Busty Bloggy

A few thoughts, 10 years later.

2011-09-11T18:33:00.000-07:00

Years ago I was given the tremendous opportunity to serve a mission for the LDS church in Venezuela. Like many missionaries in the first few months of missionary service, I experienced a high degree of home sickness. I remember very specifically one Saturday in late November realizing that, most likely, Michigan would be playing Ohio State on that day. I could almost hear Keith Jackson’s voice telling me, and Nelly, what a hot one was in store. I longed to be home, and in that specific moment I hated it there. I also remember very specifically feeling like the people of Venezuela did not fully realize or appreciate how much I had given up to be there with them.

Somewhere around a year later, after an absolutely enumerable number of spiritual and generally character-building experiences, I found myself at lunch with a member of the church there. As we enjoyed lunch, he put on some random college football game, which we saw for about half an hour as we ate. After thanking him for lunch, we walked out into the street and realized immediately that we were still in Venezuela, which can be a harsh realization.

Fortunately, my mission consisted of thousands of amazing experiences, and not just the two I have described above. As Elder Holland once said, I enjoyed my mission more than any other missionary ever had before, or ever has since. As my mission drew to a close, I found myself extremely embarrassed ever to have thought that the people of Venezuela should have been cognizant of what I had laid aside to be there. I realized that the only difference between my situation and theirs was that I had been born where I was, and they had been born where they were. Beyond that, I would eventually return to my embarrassment of riches, while their situation was most likely fixed in relative poverty.

My intention in recounting the above memories is this: football, to me, is home. I love September at the Stadium. I love Super Bowl parties, and I love watching 3+ games on any given Saturday. Keith Jackson’s voice makes me tear up, and I would probably leave my life behind to go live at Ty Detmer’s place forever. Further, when I attend a football game in person, the Star Spangled Banner will often cause me to reflect on how much I love and appreciate living in the United States. This may be strange, but it is also 100% percent true for me.

So, not surprisingly, I turned on the evening football game just now. I found the broadcast right at the beginning of a memorial tribute to the events of 9/11, now ten years ago. As they played Taps, Amazing Grace, and then the Star Spangled Banner, I was again reminded of exactly how lucky I am. I also thought a little bit about the people who perpetrated these attacks, which only served to further my sense of gratitude. These people live in the darkest of places, with the darkest of hearts. Their whole existence is now dedicated to the misery of others. I can only assume this only serves to bring misery into their own lives as well. What a horrible shame that is.

So, I love me some football; which always serves to remind me that I love me some America. I love living in a place where hatred is not the norm. I love living in a country where opportunities are provided us almost universally. Basically, I am grateful not to be living in a cave, with a heart full of hate.

God Bless America. Always. Thanks for putting me here

An Open Letter to my Friend Dave

2010-09-28T11:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Dave,

I just wanted to write a quick note to tell you how much I think of you. When I was a kid, I looked up to you much more than you probably ever realized, or that I ever would have admitted. For years I marvelled at how everybody that knew you liked you, and wondered if people would ever like me that much too. To me you were the epitome of cool.

Years ago when my brother Jeff went on a mission, you started inviting me to spend time with you. You invited me to play volleyball, or to dinner, or any number of other things with your friends, who were always cooler to me at the time than mine. You even invited me to hang out just the two of us, and you never had to do that. For years you had been “Jeff’s friend”, but now you were mine as well. When you told me then that you missed Jeff on his mission, I remember distinctly thinking “if it’s okay for Dave to miss Jeff, I can admit that too”. Even when Jeff returned, you continued to treat me as a friend. I never felt like I was invited just because I was Jeff's little brother. You taught me that it is okay to care about people. When I went away to college, and again on my mission, you made it a point to buy me a nice dinner. A small thing, I know, but nobody does that for their best friend’s little brother. There are a thousand other examples of times when you went out of your way to make me feel included. I will always appreciate the effort you made, when most wouldn't have.

Dave, I will always remember you as a great man and a great friend. You would have done anything in the world for me, and I never doubted that. I’m so sorry that you felt so sad for so long. I wish that I had done more to let you know how much I care. Several times recently I have thought to give you a call and tell you that I miss you, and that we should spend time together. Every time I dismissed it, thinking that you probably would not pick up anyway. I should have at least tried, or left a message. I’m sorry that I didn’t.

