Running at the Speed of Life

Star Wars Episode I Review DELETED SCENES

2011-12-26T07:51:00.000-06:00

If you want to know what I thought of Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, go here. Do it, or else this post won't make as much sense. Go. Trust me, you'll be glad you did.

Okay, welcome back. This post isn't going to be thought provoking or anything like it; rather, it's the things I liked/didn't like that I omitted from my review's final draft for the sake of brevity. Now do you see why it was so important to go read the review first?

The Rest of the Bad

- Obi-Wan, the learner, seems smarter , or at least more in tune with the Force, than Qui-Gon, the master
- “You and the Naboo form a symbiont circle” - a stupid line in any setting, and is Jar Jar supposed to understand any of that?
- Apparently Jedi carry a Batman-esque utility belt with mini-scuba rebreathers; wouldn’t it be cooler if they had the “Force Hold Your Breath” power?
- The sea monsters looked cool but were unnecessary. Heck, the whole bongo scene could have been cut (maybe replace them with the Podrace deleted scenes?)
- Battle droids: their aim is horrible and their reaction time atrocious. Maybe the Trade Federation prefers quantity production over quality production
- Jake Lloyd: I know really good child actors are hard to find, but Jake was horrible. Awful. It doesn’t help that teen Jake looks like this.
- “Greed can be a powerful ally.” What does that even mean? Saying it’s a powerful tool or even a weapon at least makes a little sense.
- Eopie flatulence: fart jokes never make a movie better
- “I’ve encountered a vergence in the Force.” I’m not sure that word even works in this context.
- Bring Anakin along: It makes zero sense to bring Anakin to Theed City, where you’re going to battle hundreds of blaster-wielding droids. Zero sense.
- Kid hero: Related to that, child heroes make me cringe more often than not. Uber-high midi-chlorian count or not, no 9-year-old boy I’ve met would keep a cool head in the middle of a 30-1-odds space battle. Having him save the day came of as cheap thrills meant for kid audiences.
- Hair style: Surely the thousands-of-years-old Jedi order could have come up with a better haircut for Padawans.
- Palpatine/Darth Sidious: I wish there had been a better way to hide Palpatine’s true identity. Everyone in the world knew he was the future Emperor.
- Immaculate Birth: Related to the midi-chlorian issue, I’m bothered by the immaculate birth of Anakin. It doesn’t bother me so much as a Christian as it bothers me as someone who doesn’t like copycats. I have no problem with allusions to history/mythology/legend; I do have a problem with carbon copies.

The Rest of the Good

- Brian Blessed: The Gungans aren’t my favorite, but you have to love Brian Blessed and his awesome voice as Boss Nass.
- Chance Meeting: The moment where R2D2 and C3PO meet for the first time is classic, simple and nicely done.
- Cameos on Tatooine: The brief appearances by Jabba the Hutt, the Jawas and the Tusken Raiders (Sand People) were fun to watch.
- Droids Unfolding: The scene where the battle droids deploy and unfold and stand up was really cool to watch the first time. It still is.
- Farewell to Qui-Gon: The funeral scene was really poignant and somber, aided by beautiful music by John Williams. The only bad part was the short exchange between Yoda and Mace Windu. Yoda- “Always two there are, a master and an apprentice.” Mace- “But which was destroyed, the master or the apprentice?” Repetition sucks.

#AMNewsers

2011-12-22T20:34:00.000-06:00

Working the overnight hours can be quiet. I love that. I'm the only one in the newsroom for the first couple of hours, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

It can also be lonely. Not many people work overnight, and even with the births of more and more ways to connect to people worldwide, it's a small population what makes their living while the sun is down.

I forgot what one of these even looks like.

Enter the AM Newsers. As I started to embrace Twitter more in both a personal and professional capacity, I started encountering people who not only worked the same hours I do, but who work in the same profession I do.

It probably started with Troy, a producer in Kansas City with whom I'd share and exchange information on Missouri-based stories. He'd ask for details on a murder in Columbia, I'd ask for more information on a robbery in Independence. Stuff like that.

As time went on, I came across other producers and anchors and reporters who used Twitter as much or more than I do. We began interacting with each other, sharing the crazy stories going on in our DMA (Designated Market Area = viewing area) on a given day.

This is our neighborhood.

More than that, though, we chat over Twitter about less work-related stuff: what we brought for lunch/breakfast that day, what movies we had recently enjoyed, how dumb Celebrity X is and why, etc. We share our frustrations about outdated news technology, crazy people calling the newsroom about who know's what, and how the weekend never comes soon enough. Some are nerds just like me; some are nerds about other stuff; some are just news junkies.

It's become a tight-knit community, a circle of friends on whom I can regularly count to cheer me up, validate my idiotic attempts at humor or agree when I say AP Newscenter is the worst piece of news-related software ever invented. How tight-knit?

Tighter-knitterer than this.

One of the AM Newsers, Kevin in North Carolina, came up with a Secret Santa plan for Christmas this year. It didn't involve purchased gifts (we're in the news business = we're all poor); instead, each person would come up with a haiku for another person, chosen at random. I have no idea who wrote one for me, but I love it:

*Takes Darth Vader breath/

Happy Holidays, my friend,/

Your wit never ends.

Apparently this what I conjure up in the minds of my counterparts. I'm okay with that.

I thought it was a fantastic idea, a lot of fun to do, and made my day.

So Happy Holidays to the AM Newser crew- you guys/gals make each weekday morning fun and bearable and unique!

The AM Newsers, in no particular order (apologies if you're not on the list, let me know and I'll add you): Michelle in Tulsa, Ryan in Dallas, Seth in New York, Kevin in North Carolina, Todd in Alaska, Cate in California, Kristin in Tulsa, Jay in Springfield, Josh in Washington, D.C., Troy in Kansas City, Ron in Tulsa, Wiley in Oregon, Chris in Kansas City, Megan in Columbia, Lindsay in Florida, Jason in Tulsa, Jennifer in Wichita, and I guess I have to include Evan and Lauren in Columbia.

If you want to follow our weird/crazy/funny musings on Twitter, check out #AMNewsers - maybe someday they'll write a book about us).

Vaya con Dios, Palbert, Part II

2011-12-12T09:37:00.000-06:00

READ PART I BEFORE YOU READ PART II. SCROLL DOWN WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED UNTIL YOU GET TO PART I. BETTER YET, JUST CLICK HERE FOR PART I

To recap: Cardinals want to keep Palbert, Palbert wants to stay forever and get paid what he deserves, Cardinals can't make it happen before season starts, Palbert says "No talky during season," Cardinals win World Series, season ends, no talky at all, still no deal, Miami offers then passes, Cards' chances look good, Anaheim Angels come out of nowhere, what will happen next?

Caught up?

Good.

When I last left you, I was going home from work. I had time to kill, so I played some LEGO Star Wars*. I decided to check the interweb one more time before going back to work for a meeting** and was greeted by the ESPN home page with this:

"PUJOLS AGREES TO DEAL WITH ANGELS"***

...Record Scratch...****

You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.*****

What just happened here? Is this reality? Did the Angels just swoop in from nowhere and land a deal with the best player of this generation? How could the Cardinals have let this happen? Why would Palbert ever play anywhere else but St. Louis? WHY? HOW? WHERE? WHEN? WHO?

Only an executive order could have a chance at making Palbert stay.

Over the next day or so I had time to think about this, to absorb, to reflect, to read other reactions, to see what others think. And here's my take, in no particular order.

I'm not angry anymore. I guess I wasn't ever really angry, it was more the shock talking/thinking. I'm not surprised, not anymore. I should have seen this coming. I talked myself into thinking that despite the failed pre-season negotiations, Palbert would give St. Louis the benefit, the first bite at the apple, dibs. Maybe he did. Yeah, we heard about Miami's offer first, but maybe St. Louis had been casting their line out quietly.

Am I mad at the Cardinals bigwigs? Yes and no. I'm mad that they weren't willing to give Palbert what he wanted (more on this in a moment). I'm upset that they didn't take care of this in 2009 or 2010. At the same time, it makes business sense not to shackle yourself to a single player who may or may not continue his legendary productivity as he nears 40. It makes business sense not to get into a deal where you'd be paying a 40-year-old player $20-25 million a year when he may or may not be playing at that level. It makes business sense to not pay $200M-plus to one guy when you could use the same money to get three or four guys who are still great and could potentially do more for your team than the one guy. It was a smart business decision.

But then, it's Palbert we're talking about. He's won the MVP three times. He's finished among the top 5 in MVP voting for the last 10 years. He's set an unprecedented record with ten straight 30-home run, 100 RBI seasons. Those ten years were his first ten years in pro baseball. He's been a Hall of Fame shoe-in from pretty much the first time he stepped to the plate at the old Busch Stadium. You can't get better than Palbert, not these days. He's become the face of the Cardinals, the signature of the franchise. He's a virtual god in the Midwest, and to boot he's a nice, humble, family- and faith-centered guy.

So when someone tells me the Cardinals made a good business decision, part of me agrees. But a bigger part says, "This is Palbert we're talking about. He's the guy, the one guy, for whom you make exceptions, for whom you agree to what he wants no matter how crazy it sounds. He's earned it. He deserves it."

So what of Palbert himself? Am I mad at him? Do I feel betrayed? Did he sell out? Is he the new LeBron James?

The answer is no. To all of the above.

From what I can glean of the goings-on and negotiations, Palbert wanted a 10-year deal with a no-trade clause that would also have made him the highest-paid player in baseball. I think all of those are fair things for the greatest player in the game right now to seek. The first two would have essentially meant he would finish his career with the team where he started, that he would come in as a Cardinal and go out as a Cardinal. That's a big deal, and not just because you get a statue outside the stadium.

I heard a statistic the other day that of the nearly 300 players in the MLB Hall of Fame, less than fifty made it having only played for one team. In the current baseball economy where it's not unheard of for a guy to play for two teams in one year and four in two years, staying with one team your whole career is a big deal. The only two guaranteed HOF-ers I can think of who have done that and are still playing are Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera. It's a wonderful thing to want, and like I said, Palbert had earned the right to make that request.

What of the money, then? There is a fair number of folk who argue something along these lines: "I don't want to hear someone who's going to make $XX million dollars a year complaining about not getting enough money." Here's my answer to that: I agree that professional athletes make an obscene amount of money. But there's an economy in each sport, where each participant is payed more or less based on their position in that economy. In the case of sports, players often get paid the highest, because in the sports economy, revenue is generated by the fans, who come to watch the player play. Again, it's obscene, but that's the way it is.

That said, there's no reason whatsoever to fault the best player in any given sport to expect, even ask, maybe demand that he/she be compensated as such. It's fair, it's equitable. Sure, if you compare your economy and baseball's economy, Palbert asking for $200 million plus is bordering on insulting. But in the economy of baseball, to which it's only fair to compare economies of other pro sports, it's absolutely reasonable for the game's best player to make that request.

Anyone who says he's not the best player in decades is an idiot. Or French.

So here we are. The Cardinals will tackle the 2012 season without the man who defined their previous eleven seasons. They'll try to make enough magic to get back to the postseason sans the man who can create sparks on the field like no other. Can they do it? Yes. Will the do it? Maybe, maybe not. Remember, they weren't supposed to be there this year. We all remember what happened anyway.

Since he joined the St. Louis Cardinals, Albert Pujols has become my favorite baseball player. He will remain so unless or until someone else comes along, regardless of where he plays. He gave me eleven of the best seasons I've experienced as a Cardinals fan. I got to watch him make chumps out of the game's best pitchers, got to watch him turn blistering fastballs and impossible curveballs into unforgettable blasts flying as fast as physics will let them. It's been an honor to watch him play in St. Louis in a Cardinals uniform.

So I say, with no anger, ire, sarcasm, malice or venom: Vaya con Dios, El Hombre.

*Useless detail.
**Another useless detail.
***Useful detail, but not a direct quote.
****My life has changed after finding this sound effect.
*****My actual reaction was, regrettably, a little more PG-13.

Vaya con Dios, Palbert, Part I

2011-12-09T11:42:00.000-06:00

You'd think someone with a head as big as mine would be able to easily wrap it around what just happened. As it is, however, there's too much guacamole for this tortilla* right now.

I don't know how to textually convey what goes through this massive noggin o'mine at the mention of one Jose Alberto Pujols Alcantara, hereafter referred to as Palbert**.

Don't let the smile fool you - this hombre can get fearless in a hurry

It feels a bit like the stages of grief - anger, denial, sadness, acceptance - but even now, a day later, there's still a quasi-palpable feeling of "This can't be happening."

I'm not sure I can create a cohesive reflection on this earth-shattering*** saga. So instead let's see what kind of stew we can make with the hodgepodge, the mishmash, the gallimaufry, if you will, of my thoughts.

It basically all began back during Spring Training this year****, when the Cardinals failed to come up with a contract offer sufficient enough to keep Palbert around after the 2011 season. Their deadline was only as long as the pre-season, since Palbert said "No contract negotiations once the season starts." Sure enough, in a transpiring meant solely to give me indigestion for the next six months, both sides failed to make a deal. The Cards wouldn't budge from their nine-year offer (Palbert reportedly wanted 10 years) and Palbert apparently wanted to at least think about what might be behind Door #2.

Flash forward to November. Fresh off a ridiculous, uncanny and unprecedentedly thrilling World Series win, Cardinals fans thought nothing could pop that balloon. Surely after what the team had done in the face of unspeakably impossible odds, Palbert would want to keep the magic going. So what if Tony LaRussa retires and his seat taken by someone who, though beloved by Cardinal Nation, has no pro managing experience? Palbert had said he wanted to be a Cardinal forever, so no problem, right?

Then the silence began. No whispers of negotiations. No hints of negotiations. Bupkus. Worry, that same anxiety from the unresolved Spring Training dilemma, started to creep back in. "But that's okay," I rationalized, "no one is really doing anything. It means nothing."

Jump to December. Winter Meetings: the time when MLB general managers meet and free agency***** becomes the hot topic. The rumors start: the freshly-remonikered Miami Marlins might be making a play for Palbert. They've got a new stadium, a lot of new virtual revenue to spend and a need for some revitalization.

Them?

Surely Palbert wouldn't choose southern Florida over St. Louis, where he started his career, where he wants to finish his career, where he's just a few hours from his hometown of Independence, MO. But word came out that Miami's offer was a juicy one: 10 years, in the ballpark of $200 million, provisions ensuring Palbert as the face of the franchise even after retirement.

Again, worry. But again, rationalization: He'd rather stay in St. Louis, the Cardinals can come up with $200M, they can tack on another year for Palbert, a three-time MVP with the team. When Palbert didn't accept right away, the hope grew. Sure enough, days later when still no announcement was made, Miami moved on to other fish and word got out the Cardinals had something like a 10-year, $220M offer to their masthead.

Look for a story to this photo at a later date.

That's enough, right? With Miami gone, the Cards are the frontrunners, right? Yeah, there was something about the Cubs maybe wanting to get in on the bidding, but that's dead in the water, right?******

Skip to Thursday morning. My Thursday morning, which starts at the literal beginning of morning: midnight. All the pundits******* were saying St. Louis was looking good, it's likely Palbert will stick around.

...Record scratch...

But what's this? The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim are making a move? What kind of move"? Is it enough to woo The Machine? Enough to do what millions hopes was impossible and get Palbert out of a Cardinals uniform? Uncertainty ensues. But I go home from work, reasonably sure that things will turn out alright All will be well.

It has to be.

STAY TUNED FOR PART II COMING ___(insert date/time here)_____

*What the heck am I talking about?
**A nickname I made up for Albert which may or may not have been taken from a well-known flash-animated website.
***Meant to be taken literally. I felt some shaking. Though it could have been rage. Or hunger.
****Arguably (and in my opinion) it started much earlier when the Cardinals seemingly didn't look ahead enough to see this contract renewal issue coming. They should have locked Palbert down one or two years ago, not the year his contract expires.
*****Not in the Latter-day Saint sense; more in the "I can sign with whomever I want and no one can stop me" sense.
******Come on, it's the Cubs. No one likes them, no one wants to play for them, and they'll never have a chance at anything.
*******What a stupid word.

