The Holy War

I would like to make sure that all readers know that this post was written before the game was played. I don't know how things will have turned out 20 hours from now. I want that understood so that this post won't sound pridefully magnanimous in case of victory or bitter excuse making in case of defeat.
As is well known, I'm a hard core dyed in the wool true blue through and through BYU fan. That's how I was raised and I would have it no other way. Growing up the color red made me sick to my stomach, and so on and so forth.
This week I've been doing some thinking as a result of something my roommate Sterling said. He said that in the time we've lived together, nearly three months now, he's only seen me angry once. When he said that I felt pretty good because I try to be an agreeable bloke. But the incident he cited as me being angry caused me to reflect a bit. He was talking about last Saturday when, as I was making a cake, I was listening to the BYU-Air Force game streaming over the internet because it wasn't on any channels that we had. I assume he was referring to the moment when Max Hall threw an interception to end the first half and I threw my green playground foursquare ball at the cupboards in the kitchen and stormed away in a huff.
As I've contemplated this over the past few days I've really come to wonder if football, even BYU football, is worth getting so worked up over that it changes my attitude and demeanor. These thoughts have been especially poignant as we are gearing up for yet another "Holy War" in but a few short hours.
The media has been having a field day with this game since this is the first time that these two teams have come into the game so highly ranked and with so much on the line. Even national news outlets (The New York Times will be running a feature on the Holy War on the front page of their sports page later on today) are running stories on this rivalry. As the The New York Times article says, The Wall Street Journal has this rivalry listed as the fourth best in the country.
As I've read over these articles, that which tends to be focused on more than anything else is the hatred and animosity that is shared between these two schools and their fan bases. Just as a way of illustrating this hatred, this quote came from a Utah fan and was published in The Denver Post, "I want to see Austin Collie's head go rolling off in his helmet down the field." By no means do I intend to target Ute fans and say that they are the only ones taking part in this hatred, because to do so would be entirely off base. I have heard, and lamentably even been known to say, things that are filled with animosity towards the Utes. For example I had an editorial published in the Deseret News back in 2004 which read,
"As I have walked around BYU campus this previous week, I have heard countless students/"BYU fans" say that they would be pleased to see Utah win this Saturday. I cringe to hear such blasphemy. I was born and raised a true blue cougar fan. As good as a Ute win would be for the downfall of the BCS, as well as provide a monetary boost for the conference, I can not bring myself to cheer for the school to the north. In fact, to do so would grind against my very soul and be contrary to my upbringing. I can't think of a better way to end the season, than a victory over the crimson heathens. When such happens I will call the season a success. I would therefore urge all BYU fans to get off the bandwagon, grab hold of all that you know to
be true, and cheer your cougars on to victory."
While those words still tend to ring true with something deep within me, I am now somewhat ashamed of them. Nothing really merits my calling someone a heathen. Such profiling is uncalled for and, frankly, un-Christlike.
There is really nothing that anyone can say, do, or be that truly merits hatred towards them. While this is a hard thing to actually put into practice (Can anyone really say that they truly love Osama bin Laden after all that he has done and is?) it should be what we strive for right?
These things that I've said may come across as blasphemy to some of my friends and family members, and I may well be ostracized for saying them, but these are some of my musings from this week.
Don't get me wrong, I'll still be cheering heartily for a Cougar victory tomorrow, but I'm going to try to not get so absolutely emotionally attached to the game that my happiness is dependant on the outcome. I'm going to try and sit back and have my attitude reflect the words, "Come What May, and Love It."

