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?

pound for pound

Some of my friends and I just started a biggest loser type challenge thing. Ben and I were running about a week and a half ago and he proposed the idea as a way to be more accountable for our weight loss goals.

To be honest, I'm pretty OK and comfortable with where my weight is at. I'm a little overweight, but not dangerously so. When I look in the mirror I feel good about myself. But I hate that I don't run as fast and as far as I used to.

So my plan is to drop 40 pounds. I don't know if I'll be able to lose that much by the time the contest is over on August 22. That's 10 weeks away (counting down the weeks will really make this summer fly by, which is both a good and bad thing), so that means a loss of four pounds a week. It also means serious dieting and daily exercise. It's going to be hard with 100 degree plus temperatures and two summer vacations (Telluride this weekend, NY/Canadia in July), but I think I'm up for it. If I can perfect my exercise habit during the scalding Arizona summer, I'll have such an advantage when running season starts in the fall.

In the end though, my goal with this challenge isn't so much to lose weight, but to establish healthy and sustainable fitness habits.

In the past, my running goals have only been for distance, rarely (if ever) for speed. My goal is to be able to run a 5K at a 8:45 mile pace, that clocks in at about 27 minutes (hey, that's fast for me). Working on speed is also advantageous because it gets rid of fat faster than distance running (which is probably why I didn't lose much when I was half-marathon training last winter).

I also plan on buying a bike for stuff like grocery shopping and going over to Ben's for our weekly CPPP (Cool People Pool Party; yes, you're invited) and other short trips (and for bike rides in general). I'm going to be cooking a lot more instead of eating out so much (I'm planning on making this tomorrow night; I won't eat it all so come hang if you're hungry).

Special note to friends participating in this challenge: This blog is a "happy place" for me so any crap-talking posts will be deleted. Thanks!

to a distant and unknowable friend

I think everyone feels awkward and out of place in junior high, but somehow, you make yourself believe that you're the only who feels that way. As a seventh grader I was shy; I had a hard time talking to new people, especially girls. A bit on the chubby side and self-conscious about my weight, I was the kid who was afraid to take showers after P.E. I dressed in baggy shirts and baggy shorts and even my glasses were baggy (to be fair, baggy was in during the mid 90s).

I remember the first time I heard Weezer's "My Name Is Jonas," almost 16 years ago as that frumpy, 13 year-old seventh grader. As a brand new teenager, the music I listened to consisted of the Star Wars Trilogy soundtrack and a small repertoire of Chicago and Peter Cetera songs I had heard incessantly as a kid (my dad being a huge fan of Chicago and Mr. Cetera). As great as those songs were and are, "My Name As Jonas" made me feel something different. It was a strange nostalgia -- nostalgia for what, I don't know, I was too young to be nostalgic -- I didn't understand the feeling (I still don't) but I was nevertheless hooked. Weezer became my favorite band, my first true love.

As my love grew, I learned more and more about the band, and in particular their singer and principal songwriter, Rivers Cuomo. To me, Rivers was a kindred spirit. He too was shy, and by his appearance, he seemed to not quite fit his niche, the world of rock and roll.

If I had to choose a favorite song of all time this might be it.

About a year after my first encounter with the band, Rivers and Weezer released their second album, Pinkerton. I didn't understand the album at first. It was so much more messy and raw than their debut album, the lyrics were intensely personal, and at the tender age of 14, I was too young relate to most of the subject matter. However, the album's first single, "El Scorcho," a song about about being too shy to talk to a girl despite having so much in common, struck a chord and kept me coming back to Pinkerton.

As I grew up and experienced life, this album began to mean more and more to me. The premise of the song "Pink Triangle" -- falling in love with a lesbian -- might seem laughable to a kid, but even a high schooler can know the pain of falling for that unattainable girl who barely knows you exist. Or the simple ache of loneliness found in "Across The Sea": "As if I could live on words and dreams and millions screams / Oh, how I need a hand in mine to feel". Or the simple joy of finally connecting with someone: "I'm shakin' at your touch / I like you way too much / My baby I'm afraid I'm falling for you."

Pinkerton felt like a glimpse into Rivers Cuomo's diary, but somewhere in my late teens it became my diary. Rivers became a distant and unknowable friend who nevertheless chose to share such private moments of his life with me. His music helped me be comfortable with the teenager I was: a chubby, shy kid who couldn't talk to girls.

Happy birthday, Rivers. Thank you for these 16 years of music, and thank you for the years to come. Keep being who you are.

consolidation?

I'm thinking about absorbing my Steinbeck blog, Earthbound But Aspiring, into this one. Looking back at recent posts, somewhere around In Dubious Battle, I stepped away from the purpose of that blog: sharing my thoughts on Steinbeck's works in the context of my life. Somewhere along the line, my posts, few as they may be, became uninspired book reviews -- something I might write for an unimportant freshman-level college class.

John's boyhood home, Salinas, California, circa 2009.

