My Name is not Randy

My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me "Sue." 

~Johnny Cash, Lyrics by Shel Silverstein. 

Although Shel wrote poems for children, he was a frightening looking man.

It has been several weeks since I have last written on the blog. The reasons for this will probably be addressed in a future post, but the simple explanation is that I did not have a lot of time to write on the blog.

One topic I considered addressing was the migration of some football coaches to the East. (Does the phrase "White Bronco headed east" ring any bells?) I am bracing myself for a large beat down by the U of Fruits next week. Their QB probably will throw for some unseemly amount of yards and will have no interceptions. The guy cannot even complete 10 passes against most teams, but we will let him throw us blind. He always does. I also predict that we will return a kickoff for a touchdown, but that it will be called back for a block in the back. Oh, and watch for too many men in the backfield. That's one of their pet penalties this year.

---

The post for today is sort of a filler post and may only be for the most dedicated readers. I know that there are many of you. Okay, maybe that is an exaggeration.

Several events over the past few weeks have reminded me of some of my more ardent pet peeves. As you may have deduced from the blog already, I am rather easily annoyed by incompetence and general baffoonery. Pretty much society in general. This is what some people refer to as "being a curmudgeon."

One sort of major pet peeve that I have is when I tell people my name and they then ask if I go by Randy. Umm, no. If my name was Randy, I would have said "My name is Randy." I wonder if these are the same people that assume men named William go by Willie or men named Joseph go by Joey. And of course, every Robert wants to be called Bobby or Bubba. That'll get you far in life.

Some people do not even ask; they assume. I am aware of the fact that back in the 1960s or whatever, every man shortened his name to something ending in "-ey" or "-ie." The people that assume are usually from that generation. But I also get assumers among my peers. Those good people that do not understand social cues. Bless their hearts.

As of late, when asked if I go by the name Randy, I usually reply that my friends call me by my actual name and my enemies call me Randy. No one has questioned me further after that. Another move that I use is to tell people who think that my name is Randy that I actually prefer the name Trent with an accent on the "Y." That is, "Trýnt." Very subtle, but very effective.  No one has ever been able to come back from that one.

The reason that I do not go by the name Randy is because it reminds me too much of a man with a mustache and a mullet:

Randy Johnson aka The Big Unit

This is not to say that every Randy has a haircut from the 1980s / wants to look like KC Masterpiece circa 2013. In fact, Randy Johnson is the only Randy I know with a mullet. But I personally do not want to risk the association.

This photo does not do the mullet justice.

Another pet peeve (if you can call it that) is group projects. Because the end of the semester is coming closer, I have had to endure some group projecting. My current group has a tag team duo consisting of the cro magnon man and a guy that looks like a white Shrek with a man bun. So far, Cro Mag has done a sort of decent job. He at least managed to show up with the poster. Shrek (or is it Shreky?)........Shrek is still looking for the Muffin Man. And Shrek smokes cigarettes. Not to be judgmental, but that pretty much sums it up right there. If you are born after the 1980s and you smoke, there is no hope for you. (Okay, smoking is also one of my pet peeves).

This, but with a man bun.

By some miracle, my group managed to actually give a decent presentation. Correction, Cro Mag and I gave a decent presentation. White Shrek demonstrated how to swig Diet Coke while at the front of a classroom. He did a very good job of it. Much Diet Coke was consumed. And he did it without saying a word. Unfortunately, he was not being graded on his ability to consume soda pop. But if he had been, he would have received extra credit.

I could go on about group projects, but I will sum it up by saying that sometimes you just need to put two grown men on your back and carry them up the hill.

I did have a group project in high school that went pretty decently. We ended up dressing up in clown costumes and I played something on the guitar. This was for a math class (#PublicSkoolsWerkGood). We were the first group to present. We were also the last. After our presentation I think the teacher did not dare go on with the rest of the presentations. Who knows what the Honz would have done. After all, she did end up with someone from the U of Fruits.

My Name is (not) Russell

I turn the music up, I got my records on
I shut the world outside until the lights come on
Maybe the streets alight, maybe the trees are gone
I feel my heart stop beating to my favorite song
And all the kids they dance, all the kids all night
Until Monday morning feels another life
I turn the music up
I'm on a roll this time
And heaven is in sight
I turn the music up, I got my records on
From underneath the rubble sing a rebel song
Don't want to see another generation drop
I'd rather be a comma than a full stop

~Coldplay

As some of you were aware, I missed writing on the blog last week. I was officially off doing other business. What that business was, I cannot actually remember, but I am sure it was important.

In the course of the past week, I have had multiple inquiries into the details of my life. This is a rare event, since many times I struggle just to get people to remember that my name is not Russell.

Russell Crowe

Russell Westbrook

 Why do people always think my name is Russell? Do I look like a Russell or something? (See above photos). But that's a thing, you know; people who look like they should have a certain name, yet have a different (unfitting) name. I had an associate once who looked like an "Andy." And his friend was a "Clifford." Their real names did not fit them at all. It can be quite an enjoyable exercise to assign new names to people you know. Nevertheless, I digress.


Owing to the events of last week it seems that I should write something on the blog. I have looked at a lot of options for what to write here, but really have not come up with anything substantial. There is not much to say honestly. There is no video footage. Nothing inventive was done. I did not burn down a field with fireworks. (That's a beginner's mistake). There was no month long build up. I did not rent a helicopter or a balloon. The whole event was what we call "organic." That word, organic, can have many meanings. I am not indicating that the event was devoid of pesticides. Pesticides may or may not have been used. You know I enjoy my chlorodinitronaphthalenes. (That currently is the biggest word I have ever used on the blog). Here is the chemical structure for those of you who follow such things.

But seriously folks. No pesticides were used. However, that is not why the whole event was organic. The definition being used here means "characterized by continuous or natural development." (This is one of the rare times where I will define words on this blog). Not much to say beyond that.

However, I will give a few bits of commentary. 

A little over a month ago, I went to a jeweler and looked at rings. These people were slick as baby oil. Smeared on a sheet of ice. Made of dish soap. They did give me a free half pint of water, so I at least got something out of it. But I do not find myself going to this certain jeweler in the future. 

Let me add here that I do not like going to jewelers. This is one reason why I do not frequent jewelry shops. (Plus, I have never had a reason to go to them in the first place). Some jewelers fancy themselves as being able to tell you what your girlfriend/wife/lover/student (okay most of us do not buy jewels for our students, former or otherwise) wants.  And they have emotion and a healthy amount of tradition in their side. (And I swear I saw a picture of Colonel Sanders on the wall of one shop). I am someone who finds most social tradition bothersome. Yes, I happen to be one of the five people in the world who did not enjoy "Fiddler on the Roof."

