“We’re on a mission from God.”

Last night I went to see the movie “The Best Two Years.” I have about a million thoughts or feelings about this movie. None of which seems easy to formulate into a cohesive form of communication. I can say this though — I loved the movie. It seemed to capture so many of the feelings or experiences I had throughout my mission. It was also very interesting to go see it with Mindy and Brittany, neither of which has been on a mission. They thought it was fun and entertaining. For me, it was like reading my journal. Vivid and real, I either was or knew missionaries exactly like those I saw on the screen. And with those memories came a flood of emotions.

For me what made this movie great was not just the realness and believability of the story but the little personal details. The way the missionaries slapped their alarms and rolled over to their knee to pray. The apartment, run-down and paint peeling, decorated with taped-up pictures of the Savior or the Prophet. The blank stare of a missionary who hears a native speak for the first time. The spirit and joy of testifying of the message of the Gospel. The long hours of hard work followed by the most amazing yet simple miracles. The heartbreak of rejection and the bliss of acceptance. Seeing lives change, including your own.

I think a lot about the two years I spent in Hong Kong. I think of the people I met and taught, the friends I made and the things I both saw and felt. Things that I had once cherished or held as of high value I was asked to put aside I had to leave myself behind to find myself.

You give up the condo life, give up all your flaming worldly possessions, go live in a dilapidated house in the toxic waste part of town.

Before I went, I thought I had it all figured out and I knew exactly what it was going to be like. And actually I had it mostly right. But to know what something is like in the abstract or conceptual way is very different from what it’s like to actually have experienced it.

In Cantonese there are two different ways of to express things in the past tense. One means to have completed or finished an action, the other means to have experienced or literally to have passed through. My experience in Hong Kong wasn’t just something that I completed or finished; a simple chapter or event. It was something I experienced, something I passed through. And like a trip through Calvin and Hobbes’ Transmogrifier, I came out changed. No, perhaps just molded; sculpted. The best two years, huh?

…yeah

“Oh yeah? Well me and the Lord, we got an understanding…”

"I love the power glove. It's so bad."

Video games. I think I could have a blog (or bjournal) devoted completely to that subject itself. It’s hard to say why or how electronic simulations and games have become so intertwined with my life. Often times I think I do it simply to entertain myself, a bit of a personal challenge and gauge of my skills (I didn’t say useful skills, but skills nonetheless). In fact I remember reading an article in the paper about how kids who play video games have better reflexes and perception, making better drivers. Better is such a relative term.

Often times I think video games are more of an escape. For those that can be consumed by their imagination, video games really do provide the ultimate escape with the simplest effort. I have never fired an AK-47 in defiance at a group of counter-terrorist soldiers. I have never sat in an F1 McLaren and pushed my car to the limits as I clipped the car in the lead in order to grasp victory. I have never fought a huge sumo wrestler in a global street fight competition. And I have never adventured in a far away land in order to save a Princess. I don’t even think I know any princesses. But through the magic of video games — I have. In fact I vividly remember coming home after my first car accident, and not wanting to talk to anyone, just to go downstairs and cut up some Storm troopers with a lighsaber (ok maybe that newspaper article might have been a bit off). Some people drink, I game. I guess simultaneous drinking and gaming would be like the ultimate escape.

But I have found that rarely do girls share in the joy of gaming. Guys inherently play video games, and play them well. Ask any college guy what’s his favorite weapon in HALO. Ask any college girl if they’ve ever played HALO (and watching her boyfriend doesn’t count). Of course these are broad generalizations, I know guys that are about as comfortable with video games as a Mormon with a beer bong and girls that will put two rounds in your head before you have time to say “Hold on, I gotta change my controls.” But oddly, girls just don’t feel the drive for simulated carnage as guys do. Guys like games that let them do things that they can only dream of, like Wolfenstein 3D, Madden Football 2004, or Quake (I mean who doesn’t want to shoot an automatic nail gun at a couple of hell-hounds?). Girls tend to like games such as Bubble Bobble, Tetris, Dr. Mario, or heaven forbid — the Sims. Games that are fun or cute and don’t involve massive amounts of blood. I’ll admit those games have there place…replacing the missing front leg of my couch. I’ll take Contra or Metal Gear Solid any day of the week.

I play games to do things and go places I’ll never experience. Everyone needs to have an escape from life. By having one, that doesn't mean that you don't enjoy your life or that you're depressed. All it means is that you are normal. We aren't professional athletes or secret agents. We're regular people with regular lives. And we're fine with that. We play video games, watch movies, ride bikes for 70 miles, or build model ships inside bottles to add variety and excitement. Maybe international secret agents can't wait to get home and play a game of "Checkbook Balancer 5000" in Quicken. But I’m not passing up or missing out on this life in exchange for an electronic simulated one, perhaps just I'm just augmenting life. Is that so wrong? If you think so, well I’ll meet you behind 7-eleven and we’ll settle this like men...bring your own controller.


