Groundhog Day and the Elementary School Epic.

Image Credit: Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Over the most recent Christmas break I watched the movie Groundhog Day with (a very disheveled) Bill Murray. As most of you know, the main character in the movie gets stuck in a time loop and repeats the same day perhaps thousands of times. (Or at least enough to become a proficient jazz pianist). I literally learned who Sonny and Cher were from this movie. (Random trivia fact: Sonny Bono became a US Congressman in 1994.)

I started to think about what would happen if I got to "Groundhog" some days. I know there would be a few that could do for repeating.

• That day in Ms. Croffer's Spanish class. Quinci's binder was a complete loss.

• That day in the wrestling room.

• That time Christine Rambis used my phone to text the first girl in my contacts and ask her on a date. It was a girl I home taught. That was awkward.  

These were days that, given a chance to repeat, I could own hardcore (I am working on using some Stuart Scott style verbiage here, in honor of his recent passing). It probably would not even take me a 1000 attempts to get it right. I could take the wrestling room right now in a single swipe.

There also are a few days that I would not want to repeat. November 10, 1997 (A Monday) is one of them. I have no idea what happened that day, but why take a chance on the unknown? That could be the day in 4th grade when I had to write my name in the "bad book" because Sharon Miller threw my eraser in the teacher's purse and I tried to retrieve it. I was very rogue in elementary school. I once choke slammed a kid while wearing a Clifford the Big Red Dog sweat suit. That was in kindergarten. But he got my sweat suit dirty. Of course, I do not need to Groundhog that day, since I gave Tyson Bianderos his due on the first try. Sometimes you get it right in a single attempt. If you are familiar with putative discipline systems or the Witch Watch Consortium, I had to pull down to purple bear for the choke slam. 

Another day I do not need to Groundhog also comes from my days in elementary school. A few of you are married to people from this story. It was toward the end of the year of 6th grade and we had a substitute teacher name Ms. Spiker. This is not a code name--I am pretty sure that was her actual name. Anyway, when I was explaining the English assignment to a classmate, Spiker sent me to the office for "talking too much." But I was not stupid. I knew that she would have no idea if I actually went to the office. She was too busy eating my teacher's croutons straight from the box (Not a joke. She also stole a sandwich from the lunchroom and sat with the 2nd graders). Instead, I hid in the 6th grade bathroom until a "good behavior party" started in the gym (The irony).* I had to cover about a two hour gap, which could have proved lethal in those bathrooms. 

However, about 20 minutes into the hideout, one of my classmates came to use the bathroom and saw me. He thought it was pretty cool that I had not actually  gone to the office. Slowly word spread through my whole class that I was in the bathroom hiding. I had about 15 visitors that day. Some of them were girls. They would stand outside the bathroom and whistle, which was the signal that I was to emerge. It was an epic rebellion. I guess that between kindergarten and 6th grade I had changed from violent crime to infractions of a more perjurious nature. At college about 10 years later, I met one of my girl visitors from that day and she still remembered (unprompted) the time I hid in the bathroom. The event had become legendary for her. And it only took me one attempt.

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*This was a Friday and if we had been good during the week, we got to go to a rewards party.

A follow-up on Qualitative vs. Quantitative

As the last post on this topic was rather long and bombastic, I will make this one shorter and less troubling.

In thinking more about qualitative results and quantitative results, I remembered a story. This is the story. It is about the "dative paradigm."

Many moons ago, before The Beast got hitched and I traveled nigh unto a week to view it, I lived in a ward. I was younger then, but the sun still rose in the east and set in the west. 'Twas a simpler time. There was a decree in the land (meaning throughout The Hood) that each man was to go on a date each week for as long as we were incarcerated in the Hood. Well, if that was not a cat hair in the Kool Aid. Nevertheless, we all sought to realize the promised destiny of marriage by 22 years of age (This was their claim). All we had to do was go on a few dates a week.

Brother Pickle was excited. Now his daughter could marry the most handsome boy in the ward. (Sorry, I had to say that). Thankfully, I was only the second most handsome lad in the land and got out of that one. But I did go to great lengths (Okay, that is a major exaggeration) to hit the quota.

