Going to Guam

Hello,

I don't know exactly what to say... I'm making a big change in '09. Ever heard me talk about the Gypsy in me? I feel like I was destined to live with my livelihood and possessions able to pack and leave at any moment. I have been conflicted with following that lifestyle and "securing my future" by staying put for long enough to do things in an orthodox manner. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to live in California.... Now I can't imagine making that work for me (not that this point in my life). I came to Utah looking for --don't laugh-- some diversity(okay you can laugh) but I didn't realize I was coming to the single most exclusive society in the nation. Maybe things would be different in SLC, but it seems like everyone is either a lover or a hater around here. I was just looking for somewhere with a lot of people, expecting for diversity to follow. But I think Mormonism is kind of a blanket identity that is woven into everyone's existence and seems to squelch any real diversity in people's personality. I guess I liken Mormon culture to Kudzu in the South. Kudzu was brought to the south to provide vegetation to the area, something for cattle to eat I think. anyway, the plant took over the place, permeating the countryside and choking out all the other types of plant around it. Mormon culture is like a creeping ivy. It envelopes the area until its all you see... Sure, there may be a great variety of trees/people, but they are covered in kudzu/Mormonism so thats all you're ever going to see. Driving down 51 in Memphis you don't see any variety in scenery, in Provo, you don't see any variety in culture.


So. you guessed it, I need out. I was doing okay here because I was feeling good about going to school and accomplishing something. I've made it here this long because I made myself stay put in order to get 2 years of residency so I could enroll in school at UVSC. I was actually looking forward to this fall semester because I think I may actually enjoy school. Last semester was my first, and I had no idea what to expect... and I hated being blindsided by things that everyone else took as a given, this coming semester was going to be great because I now know how school works, what teachers expect, how to register for classes, setting up a schedule that allows me to have some free time... hell, I'm even getting financial aid this time around (hopefully)!

But just as I was getting comfortable, someone got me thinking about moving. When that happens I fixate on the idea and really nothing else can distract me from it. Suddenly my great rent rate wasn't that great. School seemed like an obligation, Utah seemed like a cage.

I'm going to try to keep this short. I hear it gets boring to read my blogs when they go too long.

After a lot of research and pondering I decided to try to leave the continent. I knew a girl from Ecuador a long time ago, she told me it was the greatest place in the world and I got kinda enamored with it from all of her stories. Ever since I have wanted to live in Ecuador, and learn spanish, ride a turtle around, learn about another culture and maybe even help them out by building an orphanage or something. It seemed like a great experience and I have been planning to make it happen for over 6 years now... and I have made no progress. In fact, I realized recently that I have enjoyed the dream of going to Ecuador much more than I ever would enjoy the reality of going, I haven't even really done much research on the country, maybe out of fear that I would become disillusioned to it.

So I'm moving to Guam. I was browsing through Craigslist, looking through all of the states looking for a viable option/alternative to Utah. right in the middle of them I saw Guam. "Guam? what the heck..." I started doing my research on the island and I can't explain... it felt like exactly where I have always wanted to live. I read stories from the residents, and even when they are complaining I can tell they have an immense love for the place. Even the ones who "got out" recount the experience with fondness. I read up on their economics, the culture, the pros and cons of being secluded from the mainland... I feel like I have exhausted my sources for new information but I continue to scour for it, and find it. I can't hear enough about it!

Don't think that this is some infatuation with the idea of leaving the country. I am pretty much dead set on my plan.

here it is.

1. Work and go to school this semester at UVU. This will give me time to find connections, iron out the details of what I need to do to get there, save up money, wrap up my obligations here, get another semester of school under my belt, find an exchange program that will allow me to start a new semester at the University of Guam in Jan '09 so I don't have to wait and waste an entire year (getting residency/tuition) before I start going to school out there. I also intend to get a job as a bartender here in Utah (I think there are a couple of bars around here... mostly I guess I'm going to just learn how to mix a ton of different drinks, but some time behind the bar would help exponentially) and in Guam, work in a hotel bar. (their main hustle is tourism for Asians).

2. In January, move out to Guam. Start school under an exchange program and get some generals out of the way. Get a job and a mode of transportation (probably a dual sport motorcycle and later, a car). Housing is relatively cheap out there, so I will probably find a place a little bigger than I need, that way you can have a place to stay when you come visit, and I 'll have room to do what I want.