..."Yeah, well, just keep your Power Gloves off her, pal."

“He’s kind of a strange old hermit.”

I live alone. I’ve never lived alone. In fact I’ve never had my own room. No, for the second year of my life I think I had my own room. Then I got this roommate named Colin. Constantly screamed and was always pooping his pants, but we worked things out. And then I got my own room as a Resident Assistant in the dorms, but I was on the same floor as 40 other guys who were always over hanging out and we all shared a bathroom. So I still maintain that I have never lived alone. But now, for the remainder of the summer I live alone...

...and I like it.

When I look in my refrigerator, everything in there is mine. I had trouble with my food going bad in my last apartment. Mostly I found it was because I only would end up eating what I remembered having, and produce or dairy products aren’t that memorable. When I clean up the place, it stays clean until I make it messy, and it being a mess is easy for me to deal with because, hey, I made that mess. I get out of the shower and can watch TV or walk around with no concept of decency or common courtesy, because no one is there but me. A very naked me. When I pause a movie or my video game to head out for some action, I come home to find it exactly as I left it, rather than turned off during a critical level so that my roommate could watch some dumb baseball game. There’s always enough hot water Sunday morning, and no one eats my food because they “thought” it was theirs. But most of all, I like having a retreat, a sanctuary. A place just for me.

"This house is so full of people it makes me sick. When I grow up and get married, I'm living alone. DID YOU HEAR ME? I'M LIVING ALONE!!!"

It’s this thought of being alone that reminds me of a scripture about Jacob in Genesis 32:24. And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day. Most people might not remember this scripture, but this was one of the most significant events of Jacob’s entire life. He was left alone to wrestle with the Lord.

Jacob wrestled with the unidentified “man” all through the long night relentlessly. And when morning came Jacob wouldn’t let him go and stated “I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.” Jacob was blessed and thereafter called Israel or One who prevails with God. But before he was blessed and made the father of a great nation, he had to be alone. And in that solitude he had to wrestle and grapple all night in the dark, with a mysterious person. And when morning came and he was still locked in a stalemate, he hadn’t lost focus. He’s was perhaps even more determined than ever. He knew what he wanted and was going to hold that Half-Nelson until his arm fell off. And in the course of that night, I suppose he gained a better understanding of himself as well. Maybe there’s some deeper value to living alone than simply watching soccer while drinking milk out of the jug, naked in the middle of the living room...maybe.

..."and the LORD God said, It is not good that the man should be alone.”

“He has a five year plan...” “What is it, don't DIE?”

Plans change, people adapt. I thought about this as I sat on the top of the giant Y painted on the mountainside overlooking Provo and the surrounding valley at 1:30 a.m. This is not where I thought I would be, in fact most of what I had thought I would do, didn’t happen and everything that did was not in the forecast. Is that bad? No, just odd.

Today was another free showing of Napolean Dynamite in downtown SLC. I want to see this movie.

My plan: work until 3-3:30, pick up some friends, go kick it in line until 7, watch the movie, get back probably around 10:30 or so.

Contingency plan: If no one can come with me, I’ve got my book and my Gameboy Advance with Super Street Fighter II (greatest game ever…ever). If I can’t get in, I’ll either hang around downtown with the friends or I brought clothes to change into and I would go to the Salt Lake Temple.

After a phone call, I find out that everyone bails on going, but I am determined to see this movie. So three o’clock rolls around and I walk out to my car and as I am standing in the parking lot I am flooded with the severity of the situation. I will be spending the next 7 hours by myself with the hopes of seeing a movie. Now I like myself, I think I’m funny, good looking, charismatic, entertaining, etc. But is this really the best way to spend my evening? And right there in that 1/1,153,234th of a second, I decided I shouldn’t go this week (they have another showing next Wednesday). So I’m standing outside in the parking lot and I’m thinking: “Well...now what?”

Since I already had planned to go to the temple, I started by going over to the Provo one. It was great and refreshing. I got home, changed out of my shirt and tie and remembered that it was Thursday and there was Institute (like a religion class) tonight. I skateboarded there and back and afterwards, changed to go to the gym. Following, my "gym"ing, I stopped by Blockbuster to rent The Chronicles of Riddick: Escape from Butcher Bay. It’s like the Shawshank Redemption meets the Great Escape, played out with a Half-life interface and design. That = Brilliant.

These walls are kind of funny. First you hate 'em, then you get used to 'em. Enough time passes, gets so you depend on them. That's institutionalized. They send you here for life, that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyways.

After spending some “quality time”, trading smokes for a shiv, “shanking” a dude named “Rust” to get some respect and busting into the sewers of the prison, Mindy called to see what I was up to and if I wanted to come with them to go hike the Y. A gentle and slightly comical hike and we were at the Y and I was sitting on the top edge of the right slant looking out over the valley.