This and this are examples of what I wanted my posts to be like. For whatever reason, recently I've lacked the enthusiasm and inspiration to create posts that do justice to the subject matter. Changing the venue and using the already established tone of this blog might help me to provide the personal context I've wanted my Steinbeck posts to have.

There are still some logistical things I have to think through and experiment with, like migrating posts and making sure they fit here chronologically (I'm pretty sure blogger lets you back-date posts). Right now I'm thinking consolidation is a pretty OK idea. Your thoughts? Will you stop reading/caring if one-three posts per month are about Steinbeck?


(My problem is I have so many (underdeveloped) hobbies and interests. The Steinbeck blog was a way of focusing and refining one of them. But it seems I might be incapable of doing that. Things are about to get super eclectic around here. In other words, welcome to my life.)

take a look at me now

There's this sort of dream that I have. It's a pretty simple dream. It goes something like this:

I meet a girl. We start dating. Things go well for quite some time and maybe we even fall in love. Whatever. Anyway, several months to a year go by and we start to take one another for granted; the relationship goes stale. As a result, I mess up and do something stupid. It doesn't matter what. But it's serious enough that she decides to leave.

It's at this point that I realize the only I way I can win her back is with a completely un-ironic performance of that Phil Collins heartbreaking classic, "Against All Odds."

Please treat yourself to this video if it's been a while since you've heard the song. I would define "a while" as "within the last ten minutes."

I don't know what the best venue for such a performance would be. Maybe on stage at a hotel bar where she's on a date with another guy, perhaps a former lover (apparently in this version of the dream I'm also a lounge singer). Or how about in a rainy inner city alleyway right after an argument? It just has to be at a public place, be there others present or not. It certainly wouldn't have the same effect if it were her and I alone in her apartment, for example. Also, the performance should be spontaneous, it can't have been planned too far ahead. And I'd have to sing it a key or two lower, a few of those notes are just too high for me.

So after an emotional performance (much like the one you just watched in that video), do I defy the odds, does she really come back to me? I don't know, and actually, whether she does or not is beside the point. Because my dream here, summed up in fewer words, is to be in a situation where I can sing sincerely and seriously Phil Collins' "Against All Odds" to a girl and mean every word of it.

But in the meantime, I wouldn't mind having a girlfriend I could sing it to as a joke.

science fact

Every now and then I'll read something, a piece of fiction, and I'll wish it were real. Harry Potter, for example. And sometimes I'll read something so convincing and so appealing that I pretend it's real.

(Preface: When I use the word "physical" in the following paragraphs, keep in mind I'm talking about physics.)

In the Ender series, Orson Scott Card creates a physical explanation for why we feel connected to each other. I won't go into the mechanics, but the "science" of it says that through proximity, emotional interactions, and other circumstances, beings (human and otherwise) develop a physical, though unseen, tie between one another.

OK, you're probably thinking, Well what's so special about that? Of course you'll grow closer to someone as you interact with them. Right. But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about using physics (about which I know very little) to explain how we grow closer to each other. Everyone knows friendships and relationships tend to grow as a function of time. But how do they grow, how and why does love develop, and is there some unseen physical event happening when all that goes down?

There are just some connections I don't know how to explain. Like being able to finish someone else's sentence, even if that might be a trivial example. It's like when you kiss a girl (or guy, depending on the reader's gender). It may or may not be the first time, but the second before you do it, somehow you know she wants it and somehow she knows you want to. It extends beyond body language, there's almost a palpable -- but subtle, quiet, unspoken -- communication taking place, and it lasts only an instant. It's an almost true understanding, truer than can be communicated by speaking. How do you physically explain that communication?

In the end, I know it doesn't matter whether or not this level of physics exists because regardless, physical or not, these bonds still exist. Call me a sci-fi romantic I guess, I just love the idea of a scientific explanation for love and attachment.

you had to be there

November 18 was one of the best days of 2010. It started early. Around 5:15 am I woke up and showered and drove to the Cine Capri at Tempe Marketplace to meet up with Buster. The occasion? A Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 midnight showing. (Yes, I skipped work and waited in line about 18 hours to see a movie, and it wasn't even Star Wars.)

(Spoiler alert: if you haven't seen the movie or read the book and plan on doing either and don't want the ending/middle ruined for you, stop reading here.)

Ben and I in SpiritHood mode. That morning some news guy thought my fox hood was part of a Harry Potter costume, partly because when he asked who I was dressed up as, I lied and told him I was Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf. I said what I thought the guy wanted to hear so I would get on TV. It worked because whatever station it was showed a clip of my interview later that night. Also, I stole this picture from Laura. Thanks, Laura.

During the movie I sat between Ben and Buster. We were all enjoying the film, and enjoying being around so many friends (Afton and I bought 30 tickets between the two of us). At the end of the movie, Dobby, a heroic house elf, rescues Harry and friends from the clutches of evil. Sadly, Dobby is killed in the process. Just after the daring rescue, Harry sits on a beach and holds Dobby and mourns the death of his friend. At that moment, Harry's friend Luna reaches over to close the gaping eyes of the now dead Dobby. As Luna does so, Ben leans over and whispers to me, mimicking Dobby's childlike elf voice, "I'm not quite dead yet!"

