The Nation's Worst?

If you're from the DC Metro area, seeing a Maryland license plate should reflexively fill you with some mixture of hostility, frustration, and most importantly, that old familiar sensation of overwhelming and uncontrollable road rage. This is inextricably programmed into my autonomic nervous system. MD drivers are the absolute worst. I guess I can't rightfully assert that all bad drivers are from Maryland, but I CAN tell you that every car that I've seen bearing a Maryland license plate contains a bad driver.

Just something I was thinking about the other day as I got cut off -- once again -- by a Maryland driver.

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RoSA Returns

Goedemorgen. Ik heb teruggegeven.

WHOA. I return from my extended hiatus.

Let's face it -- in a figurative blogging sense, I'm feeling a bit like our Dutch friend, Mr. Rip Van Winkle: Slightly disoriented as I wipe the Blog Slumber from my bleary eyes; my blogging "muscles" are atrophied from sitting idle and have disintegrated into rolls of useless fat; and, as is evident from my greeting, my Dutch still sucks. So getting back into the blogging may require shaking off some rust.

Also, one actual and non-metaphorical thing that Mr. Van Winkle and I both did during our respective hibernations: We grew beards for a little longer than was prudent. See Exhibit A:

Exhibit A

...and, basically, the similarities end there. See, whereas Rip grew an awesome beard during his 20-year slumber, I grew an asymmetrical abomination. Even homeless men looked at me with pity in their starving eyes, thanking the heavens that, although they were without income, food, or lodging -- and possibly hope -- at least they could grow a decent beard.

AM described that "...it was part wolf, part molester, part santa, part amish", but I'm guessing that's just a kind way of saying "fully revolting." Sigh.

So, anything happen with you guys since June? Me? Oh, not a whole lot, really...

I went overseas for a good three months, where I got stranded twice in remote areas in the middle of nowhere and was able to witness the inner workings and daily living of the US Military (the latter basically means eating bad food three meals/day and living in poor housing conditions). It was an adventure.

The Beard in its nascent stages

Immediately after returning to the US, the beard had outlived its stay (see aforementioned homeless men pitying me as a possible reason), and let me tell you, trimming and shaving the thing was EXHAUSTING. The whole epic saga took at least 45 minutes and required the type of physical stamina and resolve that you only see/read about in classics like The Odyssey or Rocky. I unashamedly admit that midway through shaving I took a short break to rest my fatigued arm, and I may or may not have given myself a pep talk in the mirror sometime along the way ("C'mon, man, FOCUS! Don't let the beard beat you" "Pain is nothing. You're better than this!", etc, etc). I collapsed, completely exhausted, at the end of it all.

The two weeks after returning home were complete chaos, but I suppose it was for a good cause, because at the end of it all, I got married, which was all pretty awesome. It was all a blur of dresses and flowers and having my picture taken (ugh), but most importantly, a day spent with my lovely wife (formerly AM and now Mrs. RoSA, who I'm sure you'll hear from from time-to-time), my family, and all of my closest friends throughout the years.* Honeymoon involved flying to London to hang out for a bit, then catching a Transatlantic Crossing from England back to the US. You know, just like the Pilgrims did in the olden days!

*The whiffleball games played at my bachelor party were some of the funniest moments of my life

So yeah. That's been the last bit of the happenings here. Now it's back to normal life, and normal life involves blogging. Like I said, gotta shake the rust off, so bear with me.

PS Apparently this video going viral was the biggest development back in the States whilst I was away? This is brilliant, and I'm proud that -- despite a still-recessed economy and Sarah Palin actually being taken seriously as a political figure by some -- America was able to come up with this:



So run and tell that, homeboy.

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Weekly Selects #35

Enough small talk. Shall we do this? Let's do this:

-Via IM with Josh M, as we were discussing possible new cars:

Josh M: or you can have people cast votes
Josh M: mine will be for the stretch hummer with the hot tub in the back
Me: figures, man. always using me for my luxurious goods to impress the women
Josh M: well, since you weren't willing to buy me a diamond encrusted grill, i figured this would be a good chance for you to redeem yourself

Yes, Father Time has diagnosed the Civie, and it's not worth the money to fix my air conditioning unit -- so I'm taking Papa Dalton's advice and "run[ning] the thing into the ground" before I get a new one. This of course means that when summer rolls around, my car will be a stuffy, oppressive sauna, and I'm just going to start driving around in a towel.