When I get too caught up with “my” plans, I think I am doomed to disappointment. I get set upon my expectations and if things don’t turn out how I thought they “should” I get annoyed or frustrated. I’ve just got to follow the advice of the wise Doctor Dre: “So just chill, ‘til the next episode.” When I relax, and enjoy what is happening, rather than what could or should be happening, life’s quite enjoyable and fulfilling...

...and the view from here is incredible.

“I’m a gigolo.” “…Jigga who?”

Women, girls, chicks, babes; it seems to be the perpetual focus of nearly every man. You want to find them, woo them, win them over and keep them around. ("But why do they swoon? Charlie, why do they swoon???")So you would think that an evening spent with six girls would be rad. But by the end of the evening I sort of felt like I was on the brink of an estrogen overdose. Which got me to thinking about the different roles that girls can take on in their relationship with guys. Most obviously there is the “Girlfriend” or your significant other. This is the girl that you want most to see, talk with, and be romantic with. The “mothers” are protective, caring and worried about you with a weird maternal affection, and selflessly do things for your well-being as only (you would think) a mother could. “Sisters” are the girls you can hang out with, joke around with, and just plain talk with; yet there is a mutual sort of non-attraction. Not un-attraction, just a sort of absence of assessment — just as there would be with a female sibling (I should qualify that by saying “in most states”). And let’s not forget the “Super-Hot Sex Vixens”...

...I guess those are pretty much self-explanatory.

I guess you could say these girls are my “sisters” in Provo. And I suppose its time for me to pay my dues with sisters. I’ve lived in a primarily brother oriented world. Three brothers for most of my life and then my little sister didn’t really start to “girl-ify” until I was pretty much out of the house and in college. Then on a mission with other guys my age, with the sort of comradery that definitely would be described as a fraternity or brotherhood. As an Resident Assistant in the guys dorms, I was inundated with nearly 40 new “brothers” only to be followed with more “brothers” in the form of roommates (though some mornings they sure used the bathroom like sisters). But now all my “bro’s” have left for the summer and its seems as though I am a lone man in Provo, Utah.

So I suppose it’s healthy to have this sort of exposure to things like random dance parties of three people, brownies at 3 a.m., giddy excitement over movies like "The Notebook,” long conversations about nothing, and doing things that make themselves “feel cute.” Yeah, healthy like a sledgehammer blow to your jaw. I think I felt less culture shock when I was dropped off in the middle of the island of Macau in Southeast Asia. But based on these foreign and often bewildering times, I have concluded at least one thing is for sure: I’m gonna have daughters...probably six.

I don't want you to be the guy in the PG-13 movie where everyone is really hoping for him. I want you to be the guy in the rated R movie where no one is too sure about him.

“Maybe it's better not to be the best. Then you can lose, and it's ok.”

I’m not sure how many people have ever played it, but I love it. It’s refered to by some as Othello, Reversi, or Black and White checkers (in china). I call it simply: fun. You begin the game on a board of 8 by 8 with four pieces in the center; two black, two white, diagonally from each other forming a square. Each player takes turns adding a piece in an attempt to end up with the most pieces of their color on the board. The catch is that the new piece must be added adjacent to another piece and if a direct line can be made between the new piece and another of the same player’s color than all pieces in those lines changed to that players color as well. I have a long standing history with this game.

Beginning as far back as my Geometry class (or maybe it was algebra) with Ms. Shepsman my freshman year, I was fascinated by this game. The Texas Instruments TI-85 calculator my parents bought for me for my high school mathematical education not only provided a means for calculations – it also could have games. Connect-Four, Solitaire, Minesweeper, a rudimentary Super Mario Bros., and most importantly – Othello. And over the course of high school, I got good. In fact, so good that I would see how few moves it would take me to completely eliminate the computers. I knew the way the AI thought and could maximize on that knowledge.

Following a distracted freshman year and a focused year as a missionary in Hong Kong, I again found my love. My parents had been rad enough to send me money to buy a very nice electronic Chinese-English Dictionary in Hong Kong. And to my delight, I found a section called “Learning Activities” (after I had of course learned to read the words Learning Activity in Chinese). And one such activity was none other than my old friend, Othello. I kept that dictionary with me always; a ready reference. And so I also had Othello with me. At lunch or on the “John”, I would find time for the occasional game. And so I kept my strategy and reversing skills sharp and calibrated.

Back from the Far East, I continued to reverse my way to elation. Yet, after a tragic accident on my skateboard on campus, and my dictionary being on the impact side of my backpack, I again found myself in a Dark Age of Othello. That is, until I became the proud owner of a Sanyo 5300 cell phone. Camera/Internet phones are to cell phones what the TI series was to calculators. Not only did I get Tecmo Bowl on my phone (yes, while slow, still a classic) but I also found a copy of Reversi. And so now I again play round after round as I enjoy my paid bathroom breaks. And I’d like to think that my skills are as good as they’ve ever been.

