In Living Is The Very Life Of Life

First, I hate it when my milk decides that it is Shaun White and ramps off the top cereal flake to land all over the counter.

That said, let me continue. My life is a constant battle. But not with anything cool. My enemies are dirt and hairs and disorder. I do epic battle with my apartment on a daily basis. Whether it's the half-full gallon of milk thrown IN THE TRASH CAN, or seemingly endless stream of errant hairs from my roommate-in-denial's head, I'm afraid I'm losing the war.

The Kitchen.
New stains appear on the floor daily from substances unknown. The pile of dishes seems to never end, constantly regenerated by some malevolent force. And no matter how many times I move them to the broken right sink so that I can wash mine in the left, they teleport magically back to the left. The microwave looks like someone deposited a wild chipmunk inside and pressed the potato preset button. Chili explosion. And I have to run the disposal every time I use the sink. I don't know what is being washed down the drain. Maybe chunks of mud. No matter how much I sweep, wipe, or throw away, it comes back the next day to thwart me again.

The Bathroom.
It's like living with an 87 year-old golden retriever with a shedding problem. Except the hairs are longer. And a dog would have better hygiene. My roommate seeks to cover his balding by keeping his hair inordinately long. He does this to great success. If you saw him on the street you would never guess his dark secret. But venture into the bathroom and a scene of madness and bloodshed would break upon you with crushing horror. He doesn't lose tiny, blonde, short guy hairs like the rest of us. He loses 3 inch brown bristles. Not to mention the hairs he intentionally shaves off his face which accumulate in that no-man's-land behind the faucet. Also the bathmat is always on the floor when I walk in, no matter how many times I hang it up after I leave. It is also magic. And no matter how much I spray with the shower head, scrub with sponges, and nag, it is there every morning like some insipid plague. All I can do is chant a chorus of "Damn it, dude!"


The Living Room.
The living room is actually fine. Soooo... yeah. It stays pretty clean. It's actually kind of nice in there.

But none of this changes the fact that my milk has major steez.

[Keep following Lords and Ladies, all.]

.\ /. <----- These Are My Angry Eyes

I saw a billboard on I-15 today. It read, "REMEMBER 9/11. No Ground Zero Mosque." This text, written in red over a background of 9/11 rubble, was the most Un-American and Un-Christian thing I've ever seen. (As if such an act would indicate our forgetfulness. How presumptuous of this ad.)

Now, I don't normally get too riled up about politics, even when it gets positively insane. But I've had about enough of this.

Let's forget about how the "Mosque" is mainly a community center to which all are welcome. Let's forget about how this building, although only two blocks away, cannot even be seen from Ground Zero. Let's forget about how the almighty terrible "Mosque" will include a basketball court and a culinary school. Let's forget the government's own neglect of Ground Zero still leaves a gaping scar on the face of New York, which is an even bigger disgrace to those that died there. And finally let's forget about the other Mosque, the one that has been open for over thirty years, Masjid Manhattan, that is only four blocks away from Ground Zero.

Let's forget about all of this and focus on some other things.  First, that this is Un-American action and ignorant bigotry. And second, this is an Un-Christian sentiment. I'm not saying that rallying against a "Ground Zero Mosque" means you hate America or Christianity. I'm saying that it makes you a hypocrite.

First, for all the Glenn Beck worshipers, let's focus on the Constitution, the thing that made America, America. For all who don't know what the First Amendment says, here you go, "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble..." You are welcome. "But," you protest, "Congress isn't making a law against them worshipping!" Maybe it's the Democrat in me, or maybe just the rational human, but am I the only one who sees this case going to the Supreme Court if their building permit is denied? Preventing them from building would violate this Amendment on two counts. One by prohibiting the free exercise of their religion and two by preventing the people to peaceably assemble. (I know 'assembly' is usually interpreted as a protest, but the language remains ambiguous and can be interpreted either way.) If you want them to move it somewhere else, why do you suddenly take interest now when two blocks further you could protest a Mosque right now for the insensitivity of their worship? Is this a matter of timing? It seems a pretty fickle reason to stop them now, when for the last nine years (since 9/11) no one has said a word against the other Mosque. This is also Un-American because didn't our ancestors come to America for this exact reason? To escape religious persecution? Now suddenly it seems a little crazy when we have fought and died for the last nine years in Iraq, we deny that same desire to those who we went to war to "rescue." As a nation founded by people who desired religious tolerance, we sure have a funny view of tolerance. Or did the founding fathers just mean tolerance for Christian religions?

