Granite Flakes.

Why don’t we stop fooling ourselves?
The game is over, over, over
No good times, no bad times
There’s no times at all
Just the New York Times
Sitting on the windowsill
Near the flowers

Time
Is tapping on my forehead
Hanging from my mirror
Rattling the teacups
And I wonder

How long can I delay?

We’re just a habit
Like saccharin
And I’m habitually feelin’ kinda blue
But each time I try on
The thought of leaving you
I stop…
I stop and think it over

~Overs (Simon & Garfunkel)

This is a post for those of you who watched the TV show Granite Flats that appeared on BYUtv. This is an angry post. As the readership of this blog is rather diverse, I know that talking about a niche television show is not what everyone is looking for. Next week will be about a completely different (but yet to be determined) topic. As always, leave comments below if you so desire.

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I was a watcher of Granite Flats (From here on, GF). As you may know, GF was cancelled rather abruptly last Thursday. There had been suspicions that the show would not continue beyond the third season. The announcement last Thursday confirmed this suspicion. BYUtv released the third season this past April (online only). I guess they plan to show the third season episodes on BYUtv this coming October. As the show has been cancelled, I doubt they will get much of a viewership. Although BYUtv is not exactly the model for marketing prowess. The only advertisements they seem to have are about food hoarding or local law firms. You would have to be rather dedicated to GF to tune in in October. It is like watching the Super Bowl a week after it happened. You already know that your team lost. Why watch it?

As those of you who have seen the third season of GF know, the final episode does not exactly have a positive resolution. Having the lead suspect in a murder escape from prison while the main character's father is at an undisclosed location (and maybe dead, maybe alive) is not exactly a good way to tie up a show. I had hoped that at the very least BYUtv would make some sort of two hour special to wrap it all up. It now seems that this is rather unlikely.

In thinking about the cancelling of the show, I came to the conclusion that we are not getting the full story. We were just told that "it’s time for the Granite Flats chapter to come to a close." (This is from a PR drenched letter to fans posted on the BYUtv website). My personal guess is that the monetary resources for GF were taken to be used elsewhere (i.e. for the football team). BYU Football had their media day on Wednesday last week. There have been announcements about a living stipend being disbursed to athletes this coming year. BYU is giving $4500 per school year as a stipend. This ranks as the 10th highest stipend in the nation. The administration of the team has also indicated that such a stipend is not sustainable currently (i.e. unless BYU gets into the Big XII). But in the mean while, BYU will just shift some funds here and there and find a way to pay the stipend. (In other words, cancel GF).

Now I do not know if this is the reason GF was cancelled. It is only a guess. Maybe BYUtv really is that bad at marketing. Admittedly, as a business model, a television station run by a religious institution like BYU is a difficult proposition. Most of what is advertised on TV these days cannot be advertised on BYUtv. Any caffeinated beverage is out. Any clothing is out due to perceived modesty issues. (Even capris could be too suggestive. Let's not get going on shorts). The list goes on and on. Furthermore, I understand that the purpose of BYUtv is not primarily to make money. BYUtv's aim is to provide positive entertainment that "uplifts." Although this move does not feel uplifting, it feels deceptive. It is like complimenting someone on their shoes to distract them while you steal their wallet.

Part of the reason that GF was started in the first place was "to create an innovative, purposeful scripted series to see if people would watch as families, friends and colleagues." (Again quoting from the BYUtv website). In the beginning, GF was an experiment. However, they seemingly took the word "experiment" too literally. All we really were is the test subjects I guess. They figured out people liked the show then cut funding for the experiment. We were not real viewers, we were just part of the experiment. Of course the show was moving towards a resolution. But they had not reached it yet. It was a sloppy and cheap way to go out.  I think they lost a significant amount of credibility by this move. People will begin to see them as the KBYU of old, a local station where you could pick up general conference biannually.

I will close with a letter I wrote to BYUtv about the cancelling of GF. 

BYUtv:

I am writing concerning your recent cancelling of Granite Flats. To begin with, I will be quite frank: Cancelling Granite Flats was a poor decision. Granite Flats was your flagship series both in terms of reaching a diverse audience, as well as presenting your declared mission of "purpose driven programming." The show was the medium through which you were able to present entertainment that was different, entertainment that was positive. However your abrupt ending of the show without resolution showed BYUtv is a fake and a pretender. Granite Flats was all a big lie I guess. The development with Wallace Jenkins? Fake. The growth of Herschel Jenkins? Totally fake. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. Ezekiel Scott and his dream of racial equality? Complete fiction. The Andrews and issues of conscience? Obviously fake. Pretenders have no need of a conscience. That's what the curt and unceremonious cancellation of Granite Flats showed. It was just a bunch of flap jaw. You said good things, but never were able to really stand by them in the end. Instead of showing resolve to stand for good, you fled at the very moment the cause gained momentum. 

Understandably, the Granite Flats project could not be perpetuated forever. The show naturally had to end at some point. This ending, however, was anything but natural. This ending was sloppy. It was ungracious and ungraceful. While you presented 24 hours of quality family entertainment, your 25th hour was not your finest moment. Unfortunately this is the hour that most people will remember. You came across as cheap and unprofessional, both to those who watched the show as well as to the writers and actors. Viewers are probably not going to forget this anytime soon. I know I will not. I have no plans to watch any further programming on BYUtv. Why would I invest my time in your shows, just to have them abruptly cancelled? 

In closing, I am aware that monetary considerations may have played a role in the cancelling of Granite Flats. The administration of BYU of course allocates more money to certain areas than others. Whatever your reason for cancelling Granite Flats in the brusque manner you did, I was disappointed as a BYU alumnus to see such poor representation of my university.

