his accent. So I just continued nodding my head like I undersood, and called out things like, "Yes, that's right." So then I went home and proceeded to freeze all day in the house because of the dried perspiration on my body, but I didn't really want to take another shower since I had just taken one....Oh boy....I thought I had gotten used to this in Costa Rica, but I must be out of practice after seven years!

Hattiesburg, Mississippi

Dear all,

As I wrote several weeks back, we have arrived.

However, this time, it's permanent. Well, permanent until I graduate with my Ph.D. and get a job somewhere.

Here are the answers to many of the questions we've received:

Q: Are you coming back to Utah?
A: Maybe, maybe not. It all depends on where I get offered a job in three years.

Q: Do you want to go to California?
A: Yes, but it all depends on where I get offered a job in three years.

Q: Is there ______________ (fill in the blank: electricity, literacy, modern medicine, etc.) in Mississippi?
A: Yes. Mississippi is a modern state. Rural, but modern.

Q: How long will it take you to get your Ph.D.?
A: Three years, which is really fast, as far as Ph.D.s go. Most Ph.D. programs take around five years--and sometimes more, especially for the hard sciences. Plus, in the hard sciences, you're usually expected to do postdoctoral work, which takes even more time.

Q: What happened to the Explorer?
A: We gave it to the Kidney Foundation of Utah and Idaho; you know, it's that charity with the slightly amusing jingle on the radio about "mak[ing] your car a kidney car." It actually went really smoothly.

Q: Does it rain a lot in Mississippi?
A: It certainly does where we live. Today, Melanie wondered out loud, as we drove through a typhoon, "Did we move to freaking India?"

We're still getting settled, but things are going well. I've had Writing Center orientation for the past two days, since I'll be a tutor in the Writing Center here, and tomorrow I begin my teacher training.

We appreciate your prayers--we feel them. Please continue. We love you all.

J.

Lincoln, Nebraska

Well, ten hours later, here we are at the Holiday Inn Express in lovely Lincoln, NE. We've learned that the estimated travel times on Mapquest are not necessarily true in our case. We have to multiply the estimated time by 1.25--so instead of an eight hour drive, it takes us ten hours. The Penske truck only goes so fast, and I-80 has lots of construction (about half the time we're down to one lane).

We got a late start this morning because of an adjustment we had to make with the tow dolly that's hauling Jeff's car (now my car too--we got rid of the red cherry bomb Ford Explorer).

We've noticed lots of Penske moving trucks hauling cars along I-80, and each time we see the yellow Penske trucks, we both raise our right arm in a gesture of greeting and simultaneously utter the word "Brother!"

Then of course the highlight of the day was stopping at the world headquarters of Cabellas. We asked one of the employees what was different about the headquarters when compared to other stores, and she said that some of the "stuffed animals" (ie taxidermied animals on display) had been "taken" by the founders of the company. Jeff said about Cabellas, "Whoa!" and I for one did not appreciate the juxtaposition of the words "gun" and "library" in the same phrase (that's what they call their expensive gun vault). I had also hoped to buy a pack of gum, but alas, the store did not carry any. I was very disappointed and muttered bitterly, "Maybe we should have asked for gum jerky."

So, as you can see, all is going splendidly well on our trek to our new homeland, and we have luckily not lost our sense of humor. This is probably due to the fact that we listen to NPR and eat smarties, red vines, and cheese puffs all day long (thanks, Mom!)

See y'all soon!

Rawlins, Wyoming

Right now, it's 9:58pm on Wednesday, and I'm sitting in Meeting Room #2 in a hotel in Rawlins, Wyoming. That's right--the meeting room. And I'm grateful for it, because it seems that this whole town is full of travelers like myself. (Supposedly, there was vacancy in a motel down the freeway, but a meeting room in the hand is worth a honeymoon suite down the freeway.)

Yes, there is a bed and a bathroom. One wall is a folding partition, like the kind that separates the chapel from the cultural hall in church meetinghouses. But, hey, it's OURS, and I really am quite grateful.

I hope our pizza arrives soon...

Gratitude

Dear all,

Pictures will certainly follow, but I wanted to extend my heartfelt thanks to everyone who participated in the going-away party that the Petersens threw for us this evening. I haven't had people do something like that for me in a very, very long time. It was almost overwhelming. You are all amazing.

And--one last time, to assuage my guilty conscience, so please bear with me--I apologize for any derogatory remarks about Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Thanks especially to those responsible for bringing Farr's ice cream. You rock, royally.

And, yes, pictures will be up soon.

A redaction, of sorts

Dear all,

Earlier today, I posted a...post...about a satirical blog that had received press coverage in the Deseret Morning News; I was wondering what people thought about it. However, throughout the day, I realized that I probably ought to take the link down. See, I started reading the fake blog and, while I can see from where the humor derives, it also has certain elements with which I don't want *my* blog to be associated. (It's treatment of spousal intimacy, for example, was a bit, uh, coy and perverse at the same time. It's hard to describe.)