I -- lost it.

At that point in my life, there had never been anything quite so funny. I started laughing. It was an I've-been-awake-for-over-20-hours, it's-almost-3:00-am kind of laugh. And then Buster started laughing. Ben started laughing. Behind us, Matt started laughing. At the same time a cacophony of "ssshhhhhh!"-ing erupted from the row in front of us.

For a brief second, not wanting to ruin the movie for those around me, I regained composure and controlled my laughter. And then my thoughts returned immediately to Ben's comment and the laughter started again, this time as a soft chortle that quickly developed into an obnoxious giggle. Ben and Buster, who had both since stopped, couldn't contain themselves either and they joined in.

The cycle continued at least one more time until we were finally able to regain control of ourselves and settle down. But at that point the movie was just about over.

== == == == ==

This July my sister Marianne will be part of the cast of the Hill Cumorah Pageant (if you're like me and you're not a fan of websites that automatically play music/audio, then turn your speakers down/off because this one does). Our church has put on the pageant since 1935, so it's a great opportunity for my sister and it's a great opportunity for my family to fly out to see her in the pageant.

I'm a little sad, though. Sad because the day we fly out to see her is the day my friends will be waiting in line to see Deathly Hallows: Part 2. Don't get me wrong, I'm more than excited to take this trip with my family -- we're also making stops in Montreal and New York City. I just wish that on July 15, 2011, I could be in two places at once.

your already cold mind

I read somewhere that Alcatraz was the only prison in its time to have hot showers. This was so the inmates wouldn't grow accustomed to cold water, which would facilitate escape through the hypothermia-inducing waters of the San Francisco Bay.

The hot water heater at our house is currently non-operational. I got in the shower Friday morning and the water was too cold to do anything but wash my hair. Friday also happened to be a record-breaking 100+ degree day here in the Greater Phoenix Metropolitan Area. While the water was still a bit chilly, the weather was perfect for a quick dip in the pool. I stayed in long enough to get used to the cold water, which made taking a cold shower bearable.

This photo turned out much better than the ones I tied to take of Alcatraz, which shares the Bay with this iconic landmark.

So until the water heater is fixed, if I want a shower I've got to go for a quick swim first.

== == == == ==

If there's one thing I've learned over the past year, it's that life is much easier, more enjoyable, and [insert any positive superlative adjective here] when you involve other people -- be they family, friends, or even complete strangers. For that reason, when my buddy Buster invited me to contribute to his blog, I was happy to accept. Read my inaugural post here.

speaker

I think I've mentioned here before that Speaker for the Dead is probably my second favorite book. If I haven't, I'll say it now: Speaker for the Dead is probably my second favorite book. That said, nothing saddens me more than when I hear of people reading Ender's Game and they don't bother to read Speaker for the Dead. What saddens me more than that (even though I already said "nothing saddens me more") is when people do read Speaker for the Dead and they don't like it as much as Ender's Game, or worse, they just don't like it. What saddens me equally as much as the first thing that saddens me is when someone starts reading Ender's Game and a year later (give or take) they still haven't finished it (you know who you are).

Speaker continues the story of Ender's Game protagonist Andrew "Ender" Wiggin in his travels as Speaker for the Dead -- a type of humanistic 'preacher' who recounts the deeds and misdeeds of the deceased as a way for the departed's loved ones to find truth, understanding and reconciliation in the wake of death.

About a year ago I decided to put my neglected Audible.com subscription to good use by downloading the complete Ender Saga (there are nine novels and countless short stories that make up said saga). They're fantastically produced, and according to Orson Scott Card himself, having the stories read aloud to you is the optimal medium for experiencing these books. At the end of some of the books, OSC provides an ad-libbed afterword explaining how the book came to be and so on. I love what he says at the end of Speaker:

If you really understand someone well enough to speak for them when they’re dead, you will end up – probably – loving them. Now, that’s a pretty bold thing to say – because what if you had to speak for the death of Adolph Hitler or Joseph Stalin or somebody like that – but I really think that if you knew enough about them you could at least understand how they got set on the road that led to the terrible things they did. And you don’t pull any punches, you name their sins for what they were, you talk about their flaws, you talk about their horrible choices, the viciousness, the violence, whatever they did. But you also say, "But at one point, this was a child. At one point this was a kid who wept, or a kid who wanted to be loved, or a kid who tried to well at this or at that." You look at the war experiences that shaped Adolph Hitler, or you look at the deep hunger for influence or control that drove Joseph Stalin in his childhood, and it doesn’t excuse anything, but it makes the person comprehensible. [...] You don’t eradicate them, you don’t glorify them either, you just face them for what they were, good and bad – you understand how it is a human being could get to where they are.