3. Like I said, I will probably work in the tourism/hotel industry since that is their main source of income. If not, I will get a government job - possibly with the Forestry dept.

4. I will be taking my video camera. I intend to make a documentary on the subject of the Invasive snake species there, the Brown Tree Snake, which has had a tremendous impact on the natural eco system of the island(though they are nocturnal, and therefore not a prominent issue to life on Guam, there are over 5000 snakes per square mile on the island).

5. I will probably be there for 3 years or more. If I am able, I intend to buy a house there. Housing is cheap for now, but it's about to start going up in the next couple of years due to the influx of military previously stationed in Okinawa.

6. I intend to live life on my terms. I am not running from anything. I am running to the thing that makes me happy.

I'm not done wandering, I'm doing this all while I still have it in me to do, and when I am too tired to continue I may settle down and do the whole "grown up" thing. but for now, I'm taking advantage of the fact that I have no obligations to anyone but myself.

"I got no strings to hold me down, to make me fret, to make me frown...."

I will be keeping you all posted on this. I haven't gotten too detailed in this initial post because I have already run longer than I should. More details to come. I'm sure in the meantime you will be asking me "why guam"... maybe I'll make that a post of its own.

Thanks for reading,
Evan

Two firsts.

Today I had two new experiences.

1) I rode my motorcycle on the interstate for the first time.

2) I got stitches.

I had a doctors appointment in Payson, about 15 minutes from where I live. I've been tight on money this week so I decided not to drive my gas-guzzling 4runner, and instead took my motorcycle. This also shortened the trip by about 1/3.

The doctor's appointment was to get a diagnosis on some tumors that have been on my body for about a year and a half. I have been putting off going to the doctor over them because I think I've been more scared of knowing that not knowing what they are. I had a cousin who died at about my age.. maybe a year or two older. He called his mom and said that he wasn't feeling so good. He died a month later of brain cancer. Actually he had cancer all over his body... liver, brain, stomach... I don't really remember where all it got to. Anyway, When these tumors started popping up all over the place I decided that if the were nothing, I would do nothing, and if they were deadly, I would rather find out the hard way.... I dunno I guess I would rather die than go through all kinds of radiation and chemo and all that. I just don't think it's worth it.

Anyway, I finally went ahead and got them looked at, mostly at the request of my father, who cares a lot about me and even sent me a check to pay for the visit. I talked to the nurse who was taking my vitals and what not and she seemed excited that I had tumors. She said something like "I hope we get to take them out!". When the doctor came in he poked around at them for about 5 minutes and made a few 'ho' and 'hum' noises. Then he said that they seemed really strange, probably nothing serious. "But what say we get one of those out of you and send it off for some tests?" he asked. "That's fine" I said. "Then follow me to where the fun stuff is..." We went in a little room were the nurse was eagerly dumping scalpels on a tray and squirting Iodine into little cups... cotton swabs, gause, a suture set... She was BEAMING!

He started talking to me about my motorcycle and how he had gotten one in high school, unbeknownst to his parents. He told me how he had wrecked on it, and that he went to a family reunion after he recovered and found that he was the most unpopular cousin because he had ruined everyone else's chances of EVER owning a motorcycle while in their parent's house. He put about an inch long slice on my left arm over the biggest of the 3 tumors... the one that people always mistake for a "gnarly mosquito bite". He grabbed it with a pair of forceps and began snipping away at the sinew around it. I watched for a bit until he would give the tumor a little tug, jarring my arm. Then I would watch the ceiling tiles for a bit. Finally he pulled it out and snipped out a couple of remnant pieces. He didn't miss a beat, he started stitching me back up, telling me about when he was a Physicians assistant in Idaho, and how the ER doctors would always dump the suture jobs on him after they had all the fun. He talked about how stupid it would be for the U.S. to get free, government provided health care like the Canadians... how he felt sorry for Veterans who can't even get decent health care, and how the goverment is at fault. He was a pretty nice guy. No nonsense.

I was expecting to see a doctor who would say... hmmm,... go get an MRI. and then have to go to an MRI and have them tell me the results were inconclusive, and that I should go see a specialist. who would tell me to go see a general surgeon.. who would hack one out and send off for some tests. glad I got a doctor who was willing to take care of all of that on my first visit, here's hoping that the test results are to my liking.

