Angry Faxes

Some of you may not know this but I write angry letters pretty often. Sadly, it's a dying art form. Just the other day, I was about to write another letter in a long string of strongly-worded letters to Beyonce for not releasing an album in a long time. After page 53, my hand started to cramp so I decided to check my email, and what pops up? A little ad heralding the arrival of Beyonce's fifth album. Which she released without any press. This I can only attribute to my letter-writing. She must have felt compelled to go against the advice of her press agent and release the album prematurely due to my persistence. You are all welcome.

But my letter writing is starting to take up too much of my time, so I've decided to start faxing my threats, complaints, and grievances. I'm using all the time I've saved to fill up my medical oxygen prescription that I got to counteract Utah's haze problem. I have also begun using this time to hone my Parcheesi skills for the upcoming worldwide semifinals. This change has occured because one day while writing a letter to 'annah Montana I figured, "This is 2013! If only there were a better way to communicate using the power of electricity! One that could send messages instantaneously while still retaining a personal touch. If only such a device existed..." So I did a Google search and it revealed that a "fax machine," invented in the late 1970s, will do exactly that! My search also uncovered this revelatory piece about this machine's power and effectiveness:

http://www.cnn.com/2013/12/20/world/asia/north-korea-threats/

Problem solved. Now I fax all the time. I send angry faxes, I use them to catch up with distant acquaintances (catch-up faxes), I even ordered a pizza from Pizza Hut last week (pizza faxes). It was easy, I just typed out my order on Microsoft Word and taped a Jackson to the paper to show them I'm legit. And it has certainly made my life easier. I feel a Parcheesi championship coming my way.

But seriously, can we talk about North Korea for a second? I laughed hysterically when I read this article. I'm sure there is some reasonable explanation as to why they did this?, but it is still funny to think about. Some secretary for Kim Jong Un types out this pompous little message on official letterhead and then walks into the war room and waits for the modem to fire up. They are about to start the transmission when they realize no one knows the phone number for South Korea's Ministry of National Defense. So a secretary has to run to his desk and back to fetch his address book and then is taken outside by the utility shed and shot for his incompetence. The air gets a little stuffy while all of the highly decorated generals stare at the official Honorable-North-Korean-National-Pride-Fax-Machine while it beeps and boops and slowly scans the page one line at a time. But the page jams halfway through so they have to start it over. They do, and finally the fax finishes so they can all leave, but not before some soldiers take the Honorable-North-Korean-National-Pride-Fax-Machine out back by the utility shed and shoot it.

Actual Scenario Depicted.

Then Bob, who works in the South Korean Ministry of National Defense walks by the fax machine in the office three hours later and happens to notice they got a fax. He casually picks it up and puts it under the file that he is reading and goes back to his desk. Another three hours later he finally gets to it, and brings the coffee-stained paper into his boss' office. "Hey you better have a look at this, Larry," Bob says. Larry nods and waves him away and then goes home for the day. The next day, when it is finally discovered what has actually transpired, they write their response and, not to be outdone, they fax back AND wire message their own response.

So, what is the lesson to be learned? If it's good enough for Koreans, it's good enough for me.

PS - Go check your fax machine. You may want to prepare yourself for my forthcoming righteous indignation fax.

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Snowfall

I've been told that all snowflakes are unique, under a microscope

But that night all I could see were billions and trillions of the same--

All tumbling stumbling chaotic individuals desperately searching for their place

So much the same in their uniqueness

All stand-outs in a crowd, singing so loud they muffled even city-sounds

So unique that no one bothered to hear another
Pleading as he died upon my finger

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I Opt-In For Porn

I've said in the past that I would do my best to prevent my blog from getting too political, but there has been a disturbing trend that I've noticed on my friends' social media accounts. Many of them are posting links to this petition:

Require ISPs to Make Porn an Opt-In Feature

Not only is this petition pointless (other than perhaps being able to give yourself a high-five for having high morals), this is disturbing to me because it highlights a fundamental lack of understanding--not only about the function of government--but about freedom and morality. And that is why, as much as it pains me to say, I opt for porn. Before you get your indignant little typing fingers ready, finish reading this post.