Since my first foray into jewel shops was less than auspicious, I decided it was best to take a team of seasoned explorers into the next shop. This trip was much more successful to say the least. So successful in fact that I looked no further.

Last Thursday I finally received a call from Jared. Not the shop by that name, the person by that name. I found it rather ironic that someone named Jared would work for a jewelry shop that wasn't Jared's. Although I guess that we have to let people named Wendy work at Burger King if they want. (However I have no idea why anyone, Wendys or otherwise, would want to work at Burger King. Maybe to get the $15 an hour that such workers clearly deserve). The same logic holds for people named Burger King wanting to work at Wendy's. You have to let them do it, and you cannot laugh at their odd name.

Through a series of events last week, I procured the ring. Then the deal went down, so to speak, on Saturday. Most of you were already aware of this.

After the deal went down, we went to the Deseret Industries to celebrate. We purchased a couple pieces of glassware and went home. It was back to normal life. #NBD.

Finding the Answer

I have been searchin' for ten thousand years
I keep on learnin', yes, learnin' how to ease my fears
Contradictions clearly state
I'm never gonna find you before it's too late
Who could predict a poor man's fate
We gotta keep movin on before it's too late

~The Answer: Never Too Late

I do not usually comment directly on the songs I quote, but today I am going to do so. One of my associates writes about music on his blog, so this is my salute to him. You can skip this if you desire. The band listed above is new to me until recently. Maybe some of you have heard of them. Honestly I do not really plan on listening to them again. (Since I do not even listen to Led Zeppelin very often). Really the only reason I use them today is due to their apropos name and song title. In a limited sample size, I would classify The Answer as a "Led Zeppelin" knock off band from Downpatrick, Ireland. It would have been slightly better of course of they were from Northern Ireland or Scotland, but it is what it is. Nevertheless, their lead singer is essentially your typical Robert Plant impersonator and they play Les Paul guitars and Fender Jazz basses. It also looks like their drummer plays kits with two floor toms and only one rack tom. So, yeah, pretty much Led Zeppelin.

This is actually Led Zeppelin. And the guitar is not a Les Paul.
Unless you want to call the SG a Les Paul, since it technically was called that.

In order to understand the post from this week, you will need to to read the post from last week. Honestly, in order to understand this post you will perhaps more than that. That holds true for most of these posts, in fact. Anyway.

This post will be providing the answers to the test for last week. I will also be providing some commentary to the answers. As always, if you need or want to know more, you know how to get a hold of me.

Several of you suggested alternative answers and methods of taking the test. As will be shown, not every answer was C or something like that. Although, answering the same letter for every question gave some rather hilarious interpretations.

Before I begin, let me also give a sort of disclaimer: As much as most of this blog contains rude satire and philippics, the posts from this week and last week (mostly) contain factual information. Hopefully the well thinking reader can tell the obvious lies from the subtle truths. The substantive conclusions presented herein are perfectly factual.  

1. They kick you out of singles wards when ______________

a. You turn 28.

b. You criticize singles wards on a blog.

c. You get married. 

d. You do not reach the dating quota three months in a row.

C. Not much explanation needed here. Although I have been threatened with with D a few times. Luckily I always managed to find loopholes to fulfill the quota. And it was a good thing I did, since those marrieds sure as heck do not want you infiltrating their wards.

2. "Who is the ginger on your Facebook page?"

a. Peppermint Patty.

b. Anne of Green Gables.

c. I am unaware of such photos.

d. This question can be answered using rudimentary Facebook stalking.

D. "Rudimentary" is a relative term here, but even a Facebook neophyte should be able to at least extract a name and a photograph. Given, I fancy myself as somewhat of a Facebook stalking pro, but nevertheless this task should not present serious challenges to an engine with determination.

3. "Why is the ginger on your Facebook page?"

a. She is the reason why I am leaving singles wards in May.

b. She styles man buns for a living and I am helping her promote her business.

c. I am unaware of such photos.

d. The Witness Protection Program has requested that I post misleading photos.

A. See #1. (Although yes, I have also participated in answer B).

4. "How did you meet the ginger?"
a. We had a class together.
b. We were in a singles ward together.
c. I am unaware of such a ginger.
d. Through systematic dating based upon well established principles of courtship.

A. That is the official answer. This question gave several people difficulties. Alternative answers were proposed. Eyebrows were raised. Threats from foreign soils were issued. (Not all these from the same people). The complete answer to this question is rather complicated. Maybe you will hear the complete story sometime. Let me also add that--much to the chagrin of the Traditionalists--persons marking D on this question failed the entire exam. Just a matter of principle really. 

5. "Why did you meet the ginger?"
a. In order to reach quota.
b. She styles man buns for a living. Who wouldn't want that?
c. This is a question of social economics beyond my comprehension.
d. Dating is deterministic and I went on enough dates to reach the attainment threshold. This is how you find a spouse. You go on many dates and hold hands with lots of princesses and you marry one of them. This is the only approved doctrine.

I have been open in discussing the fact that there is much more that we do not know about social economics than stuff we do know. This concept is among the core topics of the blog. And again, as with question #4, D is grounds for automatic failure. Pass GO and do not collect $200. 

6. "When is the wedding?"
a. February 29, 2016
b. October 22, 2015
c. December 26, 2015
d. May 14, 2016

D. Here D is actually the correct answer. Answer A was at one point in consideration, but I decided to bag that idea once I figured out that I would not be able to win the bronze medal anyway. 

7. "Why is there a wedding?"
a. It should be pretty obvious.
b. You have to spend your millions on something.
c. Because I enjoy standing for hours on end in dress clothes.
d. That's a good question. Why do we have weddings?

A. Although D does bring up a good point. Furthermore, for the record, I have chosen to spend my latest million on some Pink Floyd gear. Or oversees investments. I have not quite decided yet.

The Fender Custom Shop David Gilmour Model.
I do not own this guitar, but I did almost win one on eBay once.

8. "Who will provide the music at the wedding?"
a. Bob Dylan.
b. The Boss, singing "Whip Your Hair" with Jimmy Fallon (AKA Neil Young).
c. Elvis (1950s version)
d. There will be no music or dancing. Or at least no dancing.

B. You had to be there. But there is a YouTube video.

9. "Are you in the witness protection program?"
a. Yes.
b. No.
c. Sure.
d. I am not aware of such a program.

C. No Comment.

10. "Where will the wedding be held?"
a. Winnemucca, NV
b. Portland, OR (or is it Maine......?)
c. Provo, UT
d. Wedding? What are you talking about?

