The Island

There it was, finally. Our island. Our very own island. It looked beautiful above the waves of fog, but there was still one question to be answered: why had they sold it to us for only five dollars?

"Well, we better get down there and check it out," I said to my hot wife Stacy Jones. So I took her down. And when I say "took her down," I mean the plane. And my wife, because she was in it. So you see, it could refer to either one. Our plane was a nice plane, with wings and bolts and spinny parts that made plane sounds. But all of that meant nothing as the plane crashed through the top of the forest canopy and hit the ground, exploding into a million pieces.
"Well, I thought there was a runway somewhere around here," I said after we crawled out of the flaming wreckage. We were both bruised up and scratched, and my face had been severely disfigured from third degree burns, but we were all right. I turned around and looked at the wreckage. My plane. My baby. I shed a tear.
"It's okay honey," said Stacy Jones, wrapping her arms around me and licking my tears. "We'll get a new plane someday." Then we made out. But we kept it pretty clean.
Finally, after our making out session ended, we looked around. Trees. Everywhere. In all directions.
"Great," I said. "We're lost. Now what?"
And then I heard my answer.
"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECCCHHHH!!!" came the screech of some sort of woodland jungle alien creature as it flew out of the trees and latched onto my face. I writhed around in agony as the creature sank its fangs into my eyeballs. Stacy backed away in horror... I think. Because I couldn't see her, and it was kind of chaotic. But I imagine she might do that.
Finally, after some effort, I pried the thing off my face and flung it to the ground.
"That's the last time I pay five bucks for an island!" I cried, and then Stacy and I laughed.

The end

Bubonic Nystagmus

A) My new favorite fast-food meal is a cup of blueberry oatmeal and two hard tacos from Jack in the Box. Just a delight, I tell you. I know, I'm weird. I'm sorry.

B) My work blocked Spotify, so I found an alternative called "Rdio." Pretty much the same thing. Only it's not blocked. Right now, I'm listening to a Guster album called "Ganging up on the Sun." There's a lot of gusting. I enjoy music. It's lame to block it. Kinda reminds me of high school, when choir teachers would lock the piano in the choir room. Why would you lock a piano? What reason could you possibly have? Its purpose is to spill forth music. Let it fulfill its purpose. Sometimes, I would find the lock in the choir room (if it wasn't locked that day), and then I would hide the lock somewhere. There would be no locking.

C) I used the hoyer lift today. You don't even know what that is. Well, I'll tell you. You use it to hoist people up that don't have the use of their arms or legs. What if you couldn't use your arms or legs? Well, you would get hoyered. YOU'RE HOYERED. What you do is, you attach this sling to the person, then attach the sling straps to the hoyer lift, and then you pump that baby up. JUST PRIME THE PUMP. Anybody remember the "prime the pump" show? With the guy in the desert? Well, I don't want to spoil it... but he dies. It's the summer blockbuster everyone's talking about.

D) It's really lonely here at work. I'm all by myself in a little cubicle. Actually, I think there's someone on the other side. In fact, I think it's Jordan Polatis. He went to my school. His wife gets to work across the aisle from him. Lucky. Do you realize if he googles his own name, it will lead him to this blog? And then he'll realize that that guy on the other side of the cubicle is writing blogs about him. And that might be kinda weird.

Smoking

I'm not gonna lie, man. I don't know why people smoke. I just don't understand it. Perhaps some people who smoke can comment on this blog and give me a good reason. I mean... seriously. I can smell you from like, a 1/2 mile away. If a car driven by a smoker goes by me as I'm walking down the street, I can smell it. What do you think of that, smoker? Wherever you go, you leave the stink of cigarette smoke in your wake. But this is a silly reason for you to quit. Surely, you don't know who I am and you most certainly don't care about what I smell.

Perhaps the fact that your smoking actually affects people around you is a good reason for you to quit. Second hand smoke is really really bad. But of course, me getting a whiff every once in awhile will do no damage to me. If you smoke around kids or other people, however, that's really really bad, and they're likely to develop some problems. Do you care about that? If someone with asthma or bronchitis walks by you when you're smoking, your smoke can actually cause them to have a respiratory attack of some sort. Does that bother you? Does it bother you that your habit affects other people? No? Hmmm.