After just a few hours of thinking, I came up with some master plans (now picture a Grinch grin). Some of you may remember the "Loophole, Loophole" dance. It was like I had won a golden ticket AND Grandpa Joe won Who Wants to Be a Millionaire back when Regis still hosted.

I realized that the powers that be never said that I had to actually go on these dates with anyone. So yes, about a half of my quota was obtained by dates in the library sitting at a carrel doing Math 334 homework or something. (Cue the music for why I am still unmarried. That or I am single because I am addicted to video games, since I guess that all single men are addicted to video games. Or so they tell me. But I digress.)

Now some may say that doing homework in the library for a date is unholy before the elders of the town council and that this was not a date. But au contraire! The Three P's were satisfied as follows:
1. Planned. Yep. I planned on being in that carrel at that time.
2. Paid for. Did you think I stole my textbook? Of course it was paid for.
3. Paired off. Me and Boyce DiPrima (The textbook's author). No one else was even remotely going to approach us. (Cue Tommy James and the Shondells)

But then I realized I could mix up my methods. Physics 123 and Miss Lorde? (Paired off. I made sure that strange kid with the MacBook knew that I was on a date with this girl, not him, by raising my left eyebrow if he even dared look in our direction). Thrice was that class 50 minutes of glorious, quota reaching datingness with our lass Miss Lorde. If you count the 4 minutes that I sat next to her before class and the 1 minute after class that I sat and waited for the kid next to me to pack his iClicker, along with the 5 minutes I spent planning (there was no paying), it reached the minimum time stipulations of one hour! We spoke with each other upon occasion: "Did he say that the answer was C?" "Is that a rho or a upsilon?" (which look nothing alike of course).

Keep in mind that saying two sentences to this girl was actually pretty good for me. I have been on dates before where the only thing we said to each other was "Is that an eggplant?" (That was a long hour, but yes, the quota is also filled by speaking of purple fruits used in moussaka, a dish originating with the Ottomans).

I actually saw Miss Lorde not too long ago in the BYU alumni magazine. She looked quite good as it turns out, so I guess all's well that ends well. And glory hallelujah that she helped me reach quota when I needed to settle my tithing or get a temple recommend.

Trees: A Different Kind of Post.

This past summer, as I was pondering upon the "haves" and the "have nots" (whoever they can be defined to be), I came across the poem below. It speaks for itself I think. This was at a time where I felt a bit disenchanted with a one Mr. Ginobili, a "have" that turned out to be far less than what I had at one time envisioned (A one sentence explanation for several years of work nullified). This concept of small versus large, "haves" versus "have nots" is captured pretty well in the poem below. 

The vaunted oak,

From FreeFoto.com

Must stand as I.
Upon the ground,
Beneath the sky.

The birch and beech,
The same must do.
Roots in terra,
Still bind them too.

Yet I can fly,
To further height,
Than redwoods reach,
In flora’s flight.

Do trees pay mind,
To those below?
Or feign they blind,
From whence they grow?

What trees have glimpsed,
I too have gazed.
I’ve viewed the veils,
Of heaven raised.

I’ve seen the low,
Both bad and good,
Who with trees since,
Have same place stood.

Quantitative vs Qualitative: A LONG post on why Qualitative results should precede and drive Quantitative results.

First off, this will be a very long post. This was a month in the making. I wrote this in bits and pieces on scratch papers, so hopefully it all comes together. While this is very long, it can be cathartic to scribble down thoughts as I walk to school. Do not feel obligated to read the whole thing, unless you really want to. Future posts should be considerably shorter and less dense.

One last prefacing disclaimer: what I write might make some people question "What is truth?" (John 18:38). (Yes, I know who asked this).

If you just want to read the personal gossip/anecdotes/witty social critique, SKIP the next three paragraphs.  Warning: This entire post could be construed as judgmental, flippant, and offensive. I have admitted long ago that I think I am better than most people. If you want to read about something cute, SKIP to the very bottom of the post. Throughout this entire post, I am not speaking even remotely about any of you who would be reading this. I am not trying to make any accusations. Asking "Is it I?" is a very needed aspect of life that I will almost entirely ignore in this post. Also, to be patently clear, I am not trying to interpret doctrine or advocate unrighteousness. But we will end didactically.