My cousin-in-law, Kirsten, commented on the matter, saying:

"Um, I'm not sure what to think, I found it somewhat amusing, and I kinda really want one of the t-shirts, but it started to really get on my nerves. It reminded me of these books that I had just finished reading that are set in the future, and the powers-that-be mandate a special surgery where everyone comes out braindamaged but happy and superficial all the time and life's perfect, and life's one big party, etc. etc. I know it's a big joke, and we've all seen (or written) blog posts with certain elements that she's making fun of, but it got old pretty fast."

Interesting comment, Kirsten--hence, I'm reprinting it here. What books were those, by the way? It sounds a lot like Kurt Vonegut's "Harrison Bergeron," but that's a short story.

Thus, I have deleted the post. Anyone who's sufficiently motivated can, I'm sure, find it, if they so desire.

Memory Game

Our impending move to Missisippi has made me a bit nostalgic. My aunt Carrie's blog gave me the idea to have friends/family share some memories.
Here are the rules.
1. As a comment on my blog, leave a memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you know me a little or a lot, anything you remember!
2. Next, re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty funny to see the responses. If you leave a memory about me, I'll be sure to write one about you... either on your blog, in my comment box, or I will email you back!
3. If the memory happens to involve my husband, please include him!
4. If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all ☺Okay, let's see what you've got!

Melanie

One more problem with the accent

I had another incident which shows my lack of understanding of the Southern accent. I went to the local public library to ask about possible jobs. Since no one was in the administration office, I started talking to one of the staff members working at the children's reference desk and pumping her for information. After a few minutes of chatting she suggested I go to the circ desk and ask to see Miss Donna Davis. I couldn't quite make out the name because of her accent, and so clarified with, "I'm sorry. What was the first name? Mizahna?" "No, ma'am," she replied, trying not to smile at my mistake. "Here we refer to everyone as Miss or Mrs. followed by their name. I said Miss Donna Davis." "Oh, I see," I replied. "Thank you." I guess it all turned out okay except that I probably should have ended with, "Thank you, Miss." Or would it be ma'am? How am I supposed to know if she's married or not!! I thought I had passed that stage in my life where I have to check for wedding rings. Or is the Miss and Ma'am really based on age? And why are there two choices for woman when there's just one choice for men (mister)?

Back from Dixie...for now

Dear all,

Well, after numerous (!) hours in airports and planes, we have returned to our Wasatch perch. The trip, really, can only be called a roaring success, and we are incredibly thankful for the blessings we've seen.

For example, we now have a great apartment to live in. It took a little negotiation, but we prevailed. The good thing is that the apartment building was constructed AFTER Hurricane Katrina--thus, we don't have to worry about any of the lingering after-effects of the storm, like mold. (I was especially concerned about that when, talking to a member of the Hattiesburg Ward, which we will be attending, the member mentioned that all the roofs in the city had been ripped off. An exaggeration, perhaps, but perhaps not.)

Also--and I realize that this may seem relatively insignificant, but it isn't--we have gotten acquianted with the lay of the land. First off (and I know I've mentioned this before), Hattiesburg is carved out of the biggest forest I've ever seen--I think that the bottom half of Mississippi is nothing but one large pine forest, dotted with ponds and lakes and streams. Pretty, yes, but it can also be foreboding in a way. Having driven all over creation down there, we're a bit more comfortable with the environment.

We also went to church and met all the members, so we have acquaintances down there now. One young couple actually invited us over for dinner on Monday night, which was entirely too nice of them. Their two young sons, Evan and Caleb, were a royal hoot, showing off for M. like there was no tomorrow.

M.'s meeting with the director of the university library also went well. Interesting story: When cleaning out the library, the director found an original, first-edition copy of the Book of Mormon (!). Not having much need for it, the school auctioned it off and got $60,000.00. They bought an organ.

I will say that I'm impressed with how polite people in the South are. Children are better behaved in public settings, and, if you're a customer in a shop or older than someone, they usually will address you as "sir" or "ma'am." (That's depending on gender, of course. They don't address you as both, unless you give them reason to be confused.)

The Southern accent is both charming and challenging. For example, both M. and I felt that our accents were amazingly flat and tuneless when speaking to native Mississippians. "How're y'all dough-in?" they drawl, the soft words dripping languidly off their collective tongue like a deep-brown cognac. "Fine," we'd say, our clipped accents starting and stopping as quick as a drill sergeant's bark. Or so it would seem--eventually, we both started picking up the accent, which I don't know if we're supposed to, because some Southerners take offense at that, I've read.

Anyway, we could *usually* understand what people were saying, with few exceptions. One night, we decided to have typical Southern food, so we went to a nice restaurant that specializes in that sort of thing. The waitress, a happy, young blonde, cheerfully announced her name to us: "Hello, y'all. Welcome to The Crescent Cafe. My name is Sheh-a-are-ah!" I smiled, nodded, thinking that her name was "Sherry," and that she'd simply done the Southern drawl thing. Later, though, M. and I overheard her conversing with another table, which made their confusion known: "Say, what's yo' name, sugar?" "Sheh-a-are-ah!" she replied, "Y'all know, like Sonny and Sheh-a-are-ah!" Ah. Cher.

