Monday, December 18, 2006

The Circle of Life

A psychologist, a biologist, and a social worker had the following conversation over dinner.

SW: In China the cucumbers taste like bananas.

B: Really? I wonder why?

P: It could have something to do with what they fertilize them with.

B: How so?

SW: In China they fertilize their crops with human feces.

B: But why would that make them taste like bananas?

P: Well, food tastes differently depending on what you fertilize it with.

B: But bananas?

P: Suppose the human eats a banana first.

B: Wow. It's kind of like the circle of life, isn't it? I mean, a human eats a banana and poops. Then the poop fertilizes a cucumber. Then the human eats the cucumber.

SW: I'll never look at a cucumber the same way again.

Sibling Love

I haven't been home for about six months. Naturally, my family is very excited for me to come home for Christmas. For example, the other day I received the following one-line email from my nine-year-old sister, the only email I've received from her in the last six months:

"At Christmas please bring controllers and video games for the Playstation 2."

It's nice to be loved.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Butterfly Kiss Scandal

Anyone who has met me in person could tell you that I am not much to look at. I do have one striking feature however. Strangers of both genders occasionally will comment about my eyes. All of my siblings have the same freakishly light-colored, soul-piercing blue eyes.

Recently I was with a married couple who are friends of mine from church. She is Korean, and he speaks Korean fluently. Often she will have her husband translate for her. On this particular occasion she said something in Korean to me, after which her husband translated, "This is somewhat difficult for me to say, but my wife says you have very sexy eyes." I laughed.

Up until last week, I was never really surprised when someone complimented me on my eyes. It wasn't anything new. Then everything changed--in the blink of an eye. On Friday my professor took me and the other students in the lab out to lunch at Tom's Bar and Grill. Our waitress was a fiery, middle-aged woman with an unseasonably dark tan. She had a pretty face, a smoker's voice well within the range of an alto, and wore a black, low-cut tanktop. As she took our drink orders she affectionately addressed each of us as "Sweetie." When she came to me she stopped. Here's how the conversation went between me and the flirtatious waitress:

ME: I'll have water please.

FW: Oh my goodness! What beautiful blue eyes you have!

ME (slightly embarrassed): Why thank you.

VFW: Wow! Look at those long eyelashes!

ME (blushing violently): That's awful nice of you to say.

VFW: Certainly you've been told that before!

ME (desperately wishing to end the conversation): Well, I can't deny...

VVVFW: Oh my goodness I just want you to come over here right now and give me a nice long fluttery butterfly kiss!

Let me take this moment to say that I am rarely the object of flirtation. Or at least I rarely notice it when it does happen. A female friend of mine once told me that I wouldn't know if a girl was flirting with me if she "came up and pinched [me] in the butt." But this comment definitely registered as scandalous on my flirt-o-meter. In as threatening a tone as I could muster I said, "Don't hold your breath." To which she responded, winking, "Don't worry darling. I'll be back to get that butterfly kiss from you." I gulped.

After we finished our meal, I surveyed the restaurant to find the most direct path to the door--the most direct path that didn't include FW. Just as I got up from my chair, my back-stabbing professor yelled to the waitress, "You better act now if you want that butterfly kiss!" So much for my surreptitious escape. FW intercepted me about halfway to the door. "Ok, I'm ready," she said pointing to her cheek. I uttered several excuses, but none would satsify her. Resistance was futile. I put my face up to hers and blinked spastically. She cackled. I blushed. BSP laughed. We left the restaurant.

So that is the story of how FW and BSP conspired against me. Let's hope there's not a sequel.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Whoops!

The other day I went to the student health office to get a flu shot. I am an asthmatic; so when I get the flu, it's as if each of my lungs gets its own flu. So even though I don't much care for needles, I bite the bullet and get my annual flu shot so I can breathe easily during the flu season.

As the nurse prepared the syringe, I kept my line of sight straight forward so as to not see the woman jab her shiny instrument into my unsuspecting flesh. Better to experience as little of the ordeal as possible. I took a deep breath, hoping it wouldn't be the last I'd take. I felt the familiar prick as I thought, "There, see it wasn't so bad. It's almost over." That's when I heard it. The word pierced me like a second needle.

"Whoops!" said the nurse.

I would like to take this moment to say that "Whoops" is not a word I hope any of you hears from a health professional, especially one that is presently administering to you. While I stood there with my eyes squinted shut and my teeth clenched, I contemplated all the possibilities of what "Whoops" might mean. Could she have meant:

"Whoops! I forgot to change the needle after the last injection."
OR
"Whoops! I hope you didn't actually need that arm."
OR
"Whoops! You may want to consider renewing your life insurance policy."

