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Saturday, December 29, 2012


1) As you can tell by the title of this blog, I decided that adding the word "man" to the end of a one-syllable name or word makes it sound cooler. For example. My name could be Holden Greenman. Doesn't it sound neat? How about if you add "stein" to the end of it? Holden Greenmanstein. Try it! You'll have endless fun adding "manstein" to the end of various names.

2) I am in Salem, Utah at my in-laws house. They're all having a grand time playing "Nerts," some card game that I don't care for. Earlier, I laid on the couch and rested my sore neck, while listening to the "Atom Heart Mother" album by Pink Floyd, while reading "The Sea Wolf" by Jack London. An awesome and epic combination. I am now ready to conquer the world this week. Just watch.

3) I also started reading "How to Win Friends and Influence People" this week because I realized that I lack influence.

4) I also started reading "Stiff" this week, a book about human cadavers and their many adventures in society.

5) I hate snow.

6) I'm having a child in two months. Kinda weird. But really exciting! You would think I would put this first in my blog list. The truth is, it is the most important thing going on in life right now, but there are so many things on my mind, all the time, like everything previously mentioned, and it is kind of annoying to me that I must always be reading things, thinking of things.

7) Does life have value? I think it does.

Friday, December 14, 2012


"There's a lot of crazy people in this old world..."
                                           -The late Richard W. Green (my grandpappy)

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Shoe-Tying Lessons

1) I dreamed that Dixie State College was actually the LDS chapel up the hill from diagonal. And I stumbled upon a secret basement where some guy was doing drugs, and it was scary for some reason. Then I told my dad, and he rebuked me, saying, "You're not supposed to tell anyone about that. That's a secret clinic for drug addicts." And then I was in a car with Tom Valadez, and he was driving crazy. THE END.

2) We shouldn't live our lives to impress everyone. I realize this is how I was in high school, and it was obnoxious, always spouting my mouth and my ignorant opinions at every opportunity. Now I have a problem speaking in public. I don't know what's happened to me. It frightens me. I raised my hand and contributed a comment in my elders quorum a couple weeks ago for the first time in months, and I was so nervous speaking that my leg continued shaking for about 5 minutes after. Every time I have to give a presentation in my class, it is the scariest thing in the world. I don't know why. My wife claims it has something to do with her, since she thinks it all sort of started happening when I got married. I don't know about that. I think I've become more self-aware as I've grown older, which can be good in some ways, but it's sort of made me scared to express my opinions. That's my un-funny rant for the week.

3) Does anybody else think the supraspinatus muscle is cool? It abducts the shoulder. Pretty sweet. If you didn't have a supraspinatus, you would have a more difficult time abducting your shoulder.

Friday, November 2, 2012


I was going to be angry about people wanting to change Dixie's name, but I decided I'm going to forego my anger this time. No anger for me! Hee hee! Yay! I don't care! Yay! Change the name! Change the name! Do it! ST. GEORGE UNIVERSITY. SOUTHWEST UTAH UNIVERSITY. FOOTBALL COMMONWEALTH COLLEGE. SOUTHERN UTAH UNIVERSITY, oh wait...SHANDON GUBLER INSTITUTE OF BUSINESS. HOLDEN H. GREEN SCHOOL OF VETERINARY MEDICINE.

Monday, October 22, 2012

The Trial of Teddy "Slabmeat" Johnson

Did anyone like that "Bridge" story? Choose the best answer.

A) Loved it.
B) Hated it.
C) What "Bridge" story?
D) Both B and C
E) All of the above, except A

On a related note, I was attacked by a dust tornado today. It was quite humorous. But no words will do it justice. So I refuse to say more on the subject.

On a related note, I went to choir practice yesterday, as I am the choir pianist. For a "warm up" hymn, Isaac chose "All Creatures of our God and King." Emily and I had just watched the Mr. Bean episode like, two days before. So everytime we came to the "Alleluia!" part, I would look over at Emily, sitting down in the pews, and she would giggle, and then I would start messing up really severely because I wasn't watching the music, and we all had a good laugh. LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH.

Friday, October 19, 2012


"Darla, will you please remove your feet from the bridge table?" asked Betty McJohnson, with a hint of anger in her voice. Darla did not budge.

"I will ask you one more time Darla," said Betty again. "Remove your feet from the bridge table please."

Darla was the crazy one of the bridge club. Well, they were all crazy. They were all over 80 years of age. There were five of them. Betty, Darla, Susan, Mary, and Imogene. But Darla was really the "crazy" one.

Darla finally removed her feet from the bridge table.

"Now," said Phyllis. "On with bridge club!"

"Bridge club unite!" yelled no one.

The game continued on, with trumps here, and tricks there, and all manner of bridgey things.

"Cheater!" yelled Darla, pointing her wrinkly old finger at Susan. Then she pulled out a gun.

"Whoa!" yelled Mary. "I believe we agreed on no guns at bridge club."

Darla pointed the gun at Mary. Then Betty. She was shaking.

"Just put the gun down," said Betty, her hands raised above her head. "Just put it down Darla."

Darla had fury in her eyes. Fury of never winning at bridge.

"I never get what I want!" she cried. "You guys always gang up on me!"

Imogene, thinking quick, overturned the table towards Darla, who cried out, and fired a shot into the ceiling. Then she went down, with the table crushing her to the floor. At last, Darla was dead.

The police arrived minutes later, as result of Susan pushing the button on her panic bracelet. "What happened here?" asked Officer Ted, surveying the devastation. Cards lay everywhere. Then he spotted the body.

"Dear gosh," he said. Darla lay lifeless on the floor with cards in her mouth. "This was a bridge game gone too far," he remarked, and everyone laughed. Everyone...except Officer Ted.

"Get her outta here," he yelled to nobody in particular.

After Darla's body was removed and the mess cleaned up, the four seniors sat down and resumed.

"On with bridge club!" shouted Betty.

On with bridge club.