Cecil is my Homeboy

While I was on my mission a group of students created t-shirts, buttons, stickers, etc with the following logo:With this, the phrase "Cecil is my Homeboy" became wildly popular, and by the time I got home and down to BYU it was still being said once in a while.
While everyone would like to say that Cecil is indeed their homeboy, I have a greater right to believe that such is the case for me because of an incident that happened about a week ago.
It was Saturday the 11th of October. A frigid morning which brought with it the prospect of free blue pancakes that were being served across the street from the house in which I live by the BYUSSR...I mean BYUSA.
Anyway, after the pancakes and the 5k race (in case you haven't guessed it yet it was Homecoming) there was to be a parade. Now quite a few of the people in our ward live right along street where passed the parade, and so as I settled in to watch the parade I was surrounded by a great many of my friends and acquaintances from the ward.
We were whooping and hollering and generally having a gay ol' time when along came President and Sister Samuelson sitting in a convertible with the top down.
Let's back up for a second and say that earlier that morning when my roommates Nick and Chad and I had gone to get pancakes I was wearing gym shorts and a flannel shirt and my cheap ecuadorian canvas shoes without socks, and my legs and feet got cold. So before the parade I had gone home to put some socks on.
Back to the action,
As President Samuelson drove by, hosts of students, all of whom seemed to be vying for Cecil's attention with the obvious intent of showing to their peers that Cecil truly was their homeboy. I didn't feel the need to do as they were doing and merely sat in my chair and smiled and waved as he and his wife passed by.
As I did so, President Cecil O. Samuelson looked at me in the eyes, and over the din of the other students shouted to me, "Nice Socks." After which he gave me a big smile and a thumbs up."
It was then decided that Cecil truly is my homeboy.
This picture was taken shortly thereafter:

Musings Early Monday Morning

So it is currently 2:23 a.m. and something peculiar is happening. I am unable to fall asleep. I know I know, this is absolutely unheard of, but such is my unhappy lot.
I'm not terribly perturbed at this for, as a college student, I'm quite used to not getting much sleep; I'm more confused about why it is that I can't sleep. I usually have absolutely no trouble whatsoever getting myself to settle in for an evening's repose.
Just last night for instance I had decided to stay up a little bit later than usual to read over the lesson that I was to give in Priesthood today from the Joseph Smith manual. Well, I sat down on the couch, opened the book, and promptly drifted off into that blissful state of unconsciousness which we all know and love. But not tonight. Nothing will do it for me. I've tried the dictionary, both regular and usage types. I've tried listening to soft piano music. nope. I've tried imagining the back of a penny (yeah that's a trick I've used since I was a child, I'm not sure why really.) Nada.
As I can't sleep, I've decided to blog. Man I still hate that word. In saying that I'm "blogging" I feel almost reminiscent of those innocent days of childhood when I'd pick my nose in bed and wipe it on the wall. (and no I am not ashamed of that.) That is a definition better fitting of the word blog. But I digress.
As I look back I see that it has been several weeks since I've *ahem* blogged. As I look back to what has happened to me in the last little while that is worthy of my writing about it at this ungodly hour a few things come to mind.
A week ago last Thursday I was pepper sprayed, by a cop. Now before you all go writing me off as a hoodrat and a hooligan, let it be known that it was a part of my training as a security guard.
Pepper spray, when applied to one's eyes, hurts. A lot. As I cast about for a satisfactory way of describing this pain, one phrase comes to mind. Hellfire. Not hellfire and damnation...but just hellfire. Even though I was told to cover one eye and close the one that was to be sprayed, I still felt as though someone had lit a fire on my right eyelid and then poked me repeatedly just for the sheer enjoyment of my pain. Herein follows a picture of me standing in front of a fan about ten minutes after the incident . Please note the eye swollen shut, the tongue hanging out (the spray got in my mouth and, while it wasn't nearly as intense as my eye, it burned) and the snot coming out of my nose.


So after about 20 minutes I was able to hold my eye open without any fingerly aids, and after about 30 minutes I could see perfectly fine.
It wasn't for about 3 hours though that the burning on my cheek and forehead completely went away and I had a headache until the next morning.
So I imagine this recounting has caused the question to arise, was it worth it. The answer: a resounding yes that echoes through the canyons.
I mean think about it, how many people out there can say they've been pepper sprayed. And of those, how many can say they've done it voluntarily. I daresay that, while that number may reach into the thousands and perhaps millions, that is still but a fraction of the world population. I suppose that the conclusion that I'm striving to reach here is this, I'm pretty cool.
Well, as we approach the 3:00 a.m. mark I suppose I'll wrap up this little musing by inviting all who may venture to read this, Be Excellent To Each Other.

