avoiding discretion

My stats teacher explained it this way, "A discrete number is something you can count, it's a whole number. For example, the number of students in a class is discrete. You can't have half a student," he continued in jest, "unless you're a liberal arts major!"

On the other hand, continuous numbers are used for measurement. I'm five feet ten and a quarter inches tall. Last night I slept for six and a quarter hours. Pi is 3.14159....

Sometimes we think of aging as a discrete event. As a young child I never liked the question often posed on my birthday, "So how does it feel to be a year older?" It's such a confusing question for a kid because he thinks he was only five years old yesterday but in reality, he was five years and three hundred sixty four days old (depending on the year), and that's certainly closer to six years than five.

With that, another common mistake is to think that when you turn six you're beginning your sixth year. This is not true. Turning six means you've lived for six complete years. That sixth year has now come and gone. On your sixth birthday you start your seventh year.

I mention all this because tomorrow, in a few short hours really, I begin my thirtieth year.

pick your poison

I may have shot myself in the foot with the challenge I issued last week to write a lengthy word-only post. I don't have writer's block, I just don't have that much on my mind that's impersonal enough to share on a medium accessible to anyone who uses the world wide web. So I tentatively write the following, taking some comfort that the length of this post will scare most readers away.

Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne is a sort of pseudo-hero of mine. I don't agree with many of his personal philosophies, but I love the passion and originality with which he approaches his career. For example, earlier this year the Flaming Lips released a digital EP stored on a USB drive embedded in the gelatinous brain of a seven and a half pound gummy skull -- you had to eat your way to the USB drive.

A year or two ago, a piece of Wayne's unconventional wisdom struck me and made me realize something important about myself. During a commencement address at an Oklahoma City high school in 2006, Wayne said, "We are not what we dream. We are what we do." Now, I know that's not terribly profound, and it's something I already knew, in a nebulous sort of way. It just had never been articulated for me so clearly (or if it had, I hadn't been paying attention).

Sometimes I feel like more of a dreamer and less of a doer. I contemplated making a list of all the things in my recent life that I've wanted to do or thought I would do but haven't. I look back on a few of those things and think, Why didn't I do that? Why haven't I taken the GMAT yet? It would be so easy to get that out of the way. Why didn't I take the CPA exam right after finishing college? I could've been done with that by now.

And then I try and account for the time I spent not doing these things. What have I done instead? Why is it easier for me to focus on what I haven't done than what I have done? And why do I feel like my most important accomplishments are limited only to the realm of school and work? -- especially when, historically speaking, my passion for both of those things has been so up and down.

Anyway, I feel like I know the answers to these questions. They just tend to bounce around in my head less when I know someone else has heard them.

== == == == ==

In case you haven't noticed, from reading this post and from subtle hints on other posts, I've been rethinking my line of work. I remember someone saying that who you work with is more important than what you do. If that's the case, then maybe I should change my attitude instead of my career. I don't know which scares me more: a new attitude or a new job.

the grapes of math

"...and some of them worshiped the mathematics because it provided a refuge from thought and from feeling." -- John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

Should I be worried if that's one of the things that attracts me to accounting?

the relative theory of practicality

I had a hard time falling asleep the other night (a nap at 9:00 pm, no matter how short, will do that to you). Around 1:00 am, as I read the last pages of In Dubious Battle, I started fleshing out an idea I got Sunday night as I was looking at satellite images of Montreal on Google Maps. More on that later.

Earlier today I was perusing different graduate degree programs at ASU. Why is it that anything I have any interest in studying has no application in the real world? Or won't provide any benefit to my current job/career path? Why can't I get a master's degree in French just because I want to? Never mind that the only thing I could do with that is maybe teach; never mind that I'd make considerably less money doing that than if I stuck with what I'm doing now.

I don't regret getting an undergrad degree in accounting, not for a second. Would I regret getting a master's degree in something less practical like American literature or geography? I really doubt it. At this point though, I feel like the only reason I would get a master's degree is because I feel like I shouldn't leave this life without one. Maybe when I feel like having a certain master's degree would benefit my career or life in general, maybe that's when I should tackle it.