Gratias

2011-11-24T03:58:00.001-06:00

What I Am Thankful For This Year

Arrested Development, Agency, Alfred, Animals, Avocados

Beckie, Books, Bed, Baseball, Ben (see also: Jerry)

Cardinals, Cookies, Cake, Computer, Cheetahs

Dad, Donuts, Dairy, Danishes, Defense Department (2 points)

Elise, Emily, Estonia, Earth, Employment

Florence, Food, Faith, Friends, Freedom

Germany, Google, Greece, Genes, Gelato

House, Humor, Hope, Health (relatively speaking), Hamburgers

Ice Cream, Italy, Ibuprofen, Immunizations, Iambic Pentameter

Juli, Joe, Jason, Jeff, Jerry (see also: Ben)

Kirsti, Kebabs, KU Basketball, Kangaroos, Kazakhstan

Lucy, Lonnie Ray's, Lord of the Rings, LOST, Lewis (C.S.)

Mom, Max, Mission experience, Music, Means

Noah, Nuts, Nutella, Nectarines, News

Oatmeal, Oboes, Oceans, October, Olive Oil

Pumpkin (insert dessert here), Popcorn, Paris, Parthenon, Pita

Quebec, Quidditch, Quarters, Quartz, Quiche

Russia, Ryan, Ruby Tuesday, Randomness, Religion

Sarah, St. Louis, Scripture, Star Wars, Sadie

Tamara, Trissy, TV, 30 (Thirty) Rock, Trivia

USA, Unambiguity, Ukraine, Underwear, Ululation

Vehicles, Varns, Vacations, Vanilla Bean, Vending Machines

Wife, Wiles Family, Wii, Wikipedia, Writing

X-rays, X Men, Xenon, Xerox, Xanthan Gum

Yankees, Yoda, Yams, Yard, Yuletide

Zimmer (Hans), Zealand (the new one), Zoos, Zucchini bread, Zombie Shakespeare

Veteran's Day Anecdote

2011-11-11T09:22:00.000-06:00

On November 11 last year, I was working a dinner shift at the restaurant that has employed me for the past seven years (for the sake of anonymity, we'll refer to said restaurant as "Emerald Thursday"). It was Veterans' Day, and a popular thing that day was to offer a free meal to veterans of the armed forces.

A man came in by himself and was seated at one of my tables. He politely asked about the free meal promotion, which I had the dishonor of telling him we did not offer. I suggested he may have been thinking of our competitor (we'll call them "Orangefly's), who had a restaurant a block away. The man then said, again politely, he was going there instead.

I felt several things at this point:

- Shame that my employer had not seen fit to offer a free meal to veterans.

- Embarrassment that I had to be the bearer of that bad news to a kind man

- Gratitude?/humility?/something else at the man's quiet, polite demeanor.

This last one: there was something about this man when he said he was going to the other restaurant. There was no anger, no rudeness, no air of jilted entitlement, nothing like that. I think he was a bit let down, but was gracious the whole time.

That stuck with me. Countless times before, I (and any other server anywhere) have had to deal with customers of a hundred temperaments:

- people who throw a virtual tantrum their steak isn't cooked to exactly the level of pinkness
- the much-reviled "dine-and-dashers"
- the woman trying to shave every possible penny off their bill by contesting every single line on the receipt
- high school-age kids
- the family who sits but promptly sneaks out when your back is turned because they don't want to pay that much for dinner
- the guy who sends food back after eating half of it in a poorly-veiled attempt to get free food
- the couple who acts as if all is well, only to tell you otherwise with the paltry tip they leave....in nickels.

One could easily imagine a veteran making a big stink over Emerald Thursday's lack of a veteran's meal on Veteran's Day. Maybe they're right in their thought process (not action) - I told the gentleman above I thought it was cheap for the restaurant to skive out like that. But he said thank you and politely excused himself, and I felt nothing negative toward him.

What does this all mean? I have no idea. I guess that, as much as I hate working with snotty customers, if there was a person who had a right to feel entitled, it should be a veteran. They've given months, if not years, of their life making sure we're safe and happy. They work to preserve the right of other Emerald Thursday customers to be as bratty or rude or haughty or pleasant as they like.

Not this guy. He acted in the way all of us should act in the presence of our veterans - kind, polite, gracious.

They've earned it more than we ever could.

Epilogue

2011-11-07T09:06:00.000-06:00

What was the point?

Sure, "Game Seven" are the two best words in sports, but could it really live up to what had happened the night before? After a Game Six like that, was there even a point to playing again?

Heck yes, there was, for both teams. Texas needed to prove Freese's extra-inning heroics were nothing more than a bump in the road, not the knockout punch it felt like the night before. St. Louis needed to prove that it could finish the magic show, not peter out during the final illusion.

The Rangers had suffered, and surely wanted to assuage that by promptly stomping the Cardinals into the soft Busch Stadium grass.

Honestly, how do you mow an arch into the grass like that?

But Destiny - that fickle mistress who had toyed with this outstanding October before - had one last card to play. Remember that rain delay- the one that pushed Game Six back to Thursday? It was more than a mere headache for the programming department at Fox - it was an extra day of rest for Game One and Game Five starter Chris Carpenter.

During the regular season, starting pitchers typically enjoy five days of no hard throwing between appearances. That allows the arms they torture with 90-or-more-mph fastballs and twisting curve balls to recuperate. During the playoffs, when more is on the line, it's not uncommon for starters to pitch on four days' rest, and in dire situations, three days' rest.

Without that rain, Carp would have only pitched in Game 5 two days before, not enough time for the veteran to get his strength back. But that rain delay - that gift from Destiny herself - meant Chris Carpenter, 9-2 in the postseason with no losses at home, would be ready.

That's the face of a winner, right there.

Was he ever.

Sure, it was a rough start - Carp let in two runs in the first inning. But David Freese, that hometown hero in so many ways, erased the mistakes with a game-tying two-run double in the bottom of the inning. Carpenter settled in and did what he does, holding the Rangers to only four more hits, none of which produced any runs. He'd done his job, and the bullpen did the rest.

That's really all there is to Game 7. The only other player to really shine was Allen Craig, who hit the go-ahead-and-eventually-winning home run and kept a Nelson Cruz fly ball from leaving the park. The Texas bullpen struggled, the Cardinals bullpen shone, and at 10:15 p.m. on October 28, Craig hauled in a David Murphy pop-up to secure the last out.

Delirium.

There I was, in Shiloh of all places, waiting for this moment. All around me, deafening beer-fueled roars or jubilation sang out. Whoops and hollers and yells of joy sounded off the brick walls and big-screen TV's. Complete strangers embraced each other in the shared feeling of victory, for which the fight had been long and hard and frustrating and exciting and so many other adjectives.

Somewhere in Texas, the opposite: Imagine the tip of your tongue, mere micrometers from a heaping spoonful of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk, and the gob of frozen awesome drops to the muddy ground. Imagine waiting for months to see "The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King", and right when it gets to a crucial- nay, utterly essential - point, the theater manager (likely a acne-imbued teenager sucking on an Icee) decides to call "intermission."

I imagine that's how the Rangers felt. I admire them, respect them: their coach, their players - there's nary a fault among them, and they were worthy opponents.

But, dang.

It feels good to be a Cardinal.

Game Six

2011-11-05T08:15:00.000-05:00

Game Six. A heretofore unimpressive description, "Game Six" now has a whole new meaning, especially if you cheer for the St. Louis Cardinals. Postponed a day by rain, this game happened on a brisk Thursday night. As they watched the usual pre-game festivities, no person anywhere in the world could have imagined, predicted, expected what would unfold over the next 4 hours and 33 minutes.

Watching the scoreboard over the first six innings was like a tennis match - back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Texas is up...no, now St. Louis leads...now Texas...St. Louis...Texas...St. Louis...TEXAS!

Add to that a humorless comedy of errors (five between the two teams, including two dropped routine fly balls by Cardinals outfielder Matt Holliday and David Freese) and you have a sloppy, wholly unspectacular game. It certainly was uninspiring for Cardinals fans, who saw their team enter the bottom of the 9th inning down 7-5. In what many saw as his potential last at-bat in a Cardinals uniform, Pujols created a spark with a double, then Lance Berkman walked to put the tying run on base. But Freese quickly fell behind in the count, putting the Cardinals/Rangers one strike away from losing/winning the World Series.

The Rangers' closer, Neftali Feliz, went to his fastball. He's probably regretting that. Texas right fielder Nelson Cruz, also a possible series MVP, was playing in just a tad. He's definitely regretting that. Because David Freese put one foot in the Cardinals history books by lacing a line drive over the outstretched glove of Cruz, sending Pujols and Berkman home and Game Six into extra innings.

Every party has a buzz kill, though, and for Cardinals fans, that fun sponge was Texas center fielder Josh Hamilton. The AL MVP from 2010 had had an unimpressive series to this point, but one swing of the bat in the top of the tenth inning changed all that: a two-run dinger to give Texas another two-run lead. Thoughts of "there's always next year" began creeping into the fringes of Cardinals fans' minds.

But what's this? In the bottom of the tenth inning, pinch hitter Daniel Descalso singles. Jon Jay singles. Ryan Theriot singles, and Descalso scores. 9-8 Rangers. Berkman, the Big Puma, steps up to the plate. There's a runner on third thanks to a sacrifice bunt from Kyle Lohse, the latest in a dizzying system of switches and substitutions: Lohse, a pitcher, was pinch-hitting for Edwin Jackson, another pitcher, who was slated to pinch hit for Motte, another pitcher. Weird, no?

But again, there are two outs, and alas, Berkman finds himself in the hole. Yet again, the Rangers are a strike - one measly, little, tiny strike - from the proverbial Hall of Champions. Some Cardinals fans allow their hopes to rise. Others convince themselves that lightning surely can not strike twice.

Or can it?

It does. Berkman plops a single into the no-mans-land between the infielders and outfielders. Jay scores. It's 9-9. For the second time in less than an hour, the Rangers had the title in their hands, only to watch it slip through their clutched fingers like so much sand. Twice now the champagne had bubbled so close to the top of the bottle, only to be tempered back down by the strange twists of the baseball gods, who on this night had seemed to come bedecked in Ranger blue, only to tear open their shirt like Superman to reveal a red bird underneath.

But the score was only tied. 9-9. There's still at least one inning to go. Maybe the magic would come back thrice.

It didn't. Texas failed to score, and in the bottom of the eleventh inning, David Freese (I told you his name would be important) kicked the Cardinals history book wide open with a home run to dead center field. As it landed in a wide patch of green grass, where it would be immediately scooped up by a magic moment-hungry fan, Freese circled the bases, one finger raised high in a triumphant salute to pure sports joy. His teammates, overcome with jubilation and giddy glee, waited to mob him like never before. Freese spiked his helmet between his legs and jumped into the fray. As his teammates proceeded to shred his jersey in unbridled excitement, Freese soaked in the moment that not only had he and his team parried the executioner's sword twice, but they had managed a riposte that would guarantee the fight would go on another day.

Faces inside and outside Busch Stadium split wide into Chesiresque grins of childish delight. Sports pundits from St. Louis to Solla Sollew shook their heads in unprecedented disbelief, both confused and overjoyed at how what they just saw happened. No one seemed to notice or even care that there was still a Game 7 to play.

On this night, there was only the pure joy of victory.

Wild Cards

2011-11-04T10:00:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here and I literally have no idea where to start. How do you begin to describe what will in all likelihood be one of the benchmarks for how exciting and unpredictable and amazing and gut-wrenching and mind-blowing and pulse-pounding and terror-inducing and sweat-producing and brain-exploding (the list goes on for a while) sports can be?

This is like me watching sports. Except I'm usually throwing something. Or crying.

Already we thought we saw it all: a team come from an all-but-guaranteed seat on the playoff sidelines and secure the wild card berth on the last and most improbably entertaining day of the season. That same team beat the overwhelming favorites in the National League, thanks especially to a pitching performance worthy of a Homerian poem. That team send their bitter-in-2011 rivals back from where they came.

The Wild Cards.

I wish I'd thought of that moniker first, but I have to give credit to a writer in Sports Illustrated. The pun induces a grin because the St. Louis Cardinals, or Cards, were in fact the wild card team.

But it does so much more in describing what the boys in red and white did this year, especially in the month of October.

We rejoin our heroes as they ride the A-train (A = amazing/awesome/astounding/whatever you want) back to St. Louis, where by virtue of a National League victory in the All-Star Game, the Cardinals had home field advantage. Four of the possible seven games would be played in the shadow of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial (better known as "The Arch"). Advantage: Cardinals (a delicious morsel of irony: the game-winning home run in the All-Star game was hit by Prince Fielder of the Brewers - whom the Cardinals had just beaten - on a pitch from C.J. Wilson, who would start Game 1 of the World Series for the Texas Rangers).

I'ma make this short: Games 1-5 were each interesting in their own right with highlights worth remembering. But they ain't what baseball fans are talking about and will continue to talk about for generations to come. I mention them briefly here:

Game 1: Decent starts by Wilson and Chris Carpenter gave way to a battle of wits between Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa and Rangers skipper Ron Washington. LaRussa, ever the Grand Master of baseball strategy, gains the upper hand when pinch-hitter Allen Craig hits a go-ahead (and eventually winning) run off Alexi Ogando, who until now had been nigh-unhittable in the playoffs. Cardinals win 3-2, and Washington learns a valuable lesson: Never trust an Italian when a World Series game is on the line.

Or a Sicilian. But what do they know about baseball?

Game 2: Much of the game features a classic pitcher's duel between starters Jaime (pronounce HY-may) Garcia for STL and Colby Lewis for TEX. A sick feeling of deja vu settles over the Rangers dugout when, in the seventh inning, Craig hits a go-ahead single...again...off Ogando...again. But so-far-stellar-and-officially-unofficial closer Jason Motte gave up two singles, and two sacrifice flies later (coupled with a Pujols sort-of error) the Rangers had stolen the lead. Three Cardinals outs later and the Series is even 1-1 going down to Arlington, TX.

Game 3: You might as well call this one the Albert Pujols show. It started innocuously enough - Craig hits a home run, the Cardinals get four more, the Rangers battle back, yadda yadda yadda the Cardinals are up 8-6 after five innings. Enter The Machine. Palbert, who had been hitless thus far in the series, knocks a towering three-run home run off, who else, Ogando to put St. Louis up by five. The next inning, Albert hits another home run, and in the next inning Numero Cinco does it again, making him only the third person ever to hit 3 home runs in a World Series game (Babe Ruth and Reggie Jackson are the others). Cardinals dominate 16-7.

Game 4: That mustache.

It's like a wispy mess of eww.

Yeah, that's the one. I'm convinced it unnerved the Cardinals so bad, they couldn't even score a run. Derek Holland and his horrific mustache went nearly the whole game, only giving up two hits. The Rangers win 4-0, and even the series at 2-2.

Game 5: It's Carpenter v. Wilson again. Carp starts strong while the Cardinals tag C.J. for two to go up early. But a pair of home runs by Mitch Moreland and Adrian Beltre evened the score. Jump forward to the eighth inning: Cardinals southpaw Marc Rzepczynski (zep-CHIN-skee) has the bases loaded with right-handed (and World Series MVP candidate) Mike Napoli coming up. LaRussa goes to switch Rzep for Jason Motte, but thanks to a technical difficulty with the phone to the bullpen, Motte never warmed up. Rzep has to stay in, and promptly gives up a two-run double to Napoli. The damage is done, and faster than you can say "I said Motte!" the Rangers are one game away from their first ever World Series title.

That's the look of a man who has no idea what the heck just happened.

(Take a bathroom/drink break - that first part was long, and I can't promise the second part won't be just as long/even longer. I'll even break it up into two entries to give you an excuse to stand and stretch)

The Fall of the House of Plush

2011-11-03T08:56:00.000-05:00

Bad blood. It's a real thing, especially in sports, especially between certain teams. The Cardinals and Cubs certainly have a fierce rivalry going back who knows how many years. But much like the Yankees-Red Sox feud, much of the actual animosity occurs between fans, not players. That's usually how it goes in baseball, but for the last couple of years, tempers have flared in unusual ways when the Cardinals take the field against other teams in the National League Central Division.*

In 2010, the Reds and Cardinals got into it good, starting with Brandon Phillips and his big mouth and ending with Cincinnati pitcher Johnny Cueto kicking two Cardinals players (pitcher Chris Carpenter and backup catcher Jason LaRue) in the back like a ___________ (here's the recap of the brawl and accompanying video) (and for the record, LaRue got a concussion and had to end his career).