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One question that often can be asked in evaluating something is that of qualitative results versus quantitative results. In other words, "looks/feel" versus "numbers."

A fast example demonstrating Qualitative vs. Quantitative comes from the NBA. One would never think that a player that has a career average of 6.4 points, 2.8 rebounds, 1.3 assists per game, and shoots 57% from the free throw line (rather mediocre quantitative results) would be a starter on three championship teams and would have his #12 jersey in the rafters of the AT&T Center in San Antonio.  But, Bruce Bowen (famous, so not a code name) was considered an excellent defender--something that sports metrics still have not really figured out how to capture. Bruce Bowen's utility was qualitative. You cannot quantify why he was a good defender; he just was.

Many times in life, we  allow quantitative results to dictate our qualitative results. This can be simply described as "check boxing." Allowing a number to drive our results usually comes at the expense of the quality of our results. Think fast food: Low price (quantitative) yields low quality. I will apply this to home teaching in a proceeding paragraph. 

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SKIP TO HERE for gossip/anecdotes/Slaps In the Face.
In thinking about Qual vs. Quant, I began to realize that in certain aspects of life we are very quick to use quantitative results over qualitative results.

We can count how many times someone has their ears pierced, but we then entirely overlook that there are some "one piercing" people who walk around wearing what can only be described as garbage can lids on their ears (But only one pair!), bright pink "contraptions" on their feet, and painted like they were going to a KISS concert. I guess I could get up at the pulpit in church and ask them if they get ESPN with those satellite dishes on their ears. This might actually have positives, as a good television signal sure would make some of those talks easier to survive without going into organ failure. I am pretty sure that I darn near blew a spleen during some of those Corn Flake Especially talks (Wait, was that a Fred Rogers reference?). Although maybe that was just because the guy in front of me had gone nose to navel. It is not easy to spend 45 minutes silently laughing without losing a few vital organs. Well, the spleen is not vital, but you get the point......

As usual, please do not think that I walk around at school or go to church and keep a tally for times I have though "Oh, Sister Macafeeley has those darn tin cans hanging from her lobes and is painted like she thinks her name is Ace" (See far right man with Gibson Les Paul). If you were to ask me which girls in my current ward have their ears pierced and what type of earrings they wear, I would first say "There are girls in my ward...?" and then I would say "I have no idea. I do not go to church to observe such things." I think that the girls in my ward are overall quite decent and respectable young ladies. (Alas, none of them read this). And it is not my place to begin placing them into categories of naughty and nice, pierced once or pierced twice. But, I think this illustrates how we are really good sometimes at publicly judging people over the pulpit in a quantitative manner ("I would never associate with someone who has her ears pierced twice," while holding up two fingers), but we turn a blind eye to things qualitative.*(Disclaimer)

KISS/"The Midlands 12th Ward." 

Since the last paragraph was offensive, I will talk about something less offensive: Home Teaching. Back long ago, my family had some home teachers that were amazing. Brother Beard and Brother 'Stache would bring Oreos for Christmas. And that was all they did.  Now naturally, for some families, home teaching needs to entail more. Rightly so. But for us, that was sufficient. They shot 8.33% from the FT line (Worse than Bruce Bowen, but not worse than BYU's basketball team last year). This was their quantitative result.  But their quantitative result was perfect. Again, I am not advocating not doing home teaching, but I think that we need to start letting the qualitative result drive the quantitative result, not the other way around.

I  heard first hand a story just this week from a young mother with a son who is about 5 or 6 and a baby that is 1 year old. The mother was painting her basement walls in preparation for carpet that was going to be delivered the next day and had just put the baby down to nap. Then her visiting teacher called and wanted to stop by and share a message--right then. The young mother deferred, saying that she was trying to finish painting her basement while the baby slept. Undeterred, the visiting teaching came anyway because "she had not missed a month in over 55 years." But instead of helping paint or tending the young boy/baby, this visiting teacher came and overstayed her already unwelcome welcome, then taught a message from the Ensign that I'm sure was touching. And meaningless. But she got her number: 100%. The mother then had to stay up late into the night making up for the hours lost while the visiting teacher got her numbers. 

This story is not to discredit visiting teaching. But I think we can learn something about qualitative and quantitative aspects of Church service. You might have just hit a half court shot, but if it was in the other team's hoop no one really cares.