The end

Thursday, October 18, 2012

6 years

I've decided to be a little nostalgic and revisit my first day as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. October 18th, 2006 was a silly day. I was nervous and scared beyond belief. The night before, I had laid on the floor in my bedroom and, being the baby that I was and still am, cried my eyes out. The next morning, we packed up all my garbage in some sort of minivan. Why we were driving a minivan, and where it came from, I have absolutely no idea. We have never owned a minivan. But I remember that it was a minivan. We drove north. We stopped in Fillmore to grab snacks, but all I felt like was a bottle of orange juice. In Provo, we stopped at Brick Oven to eat, but all I felt like was a bowl of soup. Stephen Miller met us there and said goodbye to me.

We went to the MTC. I received a dork dot (hooray!). I have noticed in photographs of that day of how horrible, how ghastly ugly my tie was. We entered some sort of chapel room. I don't remember anything, except singing "called to serve," and then it was time to separate. It seems like most missionaries remember this part well, and have a most difficult time letting go of their family. I did not. "Whaaaa?" you must be saying. "Did you hate your family or something?" On the contrary my friend. But I had to go to the bathroom REALLY REALLY BAD. So I made it quick. Ha ha!

Once past this, I received some sort of shot, and then I met my MTC companion, Elder Scott Riley, whose most notable characteristic, I think, was that he hated me more than pond scum.

Here's some pictures, if you prefer a "picture book" rendition of the day.

The Fillmore Maverik. I got some orange juice. Also, it warms my heart that Google Images has a picture of the Fillmore Maverik. Otherwise, this story would be painfully incomplete.

The Brick Oven in Provo, Utah. I ate a bowl of soup, and saw Steve. Hi Steve!

The MTC in Provo, Utah, which is renowned the world over for containing an endless supply of cereal. Here, I had to go to the bathroom, which made leaving my family less difficult. Also, Elder Riley and I got in a yelling match in the laundry room once (not technically October 18th). There you go. MTC.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Captain Dingo

This is Captain Dingo. I am at work right now, and my mission journal at home contains his real name, so I will add it into this post later. When I was in Shelbyville, Tennessee as a missionary (back in October 2007) my companion and I ran into this guy one night, sitting on a bench in the town square. He was the COOLEST guy ever. Oh yeah, and he was also a hobo. I say "was" because I don't know where he is to this day or what he's doing. Apparently, he rides all around the country on trains and just plays his guitar for people. Really really nice guy, and played us a little song. We were so impressed that we ran and bought him some Arby's food, and I gave him my little red cute-sized pocket book of mormon, and a CD of "Nashville Tribute to the Prophet." No, we didn't think he was taking advantage of us. In fact, I don't even think he asked us for food or anything, we just thought he was so cool, and he deserved some tasty arby's food. The real reason I'm writing this blog is because I really want to know where he is and what he's doing, and maybe if he's full of himself, he'll google his own name (if he happens to use a computer, which is unlikely I think), and run across my blog. My google searches on him have yielded no way to contact him, so this is my only shot. Apparently, he's been on David Letterman and such, so he's kind of a big deal.

Thursday, October 11, 2012


What to write, what to write...

1) Oh,been having a lot of angry dreams lately. I don't know what my deal is. And they usually include F words. In one dream, a kid from my PTA class was bullying me, and I told him to "GET THE EFF AWAY FROM ME" and "GET YOUR EFFING HANDS OFF MY FACE." Last night, I dreamed that I was attempting to leave work, even though my boss, Aaron Olsen (my boss at the Washington Rec Center) was, for some reason, not letting people leave. We yelled at each other, in rage, and he yelled back, "SHUT THE EFF UP!" and then I said, "NO!" And then he was way mad, and I stormed out, and my mom was there, and she was mad. And then for some reason, Dave Nielsen was there, and he said, "WHOEVER WANTS TO DEFEND THEIR RIGHTS TO LEAVE WORK, COME WITH ME!" and then I'm pretty sure he said the F word to Aaron. This has been a very interesting little blurb, I know, but maybe you can get a sense of the rage that my subconscious is spewing up right now. I don't know why my subconscious is so angry at the world. Maybe you can help me out. I could be mad about Rivers having a birth defect. I could be mad that every NBA superstar is now either on the Lakers or on the Heat. I could be mad because Juno and Frankie peed all over in their cage the other day. But that's pretty much it, honestly. Not a lot of things to be mad about.


3) Pray for Rivers.

4) Tell me I'm a winner, and then we'll eat...the dinner?

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Rivers, Mine Only Begotten Son

So my wife and I are going to have a child. But she explains all this pretty well on her own blogs, so I won't go into it. His name is Rivers. Sometimes, my wife tells me that she feels him kicking. Then when I come to her to investigate, he stops. THE LITTLE CUSSER. He's a sneaky one. Right now, I'm at work, and I'm not supposed to be blogging, in fact, we're pretty much not supposed to do anything here (including sitting on the couch downstairs for some reason), but I'm a rebel. The end.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Fall Colors

You saw the title and thought this was going to be some lovely poetic thing about fall, didn't you? So gullible. However, I will say this...I saw what I thought were little wispy clouds in the east/southeast sky a couple mornings ago at 7, but thought nothing of it. Later that day, I saw a report on the spectrum that apparently, those were actually smoke trails from a missile test in New Mexico. Okay, let's back up here. A couple CRAAAAZY questions I have. #1, what in the crap is New Mexico doing shooting off missiles? #2, I can see stuff going on in New Mexico from here?! Holy cow! Welp...I have nothing else to say. Oh, I felt Emily's baby bump the other day. I could feel little flutterings. FLUTTERINGS. SHE REALLY IS WITH CHILD.