This year, it was the Brewers' turn to stir the pot. In August, the Brewers hit top slugger Albert Pujols with a pitch, and Tony LaRussa answered (as is his custom, like it or not) by hitting one of the Brewers' best hitter, Ryan Braun. In September, Milwaukee motormouth Nyjer Morgan struck out to Carpenter and immediately started throwing F-bombs out like candy at a parade, punctuation his prose by chucking his chaw toward the pitcher's mound. When Pujols came in to make sure there were no problems, Nyjer told him where he could stick his MVP awards and the benches cleared. All ended without injury, but afterwards Morgan took to Twitter, where as his altar ego "Tony Plush" he launched more mouthy attacks at Palbert.

That sweat on Nyjer Morgan's face was soon to become egg.

Those salty words must have tasted real bitter come October 16.

If you recall, the Brewers came into September with a very cushy 10-game lead on the Cardinals, and when the regular season ended were still six games up despite the Cardinals' unbelievable month. Sporting the second-best record in the National League, the Brewers handled the Arizona Diamondbacks and waited for the Cardinals-Phillies series to end, probably expecting to face the latter. I wonder if they were surprised to find their division rivals coming to town.

Here it was - a chance for the teams to put all the year's scuffles behind them, to go toe to toe and decide for real who was top dog in the ring. It certainly looked good for Milwaukee after Game 1, where they came from behind and kept going to a 9-6 win. The Cardinals jabbed right back and added a left hook in Game 2, winning 12-3 thanks in large part to Palbert and David Freese (remember that second name, kids, it'll be real important later).

Remember this face, too. It's gonna get real famous in the next round.

The next two games were lower on the scoring end, and a split decision meant the series was tied 2-2. But it was all St. Louis from there - they would outscore the Brewers 19-7 over the last two games, winning the National League Championship Series and clinching their second World Series berth in six seasons (third since 2004). The playoffs experience for both teams was far less frictitious than the regular season, but one can't help but note the irony that the dominant-in-August-and-September Brewers are the ones sent packing.

All that jawing and chawing, and Tony Plush got to watch the Cardinals in the Fall Classic. There's probably a lesson there for you, kids. Let me know when you find it.

*One would be justified in wondering why the animosity toward the Cardinals. My pithy response is that they're tired of playing in the Cardinals' shadow - one can't deny the Redbirds have been the dominant team in the Central division for years.

Wait....What?

2011-11-02T09:17:00.000-05:00

It's Friday night and where am I?

In any other year, on this particular Friday, the last in October, I'd be on a field in some small mid-Missouri town, standing on trodden patches of grass and mud with a video camera in my hand, dodging football coaches and waterboys. Or, barring that, I'd be with my wife somewhere eating some good food while talking about something entertaining.

Not this Friday night, though. This Friday night, I'm in what for me is the most unlikely of weekend destinations: a bar in downtown Columbia.

All around me, wide/flat/LCD/whatever-kind-you-want-screen TVs flash all kinds of bright colors; the volume on each TV is up full, but thanks to the din created by the ever-growing and slowly-self-inebriating crowd, an elephant could run through the room screaming and no one would notice. The smell of buffalo wings makes my stomach wake up, and the stench from 3-foot-high beer tower dispensers puts it right back to sleep.

These are as dumb as they look.

To my left a pair of young ladies sport glittery headbands; to my right, a young gentleman has donned a karate-style bandana with a furry-tailed rodent on the front. In one corner, there's a largely unnoticed small pile of whatever someone ate previously mixed with whatever said someone decided to imbibe.

At 10:15 p.m., after literally standing on my feet for more than four hours, I give/receive high-fives from no less than three complete strangers, knowing full well we won't remember each other, all in celebration because the St. Louis Cardinals are the 2011 World Series champions.

This has to be Photoshopped....right?

Wait.....what?!?

The Cardinals?!?

This is some kind of sick joke, right? I mean, just a few weeks ago they were out. Gone. Finished. Done. The proverbial piper had been paid. The swan song was being sung, so to speak.

But Destiny had a different tune in mind.

With little more than a month to play in the season, St. Louis was an insurmountable 10 games behind in their division (an all-but-guaranteed division title lock for the Brewers) and faced a 10.5-game deficit in the National League Wild Card race (a nigh-impregnable lead belonging to the Atlanta Braves). Odds of making the playoffs: 1.3%.

Sure, mathematicians would say St. Louis had just over a 1% chance to make the playoffs, so technically there was a chance.Technically, the Cardinals could play in the postseason. Technically I can resist a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Numbers are great and all, but like the hillbillies' wish to be called "sons of the soil," it ain't gonna happen.

But Destiny wasn't taking "no" for an answer.

So many things had to happen for St. Louis to see any action in October: the Brewers and/or Braves would have to suffer the September swoon of the century. At the same, the Cardinals would have to not just keep their heads above water, but do the weird dolphin-like tail-walk we all love to see.

This move is why dolphins will always be our superior.

One of those situations = possible. Two = not so much. But it happened. The Brewers did what they do - win - but in a bizarre mirror-image-like month, the Cardinals went an incredible 18-8, while the Braves suffered an indelible 9-18. It came down to the last day, to the wire, to this:

Cardinals win + Braves loss = Cardinals in the playoffs
Cardinals win + Braves win = tie-breaker game
Cardinals loss + Braves loss = tie-breaker game
Cardinals loss + Braves win = Braves in the playoffs.

The date: September 28, a day which will live in "famy", the day when Destiny played her first had, showed an initial glimpse of what she had in mind for the Cardinals. St. Louis did its part, beating the Houston Astros 8-0 behind a complete game shutout courtesy of Chris Carpenter (remember that name, kids, we'll get back to him in a minute). Atlanta, meanwhile, was doing its part to force that one-game playoff - up 3-2 against the Phillies in the 9th inning, they just needed two outs to stay in the race.

But Destiny tossed out twin banana peels named Chase Utley and Hunter Pence.

One hit a sacrifice fly to tie the score, and the other hit the go-ahead-that-would-become-the-game-winning run in the 12th inning. Just like that, the Braves were out. Gone. Finished. Done. They got stuck with the piper's bill, while the Cardinals rang up a tab of celebratory champagne. So it was that as the calender flipped over to October, that month to top all months in baseball, the Cardinals were in the game. Just a few easy games and they'd be on easy street, right?

Nein, mein freund.

As the Wild Card team, the Cardinals got the Philadelphia Phillies first. That same team who knocked the Braves for a last-game loop, the same team that won 102 games in the regular season, a franchise record and the best record in the National League (the Phillies earned that honor in 2010 as well, and had clinched the NL East five straight years). Philly featured a dominating pitching rotation: two-time Cy Young Winner Roy Halladay, 2008 Cy Young winner Cliff Lee and multi-time All Stars Cole Hamels and Roy Oswalt. That's four out of five games right there, all but guaranteed to be a wins. The Cardinals had a pitcher who had tasted anything more than an All Star nod - 2005 Cy Young winner Chris Carpenter - and he'd pitched on that fateful last day of the regular season.

Philadelphia had 3-1 odds in their favor, and as with all Cinderella stories, midnight was to come sooner or later. Sure enough, after three games, the Phillies were up 2-1. The fat lady was doing her warm-ups and the pumpkin coach was pulling up to the castle.

But Destiny had a new card to play.

The best thing to happen to rodentia since Rocky.

St. Louis fans got a glimpse of this heaven-sent helper in Game 3, when a squirrel darted in and around the sidelines of Busch Stadium, causing a momentary delay which many chalked up to mere happenstance. But the critter would be back: in the fifth inning of Game 4, the squirrel darted across home plate right as Oswalt was delivering his pitch. Again, most felt it wasn't much more than a brief, if not amusing, stint in the spotlight for the rodent. That the Cardinals won to even the series was probably nothing more than a hiccup.

But maybe this creature had been sent by Destiny herself, a daemon to sprinkle luck and good fortune from its fluffy tail onto the mostly luckless-in-2011 Cardinals.

That fortune was never more evident in this series than in Game 5, a Titan-versus-Titan matchup of Halladay and Carpenter: both were teammates on the Blue Jays and became close friends before leaving for shores of greater success in Philadelphia and St. Louis. It was predicted to be a pitcher's duel, and what a duel it was. The Cardinals scored before an out had been recorded, but it would be the first and last run of the night. Halladay was brilliant, but Carpenter was just as brilliant, going the distance for the first man to throw a deciding-game shutout in 20 years.

Somehow, the Cardinals had kept the music going long enough to steal a seat from the best team in baseball. The Phillies were left standing while St. Louis rode the train west, Rally Squirrel in palm, to face the very team that had stymied them in so many ways in the regular season: the Milwaukee Brewers.

Stay Tuned for Tomorrow's Episode: The Brew Crew and the Turn of the Screw

Untitled

2011-10-25T08:20:00.000-05:00

I know not where the pathway lies.

Dark shadows overhead

Confuse the eye and chill the mind

And fill the soul with dread.

Though told of roads less traveled by

O'er-grown in unworn state,

I cannot see beyond myself

Dark are my dreams of late.

With sadness, past omissions come,

The present stands with doubt.

With dread and fear the future nears,

Her unknowns sewn throughout.

I know not to where the pathway leads

Through despair's deep, wintry night.

I pray the end stands in my reach,

With hope and guiding light.

Because I Have Nothing Else to Blog About at the Moment

2011-09-28T09:46:00.000-05:00

What's on my mind right now? Moles, those'r what.

No, not those kind. The furry kind.

Wait, that's not any better. Okay, not the kind that grow on your skin. I'm talking the kind that get under your skin.

Gross. I meant metaphorically.

Not cute at all.

Anyway, I'd blog about them - I even have a moderately profound life lesson thing related to the reprehensible rodents - but the mere mention gets my whatever-the-heck-dander-is up, so I will refrain.

Oh. This is dander. The metaphor still makes no sense.

Instead, please enjoy this light-hearted list/survey/whatever you call these things.

36 Odd Questions

1. Do you like bleu cheese? I do to some degree. Too much and I want to yark.

2. Have you ever smoked? Only the competition at Mario Kart.

Crude, but more or less what others see when I'm playing

3. Do you own a gun? I have a .22-caliber rifle that originally belonged to my grandfather. It's really old but fairly accurate.

4. What flavor Kool-Aid was your favorite? I'm not sure about this "was" business - I still like Kool-Aid. But my favorite flavor has never been constant. As a kid I like blue because it was different, and orange because Aldi's knockoff never included that flavor. Nowadays, though, I'd say cherry or grape.

I'm not even sure what this is supposed to mean; thank Google Images for finding it for me

5. Do you get nervous before doctor's appointments? Nope. Unless one of my limbs has blackened and shriveled. But even then, I know it's not good, so no worries.

6. Favorite Christmas movie? Scrooge. No question. Honorable mention: The Lemon-Drop Kid

7. What do you think of hot dogs? I think they are usually edible, but never to be chosen over hamburgers.

This is really dumb. And really cute. But mostly dumb. And adorable.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? My mornings - diet Sun Drop or diet Cherry Coke. Normal mornings - milk

9. Can you do push-ups? I can, I prefer not to

Honestly, who smiles while doing push-ups?

10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? Necklace I got for my wife while we were dating. It's the only jewelry I got for her without any outside (read: wife's) consultation.

11. Favorite hobby? Does eating count?

12. Do you have A.D.D.? Awfully personal, blog survey writer, don't you think? But I probably have it to a mild degree.

13. 3 thoughts at this exact moment: 1) Stupid question that isn't even a question 2) Moles are dumb 3) Still talking about the animal ones, not the skin ones.

14. Do you wear glasses or contacts? Yes

15. Middle name? Trouble. No, Ready. No, Awesome. Wait.....okay, Awesome.

16. Current worry? Besides moles? Future.

17. Current hate right now: Okay, who comes up with these? Um, anything by Rihanna, celebreality stars, tomatoes, ani-moles (see what I did there?), our lawn, the Houston Astros, terrorists, the fact that I still have to wait for "The Dark Knight Rises", George Lucas, I could go on

I'd pay a heavy bounty for this to happen

18. Favorite place to be: Germany. With my wife.

19. How did you bring in the New Year? Um, it's September. And isn't it "ring in the New Year?"

20. Where would you like to go? Isn't that double-dipping on question 18? But I'd add Russia, Italy England, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, a lot of places

Yes, I will visit here someday, thank you

21. Name three people who will complete this: I'd like to see Beckie, Tamara and Juli do this.

22. Do you own slippers? Too personal. But yes, I do.

23. What shirt are you wearing? It has buttons. Someone at work thought it was "dapper." I guess because I usually wear polos.

24. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? Who's asking these, Oprah? No, I never have and I never plan to. Just....weird. Weirder would be satin sheets on a water bed.

These don't even LOOK comfortable.

25. Can you whistle? And how. I can whistle the normal way AND through my teeth. Tamara hates/loves it

26. Favorite color? Green. Like grass, thumbs and lanterns

Get it? Because he has a lantern. And it's green.

27. Would you be a pirate? Yes, and I would rob and plunder from whoever came up with these questions

28. What songs do you sing in the shower? I don't

29. Favorite girl's name? Whichever one my wife likes

30. Favorite boy's name? Not Steven

Would you like your own name if THIS ^ was the first thing to show up on an image search? Me neither.

31. What's in your pocket right now? The One Ring. And lint. Mostly lint.

32. Last thing that made you laugh? Whatever was most recently funny.

33. What vehicle do you drive? A dying one

34. Worst injury you've ever had? Gouges. Horrifying, those.

35. Do you love where I live? Yes already. Only without moles.

Why, evolution? Why have you not purged these abominations from existence?

36. How many TV's do you have in your house? Weird, I would have pegged the "who will complete this" as a last question. 3.

That Day

2011-09-11T08:25:00.000-05:00

Every year on or around September 11, the national news media make available their archived coverage of the Tuesday morning when four planes were used as weapons to incite fear and terror. I've seen it a number of times: online at ABC News' website, on television as MSNBC replays in real time their coverage from that day, clips on YouTube.

To this day it's indescribable to watch.

There's a feeling in my stomach right now, and it's an unpleasantly familiar one. It's an anxiety, and it's almost as palpable as it was ten years ago watching this unfold on live television. It's there, even though this happened a decade ago. It grows as the clock on the 10-year-old video clicks to 9:02 a.m., because I know what's coming in less than a minute: The world is fewer than 60 seconds away from watching a passenger plane fly into the south tower. On live TV. Maybe that was the perpetrators' aim, but regardless that image is etched forever in millions of minds.

It seems morbidly fitting that at 9:11 a.m., ABC News was showing a replay of the second crash.

I am drawn in by the unscripted off-the-cuff words from the news anchors and reporters and commentators, hearing their innermost thoughts expressed in moments of awe and confusion and angst. I've talked before about the fascination I have as a news man with unfolding events, with "big events" happening at the moment. I wonder what I would have been like as a news man that day.

Coming to this, the tenth anniversary, my thoughts have been in a hundred places. That's probably evident from my writing here, and I apologize.

Several days ago I read the story of a jet fighter pilot who was ordered into the air That Day to patrol for and protect against any other plane-weapons. He talks about his commander asking if he would be capable of shooting down a jet with dozens of innocent people on board in order to protect possibly more people on the ground. He talks about being somewhat insulted at his commitment to duty being called into question.

What would I do? Would I be able to do that?

One harrowing image from That Day, oft lost (at least to me) in the overshadow created by the image of the burning building, is people jumping from dizzying heights to their death, because for them it was preferable to dying in the fireball created by hatred-turned-action.

What would I do? Would my mind make the decision that falling a hundred stories to certain death is a better option?

It angers me that conspiracy theories about That Day persist. In my mind, it belittles what happened and those to whom it happened.

I realize today I never visited the World Trade Center before it fell. I'd been to New York City but going there never once entered my mind. I want to change that. I want to visit the hallowed Ground Zero, if for no reason other than to offer my meager prayer on behalf of everyone touched by that day.