You should probably quit smoking. Stop taking years off your life. "But everyone dies eventually," you say. True. But some people die earlier than others. Way earlier. With lungs that have turned into black malignant lumps of carbon. And they have this really really nasty hacking cough. And sometimes they have cancer in their mouth. Or throat. Or lungs. Or some sort of heart disease. Or emphysema, where your lung alveoli have lost their elasticity, and you're no longer able to breathe like you used to, and you have to bend over to catch your breath. Don't misunderstand me. I don't hate you. You're probably a great person, who made a stupid choice to start smoking. I don't judge you, I promise. But you are doing a very stupid thing.

Do yourself a favor. Quit smoking. Do it. Do it now. Save yourself some trouble down the road. Please. Also, the world will smell a little nicer.

Prudence and The Plague, Live in Concert!

I'm not sure what to write. I notice this blog has been getting a lot less viewership recently, and that may have something to do with the fact that my blog posts now average maybe once a month. BORING! So what are we gonna do to spice it up? Huh? Some spices? Some spice girls? Some spice trades? Sugar and spice? The San Antonio Spices? Well, first, I'll tell you about my day, since it is just reeking with interest. REEKING.

So I woke up this morning at 7:30. And then I came to work. Actually before I came to work, I grabbed a whole-wheat bagel out of the kitchen for eating. I ate it on the way to work. It was pretty boring. But it had like, 8 grams of fiber, so I figured it would keep me full for a little while. At work, I proceeded to listen to some great old people phone calls. Just great. On my downtime, I studied the Book of Hebrews out of the New Testament, along with feasts and festivals of Judaism. I should be studying things for school... but no. I tell you what... my mind has been enlightened today. You should go read Hebrews. Jesus is called "The High Priest of good things to come." You should try and figure out what that means. You should just do everything I tell you to. Because I will never lead you astray... or will I?

So anywho... I ate some more of my bagel on my 15 minute lunch break in the break room. Tony Stark's house was getting blown up on TV by some guys in helicopters. I was like, "That's too bad." Then I went back to work. Then I went to Arby's for lunch. There were a lot of humans there. With the Snow White and the Huntsman World Senior Games in town, there is usually a large increase in the number of humans milling around. There were so many humans that I could not enter the bathroom after my eating and wash my hands. I was quite irked. IRKED. IRKED BY JERKS. Just kidding, they're all great. And then some psycho almost hit me in the parking lot. And now here I am. And I realized I didn't have quite as much to say as I thought I would. One of these days, I'll crank out another short story that you all will hate.

I'm sorry, there was really nothing inspiring about this blog post. Just nothing. Also, I've noticed that most everyone whose blog I used to follow has now privatized their blogs, so um... good job, everyone. Now I have nothing to read. I really am interested in your lives and how you all get along, but forget it. Just forget it. Hey, here's something interesting. Does anyone like golf? Well, I don't. There, I said it. I know that it's a crime to hate golf, and people think I'm an idiot when I tell them I have to swing at the ball 30 times before I hit it. It's a handicap really. To be able to play golf if such an advantage in the world, especially in business. Business people are always playing golf. Don't they ever play anything else? Basketball? Foosball? Video games? Shuffle board? Water polo? Miniature golf? Come on guys. Change it up a bit. Geez. GOLF: THE GAME OF BUSINESS.

Oh, here's something else maybe you didn't know about me. I eat sunflower seeds one at a time. Is that weird or what? I mean, I just use my teeth (holding it with my hands) to break it open, then slowly pull the thing out and eat it. Whereas if you're a real man, you chuck 10 in your mouth, let your salivary fluids soften each seed, then pry them open and spit the husk out. NO HANDS. EFFICIENCY. BUSINESS. MEN. Okay, I grow tired of this. Leave me your comments and tell me about yourselves. We can be friends. Even if I don't play golf or chew 10 sunflower seeds at a time. Can there be a peace between us?