C. The picture stands. But we will be passing through Portland on the post-victory parade. (Which sounds more celebratory than a sidereal body made of beeswax).

11. "Why did you choose the date you did for the wedding?" 
a. Because I became a menace more than two years ago.
b. Marriage is best done hastily.
c. We are delaying marriage. And we like it. #BadUs.
d. We do not live in the same city. And neither of us can drop out of school. 

D. Sadly, there are far too many people who think the answer is B. Alas, no. Answering B would result in #immediateFailure. And even though A is true, it is not the answer to this question.

12. "What does this mean?"
a. I now can go to church and learn about......church (?).
b. I have no idea what it means.
c. My salvation is secured.
d. All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better run.

B. Yeah. About that.

For those of you who want the fast key,

CDAACDABCCDB

 

Although, if you wanted the fast key, you just read through a lot of stuff you did not need to know.

As I always say, if you have further questions, you know my name and my number. And you hopefully do not need to use Facebook stalking to figure out the first.

Mawage

You and me
We come from different worlds
You like to laugh at me
When I look at other girls
Sometimes you're crazy
And you wonder why
I'm such a baby
'Cause the dolphins make me cry

Well, there's nothing I can do
I've been looking for a girl like you

You look at me, you got nothing left to say
I'm gonna pout at you until I get my way
I won't dance, you won't sing
I just wanna love you, but you wanna wear my ring

Well, there's nothing I can do
I only wanna be with you
You can call me your fool
I only wanna be with you

~Hootie and the Blowfish.

To quote the great Peter Cook: Mawage. Mawage is what brings us together today. (Okay, I use this line too much...)

I am done talking about singles wards. In May, my tenure in singles wards will seemingly end in fact. "Why?" you might ask? Here is why:

Choose the single BEST answer.

1. They kick you out of singles wards when ______________

a. You turn 28.

b. You criticize singles wards on a blog.

c. You get married. 

d. You do not reach the dating quota three months in a row.

Owing to the several questions that I have had in regard to the photographer for the blog, I felt it best to try to give a somewhat complete response to such inquiries.

Here is how this post will work. I took a test this week in categorical data analysis and so I felt it fitting that this post takes on the form of a test. I will publish the answers next week. For each question, choose the best single answer.

2. "Who is the ginger on your Facebook page?"

a. Peppermint Patty.

b. Anne of Green Gables.

c. I am unaware of such photos.

d. This question can be answered using rudimentary Facebook stalking.

3. "Why is the ginger on your Facebook page?"

a. She is the reason why I am leaving singles wards in May.

b. She styles man buns for a living and I am helping her promote her business.

c. I am unaware of such photos.

d. The Witness Protection Program has requested that I post misleading photos.

4. "How did you meet the ginger?"
a. We had a class together.
b. We were in a singles ward together.
c. I am unaware of such a ginger.
d. Through systematic dating based upon well established principles of courtship.

5. "Why did you meet the ginger?"
a. In order to reach quota.
b. She styles man buns for a living. Who wouldn't want that?
c. This is a question of social economics beyond my comprehension.
d. Dating is deterministic and I went on enough dates to reach the attainment threshold. This is how you find a spouse. You go on many dates and hold hands with lots of princesses and you marry one of them. This is the only approved doctrine.

6. "When is the wedding?"
a. February 29, 2016
b. October 22, 2015
c. December 26, 2015
d. May 14, 2016

7. "Why is there a wedding?"
a. It should be pretty obvious.
b. You have to spend your millions on something.
c. Because I enjoy standing for hours on end in dress clothes.
d. That's a good question. Why do we have weddings?

8. "Who will provide the music at the wedding?"
a. Bob Dylan.
b. The Boss, singing "Whip Your Hair" with Jimmy Fallon.
c. Elvis (1950s version)
d. There will be no music or dancing. Or at least no dancing.

The Boss. Whipping his hair. With a mahogany telecaster.

9. "Are you in the witness protection program?"
a. Yes.
b. No.
c. Sure.
d. I am not aware of such a program.

10. "Where will the wedding be held?"
a. Winnemucca, NV
b. Portland, OR (or is it Maine......?)
c. Provo, UT
d. Wedding? What are you talking about?

11. "Why did you choose the date you did for the wedding?" 
a. Because I became a menace more than two years ago.
b. Marriage is best done hastily.
c. We are delaying marriage. And we like it. #BadUs.
d. We do not live in the same city. And neither of us can drop out of school.

Too bad the singles ward posts are over. We loved those!

12. "What does this mean?"
a. I now can go to church and learn about......church (?).
b. I have no idea what it means.
c. My salvation is secured.
d. All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better run.

Submit your answers if you desire. You know how to contact me if you have questions. Although, somehow I think that there will not be many of you with questions since most people seem to prefer to keep a level of distance.

Singles Wards. El Fin (del Mundo).

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
No, I aint gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I wake up in the morning
Fold my hands and pray for rain
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin' me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.

I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more
Well, when she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law
Everybody says
She's the brains behind pa
She's sixty-eight, but she says she's twenty-four
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.

~Maggie's Farm; Robert Zimmerman.

This is the final post on singles wards. I hope to never have to talk about singles wards again. Be warned that this post could be rather dense. Although maybe that is what you think of every post.

After a four year tenure in the same singles ward, I recently changed wards. (This came with changing cities). The funny thing is that probably no one even knew I had left. There were no announcements. No crying. No memorials on the ward ("Unofficial") Facebook page. The third hour meeting ended and I walked out the door on my last day. End of story. Three bishops, five counselors, and seven high councilors later my time in the ward had come to an end. Twice I endured the Chalice of Destiny, but no glass was to be raised this day. It was almost perversely amusing.

In saying all this, please to not think I wanted some sort of fanfare on my last day. Far from it. I belonged to the apartment that sat in sacrament meeting with one-chair gaps between us so that no one could sit by us. It gives me the willies to have some glad-handing man in a suit sitting next to me out of a sense of duty. Truth be told, I almost take great pride in being under the radar, in being totally unknown. I do not want you and your social church all up in my face. I find satisfaction in having someone come up to me and ask me if I'm new. (I still got that, even near "the end.") But as I was sitting at home after my last time in that ward, I realized that really I had made no impact in that ward. I went to church for church's sake. I did my calling in the same manner. And it meant nothing in a sense. This is a horribly pessimistic view, but it was odd to realize how little of an impact you can have in four years.