I didn't wonder long because I felt something cold running down my arm. The dimwitted nurse had squirted the vaccine juice all over my arm.

"Um... I think you may have gotten some," she remarked unconvincingly.

So basically what little faith I had in the nurses at the student health office is now gone. Gone like the vaccine juice that should have gone in my arm. Gone like my hopes of avoiding the flu this season. Gone like... well you get the idea.

Friday, October 13, 2006

The Road Less Traveled

Some things are best communicated in person. Among these things are sign language, marriage proposals, and infectious diseases. However, in many cases personal communication is simply not feasible. While I would like to declare to each of you personally the release of the 13th and final book in Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events," I must resort to an impersonal means of making this most important announcement, so I am posting it on my blog.

For the sake of those who are unfamiliar with the series (and no, seeing the movie does not count as being familiar with the series), I will give you a small taste of what you are missing. The following is the opening paragraph from the tenth book:

A man of my acquaintance once wrote a poem called "The Road Less Traveled," describing a journey he took through the woods along a path most travelers never used. The poet found that the road less traveled was peaceful but quite lonely, and he was probably a bit nervous as he went along, because if anything happened on the road less traveled, the other travelers would be on the road more frequently traveled and so couldn't hear him as he cried for help. Sure enough, that poet is now dead."

As is evidenced by the above excerpt, this book series is not for the faint of heart. If you want to read a book with a formulaic fairy-tale ending, or one that transports you to a land replete with butterflies and lollipops, then look elsewhere. So why am I so excited to read a book that is sure to be fraught with tragedy, woe, and death? Because it's funny as hades. If you want to read a book that takes life with all its maladies and presents it with such cleverness and wit that you can't help but laugh, then look no further. You'll be glad you took the road less traveled.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Derelicte

I recently saw this list online. It was taken from a GQ-esque magazine.

10 Things You Need… in Your Closet

1) WHITE OXFORD BUTTON-DOWN SHIRT
May we suggest: Cotton button-down shirt ($40) by Izod.

2) LIGHTWEIGHT CASHMERE V-NECK SWEATER
May we suggest: Cashmere V-neck ($178) by Banana Republic.

3) SUNGLASSES
May we suggest: Sunglasses ($174) by Persol.

4) A DARK PAIR OF JEANS
May we suggest: Vintage "Capital E" jeans ($178) by Levi's.

5) ONE SET OF CEDAR SHOE TREES
May we suggest: Cedar shoe trees ($60) by Zegna.

6) WHITE T-SHIRTS
May we suggest: Cotton T-shirts ($30 for a pack of three) by Calvin Klein.

7) BLACK LACE-UPS
May we suggest: Leather lace-up shoes ($495) by Tod's.

8) OVERNIGHT BAG
May we suggest: Taiga-leather Kendall bag ($1,510) by Louis Vuitton.

9) THREE-BUTTON NAVY SUIT
May we suggest: Three-button wool suit ($1,595) by Canali.

10) MEDIUM-WIDTH TIE
May we suggest: Silk tie ($95) by Jack Spade.

Nevermind that if I were to invest in such a bank-breaking wardrobe, I wouldn't be able to afford the closet in the first place. I would, however, be the most fashionable homeless person around (think "Derelicte" from Zoolander). Seriously though, who could afford to spend $178 on "Capital E" jeans? I doubt if I could even afford lowercase e jeans. Reading this list made me think of things I definitely don't want in my closet. In no particular order, here's a list of the top 10:

10 Things You Don't Need… in Your Closet.

1) DEAD BODIES
Dead bodies are so last season.

2) MEMBERS OF AL-QAEDA
Not only are terrorists extremely unfashionable, but harboring them in your closet could potentially get you in trouble with the FBI, or worse, with your landlord.

3) IN-LAWS
Keeping your In-Laws in the closet would be detrimental to your marriage. It could also be detrimental to your In-Laws.

4) ANY OF THE CREATURES FROM PETER JACKSON'S MOVIES
Orcs, Uruk-hai, and any of the creatures from Skull Island (creepiferous natives, face-sucking bugs). No thank you.

5) A BOGGART-YOU KNOW, THE SHAPE-SHIFTING CREATURE FROM HARRY POTTER
Who would want to be greeted by their worst fear every morning? That's got to have a pejorative effect on your psyche.

6) HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON
See explanation from 5).

7) BARNEY
Barney couldn't be any scarier if he were a giant purple dinosaur who sang sappy songs about love and other fanciful or fictitious emotions. Oh, wait...