Phantom Face Hair

             This guy gave a talk in church on Sunday. This particular gentleman, if you ever ask him how he's doing, will always tell you "Mean and onery." Every time. No, I'm not exaggerating. EVERY TIME. HE HAS BEEN SAYING THAT PHRASE FOR AT LEAST 20 YEARS. I say that because I remember that I went to their house that many years ago with my mom for some reason, and he said that same thing. Isn't that weird? I think it is. Sometimes when I run into him, I ask him how he's doing just for fun, and then say the phrase with him in unison because I know it's coming. Maybe he thinks that's weird.
             Now it's Tuesday. I'm at work. I ate ramen noodles a couple hours ago. I am getting so sick of ramen noodles. I know what you're saying. "Well, why don't you pack a lunch or something?" Quite difficult. You see, I'm at school from 9 until 3, and there's no fridge at school to place perishables in. Yes, there's probably other ways around it, like keeping food at work. AW, WHO CARES. This five hour shift is the shortest shift of the week for me, but for some reason, it feels like the LONGEST. I don't know why. I only get one 15 minute break. My teacher texted me and wants to meet with me tomorrow in his office. Maybe he's kicking me out of the PTA program. There's a particular girl in my class that has this tendency of asking me questions every once in awhile, and then apparently not having the attention span to listen to what I have to say when I answer her. It's odd. I thought I had a short attention span. Oh my goodness, there's only 10 minutes left in this shift. I'm going to go home and eat ice cream pie with the wif and the babelet. Nom! My teacher gave out goodies today that he's picked up at various Physical Therapy conventions. I got a "spine & pelvis" keychain." Pretty freakin sweet. Although the pelvis is missing the ischium. That made me kinda mad. You don't even know what the ischium is, do you? DO YOU?!?! No, I'm kidding, you probably do. How dare I assume that you don't know a particular anatomical structure. Also, I got a little green foam ball that says "HEALTH PLAN OF NEVADA, INC." I love this ball. It prevents me from picking my fingernails. This has been a sporadic entry, I know. I just want to go home. The end.

Foam Overdose

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDGE!!!!!

There are many u's in that word. Many you's. There are many of you. You are not one but many.

I just sneezed. I'm coming down with something. Not up. Down. I did know a guy who came up with something. It was a brilliant plan, really. But the execution of it failed.

I helped a lady find her dog today. Yesterday, I ditched out on giving blood. Such a terrible thing, to sign up for a blood drive and then not go. I can't do it. I don't want to pass out. I would gladly sacrifice my mortal fluid for another... another day.

I just finished typing up my mission journals. It was a long and memorable journey through them. One time, I was playing "Capture the Flag" with NERF guns with my district at our apartment. Our opponents base was upstairs. There was a door sitting by itself by our entryway. Just a door. Not connected to anything. I don't know why. But it was always there. I got the idea to go up the stairs while shielding myself with the door so I couldn't be assassinated with NERF darts (kind of reminds me of The Two Towers when all those uruk-hai are marching up to Helm's Deep covered by their shields). I made it almost the whole way up without being shot, and then Elder James Martin, bless his little heart, decides to kick the door. Fortunately, I didn't go flying down the stairs, but the door did smash me in the face, causing a great deal of pain and giving me a scary black eye that I'm pretty sure, along with my recent buzzcut, frightened people away whenever I tried to contact them in parking lots. Elder Martin was heard to say after the incident, "I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!" Ha ha. Excellent. He's right though. What other choice would you have in that situation? I applaud him for taking initiative in such a high pressure situation. If anybody wants to read my mission journals, let me know kids. The other journals are off limits, but I am willing to share my mission journals if people desire to view them. They're really not that exciting, but you get to experience first-hand what a terrible missionary I was and how immature missionaries (including myself) are, as indicated by the above-mentioned story.

I know nobody reads this anymore... I'm having a lame day and I need to write. I just ate some ramen noodles. Such a nutritionless substance. I'm at work and I'm not supposed to be blogging. I don't think.

Um...what?

What in the crap is this? (7/26/2013, 3:00 PM)

Is this some sort of joke? Some sick joke?

Arachni & Phobia

I am currently in the process of typing up all my journals so they'll be available to me online. The following is an excerpt from my journal in 1998. Basically, I'm not sure what I was smoking in 5th grade, but I had some little bead spiders (named Arachni and Phobia, haha, get it? Pretty clever I was!) that apparently took on some crazy anthropomorphic traits.

[excerpt begins] Arachni and Phobia Information* [note at bottom of page “An explanation is necessary. They are bead spiders.”]


Arachni= is five months old, lived the first two months of his life at Anthony Mathews' house in Ivins. Born in Anthony’s bedroom on April 6, 1998. Was sold to me at 4th grade Mini-Mall. A good companion. Married to Phobia on June 20th.

Phobia= is three months old, has been living at my house all her life. Met Arachni on June 15, got married June 20. Was actually born in Anthony’s bedroom on June 6. Was immediately sent over to my house to mate Arachni. She is pregnant.