The important things.

So. what do you value in yourself?

Honesty, integrity... loyalty, Compassion, respect, open-mindedness, communication, candor.

I think all of these things are something to constantly work to improve in yourself, for the sake of your relationships. If you make it a point to understand others, and to be honest with them and yourself. You should never find a situation that cannot be resolved through communication.

Resentments are all too often the culprit in a squelched channel of communication. I am quite guilty of it. I reject calls, leave letters unanswered, skirt around issues, and otherwise do my best not to address the problems I have with people. This is, most often, because I feel like I don't have a strong enough relationship with the people to be open and honest with them, and I would rather not talk to them at all than communicate on bad terms, or a false understanding of mutual respect. But I also do this with people who are close to me, when I feel like I have been the victim of some brash, or even absent-minded behavior of theirs. It's easier to be closed off, hurt and offended than it is to be open about your vulnerabilities and needs. Often I would rather blame someone else for my misery, and feel like their behavior is out of my hands than be assertive about my needs and honest about my feelings.

So, what do you do with someone close to you, with whom you don't feel you can communicate openly and honestly? I guess the obvious answer is "work on the relationship". But where do you start? Do you butter them up for a week so you can cut them down? Do you lay into them and then take them out to nurse their wounds over an ice cream sundae? Do you gradually tighten your boundaries with them, letting the big things go and working on the small things? Or big things first and then the small?

I think the best way is to make sure you are ready for the talk. Don't sit them down after you have comprised a list of your needs. Don't show them your drawn up diagram of what they need to change about how they interact with you. consider these things, and then consider YOUR behaviors. Don't expect anyone to listen to a word you say until you have made it plainly apparent that you can accept feedback from them regarding your own behaviors. If you aren't open to receiving feedback, you aren't ready to give it. So, make sure you are ready for the talk, which is going to consist of as much, if not more, listening. Be ready to accept some hard stuff, and don't think that what you have to say is simple for them to see and understand.

I think it's high time I insert that quote, "seek first to understand, and then to be understood." I have only put it off till now because I don't know who said it.... standby for research....

Oh, hell. It was Stephan R. Covey. Habit 5. Dammit.

I now welcome you to go read the 7 habits book... since I seem to be plagiarizing here. If you would rather read my philosophy, which I can almost guarantee is not as thought out as that book, that's fine by me.

I think that the key to being understood is being open to adjusting your own perceptions. It may be hard to swallow, but you HAVE to accept that you have a flawed view of the world around you. That's pretty much a fact. In the movie "Lars and the Real Girl" Lars' brother is blown away by the idea that his brother has a "delusion" ("what the hell is he doing with a delusion?" I think, is the line.) Which is a comical way of showing that characters own delusions. He fails to realize that everyone's reality is comprised of their perceptions of the world around them, their internal concepts of how things would, should and do work. And that many many many of these perceptions are flawed. Much of the time our perceived paradigms are either completely unformed, incomplete or completely wrong. When you stop taking for granted that you know everything about yourself, you start to learn a lot about yourself.


Maybe you aren't the victim of someone else's actions at all. Evaluate whether or not you are simply a victim of your own dysfunctional way of seeing things.

I had a realization the other day... I was very frustrated with my roommates for eating my food. I was choosing to be the victim of their actions. On top of that I was refusing to own my part in the issue, the fact that I didn't label my food, which is the accepted protocol in this household. I chose instead to cite others infractions as the cause for the disarray in the refrigerator. People were crowding my assigned space with their food items, "forcing" me to put my food elsewhere in the fridge. People were drinking milk that they KNEW wasn't theirs, labeled or not. In the end, one of my roommates was able to talk some sense into me and help me find a solution. The solution doesn't involve anyone's reform but my own, it is totally in my power to solve the issue without begging others to change their behaviors. Meeting my need is not directly contingent upon an adjustment in their behavior, it is in changing my own.