In two weeks, I will learn the gender of my well-beloved firstborn. "But Holden," you say. "You must be referring to the 'sex' of the baby. Gender is socialized." NO. SHUT UP.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Complimentary Mint

If you lay on your back and stare up at a spinning ceiling fan, you can focus your eyes just right, and then the fan will actually appear to be spinning the opposite direction. Something I have learned during many hours of staring up at a ceiling fan and being an uninteresting member of society.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Four Weddings and a Hamburger

I attended the dedication of the Jeffrey R. Holland Memorial Commons today. It was nice. I felt dirty and unshaven in the presence of apostles. Also, I shook the hands of President Uchdorf and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. Sometimes, I wish there weren't 13 million members of the church in the world, so that when an apostle shook my hand, he would actually want to talk to me and get to know me, rather than having to rush off to some other assignment, or rush off simply because there's 30 teenage girls in his face, snapping pictures with their cell phones and screaming like they're at a Justin Bieber concert. Because I wish I had some friends. And apostles would make pretty good friends.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Like A Leper

It's cold here at work. Also, it's early morning, when my body temperature is at its lowest point in the day. Do you realize what that means? It's means I'm cold. I've been itching to write something, but I don't know what. I feel like going and running through sunshine. I wouldhave gone on a jog during my 15 minute break, but I decided that break would be better spent using the restroom. An exciting alternative! What alternatives have you come up with lately? I decided I'm really impulsive, especially when I'm driving. If I'm driving down a street and I get the urge to turn down another street, for no reason at all, I'll do it, even if I'm RIGHT AT THE TURN when the thought comes. This involves slamming on the brakes, or, when in those rare instances when I'm feeling safer, making a U turn somewhere. How about that? I scared Emily to death the other night when we were driving because I hit the brakes and made an extremely sudden turn onto the road that goes up to the Flood Street Theatre...all because I wanted to know what movies were playing. This could've been avoided, I think, by using the "Internets" to figure out what movies were playing. But too bad.


The end.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Run, Young Friend

Better to have loved a clam and lost, than to never have loved a clam at all.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

A Bundle of Bigotry

I enjoyed sitting outside. I walked in circles. I walked to my car, opened the door, looked around for something that wasn't there. The wind was blowing. There was debris getting in my eyes. I went back inside. I grabbed a banana. I grabbed a knife. I grabbed a jar of peanut butter. I sat on the cement in front of my house. I proceeded to consume the banana, slabbing chunks of peanut butter on it. I went back inside. I grabbed chocolate almond milk. I laid on the grass. I tried to drink the almond milk, but it is difficult to drink when you are lying face up on the ground. So I lifted my head. This proved to be an excellent solution. The sky looks bigger upside down. The moon was full. It perched behind thin wispy clouds, like some great perching thing. The almond milk was excellent, and it was on sale. This is the reason that I purchased it. I may also be lactose intolerant. Maybe. Who knows. So I drained the last sweet dregs, returned to my house, and then came outside with Frankie the Dog. Frankie enjoys peeing on things. He prefers to go from one bush/tree/other ground protuberance, to the next, peeing on each one, rather than emptying out his bladder all at once. He peed on a tree. Then a bush, then a sign, then a rock, then probably another bush. During this time, we walked around the parking lot. The wind blew harder. Something got in my eyes. I clutched at them in agony. Lightning flashed in the distance. The street, bathed in moonlight, looked dusty. What's going on here? What is going on here? "Frankie, get back here," I yelled to Frankie, who had taken off. He returned quickly. He enjoys returning. Then we returned to the house. Thus ended our adventures for a season.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Torpedoed Limousine

I'm tired. That doesn't sound much different from my last post. I learned about "end feel" in my kinesiology class today. You don't even know what that is. Wait, do you? Because I actually have a feeling you might. If I break into your house, throw you down on the ground, and start pulling your hip around, just understand that I'm not trying to rape you or anything. I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU. And determine the "end feel" of your hip joint. If this program does nothing else for me, it will, hopefully, teach me how to speak to people. I realize that that is not something that I currently know how to do, and I suppose I have never known how to do that. Is that an odd statement? I think it is. I'm done for now.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Porous like Grandma

I'm really really tired right now, and for some reason, that means I need to write a blog. I would write this in my journal, but I don't like the feel of my wrist against the paper. I started my physical therapist assistant class last week. Fun. All the kids in there know a million times more stuffs than I do, and I had a hard time today figuring out how to take blood pressure. You think it's simple, but it's not. Don't argue with me. Oh, and Junior's arriving in February sometime. That's kind of a big deal. And I'm tired right now. And today I ate a salad at Wendy's. It was a lot of money. But I felt good about myself, fore-going burgers, chicken nuggets, and fries. Emily's sick a lot. I don't know how to help her. She throws up every thing that she eats. I don't even know how she's still living. Anybody want a puppy? Too bad, they're all sold. Anybody been in the Holland Building? It smells nice. Today, some people and I were having a study session in a classroom on the third floor with big windows that look out over the campus to the north. To our excitement, there was a crane demolishing the old student services building, smashing it with a THING THAT LOOKED LIKE A GIANT MARSHMALLOW. We sat and watched it for several minutes, smacking the building over and over again, and then we all cheered triumphantly as the "tower" of the building finally collapsed. SO LONG STUDENT SERVICES CENTER.


Margaret's Neighbor

If Margaret has a neighbor, is it appropriate to refer to her as "Margaret's Neighbor?" Because that apostrophe would indicate that Margaret was in possession of her neighbor. Does Margaret really own her neighbor? Do you have a neighbor named Margaret? Do you only think you have a neighbor named Margaret? I would advise you to go knock on the door, and ask the person who answers the door if you can speak to Margaret. Because...I'm just telling you right now...

There is no Margaret.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Up yours. Your face, that is.

I was eathing a taco bell chicken burrito. It fell out of the wrapper and onto the asphalt of the parking lot. I WAS SO MAD. SO THEN I PICKED IT UP. AND I ATE IT.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Biff McJohnson: Coach of the Year

Is it normal to say "bye" to people on the phone who have called you as a wrong number, or you have called them? Because I have noticed, across my quarter-century lifespan, that it has been EXTREMELY rare that people say "bye" to me after I say "bye" to them (in this situation). Am I just a weirdo? Is there a rule written somewhere that you are not supposed to say bye to a wrong number?