It's impossible to have such a complete understanding of someone, even of those we love the most. But simply knowing that we can't understand everything, and knowing there is a motive behind each action, and believing that the majority of people are inherently good -- all that is the first step, and it's quite a large one.

how I live or die

Once every few months I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't get back to sleep. It's been one of those nights (well, it's almost 5:00 a.m., so I guess it's been one of those mornings). Usually, I'll wake up and then worry that I won't be able to fall back asleep -- and ironically, said worrying will keep me from sleeping. But tonight (this morning) there are three thoughts that are occupying my attention and keeping me from sleep -- only two of which are worth worrying about but probably not worth losing sleep over -- but alas, here I am unable to sleep. But this post is about none of those things.

== == == == ==

I wasn't born in Arizona but I proudly claim it as my home. The way I feel about Arizona is similar to how Texans feel about Texas. What others say about my state -- be it positive or negative -- I take personally.

This weekend some distant friends from my college days (I say that like they were so long ago) were in town visiting. It warmed my heart to hear them speak positively about this state I love so much.

== == == == ==

There's a saying in the church I belong to -- said mostly in jest -- that a single man aged 25 or older is a menace to society. The following is a tale of how six young men gave evidence to that theory.

A couple months ago -- I'm fairly sure it was back in October -- a few friends and I decided to take up a new hobby: model rocketry. At the time, I wasn't terribly close to any these guys. I had known most of them for a couple years but hadn't had the opportunity to bond with any of them on a deeper level. On this particular night we ended up launching rockets at one of the baseball fields at Mountain View High School.

After a good hour or two -- it had to be around 10:30 p.m. at this point -- we got a little bored with traditional rocket launching. We started launching off rocket engines by themselves, sans rocket. At one point, we duct taped two engines to a glow stick and attempted to ignite both engines simultaneously. We laughed in hearty delight at the result.

At this point we decided it was as good a time as any to call it a night (and we had just launched off our last rocket engine). As we were packing up and responsibly cleaning up our trash, we heard the rattle and clang of a chain link fence about a hundred yards away. I assumed it was another party who wanted to use the field for their own mischievous means and who was I to deny them so I ignored the noise and went back to my cleaning.

Seconds later we saw a dark figure approaching us at a run. The figure yelled, "Mesa Police! Get on the ground!"

If I could roll my eyes with my whole body, it was with that attitude that I took a seat on the grass. For the next hour four or five police officers (they all had nothing better to do) explained to us the nature of our wrongdoings. How model rocketry, while not expressly illegal, was nevertheless an unsavory hobby. How the school could press charges for our having apparently trespassed. How we as 'adults' should be ashamed of ourselves.

The school didn't press charges though I don't think I would've minded if they had -- you can't put a price on friendship and any fine I would've had to pay would've made the bond I formed that night with those guys that much deeper.

== == == == ==

It's hard to explain group dynamics and friendship. I've always been blessed with great friends (I'd like to cite the previous story as evidence). It's funny because as I kid I was more content to stay at home and play legos and watch cartoons on TV. Now I feel like I can't do anything alone.

It's strange how group dynamics change. You get close to people -- collectively and individually -- and then suddenly things are different. So-and-so starts dating someone and they don't come around as much. Someone gets a new job so they hang out less. Circumstances change and you just don't see a valued friend that much anymore. For the individual, these changes are usually for the better and I certainly don't begrudge the changes or the individual.

I feel like I live or die by my friends, be they far away or close by. It might seem weak to rely on other people so much. It's not that I don't believe in myself (though to be honest, I have my doubts more often that I'd like to admit). I guess the older I get the more I believe in mutual strength -- that strength comes from reaching out -- not from looking in. I'm trying really hard to act on that belief.

a week late, but still

So yeah... I finally have my John Steinbeck blog up and running. Click here: Earthbound But Aspiring.

Although I want this blog to be my thing, I've toyed with the idea of having guest bloggers every now and then so if you're interested, let me know.

Please go read, comment, follow, share, etc. Thanks. Feedback is appreciated.

Word? Word.

Oh yeah, happy new year and stuff.

perfectibility is at hand

I came across this gem of a quote while I was doing some research for my forthcoming John Steinbeck blog:

"We have usurped many of the powers we once ascribed to God.

"Fearful and unprepared, we have assumed lordship over the life or death of the whole world - of all living things.

"The danger and the glory and the choice rest finally in man. The test of his perfectibility is at hand.

"Having taken Godlike power, we must seek in ourselves for the responsibility and the wisdom we once prayed some deity might have."

Given by John Steinbeck upon receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1962 (emphasis added). Full text here.

earthbound but aspiring

It seems like a lot of people I know have their first run-in with Mr. John Steinbeck in a high school literature class, usually by way of The Grapes of Wrath or Of Mice and Men, sometimes The Pearl, or if they're lucky, Cannery Row. I must've been enrolled in the dumb kid high school English classes because my first Steinbeck encounter didn't occur till age 24. I'm glad of this though, because I wonder if I would have appreciated or understood him in high school (in other words, I was appropriately placed in those dumb kid English classes).

This is probably my favorite photo of Steinbeck. There's just something about it that says, "I'm John Steinbeck, what the #@%$ are you gonna do about it?" Incidentally, if anyone can find a hi-res version or a poster/print of this photo I'll be your best friend.