Kinda Along the same lines, I hate to see spats between two people who are allegedly in love. It sucks to see that this rotten form of communication has worked its way into a relationship. Resentments chip away at relationships. This is kinda a weird analogy but I'll go with t anyway. My roommate has an aquarium which seems to have an infestation of River Snails in it. you would think that it would be simple enough to deal with, but its not. River snails are pernicious little pests that are nearly imperceptible as eggs, or young snails. But once you get them in your tank they are next to impossible to get out. If they are allowed to stick around, they will eventually take over the tank. The way that my roommate deals with them? He keeps a keen eye out for them, and when he sees them he ousts them immediately lest they reproduce and spread.

Such is the way we should maintain the channel of communication in our relationships. Ever wary of the fact that we've got some bugs to work out, keeping a vigilant eye out for signs of them. And when we see them, we squash them and remove them from the picture. It's really easy to forget about them, or simply ignore them, they are small enough that you wont notice them. That is, until they are permeating every nook and cranny of your relationship/aquarium.

little spats are like little, black-spotted, nasty river snails. They are simple enough to ignore or fail to acknowledge, they seem like a harmless little thing, but they may as well be a monster who lives in a thousand different pieces/shells. I see my friends and family get into these little spats with their spouses and it makes me want to play referee. penalize them. "uncordial conduct, cool down for two minutes in the penalty box."

I guess when I think about it, I'm not really great at taking a step back and extending the olive branch instead of responding defensively and emotionally. But I think being aware of it is a good place to start working on it.

Chataqua Pt. 2

After catching my breath and eating the greater portion of my food. I sat and watched as the morning sun intensified on the rocks. The patches of grass that sprung from fissures in the limestone appeared to murmur and palpitate behind the heat waves. It was like looking through a rippled-glass window. I approached the sheer wall of rock and began tugging on the bushes and brush surrounding the base. I found the entrance to the cave a little further down the wall than I remembered it being before, it also looked a lot smaller than last time. Maybe it was just that I was smaller before. I opened my backpack and fished around for my headlamp and flashlight. I grabbed two shrink-wrapped summer sausages and stuffed them in my pockets. I then stuffed my jacket in my trusty pack with the remnants of my lunch and tossed it under the bushes to the left of the hole and got ready to enter the darkness. I always hesitate at the entrance of dark damp places, more with cellars and basements than rocky crevices, and so after assuring myself that there were not a million creepy crawlers I got on my belly and began to scoot in. I started with the headlamp on and the lime-green Eveready flashlight tucked in my back pocket as a reserve. The buzz of insects and the sting of heat waves faded with each forward thrust into the darkness. I was soon 15 feet from the entrance and breathing the musty, stagnant air of the caves wet floor. There was a gentle, constant flow of air coming from deep within the cave that felt like air conditioning as it passed over my head and chilled the sweat on my back. 30 feet into the cave and a glance behind me showed that I was now completely in the dark... the entrance was no longer visible around the slight bend of the natural stone corridor. A slight pang of panic struck me, a jolt of anxiety shot down my spine and down to my fingertips. I imagined that the ceiling of the crawlspace of the millions of pounds of limestone above me was going to drop suddenly and pinch me flat as easily as if I were a gnat. The urge to back out was so strong I could not bring myself to move for what seemed like an eternity. The thought that I would have to back out, since the walls were to narrow to turn around, gave me a shortness of breath and a stubborn urge to stretch out and press against the walls in an attempt to give myself more space. My heart rate quickened. I felt nothing but impending death.

My rapid breathing was heating my face and only added to the illusion of my perceived tight surroundings. I imagined that the walls were going to tighten in around me like a gerbil in a toddlers clutches. I couldn't back up, my legs were so shaky that I could scarcely control them. I laid my head across a forearm and my nose touched the moist ground. I took a deep breath of the earthy air, and focused on overcoming my anxiety. Several controlled deep breaths, and the unyielding stone surrounding me seemed to miraculously retract. I took a few more moments to allow my heart rate to subside and regulate. When I was again ready, I continued down the long, low aperture. After another 3o feet the ceiling began to slant upwards and the walls widened. I was now in a low room with a dusty floor. I perched up on my feet and up with my head remaining low. I crawled forward to the center of the room and stood up fully. There was a low, faint howl of wind coming from the hole through which I had entered. The black in the wall across the room was to be my next route. slightly smaller than the opening through which I had just come, this one was also a lot longer. I was in no rush, I sat in the middle of the room on a short, round stalagmite formation. I began meditating. The episode of claustrophobia I had just had was a result of suppressing my better judgment to mentally prepare in favor of action and adventure. Well, I had gotten my adventure. Now I shut off my headlamp and sat in the darkness, eyes wide open. I couldn't see a thing, even after my eyes had dilated. I listened to the ebb and flow of the wind in the tunnels and imagined myself within the one I had yet to enter. I imagined the walls were just around me, then ever so slowly I reached my hands out from my torso and into the dark void. I closed my eyes and imagined that the walls were being spread apart. I brought my hands in and laid them in my lap, I opened my eyes and imagined that the tunnel was only millimeters from my skin, all around me.