First, I cannot fathom why so many people trust the Government to get involved with legislating the internet in any way, shape, or form. Think about it. This is the U.S. Government we are talking about. The same Government that robs you on a daily basis, kills innocent people abroad, violates rights held sacrosanct by the very documents that led to its inception, and can't even design an effective website to facilitate a much-lauded transition into socialized healthcare. And your plan is to allow this Government to start regulating what you can and cannot see on the internet?

Never mind that such a petition might well allow the government to start invading the last bastion of free speech, we all know from experience that if the Government actually got a hold of the aforementioned power, it would surely end in a debacle. The US Government is unfortunately the reverse King Midas of doing anything beneficial. But, you say, "Porn is wrong! Why should I be subjected to possibly seeing it? We legislate other things that are morally wrong, why not this?"

This leads to my second point, morality is something that should be taught in the home, not enforced by the Government (taught by force). Meaning, if you think pornography to be reprehensible, teach your children and others about its follies. Educate yourself, be proactive, donate your money to awareness campaigns. You have the right to do so. You are free to do so. But unfortunately the same freedom that allows you to stay away from pornography, also allows other, equally free citizens to voluntarily produce and view pornography. That is true freedom. Anything else is veiled oppression. This might be inconvenient to those with strong senses of what is right and wrong, but freedom is, and always has been, a two-way street.

So it is with free speech. Which is exactly what protects pornography. The first amendment wasn't created to protect slogans on the side of cereal boxes. It was created to protect that which is unpopular, as well as everything else. By protecting everything, no one is oppressed, and we are allowed to choose what we want to look at and read and listen to, even if it is unpopular, especially if its unpopular. And thank God for this, because it is this same reasoning that allows me to practice my religion according to the dictates of my own conscience, and for everyone else to do the same.

Consider the implications of the government trying to legislate according to moral beliefs. Since no two people have the exact same moral sense, who then should the government listen to? And how does one prove that a certain way of thinking is superior to another? But as I think about it, this is not a hypothetical, many of the most heated debates in Washington are about moral issues that should not even be discussed, but at some point in the past the Government over-stepped its bounds and we are now dealing with the fallout. But I digress.

Finally, some may have bristled when I called the petition pointless. But it remains true. This petition is pointless because porn is already "opt-in." Very rarely do I accidentally see pornography on the internet. If something suggestive appears that you didn't click on, close it. My petition (as well as yours) should happen with your index finger clicking that little 'x' in the corner. And it is not as if every webpage you navigate to has half the screen taken by naked women, if this were the case I might see the point in such a petition. And if there are naked people on your screen, you are visiting pornographic websites. In case you didn't know. I also have the AdBlock add-on for Google Chrome and I have installed K9 Internet Filtering. It is a free program that filters your internet locally; there is absolutely no need for the Government to get involved.

Saying that you need the government to babysit you and your children is exactly the kind of attitude that has gotten us to this point. Take the initiative. You are not a victim, and government is not the solution.

If three wise monkeys can do it, so can you.

[Keep Following. And maybe you'll learn something.]

Mr. Universe

Very few people can say they helped Mr. Universe. I am one of them.

I was a missionary once. I had the pleasure of meeting a man named Jusup Wilcosz. He lived in the 38th story of a run-down apartment complex in Stuttgart. The hulking man carried himself gingerly. He wore baggy sweatpants and spoke with a deep, booming voice. He smelled of alcohol most of the time. I guess you could say teaching Jusup was one of my own Book-of-Mormon-Musical moments when I learned that some scars are too violent for my sunny and simple understanding of the world to repair. Some sicknesses go too deep for words to mend. Some pains take root within the soul, and there they stay, compressing the conscience like a slow-turning vice. What could I do for this man? I was naive. I was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. What could I offer him that other sources couldn't?

A signed copy of his book called "Was Bleibt?" He wrote Keep on pumping! at the bottom.