(additional information)

For most of the time Arachni and Phobia have been together, they have been almost inseperable. But one night, Arachni went out with a girl named Angela Carson. They went to Chili’s. They were both secretly watched by Phobia from the window. As soon as Arachni came home, Phobia said she hated him, and told him “Let’s get a divorce!” They were planning to, and they almost did, but on another night, when Angela came back over, Phobia killed her. She was executed and put to death on Sept. 15, 1998. Arachni swore he would never do such a thing again. He is now living with me. We both miss Phobia terribly. [excerpt ends]

Not only did this insane story involve adultery, cold blooded arachnicide, and capital spider punishment, but I even took Phobia, put her in a lego box, and then went and buried the box in the desert behind my house, just to make the story that much more real to myself. Many times over the course of the next several years, I went back to the desert and attempted to dig up the box, but I could never find it again. I hope this has been enlightening and helped you to understand why my 5th grade class thought I was such a freak.

I Can Park in Two Spaces Because I'm Cool: Day 2



Empty parking spots? (2:40 PM, 7/19/2013)

 Well this is weird. I guess I can't post witty commentary if the jerk isn't even going to show up anymore. Hey. Subaru person. Come back. Hey... get back here. This little series has to go on for more than 2 episodes. Come on. Just inch your little car back over here.

I Can Park in Two Spaces Because I'm Cool: Day 1



The Subaru Forrester (License plate number Y186UE; 7/15/2013, 4:29 PM)


You will notice that my blog has "shifted gears" (LOLOL) a little bit here. You will also notice that no longer is this blog affilliated in any way with that vile substance wheatgrass. Instead, you will hear all about my adventures pertaining to a certain Subaru Forrester which enjoys illegally taking up two spaces at my work in the southeast corner of the parking lot.

This has been going on for a few months now. It used to be a bigger deal. Before summer began, the parking lot was generally always full when I came to work, and it was difficult finding places to park. And I would see this car, sitting here. In two spots. Every time I came to work. And I asked myself, "Why? Why is this? What's the harm in moving the car to the right or the left a few feet?" I have asked myself these soul-searching questions many times.

One possible reason is that this person thinks their car is too big to fit in that spot on the left. It does look smaller, in a way, but I think that's because the left half of the spot is in the gutter. Is that considered a gutter? I don't know what a gutter is. Is it just a curb? I don't know what it is. But what I do know, is that that car could easily fit in that spot. It could also easily fit in the spot on the right.

My investigation has yielded no results thus far as to who owns the vehicle. I've IM'd a few supervisors at my work, asking if it's this person's car or that person's car (making sure it doesn't belong to my boss or someone, in case I blow it up). I've also, on the windshield, left an In-n-Out receipt which I wrote on the back, "One car= one space. The end."

"But Holden," you say. "Why don't you just call the police?" Good point. Not. What if this vehicle is connected to some powerful crime syndicate, and all this blogging and asking around and being a nuisance, is me just poking my nose where I shouldn't? WHAT IF? What if the police are involved? What if you're involved? Or what if this person is just a moron? I like that last possibility, although the first three are kind of thrilling. Right? Opinions? All 2 of you who read this blog? Shout em out.

Stay tuned for another episode of "I Can Park in Two Spaces Because I'm Cool" on Friday! Because I know how exciting this is to everyone! Yay!

Humerus

I was watching the British version of Whose Line is it Anyway during one of my breaks, and found myself not laughing and not even cracking a grin. And it is a serious deal when no grins are cracked. I didn't understand the humor apparently. The performers were supposed to be taking on identities of people I had never heard of. Who the heck is Alan Burnett? Why does every performer deliver every one of their lines so dramatically like they're quoting Shakespeare lines? Why is this not funny? But then I thought about it, and realized that British people probably think the same thing about the American version of the show. Aw, look at me, being all empathetic towards the British. I truly am the culture bridge between our two countries.

This experience reminded me of several months ago when my wife and I tried to watch the British version of The Office. I found myself, also, not laughing. I didn't understand the jokes. Actually, for the most part, I could barely even understand the words the people were saying. And then I watched the American version, and I was GIGGLES APLENTY! No, I just think it's weird, but kind of cool, you know? That everyone is so different, we all giggle at different things, culturally speaking. Which is actually is also kind of lame, and makes me think that I could never be friends with a British person, because, how could we laugh together? How? You're right, I'm a laugh bigot. Just kidding,we could be friends, but it would have to be one of those friendships where we never laugh. We would just have to be stone-faced during every interaction and discuss serious issues. It could work.