I share some thoughts about that day, first from the leader of the nation that came under terrifying fire That Day, second from LDS then-apostle Thomas S. Monson, and finally from Apostle James E. Faust reconting one of the many accounts of courage and sacrifice from that day.

"Time is passing. Yet, for the United States of America, there will be no forgetting September the 11th. We will remember every rescuer who died in honor. We will remember every family that lives in grief. We will remember the fire and ash, the last phone calls, the funerals of the children." - George W. Bush

"Now, we have inscribed a new memory alongside those others. It's a memory of tragedy and shock, of loss and mourning. But not only of loss and mourning. It's also a memory of bravery and self-sacrifice, and the love that lays down its life for a friend - even a friend whose name it never knew." - George W. Bush

"Amidst the fear, the sorrow, the pain, and the suffering, a mighty miracle occurred - a fusion of faith, even a pattern of prayer - as Americans turned not to diall 911 but rather dropped to their knees and looked heavenward to God for help." - Thomas S. Monson

From James E. Faust, October 2002: "On September 11, 2001, the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City were hit by terrorist-controlled airliners that caused both towers to collapse. Thousands of people were killed. Out of this tragedy have come hundreds of stories of courageous, unselfish acts. One very poignant and heroic account is the Washington Post’s story of retired army Colonel Cyril “Rick” Rescorla, who was working as vice president for corporate security of Morgan Stanley Dean Witter.

Rick was a very experienced ex-military combat leader. He was in his office when “the first plane struck the north tower at 8:48 A.M. … He took a call from the 71st floor reporting the fireball in One World Trade Center, and he immediately ordered an evacuation of all 2,700 employees in Building Two,” as well as 1,000 more in Building Five. Using his bullhorn, he moved up the floors, working through a bottleneck on the 44th and going as high as the 72nd, helping to evacuate the people from each floor. One friend who saw Rick reassuring people in the 10th-floor stairwell told him, “Rick, you’ve got to get out, too.”

“As soon as I make sure everyone else is out,” he replied.

“He was not rattled at all. He was putting the lives of his colleagues ahead of his own.” He called headquarters to say he was going back up to search for stragglers.

His wife had watched the United Airlines jet go through his tower. “After a while, her phone rang. It was Rick.

“‘I don’t want you to cry,’ he said. ‘I have to evacuate my people now.’

“She kept sobbing.

“‘If something happens to me, I want you to know that you made my life.’

“The phone went dead.” Rick did not make it out.

“Morgan Stanley lost only six of its 2,700 employees in the south tower on Sept. 11, an isolated miracle amid the carnage. And company officials say Rescorla deserves most of the credit. He drew up the evacuation plan. He hustled his colleagues to safety. And then he apparently went back into the inferno to search for stragglers. He was the last man out of the south tower after the World Trade Center bombing in 1993, and no one seems to doubt that he would’ve been again last month if the skyscraper hadn’t collapsed on him first.”

Amid the great evil and carnage of September 11, 2001, Rick was not looking for what might be in it for him; instead he was unselfishly thinking about others and the danger they were in. Rick Rescorla was the “right man in the right place at the right time.” Rick, “a 62-year-old mountain of a man cooly [sacrificed] his life for others.” 20 As the Savior Himself said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

In past years, I tried my hand at poetry to describe my feelings on That Day and the yearly reminders since. This year, I point to others to tell those stories I could never tell.

Take some time and visit national news websites: CNN, ABC News, the New York Times, and the others. Their journalists have put together, in poignant narrative style, stories of the heroes, the real victims, the witnesses of That Day.

That feeling, that anxiety, that pit in the stomach? It always comes this time of year, as I watch what everyone saw That Day. I welcome it, I invite it, I need it.

Because, as though I ever could, I never want to forget That Day.

Not So Much a Bucket List as a What Have I Done So Far List

2011-09-08T08:46:00.000-05:00

I found this on the blog of one Genevieve, Friend of Emily, and thought, "This will be a larf."*

Soheregoes.

UPDATE: Clarifying the elephant question for Genny - I think I rode an elephant at the KC renaissance festival. I admit it may be a manufactured memory, so I'm changing it from "accomplished" to "sort of accomplished."

UPDATE: Clarifying the grandparents/ancestry question for Juli - Canada doesn't count as a place. And Grandpa was from Arizona, so that's what I'm going with.

UPDATE: I realize now I've done this survey before. Click here to compare what I had/hadn't done as of then.

UPDATE TO THE LAST UPDATE: I realize nower (more now?) there are several differences in the list from the first time I did it and this most recent time. Take that for what you will.

Key:

Italics - accomplished

Underlined - sort of accomplished

Bold - want to do

~~Strikethrough~~ - will never happen

UPDATE: if the numbered entry is unaltered, it means I have no disposition toward it either way

1. Started my own blog (hint: you're reading it right now)
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band (it doesn't say marching band doesn't count)
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than I can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world
8. Climbed a mountain (I've climbed half a mountain twice, so that counts as one mountain, right?)
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sung a solo
11. ~~Bungee jumpe~~d
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched lightning at sea
14. Taught myself an art from scratch (well, I kind of taught myself guitar, though I had pointers)
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning (nothing severe, just the kind that familiarizes you with the nearest bathroom)
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (I went as high as we could go, which wasn't very high at all)
18. Grown my own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France (not very impressive)
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitchhiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb (maybe/probably, but since I can't remember, no go)
26. Gone skinny dipping (tried to, the pool wouldn't let me in)
27. Skied a marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run (this is actually one of my life dreams, as weird as that sounds)
32. Been on a cruise (do ferries from Greece to Italy to Spain count? No? Then no)
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of my ancestors (Arizona and Utah, not very impressive)
35. Seen an Amish community (thank you, Clark, Missouri)
36. Taught myself a new language (German or Italian, please)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing (rapelling is the same thing but in reverse)
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David (would have if not for stupid Mondays)
41. Sung karaoke (Mack the Knife at Juli's med school BBQ)
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had my portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris (got halfway, chickened out)
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class (went with a friend as a kid once, but I'm sure that don't count)
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen (helped prepare Thanksgiving dinner one year, though I don't think we were there for the actual dinner)
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies (change "sold" to "eat large quantities of" and you've got a winner)
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. ~~Gone sky diving~~
66. Visited a Nazi concentration camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job (I was laid off/cut from Waldenbooks after the holidays)
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London (I saw the guard changing in Moscow and Monaco)
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had my picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous (Mel Carnahan, Missouri governor; also met Kevin Kilner....this guy)
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee (stung by a wasp, which is worse)
100. Ridden an elephant

*"Larf" is a combination of the words "laugh" and "lark (defined as a merry, carefree adventure; frolic; escapade)". Yes, I know there's no "f" in either word.

真実の三十日、日10月30日

2011-08-26T09:46:00.001-05:00

Okay, I'm throwing in the towel.

Quick quiz: This 30-day challenge is:

a) too much serious thinking, which I rarely do and mostly avoid

b) trying too hard to induce emotional responses

c) a real Debbie Downer, depending on the question

d) all of the above

The answer is "D". In mock quizzes, it's always "D", or whichever letter happens to be the "all/none of the above" choice.

So, to end my faked-for-the-sake-of-this-challenge blog, I'm going the short answer route rather than essay form and answering the remaining questions in one post.

One note about the nature of this challenge: it's not a bad idea. It could be very helpful/therapeutic/releasive (just made that word up, hope it makes sense) for the person doing it.

It's just not any of those for me. Some of the questions made me think more than I thought they would, but others are, in my own personal not-affiliated-with-any-other-entity opinion, lame.

Lezzgo.

Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know: See? This is a Debbie Downer question. But I'll field it. I wish I didn't know/had never met the woman who rear-ended Tamara's car, because that would presumably mean her car would never have been rear-ended.

Not my fault.

Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on: my many character

voices/impersonations/accents. And cookies. I make good cookies.

Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on: My Mario Kart skills? I don't know. Dumb question. Moving on.

Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough days (write a letter): I'm not doing this. Something actually came to mind, but it's not an answer for this question (which isn't even a question); as such, I'm disqualifying it. So there. Instead, enjoy my response to a substitute question-that's-not-a-question:

A TV show that has kept you entertained for hours on end: LOST. Pure genius. And Arrested Development. Seriously, it's the funniest TV show ever created. No exceptions.

Tobias: It seems I might have stumbled upon an acting opportunity.

Michael: As a member of the Blue Man Group?

Tobias: Oh no, you're thinking of the support group. I made that same mistake myself. They're called the "Blue Man Group."

Day 14 → A hero that has let you down (letter): I said I'm not writing a letter. But I'll say Mark McGwire. This blog post from May 2008 describes the magic of the 1998 baseball season. Mark was the man. Then accusations of steroid use came out, and after a lot of speculating, Mark confirmed it. Am I disappointed? Yes. Does it change my opinion of him? Not really. Is 1998 still one of the best

years for baseball ever? Yes.

Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it: Tamara. And sugar. But mostly Tamara.

Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without: Sarah Palin. And Michele "Hungry Eyes" Bachmann. Okay, the whole Tea Party. And tomatoes.

Seriously, those eyes belong nowhere near the Oval Office.

Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something: Jesus the Christ by James E. Talmage. This dramatically deepened my understanding my understanding and appreciation of Jesus Christ.

Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage: I don't talk about my views on this topic IRL, and I won't do so online. So I'll change it to:

Your views on cupcakes: They're delicious, nutritious and never suspicious. Done right, a cupcake isn't just a treat...it's an experience.

I wish I knew how to quit you

Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? Viewed/practiced right, religion is a blessing to society (example: the Dalai Lama. Wonderful human being). Done wrong, it's at best annoying (example: people leaving tracts or pamphlets as tips, not along with tips) and at worst cruel (example: Westboro Baptist Church) or destructive (example: al-Qaida). Politics: same answer, but find your own examples.

Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol: never tried them, never want to, we'd be better off without them. End of story.

Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? Ugh, this is another Debbie Downer. My formulaic answer is, "Rush to the hospital, see if he's okay, apologize for _______ and make peace." Honestly, I don't know what I'd do. It might depend on what we fought about or how serious the accident is. If the fight was about Mario Kart and he was in a fender bender, I probably wouldn't run red lights on the way to the hospital. I don't like this question.

Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life: slept through so many classes in college. Seriously, I sat in the front row in my freshmen astronomy class because I didn't have glasses and couldn't see. And I slept most of the time. My professor would have had every excuse to kick me. Also, I missed a history test that semester because I forgot about it.

If sleeping in class is good enough for James Franco, it's good enough for me.

Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life: Developed good study habits. See above question. Also, I wish I would have kept taking piano lessons and applied for more scholarships.

Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter): *facepalm* I want to cry right now #outofirritationatthisquestion #whyamiusinghashtags #thisisnottwitter #stilldoingit #whatiswrongwithme

#arresteddevelopmentreference #STOPIT My playlist to _____________ would have lots of Hans Zimmer, Huey Lewis, Weird Al and other miscellaneous songs. I choose them because they are good.

Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today: One part common sense, five parts divine intervention, two parts functioning phsyiology, one part oxygen, ten parts assorted pastries = living, breathing me.

Literal lifesavers

Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? Not only is this a Debbie Downer question, I think it's downright inapporpriate to discuss on a public forum like a blog. Even if the blog is "private," chances are someone will read it for whom the issue is not their business. So again, I'll change the question to:

"Have you ever thought about giving up on World of Warcraft?" Not only have I thought about it, I did it. I played for several months in 2006, then quit, then started again in 2007. When Tamara and I got engaged, I stopped playing because a) with no real job at that point, we felt the $15-a-month subscription fee was an especially unnecessary expense, and b) I was moderately addicted, and who knows how many arguments/bad feelings my playing might have created? I'm glad I did, and though I've joked with Tamara about playing again, I know I most likely never will. I still follow the game quasi-religiously, and am a huge fan of the fantasy world the game's creators have...er, created.

I looked like this once, only with shiny daggers and no weird pigtails.

Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now? I'm not even sure what this means, or at least what the "30-Day Challenge" thinker-upper meant. But I'd say my life is the best thing going. Sure, big questions loom on the horizon like, "Should I go back to school, and if so, to what end?" but I've got the smartest woman I know by my side to go toward that light with me. No complaints (except a serious lack of ice cream in the house...perhaps a freezer aisle I shall seek).

Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? I'd be overjoyed (probably) because Tamara and I want to have kids. I parenthesized "probably" because I imagine it's always somewhat intimidating, preparing for your first kid. So would I be happy? Yes. Would I be as giddy as a schoolboy all the time? Probs not.

Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why: I want to be a Jedi. Why? Why not? Lightsabers, Force Lightning, Force Jump, Force Speed, Force Choke, Jedi Mind Tricks...the list goes on.

This could be me, except my lightsabers would be green and dark blue.

Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself: Again with the letters. What am I, a girl waiting on a missionary? I'm not doing this. Instead,

Something you love to watch over and over again: Good video game cinematic trailers. Here are some examples from the aforementioned World of Warcraft, as well as Star Wars: The Old Republic and the upcoming Diablo III.

#nerdalert #stillnottwitter

How Could I Resist the Challenge?

2011-08-25T10:32:00.000-05:00

Take a good look at this chart (or don't - it's pasted on here, so it's not like it's going anywhere):

Source: Gamma Squad’s Star Wars Alphabet

Now behold the power of my geekness as I attempt to correctly identify each picture. I'm doing this for the first time right now, no cheating- the honor system is in full effect.

A) Admiral Ackbar, Mon Calamari leader of the Rebel Fleet during the battle over the forest moon of Endor

B) Boba Fett, only the most bad-A bounty hunter EVER (even after George L. ruined his small part in the original trilogy by re-dubbing his voice to match his "father" Jango Fett. I hate you, George)

C) C-3PO, everyone's favorite protocol droid

D) Darth Vader. Honestly, if you don't know who he is, stop existing.

E) Emperor Palpatine, the face that scared a thousand ships.

F) Okay, I can't think of the name. It's like Faldo or Faldar or Fadaa or something like that. It's the two-headed podrace announcer (comedian Greg Proops did the voice acting for one of the heads).

G) Greedo. He didn't shoot first.

H) Han Solo. He shot first.

I) IG-88, an assassin droid working as a bounty hunter. Watch "The Empire Strikes Back" closely and you'll see he's one of the bounty hunters assembled on the Star Destroyer along with Boba Fett and the hissing Bossk. (At least, I think you can see him. Still, he was there).

J) Jabba the Hutt. Much grosser as a puppet and not the CGI crap from the Special Edition and Episode I

K) Klaatu, one of the guards in Jabba's palace, killed by Luke on the Hutt's sail barge in Return of the Jedi.

L) Logray, mystic of the Ewoks on the forest moon of Endor.

M) Darth Maul. I still say he's cooler than even Vader, not because of his evilness but because he rocks a lightsaber better than anyone. ANYONE.

N) Noah, from the "Battle for Endor" Ewoks movie. Apparently he has a last name, too.

O) Oola, the Twi'Lek who danced her way into a rancor's stomach.

P) Panaka, captain of Queen Amidala's guard. Acting ability wasn't a qualification for the job.

Q) Qui-Gon Jinn. Or Iye-Quay, depending on who you ask.

R) R2-D2, plucky droid apparently crucial to everything that ever happened in Star Wars.

S) Sache, one of Queen Amidala's handmaidens/bodyguards/body doubles. More believable than the real thing.

T) Tarkin, Grand Moff (whatever that is) of the Empire and played iconically by Peter Cushing

U) Uncle Owen. Think Luke regrets their last conversation?

V) Veers, General. Not the last time Julian Glover and Harrison Ford would co-star in a movie with which George L. was involved. Can you name the other?

W) Wedge Antilles, Corellian, BEST. PILOT. EVER. BESIDES. HAN. Also known in the movies as Red 2, Rogue 3 and Red Leader.

X) X-Wing (Incom T-65 model), what destroyed the first Death Star and helped destroy the 2nd Death Star (the power regulator on the north tower was no match for Incom's signature war machine.

Y) Yoda. Again, if escapes you this reference does, leave now you must.