So the other night when I couldn't fall asleep I thought about giving away (selling when possible) all my stuff (i.e., records, books, CDs, most of my music gear) and moving to a big city. Or rather, a city with a bike/pedestrian friendly downtown area. Just for the summer. From May to September or October. San Francisco comes to mind. So does Montreal. I'd try to make friends with random people I'd meet while frequenting whatever city's public transportation as well as other atmospheres and venues that don't exist here in Mesa. I'd take an hour or so to run every morning. I might find a job somewhere but I wouldn't work for more than four hours a day. I'd ride my bike or just walk around the city, exploring, really getting to know my surroundings. I'd read a lot, write a lot, and take a lot of photos.

I think about doing all that, and suddenly, a master's degree in French doesn't seem so impractical.

for my consideration

Recently I've considered doing the following:

1. Working only 20 to 30 hours a week and using the time off to bake. And cook. But mostly bake. I have a dream one day of starting my own bakery -- what's life for if not for following your dreams?

2. Quitting my job entirely and going to school somewhere gnarly (back East-ish?) for a master's degree in Literature. Then I can teach English at a community college or something (I'm not sure if I have the patience/ambition/general-scholarly-attitude to take the PhD/teach-at-a-University route).

I really like my job and I love the people I work with. But the job isn't really mine. I don't have a problem filling a position that someone else has created, but when my working life is over (which will probably be when I'm either dead or too senile/feeble to work), career-wise, I would like to have accomplished something that's mine.

On a far less weightier note, I'm considering selling my electric guitar, amp, and acoustic guitar and buying a new acoustic guitar (my current acoustic has some serious, possibly irreparable warping going on). I've also thought about buying a bass amp (as I already own a bass guitar), and I've even considered looking for a band that needs a bass player.

If Skeletor had an accountant his name would be Accountor!

* * * * * * *

A few months ago a roommate of mine made a comment that was an answer to something I had been mulling over for quite a while; it was like he had an epiphany for me. He's an art major and while we were painting my bedroom we talked about art and artists. I don't remember his exact words but one sentiment he shared was similar to this:

"I don't think people should try to be artists. I think people should just do what they do with style."

Feel free to interpret that how you please; you'll probably read it differently than me anyway.

Just something that meant a lot to me I thought I'd share.

* * * * * * *

Against All Odds

Something statistically unlikely happened to me at work today. After finishing the audio of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters -- which, by the way, is great -- I decided it was time for some tunes. It seems that these days I'm even too lazy to decide what I should listen to. Luckily I have a playlist on my iPod of around 2,000 songs I'm usually in the mood for -- I set the iPod to shuffle and the playlist does the rest.

In 1979, The Police released their second album, Regatta de Blanc. Really worth checking out... punk, reggae, and rock rolled into one... it might be my favorite Police album. But I digress. The fifteenth song to come appear on my shuffled playlist was the semi-ubiquitous Police track, "Message in a Bottle," the opening song on Regatta. The next song -- to my surprise -- was "Regatta de Blanc," the second track on the identically named album.

What are the odds? That two songs appearing consecutively on an album would appear consecutively on a shuffled playlist?

Well, if my calculations* are correct, the odds are 4,551,882 to one. Which, according to C-3PO are even slimmer odds than successfully navigating an asteroid field (which, since you're dying to know, are 3,720 to one).



*The boring part (cuz the rest of this post was so entertaining):

Total songs in mix = 2148
Message = song 15
Regatta = song 16

P(Message) = 1/2134
P(Regatta after Message) = 1/2133
P(Message then Regatta) = P(Message) x P(Regatta after Message)
P(Message then Regatta) = 1/2134 x 1/2133
P(Message then Regatta) = 1/4,551,882

Fend For Yourself

You're better off dead
When you don't know
An original thought
Where do you go
When all your thoughts
Are hand me downs
Pictures and sounds
Bring back childhood memories
We were humble and meek
With independent confidence
Trust in ourselves
Through imagination
Fending for ourselves
With our superhero powers
Back when curiosity
Made us better in the end
Trusting in ourselves
And our superhero powers
Thoughts of mediocrity
Never entered in our minds

-- J. J. Stock

Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men's blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistency. Remember that our sons and grandsons are going to do things that would stagger us. Let your watchword be order and your beacon beauty. Think big.