-Via G-Chat with Ben, after I asked him how he's doing a week after his beloved Denver Broncos had traded three of their draft choices last week in order to draft Tim Tebow:

I passed quickly through denial. Spent quite a lot of time in anger.
I think I have moved onto bargaining.
"maybe they will be ok if they can get a running game going"
"maybe we can work in all three qbs"
"maybe our defense will show up this year"
I feel "depression" setting in rather rapidly.
And "acceptance" will be months or years away.
How are you?

Well, I am actually doing quite well, thank you for asking, Ben.

See, that's the nice thing about not really having an NFL team you have a vested interest in: No team can crush you emotionally when they make inexplicably crazy draft choices; or when they choke consistently during big games; or when they're picked every preseason to "make the playoffs" but always, always end up falling short; or just when they're never any good year after year (see Denver Broncos, Philadelphia Eagles, Washington Redskins, and Buffalo Bills, respectively). I'm telling you: A cool, sociopath-like emotional detachment is the way to go. I can sit back and watch NFL games without having to breathe into a paper bag every time the score gets close.

-Via Email from Jay, who sent an article about the Cub Scouts:

Headline: Cub scouts to offer offer video game playing pin

Durrrr...

As far as getting credit for sitting on your butt and contributing nothing of value to society, this award ranks right up there.

I have to say, though, that the best merit badge I ever worked on in Boy Scouts was my drug-dealing one. A syringe and bottle of pills were the logo. Requirements included "lurk in the shadows for an entire night and avoid detection by local law enforcement authorities," "ruin at least three peoples' lives by getting them addicted to your 'product,' " and "threaten those who haven't paid you yet."

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Teabonics -- Photo of the Week 12 April 2010

Love 'em or hate 'em, the Tea Party sure knows how to make quality protest signs, as compiled here. One of my favorites from there:

The movement should hire some 4th graders to proofread their signs. This is, as an American, palm-to-forehead-slap worthy. Ugh.

My only vendetta against the Tea Party Movement is not political, but personal. I was trying to get to a museum in DC once when their little "march" shut down the entirety of Pennsylvania Ave. Right where the museum was.

(The one bright spot of this inconvenience was seeing a gangly, awkward-looking teenage boy with an expressionless face holding a sign on a street corner that read: "My Anger is Real." Rage against that machine, my young, acne-faced friend. Rage on).


Happy Monday! I don't know about you, but allergies have virtually incapacitated me. Let's hope I get through the week...

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The Chip Holder -- Photo of the Week 2 Feb 2010

Frustrated with eating chips at work and getting grease all over your keyboard? Well, the Japanese were, and they came up with the robotic chip holder. Sent by Rijen:

Even though it may be slightly ridiculous (read: totally superfluous), I appreciate the idea. Only it won't work in America.

In the land that has glorified competitive eating and declares unashamedly that "bigger is better," who is going to eat potato chips delicately, one at a time (NOBODY)? The American model needs to contain some of these improvements: 1. A mechanical hand in a cupping shape to maximize the cramming of chips into your face; 2. A mechanical hand with more than one moving finger -- c'mon, God gave us four fingers so we can grip more chips at once to maximize shoving.


Happy Monday!

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Oh, the Dichotomies of Youth

So I was in the Post Office, waiting to mail a Disney Snow Globe to my niece. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The lady standing next to me in line wanted to chat about the "cute Disney gift" I was packaging up.

Lady: "I have an 18-year old daughter who still loves Disney princesses."

Me: "Never too old, I guess, right?"

Lady: "Haha. Yeah, half of her room is covered in Disney. The other half is Hooters and Playgirl stuff. Haha!"

...
Me: *internal* What is the proper response to this? "Uh...Never too young, right...?"
Me: *out loud* ...............
Lady: "Yeah for her birthday party at Hooters, she had Disney Princess balloons on her chair. Isn't that funny?"