Z) Zam, probably the most incompetent bounty hunter ever. How do you fail at killing someone who couldn't act her way out of a paper bag? (I actually blame the writing/directing).

Okay, nerded out yet? I am. 25 out of 26 is pretty nerdy.

Tomorrow, the 30 Days challenge returns...and ends.

Stay tuned.

EDIT: The two-headed announcer guy's name is Fodesinbeed Annodue. How could I be so stupid?

ANOTHER EDIT: The name of the handmaiden pictured is actually Sabé. Saché was this one.

Hogeita Hamar Truth Egunak - Abuztuak 9

2011-08-24T09:22:00.000-05:00

Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.

Whew. This is a tough one.

Tough, in the "hard to talk about" sense, not the "difficult to think of an answer" way. There are always people we enjoy spending time with, but with whom we lose touch as time goes by. Of all the friends I had in high school, I only really keep in touch with one. From college, besides professors,

there are really only three people I stay in any kind of real contact with. There are two people, though, that I really wish I still had around to relive the good times we used to have.

I can't begin to explain how close I was to Tree Trunk and Motorcycle. We had so much fun as kids. The acreage behind our Route Z house was the world to us - a boat, a spaceship, a battlefield, an alien planet, an underwater wilderness...nothing was beyond our imagination. We literally went everywhere together, in reality and in imagination. That's what brothers do.

Yeah, we're brothers. I know I make a big deal out of being "the only boy" and such, but that's mostly because talking about my brothers brings up a lot of emotions, especially now that they're not around anymore.

I guess, looking back, it was inevitable that we drifted apart. Each of us had different interests growing up- I always wanted to be Indiana Jones or an astronaut; Tree Trunk was constantly trying to figure out how things worked; and Motorcycle was always weirdly drawn to Cirque de Soleil. After elementary school, we started taking different classes, which unavoidably led to us making new and different friends. Motorcycle was always the ladies' man, Tree Trunk made fast friends with the A/V club crowd, and I was, of course, the perennial band nerd.

As we all got into high school, both my brothers started pointing out that I was changing, and not in a good way. Motorcycle was the worst. He always started the arguments, usually with a fake-sullen

quip like, "Man, it's like you hardly notice us anymore." And I would respond with something like, "Oh, I'm sorry you're invisible. I'm sorry if I can never tell if I'm looking you in the eye or if you're walking in front of or behind me." Then Tree Trunk would say something along the lines of, "I knew you were going to throw that in our faces."

Other times we would start arguing, and that would devolve into actual fighting. It was always awkward when people saw us fight. I remember them saying things like, "Why is that guy hitting himself?" or "Why is he rolling around on the ground? He's not on fire." Those hurt almost as much as Motorcycle's punches. But a ll these arguments would end, however, with us still brothers and friends, going to watch Star Wars.

His Siamese twin, Sidecar, was separated at birth and adopted by a Russian couple.

So when did the end really come for us? It was right after graduation, when I told them I was going away to school. Motorcycle blew up immediately, accusing me of "quitting the band," so to speak. I reacted badly, in part because I was tired of this argument, in part because I knew he was right.

"What are you talking about?" I said, my impatience showing clearly. "We don't even have a band."

"It's a simile," Motorcycle responded while Tree Trunk looked on. He rarely got in on the arguing

unless someone talked to him directly.

I remember scoffing. "A simile? Simile? It's a metaphor, you idiot."

Motorcycle clenched his fists. "Well, excuse me for not being as good at English as you are. YOu know I hate it when you ride me about that." "I RIDE you?" I said, already knowing where this was going. "YOU'RE A MOTORCYCLE, YOU NERD! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE RIDDEN."

"I wish I was rid of you," Motorcycle shot back.

"Oh, clever comeback, Cicero," I said, but Motorcycle looked confused at the obvious reference. Whirling on Tree Trunk, I tried to control my anger as I asked, "Anything you want to chime in on?"

Tree Trunk chewed on his lip for a moment. "Look, I know you're really excited to go to Mizzou. I just don't know why I can't come with you."

"Probably because you're a tree. What, am I supposed to uproot you? Do you know how hard that is?" I said too quickly, and I knew right then I'd gone too far. I wanted to apologize immediately, even to Motorcycle, but I couldn't tell where their eyes were, and I knew an apology without direct eye contact wouldn't be taken as sincere.

So I left. I didn't look back - pride wouldn't let me. That was the last time I spoke to either Motorcycle or Tree Trunk.

Years later, people still like to talk about my brothers. "Remember Tree Trunk and Motorcycle?" they'd ask, and we'd all laugh. But inside, I feel two twinges of pain: one for wishing my brothers were there with me, and the other because I know no one would see them even if they were there.

Every now and then, I'll get hit with a bittersweet-tasting memory out of nowhere. One minute I'm watching Arrested Development, the next I'm back in the Route Z house, light-heartedly arguing about which one of us was oldest. Tree Trunk would say, "I'm the oldest - just count my rings," and Motorcycle would respond, "Yeah, dude, like we're going to cut you open." Then Motorcycle would say "I'm oldest - just look at my odometer." And Tree Trunk would say, "Man, you're gross." Finally I would just produce the original copy of my birth certificate, and the argument was won.

Yeah, I miss my brothers. I never had friends to match them since, and I don't guess I ever will again. Sure, people say they were imaginary.

Maybe they were.

But I like to think our friendship was always i-magic-nary.

ثلاثين يوما من الحقيقة -- اليوم 8

2011-08-22T08:46:00.005-05:00

Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like dirt.

NOTE: Today's title is in Arabic in honor of the rebels' victories in Libya. Sit on it, Moammar.

While today's question isn't my favorite, I'm okay with it because I've already done this one! Not related to this "30 Days" bit, mind you, but the first person who pops to mind, after the Russian morons mentioned last week, is none other than He-Who-Has-Been-Officially-Dubbed-Nemesis: Starch Cotton.

???

Those are the question marks in your head, if you know not of whom I speak. Allow me to enlighten you. Or, rather, allow these links to enlighten you:

Episode I of the Saga of Starch Cotton

Episode II of the Saga of Starch Cotton

In summary, Starch Cotton is an anagram of the villain's real name, which I will not utter here. Why a villain? Because he antagonized me in not one, but BOTH of my professional positions at the time. BOTH, I tells ya! Thus, his nom de usage for this blog.

That is all.

Triginta dies Veritas - Dies VII

2011-08-21T11:00:00.002-05:00

Someone who has made your life worth living for.

I don't like this question, because it doesn't even make me think.

Of course the answer is Tamara. Who else would it be?

No one else has given me a reason to put a real effort into becoming better. My parents deserve endless credit for teaching me to be good for my sake, but Tamara gives me reasons to be better for her sake.

Many people are content to be. Fewer are content to be good in and of themselves. Fewer still strive to grow that good in themselves for the sake of others.

I'm trying to be better for all that, but mostly to be worthy of what Tamara gives to me. Not because I want to deserve it (I do), but because it's what I promised to her August 3, 2007.

And because she deserves it.

Dertig Dagen van de Waarheid - Dag 6

2011-08-20T10:08:00.002-05:00

Something you hope you never have to do.

There are an awful lot of things I don't ever want to do, ranging from the childish (I never want to eat boogers) to the absurd (I never want to become a zombie) to the morbid (I never want to burn/drown/fall to death).

I could never fit in with this crowd.

But for fear of light-mindedness, I'll choose something serious: I never want to face the choice of death or my religion.

Countless numbers have done this in every age of history- varied though religions are, martyrs of a hundred and more faiths were put to the fire (sometimes literally), told they would die unless they

recanted all that they held to be truth.

Religious debates are rarely so black-and-white. *Rimshot

Their persecutors devised all manner of extracting "confessions" or retractions from them, often so horrifying the accused would falsely confess just to end their torment, usually through welcomed death.

Maybe this seems an obscure thing to fear or worry about. It's not the pain or torture I shudder to think about (okay, the pain and torture is horrifying. I do shudder to think about it). No, what worries me the most is that I would give in. Weird though it seems, I've thought about this before. Could I, if facing the barrel of a gun or the heat of a fire, really stand firm and say, "I believe?"

Joseph Smith faced this nearly every day of his life. Week after week, month after month, mobs angry about who-knows-what sought his life in a very real sense. He had to go to sleep on many occasions wondering if the next time he woke up would be his last, but he persisted. In his final months he even had the foreboding that his end was coming, and soon, yet he never denied what he knew to be true.

On June 27, 1844, a band of murderous criminals stormed the jail where Joseph, his brother Hyrum and two others were (unjustly) held prisoner, despite promises from local officials of safety. On the way there, Joseph knew he was going "as a lamb to the slaughter," knew he wouldn't survive to see his wife and kids again. Both Joseph and Hyrum were shot to death, each sealing their conviction of the truths they had learned with their own blood.

What if it was me? What if I was the one being led on horseback to Carthage, Illinois, where I knew my very life would be in jeopardy, where I knew I would most likely die? What would I have done, watching the armed mob approaching the Carthage Jail, curses on their lips and murder in their eyes?

I don't know. I hope, of course, that I could do as Brother Joseph did, standing firm in my faith and not wavering despite the threat of death.

I never want to find out.

Trente Jours de la Vérité - Jour 5

2011-08-19T10:34:00.000-05:00

Something you hope to do in your life.

Tamara took mine. That's okay, I have others.

I want to serve a mission.

"But wait," you say. "You just shared a missionary-in-Russia experience, ergo you must have already served a mission."

Too true, says I, too true. That doesn't mean I can't serve another one.

A great privilege open to many Latter-day Saints is the opportunity to serve a mission later in life, often near to or after retirement when the kids are grown and such. Typically called senior missionaries, they serve with their spouse when possible or with another person in other cases, doing everything from family history work to service to manning LDS history sites to Church education to performing medical-related services. The possibilities are nigh endless.

Meet the Tuckers. They were a senior missionary couple living in Omsk, Russia when I was blessed to serve there. As a mission, we were fortunate enough to always have at least one senior couple in each city at any given time, and I can't begin to count the ways they helped us in our efforts.

One problem we ran into a lot is that many potential investigators were women of the young and sometimes attractive variety. That mean we had to a) hand them over to sister missionaries, or b) have a third party with us as we taught. Senior couples like the Tuckers opened their apartments to appointments like these, a convenient and comfortable answer to a common roadblock.

I got really close to the Tuckers in my six months in Omsk. I think my love of baking really took root as I tried out and discussed recipes and their results with Sister Tucker. Elder Tucker loved talking about his family (we even got to meet a few of them when they came for a visit) and sharing his insights from his life as a father and banker. Remember the encounter I told you about yesterday with the Russian punks? The one that left me afraid? Elder Tucker was the one who helped me through it by teaching me important lessons about trials and fear. That led to a life-changing personal experience, for which I am forever in his debt.

Now, the McCulloughs (on the left, in case you needed help). Hailing from California, Elder McCullough's voiced dismay at the election of Arnold Schwarzenegger as governor still makes me laugh. For me, the McCulloughs became like a third set of grandparents.

We served together in Barnaul, a city south of Novosibirsk (the mission center) and one of the "small" cities in our mission (though with a population of more than 200,000 it can hardly be considered small). There were only six missionaries and the McCulloughs serving there at the time, making for a close-knit band of Christian soldiers.

It was my privilege to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas in 2003 in this city, where the McCulloughs opened their home to us as if we were their own children and grandchildren. There was always a feeling of "home" and "family" with the McCulloughs, and even after I left two months later, I was glad to be able to see them each month (I went to Novosibirsk, and the Barnaul missionaries came up for zone conferences).

That's what I want. I want to be for other missionaries what the Tuckers and McCulloughs were for me. I want to have that feeling of love for fellow man again that comes with the dedication of self to nothing but service for anywhere from six to 24 months at a time. Whether it's helping to build wells in a drought-stricken community, or smiling at tourists coming into a visitors' center, or creating a haven for younger missionaries to teach and feel home at, that's where I want to be in forty years, give or take.

The best part? I'll be able to have Tamara with me, telling me what to do.

Treinta Días de la Verdad - Día 4

2011-08-18T09:08:00.001-05:00

Something You Have to Forgive Someone For

Call me boring. Or lucky.

I've never been the victim of any great offense. But I have to choose something, or someone. I choose Russian youth (WARNING: uncensored photographs of Soviet/post-Soviet ne'er-do-wells ahead).

Like these guys, only without checkered pants.

Let me explain. No, that would take too long. Let me sum up:

Summer 2003. I'm in Russia telling the good word to anyone interested in hearing it. I found particular joy serving in the city of Omsk, where we found many willing to open their doors, and sometimes hearts and minds, to what we offered.

Even little people gots to hear the word.

One fine evening found my workmate and I walking along Krasniy Prospeckt ("Red Avenue" for those who don't hablo Russian). A posse of rapscallions approaches us and begins with the common conversation starter, "Are you American?" We answer in the affirmative. They then ask, "Are you Mormon?" Odd question at this point in an acquaintanceship, but eager to talk about who we are and why we were there, we emphatically confirm their suspicions.

Our mistake.

Used for self-defense. And harassing proselyting Americans.

The trio of miscreants nail us with pepper spray. By instinct or the grace of the Almighty I don't know, but each of us had the wherewithal to turn our heads and thus avoid a direct hit to our eyes. We immediately start to leave, walking briskly away from the scene of the crime. The mischievous malefactors follow us, so we break into a run. I, being the large and nonathletic sort (thanks to 4 years of work at McDonald's), slow us down enough for the cadre of cads to catch up and accost us. Surely this was to be our doom, pepper sprayed into oblivion by scalawags of questionable upbringing.

Enter the cavalry: a mob of hangabouts who come to our rescue.

More or less what our saviors looked like, just no baseball bats or idiotic headwear.

They slap our assailants around, calling them all manner of obscenities I thankfully didn't understand/can't remember, and ensure our immediate safety. As we breathlessly thank them for their help, we are informed the blaggards are none other than skinheads, villains who hate everything for no possible reason except that it's something to do.

I'm glad they didn't look like this. For many reasons.

Thanking our heroes again, we make our way home to inform our mission president what happened and wash the pepper spray off our faces. It burned our skin a little bit, but nothing we couldnholyunbelievabLEYOWZERCRAPYEAAAAARRRHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! THE WATER IS WASHING THE PEPPER SPRAY INTO MY EYES!!!! IT BURNS!!!!! IT BURNS US!!!!!!

Yeah, this is about what it felt like.

Each of us spent the next 45 minutes on the floor writhing in unimaginable agony, squeezing our eyes shut in a weird attempt to alleviate the pain and lamenting our stupidity for something so asinine as trying to clean pepper spray from our faces.

The immediate aftermath of this encounter was that I was afraid to go outside for about a week. It happened relatively close to our apartment, and I kept wondering, "What if we see them again? What if they know where we live?" Things like that ran through my head constantly, until a long talk and a blessing later I got it under control.

Why did I choose this particular group of nudniks for this entry? I guess because it was the first time someone had made an effort to hurt me. It was deliberate, for no reason other than their obtuse worldview and it put real fear in me for the first time. Despite all that, though, I feel no ill will toward them.

Probably because this was to be their fate in a few years' time:

Thank you, Russian policy of forcing every guy serve in the military at age 18.

Trenta Giorni di Verità - Giorno 3

2011-08-17T09:38:00.000-05:00

Something You Have to Forgive Yourself For

Is this like confession, where anything I write down is between me and my blog?

Regardless, this is one of those things that is, in all likelihood, deeply personal and not customarily shared in a public setting like this. But I digress.

I'm of the mind that I've led a decent life and have avoided causing great offense to anyone. I did have to apologize for making fun of someone while in Russia, though she readily forgave me to my lasting gratitude. If you ask me if I've ever really hurt anyone, however, one thing comes immediately to mind.

Flash back to August 2006. I find out a girl from church is interested in me. Immediately

flattered and interested in this interest, I set about arranging for us to share a canoe on an upcoming float trip. We talk, get to know each other, have an overall good time and finish the day with our first date- minigolf and ice cream.

Our canoe trip ended up much better than this one.

Flash forward to December 2006. We'd been dating steadily and having a great time. I drive with her to her relatives' abodes in Kentucky. On the way, I get nervous. "Is this my destiny" nervous. We work through it, all is well.