A Gastrosopher's Guide to Etiquette.

Laughing on the bus,
Playing games with the faces.
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.
I said, “Be careful, his bow tie is really a camera.”

~Simon and Garfunkel

I once attended an etiquette dinner when I was 15 years of age. It was weird. A church gym, a middle-aged man in an ill fitting tux acting as maître d', along with chicken "warmed" (Since you cannot cook in a church building) on a stove top make for a rather strange etiquette dinner. As I have grown older, I have learned various things about etiquette. I rarely practice them, however. Perhaps this has led to my current status. Nevertheless, I provide a collection of tips for those wishing to perfect the art of social politesse. I have not tried all of these in public.

The Invitation. Many formal occasions are accompanied by an invitation to attend said gathering. These invitations may include amusing photographs, especially if it is an invitation to a wedding dinner. Let's face it, pictures of people kissing are weird. Why in the world would I want that hanging on my fridge? We get it. You like kissing each other. Wedding invitations really should include some useful information. I want vital statistics. I want educational attainment and ACT scores. I want prison jumpsuit number (#VVP-890 if you wondered).  

Most invitations will have the letters "RSVP" inscribed on them. I have never know exactly what "RSVP" actually means, but I assume it means either "Reconsider Samuel's Vacation Plans," or "Rapidly Send Viper Poison." Somehow this translates to "Please tell us if you want to come and eat our food."  Some traditions are rather hard to understand. 

Once in a blue moon someone will send you an invitation to a wedding reception you are not invited to. I knew of a woman who received a wedding announcement stating that the "happy couple" had been married two weeks prior in a private ceremony. Gifts were to be directed to their new apartment on 178 N. Lark Street, and they were still in need of bed sheets and a chocolate fountain. Towels would also be appreciated, as their current set was being used in lieu of bed sheets.

The Clothing. Your clothes will be the first thing that someone sees about you when attending formal occasions. If you are a man, you probably will need to wear a suit and tie, maybe even a tuxedo. Make sure the cummerbund is snug on your stomach. Here is the suit I have chosen for my upcoming* wedding.

If you are a woman going to a formal occasion, you will somehow feel obligated to show up in a costume that required a 13 piece crew from NASA to assemble. I remember hearing once of a lady who ordered a dress with a thousand tiny bows, all hand stitched one at a time. Absolutely ridunkulous.

The Seating. Some formal dinners will assign you a seat. Others will allow you to choose where you sit. When you are allowed to choose your seat, I suggest you follow a few rules of thumb. First, sit with old people. They always get served first. Secondly, sit near the edge of the room. The servers are going to work from the outside in. Sitting near the exits also allows for a fast get away when the entertainment becomes dull. One other trick I use is removing a chair or two from the table when no one is looking. This allows you to have more room to expand and also cuts down on the number of people you will need to talk to. If I wanted to talk with people in close quarters, obviously I would just call them on the phone while on a packed city bus. Having to wear a tuxedo and eat soup at the same time is more than enough. We should not need to throw in talking with seven other people as part of the ordeal. 

The Napkin. The napkin is usually a piece of cloth. At cheap places it is paper. We will assume you only practice etiquette at fancy places and will ignore paper napkins. The following pictures give examples of various ways to wear the cloth napkin.

The Bib.

The Babushka.

The Bandit.

The Bandana.

The Breathe Right Strip.

The Flatware. In most cultures, those of high society will expect you to employ the usage of metal eating utensils. There are four basic categories: fork, knife, spoon, and asparagus server.

A formal dinner will have seven forks. Starting from the side furthest from the plate, the first three are for eating, the fourth for grooming, and the last three have yet to be used in formal circles for any worthy purpose. In fact, if you use the seventh fork to eat or groom, many restaurants will have you removed from the premise. I had a date to a restaurant by the name of Le Poulet Barbu ruined by this rather obscure rule of bonnes manières. 

Asparagus Server

Knife and spoon usage are much easier. Only use the knife to defend yourself or to cut your date free if she becomes stuck to the chair due to her enormously over sized dress. Luckily I have only had to do this on two occasions. The spoon pretty much is used to eat everything the forks cannot handle: soup, Jello, cold cereal, apple sauce, etc. Although I would think twice about ordering cold cereal at a formal dinner.

The asparagus server resembles a fly swatter made of stainless steel. If asparagus is presented as part of the meal, this tool can be used to lift the fibrous ditch bank weed onto your plate. It can also be used to fling the fibrous ditch bank weed into the darkened corners of the room. I use the silver fly swatter for the latter.
 
The Belching.  In some cultures, it is considered rude to belch at the table. In other cultures it is considered rude not to belch. A rule of thumb is that you should belch first and then ask for forgiveness if someone gives you a strange look. Heaven knows we have heard worse things in church gyms.

The Toast. At many formal dinners there is a type of glass called stemware. I learned this word from Marissa in Early Edition. People will propose toasts with these glasses. If you are feeling bold, you can propose a toast. All you need to do is clear your throat, arise, and say, "I would like some toast." The waiter will then bring you a small saucer with two pieces of bread, a stick of butter, and some jam. You may then give a short speech on a topic of your choosing. I usually opt for something such as "The rise and the fall of the Dutch duke's cummerbund." He had bought it too large you see.

The Entertainment. Some form of entertainment may be provided while you eat and digest. A common type of entertainment is a speaker. Now, not all speakers at formal dinners are meant to be intrinsically entertaining. In fact, for me personally, most speakers at dinners are not entertaining on their own. I have to make them entertaining. This is actually my specialty: snide commentary on so-so speakers. Sure makes church easier. We might not go to church to be entertained, but I at least want to leave entertained. And some of these people make it too easy to not be.