Now, some are inclined to criticize the LDS Church for expecting all worthy, healthy young men to serve missions. Many see this as oppressive, restrictive, and unnecessary. I didn't know it at the time, but my experience with Jusup was one that would change how I viewed my "job" as a missionary. Coincidentally, this also made my mission something that I would never regret or exchange for anything. I now understand why the church expects this from the young men.

Jusup's apartment was dirty. It was littered with stacks of papers filled with his curling, heavy handwriting. He would always offer us milk or tea or water and would sit across from us sipping his milk from a tiny tea cup that looked even smaller in his massive hands. Jusup has lived more than most people ever will. He would often speak of his glory days while leading us around the cramped space and showing us pictures of him lifting weights. His obvious favorite was a black-and-white print of him and Arnold Schwarzenegger training together. Speaking of these times would bring a broad smile to his face, (never mind the drops of milk suspended in his beard).

Arnold and Jusup doing what they do best.

Perhaps what makes Jusup's story so tragic is that Arnold Schwarzenegger's success stands as a constant reminder of what could have been. That differing trajectory must bring him constant torture. Jusup began lifting weights competitively in the "golden age" of bodybuilding. A list of his achievements and titles can be found here. After several injuries, his career began to fall apart. At the same time, his best friend, Joseph, betrayed him, took his successful gym away, and stole his investment money. Soon after, his wife got cancer and died. Jusup suffered a nervous breakdown and had to temporarily enter a mental institution for delusions and suicidal tendencies. He quickly went from Mr. Universe to destitute. He learned in a dramatic way that muscle doesn't make you invincible.

Fast-forward twenty years. As often happens when one hits rock bottom, they find God waiting. Some may argue that it is weakness and desperation that leads people into believing in God, but I believe that that is how God intended it to be. That humility leads to inner strength and conviction. For all his accomplishments, Jusup wasn't as strong as he thought. My companion and I made earnest efforts to get him to stop drinking and come to church with us. But it seemed for every step forward he would take, he would then take two steps backwards. But I loved him in my own way. I could never be angry with him for his apparent lack of progress, and eventually it became comforting to me just to hear him say that it did him good to meet with us. And that became enough for me.

My companion Elder Norris and Jusup in his apartment.

He would often say that he considered killing himself but that he was too much of a coward to do so. Perhaps that "never give up" attitude that led him to the world title twice is what kept him from ending his life. It broke my heart to see someone who was so successful fall so far. He never even saw it coming. But he is a hero to me. His name will always stand as Mr. Universe in 1979, 1980. Despite his success and failure, he is one of the kindest and most humble people I have ever met. And it might be cliche, but Jusup helped me as much as I helped him, if not more. And maybe some people don't need "saving" in the sense that we often think of. I know that God knows Jusup, God loves him. The real Mr. Universe is watching over his son.

If I brought some small measure of comfort to a broken, hopeless man, then my job was done.

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I'm not narcissistic enough to believe that Mr. Rogers reads my blog from wherever he is, but on the off chance that he does, I'd like to thank him for this quote:

"Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always takes strength, not weakness. It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets. It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and to reach out for help and comfort when we need it."
 -Fred Rogers

PS- This dog can skateboard. If how much fun he is having doesn't make you smile, there may be something wrong with you. I just wonder what he thinks he is doing...

[Keep Following, Neighbor.]

Silver Linings

Something strange happens when your worst fears come true.

 When you wake to find your nightmares live and breathe, and your life breaks to little bits in front of your face. When you can only helplessly look on while the worst happens and it can't seem to get any worse, and then does. In those moments, you die a little. Pieces of your heart and mind are chipped away, never to be recovered. And it hurts awfully. But this is to be expected. It is the logical outcome of the situation at hand. It's easy to understand why you feel the way you do. That heartbreak is not what is strange.

I think most of us fall asleep most nights worrying about all the terrible things that could happen to us. We allow those thoughts to run over and over in the treadmill of our minds until they become soothing to us. We spend years cultivating lives motivated by preventing worst-case scenarios. So on the off chance that one day we wake up and worst-case has pushed its way through the front door, we are rarely surprised. And we react accordingly. According to plan, we fall down in a heap and sob until we can't anymore. Our reaction to fears coming true isn't strange, either. We've practiced that part in our minds.