I think there are probably hundreds of people that feel the same way that I do. I wish we could have convinced you that you are as worthwhile as I always thought you were. For my part, I’m going to be a better man, and I’m going to treat people a little better than I currently do, because that is what I will always remember about you. I love you, Dave. And I will miss you greatly.

Lunch

Yup.

2009-06-28T19:23:00.000-07:00

Well, it is official. I am a real cowboy. For several years now I had been claiming to be a real pretend cowboy. But now, thanks in part to my Dad and my Uncle Jim, the “pretend” part of that title can officially be removed. You see, I have actually now moved cattle on horseback. And not just one or two cows, but about 300 head ( “head” is how us real cowboys refer to them, a lot of people don’t know that).

For the past several years, Dad and Jim have had this tradition of going on a ride from the bottom of the mountain by Kanosh, UT, to a cabin that is located about 5 miles up the mountain. Every year Dad comes home raving about how beautiful the terrain is and how much fun he and my uncle had. Fortunately for me, this was the year that I finally got to go too.

Now, I knew that this would be a long ride. What nobody told me until we left was that included in this ride would be some genuine, bonafide cowboyin’. I should take a second and explain why. My Uncle Jim runs the business side to a ranch and farm in Kanosh. The reason he and Dad are able to do this ride every year is because the cowboys that run the cattle up and down the mountain have a cabin up there from which they operate. So, once a year, Jim and Dad borrow that cabin for a nights rest. This year, our ride happened to fall on a Friday on which the cowboys were moving quite a large number of cattle. Since we were there, and had horses, we volunteered to help them move these delicious, but disgusting creatures.

It should be noted at this point that, while I have some horse experience gained over the last two years, I’m not a cowboy. Or at least I didn’t used to be. So the idea of moving 300 head of cattle 3 miles was at first a daunting task. However, once we got moving, I found it to be pretty exciting. Often one of the calves would try to double back behind the herd to try to make its way down the mountain. It then became my job (with the help of others) to cut the calf off and return it to the group. This can be difficult. But also really fun. See, most of the riding I had done previous to this was trail riding, in a line. I enjoy trail riding, and am willing to go pretty much anytime I am invited. However, cutting off stray cattle is much more exciting. You have to dart back and forth, start and stop, and generally wear the horse out to stay in front of the renegade calves. There were a few times that I even had to do so in the middle of thick trees and brush (yup, even got to wear chaps). So, I had me a great time.

There is one thing that I ought to note, however. While I am now a real cowboy, I am definitely not a seasoned cowboy. By that I mean that my endurance for being on a horse is not the same as the cowboys with whom we were working. After 7 hours in the saddle on Friday, I was pretty much done with being on a horse. My legs and bunners were pretty sore. But it was most definitely worth it. Besides, after a good stretch and a nights sleep Friday night, I was ready for more. Which is good, because the only way back down the mountain would have been to use my own hooves.

p.s. Happy Birthday James Logan!

Things I've Been Doing, Part I

2009-06-12T23:01:00.000-07:00

Recently a few of my friends have mentioned to me that I ought to post something on this blog. I was going to make one post that contained a few of the things that have either happened to me lately, or thoughts that I have recently had that I felt like expressing. But, after writing out the post below (Part II) I realized that it might end up being quite a long post, and decided to divide it into two parts.

Anyhow, something that has been on my mind lately is the fact that I am right at the verge of actually being as old as I have told people I am for the last five years. Truthfully, I have had lots of birthdays in my life (29 to this point) and for the most part I don't think much of them either way. I don't take the day off work (Jami) and I generally don't even tell people that it is my birthday. But I am somewhat apprehensive about the idea of turning thirty. I think that my biggest concern is that people generally assume that a Mormon kid who gets to 30 and unmarried must be really weird or something.

Now granted, I may have a fairly dry and random sense of humor, but I don't really think the word "weird" is a fair description of me. Maybe goofy, but not weird.

So, anyway, I have been thinking a lot about turning 30 and what it means and the like. But I also had a very interesting thought the other day. I realized that in the 10 years since I turned 20, 8 of those years have been really good. I've been really lucky in the people that I have met and the things I've been able to do. Granted, I've had my problems and issues (which pale in comparison to what many people have to deal with), but I'm a pretty happy guy overall.

So, if you're reading this, and you have been a friend to me over the last 10 years (or ever); Thank you very much for making my life as great as it's been.

Things I've Been Doing, Part II

2009-06-12T22:28:00.000-07:00

The second part of what was originally going to be one post, comprised of an experience I recently had with my beloved car Lorna.