Although, a type of speaker that is even harder to endure is one who thinks he's funny when he isn't. These are the type of people who ruin that one television show on that one channel. Who are these jokes aimed at? Thirteen year-old girls raised by blonde sloths and Jar Jar Binks? A joke told poorly is worth negative points.

The Conversation. While in formal circles, people may occasionally talk to you. It is usually best to reply. Speak with a British or a French accent at all times. Sometimes it is okay to use a formal Southern dialect, however this really only works if you have white hair and are wearing seersucker. Discussion topics may center around Brazilian tree larks, your own brilliance, or even pro wrestling. You should, however, avoid speaking of your own brilliance as a pro wrestler, especially if your opponent was was a Brazilian tree lark. 

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*The wedding has not happened yet so it must be upcoming, right? I will let you know after it happens. That way you will know when and where to send the bed sheets and chocolate fountain. Cash gifts in unmarked bills will also be acceptable.

#How I Met My Wife

After a while you start to smile now you feel cool.

Then you decide to take a walk by the old school.
Nothing is changed it's still the same,
I've got nothing to say, but it's okay.

People running round it's five o'clock,
Everywhere in town is getting dark.
Everyone you see is full of life,
It's time for tea and "Meet the Wife."

Somebody needs to know the time, glad that I'm here;
Watching the skirts you start to flirt now you're in gear.
Go to a show, you hope she goes.
I've got nothing to say, but it's okay.

 

~Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

This is sort of a Part 2 to a previous post from the beginning of March where it was suggested that I needed to use a more radical approach to my finding someone to marry. I must admit that I have not adjusted my strategy much, even in light of that post. The green grass grows where the green grass grows. Perhaps this is due to an acquiescent acceptance that the filtration is incongruent with the matching criterion. That's nut job speak for the fact that we somehow think you find a girl to marry via a ritual of bowling and miniature golf. Maybe we don't actually think that, we just preach it.

Nevertheless, I am going to provide a few suggestions as to methodologies for finding the green elephant. That's nut job speak for providing suggestions as to how to find someone to marry. Many of you already have crossed that threshold, perhaps even by using one of these methods. If you found your spouse via an unusual method, consider sharing it in the comments below.

1. Opportunity Knocks (You Down). I knew of a man who met his wife by hitting her with a door and breaking her nose. This was total dedication on the part of the lady. She committed to take the charge and stood in without shuffling her feet. That's how you play both ends sometimes. #LockedIn. #NoSacrificeTooLarge.
2. Dear John. This is one of those classic stories that you hear as a mission legend. Boy gets a Dear John letter from his lover, companion starts to write to the former lover, they hit it off and end up getting married. This never happened to me from either end. But supposedly it happened to a pair of companions about five years before I arrived. Maybe this is why I had a companion that tried to hide the fact that he had a girlfriend that wrote him a letter every week, including photos. The letters would come in these cute little red envelopes. Maybe they were actually silent howlers. But wouldn't that defeat the purpose? Perhaps she was angry he didn't call her on Mother's Day. #TheyWereNotHowlers. #IKnowYouHaveALoverBuddy. #JustAdmitIt. #ISawThePhotos.
3. Dryer Lint. I think that this is one of those occurrences that could only happen at my current locale. There was a boy who cleaned all the lint screens at the local laundromat each time he did his laundry. It was probably just a manifestation of this boy's obsessive compulsive behaviors. But a girl who did her laundry each week at the same time as this boy saw it as a manifestation of his "focus on service." So they got married. Rumor has it that the girl used a pick-up line to the tune of "I'm stuck on you like a piece of lint. Your static is too attractive to resist. Will you marry me?" #WeirdlyAttractive. #Clingy. #NeverHangYouOutToDry.
4. Lucky Charms. The story goes as follows: You meet the future spouse at a Harry Potter dueling club. She's a Slytherin, you're a Gryffindor. But the moment you see her green eyes and amber hair you know she's the one for you. Together you will conquer trolls in the toilet, drink butterbeer, and probably get a bat boggey curse or two thrown your way. Just make sure that the punch at your reception isn't spiked with polyjuice potion. All it would take is one errant hair from the beard of that weirdo uncle of hers and your sister pulls a Hagrid. #TenPointsToGryffindor. 
5. Yodel-eh-hee-hoo. If you want to avoid the entire sister-becomes-bearded-giant fiasco, consider finding your spouse in a more benign setting. Take yodeling for example. The word "yodel" comes from the Austro-Bavarian word jodeln, meaning "to utter the syllable jo." Can't get more benign than that. Yodelers rarely have issues with spiked-punch-induced androgyny. Most civilized communities have a local chapter of the Yodeling Enthusiasts in Leather Lederhosen (YELL for short). The dues are very reasonable, especially considering the fine-looking frauleins that frequently flock to yodel with YELL. No price is too large for opportunities like that. And it's not everyday that you can appear in public in lederhosen. Or a leopard print onesie. #HighOnTheHillWasALoneyGoatherd. #Yodel-eh-hee-hoo.
   