Hilarious. Disturbingly so.

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Meeting the Sports Guy -- Photo of the Week 2 Nov 2009

The Sports Guy, Bill Simmons, who is one of my favorite writers, is touring to promote his new book, The Book of Basketball. DC's ESPN Zone was his first stop, so I got down there to meet the man. He skipped dinner to shake hands and chat, and was congenial and expressed gratitude to us as the readers. Maybe he doesn't realize that his columns get working Americans in the 18-35 male demographic through their tedious work weeks. It is we who should be thanking him.

Going to the book signing was an interesting study of celebrity worship in America. The person behind me in line was visibly nervous, and began vocally brainstorming something "funny" he could say to Simmons. He was running his ideas by everyone in line around him. Nobody in line was helping him, but it was probably because every other frat boy in line was trying to come up with witticisms of their own with which they could impress Bill. It was as if The Sports Guy were holding auditions for a new best friend. Yup, an intelligent writer like Bill Simmons is as pathetic as Paris Hilton, everyone!

Also, in case you were wondering, I'm convinced that the portrait in the background is Brigham Young -- mostly because I can picture Brother Brigham toting a baseball glove, bat, and disproportionately LARGE head around with him. (I understand caricature, but that's "like an orange on a toothpick!")


Happy new week, all. As much as you can, enjoy your Monday.

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The Addiction and Teacher That is Speed Scrabble

Thanks to a scarring game of Risk ("Ukraine is not weak!!") back in 2000 I tend to avoid board games; the exception, of course, being the occasional game of Mah-Jongg. Who doesn't want to place vital organs as collateral for a $10,000 bet every once in a while, am I right?? Anyway, regardless of my professed dislike for board games, I have recently become addicted to Speed Scrabble.

What's Speed Scrabble, you ask?

Speed Scrabble (SS) is to nerdy board-gamers what cocaine was to 80s celebrities: It is fast-paced, exhilarating, addictive, and the source of numerous unnatural nosebleeds. In the case of SS, the reason is either because the game got so intense participants came to fisticuffs, or the breakneck pace and overexertion from the game melted their brains. (***If you're bored enough to read the rules, I will put those at the bottom***)

Let's just leave the Speed Scrabble-Cocaine analogy there.

One friend, whom I will anonymize, put it this way:

This is utterly ridiculous to admit, but I dreamed about Speed Scrabble last night. I actually awoke to myself arranging words beginning with "q". Kinda weird.

Lessons Learned

SS has even taught me some valuable life lessons. The two that come most readily to mind are "pride cometh before the fall" and "those who forget history are doomed to repeat it."

Let me share a story that illustrates both. In the first game of what would become a 3-hour SS marathon, I came storming out of the blocks -- jumping out to a quick lead and catching my opponents at unawares. I foolishly declared:

"I guess you could call that my Pearl Harbor."

I guess it seemed like an apt analogy at the time, what with the quick strike and my Japanese heritage and all. For all of you not familiar with the Pacific Theater of WW2, however, here's the major problem with my poorly thought-out analogy: Japan LOST WW2! It was decimated!! Japan may have "won" Pearl Harbor, but even Admiral Yamamoto said afterward: "I fear all we have done is awakened a sleeping tiger." And he wasn't talking those pansy circus tigers that jump through hoops. He was talking the mean ones that want to tear your limbs off and eat you (avid PETA supporters being no exception). Pearl Harbor was really just the beginning of the end for Japan.

And so it was with me; my initial victory accomplished very little except to "awaken the tiger" (read: gave Mitch a reason to shut my gloating mouth up and decisively trounce me and everyone else under her feet). It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I doomed myself to suffer the same fate as the Empire did in WW2 because I declared victory too soon.

So, chalk one History Comparison FAIL for me. Sigh.


***Speed Scrabble Explained***
You lay all of the scrabble tiles facedown in the middle of the table, everyone takes seven, then tries to build their own set of words as quickly as possible, using all tiles. Once they have used the seven tiles in their own hand, they say "go" and everyone draws two from the pile and so on until all the tiles are used up. Then you count up points based on the points on each tile, subtracting points for the tiles left over.