Now on to April 2007. I give the lovely lady a ring in a box hidden amongst a picnic basket of breakfast. She says yes, we kiss, we go to church and show our new engagement off. Wedding

plans commence.

Read on for the explanation

May 2007. I get nervous again. Frozen solid feet nervous. So nervous I can't eat or sleep. Is this right? Is she the one? What if I'm doing the wrong thing? What if what if what if what if what if? A marathon day at the temple yields no answers either way, and that night she gives me the ring back. She doesn't want it unless I'm sure. Until I get to that surety of yes or no, we're doomed to

be in an odd relationship limbo.

He won't be smiling like that when he throws a back muscle.

That was the day before my birthday. Needless to say the next day was my worst birthday ever. It was made better by fantastic family members, but it still sucked.

She goes on a mini-vacation to visit her sister, needing some time away to think. I

go on a solo campout, also needing some time to think. Worst time in our lives ever (according to me). I come back...with no definitive answer. What the H is wrong with me?

Let's hop to June-ish 2007 (exact date/part of the month eludes me). She and I had continued to see each other, still together though with her still ring-less. Sunday morning again. I say "Screw it" (not literally) and give the ring to her again, saying it's going to be the right thing this time. We kiss, but don't show off as much at church.

August 3, 2007. Place: Nauvoo Temple sealing room. Having not felt any of the anxiety that plagued my big head before, we get married and sealed, and I get the overwhelming feeling this is the right thing. Life goes well for more than a year.

Is it possible to not be happy here?

November 2008. Anxiety comes back. Bad. So bad I have to talk to several professional helps about it. Many appointments and medications later, I'm good.

Here we are in August 2011. Life is good, we're happy, we're healthy, and no anxiety for a long time. I get an uncomfortable feeling in my middles talking about these painful past experiences, but it's nothing a good donut and nap won't cure.

Okay, to wrap it up: I am a smart guy, but in many ways mentally immature. I don't know what I want in life. I don't know how to read/understand my own feelings. And that's complicated enough when it's me and mine involved, but add another person to the mix, one with a very

vested interest: it gets sticky.

I caused this girl so much pain, so much uncertainty, so much heartache. I still feel horrible and awful about it. Anyone else would have kicked me to the curb (and rightfully so), but not her- she never gave up on me. I could see that in every tender note or card left where I would see it, in which she acknowledged the hardship of what we were going through, capping it with an assurance of her love and willingness to see it through by my side.

I'm no expert at self-forgiveness, so I guess the fact I still feel pain over it means I need to forgive myself for it. But what matters so much more is her forgiveness. I hope I have it, I hope I never lose it.

I love you, girl of my dreams. You know who you are.

But I hate my hair.

Тридцать дней Истины - День 2

2011-08-16T08:47:00.000-05:00

Business first - looking at the rest of the "30 Days" challenge, some of the topics are interesting, others are potentially controversial, and some are just...odd. Thusly, (it's a word) don't be surprised if EITHER put something funny (because that's who I am) or keep my answer short or whatever. Been warned, you have (thanks, Yoda).

Okay, onto the topic at hand: Something You Love About Yourself

If we're talking physical attributes, I'm going to have to go with my calves. I'm overweight- not morbidly so, but overweight nonetheless. I have been for some time now, but my calves have always been well-shaped. They suggest a physical fitness I do not claim.

Imagine these with hair. And no oily grossness.

If you think this is weird, just know my dad is very proud of his feet.

But if the day's topic is on something not physical, I'm going to have to go with my sense of humor. I laugh easily and long, and can find humor in a lot of things.

I imagine I look like this when I'm laughing, only less gold and no dragon on my shoulders.

I love a good comedy, a funny TV show or a fine joke, but only if they have taste (sorry, Family Guy, your classlessness carries no water with me). Maybe that sounds a bit holier-than-thou, but it only is if you have a dumb sense of humor.

Okay, I can't back that up, since even I find this funny:

Dreißig Tage der Wahrheit, Tag 1

2011-08-15T09:18:00.002-05:00

That's German for "Thirty Days of Truth, Day 1." Wife's been doing it and says she wants me to do it, so I do it. Maybe I'm whipped, or maybe I'm whipped. You decide. Also, it's a post, so don't complain.

Something You Hate About Yourself

Wow, we're not sidling into this at all, are we? Just right on to the self-deprecation, but not in a Conan O'Brien funny kind of way.

Let's see...

I'ma go with anger management. In that I don't have any.

I like to think I've been better in recent weeks, but the long and short of it is that I am easily set off. Video games. Sports. Board games. Other drivers. There are a number of things that get my dander up in a way that often brings swift but necessary chastisement from my wife.

Symptoms that I am less-than-happy include raised voice, carelessly tossed objects, slamming fists, gritted teeth, surly look, etc. Profanity, sadly, is not exempt from expression, either.

Sometimes I'm okay at hiding it. Work, especially, falls into this scenario. Usually, if something makes me mad, I squeeze my computer mouse as if it were a stress ball. It has no give, though,

so it's rarely satisfying. I've also been know to slam it onto the desk (though never when people are around)- right now the scroll wheel doesn't work, and I think I'm culpable.

It's just as likely the mouse broke itself...right?

What's so frustrating is that I have NO idea how to curb it. I get mad at myself for getting mad. The shame route works, only if because it's pointed out to me how stupid/ridiculous/childish I am being over something that in any kind of scheme of things doesn't matter enough to lose my cool. Like I said, I like to think I've been doing better, but I'm not the best judge of that.

The worst part? Realizing who I take it out on. More often than not, I take out my anger on my wife, choosing to be the most expressive in frustration to her. Playing Wii games with Beckie/Jason/Sarah? Not frustrating, or at least not to the point of anger. Playing Wii games with my wife? For some reason I don't feel the same restraints on expressing that anger with her. Why is that? Why is it that sometimes the people we should be the most kind to are the

ones we feel most comfortable getting angry at?

Maybe if I looked this cute when I was mad, it would be okay...

So there you go. Day 1 done. I think I'll go throw a mouse (I'll let you decide if I'm talking about a computer mouse or a real one).

How many more to go?

P.S. It's a 30-day challenge. It doesn't say 30 consecutive days. So don't expect a post every day like the wife has been so good at doing.

Sacred Ground

2011-07-03T15:06:00.010-05:00

Of the things we were privileged to see in Europe, few left an impression as deep as the concentration camp at Dachau, one of the first locations to be used as such before and during World War II. To stand on the same ground, to walk through the same rooms where some of humankind's cruelest inventions of mind were made reality- that is an experience I hope I never forget.

I wonder what thoughts came to the American soldiers as they found, then learned the purpose behind this death camp. I wonder what thoughts went through the minds of those German soldiers who wanted no part of what went on there, yet fearing the same punishment kept silent.

In such a place, the great and terrible capacities of the human mind are brought to light. What other creature could willingly devise and commit such atrocities on his fellow man, simply out of contempt for his differences? Is such worse than one who allows or performs the same cruelty out of "scientific" curiosity?

And yet such as were subjected to these inhumanities often showed their own greatness of spirit: in refusing to cave to torture or intimidation, even under threat of such pain and death, and for those who survived, to find hope and love and optimism in the world again.

Cemeteries that hold the bodies of soldiers killed for king and country are often said to be sacred ground.

On a bright day in June, in Dachau, Germany, I had the honor to walk sacred ground of a different kind.

The entry to the camp as it would have looked in World War II- the gate is the same as above

One of the barracks in which prisoners were kept

This is a model (one of the nicer ones) of some of the beds prisoners would have slept in.

Original foundations of other prison barracks- there were 34 total buildings in this part of the camp

The maintenance building, the only original building still standing

Looking out at the center of the maintenance building from its western wing

The floor of a shower room in the maintenance building

What the outside fence of the camp would have looked like- this specifically is the "no-go zone"- once a prisoner entered it or approached the trench, he or she would be shot.

This area was used as a pistol range for prisoner executions. Another close by had a "blood trench"

The crematorium as it would have looked during World War II

Ovens in the crema

The "shower room" built and designed to gas prisoners. The one at Dachau was never used for this purpose.

The door leading into the Jewish memorial on the camp grounds.

Tourope 2011

2011-06-09T05:28:00.006-05:00

See what I did there? I combined "tour" and "Europe." Wordplay is such sweet sorrow. What?

Okay, so in a short while, we (the wife and I) are taking off for Europe for the next 2.5 weeks. Our destinations, in this order: St. Louis, Missouri > Chicago, Illinois > Munich, Germany > Heidelberg, Germany > Dachau, Germany > Reims, France > Paris, France > Versailles, France > Nice, France > French Riviera, France > Barcelona, Spain > Madrid, Spain > Toledo, Spain > Madrid, Spain > Chicago, Illinois > St. Louis, Missouri.

Here's the itinerary (roughly): http://www.eftours.com/educational-tours/tour-detail.aspx?code=GFX&year=2012

Also, Tamara has a fun little photo quiz on her blog related to Tourope 2011 (still see what I did there?): http://tamarasheaven.blogspot.com/2011/06/places-places-places.html

Okay, I'm gone.

Perhaps a Tin-Foil Hat Shall I Don...

2011-05-16T09:58:00.000-05:00

The world will end in approximately 5.34 days. Or thereabouts.

Like this, only bigger

That’s according to one Robert Fitzpatrick, an Irish-American resident of Staten Island in the state of New York in the American United States. He says so in a book entitled, “The Doomsday Code”, in which we learn the world will end May 21, 2011. Well, technically Judgement Day is happening May 21 (the actual end of earth’s existence won’t happen until October 21, 2011), but if you’ve read the Bible, you know Judgement Day will be short on sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. Plenty of dearth and destruction, though.

Now, like you, my first reaction was, “Okay, Mr. Robert Fitzpatrick, let me just buy some “doomsday” insurance to go in my “bomb shelter.” I need to make my “Armageddon” grocery list so I don’t starve during the “rapture.”

But then I noticed something almost imperceptible to the human eye: a shuttle launch. Specifically, the launch of one Shuttle Endeavour, scheduled for departure from one John F. Kennedy Space Center located on one Cape Canaveral Florida. And that got the conspiracy wheels in my voluminous noggin turning, churning and, overall, burning.

What if this is our Spark of Life (keep reading)?

What if....

What if....

What if...let me finish...there was more to the shuttle launch than a mere “let’s take supplies to that derelict of a space station fighting tons of space junk for Earth-orbit superiority?”

What if...still going...it was actually a mission to save mankind (or its lesser parts, “mank” and “ind”)?

(Note: It is here I don my titular tin-foil hat, manufactured to protect my brain matter from harmful rays of ________ kind)

Plugging your ears has been proven in nine out of ten patients to prevent bad news from coming

No, seriously.* What if NASA is working for a topper-than-top secret coalition of major world powers who have known about the planet’s impending and imminent demise, and are using the Shuttle Endeavour as the means to ensure the continuity of our glorious species and its floral/faunal underlings?

Apparently we didn't save the whales.

What if the astronauts are really the best genetic specimens humanity has to offer at this pivotal point in time, whose primary mission is three-fold: to find a suitable replacement planet on which to start anew; to seed said replacement planet with...um, seeds...and animals; and to replicate**.

The future of our species (we had to buy an extra-large spacesuit for him)

I’d bet my entire collection of Star Wars Lego sets*** that what NASA’s press monkeys say is “supplies for the space station” is actually a collection of vials filled with animal DNA and plant seeds, along with major icons of human culture and civilization, to include but not limited to:

da Vinci’s Mona Lisa
Van Gogh’s Starry Night
the original sheet music to Mozart’s Reqiuem
an LP recording of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony
a Stradivarius violin
an original printing of the Gutenberg Bible
a copy of the U.S. Constitution and Declaration of Independence
the Magna Carta
Luther’s 95 theses
the Beach Boys Greatest Hits
a collection of Bill Cosby stand-up routines
all seasons of Charles in Charge
a full collection of unopened New Kids on the Block dolls
Saturday Night Live Season 6 on VHS
the complete film works of Keanu Reeves on blu-ray
LP featuring original recordings of Ray Stevens singing “Ahab, the Arab” on one side, and Alan Sherman singing “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah” on the other side

This is our new Rachmaninoff

The shuttle so innocuously named Endeavour could in fact be our ark. Our space ark, so to speak. Our "spark," as one might say. Our "Spark of Life," you could infer.****
Folks, this could be our Deep Impact moment.

Any minute now Morgan Freeman (playing the part of Barack Obama) could hijack our airwaves to tell us our last minute attempts to blow up the Wolf-Beiderman asteroid failed all because Bruce Willis took too much time reminiscing about Liv Tyler.

This man could kindle hope in a turkey on the fourth Thursday in November. Or the Chicago Cubs.

Right now Roland Emmerich could be coming up with his next screenplay, only this one will be streamed live. A LIVE SCREENPLAY! It’s that desperate, people.

In conclusion, I have a pint of Ben and Jerry’s I have on my schedule to be consumed May 22, 201. I plan to keep that date. But what if Robert Q. Fitzpatrick, Esquire, is right? What if?

Just sayin’.

I plan on second-basing it with this sexy thing

*Not serious at all
**Term originating from the Greek word for “do it”*****
***Not a binding wager
****"Spark of Life" is a registered trademark; use for commercial, personal, ecumenical, sociological, comical, conical or spacial reasons is strictly prohibited.
*****Naysayers and Johnny Non-Believers will question this part of my theory, saying the astronauts on Endeavour are all male, an oversight no one would make considering the gravity of the situation. I posit, however, that the movie Jurassic Park is to be taken at face value when it taught us, “Life will find a way.” I just feel bad for the guy-stronauts who have to become females for the sake of special continuity.

Resolution

2011-05-02T03:21:00.002-05:00

Manufacturing Z's

2011-04-27T09:03:00.001-05:00

This is what sleep is supposed to look like:

Okay, that's what it's supposed to look like if you're an African cat. The photo more or less illustrates what sleep is supposed to be like: despite the choice of tree as a bed, this kitty looks comfortable and content.

This is what my daytime sleep looked like yesterday:

I went in for a sleep study to determine whether I suffer from sleep apnea. What the above photo fails to convey is the fact that I had two dozen wires glued - literally glued - to my head, face, neck, chest and legs. The adhesive stunk a baker's dozen times worse than any jar of rubber cement or freshly-opened permanent marker, and required blasts of frigid air to complete the sealing process. I give the nurse credit for making the wiring process as not-awkward as possible, but it was still uncomfortable and un-fun. When finished, I felt like I looked more like this:

From there, I was put in a room described in the paperwork as comfortable, which despite a pathetic attempt to add decor still felt like a hospital room. The nurse plugged in my wire-bundle to a machine, had me lie down and made sure everything worked before turning the lights out. I had been led to believe I would be able to read or listen to music, anything to help me get to sleep. These options were never offered, though perhaps they would have been available on request. At least I had a fan to provide ambient noise.

"But what about a mid-sleep urge to relieve the call of nature?" you ask. That option was always on the table, though it would have required calling out to the nurses via intercom, asking them to unplug me for the short jaunt to the facilities. I don't think so, Tim.

To prepare for the study, I slept less the day before and skipped my usual pre-work nap in an effort to make myself as sleepy as possible. Fortunately, it seemed to work as I got to sleep relatively quickly. The sleep itself was decent- not the best, but at least I felt rested when the nurse came in roughly 6.5 hours later to wake me up. As one who does not favor sleeping on my back, I was worried about the study's requirement that I sleep on my back for some duration; this, thankfully, did not pose any real problem.

Also, this is more or less what the ceiling in my room looked like:

There were a number of video- and audio-capturing devices scattered about, all to record the sights and sounds of my slumber. I hope I was entertaining.

So after waking up, de-wiring myself and filling out a short survey of my experience (not exactly a Holiday Inn comment card, but close), I went home and proceeded to attempt (in vain) scrubbing all the leftover wire-glue from my scalp. You would think, in this glorious techno-age of prenatal heart surgery and lunar exploration that someone would have invented a sleep-study-wire adhesive soluble by shampoo or soap. Alas, if there is one it is not to be found at University Hospital. A medium-toothed comb managed most of what a shower did not do in removing glue from my hair (though there was still the odd piece to pick out for the rest of the evening).