A Bucket of Hollondaise Sauce

1) I changed my blog template because I was way bored. And then I decided I had to write about it. For some reason.

2) Hey, guess what? I had the craziest eye floater yesterday! THE CRAZIEST! I was laying on the couch, and there was this little speck in my vision. It would turn white when I closed my eyes, and it was black when my eyes were open. Now, it isn't rare to have these little funny friends floating in my eye. The weird thing was, first of all, this floater would not go away, and second, after a little while, it was completely visible when my eyes were open. What I mean by that... I was looking up at the ceiling, and the floater looked like a plain black mark on the ceiling. Visible as anything I had ever seen. It didn't even look like an eye floater. It just looked like a black smudge on the ceiling. It was actually quite frightening, as I was giving a play-by-play to my wife as to what was going on, and she thought I was dying (you know, the whole "don't go to the light" thing). So, was this story interesting? Huh? Huh? I see that this blog receives a multitude of visitors a day, many from foreign lands. Who are you people? Leave comments, ask me a question. Tell me if this was a stupid story.



Wind! And willows!



A plot! To kill that guy!

 3) So I have this problem with checking books out at the library and then not reading them. I usually bring them to work with me, hoping to read them at some point, but then I get distracted doing stupid things on the internet, like trying to figure out ways to entertain my mysterious blog audience. Right now, I'm supposed to be reading the Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Graheme, which is kind of a sharp contrast from the last book I tried to read, The Plot To Kill The President. Boy was it a great plot.    

  

Prepare for hijinks and shenanignans like
you've never known!



 4) Hey, does anyone remember Three's Company, that stupid 70s sitcom starring John Ritter? I used to watch it. And I was like... eight. I think I have problems.  Now I'm just being desperate to fill this page up with something. I was feeling inspired 20 minutes ago, but then I ate a peanut butter sandwich. My pants have a hole in them. I'm wearing flip-flops at work. I'm not supposed to be wearing flip-flops That's a dress-code violation. But it just takes me too long at home to find socks.  

 

5) Does anyone do diet cleanses? Well, don't. Because apparently they're stupid and only hurt you. Why would you want to hurt yourself? What would possess you to do that? Satan? The love of a princess? Well, according to a podcast I listened to, it's all just a big scam. Your body is not really brimming with toxins, as the diet cleanse people think it is. And if there are toxins in your body, your body will remove them, via peeing and pooping. 

   

Angry because all kids want to do is

play video games!



6) Does anyone goes on crazy IMDB binges? Well, I don't know what that means, but I was doing that for The Neverending Story the other day. Anyone remember that movie? Aw yeah. Who else thought that Mr. Coriander was the scariest person in that movie? Remember? The mean bookshop guy? "GET OUTTA HERE! I DON'T LIKE KIDS!" I can see myself as that guy in 50 years.

I EAT YOUR SKINS

I HAVE A PSYCHOLOGICAL DISORDER!

It's called dermatillomania.

I know, I diagnosed myself, perhaps that's not really credible.

But it is.

I'm not proud to have a disorder, but I do have it. Now I have a NEW label, in addition to privileged white Christian male! CELEBRATE!

I AM A DERMATILLOMANIAC.

Cheap Moroccan Cigars Increase Testosterone!

I attended a week-long church camp type of thing, August 2005, in Nauvoo, Illinois, where the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints was headquartered for several years. I realized at this church camp that I was pretty horrible at being social and making friends, but it was a fun week nonetheless, seeing the sights and getting to learn church doctrine from one Brother Knowles, a very brilliant and smart teacher. I wrote this because I stumbled upon someone else's blog that attended the same YFE, and it brought back some memories. So... I know, not very interesting. I don't have much else to say about it. I'm at work right now and I'm really really bored. I've been studying stuff relating to the JFK assassination, and now I'm pretty JFK'd out. Haha. My wife gets annoyed when I get in one of my little learning phases.

Oh, and if you ask me if the assassination was a conspiracy, I will tell you... I do not know. People on both sides of the argument attack each other's claims that they have solid evidence, so I really don't know what to believe. The Zapruder film shows the assassination, including the grisly headshot, and to me it looks like he was hit from the front (which would prove there was more than one shooter), but I could be wrong. Regardless of who actually did it (and we will never know, trust me on this one), I feel more educated on a subject that is critically important in American history, so I think I'll leave it at that.