    
6. Criminal Intent. I personally have never heard of someone meeting their spouse while committing a crime, but I am aware of a guy who took a girl I know on a date to commit some petty thievery. They had to climb a few chain link fences, but who's counting? And one thing I later learned was that if you bring a piece of tough canvas you can cover the barbed wire without a problem. #LifeHack. #ThugHack. #ThugHag. #HagLife. #VVJailCellBlockC. #TechnicalFoul-890. #WingBacker.
7.  Running Down A Dream. This one is derived from personal experience. Almost 10 years ago now I was out running. I did this as a form of exercise. Near my living quarters there was a long hill. I ran up the hill. Then I started to run down the hill. As I was running down the hill I saw two people--females--also running down the hill. They did this as a form of exercise. I think. In some circles their movements would have been called "going slower than I can walk." They were doing one of those herky-jerky jogging motions that actually turns out to be slower than normal walking. So, feeling pretty good about my ability to run faster than I walk, I shot past them. After I was about 40 feet in front of them, I was feeling pretty high on passing the two jerking joggers and I tried to jump over a cement column (~one foot tall) where a street light had once been mounted. But, since it was dark, I missed the fact that the column had long bolts sticking out of the top. One of them caught my foot and I performed a nice head-first slide on the pavement. (This was probably a manifestation of last week's topic of karma). The girls caught me and asked me if I was okay. If I had been wise, I would have tried to work this to my advantage and gotten two new investigators. Instead, I shook off the fall and just ran away, road rash and all. This turned out to be a bad decision on multiple levels, since I next encountered a throng of people crossing the street to a baseball game. They kindly pointed out that I was "Bleeding a lot." But, if this ever happens again, I now know what to do. (As a side note, please understand that I don't usually judge people on how they run. Furthermore, I have seen lots of men who also have bad running technique. To the credit of these two girls, they at least got themselves out there, which is more than can be said for a lot of men.)  #TwoNewInvestigators. #"Jogging"
8.  Above the Ceiling and Below the Floor. This story comes from my friend's parents. They told this to us while we were eating rice and sausage at their house. This is an honest to goodness true story (I have added some details to make it flow though). I guess that about 30 years ago they knew a man and a woman who were both reaching age 31 and who also happened to live in apartments on top of one another. This was before mid-singles became a special interest group, so these two almost-31-year-olds knew they had to do something quickly. Because otherwise, how would they ever find a spouse if they didn't go to a single's ward? Thus, just nine days before he turned 31, and just three days before she turned 31, they met in his apartment and decided to get married. Mind you, they had never previously dated. The only face to face encounters they had was when they met at the mail boxes. But she had heard him singing Phantom of the Opera through her floor (his ceiling) and that was enough for her. A month later they got married. #ThereIsStillHope. #ButICannotSing. #AndIGetNoMail.
9.  Zoo Keeper. If you have ever been to a zoo (a real one, not the local preschool), you may have seen the elephants (Alas, they are not usually green). There once was a man who went to see the elephants. His friends all told him that if he just looked hard enough, he would see the elephants. They had all seen elephants before and were rather pleased with themselves. But in this man's excitement to maybe actually find an elephant, his fervent exuberance overtook him and his great aunt Agnes pushed him into the elephant habitat as he leaned over the railing. Luckily he was rescued by the elephant tamer, who also happened to be single and looking for a man among the elephants. #MyLifeAmongThePachyderms. #TheTermPachydermIsNowAnObsoleteTaxonomicOrderOfMammals.
10.  Your Honor. Have you ever had to serve jury duty? You will be subject to the process of voir dire and will probably just be sent home when all the games have been played. But they pay you $8.10 an hour and give you a tuna sandwich with chips if your servitude extends over supper. As bothersome as jury duty can actually be, if you are looking for a spouse, jury duty can be twisted to your advantage. Picture this. They lead all the potential jurors into the room and you see the cute little red-head of the group.

    

    I have no idea who this girl is.

    You manage to squirm into the seat next to her, even though it means knocking over that older lady with lumbago. (She wasn't going to make a good juror anyway.) The bailiff asks you your name, and you say "Charlie Brown." Red-head says "Heather Schulz." Next they inquire as to marital status. You: very single. Her: single. Then they ask "Occupation?" You say "Specialist." She says "Biofuels Chemist." (Score one for the home team!). You begin to realize that tuna and chips doesn't sound half bad now. Maybe you will get selected for a month long trial. That means sequestration. That means 16 hours a day with Miss Red Head. This could be good. This could be really good. Yes, these are the potentials of serving jury duty. #ResultsMayVary. #Specialist. #TunaSandwich. #WithChips.

Karma

Karma karma karma karma, karma chameleon
You come and go, you come and go
Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dream
Red gold and green, red gold and green

~Culture Club 

 Instant Karma's gonna get you
Gonna knock you right on the head
You better get yourself together
Pretty soon you're gonna be dead
What in the world you thinking of
Laughing in the face of love
What on earth you tryin' to do
It's up to you, yeah you
~John Lennon

Last week I was riding back from a vacation in Idaho when we came across a large traffic jam. This was by Malad Pass, for those familiar with the area. Malad Pass is pretty much where you go if you want to get in a car accident. We got in an accident there about 15 years ago. You also go to this area if you desire to get into hot water while driving an unmarked Chevy van with dealer plates and a man in the passenger seat who has not aged in 20 years. (This reference will tie in later, for those who, for a variety of reasons, know what this is referring to).

The Ultimate Associate Wagon

However, we luckily managed to dodge that ill-fated Chevy van trip (for a variety of reasons) and our our encounter with Malad Pass was merely someone who got into a traffic accident.

As we were working our way through the traffic jam, a big black truck ripped past us on the shoulder. Highly illegal. This is the type of person that deserves a personal visit from karma. I would give my vote for the black truck to get stuck in quicksand. Maybe as a bonus karma could also allow one of the local cows to give the driver a good wallop. However, as far as I could tell, karma never served the black truck its due justice. Although about 20 minutes later we did catch back up to him. And we had taken a 10 minute break at a rest stop (Also by Malad Pass). So maybe karma was manifest by the black truck just being slowed down. But honestly that is a pretty lame use of karma.