8) WILLY
Willy should be free!

9) HEALTH CARE
Health care should be free!

10) MODERN DANCERS
Modern dancers should be free! Free to interpret the world through dance! Free to become clear flowing streamlets and ice cream sundaes with whipped cream and cherries on top!

11) RICHARD SIMMONS
Not in my closet.

Ok so there are actually 11 things I don't want in my closet. I didn't want Richard Simmons to feel excluded. Anything you would/wouldn't like in your closet?

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

In the Ghetto

Whether it's being lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of gunshots outside your window, or witnessing a drug deal in the street by twilight, the ghetto has always held a special place in my heart. I spent an appreciable part of my mission living quite harmoniously in the ghettos of Houston. Sometimes, like when I am solicited by someone trying to sell me their food stamps in the grocery store, I feel as if I am taking a drive down memory lane...a drive in a black Cadillac complete with hydraulics and chrome plated spinner rims. For the last three months I lived just south of the WashU medical school campus. But sometimes I think I might as well have been just south of Harlem. As I leave this place to start a new life in a fully air-conditioned apartment sans plumbing leaks of any kind, I pause to reflect on the experiences that have molded me...and some that have just left mold...in the ghetto.

Eating in the ghetto
When you don't have a dining room or even dining room furniture or even furniture, you find ways to improvise. For months my roommate and I took turns eating off the box our microwave came in. We propped it up on its end, opened the flaps for stabilization, and...voila! A personal dining room table. After a while, I became quite attached to the makeshift table. So much so that when my roommate's girlfriend bought us an end table to replace the sturdy cardboard box, it was several weeks before I could bring myself to stuff the box in the closet. It felt like I was stuffing my firstborn child in the closet.

Because of our dregs-of-society living conditions, I was often too embarrassed to have the Elders over for dinner; however, I did occasionally invite them when a particular sister in our ward would bring the dinner calendar into the Elders quorum. "Let's feed our guys," she would say, with all the passion of a Mormon mom bereft of her own missionary son who was in the field. How could I refuse?

Of course it would not befit an Ambassador of the Gospel of Jesus Christ to eat off a cardboard box, so I had them eat off our desk chairs instead. One particular Elder, who apparently was unfamiliar with the ghetto ways of life, picked up the spoon I had carefully laid out for him on his imitation leather desk chair, and examined it closely. The spoon was bent slightly above the handle about 20 degrees to the right. "Is this a left-handed spoon?" The Elder asked innocently. While I knew that spoons are in fact achiral objects, not having a particular handedness, I wasn't interested in discounting what the poor Elder probably considered to be an astute observation.

"Yes, Elder. That is indeed a left-handed spoon. Would you prefer a right-handed one?" I asked obsequiously.

"Why, yes. Thank you," the Elder politely responded. Being the accommodating host that I am, I went into the kitchen and opened our silverware drawer. I was met with a host of crooked spoons of both the left and right-hand varieties that had likely either sustained damage during an intense round of the popular card game, or had suffered at the hands of a negligent garbage disposal runner. I selected a right-handed spoon from the cutlery graveyard and returned to the living room.

"Here you are," I said handing the Elder the deformed eating utensil. "A nice right-handed spoon." The Elder gratefully acknowledged receipt of the spoon and happily ate his dinner.

Convenience Store Survival in the Ghetto
I have only ever been afraid for my life twice. Once was when I slept in a tent adjacent to Jordan Bluth's tent at scout camp. The kid snored like you would not believe. I thought a bear, or perhaps a bear with laryngitis wielding a chainsaw, had wandered into our camp and I was to be its next victim. The second time I confronted death was when as a missionary I entered a convenience store for what I thought would be a routine candy aisle perusal and bathroom break. Little did I know.

My companion and I were riding our bikes to our next appointment when we made an emergency stop at a convenience store in a bad part of town. Such stops were not uncommon as my companion suffered from digestive problems that were the result of some undercooked meat he had been served a couple of weeks previous. While my companion occupied the bathroom, I headed for the candy aisle which I consider to be a microcosm of the celestial kingdom.

I was contemplating whether Abraham, Isaac and Jacob would prefer a Butterfinger or a Snickers bar when suddenly the doors of the convenience door were forced open and I heard a menacing male voice yell, "This is a stick up! Everyone get your faces on the ground!" I thought I might have the answer to my question soon enough. A giant pillar obstructed my view of the front of the store, so I couldn't see the man who was making the threats. I had no reason to believe, however, that the man didn't mean business. I decided that I should follow his instructions lest I end up in the big candy aisle in the sky sooner than expected.