Now for another (subtly) offensive paragraph. I remember a time when I was a visitor at church (If you are asking "Is this my ward,?" rest assured that it is not. You would know beyond a shadow of a doubt if I am talking about you). I knew pretty much no one there, and they did not know me. I was the proverbial "unshaven single man" in the back. One of the speakers got up and began to go into a long diatribe about why he hated how the Church expends its tithing money on "stupid and ugly people." And people began to laugh in approbation. Wait, really? Oh, sure, these people probably pay their 10%. But perhaps these nameless people missed the qualitative aspect of paying tithing.

As a visitor, it was sort of a one and done thing and I have never seen these jokers again. However it opened my eyes to the fact that we would never dream of paying only 9% (a quantitative result), but it is easy (and defended with vehement importance in the Waddlyacha 8th Ward I guess) to belittle how our 10% is used. Perhaps this is where we ask "Is it I?"

The overall conclusion I want to make is that too often we allow a number to become our doctrine, then checkbox that we have adhered to that number, and pat ourselves on the back. That about sums it up.

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*(Disclaimers). Yes, I heard live (and reread and watched while writing this post), the counsel given by President Gordon B Hinkley on women and earrings. It was given in a talk entitled “Great Shall Be the Peace of Thy Children” in October 2000 General Conference. Some things to keep in mind:
1. Sustaining a leader for something they never actually said can be nice, but baseless. The question we now need to ask is "What did Gordon B Hinkley say?"
2. I have no idea how to even interpret for you personally what he said. You need to do that.
3. It is entirely fine if you walk away from reading the talk and still feel exactly the same as you did before reading it. I am not trying to convince you of a certain view on earrings. 

4. We can read some interesting words in 1 Samuel 16:7. As always, I am not advocating that our appearance does not matter, but this teaches us an important principal. I am aware of course that a woman who wears large earrings can still be an entirely worthy member of the Church. The last thing I want is to turn this into some sort of bash on women and modesty.
5. That oft used "body is a temple" argument is rather specious here. Are we really going to say that a woman who has her ears pierced once has not defiled the temple, but ears pierced twice? Well sister, that has now defiled the temple. You read that talk, and he clearly makes a wise social concession (Okay, I interpreted something). In our society, it is perfectly acceptable (by myself included) for women to have their ears pierced. But again, read and listen to the talk, because both mediums were informative for me.
6. Gordon B. Hinkley sat on the BYU Board of Trustees since before I was born. And yet BYU's Honor Code always previously allowed for 2 sets of earrings.  
7. If I had daughters (which, as you know, I do not), I probably would advocate them not to have their ears pierced twice.
8. President Hinkley was clearly speaking in an overall qualitative and not quantitative manner. And that is the subtle point that both he and I are making.
9. I am also aware of what Elder David A Bednar has said on the subject ("Quick to Observe", BYU Speehes). He closed by saying "The issue was not earrings!" I could clearly say a lot more, but I will not. 
10. Understand that I could write a tome as thick as the US tax code and still not cover all of the different aspects of this topic. I know that some of you will take (and perhaps have) what President Hinkley said differently than how you perceive I have interpreted his words. Again, "What is Truth?"


SKIP TO HERE for nothing offensive. Here is a cute little book that I have never read: "Pinkalicious."

If I had daughters (which, as you know, I do not), I probably would advocate them not to read this book.

Ten D's I Never Learned in The MTC

As several of the people that follow this blog are associated with my days as a full time missionary, I have decided to write a post about 10 things I learned on my mission that no one ever teaches you about. Most of these are not meant to be taken totally seriously. Several of these are about food. Others are not. They actually all seem to either be about food or personal injury. Some of these are a bit risky to share, but it is what it is. These ten points are just my opinion. Some of you may disagree with them. Please contact me if you feel that I have again dishonored your Great Granny Bazookaloo (Two girls have already contacted me over the 10 P's of dating post; neither was happy).