Now there are many times in life where, if I was at the controls of karma, people would get there just due. Sometimes we speak of "good karma." Really good karma to me is when karma strikes people down. Other people being struck down by karma is good. (Or is it "well?" No, it is good. Please believe I when me say me was taught well grammar good by my peers). But anyway, we should all enjoy a good karma induced strike down. Good karma is when that girl who dumped you three years ago on May 7th is now languishing in Granville, ND. She's not married, and I'm not bitter. So there.

In keeping with this theme of rambling about karma, I have compile a list of times I have seen karma manifest. Many of these deal with someone gaining copious amounts of adipose tissue, going bald, or some combination of the these. I think this is because karma likes to go to the head, the belly and the hips. Karma has waaaay too much to do to become inventive. This does not mean that people who are bald have been stricken with bad karma, nor should it infer that....."adipose tissue"......indicates wickedness. This is why karma is good at what it does. You never know who to blame.

Let me also place a fast public service announcement: If you are 23 years old and have pronounced male-pattern baldness, the comb-over does not go over well. (Well, it doesn't matter WHO you are, comb-overs will usually not go over well). But in a very literal sense, a comb-over does not go over well. They comb over poorly and blow off even worse.

 Without further ado, I present the short list.I came up with a much longer list, but most of them were too wild. Not that avoiding the wild and weird has stopped me in the past, but today I have somewhat refrained.

• One type of karma that I personally did not witness, but have read about in the Bible, deals with Herod the Great. Herod commanded that all males under the age of two should be slain. Herod then was killed by a form of gangrene of the genitals. At least according to Wikipedia and the famous Roman historian Josephus.  

•  On my mission I had a companion who got the bad end of karma. In this case, I actually think karma came down way too hard. The stun gun must have been set on the wrong setting, because this guy got a pretty harsh punishment. To make it worse, it was served by a lady that had to be 115 years old. Picture Yoda, sans green skin. Well, on good days, sans green skin. One day this old lady gave him some 떡 (Ddeok). This pretty much amounts to eating an entire rice cooker's worth of rice, shoved into a small, dense, unflavored brick. A so called "rice cake." My companion decided to throw most of it away in the dumpster behind the church. Bad idea. The old lady found it (Fact: Old women in Korea are champion dumpster divers, even past the century mark it appears). After I was out of the area the ancient lady invited my companion to come to her house for dinner. She then proceeded to hold the missionaries captive for the next three hours and force fed them enough food for six head of bovine.

• I also had personal encounters with food while on my mission. I flirted with karma as it pertains to food on a regular basis. (I also had a companion who flirted with his former girlfriend on a regular basis. This was how I learned the word 시시덕거리다. This, however, is a story for a different day).  But back to my original story of karma and food. As a preface, it is important that you understand that, as a missionary, you are forced to eat many things you would rather not consume. This is especially true when you cannot speak the language and you are at a dinner appointment. The only way the host can interact with you is to command you to eat more. On one such occasion, after only having been in the country for about a month, I came up against an especially tough dinner appointment. I swear that all this lady ate was rice and undercooked fried eggs--the runnier the better. Desiring to avoid salmonella, I tried to avoid the runny eggs as much as I could when we went to her house each week.  This time though she wised up to me and took one of her special fried eggs off of the plate and put it into my bowl. However, I still outwitted her. I just let the egg sit in my bowl and ate the rice around it. After she got distracted talking (she was a gabber), I threw the egg back on the serving plate. About two minutes later, she snatched up my cold, coagulated yet runny (former) egg, rolled it up, and ate it like a Twinkie. After the dinner was over, she congratulated me for eating so much. Karma served. Karma served good and well. I guess I can just be grateful that instead of being matched against an ancient granny, I was only competing with a less wise middle-aged woman.

• I will close with the following piece of karma. There once was a man who brought a hat with the logo of his "favorite" sports team to church. He then placed said hat on pulpit while giving a talk. This man later was hit with a horrible aging bug. As in, 36 to 66 in ten years. Having high maintenance daughters can do that to you. But putting a U of Fruits hat on the pulpit is ten times the hammer. And this guy got pile driven.

In closing, let me add that I still have several karma petitions currently pending. I do not know when karma will get around to answering them, but some people are due......I am sure that doesn't sound sinister. Right, Mr. Ginobli?

Defending the Thesis

I knew a man his brain so small
He couldn't think of nothin' at all
He's not the same as you and me
He doesn't dig poetry, he's so unhip that
When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talkin' about Dylan Thomas
Whoever he is
The man ain't got no culture

I been Mick Jaggered, silver daggered
Andy Warhol, won't you please come home?
Been Roy Haleed and Art Garfunkeled
I just discovered somebody's tapped my phone
Folk rock
I've lost my harmonica, Albert 

~A Simple Desultory Philippic

As some of you are aware, I go to graduate school. This week I defended the thesis. You can look back at older posts on the blog for more info about what I say about graduate school. This post will be short. There will of course be longer posts in the future, probably about one of those topics of iconoclasm, delivered in the form of a desultory philippic. 

Now it would be great if I could say that the thesis that I wrote made some meaningful impact on the world. It didn't. You can usually tell how monumental someone's thesis is by the length of the title. This is at least true in math. If someone has a thesis entitled Tensors, then you can know that they had an important thesis. On the other hand, if the title of their thesis was Recursive Methods for the Development of Categorization Techniques of Geometric Lie Subgroups Over Manifolds of Low Dimension and Non-compact Support,  you can know right away that the thesis was written just so that the person could graduate. If they were feeling especially daring, perhaps this long-thesis-title-writing person even put some hidden gems in the text of the most boring chapter. This way if someone is reading the thesis (40 years later, only in the name of science) and comes across the phrase "This finding is important because it means that mountain trolls actually do exist. Two of them ate the squash from my garden," the reader's life will not have been entirely wasted.