In the first few years in that ward, I made myself more visible from a social standpoint. However I slowly began to see that I just could not dance the dance. My people consistently did not fit in as it pertained to the social church.  This was a realization on a larger scale than just this one ward. The ward itself had little to do with the conclusion that I did not know the social dance steps. It really could have been almost any singles ward. It was just one slice of the wholistic pie.

Let me also add at this point that there were some leaders and ward members that I felt knew me. Not just my name and major, but me. These people made an actual difference. Many of these people (including some readers of the blog) came to my mind. These were people who actually cared. I am thankful for them. However, I could never quite shake the overall feeling of being just a name on a page. I was just one more person to delete from the ward Facebook page at the end of the semester (Too bad I'm not a cute girl, then I would have been given emeritus status. Yes. I am going to call you on that Bubba Fwench.....anyway.)

All of this made me ask why I go to a singles ward. I honestly hate socializing. I hate socialites being all up on me, faking that they care. Nine plus years of wearing the YSA (Young Single Adult) badge has taught me that. Sure, I sometimes went to ward activities and talked to people. Oftentimes ward members would actually reply. But I usually just felt we were playing a recreational game of Spades. We did not care about the outcome, it was just something to do while we waited for the true excitement to start. Once people realized I was not playing with a full deck socially, they just sort of dealt me out. Their spin cycle sent me to the outside. 

Now again, I am not necessarily looking to fit in. And maybe that is the whole point. I do not even want to be part of the singles ward game. I do not know the rules and I keep getting passed the jinx. 

All of this is much more of a personal or internal problem than an issue with any specific singles ward. What I say next can be applied broadly and is certainly not specific to one ward or even singles wards alone. There are lots of "family wards" that have good ol' boys clubs and cliques, blah, blah, blah, so on and so forth.

I have long wanted to know how I can get more out of the block of meetings at church and also how I can give more. Especially how I can give more in a way that is meaningful to the greater cause, ways of making a true difference. Yet I searched for all my years in those singles wards and never really found my place. Naturally much of this is "my own fault." I never was good at "reaching out" (which has become an official social church platitude). I never even really desired to reach out. The onus was on me to make an impact and I did not. Sure, I get that. But there also is an aspect of me that wants to point out that there needs to be avenues for people to contribute in ways beyond "fellowshipping" and glad handing. We need ways that people can make a positive impact even if they do not come to every flippin' Slip 'n Slide activity. (I am not trying to bash on Slip 'n Slide activities. I highly enjoyed the ones I went to. But I did not see them as "fellowshipping" activities. Sorry. Our doctrine is not one of slippery plastic on a hill).

From my view, the propagators of the Slip 'n Slide gospel were sometimes given an almost elevated status in the ward. These were the "fun" people, the people that the leaders invited over for special activities at their house. These were the people who got an honorary announcement in church when they moved out of the ward. We need more than "fun" in church. Again, fun is not bad. It just is insufficient as a doctrine of salvation.

Now sure, I like enjoyment as much as the next guy, but there comes a point where we need to recognize that we need more than gregarious greeters at the doors and in the pews. This is perhaps a view of iconoclasm, but we really do not need people who only come to church to be a socialite. Why is it that the callings of greatest ascendancy are ofttimes those connected with the social church, while the Sunday School president and the Temple & Family History coordinators are shown a seat on the back row of leadership meetings? (Not to say anything about how much they are even allowed to speak in these meetings). Perhaps we got it all wrong. More than once I was told that my calling "mattered," yet I was shown that it didn't. Time and money talk. Enough said.  

Much of what I disliked about singles wards was the saccharin facade. We were (and are) all a bunch of fakers. That's pretty much what I have been taught about how to act in those wards. You have to go in and fake like you are someone's friend, fake that you care about their life, fake like you don't notice that they are faking. Most of the time I really did try. I tried to care. But there still was an element of "fake" involved. Again, this is the pessimism speaking, but most of what I did in those singles wards was fake. 

Some people successfully make an impact in the venue of singles wards. That is positive and good. If you are such a person, I really am glad you were able to find that connection. Honestly, I am. Some of my all time favorite people were also movers and shakers in their singles wards. Yet for whatever reason, I just could never really find any traction in the singles wards I was in. There was a whole lot of wheel spinning and mud flinging, but it never really moved me down the road. At the end of my time in these YSA wards I hopped out of the jeep and realized I had gone 14 feet. Just under five yards was all I had to show for nine years of petrol consumption.

Some local menfolk (both single).

Okay, maybe we are getting lost in the metaphor.......

Let me close these posts on singles wards by saying that I am of course aware that most people are seeking to do their best. We see different ways to climb the hill. I guess I can allow that. Although, let's face it, if I truly accepted this whole stuff about "everyone's trying" then I would not be writing this blog. The very essence of this blog is the concept that I and my people are better at life than the general laity. That is the whole point of the blog: superiority at life. But I will try to keep in mind that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. However, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm no more.

Singles Wards: Segundo.

Old Dan Tuker was a fine old man
Washed his face in a fryin' pan
Combed his hair with a wagon wheel
And died with a toothache in his heal

Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker
You're to late to get your supper
Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker
You're to late to get your supper

Now Old Dan Tucker come to town
Ridin' a billy goat, leadin' a hound
The hound dog barked and billy goat jumped
And landed old Tucker on a stump

Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker
You're to late to get your supper
Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker
You're to late to get your supper

~Attr. Daniel Decatur "Dan" Emmett

Hey Baby. Who's your dream boat?

This is a hate hard post. Be warned. Let me also add, however, that this may honestly be the last hate post I ever write. Okay, next week could also be a hater post. But not as severe, since I have pillaged the entire village and have decided to take my (in)abilities in advocacy elsewhere. But probably not to South Beach. I am afraid I would commit some sort of fashion faux pas.

Pure Frump: Brown Uggs on Black Pants.

As promised last week, I am going to be addressing what I call the "date-n-mate" (DNM) doctrine. I know that this is a rather coarse term for it, but it describes the whole concept rather well. The only way you can find your spouse is through a deterministic system of dating, and the only reason you need a spouse is for the bearing of children. Date and mate. That's the program. I am also aware that most of you probably want me to shut up about this and just let it go. But I enjoy complaining, so here you go, an ungraceful glissade down to the Pit of Whine and Complain.

In my time in singles wards, I have learned that DNM is a common theme (Obvious). Hence the reason I burn down the house on the topic of dating rather often. One can only have their worthiness questioned in relation to DNM so many times before you become embittered.

Although, maybe I am just easily embittered. Go back and read the multiplicity of hate hard posts about the dative paradigm if you want to see this in action.

Early in my career as a "young single adult," I had singles wards with dating quotas, which I categorically disagree with. Perhaps this is why I currently am unmarried. Although, let me add, there were several people who also did not like the quotas and they are currently married. The Beast was not exactly a fan as I remember.