For the past year and a half or so I've been searching... though for what I've never been quite sure. I've just had this urge to create something original, to share something unique. I try to not make a habit of comparing myself to others, but in some cases with the right motivation, it's not such a bad thing. So in my vague search for fulfillment I considered my hobbies, my talents, things I enjoy doing -- specifically music, writing, and photography -- to find out what sets me apart from my friends, family and peers. I didn't feel that I had to be the best at any one of those things, but I did feel like my natural abilities in each of those areas were dim at best when compared to certain friends. While I enjoy those aforementioned pursuits and I will continue doing them, I don't necessarily feel like I have something unique and significant to offer therein.

A few weeks ago I feel like I identified a trait that sets me apart from my friends and many of my peers -- something that only I bring to the table: my love of John Steinbeck. When you love something, you have a hard time understanding why others don't love it as much as you do; when you love something, you want to share it with others. So the next step is logical: create a separate blog devoted to Mr. Steinbeck.

Now, I couldn't just create a blog about Steinbeck and blog here and there, willy-nilly about random Steinbeck thoughts and readings. So I decided on a structure and made myself a schedule. The plan, starting December 2010, is to read one work (novel or non-fiction) per month in the order in which they were published until I have read each work (which, according to schedule, won't be until November 2012). Throughout each month, I'll post my thoughts on the book I read, along with two to three other posts having to do with thoughts related to the book or to Steinbeck in general. (Click here for my reading schedule. I'm not expecting anyone to join my quest but it would be awesome if every now and then someone read a book or two concurrent to my schedule.)

Because I want to do this right, I don't have the blog up and running yet (and I have yet to read Steinbeck's first novel, Cup of Gold). I'm planning on having it up by January 1, 2011; sooner if I can manage.

Update, 2/14/2011: You can find this blog here: earthboundbutaspiring.com.

duty of friendship

"I'd like to ask you something," Hazel said.

"What?"

"Well, this ain't none of it true. It's a kind of a--a whatchamacallit--"

"Hypothetical question?"

"I guess so."

"S'pose there's a guy and he's in trouble."

"Yes?"

"Well, he can't get out of it. But he got a friend maybe he don't know about."

"That's you," said the seer.

"No it ain't! It's some other guy. I forget his name." He hurried on. "Well, s'pose the guy's in trouble and there's one way he can get out but he can't do it. You think his friend ought to do it?"

"Certainly."

"Even if it hurt like hell?"

"Certainly."

"Even if it might maybe not work?"

"Certainly. I don't know what the situation is with your Doc, but I know how it should be with you. If you love him you must do anything to help him--anything. Even kill him to save him incurable pain. This is the highest and most terrible duty of friendship. I gather what you must do is violent. You must first make sure it can be successful, and you must, second, make sure within yourself that you know you will be punished. It is quite possible that even if you are successful your friend will never speak to you again. That takes a lot of love--maybe the greatest love. Make sure you love him that much."

Hazel caught his breath, "Hell, there ain't no such guy. It's hypa--it's malarky, a kind of riddle."

"I guess you do love him that much," the seer said.

John Steinbeck, Sweet Thursday

make it mine, 2009

(I meant to post this before 2010 rolled around... better late than never, right?)

I don't think 2009 could've gotten off to a better start. Exhibit A:


The stern look on my face was hardly indicative of the general mood of 2008's New Year's Eve. Jackie's face (foreground right) is a fair representation of what was really going inside my heart/head. It's been so long since I've had such a fun-filled New Year's: rocking to Styx (!) with best friends, heckling drunks on the free light rail, consuming chocolate chip pancakes, and coining the official slogan of 2009... all in one night (this year was fun too, but let's be honest, it'll be quite a while before NYE 2008 is beaten). The following are how I will remember Make It Mine, 2009:

January: California
On the way back to BYU-I for my very last semester, I took the scenic route with Leah through California on our way back to Idaho (emphasis on scenic). We met up with Harper in Bakersfield and drove up through Salinas and Monterey... Leah and Harper were kind enough to humor my John Steinbeck obession, which resulted in this picture:


Relaxing on the steps of John Steinbeck's boyhood home in Salinas, CA. The next morning we made our way up through San Francisco, and we finished the day/night with a drive through northern Nevada to Utah (the only crappy part of the trip).

March: Jimmy Eat World Clariy Tour
No need for detail here since a perusal of previous posts will provide more than you would care to even read. What other band would devote a tour to playing one of their more obscure, less commercially successful albums in its entirety?

April: Graduation
Have you ever woken up on the morning of your birthday and your dad or whoever asks you how it feels to be a year older? And you think about it and you realize that you feel the same as you did the day before? That's what graduating college was like. Sure, it was nice, I got a few gifts and some extra attention -- just like a birthday -- but I sure didn't feel any different or smarter when I left Rexburg on April 9, 2009.

Had I known how much I would miss my friends and how much I would pine for college life in the months to come, I probably would've had to have been forcibly removed. Instead, I was all too glad to pack up my car with little regard of when I would see Rexburg again.