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The Mantage -- Photo of the Week 20 July 2009

I know it's Monday morn, and your energy levels are low, and you need something more than a still photo to get your productivity on:



Nothing like a shot of testosterone to start your week off right.

(And yes, Case, the 1:00-mark is your cue to give an abbreviated schpeel on your tipping philosophy)


Happy Monday. Now go write off a business expense. Or cry openly at Old Yeller.

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Cheese Abe -- Photo of the Week 6 July 2009

It would be presumptive of me to guess the innermost thoughts and desires of the great minds of history, but my guess is that the Great Emancipator would not want to be immortalized in the following way:

See, some friends -- not the Asian kids pictured here; I stole this from Reuters -- went downtown the past weekend to scope this 1/2-ton abomination of cheddar that is a sculpture of Mr. Lincoln. They said "it smelled horrible."

Granted, a bobblehead is not much better, but something about a cheese sculpture is just insulting. And using the argument "Maybe Abe was a huge cheese-lover...?" isn't going to fly with me. There are lots of foods I love, but if someone suggests that a likeness of me be fashioned out of bacon, Twix bars, or panang curry, they are getting punched in the face.


Happy post-4th of July Monday, everyone. Hope you ate much BBQ, watched fireworks, and watched made passing reference to that age-old classic, Independence Day. Something about Bill Pullman giving an inspirational speech before going off to fly an F-18 and save the world is comical.

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A Crumbling Empire

Last year, I witnessed firsthand the unrestrained gluttony that is the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Competition; my boy Kobayashi lost in a five hot dog eat-off to American Joey Chestnut.

This year, I wasn't in NYC, nor was I close to a TV, so White Josh and the Frizzle fed me text updates. Kobayashi lost. Again.

The Frizzle observed that WW2 history seems to be repeating itself. Indeed, it appears the rising power that was Japanese competitive eating between the years of 2001-2006 is in decline. In retrospect, Kobayashi's initial loss in 2007 is going to serve as the Battle of Midway for another crumbling Empire. Too bad.

Celebrate your 4th well, everyone. It's a beautiful day.

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Tough Guy Race -- Photo of the Week 29 June 2009

The Boiler sent me this article. This PotW is taken from the accompanying photo gallery.


The article really is worth the read.

Obstacles called the "Vietcong tunnels" and the "Stalag escape"? Electric and barbwire fences; contestants dropping out from hypothermia? Are you kidding me?? Suddenly, my Run Amuck "achievement" makes me feel quite ashamed -- like I went for a nice, leisurely Sunday morning stroll while these dudes got taken on some sort of death march.

Oh well.


Happy Monday morn, everyone. Use this morning to pick the marinade you want for your 4th of July BBQ.

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My Black List

I usually don't possess enough vitriol towards any individual to keep a list, but I thought maybe I should keep track of people who irk me. Sooooo, the first person to go on my black list is...

James Carville!! now, I'm not going to sink so low as to make this about Mr. Carville's physical appearanc--



Whoa! Whoa! How'd that sneak in there? My bad. That won't happen again. That's juvenile and serves no purpose in supporting a legitimate argument. I guess my point is that James Carvil--



Man. I'm horrible. Sorry. Sorry. Fish in a barrel.

But seriously. Carville is a condescending political pundit who does little more than show outright disdain for anybody who disagrees with him. He compared Gov Richardson switching his support to (then) Obama's candidacy (from Hillary) to Judas betraying Jesus. What kind of analysis is that?

Mr. Carville: Welcome to my black list.

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The Complete Idiot's Guide to Identifying Butt Rock

Readers and friends often ask me: "What exactly is 'butt rock?' And if it is the musical equivalent of the Black Plague, as you claim, why do you keep bringing it up? That's just stupid."

First off, calm down. Insults are hurtful.

Second, you know the reason I bring it up is because back in high school I found some old butt rock concert t-shirts at Goodwill and started collecting them. Why the butt rock fixation when I know it sucks? Not quite sure on that one. I guess my counter to that question is: "What the hell is wrong with Mike Tyson?" See, both are good questions, but ones that we may never know the answers to.