So, first off, I recently had the opportunity to spend a whole day under the hood of my car. On Friday, two weeks ago, I was driving home from work. I was happy as a clam (pre-chowder, of course) cruising with the radio on, and the A/C full bore. Suddenly the refreshing cool air blowing from my dashboard vents was considerably less refreshing and considerably more warm. So immediately my eyes darted to the temperature gauge on my dash to find it had begun to climb. Quickly. I mean really, really quickly. So I immediately got off the freeway (coasting, down to about 25 mph by the time I got off) and called some friends of mine from the area to see if they could offer any suggestions/help. Eventually, I was able to get my car over to my friend Aleese's house, where I left it overnight.

Now, for those of you who may know me, this would not be the first time I have had car trouble. In fact, when I got home, I told my roommate that my car had broken down, and he looked at me surprised. My brother Jeff, who had given me a ride home, asked him if he had ever met me. I guess to know me is to know that cars hate me.

So, I admit that most of the interesting part of the story (and I'm not entirely convinced that this IS an interesting story) has been told. I spent the day Saturday first changing the thermostat, and then, when that didn't solve the problem, the water pump. Aleese's dad, who I don't really even know that well, spent almost his whole Saturday helping me change the water pump. At one point it poured rain for about an hour, and he showed no sign whatsoever of wanting to walk away. Between his help, Aleese and Clint's, and my brother Jeff, I was reminded again that I am really, really blessed to have such good friends and family in my life. I'll never understand why I'm so lucky, when others so often seem not to be.

p.s. Haley, if you read this, please know that Lorna (Mabel) has basically been quite good to me. This was an aberration in an otherwise healthy relationship.

An Addendum: Reasons I love my job.

2009-01-16T16:15:00.000-08:00

1. Molestache Monday - This will be held on Jan 26. A few of the guys in my department are growing beards/goatees, all of which will be shaved into mustaches on that day.

2. Wednesday's Weekly Wiener - I have recently discovered that you can get a really big, really delicious Polish sausage at the Cosco for $1.50. With a Coke! Every Wednesday we go get one (or two).

3. Asian Accents - I'm not kidding when I say that somedays I speak more with a bad Asian accent than a normal American one. Besides, how can you not laugh when someone emails you, "Please to be kindly actioning the below request". Okay, maybe it's not that funny to you.

4. Your Mom Jokes - Not replying to every question with "your mom" but actual, well thought out jokes about dating your mother. Good times.

5. Banana Peels - Everyday I eat a banana for breakfast and put the peel in my Lead's garbage can. Everyday he comes in and tries to figure out who it was. Hee hee. Now half the office knows it's me, but he still doesn't. Some of them have started bringing bananas too and putting their peels in Jimmy's garbage. Best part, he's enlisted me to help him find out who it is.

6. Monotone Karaoke - Quite often early in the morning, you'll hear someone break out an eighties classic with no voice inflection at all. There's nothing quite like Journey or Chicago just butchered at 7:30 in the morning. "Don't Stop....Believin'"

In short, I'm a lucky man.

Welcome back. Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.

2009-01-13T16:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, it has been an abnormally long time since I have updated this blog. It hasn't been for lack of something to write about, but mostly due to lack of motivation. But don't you fret, it's time for an update.

Mostly I want to write about my new jorb. When last I wrote, I was still doing temp work packing candy (see previous post). But, as many already know, I have acquired a new jorb working for Expeditors International. As many also may know (but most probably don't) I love this new jorb of mine. I work as an Ocean Import Agent. Expeditors in general imports and exports goods on behalf of clients. Specifically, I do everything involved in getting those big steel containers you see on the road from the ocean to the customer's front door, save for the customs clearance. Even more specifically, that means arranging for the containers to be moved from the ship to a train, from a train to a truck, or directly from the ship to a truck. THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!!!

Now, this might not sound like a super exciting jorb, but it's actually very interesting work. I work with a bunch of really nice, really funny people. Okay, maybe not always nice, but definitely funny. It's like they hired me to work with me. Beyond that, there are a lot of steps involved with moving a container from point A to point B, so I get a large variety of tasks on any given day. And the best thing about my jorb is that there is actually a future in it. If I do well, there are abundant opportunities for advancement. If not, I'll probably get fired. But I've never been fired, so that's just ridiculous.