April: Wolverine Premiere
Hugh tells the best jokes.


May: Colorado
I moved to Colorado. For a few months I really hated my life.

August: Reunion Show and Emiglio Launch
I spent all of high school and a big chunk of my post-mission life playing in a rock band... so naturally I was excited that the stars aligned so well to allow a TMP/xyzebra/Felix/The Headline is Dead reunion show (TMP was my high school band; if a band could have a best friend then Felix was TMP's best friend; xyzebra was a synthesis of TMP and Felix, both in style and band members). While this show alone would be noteworthy in itself, it's how the night ended that really made it so memorable.


Earthbound but aspiring: When I tell people how we launched Emiglio (Whit's pet robot and xyzebra's mascot) into the outer limits of Earth's atmosphere with a weather balloon I generally get one of two reactions: a.) "Oh, that sounds like it was a lot of fun," or b.) "Why would you do that?" Regardless of how people react I've given up on trying to explain the bittersweet feeling we all experienced while watching Emiglio soar among the stars... the closest I can come to explaining how we felt is found in a song -- go listen to "Ara Batur" by Sigur Ros starting at about 4:45 till the end of the song... triumphant melancholy.

September/October: Sunny Day Real Estate Reunion Tour
I didn't go to too many shows in 2009 but the ones I did go to were some heavy hitters. A SDRE reunion had been rumored for some time so I was surprised -- and delighted -- when it actually happened. I was fortunate enough to attend two of their shows, in Denver and Seattle. During the tour they debuted a new song, "10"... perhaps a good sign that they not quite ready to call it quits again...

2009: Regret
I keep coming back to the lyrics of "Fight Test":

I thought I was smart
I thought I was right
I thought it better not to fight
I thought there was a virtue
In always being cool
So it came time to fight
I thought I'll just step aside
And that the time would prove you wrong
And that you would be a fool

Remember at the beginning of last year when everybody was posting those "25 things about me" lists on Facebook? The last entry on my list read, "I'm not one to regret much of anything...." People who have no regrets either have life figured out or suffer from chronic apathy.

For to lose I could accept
But to surrender I just wept
And regretted this moment
Oh, and that I was the fool

I certainly was the fool to think that I could live my life so perfectly that I would regret almost nothing. I'm so grateful for regret because it means -- hopefully -- that I won't make the same idiotic mistakes I made in 2009.

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.

the effects of my three hour nap are wearing off

I'm ready to get some serious songwriting and some demo recording done. When I talk to people about things I'm working I feel a little bit more accountable and I'm more likely to make them happen, so this is the purpose of this post.

The other day I made a list of the songs I've written and I was pleasantly surprised that I've written about six and could have a few more done in not too much time if I really focus.

Ganymede
This song was inspired by the third moon of Jupiter and the mythological character for which said moon is named. This song is essentially complete though I'm thinking of changing the chorus.

Too Many Holes (Keep Him Out)
I really like song titles with parentheses (like the first single from the new Weezer record, out in October).

Phoenix
This song is about how I hate the winter, ostensibly. I need to nail down a few lines of lyrics on this song, but it's essentially done. I'd like to add some electric guitar parts -- maybe a solo between the first and second verses?

Then Why Don't You Marry An Ice Cream Sandwich
Thank you to Trev for inspiring me to name a song after an arrested development reference, and thank you to Arrested Development for being such a great TV show. I'm thinking about adding a bridge to this song. Actually, I might just keep it how it is. I feel like I've tried to re-work this song a few times but I've always liked how I originally wrote it the best.

Apology I
I'm working on a guitar solo for this one; I might change one line of lyrics. Other than that, I'm pretty proud of this tune.

Apology II
If The Police can do it (same name for two songs) then why can't I? (Seriously check this video; this one is pretty awesome too. What a great band. Probably tied with Journey for favorite classic rock band. I'm glad I got to see them live last year.) I have a ways to go on this one lyrically but I like where it's going.

Of Paper and Polaroids (Aron and Abra)
This one started out as an ode to my favorite Steinbeck novel but it's turning out to be something different. I'll probably drop the parenthetical "Aron and Abra" and take the first verse and chorus and make the "Aron and Abra Reprise" while tacking on an alternate ending. I really like reprises.

A, D Maj
This song doesn't really have any lyrics yet so it's working title is based on the first chord and the key signature of the song (which are usually the same, but in this case they're not). I wrote the guitar to this song a long time ago when I was listening to a lot of Neil Diamond; I think it kind of shows but without totally ripping off Neil.

G min
I also wrote this tune a long time ago but I've never finished it because the guitar part is hard to sing along to. That, and its tuning is different so I don't play it much. The guitar isn't typical of something I'd come up with (it reminds me a bit of Jeff's style) so it's a guarantee that not everything I write will sound the same.

A Maj, 7th fret
I might make this one an instrumental jam. We'll see.