Regardless, as a result of the strange draw that Butt Rock (BR) has on me, I have acquired some knowledge about the genre over the years and wish to impart it. Let's get down to the nitty gritty.

BR (aka "glam rock" "hair metal") was a musical product of the 80's -- and if the 80's were the modern Dark Age of movies, fashion, and music, then BR was indeed the accompanying Black Plague. Much like the Black Plague that scourged Europe in the 1300s, BR was the omnipresent scourge of its time; both nearly toppled western civilization; both thrived in unsanitary conditions; both had lasting, detrimental effects years after their peak -- and lastly, the prospect of either returning in a newly mutated form is terrifying enough to be a Stephen King novel.

Let me first list what is not needed in BR:

1. Musical talent
2. Good looks
3. Intelligence
4. Shame
5. Dignity

Still with me? Good.

Now, to the must haves.

Everything that is BR can be illustrated with a good BR concert t-shirt. I have one of the best:

This shirt tells us a lot about BR. First, you need a stupid band name, like Judas Priest, Def Leppard, Cinderella, Quiet Riot, Whitesnake, etc. Big hair and leather are absolute musts. I cannot emphasize this enough: BR without big hair and lots of leather is like Tony Stark without his Ironman suit. And when I say lots of leather, I'm talking the band should be wearing the equivalent of at least 50-60 entire cows' hides worth of leather. Songs about women and struggles with drug/alcohol addiction are essential -- as is the occasional "power ballad" to show the groupies that the band has a sensitive side.

What else? Let's flip that concert t-shirt over for more clues:

Need I say more?

I should teach a Music History class.

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My New Caddy

One of the gifts my parents bought me for Christmas was a very nice Sanyo rice-cooker. It has the buttons and display screens of a nuclear launch control room and the cooking capacity to feed a large clan of sumo wrestlers. Opening that box was like when Elrond hands Aragorn the sword of the King in the last Lord of the Rings movie. It just felt like it was meant to be.


I described it to my good friend White Josh (WJ) who wistfully replied:

WJ: yeah i looked online...sanyo looks like the cadillac of rice cookers...or i guess the "samurai" class of rice cookers

WJ was going in a good direction with his metaphor. After much thought, I would present, for your consideration, a third way to label it: The "Palanquin of Rice-Cookers." You know, those small boxes Asian elite used to get hauled around in? They represented eliteness and luxury. They're pretty Asian. I think this analogy conveys all of these ideas.

On a barely-related sidenote (since I brought up the auto industry) my brother-in-law sent me this. Thought it was pretty funny (click for larger image).

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New Theory & Equation

So I was driving home from work. The car in front of me was lecturing me on my moral inferiority using five-word bumper sticker catchphrases. Look, I understand why people have bumper stickers. I have a Japan sticker and a BYU one on my car, because those are things I identify closely with.

However, there is pride in things that are important to you, and then there is excess:



This spurred me to develop a theory: The more bumper stickers on your car, in excess of three or four, the less people care about what you want to say.

...an equation:

(#BS > 3) ⇒ (Credibility↓)

...and a supplemental graph:

Lecture over.

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Presidential Plans -- Photo of the Week 8 Dec 2008

I got a tour of the West Wing a month and a half ago.

W and Dana P were out sick, so they asked me to fill in. Here's me taking questions from Reuters or some other media guy in the White House Press Room.

This got me thinking about the myriad of reasons why I would be a subpar to horrible president:

1. Buyer's remorse. I suffer from severe, inveterate buyer's remorse. Even when I buy a song on iTunes. Signing any sort of budget bill coming out of Congress -- say, like a $700 billion dollar bailout -- would basically put me in an early grave.
2. Abuse of privilege. I would probably use things only accessible to the president for mundane things. You know, just because I could: Marine One to pick up the morning paper; "the red phone" to prank call world leaders when I got bored; an Executive Order demanding that Def Leppard do a reunion tour, etc etc.
   
3. Too much fun. I'd end up having too much fun, like dancing and singing with large, Braveheart-length swords.



4. Handling reporters. The majority of today's reporters seem to be operating under the rule that they can only ask mind-numbingly stupid questions. I don't handle stupid questions well. You should see me flip out when I watch other people get interviewed. This sound familiar?
   