Anyhow, I realize that there is not much entertainment value in this post, but people been getting on me about not writing. Additionally, I like this jorb, so for those of you who may read this blog in an attempt to find out out more about my current situation, now you know. So this has been my feeble attempt and placating them. I hope to come upon a more entertaining topic in the next few days, and if I do, you're in for a treat.

On a More Serious Note....

2008-07-27T20:19:00.000-07:00

I hope this post won't be too serious as compared to what has previously been written here, but I wanted to share a few thoughts that I have had recently.

About three years ago I was present as my uncle Brent had a serious heart attack. My dad and I had gone to Brent's farm in Garland, UT to pick up some hay for my dad's horse. When we arrived, Brent and his son Kevin were just getting home from having played racquetball. After loading up the hay, my dad and I went in to the farmhouse to use the bathroom and to talk with Brent and Kevin for a minute. Just as my dad and I were leaving, Brent stopped responding to the conversation, and we saw him slump over on the couch. As there has always been a serious history of heart disease in my family, we all assumed that Brent was having a heart attack and immediately called 911. Brent was taken in an ambulance to the Tremonton hospital, and then to McKay Dee hospital in Ogden. He was taken to the Cath Lab and within hours the doctor came and informed us that there had been previous damage to Brent's heart which, coupled with the episode of that day, made it impossible to stabilize him. Brent died soon after.

The reason that I wanted to write about that was that recently the bishop in my singles ward also had a very serious heart attack. He had been running on a Saturday morning and had returned home and started experiencing chest pains. His wife took him to the hospital where he was also rushed into the Cath Lab. As he was being wheeled in, he told his wife that he didn't think that he'd be coming back. Fortunately they were able to stabilize him to the point that they could then go in and examine the heart damage. He was told that most likely the damage would be significant, and that open-heart surgery would be needed. However, after a blessing, the procedure was done, and no serious damage was found. Bishop Hanks was put on medication, and was in church the next week.

In hearing the Bishop recount what had happened to him, I couldn't help but see the similarities to what had happened to my uncle Brent. It seems to me that their situations were almost identical, with the exception being the outcome. Brent had been exercising, had a serious heart attack and died within hours. Bishop Hanks had been exercising, had a serious heart attack, and was home the next day. It almost seems unfair.

As I listened to Bishop Hanks tell of what happened to him, and as I compared the outcome to that of my uncle Brent, I was surprised to find that I was filled with gratitude. When I attended my uncle's viewing and subsequent funeral, I was surprised to find thousands of people had come to pay their respects. Brent was a full time elementary school principal and a full time farmer, neither of which are professions that garner a lot of praise generally in the world. Regardless, thousands came to show respect for a man who had touched countless lives. Similarly, if Bishop Hanks had not been so lucky I'd have joined many, I'm sure, to show love for a man whom I similarly respect and admire for his goodness and willingness to serve others. I have no idea what he does for a living.

The gratitude that I felt recently was three-fold. I am grateful to know that you live after you die. I can't imagine losing a family member without knowing that I would see them again.

I am also grateful to know that it doesn't matter how long you live, or how you die, but what you do with the time you have.

Lastly, I am grateful to be a member of a church that builds good men. There is so much selfishness in the world, but I am a member of a church where people are generally not selfish. In a world in which there is a lack of suitable role models, I have been blessed with a wealth. All my life I have been able to look at my family and members of my church and see much, much more good than bad. I'm certain that not everybody can say that. For that I will always be most grateful.

I've got Latin Fever!

2008-06-17T18:07:00.000-07:00

These past two weeks, due to a glitch at the RR Donnelley payroll department, I have been doing temp work for Jaxxi Design. Don't let the name fool you, Jaxxi is a candy packaging company. They have pretty much cornered the market on adorable by taking the same blend of candy (Mr Goodbar, Krackel, Special Dark, you know the one) and putting it into an untold number of different containers. See picture at left.

Upon my arrival the first day at Jaxxi I realized that I would be working primarily with Mexicans, in number about 15. This made me somewhat apprehensive, as the Republican party has spent the greater part of the last six years telling me that I should hate Mexicans (yup, still a liberal). In the three weeks I've been there, I have remembered two things that previously were forgotten to me. First, I really like Latins generally. Second, I really hate Latin music. Really, really hate it.