Once again, though, we have been so blessed, incredibly, totally blessed for everything to happen the way it has, and we are thankful. Very.

A variation on "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

The top ten things we've observed that tell us we're in a very different place...

1. The "Elvis is Alive" Museum

2. The yellow bucking bronco sculpture with "Jesus Saves" painted on it

3. A restaurant advertising a dish called the "Spicy Tongue-Smack Basket"

4. A BBQ joint called the Divine Swine

5. Baptist churches that are bigger than the state capitol building

6. An honest-to-goodness swamp and a crafty looking fox on the side of the road beckoning us into a briar patch

7. A farmer in overalls slumbering in a chair next to his truck full of fruit ("Jeff, is that a manequin?" "No, Mel, it's a real person.")

8. The lady asking Jeff in the elevator if he was going to church this mornin'. "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "Well good for you!"

9. Higher speedlimits (this is J.'s favorite)

10. Lower gas prices (by about 10 cents--every little bit helps)

The South will rise again!

We have arrived.

Well, not permanently, of course, but, as I write this, M. and I are in our hotel room in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. We've spent the day so far looking for a place to live; it's going fairly well, aside from the fact that not many apartment offices are open. The nerve!

Anyway, it was quite the trek getting here. Our plane was late leaving Salt Lake, but we arrived in Dallas with enough time to make our connection--however, the flight got canceled due to maintenance issues. American Airlines (Motto: "Buy your own ticket! Buy your own food! Buy your own freaking air to breathe!") trotted out another plane, but it wasn't big enough, so we had to jettison fifteen passengers. Somehow, Melanie and I were chosen and given the option of waiting for a later flight, in exchange for some vouchers. With some hesitation, we said yes, and it was a good thing we did--we actually arrived in Jackson, Mississippi earlier than the original flight did.

It took us about two hours to drive down to Hattiesburg from Jackson. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW RURAL IT IS. I haven't seen this many trees since my time in Costa Rica. Everything down here is carved out of the forest. Here are some pictures of us driving around:

I'm not complaining, of course--I'm simply amazed. It's like in the movie "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves," where Robin and Azeem and the blind dude escape into Sherwood Forest, and Azeem exclaims, "Only in my dreams have I imagined such a place." Yeah. Places like this still exist, I guess.

We've found one apartment complex that looks promising, and a nice member of the local ward here let us take a look around her apartment there, since the office was closed. Here's the complex:




Just kidding--sorry, I couldn't resist. No, the apartment looked nice, and it's big, and it seems to have weathered Hurricane Katrina well. (Interestingly enough, the lady said that Hurricane Katrina didn't seem all that big--that is, until she went outside and all the roofs in the city were missing and trees were on top of everything.)

Well, I'm sure more posts will follow. Everyone say it with me, now: EM-EYE-ESS-ESS-EYE-ESS-ESS-EYE-PEE-PEE-EYE!!!

An update

No, this isn't M. posting, but I'm tired of switching Google accounts every time that I want to post something--it messes up M.'s email 'n' such, and, besides, my hair no longer looks like that.

My cousin-in-law, the ex-spy who's cooler than all of us put together, mentioned that I haven't been updating the ol' blog as I should, and I concur. Thus, as my sister slumbers downstairs, I decided to post, because things have been happening. Things!

First off, M. and I are flying to Mississippi on Friday to check out our new Southern home (and, yes, Southern is capitalized in this instance). We have to find a mold-free place to live, so please pray for us. There's an apartment complex that was built back in 2000--not too old, although it did live though Hurricane Katrina--which looks promising. It's got big apartments, too.

M. is meeting with a potential employer, which is cool, and we've got to set up bank accounts, meet the bishop (seems like a nice guy, judging from the phone conversation we had), etc. I'm meeting with the creative writing folks at USM.

And, speaking of USM, I found out yesterday that I'd been awarded a teaching assistantship! This was splendid news, especially since I'd previously been told that it was pretty impossible, since I'd sent my application in late. However, we have been very blessed, and, now, I don't have to pay tuition. Boo-yah! Praise be!

More news will come, along with, I hope, pictures. Long live kudzu!

Catching up, I suppose

Dear all,

I apologize for the long absence in posting, but, alas, life continues to plod along like the proverbial sands through the ever-so-proverbial hourglass, and there isn't terribly much to report.

Don't get me wrong--things are going quite well. Our new (for three months, at least) condo is helping my health, and I'm feeling much better. (Actually, as a corollary to that idea, a new couple just moved into the ward, and, when I asked where they were living--and the husband of the family said that they were living in Clover Creek Apartments--I just cringed; sure enough, they're in our old place. I debated whether I should tell them or not--I mean, maybe they're like M., and they won't be bothered by the mold--but, in the end, I did. It was the right choice, since, when we got into Elder's Quorum, one of the brethren shouted out, "Isn't that the apartment with the BLACK MOLD?!?" when the new brother introduced himself and his address. I'm glad that it didn't look like I was withholding information or something.) Also, I'm running quite a bit now, since it's finally warm in Salt Lake City, and that makes me feel good, if sore. My tibias are screaming at me this morning, but, hey, let them scream. It's worth it.