I felt that the quota and intense ecclesiastical pressure to get married led to poor decisions by all parties involved. Church each week could not be considered successful until someone had given a laydown about dating. So much of your worthiness was based on how social you were on the weekend and how many girls you flung with. I know I talk a lot about this topic, but it was frustrating to reach a point where I hated going to church. It was an honest to goodness waste of time.  Ultimately, it was men in their 50s bullying men in their 20s. I do not go to church to be mocked and denigrated. Sorry, but I don't. Having seven daughters does not give you license to mock single men over the pulpit in church.

I have related before some of my experiences with the quotas and general singles ward dating and will not go on and on. All I will say is that true doctrine twisted and misapplied loses its validity. And dating is not a doctrine to begin with, so......yeah.* It does not matter how vociferously you demand it be heard, it's still false. True doctrine is not taught by bullying and belittling, regardless of how good you think your motives are.

Honestly, this is when I became hard. A kicked dog bites.

Now this is of course an awful set of stories to tell and I should probably just let it go.

But perhaps remember the disclaimer here. And we do not do ourselves one bit of good by pretending that it was okay. No. It wasn't okay. I am just going to call a spade a spade here. 

I saw nothing positive come from the repeated goading and shaming. None of us were inspired to do better. No one walked away from the beat downs and dating firesides saying "I am going to change my ways. I need to repent. That was true doctrine." We walked away saying "Oh, they think we are losers. I am an awful person. What a waste of my time." Keep in mind that the members of my singles wards were not unrighteous low-lifes, just wandering around in life. The high majority of people in these wards were in college and seeking to go somewhere in life. I am well aware of the high density of low-life menfolk in certain areas. I saw some of these people while making my rounds in singles wards. However, I was always surprised that people could not see the obvious difference between the men in my singles ward and the hypothetical low-life men of a straw man ward.

The men of my ward (and I think the young ladies as well) were forced into aggressive and unwise dating patterns. It created a cattle auction atmosphere. 

A cattle auction I once attended.

More than once I tried to fulfill the quota with unwise dating decisions. And I was not the only one. The whole "She rages like the sea" incident taught us that. (For those of you who know what that refers to).

Honestly, I do not even really care about myself here. The thing I care about more is the duress that the date-n-maters pushed my people and friends through. It just wasn't right. Some of these proponents of DNM were just honestly confused people. They were trying their best to teach correct principles and just did not posses a fine enough filter to know to whom their counsel aggressive dating counsel should apply. They were guilty of the transgression of being out of touch with the fact that not every man in the Church is a video game playing porn addict.

But there were others who......I just don't know. It is not my place to ultimately judge the motives of these men. Let me just culminate this story by saying that I do not care how rich, handsome, or suave you are; you just cannot belittle my friends like that. People with positive motives don't talk that way. I will say no more about that.

---

* I am well aware of what Robert D. Hales said last week. Honestly I think he was talking about an entirely different type of dating, something that has been perverted into some deranged sort of princess worship and gamesmanship. And notice how Elder Hales presented what he had to say. Did you see how he did it without mocking people? Any questions?

Singles Wards

All the single ladies (All the single ladies) 

All the single ladies (All the single ladies)
All the single ladies (All the single ladies)

  All the single ladies
Now put your hands up

~Beyoncé 

Let me first say thanks to the consultants and to those of you who allowed me to come and see your weird hair dye jobs. #PumpkinOrange.

Over the past several months, I have visited a plethora of singles wards. It certainly added a level of adventure to going to church. I have been to singles wards in several states and cities. I even saw a television star. I also saw some people that could probably star in a remake of "My Life as a Sasquatch." Okay, I saw a lot of people like that.

The next three or four posts will focus on singles wards. I am sure that all of you are absolutely thrilled. However, I feel that since I have had the "privilege" to be a member of a number of singles wards over time I should share what I have found. Furthermore, as alluded to above, I have made it a matter of research to visit singles wards and record data. Over the next several weeks I will present my findings. After these posts on singles ward I will most likely talk about what the future holds for certain readers of the blog and also for myself. 

Also, while I am thinking of it, see the disclaimer at the bottom of the page.*

The main goal of this first post is to address the question "Why do singles wards exist?"
Today I am mostly going to be talking about the history of singles wards (Yes, I have actually read about this in official historical sources. It has reached that degree of sick infatuation) as well as give a smattering of observations that I picked up while visiting all of these different singles wards.

So we ask "Why do singles wards exist?"

Of course, there is the aspect of getting people married. This is never really listed as an "official purpose," but.....yeah. That's the main purpose from every unofficial standpoint. And the social aspect of a singles ward is even alluded to in official Church statements.

After having first started going to a singles ward nine years ago, I have found that some people are highly successful in singles wards from a social standpoint. They love the associated social church and are accepted therein. Many times, this leads to a fruitful picking and pairing in the field of marriage.

However, the whole "date and mate" theme of singles wards is not really what I want to address today. Maybe I will beat that drum next week. In fact, you can count on it.

For now, I am going to more focus on the pragmatic "why" of singles wards.

The Origins of Singles Wards

Unless otherwise noted, the information and dates that I use here come from chapters 42 and 43 of Church History in the Fullness of Times, the official manual for CES classes in Church history.

Following World War II, as Brigham Young University (BYU) began to expand under the leadership of Ernest L Wilkinson, there was of course a large influx of students. As surprising as this may sound, there were actually a few BYU students who were not married. Yes! Not everyone in the 1950s was married at age 18, as some would have you believe. (I digress).  With this marked growth in student enrollment at BYU, the surrounding Provo wards were inundated with single adults--single adults who would stick around for maybe eight months and then move on. This obviously caused issues with stability in the wards and created a large logistical problem. Hence in 1947, BYU began experimenting with student branches. As far as I can tell, these branches consisted of both married and single people. (Yes! They actually had the audacity to mix them. And the married people seemingly allowed it).

In 1956, the first student stake of the Church was created in Provo. Again, this stake was seemingly "mixed," marrieds and singles. This general set up continued until 1973 when the first (assuming that none of the aforementioned units in Provo were not in fact singles wards) singles branch of the Church was organized in Salt Lake City. The concept of singles wards blossomed from there.  

In my personal study of singles wards, I visited a total of eight different wards. I myself have also been a member of six singles wards. Due to my personal situations, most of the wards I visited were in some way associated with universities in the state of Utah.  I did, however, visit a few wards that fall outside this category.

Here are some general observations from my visits.