I had one hand on the floor when the man came around the corner and we made eye contact. He and his friend were laughing. There was no gun. It was all a joke. They continued to the back of the store, grabbed enough beer to intoxicate a small city, paid for their drinks, and left the store. I got up off the floor and leaned my shaking body against the wall. It took me a few minutes before I could steady my breathing and heart rate. My companion and I would live to see another dinner appointment. My companion! I made it to the bathroom just in time to see him cautiously peeking out the door. Upon hearing the threats he interrupted his business and stood ready to defend himself in his stall. Not being able to see the perpetrators, he couldn't know that the entire thing was staged. Relieved to hear that we were not in any danger, he returned to finish relieving himself.

Household Repairs in the Ghetto
There are certain places where you can expect to be rained on frequently. Seattle is one such place. There are certain places where you don't expect to be rained on frequently. Your bathroom is one such place. After spending a few days in our new apartment, my roommate and I discovered that our bathroom had a distinct weather pattern allegedly due to a leak in the plumbing upstairs. When we called our landlord to complain, he cleverly suggested the following solution: "Why don't you get an old towel and place it on the floor to stop the deluge from spreading into other areas of the apartment?" Of course! A towel! Why didn't I think of that? Brilliant.

The King in the Ghetto
Elvis Presley sang a song entitled "In the Ghetto" to which I would add the following verses:

In the bathroom
Where a do-rag's not only part of my threads
But something that'll keep the rain off my head
In the ghetto

Going shopping
You'll surely find a bargain in the corner store
But you might find more than you bargained for
In the ghetto

On a microwave box
We eat our dinner with a left-handed spoon
And we'll all be praying to get out real soon
Of the ghetto

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Believeing the Unbelievable

Do you ever find yourself believing something that is completely outrageous? Perhaps it is human nature to want to believe the unbelievable. I for one am sometimes duped into believing something that is ridiculous, improbable, or utterly inconceivable, even when all logic dictates that I shouldn't. Do you sometimes reason that a certain set of circumstances is so unlikely that it just has to be true? Even when said circumstances fly in the face of reality? Have you experienced the embarrassment that comes from the realization of your folly? If you answered any of these questions in the affirmative, then this blog entry is for you.

Let me give you a real-life example to illustrate this phenomenon. Consider Specimen A, a.k.a. me. One day I was walking around BYU campus when I ran into an old mission friend. It was the first time we had seen each other since the mission. He had been home about a year, but I had been home only a couple months. After the Elder left the mission, it had been promulgated among the surviving missionaries that he was dating a particularly attractive Sister who had finished her mission at about the same time. I couldn't resist believing it, despite the fact that the Elder and Sister were about as compatible as toothpaste and apple juice. In mathematical terms, my thought processing was thus:

Nerdy Elder + Drop Dead Gorgeous Sister = Happy Couple

It was so unbelievable; it just had to be true! Our conversation went as follows:

Specimen A: So Elder Toothpaste, how are you and Sister Apple Juice getting along these days? I bet she's a great kisser, eh? (wink,wink)
Elder Toothpaste: What are you talking about? (quizzical expression)
Specimen A: Oh, come on. Don't be so coy. It was all over the mission. Why, you and Sister Apple Juice must be practically married by now, right?
Elder Toothpaste: Huh? (even more quizzical expression)

It was at that point that I realized that Elder Toothpaste and Sister Apple Juice had not in fact been dating, and that I had to act fast if I was going to save my rapidly dwindling sense of dignity. I did the only thing I could do. I sheepishly backed away from Elder Toothpaste, did an about-face, and walked/ran away. I never saw Elder Toothpaste again.

Now let us consider Specimen B, also me. One evening at Institute, I noticed from across the room a girl who was pushing a stroller. The stroller contained an adorable, black baby. The girl smiled as she laid a gentle but protective hand on the napping baby's head. The putative mother was a little on the homely side, and about as fair skinned as they come. Again the mental formula was as follows:

Slightly Homely White Girl + At Institute = Adorable Black Baby

"How truly improbable!" I thought to myself.

As mother and baby came towards me, I thought to say something to make her feel more at home among a predominantly baby-less group of young single adults. "I know! I'll compliment her on her beautiful baby!" I resolved. As she passed by I exclaimed, "What an adorable…" It was at this moment, that I noticed the baby was glistening. It was glistening in a way that is reminiscent only of highly processed plastic. The kind that they make fake babies out of. My world turned upside-down. It was all a lie. "What an adorable…synthetic…baby!" was my altered comment. My critically injured, nearly invalid sense of dignity was again my chief concern. I made a b-line for the nearest egress.