Five whole pages of my thesis are devoted solely to computer output. Another 22 pages are just pictures. But they are not interesting pictures. Here is one of them:

This is one of the more interesting pictures mind you. We were pretty happy to actually find a way to make the picture be in color.

I did wonder how insanely boring it must be to be on a thesis committee. Your job consists of reading every insipid detail about some banal topic, then pretending to actually understand what you read. During my presentation I actually saw one of the committee members with his eyelids drooping.  This probably actually played to my advantage as it meant he was limited in terms of what types of questions he was able to ask because he was slipping into a coma.

Before I defended the thesis the college sent me a packet of documents I had to fill out. By about page 46 I stopped reading what I was signing. Without knowing it I probably signed a document stating I was a mountain troll and ate someone's squash.

Roommates and Roaches

Watch out, you might get what you're after,
Cool baby, strange but not a stranger.
I'm an ordinary guy,
Burning down the house.

Hold tight, wait 'til the party's over,
Hold tight, we're in for nasty weather.
There has got to be a way,
Burning down the house.

~The Talking Heads 

So, this week I will be talking about some of the different types of roommates that one might come across. Maybe some of you have an eternal roommate that fits into one of these categories. Choose your love, love your choice. Although sometimes we do not choose our roommates--they just propose to us. Or something like that. Since starting college, I have had 49 roommates. All have been male. This is actually much higher than I thought (The number, not the gender). Let's hope I can push it up to 50 in the next five years, maybe in a 49-1 gender distribution.

Let me clarify that unless specifically noted, the roommates listed here are not necessarily roommates I personally have had.  If you actually were my roommate at one point, perhaps you will know some of these people. Please, please, do not think that I am trying to call you out. We do not need another Carly Simon moment. I also have realised that some roommates I have had could fit into several of the categories (Right now I think I have a guy in mind that could fit four distinct categories. Wow.)

A few of these will admittedly require a rather pronounced understanding of the code names. This will especially be true on the one about the roommate who had no concept of personal property. Because Kappa is with Lambda, but his name is Clifford, but Clifford is not his real name and is not to be confused with the Kappa Prime, because that's a woman (I think) who liked Alpha Andy. And all of that makes perfect sense.


The Chef. One phrase: London Broil. For some of us, that says it all. Picture multiple crock pots full of beef, smothered in fresh garlic and spices. But  I will say this, the dude only made one bad meal in his life. Cinnamon and broccoli just do not make a good match. I could tell hundreds of stories about "The Chef," but that would be a post in and of itself. So I will summarize it with just a few phrases: "Rice and chicken," "The Hog's on the couch," "Forgive us for our hubris," "The microwave is melting." I probably should also mention hiding in the back rooms to avoid the wrath of The Chef in his task master role.

The Kid. This is a roommate that was still learning the halls of the local junior high when you were in college. This is a roommate who does not know who Monica Lewinsky is because he was born after "that" happened. And O.J Simpson? That's Homer's older brother, right?

The Lover. This is a common type of roommate. A man with an oft-knocking woman. Some people do the whole girlfriend thing well. Others don't. These latter group sometimes break your couch. I will spare you the details. All I can say is Sink Girl sank our couch. I have also had roommates who handle the lover life well.* They managed to realise that I sometimes wanted to use the kitchen or the living room. And I did not have to feel like I was a chaperone for a chimp in heat on Animal Planet.

The Chatter. This roommate is a subcategory of The Lover. Specific to the Chatter is the fact that his lover lives in another time zone and he somehow thinks it will be a good idea to stay up until 2 a.m. getting chatty with her on "MSN Messenger." (You can know that this was not The Kid by the fact that he used an IM to talk to his girlfriend). And he did not even end up marrying the girl. This is usually how it is actually.

The Bad Boy. Avoids going to most ward activities, including "FHE" (which I'm pretty sure stands for Freakishly Huge Entertainment, but I haven't found that in the handbook yet). One time this roommate did not reach quota for dating and did not feel remorse about it. (Awful, I know!) For good measure spilled an entire Crock-Pot of barbeque pork in the corner and stained the carpet red. Nothing could get the stain out. They even tried Bon Ami. Good thing we have couches that can be moved to cover the stain. 

Mr. Chicken and his ghost.

The Trapper. This is the type of roommate that goes to bed and locks the bedroom so you cannot get in. Half of the time you wonder if he even is in school. Then he gets a subpoena from the California Department of Justice, but you realise he has fled the country. At least he found his ham sandwich and a wife.  

The Beavers. These are not roommates, but rather friends of a roommate. The beavers come unannounced and must spend the night dammed up in a pile in your front room, blocking even the simplest of tasks. These large toothed friends usually hail from a university up north and smell of burnt wood. (Possibly from a burned dam?) The reason why these second hand roommates are called beavers is lost to history. 

The Bulldog. "I like power lifting. A lot." That sums it up. Picture a dude that can dead lift 600 lbs and sits in the front room in short pants. Drinks a lot of protein shakes and "whey." Moonlights as a security guard. He did smile one time. The San Antonio Spurs had just won the NBA title. The smile was short lived. Maybe it was his inner Tim Duncan.

The Keeper. This one is sort of like The Bulldog. The main difference is location. The Bulldog spent his time in the front room on the couch, whereas The Keeper spent most of his time in his room. I was home one time for an entire day (foot injury) and The Keeper literally went from 6:30 am (or earlier) until 8 pm without using the bathroom or coming out of his room. And we lived on the third floor and faced the main road, so he was not going out of the window (in either sense). We called this guy The Keeper as a shortened form of "The Keeper of the Chamber of Secrets." There was another time that we had not seen the guy for...a while, so we opened his door to see if he was dead. This literally was what we thought. We though we had become "those roommates" that let a guy die because we did not check on him enough. But he was just fixed on a video game--and had been in there for 24 straight hours as far as we could determine.