Now, the waiting game is afoot. I don't know how long it will take for results to be compiled, analyzed and conveyed, but I do know this: regardless of the results, you will not find my face covered in one of these:

Unless the doctor says, "Without a CPAP machine you will die in four days," I plan on sleeping maskless for what remains of my duration on this green earth. Even if the doc warns me of impending demise should I refuse the mask, I'll probably skip it anyway.

So that ordeal is over, never to be repeated if I have my way. Now, I can get back to what sleep should be like. Cue the bat!

The Helmsman

2011-03-08T08:47:00.001-06:00

Though gale or storm of mighty force

Breathe out a terrible blast,

Though threatened be the vessel's course

Still the helmsman will stand fast.

Though towering waves of titan size

Push the vessel to an fro,

Though threaten they the small ship's course,

Still the helmsman won't let go.

Though fear in heart, despair of soul

Make lesser sailors quail,

With courage of the lion's kind

Never will the helmsman fail.

Revolutions...I Mean Resolutions. Or Maybe I Do Mean Revolutions

2011-01-21T05:02:00.004-06:00

UPDATE: Yes, this post is being published nearly a month after it was written. Sue me. You'll lose.

Yes, it's late January. Yes, resolutions are supposed to be decided long before New Year's Day. Yes, I'm behind the proverbial 8-ball (8 ball? Eight ball? Eight-ball? I'm waiting for Elise to sternly correct me).

Well, forgive me for wanting to see beyond the usual "I want to lose weight"/"I want to be nicer"/"I want to not be terrible at _________"/I want to stay in touch with __________ better" mentality.

Honestly, I didn't really plan on making any resolutions this year. Sure, I want to be healthier. Sure, I want to strengthen my spiritual foundation. Sure, I want to blah blah blah, so on and so forth.

Then I got some ideas, things that never really occurred to me (it just struck me how weird "occurred" looks spelling wise, but there's no red squiggly line so I'm good to go). Thusly, (it's a word, Jason, as evidenced by the aforementioned lack of a red squiggly line), here are my 2011 resolutions.

1) Read More

I don't consider myself to be unwell-read, (I'm not going to lie, the lack of red squiggly lines is intriguing), but I do consider myself to be the owner of a good number of books which I have note read. Most are churchish (there's that red squiggly) in nature, largely collected out of a "I think that would be a really good source of spiritual awesomeness" mentality, then forgotten. I've cracked several open and even made it past the first chapter, but then they sit, abandoned, on an end table until Tamara tells me to straighten the room up.

As such, I plan to read the books in my possession that I haven't read or finished. It will be slow going for some, quicker for others, but that's my goal. One of them, anyway.

2) Get Over Stage Fright

No, I don't plan on auditioning for any shows, choirs, plays, dramas or other such drivel (that I enjoy watching from time to time). No, I don't plan on singing any arias in church. What I do plan to do is become more confident busting out my voices/accents in public.

Most who know me know that for some reason, the Power that...be's? Is? Probably "is." The Power that Is gifted me with the talent of imitating accents, character voices and what have you. Most of the time they come out when they come out, sometimes unconsciously and other times carefully timed.

Where I struggle, however, is performing these voices on command. "Do Groundskeeper Willie!" (Sorry, red squiggly, the internet says "Groundskeeper" is the proper way to write out Willie's title) "Say it like an old British war veteran!" "Let's hear your Russian voice again!" These are nigh-foolproof ways of guaranteeing you won't hear the requested voice.

Further, I have oft desired to talk to customers at my restaurant job in a foreign accent- not one of the exaggerated ones, but something realistic enough to get them thinking "I think our server is from Europe/New Zealand/Australia." Several times I've even spent the duration of my walk up to the table revving myself up to "do a ___________ accent." But as soon as I open my mouth, my boring and glottal voice takes over.

To this end, I want to figure out what steps I can take to overcome this skittishness and thus broaden my comedic appeal.

3) Get back in touch with Russia/the Russian language

I can still speak and write Russian to a fair degree, but I can't read it nearly as well as I used to, and I want to get back to as close to "mission-level" as I can.

There you have it. My resolutions. I wish myself luck.

Star Wars Technology, Reduced to Mere Symbols

2010-11-29T09:04:00.003-06:00

While chatting on Facebook with a certain JLB, we developed an idea which to my opposite-of-chagrin has not been done. There are versions of it, but not as we developed it, making our idea original and unique (at least as far as a Google search is concerned, and that's pretty much internet doctrine- if Google don't show it, it ain't been done).

I'm talking about basic Star Wars-themed emoticons. You know, the :)'s and the :O's and :('s and :S's. You've seen them all over the place, even if some of them are weird and nigh-incomprehensible.

Here's how it evolved/unfolded/came to fruition: The aforementioned JLB and I were talking. JLB hates when people use "lol" in any context. To avoid censuring while trying to convey the same idea, I used the following substitutes: | (the alternate character on the "\" key), 0 (number zero), and | again. Together, you get "|0|", which resembles a TIE Fighter from Star Wars. From there we got the following (repeating the TIE Fighter symbol with a visual reference):

-------------------------- |o|----- a TIE Fighter, first seen in "Star Wars: A New Hope"

-------------------------- (0)----- a TIE Interceptor, first seen in "Return of the Jedi"

--------------------------- {o}----- a TIE Advanced x1, like Darth Vader flies in "Star Wars: A New Hope"

---------------------------- [o]----- a TIE Bomber, first seen in "The Empire Strikes Back"

----------------------------- >o< ----- an X-Wing fighter, first seen in "Star Wars: A New Hope"

------------------------------ o+-- ---- a B-wing fighter, first seen in "Return of the Jedi"

Now, in case you're wondering:

|o| is not as good as >o<.
(0) is faster than |o|, but still not as good as >o<.
Of all the TIE options mentioned in this post, {o} is superior.
>o< is probably equal to |o| |o| |o| or (0) or {o}.
o+-- is stronger than |o| or (0), but |o| and (0) are each faster than o+-- and would thus likely win.
[o] are just all around awful.

Make sense?>

For Your Consideration

2010-11-18T09:42:00.004-06:00

I recently accomplished the not-so-difficult task of watching every movie made by director Christopher Nolan. He's only made seven, and after watching the last on the list, I decided to do a little math (at great risk of a splitting headache).

What follows is a list of cinema's great directors (if I left any off, let me know), followed by the average scores of their movies as given by Rotten Tomatoes; the numbers in parentheses are the highest and lowest-rated movies respectively. This compilation is based on two schools of thought: that a director is as good as his best movie, and that a director is only as good as his worst movie (it makes sense in my head; if it doesn't to you, deal):

Christopher Nolan - 84 % (93/75)

James Cameron - 54% (100/8)

Francis Ford Coppola - 55% (100/10)

Steven Spielberg - 62% (100/24)

George Lucas - 55% (100/10)

Ron Howard - 59.5% (97/22)

Alfred Hitchcock - 75% (100/50)

Stanley Kubrick - 89% (100/78)

Woody Allen - 57.5% (100/15)

Robert Altman - 56.5 (100/13)

Peter Jackson - 66.5 (100/33)

Roman Polanski - 59.5 (100/19)

Darren Aronofsky - 74.5 (98/51)

Martin Scorsese - 62.5 (100/25)

Coen Bros. - 70.5 (97/44)

Danny Boyle - 56.5 (94/19)

Ang Lee - 74% (100/48)

Clint Eastwood - 69% (96/42)

Steven Soderbergh - 58.5% (97/20)

Sam Mendes - 75% (89/61)

Oliver Stone - 57% (100/14)

Richard Attenborough - 54% (96/12)

Tim Burton - 70.5% (97/44)

Alfonso Cuaron - 66.5% (98/35)

Guillermo del Toro - 76% (95/57)

My point in all this is to prove that Christopher Nolan deserves a place in the pantheon of great directors, because he has yet to make a bad movie. Look at the numbers- the only director to score higher than him is Stanley Kubrick, widely regarded as one of the best directors of all time. Some of his movies aren't to my taste, but others like Doctor Strangelove or 2001 are true cinematic masterpieces.

Nolan's best film is a tie between "The Dark Knight" and "Memento," both of which garnered rave reviews from critics and made loads of money at the box office. His "worst" film was "The Prestige," which still got high praise from three out of four critics. Two of his movies were based on his own ideas- Following and Inception- and one came from his brother, Jonathan (Memento). So it's not just that he's good making other people's ideas come to life, he comes up with his own brilliant ideas.

What I'm saying is the guy is movie gold. If he makes a movie, it's going to please critics and wide audiences. That's pretty much a guarantee. You can say, "Well, he's only made a handful, so we'll see if it lasts."

People probably said the same thing about Pixar (which by my formula above scores an 87%- Toy Story (2) being the highest at 100% and Cars being the lowest (74%)).

I'm just saying, the guy is money. And brilliant.

Meine Gebete

2010-11-16T09:14:00.001-06:00

In German it means "my prayers," and while German may not flow as smoothly as Spanish or Italian, there's a poetic quality to it that can't be matched. I haven't been a consistent "praying man" in recent months, but today there are a few I feel I need to send out.

The first goes to Emily, who is going through immense joy and pain in the same breath. Just yesterday she found out she and Joe are having a girl, a new baby sister for Noah. Yet that news came as Emily is going through a lot of physical pain from recent surgery, pain so bad it permeates every joint and makes walking a burden, pain so bad that Noah is spending a few days with Grandma and Grandpa to give Emily some peace and quiet. Em, one of my prayers today is for you (and one for Joe as he helps to keep you above water during these trials).

The next prayer goes to Kirsti, to whom I owe an apology. I made some jokes via text message, jokes which I later found out were uncalled for. Kirsti, I'm really sorry. My humor got in the way of tact and I'm sorry for letting that happen. You see, Kirsti had an allergic reaction which kept her from a training exercise she had very much been looking forward to. Further, this allergic enigma is casting shadows on what Kirsti wants to be a bright future serving our country. I hope it still happens, I hope she can nip this histamine headache in the bud, but until then, she has a lot to think and feel and work through, all while miles away from family members. Kirsti, one of my prayers today is for you.

There needs to be a prayer for Elise. She loves to teach, she loves to help, she loves the idea of making a difference. Unfortunately, she has come across roadblocks named "willfully-ignorant kids" and "No Child Left Behind." Her heart is too big and kind, and when someone rejects the help she is so willing to give, all because of this "millennial" attitude of being coddled and cooed because "every kid is great no matter what," it creates a rip, an undeserved rent. Now she has some "life choices" to face- where to go next, what to do next, how to go about doing those steps. Elise, one of my prayers today is for you.

Car troubles are a bother- they slip into every one of your conscious thoughts as soon as you suspect something is wrong. You worry about what the problem could be and your mind runs through a dozen scenarios. When you drop it off, you then worry about the cost- can you afford it? What if you can't afford it? And how will I function in the meantime? For these reasons, Sarah, one of my prayers today is for you.

I just found out this morning that one of Beckie's closest friends suffered a sudden and heart-rending loss yesterday, and Beckie's heart, so full and so open to others, is aching something awful. There's so much of pain, of fear, of sorrow, and Beckie is face with the difficult task of bearing another's burden, though she does it so lovingly. I've never been close to death, so I can't empathize. What I can do, however, is say that Beckie, one of my prayers today is for you.

I hope the others in the family- Juli, Mom and Dad, Tamara- won't feel slighted at not getting a special mention. Maybe I'm just out of touch and don't understand what troubles they have in their own lives. Let me know, and I'll gladly shoot a prayer your way.

I wish I could do something more tangible to take all this pain away. I guess this will have to do for now.

I love each and every one of you.

Captio Triplicata

2010-10-26T09:12:00.000-05:00

Imagine you don't know what the item pictured above is. You probably do, but pretend you don't.

It looks delicious, doesn't it?

Let me stop you right there: it's not. Not in the slightest. Okay, if you knew what it was before I started, then you already knew it's not delicious. If, for some reason, you have concluded that it is delicious, then you are wrong. About everything.

What you have above is a lie. A rectangular-prismatic lie commonly known as tiramisu. It sits there, looking so tasty, so scrumptious, so sumptuous, so delectable. But it is a lie, a horrid deception, a vicious falsehood, a wicked untruth, a vomitous flam.

It's the coffee. The foundation of tiramisu is ladyfinger cakes soaked in coffee. COFFEE, for crying out loud. If you aren't expecting the coffee, like me the first time I tried it, it's a slap in the face most unpleasant and reprehensible. I'm all, "oh, look at this delicious cube of custardy-cakey-cinnamon-dusted goodness," and when I bite in, I'm all "holy grossness of coffee flavor made all the worse when it's unexpected." Seriously, when I first saw tiramisu, coffee-flavoring was the last thing I thought of. Now it's all I think of when I see tiramisu (all I think of, anyway, after I get over the dry-heaving and retching).

I don't blame Italy for tiramisu; someone would have invented it later (probably France), and though it would have been called something else, a grossness by any other name still makes one want to hurl. But would it have been so difficult to use something instead of coffee? Hot chocolate, maybe? Sweetened milk? And no, liqueur or brandy or amaretto is no substitute.

I implore you, avoid this polygonal deceit at all costs. You're doing yourself a favor.

The Greater Side of Me

2010-09-28T10:00:00.001-05:00

Who was the hero in The Lord of the Rings? Each character had his or her merits, but who was the real hero? Frodo? Sam? Aragorn? Gollum? Let's consider each one:

Sam - He's the anchor, the stalwart, the unwavering companion who keeps Frodo on the right path. He overcomes his insecurities to find in himself a courage rare among the simple Hobbit people. One could argue that he is the reason the quest succeeded by helping Frodo make it all the way to Mount Doom. As Frodo said, "Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam."
Frodo - Clearly a main protagonist, he's the one who manages to take the ring from the Shire to Rivendell through Moria across the Dead Marshes up the Winding Stair through Cirith Ungol across the Plains of Gorgoroth up the slopes of Mount Doom, all while resisting the powerful temptation to claim the ring for himself. You try doing that. There would have been no happy ending without Frodo.
Aragorn - The poster boy for reluctant kings who end up kicking a whole boat-load (literally) of bad guys, there's no way you can count this guy out as a hero. Slicing and dicing his way through hordes of filthy orcses, he keeps the Eye fixed on other things to allow Frodo to do his ring thing. Take him out of the equation, you might as well start handing out "Sauron is King" T-shirts.
Gollum - Wait....him? Yes, he deserves consideration for the simple fact that without Gollum, the ring would not have been destroyed. Yes, without Gollum, a lot of headache would have been avoided, but it is a direct result of Gollum's annoying inability to die that the ring takes a proverbial nose dive into a river of destructive magma.
So what's the answer? Who's the ultimate hero of the greatest fantasy saga ever created? I submit the answer is complex, and in many ways allegorical to our own lives.

Each of the aforementioned heroes can be connected to an aspect of our personalities. More specifically, each relates to part of our overall aspirations in life, both the good and bad sides.
Sam represents both the friend we all want to have and the friend we all want to be. I dare say each of us hopes to be able to be that voice of reason, that push toward greatness, that rock to lean on when adverse winds blow. We also want to have someone like that for those times when we ourselves waver (Tamara is that rock for me).
Frodo is the part of us that has good intentions, but ultimately fails. He is the realistic hero, the one we so often find ourselves relating to. If he had tried to do it alone, as he planned when the Fellowship broke, there would have been no victory.
Aragorn is the hero, the golden knight, that we all hope we can become. Short of some self-doubt, he has no failings. He always has a plan, always knows what to do, always comes through and saves the day, even if he came in at the last second. His faults are few and his failings dimmed into near oblivion by the awesomeness of his awesomeness.
Gollum represents the worst of us, the dark side we all have but don't want to acknowledge, the 'natural man' if you will. Gollum is a creature controlled by his basest desires, pushed into evil and wicked deeds by his addiction to something that, whether he knows it or not, will ultimately destroy him one way or another.
*Cue not-so-smooth transition*

There's a song that I could listen to over and over and over again and still be in awe (and I have on occasion: on a prep day in Russia, my companion and I spent a good hour and a half studying and listening to this song on repeat). Sadly, I know neither the name of the song nor the name of the singer. I do know she is a friend of the same mission companion, and I believe she wrote the song as well. For the sake of this entry, we shall call the song "The Greater Side of Me" (taken from the last line of the chorus):

Whispers within my heart in quiet moments found,

Familiar solace calls to me when no one is around.