First the music thing. To be clear, I am not talking about Americanized Latin music, such as Jennifer Lopez or even Shakira or Santana. I mean music recorded, produced, and listened to exclusively by latins. Somebody tell me who was the first person to take a tuba, then add an acordion, and then start howling a Spanish love song. If I could take just one trip back in time and punch just one person in the neck, I'm not sure Hitler wins out over that guy. Years ago, in Venezuela, some of the people I knew there would ask me if I liked these types of songs. I generally answered that they make my ears bleed. As the years went by, I came to feel that this was perhaps too strong a reaction, and that I may have hurt some peoples feelings by saying that. Suffice it to say, after three weeks, I am back to this response. At this point I'd be ecstatic for a mix tape composed entirely of The Cure, Oingo Boingo, and The B52's (all bands that suck by the way [if that offends you, I apologize, but it's time somebody told you]) A chorus of crying babies rubbing styrofoam together would be a welcome reprieve from this music. I'm not kidding.

Now to the Latin people generally. As I have spent the past few weeks remembering how to speak Spanish (a skill that had almost entirely fallen out, by the way) I have also remembered that I really like latin people. I remembered this the first day when they offered me some of the tortillas and goat meat they were cooking in the breakroom. Not warming in the microwave, but cooking on a griddle that lives there. In fact, almost every day I have been there they have offered me some of the their lunch.

Most of these Mexicans I have been working with are from two families, and they are hilarious. There is another white kid that is temping with me who's about 6'3" and really skinny. One day, as Richard (that's his name) was bending over to move some boxes, a portion of his skinny white buttocks were exposed for all of us to see. Christian, one of the Mexicans, was particularly close to this unfortunate scene. As he backed away with a look on his face that can only be described as abject terror, one of the nicer ladies told Christian to tell Richard to pull up his pants, but another of the Mexicans, Kique, yelled across the room, in Spanish, "No, no, put in a quarter and see what comes out". I giggled more than a little.

Anyhow, the conclusion I have come to is that I had forgotten how much fun people can be who are different than I am, Latin or whatever else.

p.s. blogging makes me feel like Doogie Howser, but straighter.

Could You Ever Love a Brenda?

2008-05-29T15:10:00.000-07:00

Well, after an extensive process, I have settled on a name for my guitar. The name by which it shall be known in this life, and in the records of mortality is Geraldine. I had previously settled on the name Brenda, but in sharing the story behind the name with a friend, I realized that I couldn't associate my guitar with a really gross man from my ward growing up. You may note that Geraldine was not one of the finalists that was previously submitted, but a late entry which has picked up considerable legs as the competition wore on. I would like to thank all who offered suggestions as well as Matt, who just got angry and gave up.

Moving is for Sucks, Pt Deux

2008-05-21T19:34:00.001-07:00

I just spent the past 15 minutes writing a post about how I spent the day packing up for my impending move, and how I've moved x number times in the last few years and how I hate it, blah blah blah. I finished it, read through it, and thought, "hmm, that's extremely boring". So then I decided to add a little something about the guitar class that me and my friend Katey just finished and I realized that I have never named my guitar. Anybody who knows me can tell you that I name everything; cars, blankets, old french fries that I find on the floor at work (that's a true story for another time; suffice it to say that Lamar became a mascot of sorts in that warehouse). I once even gave a girlfriend of mine the nickname "Howard". How I got away with that one, I'll never know, but she even used to sign little notes that she would give me with that name. Yet somehow, my guitar has never gotten a name.

So here's what I've decided to do: I'm having a competition of sorts to help me name my guitar. By competition, I mean please give me some suggestions, and if I like one of them I'll use it. If I don't, then I'll just have to come up with something else. I think probably my guitar is a female, due to it having tantalizing curves, so boy names will be immediately disregarded. Also, it should be recognized that I generally gravitate toward unusual and ugly names. Past nicknames for items include Howard, Lorna, Troy, Carl, and Clyde, so something like Emily or Sara is probably going to get overlooked.

Anyhow, with that said, please post as comments any suggestions you may have. I think it is absolutely ridiculous to have a guitar for 5 years and not name it. I'm so ashamed.

p.s. I did all that I could to find a bikini that I could put on the guitar for this picture. I feel like we've all been robbed just a little bit.