M. and I (I'm still using the ultra-secret name protection method invented by some relative--I forget who, exactly...probably because the ultra-secret name protection method works so well...) went hiking up in Big Cottonwood Canyon last Saturday with M.'s cousin, J., and her husband, D., and their baby (wait for this one) M.J., who I will refer to as "The World's Most Well-Behaved Baby," because she is, and because M. and J. are already taken. So, yeah, we tried hiking to Donut Falls, this nifty waterfall that falls through a little ring/tunnel thing (hence the name) of its own creation. Problem was, there was still tons of snow up there, so we couldn't go all the way to the actual waterfall. It was still really pretty, though, and the air was pristine. I've become a connoisseur of good air, ever since the mold thing happened.

We're still working on getting the move to Mississippi squared away, and the first item on our agenda is learning how to speak with a Mississippi dialect. I've been told that locals pronounce Mississippi like, "Mizz-zippy," so I'm working on it, but it still feels foreign.

Anyway, there you go.

Oh, take me down South...

Dear all,

Hallelujah--our prayers have been answered.

And, judging by the response, we'll be saying, "Hallelujah!" a lot more, because M. and I are moving to MISSISSIPPI.

That's right--sing it with me, now--"Oh, take me down South [and you've got to capitalize "The South"] to the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten!"

I will be earning my PhD at The University of Southern Mississippi. Woot. Woot.

I'm rewarding myself

Dear all,

Well, I just got grades in for my BYU classes, which is a wondrous feeling. I've still got to do the Westminster grades, but that won't take long, and that's only one class, as opposed to the three I had to grade at BYU.

Also, the weather's been nicer, so that helps immensely with my health, my mood, et al. We're planning on moving into the condo soon (as I mentioned before, the landlord is sprucing things up), and that's a good thing. In other words, life is splendid.

So splendid, in fact, that I've decided to take a small liberty with the bank account. See, back when I was getting sick every week, M. and I put away some money to cover medical expenses. It was actually quite a bit of money, since, at the rate I was going, we half expected to be paying for a surgery or something. Now, however, I'm feeling much, much better, and the money's just sitting there, collecting whatever interest a checking account gets. "Hey," I told myself, "there's got to be a better use for that cash." And, as it turns out, there is.

I don't know why I never thought of this before--I'm going to get my horns removed.

For those who are scratching their heads right now, you must understand: Members of my church are accused--with alarming frequency--of having horns. Please note that I've never seen any horns on my own head, but I keep hearing this from numerous sources. It's one of the reasons that losing my hair has me so worried: What if, a few years from now, my horns start coming in? What if they're like wisdom teeth or something--you know, one day, everything's fine, and then, suddenly, there's this shooting pain in my forehead and POP! and out come the horns? With my hair loss accelerating, I wouldn't have anything to cover the horns with! I mean, my wife (who doesn't have horns, either, as far as I can tell) has long, thick, shimmering brown hair, the perfect for concealing horns, be they large, small, straight, curly, or even forked like antlers.

Antlers! What if I grew ANTLERS?!? Would I have to RUT?

Such are all the questions buzzing through my head right now, and I'm sick of the stress. I mean, come on, man, I've been sick. I don't need one more thing to deal with. An anecdote I found on the internet says that J. Golden Kimball, the famous obscenity-spouting church leader, was once performing a baptism in a river. When a mob gathered nearby, he supposedly shouted to them, "Watch yourselves[!] [...] We've got horns, and we'll gore the [fetch] out of you if you come across!" Humor, it seems, was his way of dealing with this problem, back in the days before cosmetic surgery. Thanks to the advances of modern medicine, though, no longer do we have to suffer, trying to assuage our embarrassment through jokes.

See, the problem, as I mentioned before, is that my horns haven't erupted--YET. It would be one thing if the horns were already there, sticking up through my sunroof as I drove, picking up radio stations, scaring small children, etc. If that were the case, I'd just borrow my uncle's power grinder and have at--no fuss, no muss. But, no, my horns still lie dormant inside my cranium, waiting for the moment--when I'm giving an important speech, perhaps, or when I'm kissing my wife--to launch out and ruin my day.

Now I just need to find a plastic surgeon...

A couple thingies

Dear all,

After reading the comment (from my dear cousin-in-law, the ex-spy) about the last post, I felt the urge/need to clarify: I would love to move to sunny Southern California--my health does better; the weather makes me very, very happy; and I enjoy living in a cardboard box, since that's all we'd be able to afford.

No, seriously, Southern California is a lovely place, and a place where my dear wife, M. (thanks to J.'s blog, I've decided to start using code to disguise the identities of my loved ones), is okay with (thanks, love!!!). Nevertheless, I confess that, at times, I feel like Moses, able to see the promised land but never enter into it. However, I have faith that M. and I, as long as we live right, will end up where we're supposed to be. I just hope that it's Orange County.