Questions, seeking answers, long for something more.

Tell my of Thy love for me and who I was before.

Show me who I was, so I'll know who I am today.

Whisper to my heart the truths I long to hear.

Speak to me, my Father, let me know my heart.

Lift my eyes that I may see the greater side of me.

Help me see through thine eyes the spirit that I was

(Help me see)

Standing by my Savior as I fought the battle won

(I may be always true to thee)

Help me to remember that someday I may be

(Lord, let me know and I'll believe)

The person that Thou knew me as, Lord help me to see.

Show me who I was, so I'll know who I am today.
Whisper to my heart the truths I long to hear.
Speak to me, my Father, let me know my heart.
Lift my eyes that I may see the greater side of me.

Speak to me, my Father, let me know my heart.
Lift my eyes that I may see the greater side of me
(I believe)
Bless my life as I live to be
The greater side of me.

The song itself is a masterpiece- the music is beautiful and the singer's voice sublime. But the meaning is something I found myself thinking about a lot in recent days. What is my greater side? What is my potential? How can I find and transform it into the kinetic energy I want it to be? There are so many things I am, so many things I want to be, and so many things I don't want to be.

My inner Aragorn is a morally immovable object and spiritually unstoppable force. He is led by personal inspiration, earned by diligent study and constant communion with his Father. He takes that inspiration and uses it to lead his family like a true priesthood holder should. He doesn't waver in the face of responsibility because he's lazy, or tired, or doubtful; rather, he casts those aside, looks his challenges in the eye and charges forward, sword in hand and valor in heart.

Then there's my inner Frodo, always getting into messes, climbing out of which take an inner Aragorn and more. He has noble intentions- to live righteously, to do all the things he needs to- but he's weak. He's insecure, he's doubtful, he only takes steps forward when he's prompted to. He'd rather be sitting at home, sitting in a mental hobbit-hole with good food and familiar comforts.

My inner Gollum manifests himself as the deadly sins of sloth and gluttony and wrath. He doesn't want to go to church because he'll get bored, or he doesn't want to work because it means he can't do something more fun. He eats far too much that is bad for him- fish, raw and wriggling- and not enough that is good for him- nice, golden taters. He is quick to yell at others over things for which they are rarely responsible; he won't own up to the fact that he is the one at fault. He can be chased away and will seemingly disappear for a time, but in fact he's always there, sneaking and slinking in the shadows, ready to turn up at the worst possible moment.

Inner Sam- I'm not too worried about him. I try to be a good listener and I like to think I am willing to give a person the support he or she needs. I hope I can be the kind of person to carry another up a mountain if their burden grows too heavy.

So what, then? How does one go about sifting through these inner qualities, letting the heavy and burdensome ones sink to the bottom while the others rise to the top? What can one hope to do when there is no motivation? Where does one find an impetus to change? How can one become his or her greater side?

How Will We Be Remembered?

2010-09-11T07:00:00.001-05:00

Nine years ago, the world changed forever. America learned just how high a cost radical fundamentalist/extremist terrorists claiming to act in the name of Islam are willing to pay to punish the U.S. for what they perceive to be crimes against the Arab world.

We were hurt. We were scared. We were angry, and rightfully so. Not since Pearl Harbor had foreign attackers dared so bold an offensive against us, and the fact that the victims were civilians carrying out their daily lives only darkens the blood on the terrorists' hands.

That pain, that fear, that fury brought us together as a country, and in many cases helped the healing to come faster. Some people, however, seem to be more than willing to keep those wounds fresh, maybe even cut them back open.

Ask anyone about the proposed mosque and community center, planned to be built two blocks from Ground Zero, and you'll likely get an opinion. I think this is one of those issues where everyone has an opinion, if for no other reason than every American was touched in some way by the 9/11 attacks. Many are opposed to the idea, feeling it to be insulting to those who lost loved ones when the World Trade Center came down. A smaller number stand by the Muslim community, saying they have every right as guaranteed by the Constitution, to build the mosque where they will while admitting maybe a better site could have been proposed. Fewer still feel that it's the perfect place for what could become a symbol of what America is...or should be. I put myself in this last group.

I consider it a great irony that the same people thumping their chests say building the mosque would cruelly re-open wounds of the victims, while at the same time refusing to close the door on their own pain and anger, held onto for years, though likely forgotten until recent weeks. I'm disgusted by politicians who tout their opposition to the mosque for the purpose of gaining favor for the upcoming elections. Their "beliefs" on the matter are as fragile as tissue paper, and if popular opinion were turned around, their opposition would disappear faster than a box of donuts in my kitchen.

Would we evict every Japanese-American from Pearl Harbor because of what happened more than 60 years ago (nevermind the unfair treatment of Japanese-Americans at the time)? Would we kick out Mexicans because of the Alamo (wait...we're already kicking them out for other reasons)?

I'll only briefly mention the Pastor Terry Jones, leader of the Dove Outreach World Center in Florida, who plans to commemorate 9/11 by burning as many copies of the Quran as he can get his hands on. Jones said in an interview that he believes Jesus Christ, were he here today, would say, "Burn the Quran." I firmly refute that, and it is my opinion that there is little one could to to be less Christian than what he plans. That's all I will say on that.

I have gained a firm respect for Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, the leader of the mosque proposal. I recently came across this op-ed piece he wrote for the New York Times, where he talks about his self-assigned mission to build bridges across communities of different faiths and beliefs. He's written books about bridging the gulf between the Western and Muslim worlds, including one called What's Right with Islam is What's Right with America. British author Karen Armstrong had the following to say about him:

"Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf ... is a bridge figure because he has deep roots in both worlds. He was educated in Egypt, England, Malaysia and the United States, and his mosque in New York City is only a few blocks away from the World Trade Center. After September 11, people often asked me, "Where are the moderate Muslims? why are they not speaking out?" In Imam Rauf, we have a Muslim who can speak to Western people in a way they can understand."

I'm not a Rauf scholar, but nothing I've read from him indicates that he wants anything except good strong relations between the West and Islam, between Muslims and other faiths. The proposed mosque is to be a community center, open to people of all faiths, with places set aside for faith-specific worship and prayer.

To me, this mosque symbolizes the potential for healing, for forgiveness, for true American values. What better way to say to the world, "We as a country believe in the goodness of people"? Forget that only a small fraction of Muslims hold the same extremist beliefs as those responsible for 9/11. Building the mosque where its leaders want it to be is a way to tell the world that we are bigger than our differences, stronger than ignorance, wiser than the unenlightened and willing to extend the hand of compassion, friendship and brotherhood to all who share our values. Muslims, true Muslims who follow the teachings of the Quran and the Prophet Mohammed, do indeed, share those values.

We should never forget what happened on 9/11. We should never forget there are those out there who wish us harm because of the great values on which our nation was founded. LDS President Gordon B. Hinckley related a story once: while he was visiting the Holy Land, his taxi driver, an Israeli, drove up to a high hill that gave a magnificent vantage of Jerusalem, the capital of the embattled nation. With tears in his eyes, he told President Hinckley that America was the greatest nation on earth, citing its generosity and goodwill to other nations. I don't think our legacy should include hatred and hurtful grudges, carried for years and years.

I am heartened by the response of some families who did lose loved ones in the 9/11 attacks in supporting the mosque, showing the world that they understand what it means to forgive. A few examples (from cited sources on Wikipedia):

- Donna O'Connor, whose pregnant daughter died on 9/11, expressed the opinion that "This building will serve as an emblem for the rest of the world that Americans ... recognize that the evil acts of a few must never damn the innocent."

- Ted Olson, whose wife died in the plane that crashed into the Pentagon, has said "we don't want to turn an act of hate against us by extremists into an act of intolerance for people of religious faith."

- Bruce Wallace, whose nephew died as he rushed in to help the victims, says "the media seems eager to trumpet the feelings of those hurt by the idea of the center. They mostly ignore my feelings and those, like me, who feel the center is an important step for Americans."

I wonder what those who say the mosque is insensitive to victims' families would say to these families and the others who support the mosque. I don't want to be callous; I understand where the argument comes from: it comes from a pain that was very real, very life-altering, very harrowing.

But there can be no peace in our lives without forgiving those who have trespassed against us. There can be no peace in our hearts while we hold on to anger or fear. Denying this mosque, to me, represents a failure to let go of those poisonous feelings.

I stood with every other American on 9/11 and watched our very existence change dramatically. I remember being fixated, along with several strangers, on the numerous big screen TV's at a store, watching network coverage as horror unfolded before our eyes. I felt pain and fear. But there should be no place for those things if we are to move forward.

Referring to the title of this post, how do we want to be remembered as a nation? Do we want to be remembered as a country willing to look past the actions of a few extremists hell-bent on mindless destruction? Do we want to be remembered as an angry nation unwilling to move past our pain and suffering?

I would like us to be remembered as a people willing to forgive, to give equal place to those whom we may not understand but accept as fellow Americans, fellow human beings.

I would like us to be remembered as a nation unwilling to live in ignorance, unwilling to accept what an obtuse and loud few tell us for the sake of political clout, unwilling to let our fear, pain and anger continue to dictate how we view the rest of the world.

The Recasting of Star Wars

2010-08-24T05:06:00.015-05:00

You've probably heard this before. It's an idea I've had for a long time, and if I do say so, it's a pretty dang good idea. Or set of ideas. Or whatever.

So, the title: it doesn't really refer to finding different people to play the various roles in the Star Wars saga. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea. But this isn't about that. It's about a much bigger overhaul, a reshaping of the Star Wars prequels, so to speak.

I present the following outline for your convenience. And because I've never done one on this blog before.

The Overarching Problems with the Sequels

A. George Lucas' Involvement

i. George Lucas as a Creator

ii. George Lucas as a Writer/Director

iii. George Lucas as a Producer

B. The Bad Guys

i. Darth Maul

ii. Count Dooku

iii. General Grevious

iv. Senator Palpatine

C. Miscellanea

i. Midi-Chlorians

ii. Gungans

iii. Anakin

iv. The Clone Wars

Okay, let's dive in.

George Lucas is a genius. I say that now, because in his head he created what has become one of the most expansive, rich and detailed alternate realities ever made. He came up with Star Wars, the franchise that gave us six movies, a few TV specials (some good, some not), billions of dollars worth of merchandise and video games, and novels upon novels. Yes, one can argue that Star Wars is an amalgamation of numerous other creative works- stories, myths, legends- but most things are. I argue that you cannot deny Jorge his place as a great creator in the entertainment world.

Where things go south between Giorgio and me is his involvement in bringing his world to life. I have no problem with his wanting to get involved. If I had created something like Star Wars, I'd want to make sure it was properly realized. Where I get all cringe-like is when Giorgi gets involved in the writing of dialog and the directing of said dialog. It's wooden, awkward, and falls into the trap of "who actually talks like that?" Too frequently, what are clearly meant to be

witticisms and clever quips come out sounding stupid and out of place. If you want specific examples, ask me in the comments and I'll follow up. Maybe some of the bad dialog can be blamed on the acting. Certainly that's the case with Jake Lloyd (pint-sized Anakin). But when skilled actors like Ewan McGregor and Liam Neeson look like dunces, there's something wrong.

As a side note, notice that Georgy-Porgy did not direct what is widely regarded as the best episode of the whole saga, The Empire Strikes Back. I'm just sayin'.

Plot-wise, the prequels don't flow the best, but I'm giving Georges the benefit of the doubt. It's not easy reducing a conceptually massive universe into a few paltry films. Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone is an example of when it doesn't work so well. (Chris Columbus tried to put too much in, and it hindered). Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy is an example of when it works beautifully. If he'd wanted to make three three-hour-long (at least) installments, maybe the story would have been better. So I don't hate on this aspect. I do, however, have ideas of how the story might have flowed better.

Darth Maul. The baddest baddie to come along since the Sith Lord Darth Vader himself. I'd argue he's even a bit cooler with the double-bladed lightsaber, awesome ninja moves and killer face tattoos. But that's neither here nor there. What is here nor there is the fact that the guy had two scenes in the whole of Star Wars-dom. He died WAY too soon. Why? Why kill off the most insane-sick-awesome villain of the 90s?

Count Dooku. Played nicely by Christopher Lee, a man who sweats awesomeness in his sleep and while drinking his hot English Breakfast. As a villain, though, I say simply, "Meh." He had his cool elements- lightsaber with a curved handle, his elegant style of fighting, etc. But again, one of the main reasons for his mediocrity is that we never get to know him. He got way more screen time than the aforementioned Darth Bad-A, and it wasn't used very well.

General Grevious. A very interesting concept, and when I say interesting, I mean very cool. An alien/cyborg that learned the art of the lightsaber probably much like Neo learned kung fu? Not bad, Jorgen, not bad. Where he loses out is that we barely get to know him before he's offed (and in a pretty lame way, I might add). Is anyone noticing a pattern here?

Giorgios kills his villains too quickly! None of the three I just mention lasted longer than about half a movie. Darth Maul? We meet him toward the middle of Episode I, and he dies by the end of E-I. Count Dooku? We meet him at the end of E-II, and he's out in the beginning of E-III. Grevious? Introduced at the start of E-III, dead by the middle of E-III. There's no time to get attached to the villain before he dies, and I argue that people enjoy getting attached to villains just as much as they enjoy getting attached to heroes.

Here's what I would do, then, if I could go back and redo the prequels:

Make Darth Maul the main baddie, the sole apprentice of Darth Sidious pre-Vader.
Darth Maul doesn't die in E-I, rather escapes and lives to fight another day. He stays Sidious' apprentice and replaces Count Dooku from a plot standpoint.
Maul becomes one of the main antagonists throughout E-II, besting Obi-Wan again and again, making Obi-Wan angrier and bringing him a little closer to the dark side he's trying to keep Anakin away from.
Somehow Maul also gets on Anakin's nerves so that by the end of E-II, both Jedi hate Darth Maul with a passion. That makes his death at the beginning of E-III more satisfying.
Eliminate Count Dooku.
Introduce Grevious early on in E-II. Rewrite the story to make him figure in more prominantly. Then kill him in E-III, though with a much better death than just getting shot.

That's the basic idea. On another bad guy note, and maybe this goes back to the dialog/directing debate, but Palpatine was laughable from about the middle of E-III on (starting from where the Jedi confront him). Really badly done. What happened in the years after Return of the Jedi?

Okay, time to wrap this up. Other things that I'd change:

Midi-chlorians- stupid, stupid, stupid. It takes the mystical quality away from the Force, and your ability as a Jedi basically boils down to body chemistry. Also, I always think of chlorophyll. Weird.
Gungans- pointless. Jar Jar merits his own complaints, but as a whole the Gungans are pointless. As a plot device, as characters, as a species...useless.
Anakin- find a different kid. Jake Lloyd is terrible. Simply terrible.
The Clone Wars- how did we not get more of what could have arguably been some of the most epic sci-fighting in movie history? (I just made up a new term: sci-fighting. It's been a productive day). Seriously, this could have made for many more awesome battle scenes and sequences. Seriously.

In conclusion, I love Star Wars. I just bought episodes I and II to complete my collection. Nevermind that I only really enjoy two scenes in E-I: the pod race and the lightsaber duel. Nevermind that I want to cry in pain every time Natalie Portman opens her mouth in the movie (I blame the G-man for that one). Never mind that Darth Vader's infamous "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" can be found in spoofs and parodies all over the internet, not to mention that it's THE low point in James Earl Jones' life.

It could have been better, though. Much better. Maybe once Peter Jackson's done with The Hobbit, he can turn his creative eye toward a galaxy far, far away.

One of These Men is an Accused Killer...

2010-08-18T05:10:00.005-05:00

But which one is it? I'll give you a hint: one of these men is a famous singer, another a B-list actor who shows up everywhere.

You gotta admit, though: the resemblances are uncanny.

Florentine Lullaby

2010-07-21T20:41:00.007-05:00

Rain falls onto cobbled stones,

while soft thunder echoes through urban canyons;

the evening storm carries me

into sleep and Florentine dreams.