I sat this way for about 3 or 4 minutes, concentrating on nothing but the image of the tunnel I was about to enter. I turned on my headlamp as I stood up, doing my best not to stretch, and approached the hole. Face down on the floor, I shut off my headlamp after a glance into the tunnel, I wanted to trust my mind, not my vision. I began scooting in through the opening. I felt calm and relaxed as I drug my body over the damp floor, and the feeling lasted over the next 15 minutes. When at last I reached ahead of me into the darkness and felt a change in the texture of the ground I raised my head and looked above me. I was in the day and night room.

I pulled myself into the room and rolled over onto my back. The "stars" above me were every bit as grand as I remembered. I gazed at them, and past them, into infinity. I emptied my pockets and nestled into the cool earth underneath me. I laid my head on my open palms and let my feet fall outward. I thought of all the immense amounts of energy surrounding me and, without being conscious of it, I fell asleep.

I awoke to the unpleasant sound of breaking plastic. I had rolled over onto my headlamp and crushed it into the ground, breaking the lens and light bulb. I no longer saw the stars over my head. I reached for my flashlight and used it to gather my things. I stood up and dusted myself off. I picked up the pieces of the headlamp and tucked them into a natural shelf in the wall. I wondered if it would ever be found by someone else, or if I might find it here, exactly as I left it, several years from now.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep, and now the day had passed by entirely I had no idea what time it was, only that it was now after dark. I must have been asleep for several hours. I hadn't planned on a midnight decent of the mountain. I shined the light around the room and found the tunnel, I felt rested enough that I could start my exit immediately. I shined the light in and, to my surprise, I saw two different veins. more to my confusion, I couldn't see any indication of either one having been used. I looked intently for some sign of my entry but I could see none. I again looked around the room, to be sure there were no other tunnels. None. I sat and pondered, to try and recall how I had entered the room. It had been in complete darkness, and I was totally unaware of the fact that there were two veins leading to this one opening. I shut off the flashlight and sat against the wall to think. I racked my brain over and over, certain that I would remember some sensation, from which I could deduce through which tunnel I had come.
I poked my head into the tunnel and listened to the low drone of the wind, but it seemed as if it hushed itself as soon as I turned an ear to it. Complete silence from both routes. I felt anxiety wash over me, and then from deep within the darkness came a low laugh.

I have always tried to make it a point to stay positive in the face of hopelessness. But, over the years I have developed what feels like an alternate personality that voices all its pessimisms, and laughs at the bleak optimism of my rationale. To explain it to someone else seems like I have created a devil for my left shoulder, because in my head, there is a gargoyle with a singular face, and a unique voice, and a very real laugh. He emerges from the dark void in my reasoning, that corner that I can't account for when the rest of me tries to imagine the good things that may exist beyond my perception and understanding. My angel on my right shoulder tries to tell me what great things lie beyond my view, in that dark void. But inevitably, there emerges that twisted, hideous face, preluded by a cackle that mocks the well-meaning words of my angel.
His laugh is all he needs. That laugh has haunted me since my childhood. I remember, I sat on the banks of the shiftless creek that meandered through the woods by the house. The wind rustling the trees and shaking dead leaves into the water below, creating little boats that would spin and sink in the eddies and miniature waterfalls, I would spend hours at a time cornering crawdads and minnows, or herding swarms of little black "water bugs" and "water skeeters". And if the urge to be industrious struck me, I would build a dam.