Well, with that little history, I have come to understand one thing: Control the corners. The corners are easily the most important spaces to control because you can’t lose them. Once you have a corner it’s yours for the duration of the game. It also allows for comfortable control of the board. However, I have found that from time to time I get control of one, two, even three corners and then the computer makes use of some cunning strategy (or I get sloppy...maybe) and I end up losing. It’s sometimes quite a devastating site to those who might be in the breakroom with me.

However, other times I see the writing on the wall (no, not on the stall) and then still rapidly lose the corners, sometimes, all four. And yet even in these desperate times, I have been able to pull a win from the gaping jaws of defeat. All logic and Othello stratagem would say that he you must always have control of the corners in order to win. But whether its extensive experience and gaming genius or tactical laziness and overconfident bravado, victory can still come to either party despite a lack of control.

As I go through life I find more and more times when I have lost all control of “the Corners” of the Othello board of life. Those corners can be anything and are always changing, but tends to be the things that I place great importance or significance to. With the lose thereof, I am frazzled and chaotic and wishing I could have that last move back, or that I could make my opponent pick a certain space, and finally, that maybe I should just scrap this round, shake hands and get ‘em good the next round. But if I calm myself, and play it out carefully, I find I can still come out victorious having no control over “the Corners” at all.

I’m reminded of my favorite song during my mission. It’s the hymn “Master, the Tempest is Raging.” I don’t know why that song was always my favorite (ask any of my companions how often I requested it in our planning or district meetings), maybe it was the beat and tempo of it. But I think now I love that song for the message it has during those times in life where I feel like I’ve lost all control of not only “the Corners”, but the very board itself:

Master, the tempest is raging! The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness. No shelter or help is nigh.
Carest thou not that we perish? How canst thou lie asleep
When each moment so madly is threat'ning A grave in the angry deep?
The winds and the waves shall obey thy will: Peace, be still.
Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea Or demons or men or whatever it be,
No waters can swallow the ship where lies The Master of ocean and earth and skies.
They all shall sweetly obey thy will: Peace, be still; peace, be still.
They all shall sweetly obey thy will: Peace, peace, be still.

“If I win, they'll say 'well of course HE won, he's a top-ranked player.' But if I lose....”

“We’ll ride this road like a thought…33 more miles”

It’s the sort of thing that I dread like a root canal. Well to be honest, I’ve never had a root canal. But I think my brother Todd had one when Spencer broke his front teeth with a boomerang and he said it hurts. Of course he didn’t elaborate on its comfort level comparative to an aboriginal hunting tool hucked at the face from 5 feet away. At any rate, what I hate is the defining moment of a relationship. Most relationships occur and develop naturally. With great regularity it’s a non-issue. You start hanging out a lot; you talk on the phone a lot; you throw yourselves at each other in a wild hurricane of lips, arms, legs and...hair. But there is the chance occurrence of a complication. It seems to necessitate what some call “a talk” or a “define the relationship” moment, they really can go either way but at the time they are tense and nerve racking. At times like these, I like to think it’s like a sort of road-trip gone wrong. Like a road trip to Medford.

You set off with all the hope and excitement that comes with any good road trip. A 44 oz soda, bag of munchies, a couple CDs and a few hours of road lay ahead of you. All the components of a successful trip are there and according to the directions you got from Mapquest.com, it’s just a matter of time. And so you start to drive. Salt Lake, Wendover, (begin the loss of cell phone signal), Elko, Winnemucca, dirt road, dirt road. Hmm what happened to Denio? An Elk jumps in front of the car, swerve and miss. Gas light comes on, terror sets in. Ok, time to stop and evaluate what is happening on this road-trip and what should be done.

From what can be gathered you’ve got an eighth of a tank of gas, and the closest town is on the other side of those mountains (its dark and I have no concept of distance). Well the obvious solution is to actually get some good information, wait for morning (it being 1 am now), fill up with gas and go from there. The more macho and stubborn solution is to drive at 55 miles an hour (for some reason that seemed to be what I thought would provide the best gas mileage) on a dirt road through the Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge, which presumably will connect back to Lakeview. After hitting a few dozen jack-rabbits, dodging another elk, and some divine intervention, the car sputters to a stop out of gas close to the refuge main lodge. Ok, time to stop and evaluate what is happening on this road-trip and what should be done.

A grumpy refuge ranger (thanks Mike), a hidden refueling tank, and a pleasant, though sleepy Pakistani Motel keeper later, a restful night was had. And at around noon the next day the road-trip actually ends up where it was headed (end the loss of cell phone signal). A little off schedule, a little dazed and jittery, and little confused as to why it was such a difficult and arduous task to get there. But maybe such a treacherous sojourn makes the arrival all that much more triumphant.

But when you are sitting there faced with that uncertainty and indecision, you tell yourself Ok, time to stop and evaluate what is happening on this road-trip and what should be done. It doesn’t seem that triumphant, you sort of feel lost at sea...

No, more like you’re cold and out of gas in a southeastern Oregon Antelope Refuge.