The Farmer. There once was a boy named Shmuck. He had a farm--a server farm. It caused a massive power bill. To the tune of $200 for the month of June. Shmuck and his server farm.

The Parasite and his trawler. Is it a common practice to wrap your lover up in the blankets from your roommate's bed? I didn't think so. But there he was, The Parasite, in the blankets from someone else's bed. With his girlfriend. Trawling along the Bayou. Eating seafood he was not ready to pay for. The Parasite once let Santa Claus sleep in his roommate's bed when he was away. The Parasite also used my towel a few times, so I exchanged it with a towel I used to clean the toilet. All I can say is that old habits are hard to break and somehow that towel ended up wet after he took a shower.

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*Although, the week before they got married also proved rather difficult in the furniture department: Evenings usually consisted of them telling jokes from the back of LaffyTaffy wrappers, followed by collapsing onto the floor in a fit of hysterics. I only had to administer oxygen once or twice. #EngagedPeople

Dating is Dead: Part III

I walked along the avenue
I never thought I'd meet a girl like you
Meet a girl like you.

With auburn hair and tawny eyes
The kind of eyes that hypnotize me through
Hypnotize me through.

And I ran, I ran so far away
I just ran, I ran all night and day
I couldn't get away.

~A Flock of Seagulls

This is the final installment in the rant. You will need to read the previous two posts to get caught up to speed if you are just joining us now.

Let me begin today by reiterating that I am aware of the fact that there are ladies who feel they have been marginalized by men only wanting to hang out. This is where a choice can be made. Contrary to how some view it, maybe the proper response to what you perceive to be too much hanging out is not to barricade your house until a Prince Charming comes knocking. Have you tried asking a boy on a date? Not everyone is culturally comfortable with this, but I am personally of the opinion that you either need to be the change or go to the bench. Bounce or be bounced. When you allow yourself to become victim to a restrictive social practice, how in the world can that be my fault? Stop blaming me when you fall into the pit of your own social Dawinism.

"Call me old fashioned, but....." Yeah, about that.

The movement within the society to which many of us are indigenous is not to give women less of a voice or to maintain a certain sort of paradigmatic status quo. This philosophy is not just growing in prevalence in the world, but within the Church (with a capital C) as well.

Asking boys on dates is not for every girl. Even some men are opposed to it. I guess I can live with this. But I am strongly of the opinion that when you ride the status quo train, you go where the track takes you and you do not complain to the driver when it does not go where you want. This is true not just in your puerile romanticism, but in life in general. 

These opinions on girls becoming involved in the asking process are usually rebutted with one of two thoughts: "That's a man's job" and "Back when I was young...." Perhaps these two views are really the same view expressed in different ways. In some senses, it is hard to argue with the first phrase. As long as "A woman's place is in the kitchen," I guess that I will concur that it is a man's job, not a woman's, to initiate all dative interactions. But wait, no well thinking person would actually say that first phrase. Why? Because it is from a bygone era.* I would argue that you cannot have progressive ecclesiastic and educational goals for women while retaining retrogressive social and systemic views to accompany them.  As for you "back when I was young" believers, all I have to say is that smoking kills. And it took a couple centuries to figure it out. Aren't we glad someone finally wised up?**

I remember reading a recap once of an NBA basketball game on January 26, 2011 between the OKC Thunder and the Minnesota Tiberwolves. A player named Kevin Durant (pictured above) was asked about how he had scored 32 points in the second half and pulled down 18 total rebounds for the game. Summarizing, he said something akin to "My shots where not falling in the first 24 minutes, so I decided I needed to just focus on grabbing rebounds. I think my rebounding sparked me a little bit. I started scoring when I became active on both ends." That's my philosophy. Be active on both ends. Any old fool can cherry pick beneath the basket and then complain when no one passes them the ball. You might have some other social perspective. That's okay. The NBA has  players who are pure scorers (e.g. James Harden). I just partake of a more progressive philosophy.*** And don't blame me when your barn burns down. I told you waiting around and smoking in the hay loft was a bad idea.

Not too long ago I was involved in an online discussion on the topic of hanging out. An "older" (her designation, not mine) woman told me her daughter had not been asked on dates because the single men in her area are all addicted to "Settlers of Catan." **** This woman's daughter just loves opera and no boy has asked her on a date to the opera house. That was why her daughter had yet to find a spouse: all of the boys in her town refused to take her to the opera. Darn those opera hating boys. The mom then cited the "back in my day" excuse as to why the daughter refused to run the floor or grab any rebounds. She wanted someone to pass her the ball, and she did not want to set a pick to get it! 

This mother concluded by speaking on behalf of the Church, and then claimed insight into psychological aspects of being a single man: "The church is becoming very concerned about the lack of interest in marriage.. Guys have it easier if motivated." So there you have it. A married woman in her sixties who also happens to be an expert on what it is like to be a single man. Several other people made comments of a similar (vain) vein. I am not going to feign intelligence on what most concerns the leaders of the Church, so no comment on that part of her claim.*****

I am not saying these people are evil or wicked. They probably are actually decent people. My intent is not to belittle this woman or her daughter. But I think that we should be careful about claiming insight where we really do not have any. Few things on the topic of hanging out are more annoying to me than when someone 40 years removed from the modern single culture claims to "remember what it's like to be single." It just doesn't ring true to me. I will fully accept that such persons may have insights that I do not have. If you have lived into your sixties and know less about life than someone in their twenties, you did it wrong. But such commentary comes with the caveat that it is from an outsider, a person who actually does not "remember what it is like," because they never were single in this era in the first place.