   Reporter: How do you feel right now? I mean, you trained for four years and came to represent your country at the Olympics, and had all these expectations, and totally lived up to none of them. How do you feel about letting your country down?

   I absolutely lose it when I watch interviews like this. My press conferences would likely consist of me fielding one or two ridiculous questions, getting agitated, upending the podium, and storming off.

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My Bridge Day Adventure

After missing the Elton John Concert, my friends and I continued, albeit despondently, to "Bridge Day" in Fayetteville, WV. Bridge Day is the one day a year that base-jumping is legalized in West Virginia and 200,000 people of lesser courage (ie myself) watch others of greater courage (also read: "lesser sanity," "greater testicular fortitude," or "inferior common sense") throw themselves off of an 876 ft bridge and let gravity and a parachute take care of the rest.

These guys jumped for hours and we just watched. You would think the redundancy of watching people jump off the same bridge would get old after awhile. But it didn't. It's like watching "24": If you've seen one season of Jack Bauer escaping captivity, defying authority for the greater good, torturing some bad guys, getting angry and snarling/yelling out some intimidating lines, sabotaging his personal relationships because of his maladjustment to societal norms (see the afore-listed items for reasons why), etc, you feel like you've seen all of the seasons of "24" (because in essence, you HAVE). But you still keep watching -- despite the repetition and predictability.

The day was interspersed with me shooting the fall foliage (I still feel effeminate using that wording), and the abundance of material for people-watching. WV is an absolute GOLD-MINE for this, and my one regret (besides letting my friends purchase two sausage biscuits for $1.50 at a roadside cafe) is not doing an extensive photo essay on the people we saw. Think men with braided beards down to their stomachs; think men with short cut-off jean shorts sporting rainbow lanyards; think my name next to "Pulitzer." It would have been timeless.

Then again, I guess I shouldn't say too much about people-watching -- these three were my travel companions:



We got bored walking the trail from the river back to the bridge, so we had a leaf catching competition. It got intense. The slideshow below does a good job of capturing it.



But back to manly things. Base-jumping. It is steadily gaining popularity, but definitely outside of the mainstream sports we have in America. I think if the organizers created some traditions -- something that we love about our sports here -- base jumping would catch on a little faster. Here are some ideas I have:

• (More) Drunk Fans: I don't think this one needs to be explained.
  
• Ceremonial first "toss" from the mayor: Baseball has someone famous throw out the ceremonial first pitch to open games. Why don't they have the mayor of Fayetteville ceremoniously push the first base-jumper off of the platform, just to get things started? Or toss a base-jumper midget...? This one may need refinement.
  
• Fantasy Leagues: No other phenomenon than Fantasy Leagues has so many people supporting teams and players they would otherwise have been indifferent to. Don't ask me how the scoring would work for a Base-Jumping Fantasy League. I'm just throwing out ideas here.
• Streakers: The occasional streaker never hurt any spectator sport.
• Overpriced Food: Overpaying for unhealthy food is an American sports tradition. The vendors at Bridge Day were selling unhealthy food, but it was way too reasonably priced. This needs to change.
• Costumes: Uncle Sam (below) had it right. Patriotic, tacky.
  

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Seven Years Later...

It doesn't happen very often, but I get this way every once in a while. You know, sentimental.

Anybody who has read the blog long enough to suffer through my Pamplona gibberish and mourning of the passing of President Hinckley has figured out that on the rare occasions that I get this way and write about it, it is self-serving; for me, I find my scattered thoughts take on the semblance of something cohesive as I write them. This guy's article also may have been part of the impetus (if you don't want to read further, at least read the article).

Stick with me here for a second, if you don't mind. This won't get political (as I hate politics).

On 9/11/2001, I was in the MTC (Missionary Training Center for the LDS Church) preparing to serve in Japan for two years. That day was a blur -- but not for the same reasons that it was for most Americans. All days in the MTC are a blur of classroom instruction, lectures, cafeteria food, etc.