"Only in the leap from the lion's head will he prove his worth."

Let's say I have a problem. No, a problem suggests something like a question on the SAT or dead car battery; while inconvient, they're easily understood, solved, and dismissed. Perhaps, I would say that I have more of a conundrum. A sort of complex situation of a delicate nature, requiring careful handling and whose result is of a highly valued nature. That's more of a definition of my conundrum, because really a conundrum is just an intricate and difficult problem. You know what, let's just call it a problem, that's easier.

Ok, so I have this problem. I don't want this to sound over dramatized because it really isn't that dramatic. However, whenever someone takes the time to elaborate on one particular event or aspect in their life for more than a 4 minute 37 second interval, their tale somehow becomes convoluted into a rehash of the plot line to a day-time soap opera on CBS. So, I'll keep it under 3 minutes, maybe even one. Mindy and I have been hanging out a lot. Mindy is gettin ready to go on a mission for the LDS church. I like Mindy. Mindy likes me (half of the time). Mindy is reserved because she doesn't want leaving on a mission to be complicated. I am confused. (sigh) Ok, that didn't take too long. So the question (not problem) arises; do I continue to persue her or do I "eject" right out of this Dog Fight?

Here's the problem: I know I should persue things. How do I know this? Well, its quite simple and yet, complicated. Its actually something that I find religious people readily understand and atheistical people readily question: The Spirit (of God). Trying to explain to someone what the Spirit is like is like trying to explain what salt tastes like. I can't. I know what it tastes like, I can readily identify it, but I find I lack the adequate lexicon or perhaps even the precise understanding that is required to describe what salt tastes like. Does that mean that salt isn't real? Because someone else hasn't tasted it does that mean that I have never tasted it, or that what I tasted really wasn't salt? (it was probably just sugar) No, I know what I have tasted and I know that it's real.

In all actuality this concept of the influence of a greater power is not exclusive to Christianity. The Chinese believe its their ancestors, spirtualists refer to it as the influence of "the Universe" or "Nature", die-hard Star Wars fans call it "The Force" and some just call it "their gut" or "instincts." Regardless, I think everyone has experience some sort of direction or guidance, as well as the warmth of a true proverb, or the peace and joy from helping another. The Spirit guides, confirms truth, and affrims us.

At any rate...my problem. I guess its not so much a problem or a dilema as it is just an excercise in faith. When you know what you're suppose to do, and you've made up your mind to do it, the follow-through should be easy, right...Right? But when logic, reason, and just plain common-sense suggest otherwise, the conflict begins.

Perhaps this is best illustrated from the classic film Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Indy, standing at the 100 foot chasm below the Lion's head, is faced with the last trial before the grail. By every conceivable sense, he knows that another step and he'll fall to his death. "Impossible. Nobody can jump this!" But knowing that not only that he must get to the grail but also that he CAN get to the grail, he takes a "leap of faith", step out and reveals a stunning bit of camoflage hiding a narrow stone path across the gaping abyss. He crosses and obtains the Holy Grail. Yeah, so leaping crevasses I could handle. Well, maybe. Actually I guess I can handle this too. There's not going to be any broken bloodied bodies on the rocks below.

...Dang, I think I am well over 4 minutes 37 seconds now.

"You must believe, boy. You must...believe."

"A newt? ...I got bettah."

Yesterday didn't start out well, in fact, it sucked. I awoke at about 7:50 — 10 minutes before I am suppose to be at work. Normally this isn't a problem, its not far to work and the folks there are pretty relaxed about things. However, this morning was also cleaning checks. Cleaning checks aren't much different in a college apartment then they are at home. You get a list of jobs that need to be done, divided amongst the siblings (roommates). At the appointed time "mom" (always a women, but the age of the cleaning inspector varies) comes by and depending on her mood either breezes through and tells you things look great, points out one or two areas that need to be touched up and tells you she'll be back the next day, or yells and screams about what ungrateful and lazy children you are, curses the world for being born a woman, shoots projectile vomit and her head starts to spin. Oh and they charge you $30.

So I start to clean in a mad rush, and because Ty left the day before, I am now the sole resident of Jamestown 38, and therefore the sole cleaner of Jamestown 38. And in a rushed state like this you know what would be great? An on-set of my reoccuring loose stool! (gross I know, but imagine when it hits you and you didn't even realize it, double gross) So guess its time for a shower. And since it's Shave-Day (I only must every other day) I grab my razor to shave in the shower. And then I gash my cheek. Not that big of a cut really, but it proceeded to bleed for 20 minutes. Not an oops-I-pricked-my-finger drip, but a hook-up-a-tube-and-make-a-donation-to-Red-Cross gush.