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Quality Assurance Purposes

I would like to give a shout out to all those who may have been some sort of "sportsball" coach to me over my lifetime, and didn't rebuke me or yell at me when I committed gross errors in the ways of sports. For example...Stephen Belmont, you rock. Bruce Belmont (a.k.a. Ned Flanders), you rock. Taylor Clemons's dad, you rock. Some random mean guy who yelled at me during a particular Saturday morning baseball game when I was 10 because I commited an unpardonable sin of hitting a pop-up fly and then watching it fly instead of actually running to first base? Booo. Booo to you. You're a terrible man, making 10 year olds cry because they can't perform to major league perfection in machine-pitch baseball. How dare you.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Nice Interchange

Hey there, St. George. That's a nice looking new interchange you've got there.

Oh, that? Ah, it's nothing. Just a little...interchange.

No, really. It's nice. Saves me some time.

Really? That's great. Well, have you seen the rocks?


Yeah, rocks, they're all over. I have a lot of them.

Oh yeah, rocks. Sure. Sometimes, I sit on them. Mostly I stand.

I have a lot of different rocks. Different colors, shapes.

I've noticed. Good job at having those rocks.

Thanks. So what's your name?

I'm Holden. You can call me that.


No, Holden.

Oh, sorry, I thought you said Holman.

A simple mistake really. Many others have called me Holman.

Well, it won't happen again.

Don't worry about it.

I won't.


So you like my interchange?

I do. It's nice. I mean, you have a lot of nice things, like rocks, buildings, plants, lizards, people.

Well, there's places with a lot nicer rocks, buildings, plants, lizards, and people, than me.

Oh, don't be so modest.

All right then, I won't.

Good. Holman, what do you do?

I make everybody mad.

Geez, that's no fun. Do you get paid well?

No, it's a free service.

How nice of you.

I know.

If you're good at it, you should get paid for it.

You would think so.

Any other hobbies?

I enjoy laying face down on carpet with my arms spread out.

That seems odd.

Seems that way.

You know, you're unusual.

Well, I think you're a jerk.

I hate you. Get out of me.

Fine. I'm gone.

The End

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Megalops Atlanticus

Kiss your olympic dreams goodbye.
I was at McDonalds today, eating some spicy chicken mcbites. They had a TV on, showing some rowers in the Olympics. I thought that was funny. Here I am, chowing down on some chicken, there's some other people chowing down on Big Macs or whatever a few tables away, and on the TV is the very symbol of what I AM NOT. I am NOT an Olympian rower! I am sitting in McDonalds scarfing up cholesterol-laden fatty food, clogging my arteries with plaque by the minute. But here you go customers, you can watch this TV program about athletes who are miles and miles above you, who nearly vomit at the very thought of putting that garbage you're stuffing your face with into their own perfectly toned, muscular, beautiful bodies.


The church, and religion in general, has a lot of opposition, I decided. And I don't really care anymore. Laughter is the answer to every problem. If somebody points at you, mocks you for believing in a higher power, and tells you you're stupid, just laugh. Just laugh and laugh. And then yell, in a deep epic voice, "PUMAMAN!" And you can pronounce it either "puma-man" or "pu-mayman," whichever you choose. Either way, you will confuse your cocky outspoken atheist friend, and we all know that "confusion" is a dangerous weapon when wielded properly, if you've ever played an RPG video game.

Oh, by the way, this is post #200. MILESTONE!

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Pork Roast for Priscilla

"Did somebody just say something?"-- Some loser sitting right next to Holden.
"I swear I keep hearing Holden say something. Oh well. Just those crazy Holden voices in my head again.-- Some loser sitting right next to Holden.


1) I like how in Lord of the Rings, all Gimli has to do is bonk orcs on their helmets with his axe, and THEY'RE DOWN. WABAM.
2) I like how you.
3) On a phone call, some old lady asked another lady, at 9:30 AM, "DID YOU HAVE YOUR DINNER YET?" I don't know what it is about old people, but apparently, every meal is "dinner."
5) Was everybody offended by my last blog? I'm not like that anymore, I promise.

Sunday, July 22, 2012


The hair on my left arm is pretty much always standing up, no matter what sort of environment I'm in. Does anybody, ANYBODY AT ALL, have any idea what's wrong with me?

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Biff Johnson and the Electric Tobacco Rolling Machine Band

I was crazy in elementary school. Like, really weird. I don't think you have any idea. In 4th grade, I liked a couple different girls, but I showed my "liking" in an odd way: by being mean to them, by creepily following them home from school, and by putting death notes in their desks. One time, I put a note in Tess
Holden as a typical young 4th grader.
Terry's desk that said, "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER." And then I drew a picture of a knife dripping blood. The next day when Tess got to her desk and discovered the note, she got all worried looking, like, REALLY worried, and was telling her friends around her how scared she was.

I, of course, thought it was a HOOT.

I may have mellowed out a little bit since then.

By the way, does anybody else hate TV commercials as much as I do? I hate about 99.9% of them. I was just telling Emily the other day, wouldn't an effective advertising campaign just be, flashing products on screen with the price underneath them? Maybe there's a guy who explains, very briefly, why the product is useful. There. The end. Instead of all these obnoxious jingles and dancing and stupid annoying people who say dumb things, which make me not want to be a consumer of that particular business enterprise. I think the majority of mine and Emily's TV viewing time is spent just watching soundless things flashing on screen because I press the mute button every 5 seconds.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Beau Soir

Beau Soir, by C. Debussy.
Lovely, lovely, have a listen, all two/three of you who read this blog.
Debussy wrote the music as a setting for a poem by Paul Bourget.

Lorsque au soleil couchant les rivières sont roses
Et qu'un tiède frisson court sur les champs de blé,
Un conseil d'être heureux semble sortir des choses
Et monter vers le coeur troublé.

Un conseil de goûter le charme d'être au monde
Cependant qu'on est jeune et que le soir est beau,
Car nous nous en allons, comme s'en va cette onde:
Elle à la mer, nous au tombeau.