1. Disgusting Mayonnaise. I began life as a hater of mayonnaise. And then I went on a mission. When I received my mission call numerous people told me I would have to eat dogs (see below), squat in every appointment and in every loo, and probably would lose weight (I served in one of those places). They never mentioned the whole "mayonnaise on a sweet potato" thing. Yet somehow on my very first full day in the mission field I was handed a sweet potato heaped with mayonnaise. After two years in the country and another five-and-a-half to contemplate the whole ordeal, I still am not quite sure if that was Elmer's wood glue or that putty stuff that my 4th grade teacher put in her wig to make it shimmer.

2.  Dislocation: If you stretch once, you will stretch forever. I made the mistake of leading the mission in stretches once at a Christmas party. I then led the mission in stretches for the rest of my mission. Some of those last zone conferences were the hardest because I had to continue to think of new stretches to do and I was becoming less and less flexible.

3. Dancing with the Saints' girls. There is a talk by Spencer W Kimball where he speaks on the evils of dancing with the Saints' girls. Yet I did it. I danced with 'dem girls. Now, I am rather poor at line dancing (Is that what that type of dancing was called?), however we had a ward party where I had to dance with the sister missionaries. Disclaimer: We never touched each other. I guess you could almost  say that I danced with my companion, but that sounds even more inappropriate, so we will stick with the first explanation. I learned from this experience that "If You're Gonna Play in Texas, You Gotta Have a Fiddle in the Band." I also learned that I am not built to dance. This has never hurt me in life.

4. Dames of correspondence. If you are a man, there are five types of women you might receive letters from on your mission: Grandmother, Mother, Sister, Girl you will marry, Girl you will not marry. I received three of these types. Keep in mind that I have no sister and I am not married. I am pretty sure that several of the girls that wrote me letters on my mission literally can no longer remember my name--and the rest wish they couldn't.

5. Dog tastes like beef. Just take my word for it. I've been to a dog farm.

6. Dress Code: Watch what the companion wears. Tie? Check. White shirt? Check. Nametag? Check. Leopard print pencil skirt? Check.....Wait what? Let's just say it had been a crazy two years and we were LOOONG gone. 'Nuff said.

7. Doors: Subway doors will shut on your head if you let them. My very first day in the mission field, even before the awful mayonnaise incident, I was riding on the subway to get to my area. I had all of my earthly possessions (and by that I mean 3 suitcases) with me. Somehow my trainer had also ended up at the "Meet your young padawan" meeting with his own suitcase. So we had a lot of burdens to carry and we were the beasts to bear them. Jollily we rode along on the subway until my companion realized our stop was THIS ONE, RIGHT HERE. He then made his grand exit. But when you have two bags the size of small cars, graceful exits will not be your forte. I was no different in this case. I grabbed my bags and lunged for the doors, right as they began to close. If those doors shut, it obviously would be bad, as I had no money and could not speak the language.  To make matters worse, the next subway stop left the mission. So thinking fast, I tried to throw myself out of the doors. But these huge bags held every part of me--besides my head--inside the subway. Yet my head got out! And the doors shut. I am pretty sure that the entirety of my 2 years passed in this next moment, but someone screamed and a lot of people jumped up. Somehow the doors opened and I got out. The rest of those missionary buffoons I was with thought it was quite the lark. 

8. Dream Diagnostics: Avoid the mission psychiatrist. Every year a psychiatrist would come and talk about mental health. Now I am in all seriousness an advocate of good mental health. However this guy always made me feel nuts. It is like when someone talks about lice. You just feel involuntarily itchy. I remember the time he came when I was about 4 months from going home. He gave a 15 point checklist for self diagnosing a mental illness. And I had about 13 of the 15 bullet points. Again, 'nuff said. 

9. Domestic delicacies: The weirdest food you will eat is "American." Some may disagree with me on this, but I ate some wacko pizza and hamburgers on my mission. All too often, someone would hand me food that was "American," yet had some strange twist done to it. The only possible place they could have received inspiration for that concoction is my elementary school cafeteria--and they sent four or five kids to the ER every year with their salad dressing alone.

10. Don't dink then drive: You can be involved in a hit and run and walk away from it. This probably was actually a true miracle. One day when I was walking to district meeting, a lady on a cell phone hit me with her car as I was walking down the side of the road. She swerved back into the road and drove away. Or at least she was gone when I was able to get up and ambulate again. (Somehow I actually got up and walked away from this). It was in front of the temple, so maybe that helped my cause. If you wonder, I did not tell my family about this until after I was home.