So I get dressed and after some sweeping, mopping, and wiping-down, I finish the vacuuming of my bedroom. Well we have had two vacuums (both not used) for some time, and now I know why. One has a pen stuck in it. If it just rattled loudly that would be one thing. But it also has ink on the brush, and therefore leaves brush strokes of ink on my carpet. Maybe those were already there? I get in the car and try to sneeze and cough at the same time, resulting in the most painful body contraction, my windshield gets sprayed and somehow I wack my head on the window. That's when I lost it and just started laughing. I had lost all grip on the world and now I was loosing my grip on sanity.

And in the swirl of it all, between trying to watch the Last Samurai at 1 am and my morning excitement I forgot to read my scriptures. So I took my lunch at like 12:30 and came home to eat and read. I actually tried something my mom suggested. When you have a problem or something you trying to work out or get help with, you pray and tell the Lord exactly what's going on and what you need. Then you open the scriptures and read. Yeah, so I was a bit skeptical when I started. But I ended up with one of the most incredible and special experiences of my life. So special and personal in fact, I am just going to leave it at that. Needless to say I felt better.

Until I got to work. And then I proceeded to have one of the most intense headaches. I would stare at my screen and my head would throb worse each time I moved across the screen. After almost two hours of minimal production and maximum endurance, I threw in the towel and told my boss I was out like the Lakers in the Finals. I went home and crashed face first into my couch for 2 straight hours. Only to be awoken and slightly mocked by Ryan from across the hall. I actually was feeling better...again.

I went to institute with Mindy again. We were talking about Enoch and "Zion" when we got on the topic of selfishness and serving others. Sad that so many couples, friends, and families get broken up and hurt because of selfishness. Brother Ainge (not Danny) challenged us to look for at least one opportunity to serve or do something nice on behalf of someone each day for the next week. I try my best, but why does it take some sort of homework assignment for me to actually focus on being charitable? But its true, if you serve someone and forget about yourself, things get better. Just think of the difference between Elder McKinnon and Elder Tang.

Drum roll please (ummm...sound of drum rolling) — I went grocery shopping. Yeah I wanted some apples and Mindy needed some things so we went to Wal-Mart. Let me just say, I love Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart is like a small self-sufficient metropolis that never sleeps. I sometimes dream about setting up a small ranch and living out the rest of my days on the prarie just west of electronics and north of home furnishings. Maybe it's just me, but I hate grocery shopping (I feel like I am eating my money) but its a sort of neccessary task in order to live, unless of course I go with a girl and then becomes yet another fun thing to do together? Well, I guess it's not that surprising, isn't that what we're all looking for, or trying to hold on to? Someone who makes normal things fun, fun things exciting, and makes you a better person?

I know I am.

"Want me to punch-a-size your face, for free?"

Mindy and I went to Salt Lake with every intention of watching the free screening of Napolean Dynamite. We got hungry. Went to get food first. Came back to find that the line was absurdly long. We never got in. Fortunately I had a stunning Plan B. Ok it was just pretty good. Actually it was just another movie. But I was equally excited to see "The Chronicles of Ronald" — Super Size Me.

This is Morgan Spurlock's film about fast food. The man's "McDiet" consists of nothing but what is found on the McDonald's menu for an entire month. I thought it was brilliant and educational. In fact, I was so entertained that I didn't notice that I was being educated &mdash I love being tricked into learning. But aside from simply chronicling this man's month long assualt on his body (though which I think we all fantasized about as children) it also was about health and fast food in america.

There was a time I loved McDonald's. I think it's called "last week". As a kid, Happy Meals really made me Happy. We never got to go as much as the Hadleys, I remember thinking how lucky they were and how mean my mom and dad were. Of course after this film I think I need to submit both a written and televised apology to both my parents. But we would go there as a family after athletic events, Mom's night off from cooking, and it seemed like at least twice every vacation or road trip (I guess those are the same for families, huh?) and when I was in Hong Kong, McDonald's seemed like Ruth's Chris Steak House, in fact we even use to convert the value of American and Hong Kong money based on McDonalds.

"Dude, my dad sent me a $20!"
"Wait how much is that?"
"It's like...7 extra value meals!"

Is it McDonald's fault that american's are massively obese. Is it there fault that a girl at 19 years old, is 5 foot 7 and weighs 270 pounds? No (unless they're like the Colonel and put an addictive chemical in their food to make you crave it fortnightly). The only thing addictive about McDonald's is the convienence. We're lazy, as a nation we are quite lazy. Did you know there was a time before you could change channels from your couch with a remote; when if you wanted to go to the store or a friends house, you walked; when you wanted something to eat, you prepared the food, cooked it, ate it together with family or friends, and then washed the dishes? (This is a bit odd coming from a guy who hates making food so much he usually subsides on Otter Pops, Eggo Waffles, and Mountain Dew) I'm not sure I believe all of it either, but a lot of old people have been saying this.

We've become a pleasure oriented world. People treat work as an option only to be chosen if required to. And even then the job that gets done is procrastinated and ends up being "half-assed" (that is a direct quote from my mom regarding over 90% of the work I did around the house growing up...ok so maybe she was right...twice. But it DOES snow in Texas, mom.) Lying, dishonesty, taking the advantage of one because of his words, or even digging a pit for your neighbor, the world seems to find that any of this ok as long as they don't have to work or do something that isn't fun or doesn't provide "maximum enjoyment".

