A Dear Friend I Never Met

>> 31 January 2008


I'm not going to lie. Even knowing what I do about the purpose of our lives here and the role that death plays, I don't deal with it so well. Not when it's someone who continually inspired admiration in me while also instilling the courage and self-confidence to be a little better, and, to steal one of his phrases "stand a little taller."

So on Sunday when I heard the news that my church's president, Gordon B. Hinckley, passed away, I avoided reading anything besides press reports with the basic facts. Anything more would have made it real. I didn't want it to be. I wouldn't let it.

But as the days have since passed, family and friends have sent articles paying tribute to him, expressing not only their feelings of a collective sense of loss, but also love, and joy for a man who passed through and is now reunited with a wife he adored, was met by countless thankful individuals, and was no doubt told "well done, thou good and faithful servant." I knew that if I didn't sit down and tap this out it would never hit me like it needed to.

I know this can't do it justice; especially in a forum where I usually complain about this or that. I know I can't list all of the accomplishments that were the result of his tireless efforts for the Work. But I can offer a small tribute to a true friend -- even though I never met him.

My prophet passed away on 27 January 2008. And when I say "my" I don't mean to be possessive, but personal. He was the first prophet I remember well. He was the one providing constant guidance and encouragement throughout my teenage years. He was the one who delivered the "Be's" to an 18-year old college freshman who was struggling to find his way. He was the one that sent me to serve a mission in Japan amongst a people I love. He helped keep me on the straight and narrow after I got back.

President Hinckley was the leader of a church of 13 million + members, growing by an average of over 300,000 members each year. But to every individual who ever heard or saw him speak -- regardless of whether they ever met him -- they always knew of the love that he had for each one of them as individuals. Given the time, he would have gladly sat down with every member to listen; and, perhaps more importantly, encourage.

And that's what he did: He encouraged. With an endless amount of humility, love and optimism. He helped us believe that we could lengthen our stride. When he taught the "Be's" he was telling us to develop our character rather than to just "do", because becoming who we need to become requires changing. And as hard as change is, he instilled a confidence in each of us that we could do it. There was never a sense of "he doesn't understand" -- he had had his struggles (I still love the correspondence with his father from his mission in England), and gladly shared them. There was never a sense of haughtiness about him -- rather, he was the most humble of men, which, along with his sense of humor, made him and his message so much more real. Does anybody remember in a 1997 General Conference when Elder Nelson gave a speech praising President Hinckley? Here's how it went when President Hinckley reached the podium:

"I thought we were conducting General Conference. It's turned out to be a funeral...He's taken extreme liberty. I challenge him to a duel down in the basement of the tabernacle after this session."

And at the end of the session:

"I've repented. Thank you for your kind words. We'll postpone the duel."

There are so many other quotes that I could put up and more that I could say, but then this entry would never end. I love this man. I am sad he is gone, but am thankful for his example. I hope someday I can simply shake his hand and choke back my gratitude and say something simple:

"Thank you."

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Fake News at Its Finest

>> 23 January 2008

This'll shut PETA up.



Should Animals Be Doing More For The Animal Rights Movement?

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Random Hobby #1 - Snowshoeing

>> 17 January 2008

So only a couple months ago I realized that I have a good job, I'm single, and I have no dependents (that paternity test proves so!).* I wanted to pick up a hobby that wasn't something that all the other bandwagon jumping-types were doing. I decided on something that I enjoyed when I was younger: Snowshoeing. Random, I know.

The problem is, I went to school in Utah for 4 1/2 years and was literally a 15-minute drive away from copious amounts of great snow during the winter, but didn't have the financial means to get the equipment. Now I am on the east coast where there are no mountains and it rarely snows, but now I'm stackin enough scrilla' so that I can afford the equipment. I'm currently submitting that to dictionary.com as the definition for irony.

Anyway, I had almost resigned myself to the fact that I would not get snow here and that my equipment would end up hanging on the walls of Red Robin or TGIFriday's or some other we-consider-junk-collecting-to-be-interior-design restaurant.