When streams turn pink in the setting sun,
And a slight shudder rushes through the wheat fields,
A plea for happiness seems to rise out of all things
And it climbs up towards the troubled heart.

A plea to relish the charm of life
While there is youth and the evening is fair,
For we pass away, as the wave passes:
The wave to the sea, we to the grave.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Randomosity #2

I was delighted to find a "royal berry punch" starburst sitting in the file cabinet next to me at work. But I can't eat it. Because in the midst of chewing and savoring its "royal berry punch" goodness, I could get throwninto a wild phone call which would require all the energies of my tongue movements, and now, how could that happen if I was throwing a "royal berry punch" starburst around in my mouth? It could not.

Since I have no camera to capture the starburst sitting in front me,

look at this picture I stole off of the internet, featuring dozens of "royal
berry punch" flavored starbursts, and just like my predicament now, I can't eat them.

Actually, in about five minutes, I can eat it. But right now, I can't. I just have to sit there and look at it. I even opened it up and smelled it. How can we relate this to life? Well, I'm not going to tell you. The lesson is veiled in mystery and grand symbolism, but if you think about it long enough, you will see the eternal splendor that lies within.

Old People

This post is departing from my usual randomness and slapstick shenanigans.

I work at a job where I hear a lot of phone calls between old people. It used to be funny at first, with all of the enemas and depositories and pills and commodes and early bird specials and bridge club and senior centers, and...I could go on and on. Then it became boring. Now, I've learned something about senior citizens. They have a world that is all their own, their own culture, their own little quirky things they say and do.

Also, a great many of them are depressed. The stats show depression is extremely common in seniors, and suicide is most prevalent in that age group. But I really figured out the depression part just by working here at my job. Think about it. Health rapidly declining. The end of your life approaching. Maybe your spouse has recently died. Maybe your kids and grandkids think you're a burden. Maybe they threw you in an old folks home so they didn't have to worry about you anymore. Maybe they never visit, maybe they never call you. Maybe your only friend is Nurse Betty, and she doesn't understand you or what you're going through.

It's easy to see why there is such sadness and despair among the elderly. Also, I am not saying that every person who gets put in an old folks home was put there by an uncaring family. I am also not saying that every single person in a senior home is unhappy. However, depression and loneliness are quite common in the elderly, and I'm sure that it could really be prevented, either on their part or on the part of their children.

I've had a desire lately to make some sort of positive impact on the world, and supposedly through my potential future career in physical therapy. Maybe I should work in geriatrics? I don't know. It would be fulfilling to help people feel better and be able to move around, instead of them sitting all day and becoming more and more immobilized, and probably more and more sad as their health plummeted.

Anybody who reads this know of any elderly people, or had grandparents who have suffered depression, or some sort of severe sadness and loneliness? Expound, via comments, if you would. I would like to hear.

Friday, June 29, 2012


So I was driving to work from Arby's, and the opening piano part from "In The End" by Linkin Park came on the radio, and it reminded me of my percussion class in middle school. I guess that song was really popular back back when I was in 8th or 9th grade, and kids in that class were always playing that piano part on their glockenspiels and xylophones. Somebody suggested to Mr. Bateman that we take that part and make a "new drumline cadence" out of it. It's pretty humorous that that was a suggestion, but what was even funnier was that we actually tried it (as in, we tried it right there in the bandroom, not, we actually performed it in a parade). It was bad. Maybe we were just a bad drumline. The end.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012


I spent the whole morning at work watching parrot videos on youtube. EXCITING HUH?! I decided I want a parrot. This bird obsession thing started when I went outside on my 15 minute break and listened to the various sounds of a mockingbird that was perched on a telephone line. I think it was a mockingbird. Are any of you people birdwatchers? Any of you, like, 3 people that read this? Excellent!

By the way, there's a funny youtube video of a parrot saying all manner of random things and then singing the spongebob squarepants song. Then I decided I want a parrot. The end.

Holden Never Meant to Cause You Trouble

I dreamed that all my upper teeth fell out. And also all my toenails fell off. Which was weird, because the pain of no toenails was actually in my fingernails. Or maybe all my fingernails fell off too. In any case, the creepiest thing was my teeth coming out. Also, there were a bunch of ladies sitting there in the room, and I had my toenails in my hand, and they were infected and smelled way bad, and one of the old ladies was like, "Ewww! That smells awful!" and I was like, "Sorry!" The end.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

The Phone Booth

Another prompt, followed by an intense story.

You're waiting at the bus stop for your bus to arrive when suddenly the phone in the phone booth next to you starts to ring. At first you ignore it but the ringing just doesn't stop. Unable to ignore it any longer, you scurry over into the booth and pick up the receiver. "Hello?"

What happens next?

"IS THIS CLANCY?!" screams an old man voice on the other end.
"Uh, no, this is Steve," I reply.
"SAY THAT AGAIN?!" he screams again. "I DON'T HEAR TOO WELL."
"I said this is Steve!" I say a bit louder.
"I'm sorry old man, I don't have your pills!" 
I hang up the phone. But just as I'm about to step out of the phone booth, it rings again. I know I shouldn't but...I pick it up.
"I'm pointing a gun at your head," comes a grim raspy voice on the other end.
"Whoa man, whoa," I say. "For real?"
"Yes. Now do you have the money?"
"What money?" I ask, confused.
"Wait," he says. "Is this Bill Gowers?"
"No, I'm Steve," I reply.
"Wait, what? Where are you at? Aren't you at the corner of Jefferson and Sunset?"
"Um, no, I'm at a bus stop on 15th..."
"Then who am I pointing a gun at?" he asks.
"I don't know buddy," I respond. "But, hey, listen, my bus is here, so I gotta run." And I hang up. I don't want to miss my bus.
On the bus is my girlfriend Stacy. We smooch. She's so hot. You wish you had a girlfriend as hot as her.

The end?

The Cemetery

I joined a site called Writers Network. This was a prompt for my next story. It got creative juices flowing.