Potstickers for Perry

When I was a youngling, I REALLY loved going to Idaho. Just absolutely loved it. I had relatives in Idaho Falls, and it was always just delightfully delightful to go pay a visit to AMERICA'S TATERLAND (pronounced Tater-lund).



One time (when I was around 4 or 5), my brothers and I were playing basketball with some kids down the street from our house. At some point, I had the ball, and some kid on the other team was yelling at me, but I couldn't understand him to save my life. I think he was mentally handicapped. But I didn't know this. Instead, I yelled back at him, "Yeah? Well, tomorrow I'm going to IDAHO FALLS!" And then everyone was like, "He says it's their ball, Holden. Give him the ball." And then I felt like a MOOORON. Not really though, because how much of a moron can a 5-year-old really feel like?





The state of Idaho. No seriously. This is what
popped up when I googled Idaho. I don't know what
these guys are doing. Possibly mobilizing to take
out the neo-nazis? IDAHO!



Isn't this story so applicable to our lives? Aren't handicapped people always yelling things at us, and we're always yelling things back that have nothing to do with anything, and then everyone gets mad at us? No? Not ever? Oh. Well... this is awkward.

TOYS!!!!!

So this one time when I was like, 4, some kid in a car crashed into our station wagon sitting parked in front of our house. He came to the door to alert my parents as to what had happened. So he was sitting on the chair by our front door (which chair is still sitting in the same spot to this very day), as my mom and dad were off discussing something or other. At this point, apparently, I wanted to impress the young man, so I went and grabbed an armful of toys from my room, and then brought them out, dropped them on the floor in front of him, and proceeded to play with them.

Do you think the young man was impressed? DO YOU?! ANSWER ME!

As it turns out, he was not, and paid me little attention.

Ah, aren't our cute little lives just like this experience? Don't we always try to impress people with our gadgets, our wealth, our sexiness, our helicopters, our tanks, our rippling muscles, and our organic meatless hot dogs, in spite of their having committed a heinous crime against us, like crashing into our station wagons, blowing up our station wagons with a car bomb, stealing our babies, or borrowing our weed-whackers and not returning them, and yet, we love them as human beings, and we show that love by showing off. Because, you know what, young man who has committed a heinous atrocity against my family? You can play with my toys ANYTIME!

I Don't Want a Helicopter!

1) So, this blog is in tribute to a nice lady I knew on my mission. She was a less-active member of the LDS church. I don't know the circumstances, but something happened, and didn't really like her relief society. Anywho... her birthday is today, June 2nd. When I was in Hendersonville, Tennessee from November 2006-April 2007, we wanted to get her more active in church, so we enlisted the help of the relief society. The ward list indicated her birthday was February 6th, which was right around the corner. So we're like, "Yeah! Sweet! Birthday! Send her stuff! A card! Cake! Whatever! Bam!" Those words exactly. So we went and had dinner at her house later that week. She indicated to us she had received a birthday card for some reason from the relief society, and she seemed annoyed by it. "My birthday isn't until June," she told us. Huh? Turns out her birthday was 6/2, not 2/6 as the ward list had reversed it. LOLOLOLOL. Then I turned to the camera and said, "Oh gee, when will we ever catch a break?!" And we all had a good laugh, including those in the live studio audience. Probably. It was a long time ago.

2) Yesterday was the 1-year anniversary of the Hike Of Death up the Red Mountain. It was a pretty great anniversary. I worked, and uh... yeah, I didn't do anything that even resembled a crazy near-death adventure. I'm sorry. This was a waste of your time to read.

3) I just finished "Catcher in the Rye," so now whenever people are like, "Are you named after Holden Caulfield?" I can be like... "Heck yeah, that book is actually about my life as a 16-year-old, with all the liquor and the girls and the cussing and the smoking and just havin' a party man. Just havin' a party." But if you must know, I don't think quite as much as Holden C. does that everybody in the world is a complete moron. I do think there are some morons, but I don't feel like I'm bitter, except when people sprinkle bitter herbs on me. Or when people cut me off in traffic. Or when pimps punch me in the stomach. You know how it is.

4) I'm on season 7 of 24. There seems to be a lot of this kind of thing... "TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!" or "WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!" or "I WILL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO MAKE YOU TALK!" And Jack Bauer is always right. Always.