But it snowed all day today. I rushed home from work, pounded some dinner, strapped on my equipment, grabbed my 'shoes, and headed for ---- that's right, the middle school right next to my apartment complex. It's got a huge field that was secluded and undisturbed. I realize that 6 inches or whatever in the backyard of a middle school are really not ideal snowshoeing conditions, but sometimes you just have to make do.

One tall wooden fence, the flimsiest chain-link fence I've ever climbed, and a tree branch in the eye later, I was strapping on my 'shoes and was off. It was a serene 45 minutes of enjoying snow. I wouldn't have traded breaking the law for anything else.

I realize that this adventure would not have been possible without the help of a lot of people. My special thanks to:

TME: For coaching me through the purchasing process.
Shigeko: Bringing my ski bibs to TX and getting me nice ski gloves for Christmas.
JoshM: For generously providing my softshell and outershell, free of charge**
Myself: For buying the snowshoes, the winter boots, and for actually conjuring up motivation to do something this time.
Taxpayers: For providing the middle school.
Whoever lived here 20 years ago: For planting those trees where they were; if they weren't there I would have never gotten over the aforementioned chain-link fence.
Israel Kamakawiwo'ole: For providing the soundtrack for my trekking.
My Glasses: Although you kept fogging up on me, you saved my right eye from that tree branch when I was hopping fences.
The Tall Wooden Fence: For trapping and crushing my left "boy" between yourself and the inside of my upper thigh as I was hopping over you;*** I mean, I hadn't filled my quota of indescribably painful nausea for the YEAR, so it's good to know I'm ahead of the curve. My never-to-exist children and posterity also thank you.


*You may or may not have seen me on Jerry Springer
**Sorry, Goodwill. He was going to give them to you before I snatched them up.
***My apologies to readers for the graphic nature of this anecdote.

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A Beasties' Education

>> 12 January 2008

“We be gettin' stupid in your area / Causin' all kinds of hysteria / My beats is sick like malaria” -- this is pure lyrical genius. And no, you guessed wrong: it's not Keats.

AdRock's the screamer. Mike D's the nasally one. MCA is cool, calm, collected. They're three white boys from New York City that proved they could drop beats and rhymes with the best of 'em.

I have their five major albums, as well as their new instrumental CD. I have two of their DVD's -- "The Beastie Boys' Video Anthology" and "Awesome, I Shot That!" -- and I consider them two of the most prized in my collection. I was ready to go to their concert in 2000 when they were tou
ring with Rage Against the Machine, but Mike D broke his collarbone riding home from work on his bike, so the tour was canceled. I was found sobbing in the corner of a shower stall sobbing, if my pain-clouded memory serves me correctly.

Me and my best friend in high school would karaoke and record ourselves at least once a week. We bought the same type of orange jumpsuits that the Beasties performed in one concert and wore them to school dances. We held serious roundtable discussions about which of the "Big 5" albums is the Beasties' best (I still say "Ill Communication", with "Paul's Boutique" a close second) -- I'm talking about dissertations being produced here, people.

It sounds sad, but the Beastie Boys have played a semi-major role in my upbringing. In light of all of this, I present to you a non-exhaustive list of things the Beasties have taught me, that I might not have learned otherwise (with proper citations to songs in parentheses):

1. French phrases, such as creme de la creme ("Body Movin' ") and savoir faire ("Sure Shot"). Keep in mind this in no way means I like the French. They are still cigarette-smoking pansies.

2. You can earn 11 points in Boggle for the word 'quagmire' ("Putting Shame in Your Game"):
"I am the king of Boggle, there is none higher,
I gets eleven points for the word 'quagmire'"

3. People such as Eddie Harris ("So Whatcha' Want"), Rod Carew ("Sure Shot") and Jimmy Vaughn (“Pass the Mic”) would have remained unknowns to me.