-- Daniel Burnham

Noun vs. Adverb: Round I
The first time I had heard that quote (the one by Daniel Burnham, not Mr. Stock) was right after moving to Colorado. As a BYU-I alumnus (if you can think of a more stuffy, pretentious way to begin a sentence let me know) I was invited to attend a fireside given for students who had traveled to Denver on one of the school sponsored expeditions. In my business casual attire and two-day scruff I felt a little out of place among the all the suits and freshly shaved faces (as if I could have expected anything else from a BYU-I sponsored event). In order to not attract attention to myself, I got there right as it started and sat in the back. But alas, dressed in a red and blue sweater -- I wasn't even wearing a tie *gasp!* -- with growth on my face that would've got me sent home from class, I was positive everyone was looking right at me.

If I didn't feel inadequate enough already, hearing that Daniel Burnham quote sure did the trick. I had just started my first out-of-college job as an auditor. Revenue requirement. Regulatory compliance. Fund administration. Do those words stir your blood? Maybe a light simmer? Yeah, me neither.

Think big indeed, Myke.


Thoughts of mediocrity
Never entered in our minds
I want you to think of someone who is normal. Average. No distinguishing features or talents. Blends into a crowd.


While you're thinking enjoy this picture. These fine gentlemen where the only four stalwart devotees to make it through all six installments of the Star Wars saga in one sitting during the First Annual Olsen Family Star Wars-athon, which took place on December 26, 2005. Left to right: brother Matt, myself (man, I miss those pants), Steven J. Packer, brother Thomas. Talk about ambition!

OK, by now you should've thought of an acquaintance that you would describe as normal or average. Now, how well do you know this person? Probably not very well. Am I right?

I can't say I've ever really known anyone who's normal or average. First impressions can come off as such but once you really get to know someone, you find out that that person has so many facets that make him or her truly unique, far from average, and even strange. Sure, some folks parade their eccentricity more than others, but just because it's not readily visible doesn't mean it's not there.


One day my life got easier
I starting running in October 2005 -- though I've stopped and started many times since -- with the goal of one day running a marathon. I think I can pinpoint with accuracy the reason why I started running. I was pretty insecure about myself at the time. Some of my best friends had just gotten married and others weren't too far off. Friends were transferring to ASU or BYU while I still had another year to go at Mesa Community College, aka High School with Ashtrays, 13th Grade, or my personal favorite of my own coinage, McCollege.

So I started running. "You can have babies but I can run farther than you!" Don't get me wrong, I was happy for my friends and their accomplishments. Trust me, I really was. I was just insecure, that's all. So I kept running. But ultimately my motivation to want to prove something, to outshine someone else wasn't enough to keep me going. I can't count how many times I've started running consistently then stopped because one day my life got easier.


His head was down and his voice was heartbroken
The legititude that is James Dean: he makes one heckuva Cal Trask.

From the movie East of Eden. Don't feel obligated to watch the whole thing; it's kinda long. Do feel obligated to keep reading though. Thanks.

Though I'm not sure how I feel about Julie Andrews as Abra Bacon (great last name, eh?). I don't think the real Abra would've giggled as much. But no one asked me. Had I been alive, I'm sure they would've. And I'm not sure whether I should really like or hate her hair.

It's no secret that East of Eden is one of my favorite books. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that fact in at least five separate blog posts. From said novel, I love this:

"Lately I've never felt good enough. I always wanted to explain to him that I was not good."

"And now that you don't have to perfect, you can be good. Is that it?"

"I guess so. Maybe that's it."

Noun vs. Adverb: Round II
I've thought a lot about the world 'passion' lately; I've concluded that finding your passion isn't so important but living passionately is.


Fending for ourselves
When I was in eighth grade, after school my friends and I played a fair amount of football. I guess I did OK because after a few days of playing my friends told me I should try out for the school team in ninth grade. The school held early morning practices at the end of the year for eighth graders who wanted to try out for the ninth grade team. I attended the practices but I didn't enjoy them. I had played football with my friends for fun and it was apparent for the coaches and fellow players that "fun" wasn't the primary objective. So, like Ben Folds, "I dropped out and joined a band instead."

Having chosen rocking with my best buds over endless hours of drills, sprints, and butt slappings, I wonder how well I would've done had I gone on to play Toro football at Mt. View High School, Campus of Champions. I mean, the rest of my family is pretty athletic; in one way or another my siblings and parents have all excelled at some kind of sport or other display of physical exertion, from track to football to basketball to dancing (I will add, however, that my interpretive dancing skills are unparallelled; actually, Matt probably has me beat there too).