Bonus. For those that know: Bawk, Squawk, Squawk, Squawk. Chirp, Squawk, Tweetle.

The 10 P's of Dating

There is a talk called "Dating versus Hanging Out" by Dallin H Oaks (Given May 1, 2005) that has become legendary for those that advise the YSAs of the USA. I think that everything Elder Oaks says in that talk is based upon valid conclusions.  People just love to (mis)quote from it. It can be fun! Now I could write a lot about this talk and some of the odd dative dogmas that have sprouted like cheese mold from it. Perhaps at some point I will write a post about social statistics and what it tells us about marriage trends, dating, and hanging out (and how it is not at all as bad as we think). But for now you can read about the Gale Shapley algorithm on Wikipedia.  However, before moving on, let me just add that the last time that I hung out, none of you under age 30 were married. In fact I can think of a few people over age 30 that were not married at that point. I read from the talk again while writing this. Please do not look at what I say here as some sort of serious exposition on the topic of dating. Instead, this is a serious exposition on the topic of post Cold War approaches to reconstructing the poultry industry in Strandburg, South Dakota.....errrr wait, wrong blog......

 

And now!!!!The moment of truth!!!! The 10 P's of dating. But first a comment on the original three. They actually came from a teenage girl. We will overlook that. The original P's are "Planned," "Paid," and "Paired." Insofar as I can determine, I have never broken these rules. Although maybe I will receive multiple nasty messages from girls I've dated, saying I dissed them, their people, and their Great-Granny Bazookaloo. Well, I probably will get such messages whether I say anything on this blog or not, so there you have it.

Okay, now I really will post the 10 P's. These are all mine. Some are more pragmatic than others. In order for something to count as a date, you must fulfill at least 7 of the 10. 

1. Practice. Some of you may remember "Practice on the expendables." Do a few basic run throughs with your roommates. Watch for the high ball screen and the pick and roll. And someone box out Rondo!

2. Pack the Peanuts. Salted, unsalted, shelled, unshelled, dry roasted, honey roasted...doesn't really matter. Something high in protein will keep you in the game when you are feeling listless and all you can talk about is eggplant.

3. Precious. Say "My precious" at least three times on the date. The glory of this phrase is that it can be used in two different ways. If the lady is a romantic, "My precious" is a great term of endearment. I use different terms myself, however. On the other hand, if the situation dictates, you can use this exact same phrase, but said in a creepy Gollum voice. It all depends on the girl. Some of them really go for the "short, balding, ring-obsessed, man sporting only a loin cloth" types. 

4. Polka Dots. Something about white circles on a dark background just screams "Hey honeybunch, who's your dream boat?"

5. Puppetry. If you ever feel yourself grasping for things to say, a puppet should be your go to move. Sock puppet, marionette, ventriloquist dummy, or hand puppet; each will liven the mood. Both entertaining and educational, puppets can make even the most awkward situations manageable. Get in the groove and let the puppet do the talking. 

6. Prom. Don't go.

7. Personal Flotation Device (PFD). Marty McFly wore one for the entirety of the first Back To the Future movie. And girls liked him because of it. A PFD will significantly lower your risk of drowning in her ocean of emotion. Or at the very least you will not go down if the waiter spills your drink on you. Remember that most PFDs are dry clean only. 

8. Pass on the Princess. If she is a primadona with a tiara, you better check she's not still in preschool. Such a puerile practice should have been purged by prepubescence. As the saying goes, when you date a princess, you date her fairy godmother. And then you end up riding around in an oversized squash for the rest of your life. 

9. Pine Sol. Ladies love that fresh "just cleaned" smell. Dab a bit behind the ears and in the armpits. Avoid the mouth and eyes.

10. Progressively Peculiar. Begin the night by acting quite normal. Slowly ease the discussion towards a conversation on beavers. End the night by asking her opinion on men that wear hip waders to restaurants. Slowly raise your pant leg to show you have a pair on under your trousers. Smile knowingly because, hey, you have to use those waders and that $30 fishing pole somehow.
 