4. In the tradition of the great Japanese poets, writing about your travels in verse can still be great (“High Plains Drifter” and “Paul Revere”); I suppose where they diverge is that the Boys mostly rap about robbing people and stealing your girl from you. I didn't catch anything like that when I read Basho's haikus, but it could have been "between the lines."

5. Road trips are and always will be sweet (“No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn”)

6. Civil protests for a good cause are still encouraged. (“Fight For Your Right”)

7. It’s okay to brag about your wardrobe (“Shadrach”):
“…[I've got] more Adidas sneakers than a plumbers got pliers,
Got more suits than Jacoby & Meyers”

8. This may not be a good thing, but I've learned obscure marijuana references: sinsemilla ("Sounds of Science")

9. Is there a better music video than "Sabotage" ?

10. Loyalty ("The New Style"):
"Stepped into the party, the place was overpacked--
Saw the guy that dissed my homeboy, shot him in the back"

11. Long-distance relationships are tough ("High Plains Drifter"):
"A long distance from my girl and I'm talkin' on the cellular,
She said that she was sorry, and I said 'Yeah the hell you were'

12. It's literary to turn colloquial phrases into a play on words ("The Maestro"):
"...I am all that,
And I see you lookin' at me, saying: 'How can he be so skinny, and live so fat?' "

13. Most importantly: Don't take yourself too seriously and enjoy life.

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Family "Bonding"

>> 02 January 2008

My legs hurt. And as a testament to my poor running form, so do my traps -- (allow me to interpret your confused facial expression as: "His traps? From running? What the hell?")

Let me backtrack a bit. I've been a persistent, conscientious objector to long-distance running. Running to run...?? The whole concept never appealed to me. Ask anybody: Sprinting's my thing.

So a month and a half ago when my two sisters suggested that we three kids do a 5-Mile Run on New Years' Day to do something as a family, I hesitated. But in the interests of family "bonding," I set aside my personal integrity and consented. How bad could it be? I figured half the people would be running with their hangovers from New Years' festivities anyway.

Here's the problem: Jen and Juli (my sisters) are in shape. And good runners. My brother-in-law, Ben, did a half-ironman. I was in pretty good shape until a month and a half ago when I sprained my ankle and have played soccer <1x/week> since. When I said I thought we were going to run together in the interests of family "bonding", Juli scaughed (scoffed and laughed) -- she smelled blood in the water.

I surprised myself. Jen stayed with me and was a good pace-setter; I finished with a 7:40 mile pace, and if there were a "Best Final 200-meter Finish" medal, I would have been at the top of the podium. You should have heard the 10 old guys I passed at the end yelling: "Not fair!" -- of course, having to pass them meant that I was behind them the entire race. Details.

A few observations as a first-time participant in a long-distance race:

  • You will find motivators along the way. You have to. For me, it was mostly "make the pain end" type of stuff, but I learned in Psychology classes that negative reinforcement isn't always the best. There were others:
    • From mile 3 until about 4 1/2, we ran behind this woman with leopard-print gloves tucked into the back of her pants. She was NOT going to beat me*
    • Old Man River at the halfway point trotting past and saying "you can't let an old guy like me beat you!"** to which I retorted: "Easy, easy [Old Man]. It's still only halfway [and my sister and I will have the defibrillator ready for you at the finish line an hour from now]."
  • If you look at the race results, the top 3 finishers in my division were: Luis Rojas, Francisco Iavariega, and Joseph Velazquez. If I had known racial bragging rights were on the line, I would have trained and smoked them***
  • I'm no racecourse charter-person, but logically and symmetrically, wouldn't the starting and finishing lines be at the same place? Thinking this (stupid me, right?), I broke too early and a guy passed me at the end... apparently the finish line grew legs and moved back about 40 meters and around a corner sometime between when the race started and when I finished.
*She didn't. I smoked her like a joint
**He didn't either. More joint-smoking for me
***You guessed it. Like a joint¹
1. Don't smoke marijuana, kids.

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