5) Don't forget that according to my communications professor, 84% of the world is gay. You are probably gay. I think 84% means beyond reasonable doubt.

Huggy Hugs

I haven't blogged in awhile. So um...here you go.

My swipe card for work broke. In half. How does this happen, you might ask? Well, I usually keep it hung up on my rearview mirror, so it may have been warped by the sun. It was all bent and funny looking, so I tried to bend it back, and it just snapped in half. So now I'm unable to get into work without being really sneaky and going in the door behind someone after they open it. Which is actually a lot more fun. You would think I would go talk to someone about my broken card...but no.

Someone left some groceries on our doorstep. I would tell the person to come get their groceries, but I've already eaten half of the bananas and half the box of wheat thins. So if these bags of groceries were yours, well, there's not much left. You should just come forward and admit to leaving the groceries there, so I can give you a BIG OLD FAT HUG. "Aw, huggy hugs!"-- Dwight Schrute.

I have nothing else to say at the moment. But these things were on my mind.

BearClaw Jones

So...does anyone write blogs anymore? Cool. This is my first in awhile. I'm tired. All I've had to eat today was a bowl of berry colossal crunch, and an arby's sandwich. I have to give a presentation on carpal tunnel syndrome on wednesday. My presentation is really boring. I'm afraid to give it for that reason. I'm wearing my glasses today. Pretty cool huh. I never wear my glasses. I'm not supposed to be blogging at work because they think I might talk about phone conversations on my blog. And I know how much you all want to hear about the daily adventures of sad boring old people. My legs hurt. I think I have a zit on my cheek. I start my clinicals in two weeks. I've dreamed recently of cucumber trees and underwater pianos. I know, magical. This blog is all over the place, because when I'm really tired, I tend to do that. I have a son. He's really cute. He likes to eat and poop and look around at stuff, especially the ceiling fan. Maybe he wants to be a ceiling fan repairman. Good for him. Ambitious young pup. I have to go now. Love me.

Hasten Up the Tower

http://www.lds.org/bible-videos/?lang=eng

I discovered these videos. They are quite excellent. Note that Peter is played by the guy that played Joseph Smith in other church films (except now he has a beard). They were both prophets and presidents of the church. Good for that guy, always landing that important role. I am reading "Jesus the Christ" right now, by James E. Talmage, and my little leather-bound gilded-pages edition is probably one of my favorite books that I own, not only because of the content, but because the book smells so dang good.

Does anyone else smell their books often? Well I do.

If you haven't read "Jesus the Christ," I recommend it. And watch some of those videos. Hey, I haven't written a religious blog in awhile. This is good stuff. Yay!

I have a new son entering the world this month. Kind of a big deal. He'll be a delight. And he'll play Punt with me.

"Learning is a lifetime pursuit."-- Me.

Brains

Brains are pretty crazy. Have you ever thought about it? I thought about it today. Our teacher had a girl read something silently out of the textbook and then tell us about it. I watched her eyes across the room as she read it. It was strange. I knew there was some activity going on in her head, electrical impulses shooting around in her brain as she gleaned information off of a piece of paper, doing nothing but looking at the paper. Isn't that weird? All she has to do is set her eyes on the page, and then this incredible thing happens called "learning," information flying from the page, across the space between her head and the page, converted into electrical impulses in her retina, sent to her visual cortex at the posterior portion of her brain, and then processed. GO BRAINS.

CUSSERS

1) Whenever I have to swear at work, I make sure to do it EXTRA LOUD, just so it comes out correctly on the screen. And also because I get to swear.

2) What if there was a movie with a particular famous actor (say, Will Smith, for instance), and this movie combined ALL of this actor's famous movies into ONE AWESOME EPIC MOVIE? For example, Independence Day, Men in Black, Hitch, I Am Legend, with a particular emphasis on "Hitch,"  but throwing in some zombies, and also, Kevin James tries to eat him.

Boil Away the Bitterness

You know what smells good? Boiling water. It smells boily. Almost... too boily.
With a tip of my hat and a kick of my shoe, BLAH BLAH BLAH SOMETHING PROFOUND.

TELL ME I'M A WINNER.

And then we'll eat the dinner?

Late night TV food? Yes, LATE NIGHT TV FOOD!

A MILLION AND ONE GARBAGES

I"M BORED. WAHHHHHHHHHHH. Help me. Someone entertain me. Do it. DO IT NOW.