On your way home from a friend's house, you decide to take a short cut and end up in the cemetery. You've never seen this place before and wonder if it has always been there. You get a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach and while every bone in your body is telling you to turn around, you can't help but move forward.

What happens next?

"Gee, that looks like a haunting cemetery," I say to myself as I come upon a cemetery I've never seen before. It has a typical haunted cemetery swinging gate. Above the gate, it says, in letters that look like they're dripping blood, "CEMETERY. STAY OUT."

"Uh oh!" I say. "Sounds like a pretty crazy cemetery! I better go check it out!" 

I park the car, and jump out. It's raining. Lightning is flashing, obviously. The wind is howling through the treetops. This is probably a dangerous idea, but I'm the adventurous type. How can I pass up a haunted cemetery? How? 

The headstones are all ancient looking. Some are tilted, like they're going to pop out of the ground. Others, the engravings are so worn I can't make out a thing. "Those engravings sure are worn!" I say to myself. 

But one headstone catches my attention.

"Oh no," I say, dread filling the pit of my stomach. 

I wipe off the front, filthy with grime and dirt. 

My mouth drops open in shock. Nothing could have ever prepared me for this moment, this one pivotal defining moment in my entire existence. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was staring at, with that stupid look on my face.


"No way!" I say, still reeling from the shock of it all. "The leader of the American Federation of Labor from 1886 to 1924 who united many labor groups in a federation of trade unions? I learned about him in school! Awesome!" 

I leave the cemetery, just feeling happy about myself. Man, my friends are not gonna believe this. 

The Breakup

I joined a writers network site. This story is a result of a prompt that basically asked for a breakup dialogue.

It was a cold rainy night.

Cold and her heart.

"Your heart is cold and rainy," I told her. How I hated her.

"But...but..." she stammered.

"No buts Amy," I replied.

"Does this mean you're breaking up with me?" she asked, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

"Don't cry, Amy," I said, wiping her tears with my hair. "You just met me five minutes ago. Don't let it get to you."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I loved you! I loved the way you kissed me. I loved the way you chewed your tomatoes. I loved the way you stroked my face with your nose. I loved how you got so angry and started breaking things every time I beat you in poker!"

"Yeah," I said, a smile forming across my weathered face as I remembered all those good times we had in the past five minutes, kissing, eating tomatoes, playing poker, and being intimate with our noses.

"Doesn't that mean anything to you?" she cried. "I gave up everything to be with you!" Her long brown hair danced in the wind. It was kind of strange, kind of creepy actually, but it made for a nice poetic touch to our breakup.

"Tell me this," I said to her, posing a clever question. "If I was not a handsome brute, if my pectorals did not dance, if my beautiful toned thighs were not as big as the cedars of lebanon, would you still have taken a chance on me?"

"Well, no," she responded.

I had my answer. With that in mind, I turned my back on her, kicked her cat, smashed the windshield of her car with my face, and stormed off.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Intentional Foul

Here's what I want to know. If a high amount of sodium is bad for you, can't you just drink a large amount of water to dilute the sodium in your system, thus negating any bad effects? TELL ME. TELL ME NOW.

Waffle Crisp. Nom. Some skeptics claim that Waffle Crisp never disappeared. I am here to tell you that that is false. It was gone. And now it's back. LET THE FESTIVITIES BEGIN.

I'm scraping my brain with a grapefruit spoon, trying to think of something clever to say, but I'm having a hard time. Also, I am suffering from severe cerebral hemmoraging from the afore-mentioned grapefruit spoon scraping. It's bleeding, squirting out actually, all over my computer, my keyboard, all over the girl in the next cubicle. What a mess.

Ahmad-Rashad, the bloodthirsty dictator of Syria,
responsible for the slaughter of thousands of innocent lives.
I went through my list of followers and did some purging. If you privatize your blog and don't invite me to read it, but still think you have the right to lurk through my blog, mark my will be purged. And then I will hunt you down and bite your face off, like Hannibal Lecter. And then place your face upon my face. And then everyone will think I'm you. But then they'll say, "Hey, where's Holden?" And then I'll rip your face off my face, and go, "Here I am!" and we'll have a good laugh. And then I'll put your face back on, and they'll be like, "Man, that Holden sure is a jerk. Who does he think he is?" and then I'll rip your face off my face again and be like, "No you don't! No you don't! You don't talk about me like that!" And then they'll feel ashamed that they spoke so poorly of me. And I feed on your shame. And your face.

Any opinions on what's going on in Syria man? Geez. Sucks. I don't know what to do. That Ahmad Rashad guy should die. Is that his name? I'm trying to remember...Bashad Rashad, Maher-Shalal-Hashbaz, crap...I guess I could google it. Nah, that takes too long. Heh! I should be president. And we should also send in Hannibal Lecter to eat Rashad's face.

Does anybody else think Emily has great looking ankles? I think so. Frikkin HOT.

Holden waiting for Emily to get home
so he can jump out and frighten her.
By the way, Emily and I watched "Silence of the Lambs" the other night on TV. There was some face-eating going on. The movie was basically the story of my life, with all of that face eating. You'd think I would've mentioned the "Silence of the Lambs" thing at the beginning, as sort of a preface to all of my Hannibal Lecter references, but that's not the way I roll. And why is this blog entitled "Intentional Foul" you might be asking? In your Holden mocking voice, you say, "Because it's a good band name. Dur dur dur!" and then hit yourself in the forehead like I always do. No. Not even what I was thinking. Way off. It's a good name for an album, preferably a death metal album, where that phrase is an understatement about how mercilessly I beat you and eat your face during an NBA basketball game. "Enough with the face eating!" you're saying. Wait, are you? That's what the ref would be saying, as he slaps me with a "flagrant face-eating foul." And his hand.  

Are you afraid, blog reader? Do I make you uncomfortable? Is this blog too distasteful for your...taste? Because if it was distasteful for any of your other senses, I would be worried. And I don't worry about a lot of things. But that...that right there is something I would worry about.