Lest you think I am the only illogical human being on this planet, consider Specimen C, my roommate. I make bran muffins. I don't care if they're grandma food, I make them. As you might guess, bran muffins require a lot of brown ingredients including bran flakes and bran buds, as well as a lot of oily ones like, well, oil. Last time I made bran muffins, I left some of the dishes with residual batter full of soapy water on the counter so I wouldn't have to scour them to get them clean. Better to have the sticky batter eroded by natural processes. I didn't actually return to finish doing the dishes until a week later. After a couple of days, the dishes with their soggy bran flakes and brown sediment took on the appearance of acute diarrhea. The resemblance was uncanny.

When I finally got my lazy butt into the kitchen to clean up my mess, my roommate made the comment, "I would have done your dishes the other day when I was cleaning the kitchen, but I wasn't quite sure what was in them."

"Oh." I said. Thinking, "Oh, that was a very generous thought for my roommate to have." I continued my dishwashing. Until a thought occurred to me. One that made me smile. I walked into the living room where my roommate was. "Out of curiosity, what did you think was in my dishes? Did you think I had taken a crap in each of them and stuck them on the counter?"

My roommate hesitated, "Well...I just wasn't sure…"

Once again here's the familiar equation:

Dirty Dishes + Unidentified Oily Brown Sediment + Left on the Counter for Days = Roommate Poop

So apparently "Specimen A" and "Specimen B" have company.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Mnemonics-oholics

The word, "mnemonic," is a word consisting of three syllables, which when ordered properly, form a word, the word being, "mnemonic." The first syllable, 'Mne,' is pronounced ni, and is not to be confused with 'Ni' (pronounced knee), the syllable for which The Knights who say 'Ni' are best known. The second syllable, 'Mon,' is from the Jamaican, and means, "Excuse me, did you see which way the bobsled team went?" The final syllable, which appears at the end of the word "mnemonic" is 'Ic' (pronounced ick), and is what you might say if you've discovered that your roommate has fiendishly placed a severed spider leg on your otherwise spider leg-less bar of soap. Together, these syllables, of which there are three, make up the English word, "mnemonic."

Like several other words in the English language, the word "mnemonic" has a meaning. Depending on the context in which it is used, "mnemonic" can mean "a memory aid," or it can mean "a Jamaican spider who says Ni." However, this second meaning has not gained widespread acceptance due to pressure from social interest groups who assert that such spiders do not in fact exist.

A mnemonic can be very useful in helping one memorize something that would otherwise be difficult to remember, or easy to forget. For example, the mnemonic ROY G. BIV is often used to help young schoolchildren remember the colors of the rainbow. Although his surname means "sewer pipe" in Hebrew, Mr. BIV has the good fortune of having a name whose letters stand for the various colors in the spectrum. For example, the letter 'I' in BIV stands for "Indigo." Herein lies the beauty of the mnemonic: It is much more palatable to the psyche to remember a name such as "Roy," which sounds like it might belong to an Indian peace activist, as opposed to remembering a name like "Indigo," which sounds like it might belong to a severely mulletheaded Spaniard whose entire life is devoted to slaughtering poor polydactyls.

Here is an example of another mnemonic I came across recently:

Now I defy a tenet gallantly
Of circle canon law: these integers
Importing circles' quotients are, we see,
Unwieldy long series of cockle burs
Put all together, get no clarity;
Mnemonics shan't describeth so reformed
Creating, with a grammercy plainly,
A sonnet liberated yet conformed.
Strangely, the queer'st rules I manipulate
Being followÃĐd, do facilitate
Whimsical musings from geometric bard.
This poesy, unabashed as it's distressed,
EvolvÃĐd coherent - a simple test,
Discov'ring poetry no numerals jarred.


This Petrarchan sonnet is designed to aid those who wish to be able to procure the first 76 numerals of pi from memory. It was written in iambic pentameter. Notice that successive numerals of pi are obtained by counting the number of letters in each word of the Petrarchan sonnet. For example, the first word of the poem, "Now," has three letters, corresponding to the identity of the first numeral of pi which is '3.' The second word has one letter corresponding to the next digit which is '1,' and so on. Since there is no word in the English language that has "decimal point" number of letters, one wishing to learn the first 76 numerals of pi must remember on his or her own (or perhaps using another mnemonic) the placement of this most important feature of pi. Notice how easily words like "cockle burs" and "grammercy" are committed to memory while common, ordinary numerals such as '3', '1', and the concept of a decimal point are not.