And after we've cried our tears and wallowed for the allotted time, we get up. We wake up with tear-soaked pillows and heavy hearts and we keep going. We go about our lives, performing the same routines, if only with small variations. We go to work or school much the way we did before. We may not realize it right away, but things are different--brighter, sharper. Without even realizing it, we have become stronger. Some people notice this about themselves right away and become prideful about it and vow to never let themselves sink so low again... Getting stronger after facing resistance also isn't strange.

But some of us take longer. The realization comes slowly at first. Little events unfold differently. We stand up for ourselves and others when we wouldn't have before. Reactions that we planned out before happen spontaneously. Hesitation decreases. As the sun rises and sets, and weeks and months pass, we become more sure about who we are. And we too realize we are stronger. But only because we know how vulnerable we are. It becomes beautiful.

This is what is strange: when your worst fears come true, you have nothing left to be afraid of, and this is a good thing.

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How Much Is Your Self-Worth? A General Rules Post, Kind Of

They are back! That's right, the General Rules of love are back, if only temporarily. So be happy.

Lately I've been reading some self-help books, old journals of mine, and inspirational quotes. And I've noticed a peculiar vein running through most of them. If you could distill the messages in all of them down to a single sentence, it would be: the only thing you can control is yourself.

This is interesting because it seems so self-evident. It seems like a trite platitude at first glance. I just imagine some valley girl from the nineties sassily exclaiming, "DUH!" as she twists some pink gum on her finger. But like most cliches it is so obvious that we forget it as soon as we hear it, and then go about our lives trying to control everything except for ourselves. We get frustrated about hitting red lights, birds pooping on our newly-cleaned cars, getting stuck behind the old woman at the grocery store who still writes checks, and people just disappointing us in general.

This asinine behavior vindicates itself especially in times of emotional trouble. When lovers leave, when family goes astray, and when things wither and die are the times when we try to grip the tightest. But we find quickly that the harder we squeeze, the quicker things fall apart. And then we beat ourselves to a pulp for not controlling something we had no control over in the first place. So label it a self-evident, trivial platitude all you want, it bears repeating--and often.

The next thing I noticed is that our ability to internalize this obvious truth is tightly linked to our self-worth. Usually those who have made their peace with that phrase can feel alright when everything is going wrong. Those who have learned that they can only control themselves through soul-wracking defeats are the calmest when the tempests of life swirl around them. On the other hand, those sad people who vainly think they can have the slightest control over anything outside themselves are the first to fall to pieces.

This is because they associate their worth as an individual with how "put-together" and "perfect" their lives are. It is possible to live under this delusion for small periods of time. When things are going according to our best-laid plans, we are apt to think that things are going right because we willed the outside factors to be arranged just how we wanted. But eventually our plans will come up against something we cannot control. And those who associate success and self-esteem with their false sense of control will crumble. Those who instead turn inward and work on themselves and on their own behavior, realizing that that is their only true choice, will rise above their tribulations.

This problem happens most often with others' freedom of choice. And this most often in love. When we not only love someone, but absolutely require them to survive, we are essentially building a giant house of control-cards. The problem with this (beside the obvious reason) is that whether or not that house stays up isn't completely up to you. When it falls, it won't matter how quickly you can grasp at the fluttering cards.

We must separate our self-worth from outside sources and learn through internal observation what makes us wonderful. The nice thing about accepting this platitude is that the more you control yourself, the better you will feel about you. Yes, I realize this is hard. If it were easy everyone would do it. Overcoming yourself is the hardest thing you will ever do.

In closing, I've found that most of the time, life is a series of acts of letting go.

You're welcome. You don't need to go to that Tony Robbins seminar anymore.
 