On this day I was diligently undertaking the task of damming a section of the creek, I had spent about 2 hours constricting the flow of the creek from the banks inward, to the middle. As I set about filling in the middle, the dammed water rising to my calves, I gathered leaves from the bank and sank them in the pool, where the currents dragged them into the crevices in the sticks and stones that comprised the structure of the dam. I then took silt from the deepest part of the pool, whitish clay meshed together with the skeletons of dead leaves. I put this over the outside of the leaves to hold them in, and further restrict the flow of water. I stood back to admire my work. The water was pouring over the top of the dam. The creek below the dam was now very shallow, as the water behind the dam climbed the banks. In this moment of satisfaction I remember hearing the gritty crunch of the creek bed stones as they shifted. A vibration, like skidding a chair across a linoleum floor. And then the dam gave way. rocks and sticks were washed with considerable force, downstream to where I stood. It happened too fast for me to react, and the sticks struck my shins, shots of pain jumped through me like electricity. As I waded out of the water and observed the wreck that had been my greatest childhood accomplishment, I heard that laugh. It seemed to start has a chuckle, barely perceptible over the thrash of the water, but as the creek returned to its normal pace the cackle now became a throaty laugh. I spun around looking for the source of this evil sadistic laugh--who was taking pleasure in my failure, my torment? The laughter seemed to grow stronger with my confusion, a hack and wheeze, and then more laughter. I felt chills. This laughter seemed to be coming from the creek itself, a demon, a lunatic. I desperately shouted, "What?!" but the laughter continued. I plugged my ears, gritting my teeth. The laugh continued. I ran along the banks of the creek, driven by fear and anger. I snatched a rock from the ground and sent it into the creek with a feeble "kerplunk". Not even a minute had gone by, but my mind was in a state of sheer desperation, and it seemed to have been eons. Then I found the demon.

A strange fish. it looked like tarnished bronze. Its belly as white as a Water Lilly. It was a foot and a half in length. It lay on its side in the pebbles and mud of the bank, two feet from the water. Its eye was fixed on me with a vehement glare, so intent that it seemed to be divining my thoughts. And it was laughing at me.

I took a rock and crushed its head.

The laughter subsided, but a chill came over me as I contemplated what I had done.

The fish had been exploring its new territory, expanded by the dammed creek. And when the dam broke, it was left on dry ground, the water returning to it's previous volume. The laughter I had heard after the dam broke was the fish gasping, suffocating. Confused and terrified, just like me. At the same moment I was seeking for an explanation to the laughter at my failure, the fish was seeking an explanation for being thrown from its element, the new experience was nothing short of torture for it. The open air was like flames on flesh, the gravity it was accustomed to was now doubled, and never had it felt something so solid and unyielding as the jagged pebbles of the shore, some imperceptible force pressing it down onto them. And then I dealt it a deathblow.

This demon who had turned out to be a fish, again became a demon. the fish, whose life I had severed, now became immortalized. It lodged its spirit in my mind, deep in a dark corner. It would have its vengeance. It stayed with me from that day Some time later I learned that it had been a certain type of fish known to make a laughing sound, but by then the laugh was no longer associated with a fish. It had morphed into a grotesque It delighted in my fear, it always chuckled at my misfortune. It laughed each time I found myself confused and out of my own element--in over my head. It would now watch, and relish, as I found myself unable to find a solution to my predicament here in this cave. The laughter seemed to echo from every recess.

Images of the pages of a book in my childhood "Greek Myths" came into my mind. Theseus and the Minotaur in the labyrinth. Hansel and Gretel came to mind, I needed some bread crumbs. I took the pieces of my headlamp and stuffed them in my pockets. I was unsure if there were more branches of tunnels ahead of me and I intended to be prepared if there were. I took the tunnel on the right. hoping that it would soon become impassible, proving that I never could have entered that way before. However, soon it seemed as if this tunnel must definitely be the one through which I had come. There was no physical evidence, just a feeling. I began to sweat, this is exactly the impression that I didn't want. If I had taken the tunnel on the left I would have been just as certain that it was the correct one. Nevertheless, I continued on through the tunnel, forcedly slower now, for the rugged green flashlight I clutched in my left fist.