Day or Night; Rain or Snow

The last few nights, as I have been out and about, there has been something different in the air. A combination of several things has filled me with an expectant, apprehensive and euphoric mood. It's the slight crispness of the air. It's hearing my peers discuss classes they will be taking starting next week. It's thinking to myself, "I need a new pencil before school starts." It's in the birdsong that gently drifts down faintly as smoke from a chimney. It's seeing the maple trees with their leaves all tinged with brown edges. (That may be a result of a lack of water but we'll take as a sign of autumn in this instance.) It's hearing young men and women across Provo laughing and pursuing gaiety in these last few days of freedom from the oppressive hand of academic progression. It's a combination of these things, which are but a small sampling of the many that could be listed, that has induced my uncertain excitement for that which lay ahead.

I have long held that Summer is my favorite season. For during the summer it seems, if but for a small season,  that the world relaxes somewhat and that life slows down marginally from it's breakneck speed. (I realize that, as I am still in school, my perceptions of reality and somewhat skewed and that perhaps my views on this subject are probably not widely held, but I can see the world through nobody's glasses but my own and you must, therefore, bear with me here.)

While those few months of ease from the stress of the rest of the year are wonderful, there is a special feeling that comes with autumn. Autumn brings with it a renewed vigor for life and increased desire to improve and make one's self better than ever. There is a rejuvenated enthusiasm that seems to bring the world into sharper focus and really makes one appreciate the beauties of the world that are all around.

It is this heightened perception of the world around me that has brought into ever clearer focus the love that I have for being a sports fan.

The summer, while a wonderful time for sitting back and lazing away the endless afternoons, lacks in great measure that added spice to life that comes from following with fervent care the progress of sports. The only sport worth following through the months of June, July and August is baseball. And baseball, while truly being the great American past time, lacks the intrigue to keep one's interest peaked throughout the entire summer. The Olympics did a good job of holding off the unrest caused by the dearth in sporting news, but their short tenure led to a short-lived sports fix.

But with autumn, sport returns in full force. And leading the fray, is college football.

Anyone at all acquainted with myself or my family knows the deep and residing passion that resides in our souls for Brigham Young University Football. As today the long-awaited  season officially starts today, and as I will be fortunate enough to be present for it's inception, a full summer's worth of pent up emotion, anticipation and excitement are sure to come spilling out of me with as much fervor as my skinny self can produce. 

Much has been said throughout the news world about the high expectations for this season and great lengths have been gone to in effort to acquaint us with the team therefore I shan't delve into that  realm. But I will merely say; Ra Ra RaRaRa. Ra Ra RaRaRa. Ra Ra RaRaRa. Gooooo Cougars.

Of vampires and how books about them aren't worthwhile.

I don't get it. Maybe I'm just not romantic, maybe I'm not fully versed in the ever-changing flows of pop culture...or maybe I just don't like the taste of blood. Be that as it may, I don't understand all the hullabaloo with these vampire books everyone is raving about.

Now before you all start jumping on my case and calling for this heretic to be burned at the stake for calling a beloved pop culture icon trash, be it known that I did indeed read the first book of the series...Twilight I think it was called; and I wasn't impressed. Bad writing aside, I just didn't find the story engrossing.

Anyway, here is my explanation of the first book. (And from what I hear of the rest of the series, this is a fair indication of what the rest are all about...though I can't say for sure because I haven't read them.)

In the first three hundred and fifty pages (give or take) there is very little plot or storyline. There's some chick who runs into and falls in love with a vampire. That sounds like it could be made exciting, but sadly it wasn't. It was just three hundred odd pages of sexual tension...nothing more. (Here I must interject that when the 80 year old handsome vampire dude took the 16 year old high school girl into the woods and started taking his clothes off, pedophile-like creepiness aside, I laughed aloud. He was all glittery! HA!)

Anyway, at the 350ish page mark, the story started to pick up and the plot did indeed start to thicken. But then at the climax, when the author was just promising to end the book on a high note, she had the main character pass out and we missed all the action. It was later retold to her while she was in the hospital, but I couldn't help but to feel that it was a total cop out on the part of the author.

Anyway, this novel left me so disappointed that I refuse to read the others and plan on boycotting the movie as well.

And now, as the new book has come out, I've been informed by my "more cultured" friends that's it's pretty much a steamy harlequin-esque romance novel full of sex and intrigue. Yeah, not too disappointed about missing out on that one.