Of couse, there are downsides, such as the aforementioned cost of real estate, and the risk of myriad natural disasters: flash floods, flash fires, earthquakes, landslides, sinkholes, more earthquakes--heck, scientists have even bantered about the notion of a tsunami. And then there are the man-made disasters: flash fires (many of 'em are arson-related), riots, more riots, air pollution, noise pollution, zero educational funding, Hollywood.

But, so help me, I love it. We'll go wherever we're supposed to, though. If this sounds like a mission call or something, I admit that it feels that way sometimes.

My favorite word is BLEACH

Dear all,

Heh. Heh-heh.

So, even though we're moving, it won't be for another fifteen days or so--our new landlord is doing some needed repairs to the condo. (NOTE: For anyone who's seen the condo, I'm accepting suggestions for the condo's new nickname; right now, I'm thinking "The Beachhouse," since it is long and narrow, like a beachhouse, and it's right next to the duck pond.)

Thus, I'm going to have to live with the mold for a few more days. However, I don't have to stand idly by and suffer--no, not in the least bit.

This is where I start cackling maniacally.

So I went to Smith's and bought a large bottle of Tilex--it's the disinfectant spray with the largest percentage of bleach in it, and it'll kill just about anything that moves, given a sufficient quantity. And I vowed to use a more-than-sufficient quantity.

I also bought the economy-size jug of Chlorox wipes, a pair of rubber gloves, a microfiber cloth, a jar of peanut butter (because killing mold works up an appetite), and a tube of toothpaste (so I can look good afterward).

Coming home, I got out my respirator, the industrial-grade one I wear when I spray lacquer on my woodworking projects. Then I got out the Tilex. I went to the bathroom and sprayed the walls, the ceiling, the shower, the exhaust fan, the etagere (the cabinet over the toilet), the atomic clock. YES, I EVEN SPRAYED THE FREAKING CLOCK. And then I scrubbed, hard--the walls, the ceiling (I got some bleach in my eyes with that one, but I didn't care), the lightswitch, the shower-curtain rod. Out came the wipes for a second pass.

Now the whole apartment smells like an indoor swimming pool, and the bathroom's clean enough to perform a heart transplant on the toilet. Will the mold come back? Sadly, it probably will, since we have every reason to suspect that it's infiltrated the walls from the inside-out. However, if it ever peeps its little fuzzy head into my bathroom again, chemical death awaits, painful and chlorine-scented.

A thought: Years from now, when my presently non-existent daughters begin dating, I'm going to have their boyfriends read this post. "As you can see," I will say, as I sharpen a large knife or, perhaps, oil a shotgun, "I take care of the things that harm my family members."

MOLD!!!

Dear all,

Well, there's good news, and then there's bad news. Which first?

I'll go with the bad news: Our apartment is infested with toxic mold. Yep--yellow mold, orange mold, green mold, black mold. I even think I saw some red mold, but that could've been rust from an old bathroom fixture.

The good news: Now we know why I've been sick all winter! The symptoms line up perfectly; I've had chronic sinusitis, swollen lymph nodes, and--the real clincher, as far as I'm concerned--a swollen thyroid gland. Yes, mold can make your thyroid swell up like a football!

So we're moving; we have to, for my health. As it is, we're living with the windows always open, and it's getting a little cold. But we have been blessed, amazingly so--I walk into P.E.C. on Sunday morning, tell the folks about the apartment, and a brother in the ward says, "Hey, Brother ________ has a condo that he rents, and the current renter is moving out at the end of the month." So, long story short, we're taking it, assuming that it passes inspection tomorrow--I want to make sure that there isn't mold within a mile of this place. And, to sweeten things even more, the condo is in our ward boundaries, so we don't have to switch wards!

Talk about being blessed, eh? Glory be. So, yeah, it's a nice condo--kinda dated, judging by its '70s-era decor, but that's perfectly fine. It's bigger than our current place, too, so we can finally put up all our art. Plus, there are two--count 'em, two--duck ponds nearby. Sweet!

Episode IV; or, A New Hope

Dear all,

I went to Orange County last weekend.

Yes, those are fireworks you hear. May I, perchance, get a woot-woot?

It was lovely, lovely, lovely, from the ninety-degree weather to the spotless sky to the blossoming citrus tress in the backyard. Oh, mercy, was it nice. My lymph nodes' swelling went down, my ears stopped hurting--man, it was superlative. Supernal, even. So, yes, I'm feeling much better, although I still suspect I might be allergic to my apartment, in which case I'm going to burn it to the ground out of spite.

NOTE: In case my apartment complex burns down, this will look incredibly suspicious.

Anyway, the semester is coming to a close. I gave my first final last night, and it went well. I'm grading like a mad fury, and things are going well.

Case in point: The University of Southern Mississippi, which is very fun to type, allowed me to apply for fall admission, even though the deadline is a month-and-a-half behind us. Joy!

The Latest Update; or, The Night of a Thousand Urps

Dear all,

I love that we got comments last time around; thanks!

Well, it looks like all the PhD results have come in, and the answer (from all of 'em) is no. Alas. Boo. There are three programs that I've found--maybe a fourth--that admit for the spring, so we'll see what happens.