But hey, I guess its the American Dream, right? Making money and enjoy life without having to work. Yeah, the American Dream all crapped out on that mutant ooze from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II. Eating processed, fatty food prepared and cleaned-up for you, while you sit around avoiding work and getting paid for it. And on that note...

...I guess I should get back to work.

"Hey, for a mushroom, smash those bricks...with your head"

Today was a stream of randomness. Tuesdays I don't work til late and had somethings that I wanted to get done. Didn't. I proceeded to sleep in until noon, then went to Tucano's Brazilian Grill with Ty since he leaves tomorrow for home. Between the grilled pineapple and their tri-tip sirloin it is quite possibly the best food I have ever eaten and a religious experience ("If heaven is this good, I have got to get in").

I went over to Mindy and Brittany's house at like around 9-ish. After a brief stint at Super Empire Strikes Back on the Super Nintendo, I proceeded to play Super Mario Bros. 3 for several hours. Why did I play this side-scrolling, 1990 hit about the continued exploits of the two Italian-American plumbers, Luigi Mario and Mario Mario, as they fight the evils of Koopa-troopers through precision jumping, thrown fireballs, and the whipping of racoontails, while collecting mushrooms and other shrubbery for aid on this quest? (sorry that was a run-on) Especially while there are games, like Halo, FIFA Soccer 2004, and Thief: Deadly Shadows on my Xbox upstairs. In fact I even have Super Mario 3 on my Xbox. So again I ask the question: Why, Dustin, why? Simply put — girls

Men do stupid things for women. I think that is readily apparent to both genders. We spend money, We commit crimes, We fight wars, We turn on our closest friends and family, We play retro video games well into the night. For what purpose? For what greater good? It's what I like to call "the 1up." Its actually taken from an experience I had on around World 3 level 4 last night. On this level there is a secret extra life (a 1up), but it requires a risky, well-timed jump. Well, it turns out that A)I am not as skilled as I use to be at the precision jumping required in the Mario World and 2) I am doggedly stubborn. So I would smash the brick with my head and jump get the 1up and die. This process was repeated around 112 times (well it was more like 15 and then i got yelled at and was forced to stop but I totally would have kept doing it 97 more times). Did I feel bad, or that I had been wasting my time and energy? No, because everytime I got that 1up I felt a little tingle of joy and a breath of hope. I was willing to be shrunken, burnt by a fireball, or fall to my death into a great abyss for that 1up, for that promise of another attempt at the World, for another life.

Women are the same way. In the abstract we all see the silliness of it all, the same as we we do when we're Mario and we watch Luigi throw himself at that 1up over and over. But when you are in it, when you are facing the menacing mushrooms of World 2 Level 7, and you find that 1up, the hidden one that you have to turn the coins into bricks and use the racoon tail to fly up to, it becomes a focus; a neccessity. You could pass it up, but if you do you don't know when the next one will come along. And when you find a girl that captivates you, and gives you that tingle, you'll smash that brick with your head and jump off that platform if neccesary to get her (that is figurative, but I think I heard about a guy that did that, the smashing the bricks for a girl part). So what can I say, I'm a sucker for "the 1up"s. Paul summed it up in "Beautiful Girls":

"A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack & Coke all morning. She can make you feel high, full of the single greatest commodity known to man. Promise, the promise of a better day, the promise of a greater hope The promise of a new tomorrow...This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl; in her smile, and in her soul, and in the way she makes every rotten little thing about life, seem like its going to be okay."

"Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies." No, not even on World 3 Level 4.

"We're paratroopers, we're supposed to be surrounded."

I went camping Friday night. It was one of the highlights of this spring thus far. Although it was not camping as I tend to interpret it (Load everything into back packs, hike into remote location, pump-filter water, pooping in a hole in the ground while leaned against a rock or stump and hope nobody walks by and no animals decided to investigate the scent, etc.), it did contain an element not found often before and quite enjoyable — girls. So what if we slept on mattresses (the real kind you have in your room right now) less than 10 feet from our cars and watched a movie on someones laptop, it was fun. I'd do it again in a second, just next time I won't sleep on the downhill edge of the matress (I either rolled or was "nudged" off on to the dirt 10+ times through the course of the night). Most of all I enjoyed just being in the outdoors, sitting in nature and looking up at the stars. If i think about the vastness of the world and the the universe for too long it starts to freak me out. But I love thinking about it right up to that point.

And so after being in the "wilderness" all night, why not watch some war movies, eh? Heath has been talking about the World War II HBO series "Band of Brothers" he got on DVD and so he let Ty and I borrow the first three disc Saturday. By the Sunday night we had finished 'em. That series is so incredible. It makes you want to stand up get a gun and enlist in the Army. That is until you see this guy with a leg full of shrapnel and then another dude, probably only 18 years old, gets shot right in the neck and chokes on his own blood until he dies. Then you sit back down and are filled with a sort of awe and amazement at what these guys were called on to do and then did. I really am grateful to have what others have sacrificed to maintain.