I'm probably gonna purchase some recording equipment at the end of the month. All I really need is an interface for my computer (most of which come with pretty legit recording software) and a condenser microphone. Both of these items are pretty affordable, so that's great.

I'm also saving up to buy one of these:



The first is a Jim Adkins Telecaster (Jim is the singer for Jimmy Eat World). I tried out one of these guys at Milano's in AZ last weekend through a Fender Deville (the amp I own) and it sounded sick beyond belief. While it's a Telecaster in shape and name, it's really nothing like one. The pickups are super hot, and it has a set neck and a tune-o-matic bridge, which are features typical to a Gibson guitar (which makes sense since Jim was rocking a Les Paul prior to switching over to this guy).

The second is a Telecaster Deluxe. This guitar is probably a little more versatile that the Jim Adkins Tele but I'm just not as crazy about it. The biggest difference between this guy and a traditional Tele are the pickups and the wiring (and the Stratocaster headstock, but that has nothing to do with how it sounds). The Deluxe has two humbucking pickups, as opposed to the the single coils on a normal Tele. The result is a thicker, fuller sound rather than the plucky, twangy sound of the single coils. The wiring is more like a Gibson guitar, a volume and tone knob for each pickup.

Anyway, if you don't know much about guitars, all that was probably meaningless. Regardless, I felt like sharing, mostly because I'm super excited to have a new guitar.

play my little part in something big

After an eventful weekend in Arizona, I feel like I have a lot to blog about...

Our marathon band practice that spanned two bands and two days:



An extremely well planned and executed reunion show rife with nostalgia, free cookies, and the loudest, proudest rock n' roll Sweet Cakes has ever seen:






Launching Emiglio into the farthest reaches of our fair Earth's atmosphere via weather balloon:




And as collectively and individually awesome all of these things were, they would have been meaningless without these folks:


Friends.

Timshel!

I have a confession to make. The year was 2007 and the month was February (I think; it could've been late January). On a Saturday night Fat Cat and I ended up the a Border's book store at Superstition Mall. I was in the literature section looking for a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's swashbuckling classic Treasure Island (while this post is about another book, T.I. is also very much worth a read). I pulled a copy of T.I. off the shelf along with volume of Stevenson's short stories. As I lingered among the "Ste" authors in literature section, evaluating my potential purchases, a red sticker on a hefty paperback novel caught my attention. I placed the two Stevenson books under my arm and lifted the book with the red sticker in order to examine it more closely. The sticker read, "THE BOOK THAT BROUGHT OPRAH'S BOOK CLUB BACK." (Of course after two years I couldn't recall the sticker's exact wording but I was able to find it, thanks to google.) I didn't even know that Oprah had had a book club, that it had disbanded, and that it had been called back into existence by this book. I was intrigued.

I set the book down and picked up another copy of the same book with a different cover. The cover spoke to me. Maybe it was the two trees silhouetted against the dusty yellow sky; or perhaps it was the man painted underneath the tree in the foreground, whose body language conveyed a feeling of despair and anguish and regret; but probably it was the fact that the stupid Oprah sticker was missing. I read title in small italicized print at the bottom of the book: East of Eden. The author's name was printed in capital letters in orange ink: John Steinbeck.

I flipped the book over. The back cover described it as "a modern retelling of the Book of Genesis." Who doesn't love the Old Testament? I was sold. I sandwiched it between the two Stevenson tomes and marched to the cash register.

A (very) brief summary of this multi-generational sprawling historical epic: Cal and Aron were born in the Salinas valley in Monterey County, California (incidentally where Steinbeck grew up). The fraternal twins were raised by their father Adam Trask and Lee, the family's intellectual Chinese servant. The boys grew up being told by their father that their mother, Cathy, died when they were young and was in heaven. Quite the opposite was true: after attempting to kill Adam shortly after the birth of the twins, Cathy ran away and became a prostitute in the nearby town of Salinas.


Sang's Cafe, Salinas, CA. Apparently Steinbeck himself ate here. Apparently.

Rather than wasting your time with my thoughts on the book, I'll let it speak for itself. As a teenager, Cal, the more clever and sinister of the twins, learns the truth about his mother:

Cal drifted toward the door, slowly, softly. He shoved his fists deep in his pockets. "It's like you said about knowing people. I hate her because I know why she went away. I know--because I've got her in me." His head was down and his voice was heartbroken.

Lee jumped up. "You stop that!" he said sharply. "You hear me? Don't let me catch you doing that. Of course you may have that in you. Everybody has. But you've got the other too. Here--look up! Look at me!"

Cal raised his head and said wearily, "What do you want?"

"You've got the other too. Listen to me! You wouldn't be wondering if you didn't have it. Don't you dare take the lazy way. It's too easy to excuse yourself because of your ancestry. Don't let me catch you doing it! Now--look close at me so you will remember. Whatever you do, it will be you who do it--not your mother."

"Do you believe that, Lee?"

"Yes, I believe it, and you'd better believe it or I'll break every bone in your body."

How would you like to be immortalized by a novel and a liquor store?! This is down the street from Steinbeck's boyhood home, also in Salinas, CA.