Saturday, June 16, 2012


Yes, you read it right. Baboons. There were lots of them. And that guy from "River Monsters." This was all in a dream. Along with some weird family guy episode involving Peter and Quagmire in a house which is apparently surrounded by Jason Schwartzman, and they need to sell their guns to him. It's weird how I really have no idea who Jason Schwartzman is, other than, I know he's an actor of some sort. But apparently my subconscious coughed his name up. Stupid subconscious. Probably got all sorts of crazy crap down there.


I started watching 24 a couple weeks ago. It was just incredible. That's all I can say. A couple of plotholes aside, the first season was just awesome, and the season finale spectacular. I don't know why. Something about Jack Bauer getting really really mad and going on a killing spree is extremely triumphant.


Did I just spoil it? Are you going to watch it? No, you're not, because nobody ever watches what I watch. Forget you, forget all of you.

 By the way, that season finale was #10 in TV guide's top 100 TV episodes of all time, so that. I'm sure people will disagree, but I liked it. As is usually the case with things.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Hike of Utter Doom

I destroyed my body hiking a mountain.

Zealous to do a hike this week, I voted on the Red Mountain in Ivins, which I did a couple times back in high school. It was a bad idea. Or maybe it was the fact that I wore a black shirt. Or the fact that I only brought one bottle of water. Or the fact that I led the three of us (Beau, Isaac, me) up a strenous trail that none of us had done before. Or the fact that it was June 1st and that it was probably over 100 degrees outside.

I learned some valuable things from this expedition.

1) Fierce Strawberry flavored Gatorade tastes absolutely delicious after you have suffered from heat exhaustion bordering on a full-on heat stroke.

2) It hurts when you bash a toenail on a rock and it bleeds everywhere.

3) Apparently when your body temperature rises to dangerous levels, it messes with your brain, which is kind of a bad thing to have messed with.

4) Beau is always willing to drive your car in the event that the afore-mentioned heat exhaustion/ heat stroke has made you incapable of thinking straight and driving safely.

5) Nature is beautiful, just lovely, but when you're about to die, it doesn't really matter.

6) The Dos Equis guy who says, "Stay thirsty my friends" ? No. I'm warning you. "Stay hydrated."- Me.

The Red Mountain, so named because it resembles a mountain.

That's a pretty face right there.

A horny toad trying to blend in with its surroundings, but Beau spotted it. Good eye Beau.

Gunsight Canyon, where the trail began. GUNSIGHT.

The desert area north of the summit.

Angry as usual.

Having a feast atop the mount.


Aliens? The Giant Turtle of Wisdom?

This guy can hike, wow. I'm pretty sure he never broke a sweat during the whole disaster. He kind of reminds me of a mountain goat, just scampering up the mountain with ease, clicking his hooves. 

Lovely view of landscape, ruined by me.


More pretty views.

Looking southeast towards St. Georgeopolis. 

Meandering around, trying to find out how in the crap to get down off the mountain.

The end.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Ein Scheinverrfen!

I was walking through the store the other day, humming, quite loudly, a catchy little tune that had served as the music for a level in Wolfenstein, which I had recently been playing on my Ipod. It turns out that this song is actually the theme song of the Nazi Party! HEH! YOU IDIOT GREEN! Hopefully nobody even knows what it sounds like. Otherwise, I might get some dirty looks, maybe somebody will swear at me, maybe somebody will shoot me...there's an endless variety of reactions to choose from.

Oh by the way, some guy in a car swore at my wife the other day. The moral of this story: don't swear at my wife.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Van Wells Boulevard

1) This blog post is so named because I dreamed I was driving down Van Wells Boulevard in Kansas City with Emily. Yes, I looked it up, there is no such street. Anywhere. My dreams are full of lies. I googled it just barely, the only result I found was Van Well Nursery of Washington, a TOP SUPPLIER OF FRUIT TREES TO COMMERCIAL ORCHARDISTS.

Perhaps I'm living two separate and distinct realities, and the "Van Wells Boulevard" from my other reality is trying to tell me that the answer to my big question, more specifically, WHO KILLED MY PET FROGS TWO YEARS AGO, is found at Van Well Nursery. Why that question, you say? I don't know. I guess I pretty much have all my other questions of life figured out. Oh, and if you've never watched the hit show "Awake," then the whole concept of something in one dream being connected with something similar in reality might be foreign to you.

It's okay. I know you don't care. But it is strange that "Van Wells Boulevard" popped out to me in that dream, because I have never, in my life, heard of anything called "Van Wells," so how a brain manufactures something like that for a street name, I have no idea whatsoever.

2) The word "squelch" is a good word, and would make a good band name, but I looked it up, and I'm too late. Every swear word.

3) We drove past Chad Cottom's house. There was an ugly green car in front. Emily asked, "Is that Chad's car?" to which I responded, "Yes, that is Chad Cottam's Car," and then I realized how "Cottam's Car" would also be a great name for either a rock band, or a cheesy 1980s sitcom. It has a nice ring to it. Cottam's Car. Alliteration makes for excellent band names. Thanks to Dave Barry for making me this way.

4) The end.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Ham Radio

I have this weird urge to run. Just run. Which is weird, because I can't run more than like, two blocks without dying.

I'm sitting outside my front door. There's a bird several feet away from me on the grass. If I had my camera with me, I would snap a picture. It's red-breasted, and has some red on top of its head. He's lollygagging about in the grass, eating things. After he eats something, he looks around like he's committing a crime or something. Or maybe he's looking for predators. Hey, he's coming closer. He's eating those little flower things, the ones with all of the little things that you can blow off.  Dangit, he left. That was a delight.

I think I'll go run down Indian Hills Drive today.

Monday, May 7, 2012

Ravel Piano Concerto in G- II Adagio Assai

This is the most beautiful song ever written and everyone should listen to it. It's sort of long and pretty slow, but you're classy and you're cultured, so you have the attention span for it. It's the second movement of a piano concerto by Maurice Ravel. If you want to be cool, you'll hear it out.