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Miracle

So my blog just hit 11,000 pageviews.  I know this is only due to the fact that I have ten really devoted followers who refresh my home page a hundred or so times each time they visit. So for those dedicated few I want to say thank you. Sincerely, without your support it would be hard to keep doing what I do. Thank you for visiting my small corner of the internet. The page views are great, but the best thing is hearing face-to-face how you laughed or cried or thought deeply about something I've written. I write for myself, but I also write to share with others, and I am grateful for your support.

That said, a little commentary on some trends I've noticed. I like getting attention for my humorous posts, and they get a lot of response. My posts about love garnered some minor interest from people who know me. My poetry must be terrible because it seems mostly ignored. But far and away the most interesting thing that has happened with my blog was the recent post about women. The response was incredible. That post was shared over and over and that post was marked by a 250% increase in the number of views over my other posts. This is interesting and is a testimony to me that what I wrote was true, potent, and most of all it was relevant.

I like giving people what they want, so I want to post something along that same vein a little more often. Not so often that I would come off as pandering to my readers, but I think there is more to be said. I'm also going to try to post more often. Since I am now an alumnus I have no more excuses. So hold me to it. And I don't plan on stopping poetry posts. I figure if I force feed you, you'll grow to like them. Also if anyone is interested in reading snippets of my fiction, let me know so I can tell you it's not ready yet.

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Fitzgerald Rolling

First of all, a little plug for my mother, who always made me read the books before I saw the movie. Doing that taught me a truth at a young age that is so simple that it has become cliche: "the book is better than the movie." But most often, that little sentence is thrown out there and then forgotten like yesterday's news. Or it is said half-heartedly, with the sayer reserving a secret deep inside of him/her that goes something like: "Even if it is considered unintelligent to think so, I have more fun watching the movies."

Why is this? Why do some openly admit that the books are always better than the movie, but refuse to admit that they liked the movies more? Well get ready, because I know why. It's because the mediums are different. Now, that doesn't seem to be some earth-shattering revelation, it is an easily observable fact. But the implications of that fact are often overlooked. The implications of this difference manifest themselves in the schizophrenic attitude of our day about the mediums themselves. Aside from the obvious differences between books and movies, the difference that has the most drastic impact is the amount of time it takes for books to develop. You have to read. It takes time. Books are long. And movies are short. And yes, I realize that I've already lost half of my audience because they didn't make it past the first paragraph.

But there is purpose in the time books take to develop. You get to experience true character development. When the reader is forced to live and laugh and love with the characters, the readers get to experience the lives of the characters in an intimate way. You can't close your eyes to the dirty parts of a character's thoughts or motivations. When you read, you get to use the limitless power of your imagination. There are no actors to pay, or props to set up, no stages to dress. It happens on-the-fly, exactly the way you want it. And after you've spent hours and hours reading and Jay Gatsby finally dies, you feel just as empty as Nick as he watches Gatsby's balloon of extravagance deflate (you see what I did there? Best transition ever.) And that is a feeling that will always be lost in translation from the book to the silver screen, no matter how great the acting is, or how "real" the 3D makes it, simply because you haven't paid the emotional cost of reading for hours.

Movies are all about spectacle. In this aspect, they do in fact trump books. There is simply no amount of description on a page that will equal hearing and seeing a gigantic explosion on a 500-foot screen in a movie theater equipped with the latest cinematic Dolby surround sound. There is something grand about seeing hundreds of thousands of orcs screaming battle-cries on the fields of Pelennor. Not all movie adaptions are bad. I mean, I waited in line to see every midnight showing of the LOTR movies. Some directors try to stay true to what the author was trying to accomplish. They try to convey a message rather than fit in all the events. They try to stay as true to the material and act as a clean window through which the work can shine for itself.