In the spirit of helping young schoolchildren the world over, I have invented this mnemonic to aid in the memorization of the first ten numerals of counting. The mnemonic is a random compilation of words. The words are written in Icelandic, and are designed to be easily assimilated by an eager young mind. The first ten numerals of counting are obtained by reading each word in succession, taking note of the first letter of the word which corresponds to the first letter of the English numeral. Here is the mnemonic:

Ãģseyrar
tjÃķrn
tunga
fokjarðvegur
fjalljÃķkull
samsÃĶtuhlutfÃķll
siggengi
eldstÃķðvar
nÃ―lífsÃķld
tímabil

Now no one has an excuse for not knowing the first ten numerals of counting.

P.S. All facetiousness aside, the mnemonic sonnet is pretty cool. Go to Mike Keith's website to see a poem that encodes the first 740 numerals of pi!

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Eat at Tucanos

a poem about delicious beasts and shameless gluttony

One cow,
two cows,
three cows,
more...
Five cows,
six cows,
seven cows,
floor.

P.S. The last word of the poem is floor because that's where you spend the rest of the day; although, I could have ended the poem just as easily with 'sore', 'heartburn galore', or 'unable to fit through the door.'

The Confessions of Todorojo

I wrote this parody to describe an embarrassing moment (of which I've had many in the course of my days). It mimics the style of "The Confessions of St. Augustine" which is an autobiographical account written by St. Augustine of Hippo around 400 AD. My confiessions, like Augustine's, are written as a if they were a conversation with God. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Great art Thou, Lord, for the unspeakable beauty to which we are privy as inhabitants of this earth, Thy footstool. Great is Thy glory and the glory of the sun, which shineth continually upon Thy creations and giveth light unto the world. Wonderful are the workings of Thy hands, even the plants and foliage which grow and fill the earth with verdant splendor. Wonderful too are the flowers that bloom from the foliage thereof and suffuse the air with redolence so sweet. Lord, Thy name be praised for the hummingbirds that flit from blossom to blossom, extracting sweet nectar from each flower in celebration of Thy mercy and Thy bounty. So too may we extract sweet savor from all Thy glorious creations, O Lord.

Such was the glory that attended the day on which I gathered with my roommate and his family at a park in Roy, Utah. Seeing that the family was of Utah stock, those present at the reunion were as numerous as the stars that reside in Thy heaven above. Certainly this family had been blessed most generously at Thy hand, Lord, and they shared of their blessings liberally. The reunion was no small picnic, but a veritable feast of barbecued meat, potato salad, and other such tasty morsels.

Who, O God, can say too much of Thy mercy and Thy love? For Thou hast sent even the choicest of blessings to our refrigerators. Delectable is the chocolate that is poured upon our hot fudge sundaes. Scrumptious is the Twinkie whose filling is sufficient to make one happy; delicious, too, the root beer that doth flow from everlasting springs of mercy. Lord, infinite is the caloric intake that we enjoy at Thy hands!

Gluttony prevailed as we enjoyed the surfeit laid before us. When we had had our fill, we sat and waited until our mobility returned. The change was slow at first, but soon we could wobble, and then we could roll, and eventually, we could stand. Such was the miracle we received from Thee.

Before long, some of those present began engaging in sport, as practiced by the great Olympians of times past. Frisbee and football ensued, along with several other games typically played at picnics. The games continued unabated until a small child, presumably a cousin of my roommate, initiated a sport of his own. The child carried in his arms a squirt gun unlike any other my eyes had previously beheld. The sheer weight of the ostensible bazooka pressed on the child, as he struggled to hold up the barrel of the merciless weapon. With its trigger pulled, the gun let out a terrible gush of water, comparable in strength to the torrential stream of Juno’s wrath, which came unwittingly upon Aeneas and his men at sea.

The armed menace went to and fro among the people, soaking whomever he willed. While most of his family members found the child’s play risible, I did not find his insolence amusing; and I certainly did not want to be bested by the little demon. So when the runt approached, I was determined to outwit him.

O that I had been content with my lot! O that I had not risen to face the half-pint! Why O Lord didst Thou stay Thy hand and not extend Thy swift judgment against the aggressor? Wet clothes become dry in a short time, but the physical and emotional pain to which I was subjected has endured to this day.

Why, Lord, do men not swallow their pride as they would a fig? O that pride had a sweet taste and a smooth texture, for if such were the case, it would slide down the throat unimpeded and in the bowels meet its end. But alas, my pride was particularly difficult to swallow on this day. Only one thought in my mind subsisted: You must not let the little twerp soak you!