• The ward I went to outside of Utah was ultra focused on marriage. One speaker (a married leader) told around six jokes about marriage. And he spoke for 5 minutes. If I had to guess, the topic of his testimony was "I am married and hence happier in life than you because I have many children and grandchildren." The other two speakers (also married adults) focused heavily on marriage. These two speakers were at least able to give positive input and focus on the doctrine of marriage. But the first speaker seemed to think he was on The Tonight Show.
• I have heard the claim that women significantly outnumber men in the YSA scene. However, in the wards I went to, the men usually outnumbered the women. I was unable to take a count in every ward, but in the ones I did take a count in, the men always outnumbered the women, sometimes rather significantly (One ward had twice as many men as women by my count). However, the further from a Utah based university that I went, the more the numbers evened out. But even then, there were more men than women. As I have no head count data from a non-university based YSA ward outside of Utah, it is impossible for me to know how valid the claims are that women significantly out number men in the YSA scene. 
• I saw a good number of full Moses beards. I also saw a nice sampling of the oft maligned "man bun."







Twitter @FigDrewton



• I saw lots of backs being worked, especially in my old place of residence (P****). For clarity, a back is being worked when someone is giving another person a back massage. I saw people doing double dutch (one guy in the center working a back on each side). I saw man on man. I saw woman on woman. I saw man on woman. I saw woman on man. I saw woman going over man to work another woman. I saw a "chain gang," where several backs were being worked in a row. (Everyone worked a back to their right.)
• I saw a boy with a head high walking staff at one meeting. Mix that with a long beard and you pretty much are set to go. Picture Gandalf from Lord of the Rings. And that probably was not the weirdest thing I saw. 
• In congregations near BYU, the genders were pretty well mixed in with one another. However, in other cities I went to, it was rather segregated. Men sat with men. Women sat with women. They did not mix. 
• In several of the wards I visited, I noticed a large portion of the congregation had their electronic devices out. I saw the following apps/technology: Tinder, SnapChat (Times a billion), ESPN Newsfeed, Instagram, Facebook, Game of War (or something like that), someone doing "jumbo word searches," someone watching a football game, someone having a DTR via text message (It was not going well. Yes, I read over her shoulder. But that is why you don't text in church).
• One girl who was giving a talk told us that she was born on the day Mt. Saint Helens erupted. That was in May of 1980. Now you might wonder how this girl was still in a young single adult ward. This introduces a logistical problem unique to that area: There are so many single adults 31 and older in that area that they cannot force them into "family" wards, lest the same problems addressed above from post-WWII BYU be again introduced. I guess that the Church could force them into singles wards (31-45 years of age), but honestly the underlying problem is that no one wants to have the dirty job of having to enforce age limits. And besides, singles are a protected group in the Church, so sometimes we are afraid to tell a 35 year-old that they need to move on in life.
• If I had to sum up in one word my overall impression of "singles wards" as a whole, based upon what I saw, I would have to choose the word "drudgery." That is honestly the first word that comes to mind. That or "the maimed and bleeding." I did not sense very many people who were truly excited to be at church. There seemed to be a lot of people who wanted to be excited, but who had just been a circus freak for too long for it to be exciting anymore. And the ones that were excited to be there had that deranged sort of "I enjoy drinking Tabasco sauce and 10W-40" types of looks.
• Many of the singles ward stereotypes were actually seen to be true. (Be warned, some of these are judgmental). Overweight people. General "frump." Immature menfolk. Sad people bearing their testimonies one after another ("This has been the hardest week of my life.") Underemployed people. 18 year olds and 30 year olds without a lot in between. Incessant chatter about marriage. Every speaker telling a dating joke or comparing being a missionary to being married (Um. No). General meat/mate marketry. The frighteningly high amount of activities in a week. (One ward had so many activities they had to give an 8-minute PowerPoint presentation to the congregation just to list them all. This is not a joke). Men with abnormally large pectoral muscles and biceps (AKA, the pest control salesman). I saw them all.

• As part of my research, I also visited a "family" ward. They were probably the friendliest and most genuine of all the wards I visited, but I was a clear outsider. And people assumed I was married, which made it rather awkward at times. 

• Truth be told, I was scoping out how feasible it would be to attend this normal ward on a regular basis. This ward met in the morning and is a two minute walk from my house. My current singles ward meets at 2:10 in the afternoon and would be a 40 minute walk from my house. This is of course a #UtahProblem, but I am a bit disgruntled about having to drive 10 minutes to go to church in a ward I supposedly fit in to but really don't. 
• I honestly concluded that I do not fit into any unit. I am sure I am not unique in this. Who knows what it means. There was a short moment where I wondered what would happen if I just ward hopped for the next foreseeable future. But there will come a point next April or so where I will need to get a temple recommend, so that idea is a no go. I guess until next May I am stuck going to church at 2:10 in the afternoon. 

I will pick up talking about singles wards next week, so be sure to tune in. I know that a lot of you really enjoy reading these whine and complain posts. Okay, maybe not. But still feel free to join us next week.

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*Let me now put a disclaimer here. I also might place some further than disclaimers as the posts go on.

Disclaimer:  I am not sharing what I have learned from being in singles wards as a way of criticizing and demeaning local leaders. Do not see anything I say here as a pointed attack on a specific leader that I had. They are 99 times out of 100 good people trying to do what they can. Furthermore, I am going to try to do what I can to make sure that this post does not read like a list of grievances I have with former ward members. Some of you were in my wards. You might even think you know these stories. Maybe you do in fact know these stories. I don't know. Such stories are ultimately being shared to give you a view into the why behind many of the posts on this blog. It is important to me that you read these stories in the exact manner that I depict them in my own head. This is done so that you can see the same pictures I see. You do not need to agree with my stories or the manner in which I tell them. But I hope to at the least show you how I see these stories. 

Some readers are kin of former bishops that I have had. None of these stories are about them. You know who you are. If necessary, please convey the message that I have no qualms with what happened during that time period.

Please also remember that I employ a degree of hyperbole in these posts in order to emphasize my point. Moreover, if you have made it this far on the blog, I am going to assume that you can tell when I am being snarky and facetious. (Although, let me also say that I still have my doubts about a few people in this regard).

The Continuing Story of Rocky Raccoon

Your inside is out and your outside is in
Your outside is in and your inside is out
So come on, come on,
Come on is such a joy
Come on is such a joy
Come on let's make it easy
Come on let's make it easy
Make it easy, make it easy,

 Everybody's got something to hide except for me and my monkey.

~The Beatles 

Sorry that this post is a bit late. My reasons are discussed below. 

This picture means nothing. Or does it?