The only news we received in the MTC that day was a brief announcement from the Mission President: That the WTC and the Pentagon had been crashed into and nobody knew much else. That was it. Rumors abounded,* but in my information vacuum of an environment I got nothing tangible. I mean, technically, my geographic location was in the United States, but the life of a missionary is so detached from the world of media (no TV, news, phone calls, or internet) that you're as informed about current events as someone living in the jungles of the Amazon. I went from the MTC to Japan in October. I didn't see images or video of the 9/11 attacks until Aug 2003, when I got back from Japan. Almost two years removed. That, combined with my teenage naivete, prevented me from fully grasping the significance of what happened that day.

I wasn't here to witness the tragedies of that day and what came in their wake. How it affected Americans. I guess I have a decent grasp of the "big picture" effects 9/11 had on America, but I have no personal perspective -- I just don't feel it to the extent that those who watched it all unfold do. In some (perhaps strange) way, I want to. I want to feel more, because I feel I owe it to those who were victims, and to every American that was so deeply affected by that day. But I can't. I was too far removed to ever form a strong personal connection.

Maybe that's why any opportunity I get, I try to form one. Maybe it's why I made sure to go to Ground Zero on a visit to NYC, and why I bought and (partially) read the 9/11 Commission's report. Maybe it's why I constantly ask people "What do you remember about 9/11?" and I listen, fixated, as their eyes go out of focus and look off into the distance as they vividly recall where they were, what they saw, and, most importantly, what they felt that day.

Maybe it's why at midnight this past Friday, I found myself at the Pentagon 9/11 Memorial, hoping maybe this time I could feel some stronger connection.

I think it came as I sat next to the bench -- there is one for each victim who died at the Pentagon -- of the youngest victim. He was born in 1998. I just sat there, silent, staring at nothing, finding myself fighting back tears for this child and all of these victims that I didn't know. More than that, though, I was saddened by a different realization: That the building of this memorial -- as beautiful as it was -- was even necessary in the first place. That hatred was the driving force behind 9/11 attacks. That that hate still exists today. That 9/11 seems to be exploited to divide us rather than unite us. That we forget more easily, seven years later... (half the articles I wanted to read off of news sites were gone by the next day)

As I dragged myself away from the memorial, I resolved that I would try harder to remember that day. Up until last Friday I found it difficult to, both because I wasn't here for that day, and because each day further removes me temporally from 9/11/2001.

I will need memorials like this to help remind me...


______
You can see some pictures I took while there.

*My personal favorite was another missionary's far-fetched speculation that he heard "Salt Lake [was] going to be attacked next"; as Seinfeld says: "The egotism of the average human being is just astounding..."

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My Thanks

Through a recent effort to inform myself about the world and its history, I've unfortunately found that in our world, war is not always avoidable.

In fact, it seems that wars are not just unavoidable on occasion -- they are inevitable. Conflict appears to engulf all global issues, and it is usually the result of indiscriminate hatred or some moron who feels they are entitled to more at the expense of the freedom of others... or some twisted combination of both. It is an unyielding disease of take, take, take, and it is more than a little depressing to read about day in and day out.

Lately, however, what has struck me more poignantly is that there is a flip-side to that coin: Giving, e.g. those who serve or have served in our Armed Forces. Their motivations for enlisting may differ slightly -- some fight to protect the freedoms of loved ones at home. Some, for the freedom of people in other countries. Others, to try and improve the world around them. I can't speak for each individual. When it comes down to it, the universal and unifying aspects to it all is their willingness to serve and sense of duty.

My heartfelt gratitude goes out to those men and women who, without hesitation, willingly go to distant and foreign lands to fight because they love their country and their fellow man.

I don't know why, but recently, every time I hear the National Anthem at a sporting event, or see uniformed servicemen walking through the airport, my eyes well up. It makes me grateful for what has been given by them and their predecessors, and makes me think about what I should be willing to give; not just to ensure the future freedoms of our country and the world, but also as a token of my gratitude for all of those unknowns that willingly served their country.

Happy Veterans' Day, everyone. Whether you agree with America's involvement in current conflicts or not, remember why we have it.

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