It's been a bit demoralizing, I confess, since we were really banking on this one. I mean, now we have to extend our lease, and that alone is enough to make me want to apply to law school.

Note: I will not be applying to law school. (Why make millions saving innocent people from prison when you can tell stories for a living?) Or business school.

I don't know if it's because of that--stress can do weird things to the body--but, Thursday night, my body revolted. "I don't care if you shove seven vitamins down my throat every morning," it said, "but I want to lurch." And lurch it did.

"Body," I said, "I try to take care of you. I feed you healthy foods, some of which actually taste good. I take vitamins and, when those aren't enough, I take antibiotics, plenty of them, enough to enable me to lick the floor of a high-school locker room and remain unscathed, such is the penecillin that courses through my veins."

"Fie!" countered my body. "It's time for you to taste dinner again."

I really must thank my downstairs neighbor, Brian Olsen, who came to my aid. I hadn't started reverse peristalsis yet when I called him--all I knew was that my head felt like a giant zit about to pop. Then my kidneys started hurting, and I was very, very dizzy.

Steve "Spoon" Bitter, are you reading this? Do you remember the time when I got really dizzy, that time with the toilet paper and the Mountain Dew and the pickup truck and the paintball gun with Scott shouting out the window about Ultima Online? Really, I was THAT DIZZY this Thursday.

So Brian came over, saw me careening around my apartment like a drunken sailor, and called a nurse in the ward, because, the way I looked, he wanted to know if I should go to the hospital. She came over (thank you, Dana!) and thought I was dehydrated, which I probably was, and told me to lie down.

Long story short, an hour later, Melanie was home, and my body wanted to show off. Thus began The Night of a Thousand Urps.

Okay, well, it was only three, really, but there was a bit of dry-heaving thrown in there for good measure.

I'm feeling quite a bit better now--not perfect, but pretty good--and I'm grateful, really, because the weekend reminded me of all the synonyms for urping: driving the porcelain bus, doing the technicolor yawn, bringing forth the bounty of the harvest, tossing one's cookies, etc. It's fun for a creative writing professor.

For all who prayed for me, thank you very much. Please keep praying.

Easter; or, my birthday; or, a lovely InstaCare morning

Dear all,



Sunday was Easter, obviously, but it was also my birthday. To celebrate, I started off by spending a glorious, sunny morning in the Taylorsville InstaCare with a stabbingly painful strep infection--one of my tonsils looked like a spiky marble.



But, hey, any excuse I can find to take more Augmentin (the manufacturer sends me thank-you notes now) makes me happy. Happy!



Afterward, I spent some time with my parents, who were visiting from Orange County, and my sister, who is taking over Provo with her raw, unbridled brilliance. They're fun folks.



Then, for the finale, I went to my aunt 'n' uncle's house--with everyone in tow--for dinner, along with my best man, Steve, and his wife, Emmy, who is with child. If my lobbying efforts succeed, they will name him Jeffrey Joaquin Bitter.

Anyway, here are the pictures:

An update, long needed

Dear all,

Well, I'm sick again--it's some stomach nastiness that's making me dry-heave. On the bright side of things, it's a heck of an abdominal workout, and my eight-pack stomach is re-emerging. Nevertheless, I am still enfermo, and I'm passing the time by looking at my old friends' blogs. Man, I miss these folks. It still amazes me how such a cluster of talented, smart, spiritual kids ended up in one stake. I don't know why, and I don't care, because it was great, and I'm just glad it happened.

Here are a few of their blogs; even if you don't know them, I'd suggest taking a look (I suppose I could put these in the "Links" section, but I hate html code):

http://swellchelbelle.blogspot.com (Chelsea & Michael Christensen)
http://rileyspace.blogspot.com (Matt & Rachel Riley)
http://dnariley.blogspot.com (My friend Dan Riley and his wife, Nichole, with possibly the most offensive blog name of the bunch)
http://saltybloggers.blogspot.com (My friend Kelli Harris Salter and her husband, Jared, presently all living in Hungary; she's a great photographer, and it shows on her blog)

Anyway, that's all the blogs for now. There are more, for sure, but my emotional sensibilities can only take so much, and I'm practically weeping as it is.

Okay, so several people have asked me for an update on PhD stuff; here's the summary:

Cornell - No
FSU - No
Georgia - No
Houston - ?
Missouri - ?
Ohio - ?
Tennessee - No
UNLV - ?
USC - ?
Utah - No

I'll be sure to keep y'all updated.

An update, right?

Dear all,

Well, it looks like I'm finally recovering from the numerous plagues that have affected me throughout this winter. Oh, this winter, this malaise, this purgatory. If I ever see another falling snowflake, it will be too soon. My goal in life is to create a series of desalinization plants along the major oceans of the world. That way, it can stop snowing because of global warming, and the world can still get enough water for agriculture, ice sculptures, sno-cones, etc.

So, yes, Ms. Muppett and I are still alive and kicking.

Part two: No Cornell; I found out yesterday. Oh well--it's not that bad. After all, it snows there.