In talking to different associates about the blog, I have found that some people read way too much into the blog. They think I am talking about them when I am in fact not. On the other hand, some people do not read nearly enough into it. They never even realize that I am talking about them. Maybe the latter of these two is the more desirable type of erroneous reading. Nevertheless, suffice it to say that one needs to read these posts through the correct lens. There is a leveled understanding with which this blog must be read. 

Some readers have only recently joined us. Welcome. But you should probably stop reading right now, since this post will make you realize your female associate associates with a weirdo.

So yes, this post will not be for everyone. Be warned that it will seem like a riddle at times. This is because I like having fun with both of the aforementioned groups of readers. Also, as I have indicated a few other times, my readership comes from a rather disparate collection of demographics. I have women in their 80s who read this blog. I also have teenage boys who have been introduced to the blog. For these reasons, this post today could only be for a select readership. But I digress.

Since next week will most likely (?) feature the start of a three part treatise on some of my current research in social statistics, this week's post will pretty much just serve the purpose of filling the gap between last week's post and next week's post. It probably will get 30,000 views, since usually that is how it seems to be: The most inane posts get the most views.

This picture means nothing. Or does it?

Here is how this post works. I am going to list 20 reasons why this post was not published yesterday. Some of them are factual. Some of them are not. Some of them are factual, but are not reasons I was unable to write a post this week. Some of them are just what Peyton Manning calls "Ice Cream."

For the "I like to hike in suits" type of  men.
From my personal study of fashion and the use of blue and maroon.

1.  I had a test on Thursday. It was sort of a big deal, since the professor is also the graduate coordinator and I had to look good. Although I am not sure if I should attempt to impress a 46- year-old man that dresses like Justin Bieber on Tuesdays and like he just had a photo shoot with GQ Style (see above photo for example) on Thursdays. That's what happens when you graduate from an Ivy League school.
2. I had a discussion with one of my black associates about linear regression and analysis of variance calculations for grain consumption data.
3. You never give me your money, you only give me your funny paper. 
4. Because Obama Cares. Even when you need to perjure, he is there for you. 
5. I discovered that if you play Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon along side the Wizard of Oz that the music explains the movie perfectly.
6. Because I live in a one room school house. Okay it is not a school house. But it is only one room. Unless you count the bathroom, which did come with a door. (The bathroom having a door was actually presented by the owner as a selling point).
7. I cannot play the flute. At least not well. I actually learned the flute at one point, but Mr. T wanted a trombone player in his band. So I joined general music and sang about the Sign of the Beaver and rockin' my baby in the bosom of Abraham. This was in sixth grade.
8. Someone wrecked their car into a light pole by the roundabout and I had to walk home because the bus could not get past. The bus driver actually had to call and get special permission to let us off at a place that was not a stop (i.e the middle of the road).
9. Julio and I were down by the school yard and he ended up getting in trouble with the law. Luckily it was not for perjury. (Note that Julio is a boy's name, not a girl's name. Hence it could not be referring to a girl). I just told the officer my name was Al and he told me his name was Betty, which is not a name I personally would use if I was chasing hardened criminals every day. But to each his or her own.
10. D-Wag, the long haired elf. Or maybe it was D-Swag, the long haired hippster elf.



"With Hair Strands"-Pixel on Pixel. © 2015 JMC Inc.

11. Do  you know the Copper Top, the Copper Top? Do you know the Copper Top who lives at Park Place Lane? Most of you do not. Familiarize yourselves with the Cu Top. Some of you will have that chance on October 10th. Others of you will need to wait until after school is over. Others of you have no idea what this even means. (See Matthew 13:9). Suffice it to say that I might just slide in for the clay medal. That is of course unless H.U.G or his sister slide in before me. Or the boy with the triangle head. But remember, you heard February 26th, 2016 from me first, right here on this blog. That is when the bronze is going down. This of course only pertains to a select number of you.
12. I had to spend too much time this week clarifying where I used to live. This in part is because Obama cares, and is also in part because some people insist on calling The Pope "Pope-Vatican." Some things you just do not need to clarify. That is one of them. There are others I will not mention, as to not hurt feelings. (p.s. If I have made it this far without offending every single reader, it would be a literal miracle.)
13. I did not pick up chicks this week. Maybe this weekend I will do so. Some of you are already aware of my forays into agriculture. Others of you are still unaware, even after the past two months of blog posts. Here is a picture of Jak, one of my good associates from Nampa, ID. He chose not to buy the house, however.
    
    

    

    Why Hello! My name is Lil' Jak and I give you a thumbs up.

14. I may or may not have watched a snippet of a Pawn Stars episode where a man is offered $600,000 for a guitar that belonged to Jimi Hendrix. And the man declined the money! Although I think the whole encounter was staged, since later the guitar shows up for sale in a nearby guitar shop.
15. Jay Gilmar and I went up the hill on a short climb. We saw some old people and also a man with an overgrown Abe Lincoln beard.
16. Friday is pizza night. But Thursday is ramen night. Most likely the best ramen I ever ate was on a Thursday night. The type of ramen that I had probably most closely resembled tonkotsu (豚骨) ramen. There perhaps was some mixture of miso ramen in there, but I am admittedly not an expert.. Nevertheless, I have long been seeking to convince people that there is a big difference between ramen cooked by hand and ramen cooked by foot. There also is a big difference between ramen cooked by hand and Top Ramen.  
17. She gave me the crime rate data backwards. Luckily, my black associate figured this out. 
18. Right after I posted last week about my being agricultural, my agricultural college decided to bring ten or so large tractors onto campus and park them. I guess this was just to get people excited for the 2015 Reaper Races. (Three weeks from today. Fontanelle, IA is hosting. And we even get a day off of school).
19. Jeddy G. has resigned himself to running marathons. No words yet on the rest of the children.
20. Finally, I am not going to lie, I did spend a little time this week looking into airfare and hotels. I am currently taking applicants for a vacation next spring. (May 14th or so?).  Be warned, the acceptance rate might be low since admissions are tough. You know where to find me though.

This is a gold mine BTW. A gold mine with lots of copper. Perhaps some of you have already sussed that out.

 

How to Pick Up Chicks.

When I was a little bitty baby
My mama would rock me in the cradle,
In them old cotton fields back home;

It was down in Louisiana,
Just about a mile from Texarkana,
In them old cotton fields back home.

Oh, when them cotton bolls get rotten
You can't pick very much cotton,
In them old cotton fields back home.

~Lead Belly, as sung by CCR. 