Second, shame on all of you Christians out there. And ESPECIALLY you Mormons. If you are against the building of this "Mosque" please don't call yourself a Christian, because I don't want to share anything in common with you.

Matthew 18:21,22 "Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven." (Seventy times seven was a holy number and inconceivably large to Jews of the time. Infinite.) I guess Jesus forgot the special addendum, "Unless he is a Muslim extremist then it's OK not to forgive."

We could talk for hours of passages all about loving thy neighbor as thyself and so on, but you know the Bible right? It goes without saying that even if these were the very men who flew the planes into the Trade Centers who were trying to build this Mosque, we as imperfect, regular people are required to forgive them. If you don't like this idea, find a new religion, for this was Christ's message. The fact remains that these aren't the terrorists that flew the planes. These are Muslims. Americans. Children of God. We cannot punish them for the acts of others. Which brings me to my last point. As Christians, why are so many so intolerant of Muslims? They are concerned with the mote in the Muslims eyes and cannot see the beam in their own. The Bible is just as extreme in its wording as the Qur'an. Many criticize Muslims for principles relating to Jihad and yet are more than willing to overlook the treatment of women, and adulterers in the Bible. The Old Testament is very clear, adulterers are to be stoned and women cast out of the city for weeks at a time during Menstruation. We see these as a fulfilled law and archaic, and still see the book as the word of God. Yet many are unwilling to grant this same luxury to Muslims and their book of scripture. The intolerant Christian attitude seems to say, "If it's in the Qur'an, then they believe it." How intolerant and bigoted.

And in conclusion, to all you LDS people out there, it's time to think long and hard about what I will say next. How can you expect others to separate the mainstream LDS church from those RLDS wackos down in Southern Utah when we refuse to separate Muslims from their extremist groups? The Reorganized church believes in Polygamy, a practice that was discontinued over 180 years ago by the LDS church. These break-away groups are not affiliated with us and we disagree with their practices, and we bristle when others try to group us together with them. These groups are radical extremists of our faith. Likewise the terrorists are extremist Muslims, and it is unjust to lump the two together. How can we expect others to separate our church from our radical practitioners if we refuse to do the same for Muslims?

Do not give in to misunderstanding. It breeds contempt. Stop listening to T.V. pundits. Remember that Jesus saved his most scathing rebukes, not for prostitutes or murderers, but for hypocrites. And finally, practice what you preach.

[Keep following. That's all I have to say about that.]

Fruits Of My Labor

I have recently been on the hunt for rad t-shirts. I think I called them appropriately ironic t-shirts on facebook. And I just wanted to share with all of you the bountiful harvest which I have experienced. I braved the sweet sickly smell of Savers and Deseret Industries. I braved the crying children and harsh fluorescent lighting. I braved the unhappy cashiers and mustard-stained clothing racks. I braved the wash of cold, odd guilt that came over me as I realized that I have the money to shop elsewhere. I braved the unorganized ruddy shelves and piercing sideways looks from observers in my furious quest. All for these gems. The beacon and source of artesian hope. I had a large budget, yet this is probably the best $2 I have ever spent.

Ok, Donny and Marie Osmond are cool enough in their own right, right? But what about the Osmonds you've never heard of? The coolness is simply exponential. They are even clad in 90's regalia. The 2nd Osmonds have a phallic 'G' as their symbol. It is a symbol of prowess, kinda like The-artist-formally-known-as-Prince. The color scheme is a delight to behold, as are their shining, quasi-toughguy  faces.