Peace be unto you children.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Nothing Short of Impressive

1) Graduation- My wife graduated from her education pursuits on Friday. I mean...can you believe that? She's been in school for roughly 19 years. And now, no more school. Awww. I would post graduation pictures on here...but I don't have any. We'll have to snag some from my dad's camera later. And no, she didn't graduate at the very very top of her class, but are totally summa cum laude in my book babe. MY HIGHEST LATIN HONORS I BESTOW UPON YOU.

2) Old people- Have a lot of health problems, and like to eat early dinners, usually with friends. I believe I've mentioned this all before. Not only have I learned this from my work, captioning phone calls for the hard of hearing, but now everytime I go to a restaurant between 3 and 5 pm, I notice how many hordes of old people there are getting their "early bird specials," sitting around talking with friends, and how they probably marked these "lunch appointments" down on their old person "calendars," on which they also write down their daily doctor appointments. No, I have nothing against old people, I really don't, in fact, their quirks are quite fascinating to me.

3) IRONMAN. (Grunt grunt grunt)

4) Oh, speaking of IRONMAN, I walked down to Main Street yesterday on my break and watched Ironman athletes running by. These people are hardcore. I I wanted to yell at some of them, "HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD?!" but I figured they would come and beat me up or something, and then, ironically, it would be me who was dead. On my way back to work, I ran, because I was so inspired by these athletes. And I was gassed after like, a block. Also, I was wearing my trusty IRONMAN running slippers.

5) Have any of you stumbled upon Andrew Belcrank's blog? Man this guy is livin it up in Japan. How exciting. Of course, his last blog was from about five months ago, so I don't know what's going on now. Probably shellfish and some sushi, and more than likely, some wild and crazy adventures.

6) I drove past the Hendersons' house the other day like a creeper. It's relatively large.

7) Applebees on Thursday nights for half price appetizers and BINGO?! How can you beat that? You cannot.

8) I've got nothing else. Nothing at all.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Fred the Badger Looks For Friends

        There once was a little badger named Fred. Some people called him Fred the Badger, which was weird, because everyone else was a badger too, and nobody called his dad Larry the Badger, or his mom Stacy the Badger. He was just Fred the 
      One particular day, Fred was out, looking for manflesh to consume, when he came upon a wolf. This was a large wolf, about the size of a horse.
     “Will you be my friend?” asked Fred the Badger, for he was friendless.
     “Shut up,” said the wolf. “I don’t need a friend, I’ve got plenty.” And then he went back to whatever he was doing, which was probably ravenously devouring the flesh of a caribou or something.
     “Okay, bye,” said Fred the Badger, and he sauntered off in search of another friend.
     Next, he came across Cornelius, a caterpillar. He was eating a cake.
     “Hi Billy,” said Fred the Badger.
     “What do you want?” asked Cornelius. He was an angry caterpillar.
     “I just wanted to know if you would be my friend,” replied Fred the Badger.
     Cornelius spit his mouthful of cake out and laughed uproariously. “Me?” he mocked. “You want me to be your friend? Are you insane?”
     “No,” said Fred the Badger. “I think it would work out great.”
     “False,” said Cornelius. “It would not.”
     And he went back to eating his cake.
     “By the way,” said Fred the Badger. “How did that cake get here?”
     Cornelius hissed at him, and then resumed eating his cake.
     By now, it was getting late. His parents would be getting worried. He was just about to head home when he spotted something moving off in the woods. Another badger?  He was strangely excited at the possibility. He found his dreams fulfilled as he came across Taisha, the hottest badger in the woods.
     “Hi Taisha,” said Fred the Badger.
     “What?” snapped Taisha.
     “Do you want to be my friend?” he asked.
     “Well, I guess,” she said, taking a chance. And then they made out.
     But this love was forbidden. As they smooched, a mob of angry animals approached them, carrying staves, sticks, and torches. “We have staves!” a rabbit cried, though nobody actually knew what staves were. But it was required that staves be carried anytime a mob formed.
     Fred the Badger and Taisha stopped smooching, and looked into each other’s eyes dreamily. They knew that they had committed a heinous and unpardonable act. The act...of love.
     The wolf that Fred the Badger had conversed with earlier led the mob. He was hoisting a torch.
     “Thou shalt cease thy adulterous act!” he cried. “For it is forbidden by our laws!”
     “Oh,” said Fred the Badger. “Okay?”
     “BURN THEM!” cried the angry mob. Never had there been an angrier mob. Ever.
     “But what’s wrong with a little badger love?” asked Taisha. She was a beautiful badger. She had lovely badger stripes, badger eyes, badger feet, and a cute little mole next to her left eye. A beauty.
     “We hate everything that’s good!” yelled Barnabas the crow, who wielded a pitchfork in his talons.
     “Oh,” said Fred the Badger.
     “You shall both be executed at dawn,” said the wolf.
     “Oh,” said Fred the Badger. “Well, um, er...”
     “I love you Fred,” said Taisha, holding his cute little badger hands.
     “ you too?” said Fred the Badger, having only really known Taisha for like, two minutes.
     And they were carried off to prison to await the execution of their sentence.
     And their lives.
     In prison, they talked and really got to know each other. They talked about their favorite foods, their favorite music, their favorite restaurants...surprisingly, they had a lot of things in common. Fred the Badger told Taisha some of his favorite jokes. She laughed. He laughed at his own jokes. They had never seemed that funny to him, but when they made Taisha laugh, they made him laugh too. Taisha was surprised. She had always thought that Fred the Badger was a boring little loner, but she concluded that all he really needed was a chance to show how sweet and how kind of a badger he was.
     “SHADDAP IN THERE!” snapped the prison guard, a porcupine.
     They giggled because they had made the prison guard mad. Ah, sweet love.
     At dawn, they were executed by firing squad for their heresies and blasphemies. They held hands as it happened, knowing that even though they had paid an awful price for forbidden love, truly, it was love that had won the victory.

The End