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.