There isn't much to say about this one. Maybe it is the unintentional play on words, that makes us read: "Right on! Freedom!" Or maybe it is the fact that everything is starred and striped, but the fact remains, this shirt made my day. I don't know if Lady Liberty has ever ridden a Chopper. But maybe she should consider it. After all, she looks dang good. This shirt also makes me want to Ride On Freedom. I also ride on the fact that America will continually ruin its own patriotism with strange mash-ups of revered symbols. I love freedom just as much as the next guy, but now I can wear it on my chest. Right on!
 
[Keep following children, I'm saving for a motorcycle.]

It's a nice day for a... white temple wedding.

So I have been to more weddings in the last month than I have been to in my entire life. And while seeing live sealing ceremonies has been a major spiritual highlight, it also gets me thinking. Too hard. (This is a bad thing.) I get all introspective-y and I produce stuff like this. I promise the next post will make you laugh or something...

I have wondered all my life how it will be to hear violins play.
One day I'll look up into someone's face and the chords will match,
a duet and steps in tandem,
constructive waves will stand still in the moment of met glances.

One plays, the other compliments, notes compile and structure harmony;
Our lives come together and in the most beautiful sense, we will make music.
Whatever my thin tune had sung throughout my solo existence,
she pairs her own into a song I have never heard and yet know.

Sometimes I question if I have heard that song, but have jarred the
rhythm so thoroughly that it has unraveled in my hands.
Still, one day it will happen, the most beautiful chords will resonate
with both our souls and we will feel like we deserve joy.
For the first time.

[Keep following, it's like meth for your brain.]

Our Sprinklers Were Installed By Sadists

Seriously. Take a gander.

The Branbury Apartments, aside from being an apparent magnet for rapists, has also hired evil, wet-sock-loving sprinkler installers. What did they pay these people to do exactly?  Last time I checked, concrete sidewalks did not need watering. But hey, perhaps times have changed.

To their credit, they were creative in their devilry. The sprinklers only come on at night. That is the worst kind of diablerie because it is freezing cold at night. At least little children would glory in running through the streams of water during the hot day. These people must have been hell-bent on spreading their malign influence on all who choose to keep hours that are different from a third grader.

There is no sound that strikes more terror into my heart than hearing the sporadic popping and hissing of a lumbering and spiteful midnight sprinkler program coming to life. It engenders a panicked cry of, "RUUUUN!!!" like some third rate action-adventure movie. The sprinkler heads rise slowly from the grass, hissing all the while like plastic snakes before spraying their cold venom on any innocent bystanders. If you are unfortunate enough to arrive after they are in full cycle, an impenetrable obstacle course awaits. Shooting scatter-patterns of death, each sprinkler head seems like it is manned by the last Nazi gunner at Normandy. Last night they had me bobbing and weaving like some frantic, novice boxer.

But I braved the crossfire. A mad courage and longing for home possessed me. I performed spin moves that would make Adrian Peterson blush. I deftly avoided each homicidal stream only to get caught by an unforeseen pernicious trap.

It has been called many things.

I call it the puddle of sullied hopes.

You see, not only are the sprinkler men evil, they are sly and smart. They outwitted me. I am defeated. They must have broken the regulators and extended the cycles in such a way that it causes excess water flow. The water slowly builds to create a mini Lake Michigan every night in the middle of our lawn. The grass can't take it. And there the water rests. Luring the lone traveler before splashing in and seeping to the toes. In an instant your feet are sopping. In an instant you flash back to the last time your mother held you, and you wish that you had held on a second longer.

Beware the Branbury sprinklers. But if pass through you must, abandon all hope. And bring extra socks.

[Keep following, Ris does.]

If at first you don't succeed, don't reproduce.

So I may have just seen the best YouTube video that I have/will ever seen/see. But before I embed it, a few remarks. First of all, I know that none of my readership will ever go into motivational speaking so this may all be moot. But just in case any of you ever consider it, please remember: "The motivational speaking profession requires no formal training or certification, however skills in public speaking in many cases addressing large audiences are vital" (Wikipedia).