This is not what Baz Luhrmann does. He is more of a stained-glass window. Everything he touches becomes "BAZ LUHRMANN'S [fill in the blank.]"  And it has me going, "what about F. Scott?" But again, my gripe isn't necessarily with the fact that they are adapting the book, I like some book adaptions.  What I don't like is that Baz doesn't trust his source material enough to speak on its own, so he gets JAY Z to executive produce. In doing so he is forcing the movie to be relevant to us. "Hey kids, look at this! Isn't it great?" And instead of the movie being about the fruitlessness of pursuing wealth and leisure, it becomes about the glamour of pursuing wealth and leisure. The movie itself starts to become a promo for the soundtrack, and the book is completely forgotten. Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztO3sZMQzW8
 
Back when I was still debating on whether or not to even see the movie, I watched and interview where Luhrmann stated that he even cut the funeral scene out of the theatrical release of the movie. This is essentially when I decided not to see the movie. Because the funeral scene is arguably the most important part of the book. It's what finally compels Nick to move away from New York and the extravagant but empty lifestyle there. I guess it all makes sense though. This is the perfect movie to sum up our day and age in which we are so willing to exchange fun and spectacle for real connection and a better experience, simply because it takes more effort. Yes the movie may be fun, but the book was better.

Baz doesn't get my money, and please Fitzgerald, don't roll over too hard.

[Keep Following. And I am sad, because Leonardo DiCaprio makes a stunning Gatsby and probably gives an A+ performance. Just like in my upcoming post.]

The Esteemed Self

I don't know where this came from. It's one of those times when I can't control the words. They flow like water from a breached levee. Sometimes I notice something that I feel like others notice but can't quite articulate. Much of this may sound cliche or trite, but it isn't. What I have to write is immensely, vastly important. There is almost no way to write this as a male and not sound like I am pandering to females for my own self-aggrandizement.

There are so many girls out there who are desperately seeking to be noticed. So many girls looking for validation in the wrong places, so many rebelling against any and all labels placed upon them, so many that languish in relative obscurity and a daily sense of smallness. I hear their silent screams. I follow their blogs, I look at their uploaded pictures, I read their statuses. And it makes me want to weep for all my powerlessness to do anything about it. If I could tell all the women in the world one thing, it would be: You have worth. It is an intrinsic, inborn, irrefutable worth. And it is immense.

You do not need to have this worth validated by any social, familial, or male groups. If I had the voice, I would shout this from the rooftops; if I had the courage, I would clutch every girl within my grasp and whisper this in their ear; if I had the means, I would start foundations to let every girl know what I know. There is so much more to life than the false hope offered by social media. You deserve more than what your magazines tell you. You are so much more than the narrow picture frames that would trap you. Real men don't want you to look like pornstars and act like immature boys. We want you to be the mothers of our children, our solace in times of trouble, and the sure foundation when the walls around us crumble.

You are wellsprings of power. But make no mistake, this is not power like men have. It is much greater. Not a brute reckless strength, but the innate strength of the hands that have nursed every generation since we began. Your strength waits in an endless reserve of gentle words and caresses. Your strength is not in your iron actions, but your ability to relent, to forgive, to weep, to express emotion. You are brave. Perhaps it is not on the battlefields of great wars, but your bravery is found in silent foxholes of despair where only your consoling embrace can comfort the frightened child, or husband, or stranger. This makes you infinite. This makes you indispensable.

Your body is a temple, respect it. Never apologize for feeling. Run away as fast as you can from any person who makes you feel insignificant, worthless, or anything short of astounding. The same even goes for other girls who make you feel this way. Or any media that does the same. Run away. Run away, and replace it with something positive. There are uplifting things to read, there are better friends out there, and there are some wonderful men out there. (Hint: They are usually not the ones society has programmed you to be attracted to.)

Please women, do not fall to pieces. The rest of us need you too damn much. And in my own insignificant way, I love you all.

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Things I've Learned From Yoga

First, your body is going to look and feel weird. Get used to it. You wouldn't think it possible to bend and contort in such a lewd and inhumane fashion, but you'd be wrong. Sometimes it's hard to move.

Second, it's impossible not to laugh the first time you do the happy baby pose. Sometimes it's hard to be serene.

And finally, it is very relaxing to breathe deeply. But as the unfortunate, middle-aged woman in my class learned, sphincter control is of the utmost importance.

Sometimes it's hard to breathe deeply.

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