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...
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Saturday, August 02, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
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)
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)
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The South will rise again!
We have arrived.
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.
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.)
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
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...
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...
Saturday, April 26, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
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."
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."
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
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!
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!
Friday, April 18, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, April 06, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
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.
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:
Sunday, March 16, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)