Horsing Around

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

So my niece Libby is turning into one of those girls who loves horses. And, given her reaction during Kaysville Equus Romp(us) 2008--the name I've bestowed upon the following event--I don't think her fascination is going away.

'Cause, you know, a lot of little girls go through a stage when they want to be marine biologists (a trip to the Living Planet Aquarium in Sandy did away with that phase, courtesy of the satanic moray eels) and animal vets, but they grow out of it. No, I think Libby's the real deal.

My aunt, Laurie, has a horse named Junior. He's a fine Arabian steed with a wacky sense of humor (he loves, for instance, to flash his green-encrusted horse smile at passers-by). She was nice enough to let us take the girls to see him, brush him, and--yes, I'm serious--give him his vaccination. Yes, Libby loved the vaccination part.

Here are the pictures:

Random Thoughts; Or, My, It's Been a While

I received an invitation this week from a couple of my old friends from California. (Well, they're not exactly old, but I've known them for a long...well, you know...) They're having a reunion of sorts for all of us from the Orange Stake--those who grew up in the Orange Stake from the, oh, early '90s until the turn of the millenium--at the Holiday Skating Rink.

It's an interesting venue choice. I loved the Holiday Skating Rink when I was in the 6th grade, but my interest really tapered off after that; I think it was something about all those partner-skating sessions, where you were supposed to find true love and skate with it around and around and around while listening to "Eternal Flame" by The Bangles, all accompanied by the smell of ancient nacho cheese ground into the industrial carpet. Yeah--not my cup of herbal tea. As memory serves, random girls would come up to me, ask me to skate, and I'd mumble something about not dating until I was sixteen and roll away to play another round of Terminator: The Invasion. Joy?

Anyway, so I got the invitation, and it's too bad, because it looks like I won't be able to attend, and I really would like to see everyone. The real thrill, then, became seeing everyone's email addresses and, in the case of one person, a blog address, which led me to the blogs of many of my friends (and their spouses, which, in most cases, are also my friends, since Steve Bitter and I were, like, the only two guys from the stake who didn't marry girls from the stake; Kelli Salter nee Harris is the only girl that comes to mind that married outside the stake...). My, my friends are doing well. It's amazing, really, that such a cluster of talent existed in one stake. There's Riles, who's on his way to becoming CEO of Cisco; and Toddie, who's pushing the limits of modern technology at MIT; and the aforementioned Kelli, who will soon unseat Anne Geddes as the most famous female photographer (and thank goodness for that, since I'm sick of the Geddes-produced nudity that confronts customers upon entering Barnes & Noble), and the list goes on and on. The mere fact that Steve can survive summers in Arizona is enough to qualify him as superhuman, in my humble opinion.

It also saddens me, of course, because I've lost contact with most of these good people. Perhaps, in a way, that's for the best. In high school, I could be slightly odd; now, given my absence of a few years, I can emerge at some reunion and act properly and people might forget about all the times that I stuck my fingers into their birthday cakes.

Sorry about that, Dan. But it was delicious.

(NOTE: When I began writing the preceding paragraphs, I misspelled "Holiday Skating Rink," saying, instead, "Holiday Staking Rink." Now THAT would be interesting--instead of a couples' skate, they would have...never mind.)

Okay, well, here are some other random thoughts, since it's been a while since I blogged:

1. All of my PhD applications are in. Pray. Pray hard.
2. I really need to change my "About Me" picture, since I don't have hair anymore.
3. Speaking of that, I promised Melanie not to wash my cut hair down the bathtub drain anymore, since we had to have maintainence come out and plumb the thing out. Whoops.
4. Melanie's sick right now, but she still went to give a conference presentation in Mesquite. Wow. That librarian should get a medal.
5. Holy cow, this winter has been harsh. It's sunny today, thank goodness, but man. Lots of snow, though, which is nice; if it's going to be cold, it might as well snow.

Okay, well, that's it for now.

Ashley's College Graduation

My sister, Ashley's, graduation from Utah State University with her degree in Elementary Education. Way to go, Ash!

Winter Blows In

Dear all,

Behold: Winter in Murray.

First visit with our cousin, M. Jo

Eli in Bonneville High School's The Music Man

Updated Canada Trip Slideshow

Petersen FHE

Fun times with Drew & Jess (Fixing Jeff's car)

Adventures of the Snake Librarian

I see some very interesting behavior working with the public at the library. Allow me to share an example.

A few days ago our circulation supervisor came to me to report that a woman was parked along the curb near our crosswalk (a dangerous situation with all of our foot traffic). Apparently both the supervisor and another employee (on two separate occassions) had politely asked the woman to move her car. She ignored both of them. Could I try talking to her? Sure. I walked outside thinking, "How hard can this be?"

The woman had several windows cracked in her car, so I went around to the driver's side window and said, "Excuse me ma'am. I'm afraid you can't park here. It's a safety hazard because your car blocks other drivers' view of the crosswalk. You're also blocking library traffic. This is a two-way thoroughfare. Would you mind moving your car?" Nothing. She sat, head and eyes down, apparently engrossed in a book. I knocked on the back window and repeated myself, trying to vary my speech so that it would be more interesting and elicit a positive response from her. Nothing. "Ma'am, please don't ignore me." Nothing. After a few minutes I thought to myself, "Is it possible that this woman is deaf or blind? No, that can't be right. Why would she be driving?"