I wonder because sometimes life happens and we get stuck playing football when we'd rather be at band practice.


With our superhero powers
I get this feeling that comes and goes that my career isn't supposed to be the focus of my life. Granted, one's life contains many foci (or focuses, if it's been a while since your last intermediate algebra class), I just don't think my career is one of the major ones.

I heard some statistic somewhere that the average college student (but then again, what is average, right?) changes his or her major like five times. When it came to choosing a major, long story short, accounting just kinda fell in my lap. During my junior and senior years when my course work started getting rough I considered changing my major. I didn't because I knew I was supposed to study accounting. It wasn't my favorite subject and I wasn't always good at it, but I knew -- probably better than I've known so many things -- that accounting was where I should be.


Noun vs. Adverb: TKO
Do I like my job? Yes. Is it my 'passion'? No. Will it ever be? Probably not. Do I want it to be? No.

more than slightly

It's kind of ironic; everyone needs accountants, right? But after a fruitless job search that left me feeling at times like Murray Hewitt, as of this moment, when I graduate from college in mere weeks I'll be jobless.

But it's really not that big of a deal. Something will come up eventually.

Home's been on my mind a lot lately, partly because I was there just over a week ago and partly because it won't be long till I'm back. I've made an observation recently, which I've discussed with a few cherished friends, and I may be wrong, but it seems like when people I know -- fellow BYU-I students rather -- go home for breaks and "off semesters" they are slightly bored. And by slightly I mean more than slightly. While I am often excited to return to school, I feel I have just as much as fun at home as I do at school.

I feel a need to elaborate. I'm not sure what the rest of the U.S. and A. is like because I spent the better part of my preteen to adult life residing in Mesa, Arizona. And the thing about Mesa and its surrounding environs is that no one leaves. It's true. I'm pretty sure about 90% of my AZ friends were born and raised there. I'm pretty sure a proportionate percentage of the percentage just mentioned plan on staying there. And of those who do leave, a similar, well, maybe slightly lower percentage plan on coming back. (This is part of the reason why I'm very glad I left AZ for school.) I myself, while I'm a transplant to the greater Phoenix metropolitan area (I was born in SLC, spent my younger formative years in Colorado), plan on "ending up" there (which might happen sooner than I had hoped). What's more, more than a handful of my AZ friends are married and starting to settle down -- deepening their roots if you will (and I think you will). That said, it's for this reason that going home is always enjoyable: a great number of my friends still live there.

Oh yeah, and we have cool things like record stores, plentiful amazing restaurants, used book stores, and band shows.

Job or no job, I have a lot to be excited about.

To my fellow Rexburgians, the Family if you will (and again, I think you will): I really don't know what to say. I want to write something touching about how much you've meant to me and how great you are but I know I won't realize how much I appreciate and love you till I leave (sadly, that's just how I roll). So, I'm gonna leave that for another post at a later date. But trust me, I do care about you all and I will miss you (some more than others). For now, just know that you've woven a permanent thread into -- to quote that overzealous, obnoxiously intense guy at your last testimony meeting -- "the very fibers of my being" (even though weaving is a man's game).

It's a bit past three in the morning. Thank you for reading this disjointed, overly parenthetical, superlatively hyperlinked post. Please reward yourself by downloading this fresh new Jeremy Enigk track (gratis!).

The Accountant's Catharsis

I finally figured out why I chose to study accounting.

Sure, it pays well. Yeah, I'll be able to live anywhere in the country and find a job. And one day, of course, it will allow me to provide for a family, or at least for myself. While this is what attracted me to to accounting, it's not why I chose it.

I guess I could study something that I actually enjoy, like English or Sociology or even French. So why not study one of those subjects? Because they require opinions. They require thought. And they require emotion. Feeling. And emotion and feeling are things that, frankly, I've had quite enough of. I chose accounting because somehow I knew that I would need something in my life that would provide an escape from disappointment and hurt, happiness and love.

Numbers don't feel. They don't hurt if you neglect them. They don't swell with joy when you tell them you love them. They don't care if you hate them. When you touch them you can't send a chill down their spine because you can't touch them and they don't have spines. Numbers don't feel; they simply exist.