Validation

Earlier this year I attended a social function, which is rather rare for me. As with most social adventures of this nature, attendees came from various levels of coolness/importance in society. When I attend events such as this, I have a tendency to rank  the people in attendance. Here my rankings were based in large measure upon where a given person was sitting and with whom they were seated. The seating was not assigned, but attendees generally placed themselves in a sort of natural hierarchy. Those of larger importance at the party sat closer to the food. Those of lesser importance sat further from the food and also many times had fewer guests at their table.

Part of the way through the event, one of the associates that I attended this event with was invited to move from our table and ascend to a table of higher "rank." The people at this table were more highly regarded by those in attendance than the table I was seated at. The people at this table observed my associate and deemed him worthy to ascend to a higher rank. This was validation.

A person I was sharing my low ranking table with connected this to a parable in Luke 14. I will not fully relate it here, but it speaks of moving from a position of low rank to a position of higher rank at feasts.

Now I was okay with this associate moving up to a higher table, as he usually has zero validation in his life. As my brother and I have said, "Ryan always gets the short end of the stick." I like to think of it as the "bunting game." If you are familiar with baseball, sometimes when a player gets on base, the following batter will lay down a sacrifice bunt to move the base runner into scoring position. There are deeper examples of the bunting game that are topics for another day. (Generally, our success always comes at the expense of someone else. This leads to null/fixed points in topological sociology models. If you have seen A Beautiful Mind, John Nash studies topological sociology).

After this social event with said ascendancies, I began to think about validation. Generally there are four types of validation:

1. Validation we seek and which is appropriate.

2. Validation we seek, but which is not appropriate.

3. Validation we do not seek, but which is appropriate.

4. Validation we do not seek and which is not appropriate.

Here I will define "appropriate" as "validation that promotes a positive and meaningful outcome or existence." I will give examples of these in the following order: 3,2,1,4

My associate Ryan received type 3 validation. He did not seek to move up to a better table, but he was glad to do so.  

Now for #2. When I was a teenager, I was at a formal gathering of sorts. The final person to address us (a woman of about 32 years of age) got up and began her speech with a joke about nuns relieving themselves in a fountain of holy water and a priest drinking it. The joke was inappropriate on multiple levels. (And you know it's bad when a 14 year-old boy recognizes this).  But people laughed. And the joke would not have been funny even if told in a saloon at 2 a.m. Yet somehow people felt obligated to validate the lady for her poorly delivered and inappropriate joke. Type 2 validation.

I think we all get what #1 is talking about. You buy some sort of "cute outfit" and 23 tall dark and handsome men compliment you on it. This is of course an example from the perspective of a girl, albeit an example that probably never happens in real life. Let's face it, most men cannot even remember what they are wearing, let alone deliver a meaningful compliment to a girl on what she is wearing. This is perhaps because most men only know the names of basic items of clothing and stopped learning colors after the first grade. A man might say "Oh, Jennifer, that is a lovely red shirt." But, what the man does not know is that  Jennifer is wearing a "rosso corsa" (that's a color) rujjilerubbledijeridooin, which in some obscure Aborigine dialect  means 'thing made from a squirrel pelt that looks like a shirt, but is in fact also a pair of shoes and a designer Swiss watch that accentuates the eyes.'" This latter example possibly demonstrates #4. Jennifer does not seek validation in regard to her clothing in that manner and the validation was not appropriate.

 I actually have both given and received #4 type validation. I remember one time about 10 years ago when a girl told me she liked my shoes. Trying to be humble (or something), I told her I liked her shoes also. Then I noticed that she was wearing some ratty Reeboks that had probably seen about 20,000 miles. She was not seeking validation for her shoes and my attempt at validation was rather meaningless.

My receipt of #4 type validation occurred once when I was being given a calling at church. I was told that, with my "outgoing personality," I would be a great fit for a certain calling they wanted me to do. The only problem is that I have a corrosive and closed off personality. And admittedly I despise the "social church." So I was validated for being "outgoing," but am in truth about as outgoing as a squirrel pelt. Who knows, maybe they mistook my necktie for a rujjilerubbledijeridooin and thought it meant I actually liked people.



Note: I wrote this in part during a Math 675 seminar while a student was babbling about Puiseux Series Approximations.  Whatever that is. His handwriting was so bad that I could not follow him.