Since I was standing quite close to the car and since it appeared I now had some time on my hands (after all, I was already on my lunch break), my eyes caught sight of the title of her book. I can't tell you the exact title, but it had something to do with being a good Christian (I'm serious about this one). Okay. I decided to move to another position. I trampled through the bushes along the curb so that I was in her direct line of sight--along the front passenger side of her car. I waved my hand frantically back and forth in an attempt to get her attention. "Ma'am? Ma'am! Ma'am!!!" Finally I approached the unrolled passenger side window. At this point I was a bit exasperated. "Ma'am, if you don't move your car, I'll have to call the police." Her head snapped to attention, and she replied tersely, "I can park here. This curb isn't painted red. I know the law, and it's not against the law to park along a none-red curb. Go ahead and call the police." Well, to be truthful, I wasn't actually sure what the police could do (I'm a bit fuzzy on parking laws), but my words were intended to get her attention and to ultimately ensure the safety of our other patrons (we've had some close calls in the past). I furrowed my brow, hesitated a few seconds, and then decided to leave. What else could I say at this point?

I walked inside, went to my office, and began to write an email to our facilities department to request that the curb be painted red. A few minutes later, I spoke with the supervisor who had initially reported the car to me. "Well, I couldn't get her to respond either. I told her I'd call the police, but even that didn't work." She repied, "Well, it must have worked. She moved her car." Big sigh. All in a day's work. And now I can say that I've been completely ignored by a grown woman.

Kind of recent pictures

My family with our friend, Ricardo, from Argentina.

Our butter sculpture creation of "Petersen Memories" at the Petersen Family Reunion at East Canyon. This sculpture was in remembrance of the girls' cruise to Mexico. Though the butter shavings resemble ice chunks, the trip did not turn out as ill-fated as the Titanic (though we did get off to a very rough start by missing the boat).

Conflagration via scheduling, amongst other ramblings

Holy pennyloafers, we're busy. I really can't believe how busy Melanie and I are. The last time I was this busy, I was a student at El Modena High School (School Motto: "Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Herein"), and we all know what THAT did to my sanity--or, I should say, to my guitar amplifier, which took the brunt of my catharsis.

I've been thinking a bit about high school lately; I read an article in my Salt Lake Community College classes this morning about abolishing high school, and all my students seemed to agree that the author was full of horsepuckey. (They said as much.) I've also been trying to disabuse all my students--BYU, SLCC, Westminster--of the False Traditions of the Fathers taught to them in high school English classes, like the idea that "I" shouldn't appear in an essay. (Now that's horsepuckey.)

Perhaps because of this, or simply perhaps El Modena High School (School Mascot: Whatever costume got stolen this week from McDonald's) was a trying (HA!) experience, I confess to supporting--at least in small measure--the notion presented in the article of abolishing high school.

I also support the idea of abolishing junior high school. No--I support the idea of burning junior high school to the ground. Goodness knows the students are always setting fires on campus anyway--just don't put 'em out.

In his immortal "Allegory of the Cave," Plato argues that everything we see in this life is but a mere imitation, a representation of a higher form of that particular thing. We want to see the truth--the "real" thing--but, due to our human nature, our mortal circumstances, we can't. This is why he was largely against art; it was another layer of representation, another step away from the "real" world.

Well, ol' Plato was wrong, because art occasionally works; every so often, it shows us the real state of things. To what do I refer? The Lord of the Flies. That's junior high; that's high school, the real deal Holyfield. Think of poor Piggy and his asthma, and then ask yourself: Did I really like high school that much?

Some people would answer yes, and I want to believe that. I'd love nothing more than to believe that the system works, that I was an anomaly. All I can say is that I was sure glad to get to college.

Of course, in order to function in American society, it's a given that someone's been to high school. Such is my critique of home-schooling: it doesn't prepare kids socially. Sure, they're well-versed in the required curricula; however, that's not everything. Thus, perhaps we should abolish high school and mandate, instead, military service--the climate would be remarkably similar! The kids could safely vent their destructive urges on the rocket-launcher range, and the end result would be of infinitely greater worth than AP credit. And kids would learn, like in high school, to survive socially. Maybe, instead of beating up on each other, the teenagers would focus all their aggression on the drill instructor, thus forming a comraderie not usually encountered in high school.

Perhaps. And, yes, I know I'm rambling, and this is largely composed of the aforementioned horsepuckey, but it's at least something to think about.

It's been ages, I know...

Well, I know that I haven't posed since the close of the Bronze Age, which is sad, made even more sad by the fact that this won't be a very substantive entry.

We've been busy lately--amazingly busy, which is a good thing, don't get me wrong. Nevertheless, it leaves very little time for blogging or recreation or whatever.

Thus, here's a nifty little shot of Melanie playing with our youngest niece, Kaitlin, AKA Kalli. Enjoy.