To continue with the comments on the opera lady and the online discussion I had, there were a surprisingly high number of people among the 241 comments on this forum with axes to grind on "hanging out." Filthy, wild, bombastic posts were made. Ad hominem was resorted to. Grammar errors were prevalent. The word "Council" was used in place of "Counsel" a disgustingly large number of times. It almost was frightening how many people there are out there with radicalized views on the topic of hanging out. Some of these had seemingly devoted their lives to satisfying personal vendettas. Perhaps I am one of them.

Conclusion.
I think that we still have yet to ask some of the most important questions pertaining to hanging out. Yes, hanging out happens, but WHY? Are single adults of this era made of lower quality material? Are these the same young people who are serving missions at increasingly higher rates, even with a raising of the bar?  Really? Why the nose dive all of the sudden? Sometimes I feel like we are going to the doctor for chest pain and all the doctor can say is "well, I think you have chest pain." No duh. I could have diagnosed that my self. Tell us how to fix it. I know hanging out is a "problem" for some people. Have we ever thought to ask why these single adults are hanging out? I personally feel that that is the real question we need to answer. Some single people hang out. We know that. Now we need to answer the question as to why they do. And might I suggest it is not just because single adults "lack commitment" or some other hooey trash like that.

I think we also need to fully admit that hanging out has been going on for a lot longer than we care to acknowledge. What else would you call a church dance, with its strange mix of sexually veiled lyrics and lots of standing by the sidelines? Yet church dances are sanctioned hanging out that we pat ourselves on the backs for. (Naturally there will be different experiences with dances. I for one do not like them.) My overall point is not that church dances are wicked. Rather, I am indicating that the YSA culture has institutionalized hanging out. I am going to refrain from making a list, so as to avoid starting a fire I do not want to put out.

For me personally, writing all of this has been rather cathartic. I'm not gonna lie: it feels good to throw eggs at the little red school house. Although perhaps it is merely a Pyrrhic victory.

There is a lot more I could say on this, but I am now out of time.  I summarize with three thesis points:

1. Actually do your research. Sure, I study statistics for a living so I care a lot about actual data backing up my claims. But still, do your research. Do not just buy into every agenda driven piece of baseless "social research."
2. Stop wishing that the Bucks still had Lew Alcindor. He and the era's short shorts have retired. Run the floor. Play both ends. Or be benched.
3. Ask the questions that actually need to be asked. Ask why. Ask how. 

I cannot address every concern. I have seen "hanging out" lumped in with topics wholly unrelated in severity. Some people have very valid difficulties relating to marriage. This is not a post about spousal abuse. This is not a post about pornography. Hanging out is categorically different from these evils. Please "get" that. Please. There are of course all sorts of societal ills in relation to marriage. Marriage is perhaps the most fought over topic in the political and public sphere. But hanging out is hardly on the same level as these debates. Hence nothing I said here should in any way be extrapolated to  these topics. Because they are not even close to being the same. 

Let me also add that writing this has allowed me to examine my approaches to how I play the game. There were some times where I really was just sort of going through the motions. Composing this long post has helped me see where I can improve my play on both ends of the court. As always, what I say here is my own opinion. I am not trying to necessarily change your opinion on these issues. But I think that it is important to present my story. There are of course people who think I am way off base on this. That is fine. I've been butting heads with people since 2nd grade with Mrs. Stwetchipants. I am sure I am a hiss and a byword to many a young lady. However, now my view is written. And that's really all I wanted to do in the first place.

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*Understand that I am not trying to belittle women that stay home with their children. Some women choose to work. Some women need to work. My mother was a stay at home mom. It worked well for us. But her place was never "the kitchen."

**This whole "back when we were young" idea is a strange one. It is like a man that used to ride bus 34 on the Blue line still going to the bus stop everyday even though the bus company cancelled that bus back in 1967. Buddy, the bus don't come to these parts no more. And sitting here on the busted bench waiting for it is not going to make it come back. "What you've gotta do is get some hot cakes and..." Those good old Luddites.

***I will here add that the (Nobel Prize winning) Gale-Shapely algorithm in social economics shows that a linear asking methodology with men as the initiating variable leads to women being married to less desirable spouses (i.e. male optimal) than if women had also participated in some iterations as leading variables. In layman's terms, when women will not ask, and men abide by such, women marry a less desirable spouse than if they had participated in asking. Look it up. It is called "Male optimality of the Gale-Shapely Algorithm." This is an example of how we allow traditional social perceptions to lead us to poorer social choices. Here are some papers you can read. Or you can remain ignorant but happy in your social paradigm. Male Optimal Pairs, Major Source on GSAlg. Check out Theorem 1.2.3 of the second link. Male optimal pairing patterns lead to the woman being in the minimal [worst] stable marriage in the discrete space of possible stable pairings. Some of this sounds silly, but it is actually a huge area of study in game theory and social economics. Food for thought.

**** I know that some of you really like Settlers of Catan. I have absolutely nothing against the game at all, nor I am at all trying to shame you for playing it. This was just what the lady blamed for her daughter not being married.  

***** This post is already way too long, but I need to say this one thing: There is strong evidence that the leaders of the Church are concerned about the decline of families in the United States. Hence they talk about the importance of family. Part of that is marriage. Again, I cannot speak from the perspective of the leading councils of the Church, but for me personally, the day where the social practice of dating becomes the emblem of the doctrines of the family and marriage is the day where we have gone far afield from the cause which we should be committing ourselves to sustain.