So I've decided that if ever I'm in the mood for a romancy type book, I'll stick with Adam Bede and Pride and Prejudice. Those at least employ a writing style that doesn't make me sick.

God Bless America

I realize that the fourth of July was last week, but ever since then I've been contemplating the ideals upon which this nation was founded, and I've come to realize that we the people are failing to fulfill our civic obligations.

On the fourth, at a patriotic breakfast, Uncle Mark read the Gettysburg Address to all present. Now I was quite familiar with this address having memorized it at work just a month prior, but as he was reading, the words seemed to hit home more than they ever had. Especially these ones:

"It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

The cause of which Lincoln spoke was, of course, that of freedom. This call to action and dedication, though delivered 145 years ago, remains as true for us today as it was for them then.

As I watch and read the news of that which is happening across the nation, I find innumerable evidences that the causes to which many of our fellow citizens are consecrated are deeply rooted in selfishness. There is an overabundance of causes that merely promulgate contention, hate, corruption, transgression and "tolerance" to which the American people have come to accept and embrace. It is disillusioning to associate that great country founded by the grace of God by some of the greatest men this world has ever known with the one that we presently inhabit.

Something must be done and a change must be wrought.

Knowing full well that in order to effectuate change, one must begin with "the man in the mirror,"(thank you Michael Jackson) my broodings over the past week have been greatly centered on what I can do to take President Lincoln's words to heart, what I can do to more fully dedicate myself to this cause upon which our great country was founded.

In pondering this, I remembered the words of Jesus when he said, "If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." (John 8:31-32)


As I've thought about this I've come to the conclusion that true freedom is a lot like true happiness in that there are countless diabolic counterfeits that feign veracity, but only end up enslaving us to a dictatorial regime of unhappiness and damnation.

If we are to be truly free, and proclaim the message of freedom to the corners of the earth, we must continue in Christ's word. Only as we strive to understand and put into practice God's law and His commandments, will we be truly following Lincoln's counsel in dedicating ourselves to the cause of freedom.

We must begin once again to live by our motto "In God We Trust." It was by His hand that this great country came to be, and it will be by following His will that "this nation...shall have a new birth of freedom."

If we are unable or unwilling to follow those dictates that descend from the Divine, we cannot hold on to the hope this nation, in it's truly free and blessed state, will long endure.

Let us all "Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation." For only in doing so, will God's grace reign in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Break Forth Into Joy!!

_
It is with great pleasure that I announce the arrival of Spring.

*brief pause as applause and/or blank stares die down
(Do blank stares die down and if so, is a pause really necessary? Ah the great mysteries of life!)

Many of you may laugh and scorn and say, "This loon is off his rocker! It's nearly the middle of May! Spring came a month and a half ago." I, however, don't apologize for my supposed tardiness.

I'm not saying that delinquence in our dealings is acceptable, least of all in our heavily scheduled and organized society. My belated proclamation is so...belated as a result of coolly calculated timing on my part. I have refrained from making such a proclamation as long as the remaining vestiges of the cold depression brought about by the winter season that appears to have finally left Utah (deep breath) have lingered. Just last week it snowed. SNOW!! IN MAY!! But it would appear that we have once again gained favor in the eyes of the Supreme, and, as one of Michael's professors put it, "The icy death grip of winter has loosened." (Michael correct me if I've misquoted)

This much anticipated arrival brings with it great joy to my heart. There have been many short intervals during the past several months in which this balmy weather has peaked its nose out of obscurity and given us a taste for what lay ahead. (Editor's note: The author hates the verb lay and its many convoluted conjugations. If he has misused it here, he would ask that you correct him privately so that he may retain some semblance of pride. However, if dashing the dreams of the starry-eyed aspiring is your cup of tea, feel free to do so publicly .) But these brief occurrences, far from bringing hope, have merely served to dash my spirits when the frozen monster returned to continue his reign of terror. I may exaggerate, but only slightly.
Having spent a good long time in the tropical climate of Ecuador, this intense freezing was quite difficult for me to cope with. But it is gone now. The monster is destroyed, at least for a season.

We may now take out the shorts and t-shirts and bask in the wonderful glory of the sun as it has now returned to us as did the famed Prodigal! Hallelujah!