And so a contest ensued between the boy and me. We established a rhythm in which the boy would fire, and I would dodge. As the picnic had little other entertainment to offer, the family focused its gaze on our deadly dance. It quickly became apparent which contender had the support of the spectators. "Soak him!” They screamed maniacally. Despite the disheartening shouts, I had managed to avoid every drop that proceeded from the hydro-canon.

Only Thou, O Holy God, could have presaged the tragedy that would soon befall me. For my confidence did wax stronger with each evasion of the icy blast, until my pride reached its pinnacle. It seemed that boredom would soon overtake the once zealous child and remove him from the competition. Completely distracted by the almost palpable taste of victory that would soon be mine, I failed to see the Brobdignagian object into which I threw my entire weight in order to avoid yet another barrage of water.

O Lord, Thou didst know of the pride that had taken root in my heart; and in Thy infinite wisdom, Thou didst provide a way for me that I might escape the arrogance that had consumed me. In Thy holy scriptures Thou hast warned that he that exalteth himself shall be made low. Truly, I was made low on this day; for thou didst send the hardest of thy creations to hedge up the way before me that I might not continue in my prideful ways. Thou didst send a tree.

I found myself supine, not quite realizing what had happened until I saw the malicious tree that did hover over me. More painful than the injuries incurred during my brief contact with the tree were the jeers that were heard all around me. O my Lord, did I receive any comforting words in my affliction? Did I hear an “Are you alright?” Or a “From which body parts are you bleeding?” Nay Lord, no such consoling inquiries were made. And so I laid there, wallowing in my embarrassment.

But on that day, Thou didst deliver me from the pride that had taken hold of me. For Thou art truly merciful, O God; and thy wisdom and knowledge do exceed all the wisdom and knowledge of men. And thy glory and majesty are eternal, and have no end. Such are my Confessions to Thee, Lord.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Childhood Pets

This poem is dedicated to the many pets who had the ill-fate of coming to the Allred home. May they rest in peace.

Once I had a turtle.
Our backyard was her home.
She had a penchant for our grass, where she would freely roam.

Once I had a turtle.
Mary was her name.
She went through a lawnmower and never was the same.

Once I had a rat snake.
I'd take him to my school.
All the girls would scream out loud; the guys thought he was cool.

Once I had a rat snake.
He'd squeeze the rats 'till dead.
One day he wasn't hungry and a rat ate him instead.

Once I had a piglet.
His belly touched the ground.
He rolled just like a bowling ball; his shape was just as round.

Once I had a piglet.
This pig my dad did hunt.
One shot was all it took to turn poor piggy into lunch.

To those of you who want a cuddly puppy please be wary.
For any pet can turn into a scene that's very scary.
Before you go to buy a pet, remember what I've said.
Perhaps 'tis best to visualize the pet as if 'twere dead.

The Rock of Our Salvation

As a young boy, I loved to look at and collect rocks. I remember being fascinated by all the different colors and patterns that nature could produce in the form of rocks and crystals. Perhaps the rock that impressed me most was the geode. I was amazed at how something with such an ordinary façade, could be hiding something so beautiful. My favorite geological activity, to the chagrin of my mother, was to go out by the side of our house where our landscaping rocks were with the hope of finding such a specimen. My tools were a hammer and a steady hand. Each rock that had the ill fate of being chosen was carefully broken and its insides examined. I knew that no matter what the rock looked like on the outside, it could not be identified as a geode unless I knew what the inside looked like.

We live in a world where appearance is everything. Often, the true worth of something is overlooked, undervalued, or ignored because of its packaging. Jesus warned the scribes and Pharisees about obsessing over outward appearances to the neglect of one’s inner refinement: "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess. Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that which is within the cup and platter, that the outside of them may be clean also" (Matt 23:25-26). How can we avoid becoming distracted by outward ostentation and learn to appreciate inner beauty?

Jesus did not spend his mortality in the guise of a God, though he certainly was that. Instead of spending his mortal ministry as a glorified being, he donned an earthly tabernacle. Because of this, his intrinsic divinity and matchless virtue often went unrecognized. There were those who simply could not see the Master behind the man.

Isaiah said of Jesus: ". . . he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him" (Isa 53:2).

And so it seemed to those who looked on Jesus’ outward appearance. Many could not see the crystals behind the humble exterior. They likely saw an ordinary man who wore ordinary clothes, who lived in ordinary circumstances. But what Jesus taught and what Jesus did was hardly ordinary. We know who he really was.

If there remained any question as to whether Jesus was ordinary or not, certainly it was quelled as a result of the Atonement. In this sacred act, the man Jesus was broken, and his perfect Atonement shone through.