Today I will be talking about some benefits of going to an agricultural college. I will at times be comparing my experiences with attending an agricultural college with my experiences attending a meat market college. These comparisons are not meant to incite riot on either side as, after all, I have been a student at both schools. And, as always, let me remind you that these posts are meant to have a degree of sarcasm in them. Hence, if you farm alfalfa, please do not think I am actually making fun of your livelihood. All complaints should be directed to my older sister Brunhilde (brunhilde912_TheEnforcer@gmail.com).

Pickin' up Chicks Like a Boss.

Picking Up Chicks

The good thing about going to an agricultural college is that you have an opportunity to learn certain life skills you really could not learn anywhere else. Take picking up chicks for example. When picking up a chick, you must use care not to crush the small bird in your hands. You do not need to give the chick the Heimlich maneuver. In fact, unsolicited abdominal thrusts usually will result in the chick slapping or biting you. Instead, use a soft cupping motion with your hands and scoop the bird up. Ideally the head of the bird should be oriented to allow the chick to properly draw air into its tiny lungs. This means that the legs of the chick should face down. Also, let me remind you to be careful when picking up chicks, because sometimes you can throw your back out. To wit, I picked up a chick one time and did not observe proper form. I lifted with my back and not my hips! My lower back was sore the next day. Although perhaps this was because the chick fancied herself a chiropractor.

The Alffies
Now these tips on picking up chicks are only a small sample of what you can learn at an agricultural college. There also are a variety of clubs one can join. Take the Alfalfa Growers of America (affectionately know as "The Alffies") for example. They have a strong following here at my agricultural college, with over three-quarters of the students pledging at the "Sprout" level or higher. Furthermore, we are one of only three schools in the nation to boast double digit wins at the annual "Reaper Races." In fact, the current record for the 100-acre harvest is held by Richard "Dickie" Kurtler, a former student of my agricultural college. He now has his own line of designer "work suits," with sales in the tens of millions of dollars. Agricultural college can progress your career in ways you never even imagined. And to think that it all began with a simple desire to cultivate a ditch bank weed.

Buck "The Blade" Jennings warming up before the 300-acre harvest race. (2009)

Side Chops
Another interesting thing about going to an agricultural college instead of a meat market college is that men can have beards without the Po-Po being all up on them. (Women can have beards at either institution by the way, although they do not occur with equal prevalence at both schools). I have seen many agricultural college beards. Long beards with beads. Long beards without beads. Medium beards with braids and curls. Short beards with streaks of green. Beards doubling as hairpieces, as well as hairpieces doubling as beards. You name it. I have even seen something the locals call "Side Chops." I grew these so called "Side Chops" one week and it increased my confidence level four-fold. That is the benefit of growing protruding facial hair. Unlike "The 'Stache" (a meat market favorite), sculpted facial hair is salubrious to both body and psyche. 

Feelin' Good.

Engineering
As is common with land grant schools, many agricultural colleges have a strong engineering department. My agricultural college is no different. You can tell how strong a college is in the field of engineering by how many buildings they devote to the subject. At my current school, I believe that there are 37 buildings devoted to engineering. They have names such as "The Engineering Building," "The Engineering Laboratory," "The Engineering Testing Building," "The Engineering Storage Building," "The Engineering Machines and Gadgets Building," "The Engineering Engine Building," "The Engineering Experiment Building," and "The Engineering Test Subject Storage Building." That last one has been rather controversial as of late, but I hear that they serve a mean omelet for breakfast if you have to stay for more than a week.

At my old meat market college, I think we had three engineering buildings: The new one, the old one, and the storage heap. When I was a freshman at the meat market college, I actually went inside "The Storage Heap." One of the first things I saw were some broken machines (steel presses) being stored in a chicken wire cage under a stairwell. Rumor has it that the Ark of the Covenant is somewhere in that building, hidden behind an old milling machine from the 1950s.


Beans 'n Brew
One thing that should not be surprising when comparing my old meat market college with my current agricultural college is the amount of coffee that is consumed at the latter. Although, let's face it, there are probably only about three colleges (Meat Market, Spud Market, Pineapple Market) in the world where people do not drink coffee. Hence this part of the post is less about my agricultural college and more about select encounters with people who consume coffee. I myself do not drink coffee, but I am aware that there are people in the world that drink coffee. This is not a big deal to me. The fact that people drink coffee is just a fact of life and I deal with it quite well.

Admittedly, I do not know why people drink coffee. I guess it wakes them up or something. (That is what exercise is for. Anyway.) But that aside, I have a girl in one of my afternoon classes that brings a one-liter thermos of hot coffee to class each day and drinks it from a tiny little cup. Mind you, she did this even when it was in the 90s outside. She drinks about 12 cups of this hot coffee through the course of the class. I think she might be addicted.

Photo Credit Wanda Lancaster.

Another encounter I had with coffee came during my recruitment to PhD programs. This school was not strictly an agricultural college in the sense of my current school, but the land for the university was donated to the state by two gamblers and a saloon keeper. During one of my days at this said university, we had a meeting for all recruits. The beverage served was coffee (else this story would not be in this section). But the coffee came in what can only be described as "bladders." We are talking light blue rubber bags, much like those in a CamelBak. And the food served was pizza. Nothing beats a good ol' cup of joe from a bladder and a slice of pepperoni pizza. Anyway. #CoffeePeople.

I Want to Hold Your Hand
As I have strolled the campus of my agricultural college, one thing that I have begun to notice is the comparative lack of hand holding. At my former meat market college, hand holding and kissing were plentiful. Sometimes, even faculty members took part in the festivities. I witnessed such an event once. Let's just say that there is nothing quite as awkward as seeing your professor having a private moment of romance in a Thai restaurant. At least it wasn't with a student. (See this former post).

Your average meat marketer. Photo credit JMC.

"Espionage." Photo Credit JMC

Graven Images
One interesting difference between an agricultural college and a meat market college is the statues and artwork they have on campus. At my former meat market college, the graven images were all of people.

Note the hand holding.

However, at my agricultural college, the graven images are a bit more abstract:

Five-way Arm Wrestle.

Stacks of firewood.

Lips.

French Fries

"Man and Club" Pastel on Napkin.
 It looks like he is aiming for a ravine.
Photo credit unknown. Possibly this random man's spouse.
If it was her, credit to her.

Conclusion
There are many other differences between going to a meat market college and an agricultural college. Time does not allow me to mention all of them. However, I will mention that ever since I became a student at my agricultural college, my ability to pick up a chick has dramatically increased. Perhaps this can be attributed to the wonderful symbiosis between my meat market college and my agricultural college.

Thank you to those of you who provided the images for today's post. You can have 100% of the proceeds from what I make from this blog today. Split it however you like.