Itchy Trigger Finger

2008-05-06T00:40:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my friend Haley the other day and she was expressing to me that she was getting really ancy (i have no idea how to spell "ancy, ancie, etc..") with life in general and was craving a change. I think as a single person it is very easy to feel that way when there are few things that tie us to people and places. Well, in that spirit, I have decided to move...again. I've been living in my current apartment for about a year now, and I have felt almost from the start that I needed something else. So when the opportunity to move in with a buddy of mine (heretofore to be referred to as JT) in Draper, I jumped at the chance. Having already committed to the new situation, I have still felt somewhat disconcerted with my pending move. That was until Sunday. JT and I went to church over in Draper in preparation for our move. We wanted to meet the people over there, as well as the leaders of the ward. Translation: What do the girls look like? I am pleased to report that "the crop", as my dad would call them, is good. Further, I was absolutely blown away at how welcoming and friendly the ward members were. Beyond that even, I couldn't believe how young they seemed. Most are fairly recent college grads or current college students.

Here's the most startling revelation that I had Sunday. I'm not that old. I made a vow ages ago that if I happened to be in my late 20's and not married, I wasn't going to be that guy who refused to tell you his age (my current roomie does that and it drives me nuts), and who laments continuously about how unhappy he is single and how dating is terrible. I've been making self deprecating jokes about my age since I was 26, mostly so people don't see me as that guy. But then I moved into my current apartment complex. Most of the people here are about my age and in my same situation. And most are the aforementioned character. I might be pushing 30, but I really feel like I have more in common with a 24 year old than someone of 29. Most of my good friends for the last five years have been between 2 and 5 years younger than me. I even dated a girl who was eight years younger (admittedly, that was pushing it). I guess I just don't really want to act my age anymore. More specifically, I don't really want to act like some of the other 28 year old singles I'm running into. I'm just not ready to be bitter.

Long story short, I really like my new ward, and am excited to jump in over there.

p.s. if you're not a Mormon and you happen to read this, I'm sorry if none of this made sense. We're kinda strange about the whole marriage thing.

p.p.s if you are a Mormon and you just read that post script, I meant strange like "peculiar" (wink, wink).

Old People

2008-04-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

Okay, I feel like it's time to get something off my chest. I have come to hate old people. I apologize if this makes you think I am a bad person. Actually, I apologize because I am a bad person, but I just can't help it. Everyday I go to the grocery store across the street from my place of employment to get lunch. I like to get lunch at the grocery store because I can get a relatively cheap and healthy lunch. It also has helped immensely with my goal to cut way down on the amount of fast food that I shove into my ever-bloating body. The main problem with this change of lifestyle is the vast sea of geriatrics that occupy the grocery store at 12:00 on a weekday afternoon. They move slowly. They never look where they are going. They just stop walking at the most random moments, which on several occasions has caused me almost to run over them. In my little brain I have honestly thought, "I bet if I just ran right into her, she might actually look around the next time". Yes, you read that correctly, I almost talked myself into putting a football-style hit on an old lady at the grocery store. This is what it's come to. At what point in life does it become acceptable to just live your life as though nobody else exists? I pretty much can't wait until I get to that point.

Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about this little problem. I keep telling myself that each of these old people were once young people, with families and kids and jobs and all of the other things that go with youth and middle age. Then I feel bad about getting so angry. I guess that helps a little. Mostly it just makes me sad. One day I may be at the Walmart looking for my favorite brand of adult diaper and some 20 something will look at me as though I am worthless. It won't be my fault. My legs will hurt. My back will hurt. Maybe my kids live far away and I never get to talk to them. Maybe my wife is sick and I can't deal with it. Maybe she died last month or last year or 20 years ago and I'm just lonely. Maybe the trip to the grocery store is the only social interaction I get in a day or week, and I just want it to last as long as I can before I have to go home to my loneliness.

There could easily be a brazilian different reasons for any person to act in any fashion that might annoy me. I think sometimes it's easier to see the annoying behaviour than the real person, old or not, that might be creating it. I guess it wouldn't hurt me to try that once in a while, rather than laying grandma out on the tile floor.

p.s. this post turned out nothing like I intended it, but it's better this way.

2008-04-10T20:54:00.000-07:00

I guess this will be my inaugural blog posting. Aren't we lucky. To tell the truth, I have absolutely no idea where this blog will go in the future, if anywhere. I hope to write things that would be interesting not only to those who know me, but also to those who may be wandering the the internet in search of answers to meaningful questions, such as "Why does Keanu Reeves keep getting movie roles?" and "Is it the grilled cheese or the tomato soup that makes my stomach feel funny?" There is also a distinct possibility that some postings may contain rants regarding pet peeves of mine, as I have roughly a brazilian of them. Anyhow, thanks for reading.