Just as when Moses was commanded to smite a rock, and water came out abundantly so that the Israelites and their animals could drink, so too was Jesus smitten, and living water flowed out of him.

The first verse of the beloved hymn "Rock of Ages" reads:

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Save from wrath and make me pure.


We too can develop an inner beauty as the savior did. To follow Christ’s teachings and to strive to live by his example is to nurture the good inherent in us. We can also recognize the essence of divinity in others by ignoring the ordinary and focusing on the praiseworthy, for that is how God looks upon us. “. . . for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

Jesus is called the Rock of Ages for good reason. Prophets in every dispensation have made a point of testifying of his power to save. Thousands of years ago, the Israelites in the Old Testament were taught: "He is the Rock, his work is perfect: for all his ways are judgment: a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he" (Deuteronomy 32:4).

Not many years before the coming of the Savior, Helaman, a prophet who lived on the American continent gave the following admonition to his sons: “. . . it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, . . . yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you . . . because of the rock upon which ye are built. . .” (Helaman 5:12).

Today, Gordon B. Hinckley says to the members of Christ’s church in the latter-days: "[Christ] is the chief cornerstone of the church which bears his name, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There is no other name given among men whereby we can be saved. He is the author of our salvation, the giver of eternal life. There is none to equal him. There never has been. There never will be. Thanks be to God for the gift of his Beloved Son, who gave his life that we might live, and who is the chief, immovable cornerstone of our faith and his church."

In the Book of Mormon we find several instances in which rocks are used as symbols. For example, in his psalm, we find Nephi petitioning the Lord, “Wilt thou not place a stumbling block in my way—but that thou wouldst clear my way before me, and hedge not up my way, but the ways of mine enemy” (2 Ne 4:33)

A “stumbling block,” “stumbling stone,” or “rock of offence” as it is sometimes referred to in the scriptures, is anything that distracts from the true Rock of our salvation. It is a fake, a knockoff, a cheap imitation of the true foundation, and will cause us to stumble and fall if we do not learn to avoid such epigones.

In Ether, we read about 16 small stones which were prepared by the Brother of Jared so that his people could have light during their 344 day journey to the promised land. He prepared the stones after asking the Lord in desperation, “O Lord, wilt thou suffer that we shall cross this great water in darkness?” The Brother of Jared might have been surprised when the Lord responded with another question, “What will ye that I should do that ye may have light in your vessels?” The stones were the Brother of Jared’s humble solution.

I am impressed by the harshness of the conditions to which the stones were subjected, "for they were molten out of a rock; and they were white and clear, even as transparent glass." Let us not take for granted the difficulty of the task undertaken by the Brother of Jared. Melting rock to make glass requires thousands of degrees of heat. The Brother of Jared must have been one heck of a Boy Scout. But as painstakingly as he worked to prepare them, the Brother of Jared could not make the stones shine in the darkness. That was the Savior’s job. Could the Lord have made ordinary, non-molten stones light up? I’m sure it’s within his power to do so. But the molten, tried-in-the-fire stones stood as a testament to the faith of this good man. So strong was the faith possessed by the Brother of Jared, that the stones underwent a miraculous transformation “. . . for it is by faith that miracles are wrought.” (Moroni 7:37)

We are those stones. And our lives can be lit up by the touch of the Savior. Stones that make the best transmitters of the Savior’s light are those that submit to the refiner’s fire. “My people must be tried in all things, that they may be prepared to receive the glory that I have for them, even the glory of Zion.” (D&C 136:31) Eventually, the stones, along with all those who were illuminated by them, made it to the promised land.

By following the teachings of Jesus, by recognizing goodness in others, by submitting to all which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon us, we build our foundation upon the rock of our Redeemer, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.

Jesus is the Rock of our Salvation, from whom living waters flow. Jesus is the Rock of Ages, of whom the prophets have testified since the beginning of time. He is the chief cornerstone, strong and immovable; and he is a mighty fortress, a defense from enemy and element which would destroy us.

My we learn to recognize, through the study of his words and the emulation of his example, the Crystals behind the covering, the God behind the guise, the Master behind the man.

Favorite Courtney Quotes

My Sister Courtney says the darnedest things! Here are a few examples:

"I'm dying of thirstation."

"Let's do one more just for old keepsake."

"Ouch! This salad dressing gives me ulcers."

"Quit being so attackatative!"

"You're so... un-self-esteem-ish."

"Do you ever get tired of breathing air?"

"Did you know I can touch my uvula with my tongue?"

Any Allreds know any others?

Bioinformatics

For all y'all who want to be in the know, click here for a good explanation of what bioinformatics is.

Welcome

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