This is one of those things in life that encourages dumb people because they think, "No formal training required?! Bonus bonus bonus! I can do that! Easy!" What they fail to recognize is that this is exactly what should discourage, rather than encourage them. If the movie "Little Miss Sunshine" was any lesson, not just anyone can be a motivational speaker. If something requires no education, it is usually the hardest thing you can possibly do. Things like being an inventor, entrepreneur, or freelance writer should be viewed with more caution. If you are amazing at any of these things naturally, then by all means, jump in. But if you don't have anything more to say besides:
1. Figure out what you want to do
2. Believe in yourself
3. Formulate a plan of action
4. Follow through with it
5. Never give up
you should probably consider trade school. Well enough babble, just watch. And hold on, or you may fall out of your chair, as I.



Also, some things just can't be done. Or at least without maiming yourself. Maybe he should change #1 to: Figure out something USEFUL AND PREFERABLY NOT UTTERLY ASININE that you want to do. Watch the hilarious follow up. It won't disappoint.



[Keep following. And I promise you will be inspired to climb Everest. Naked.]

Did I ever tell you of the day that I lost faith in humanity?

I had just started my new job at the Costco(mpany) and I was enjoying my simple yet satisfying job as a cashier's assistant, when my bubble was broken. And old man and his wife muscled their overladen cart towards our stand and I offered my services like usual. As I began unloading their items the grandma (who was pleasant enough) noticed that their was a hole in her over sized bag of dinner rolls. She told me that she wanted to get a new one and promptly started to make her way to the back of the store.

Her husband, upon observing this little interaction, then tore into me with a bitter tone usually reserved for persons who have killed close relatives or pets, "I can't believe you would let her do that herself!"
Astonished, I replied, "Uhh, I'm sorry, wha...?"
"NO, sorry doesn't fix this. I can't believe you would let an old woman do that herself. She has a bad knee you know!"
"..."
"There is no way to fix this now. Is it or isn't it store policy that you run back and get things we need?"
Not knowing that it isn't store policy, but rather a service that we choose to render, "Uhh, I guess so."
Now even more livid, "NO! Is it or isn't it? Give me a straight answer!"
"Yes?"
His lips curled as he revealed a mouth full of aging teeth and asked, "Then why didn't you do it?"
"I don't know, sometimes we go back for stuff if the members want us to..."
"You're a mistake! I should talk to a manager!"
Now getting fed up with this belligerent old fool, "Do you want me to? Because I can go get one!"
"You're lucky I don't!"
"Well, then I'll remember next time..." Just then a supervisor told me it was time for me to go out and push carts before I said ".. to do better." Or was it, "to avoid jerk old people who feel entitled to hand and foot service because they survived the Great Depression?"  I can't remember which. 

So, to this old guy: if sorry doesn't make it better and there is no way to fix the problem in your mind, why bring it up? I just can't understand how people can be this way. I can understand mentioning to me that you would rather have me go back and get something, but to lay into me like that? It was something else. If someone goes to do something themselves, I am not about to physically stop them. And apparently I was supposed to tap into my omniscient powers to know that this particular sixty five year old woman had a bad knee. In a place that is often labeled as happy valley this kind of thing happens way too often. What took me aback was the venom with which he addressed me right out of the gates. You would honestly think I had punched his wife in the face by the way he spoke to me. It was so amazing I can't even get upset about it.

I may have lost faith in humanity that day if it had not been for a sweet old mexican woman who was lost in the parking lot. She couldn't find her car and I offered to help her. When we finally found her car she wrapped her wrinkled hands around my cheeks, looked deep into my soul and said, "God bless you." And all of the rancor about the days proceedings that had been driving my legs simply slipped out of me.

Sometimes the outliers of society, the murderers, slanderers, and liars tend to shape our opinions of humanity at large. This was a lesson to me that for every grumpy old man there is out there, there are fifty sweet old women.

[Keep following. Next time I'll tell you about the time I met David Hasselhoff.]