I was also reminded of my time as a missionary in Hong Kong. No I didn't ever shoot anyone, watch a buddy bleed to death, or hold my on bloody insides in my hands (Well maybe I did feel like i was holding my bloody pride in my hands a few times). But there was the organization, the leadership, the comradery and brotherhood, and a purpose (greater than myself) that several thousand other men boys just like me were engaged in all over the world. But perhaps most of all was that same feeling of being asked to do things well beyond my comfort zone and even my abilities, and somehow making them happen — successfully. One of the tag-lines for the series was:

"There Was A Time When The World Asked Ordinary Men To Do Extraordinary Things"

Yeah, extraordinary.

"Too close for missles, I'm switching to guns."

When dealing or discussing male-female interpersonal relationships, I seem to have a tendancy to wax analogous. And more often than not it seems that those analogies are drawn from either politics or warfare. More specifically things that I remember from my Comparative Politics class or saw on CNN and Saving Private Ryan or Top Gun. Top Gun has to be one of my favorite mediums for comparison. My buddy Heath (12-20) and I constantly use these analogies when we talk and I never cease to be amazed at the new and insightful ways we find use for the United States Naval Aviators.

Ok, here is a classic example and something that most refer too without much tought of it: The "Wingman". Now suppose that my friend, Pete, is interested in this girl and wants to go hang out with her. Does he go over to her place alone to hang out? Or suppose we're at a Party and Pete is trying to get to know this girl, does he set himself up ("Tell her I'm good-looking...and I'm rich and I have a rapist wit") or fend off the swarming "less attractive" girls. No, he calls in me, his "Wingman". In flies the Wingman and just as in the skies, the wingman's job is not to take a self-serving lead but simply to cover his buddy. Ugly girl gettin in your buddies way? Wingman intercepts. It's a self-less, charitable position, and requiste for most male-female "dogfights". "Never leave your Wingman"

Where is this going? Well, with all that said, the other day I got to thinking about a form of "combat anxiety" I simply call "The precautionary ejection". Its best described as when a pilot (Person A) spotting a Bogey (Person B, a member of the opposite sex) and deciding to engage the Bogey (talk to, get to know, go on a date, etc.) in a dogfight (the back and forth flirting / mind games of the intial courting or dating process) Now the pilot has commited himself to the fight. In a dogfight there are really only two definite outcomes: You win or you lose. When the pilot realizes this, that's not the bad part, its when he feels like he is losing the fight and the Bogey is moving to his "Six" and is going in for the kill. Its at this (oh yeah that means that Person B is not interested as much or at all in Person A and then the "kill" part is some form of humiliating and long-term emotionally scarring rejection...maybe). Anyway when the pilot feels like he is losing control of the dogfight, he gets shaky and a little hysterical and his thinking goes something like this:

"Crap...ok, I stay in this, maybe hit the brakes and they'll fly right by and I can switch to guns and get 'em..."
-BEEEEEEP (of a missle lock)-
"Or, I can just eject now just to be safe and avoid dying in a horribly messy and metallic fireball."
-EJECT-

Ejection is simply giving up, either not talking to or altogether ignoring them, being an out-right jerk to them, or even going to their home cursing at their mother, slaping their father and hog tying their little brothers (which actually IS as satisfying as it sounds). But the more vetran and experienced a pilot gets the less likely he is to freak out and eject. But there is always this part of every pilots mind that says "Hey, let's just eject. I like eating cookie dough way too much to die right now." Yeah, dude, stay alive for the cookie dough.

Storms brewing Ani, better get home quick.

Hmmm, Weather. Yesterday, after a brief round of "Campus Golf" and some Del Taco, I quickly found the weather changing from warm and sunny to dark and overcast. I work a late shift and when i got out from work at 8. It began to sprinkle and by the time I got home it was raining. I guess I hadn't realized it but it has been a while since it rained here in Utah. And I honestly miss it. You'd think someone from Oregon wouldn't ever miss rain again, but I really do. Not the drizzle-rain, but the booming downpours.

So after changing into something more comfortable I went back out and walked around in it and then sat on the steps in front of my apartment and just watched and listened. There is something very therapeutic about the rain for me. Everything is washed clean -- reborn. Even the air seems refreshed by a rain storm. And perhaps even just by watching it I'm refreshed as well.

And then today at lunch it hailed so hard for so long that it looked like a snow storm had hit. The lightning was bright and the thunder cackled. And I was glad to be dry and inside. But even with all the commotion and rumblings, the brunt of the storm was brief and there was a sort of calmness and peace out my window. It was pretty spectacular and serene.

...but why does there always need to be a tempest before the tranquil in life?