This book has several themes: identity and destiny, as illustrated by the previous passage; and good versus evil, according to the following:

I believe there is one story in the world, and only one, that has frightened and inspired us, so that we live in a Pearl White serial of continuing thought and wonder. Humans are caught--in their lives, in their thoughts, in their hungers and ambitions, in their avarice and cruelty, and in their kindness and generosity too--in a net of good and evil. I think this is the only story we have and that it occurs on all levels of feeling and intelligence. Virtue and vice were warp and woof of our first consciousness, and they will be the fabric of our last, and this despite any changes we may impose on field and river and mountain, on economy and manners. There is no other story. A man, after he has brushed off the dust and chips of his life, will have left only the hard, clean questions: Was it good or was is evil? Have I done well--or ill?
= = = = =
We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is.

I suppose I could keep going with passages. But, if you've made it this far you might as well read the book.

Oh yeah, I had a confession to get to, of which I'm slightly ashamed: I owe my discovery of this book to Oprah, her book club, and a tacky red sticker.

song beneath a song

I tend to fall behind on my blogging when I'm at home, mostly because I don't get wireless Internet when I'm at my mom's place and, for whatever reason, I don't like blogging on my mom's computer. But I've had a lot I've wanted to blog about over the past week, so here I am. At the same time, I don't feel like the multiple subjects I've been wanting to blog about are worthy of an entire post; this post will be a collection of smaller ideas and thoughts that may or may not be worthy of an isolated blogging event; I'm combining them in a single post (I love a sentence with more than one semicolon).

So this is kinda long so feel free to go refill your beverage or go to the bathroom.

OK, welcome back.

Bye bye, BYU-I
I graduated. So this particular topic is probably blog worthy of itself, but being that it was such an anticlimactic experience for myself, I'm more than content to keep it to one paragraph. People keep asking me how it feels to be graduated. My response is always something like, "Well, it's nice not to have to get up for class in the morning." Maybe I'd be more excited if I had a job . . . I mean, cuz that's what you go to school for, right?

Universe, you win!
There is an episode of The Office entitled "The Return" where Michael convinces Dwight to come back to work at Dunder Mifflin (sp?) after Dwight is bullied into quitting. At the beginning of the episode Jim -- Dwight's nemesis and antithesis -- says something along the lines of, "Alright Universe, you win! I miss Dwight!" (I tried to find a clip of this on YouTube but to no avail). I'm sure I complained about Rexburg at least once a day during the five semesters I was there (well, maybe not so much in the summer, but I made up for it during the winter months). Then, last night as I was talking to Leah, I realized how much I miss it. Maybe it's the people, maybe it's that the people I love are just beginning what will no doubt be another fun-filled summer semester . . . whatever the case, I miss Rexburg. To Leah, Kari, Zach, Harper, Thome, Ford, Vickie, Nadia, Tori, Amy, Dan, Billy, Erin, and Nudie: I miss you.

TV on DVD
OK, so I was gonna write something about how Heroes season 2 is kinda weak but I just watched an episode that was pretty good so my faith is restored (for now, anyway).

My Hardest
This past week I've enjoyed reconnecting with old friends. As a result, I've picked up some of their lingo, especially in the usage of the words "hard" and "weak". It's common to use these words in their superlative form, combined with a possessive adjective. For example, "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots is my hardest Flaming Lips album," or "Maladroit is my weakest Weezer album." Anyway, I just wanted to make you aware of this so you understand if I happen to say something along those lines. (The derivation of this form of speech can be traced back to one or two persons; hopefully they won't think I'm a lame poser if I include this in my vernacular.)

"Now, I've been smilin' lately"
It's not a secret that I love Cat Stevens. For this reason, it sometimes hacks me when people rag on him for his conversion to Islam. I realize there is/was some controversy surrounding him for his supposed involvement in and funding of radical terrorist groups. But let's get real, the guy continues to win awards for his humanitarian work; sure, he's not Mother Theresa, but he's no terrorist. It hacks me when people pigeonhole Muslims. It's ironic because of all the people I met on my mission Muslims were often the most sincere, faithful, and open-minded people. They would listen and care when "Christians" would slam the door.

Yusuf Islam is my hardest.

"His eyes closed and he slept."
How awesome is Leah? For a graduation present she gave me this:


Yeah. That's East of Eden, first edition. This book is my hardest; what I love about this battered copy is that it's proof that I'm not the only one who thinks so (either that, or someone let it sit in their attic for a bit too long, as Leah put it). Anyway, I've noticed a general sentiment concerning Leah in the blog world and on Facebook. It seems like people are always quick to point out how pretty she is or how she has great style and dresses nice, etc. While these things are indeed true, I think they are insignificant compared to how thoughtful, caring, and selfless she is. I know I'm not the only one who appreciates this about her; it just makes me think that maybe some people don't know her well enough to realize that her outer goodness is far from being the best thing about her. Anyway, I hope she doesn't hate me for singling her out like this . . . I just thought this was important enough to be said.