I expected to be able to find my correct route of exit by process of elimination. Finding the dead end tunnels and marking them with bits of my headlamp until I found the way I had come. I now followed the tunnel looking for any sign or imprint in the floor of the have that would indicate I had passed that way. While I saw none, I was not entirely convinced that I had not passed this way before. This was not the feeling I wanted. I wanted to know, one way or another, if I was in the correct tunnel. I pushed forward, if there are no signs of passage, a sign of impassibility would surely arise. A puddle, a gaping chasm, a dead-end... but there were none, so I continued. Finally, I came to a sharp incline, which I knew I hadn't come down. I pulled my knees to my chest and turned around the way I had come. As I left the passage I marked it with one of the AA batteries from the headlamp. I repeated the process half a dozen times, the only encouragement I felt at finding a dead end was that I was surely coming closer to finding the way out.

At length, tired, parched, hands and knees worn raw, maniacal laughter ringing in my head. I found the route which would surely lead me out of the cave. I scooted through with renewed vigor, anxious to meet the outside world again. I knew I must be only perhaps a football field from my goal. I needed no other reason, I ignored my bleeding palms, and my aching back. I pressed forward.

Suddenly I found myself in an opening, I looked up to see a myriad of little stars against a pitch black sky. I had made it! I jumped to my feet. In the same instant, complete darkness enshrouded me.

I awakened to the sound of dripping water, and an echo that cut through the silence of the cave. my flashlight lay on the ground beside me, the bulb glowing orange. As I lay there, I assessed my situation. My head throbbed in addition to my hands, knees and back. I closed my eyes for a moment. When I again opened them, the light coming from my flashlight had gained a more reddish glow. I raised my hand to my head, it stung. I felt a short gash in toward the back of my crown, caked with dirt from the cave floor. I confusion I looked up again to see if the stars were still out. Now, with a better view I realized that I was still in the cave. the stars I thought I had seen were not stars at all. Neither were they the simulated universe of the Day and Night room. They were Glow worms. Glow worms anchored to the ceiling of the cave, very dim lights emitting from their abdomens, and on each, a short string of mucus that resembled a strand of hot glue. Together their glowing abdomens and these strings of mucus form a trap. Unsuspecting insects are attracted to the light, unable to see the danging snares, and when they are caught, they are stuck. And the glow worm has only to "reel in" it's prey by reswollowing its thread.

I reached for my dying flash light and shined it in front of me, I dabbed my head again and looked for blood. I decided that the gash was beginning to clot and wouldn't be a major concern. suddenly a firefly flew across my line of sight. I spun to follow its flight path. It landed above me and glowed brightly for a moment. In confusion I turned my dim light on it.

I could not believe my eyes! a translucent form with a bluish tint--as if it were carved from ice-- it's wings reflected the beam from my flashlight as they fluttered at an incredible rate of speed. A Fairy! It let go from its perch and hovered, lighting its abdomen. Another flew into the light and also hovered there. I faltered, drawing the light away from them. They followed it. I moved it again, very slowly and they kept pace with seeming fascination. I bobbed the beam and swayed it back and forth and now more came to it, they were not glow worms at all! One by one they would light up brightly, come down from their perches and join the rest at the beam of the flashlight. They seemed as fragile as glass figurines, and moved their arms and legs slowly and with grace, further accentuating the hummingbird-speed of their wings. But there was no hum. They moved in complete silence. I sped up the motion of the flashlight, and their own lights fluttered on and off with delight. They quickly adapted to my predictable, if not repetitive motion, and were able to remain in the beam. The slowly ventured closer, the light creating a channel through which they seemed to swim. Now they hovered at arms length-for me- in the light. they had perfectly black eyes, that would light up with a glassy reflection when their glow was live. Their mouths seemed fixed in a permanent pucker, and likewise their cheeks seemed set in a grin. Their faces were amazingly human-like, but had a defining differences. while their mouths seemed very similar to puckered lips, their noses were much like that of a grasshopper. long and rounded. with no visible nostrils. Their hair was while, nearly trasparent, and it sat it ruffled tufts. Their wings were a little larger than those of a cicada, and from what I could see of them when they were landed they had the same membrane as those of a mayfly or mantis, but with none of the sounds like insects make.

I turned off the flashlight and they began to flurry around. signaling, they seemed to be looking for it. Then they came close to my hands, their own glow staying lit and casting light on the flashlight in my hands. They waited intently, hovering maybe 1o inches from my hands, I could feel a breeze from their wings. I turned the light back on and they began to chirp, and dance and twirl in it. Their chirps were ever so quiet, and had a metallic ting to them. when they all began at once it sounded as if a thousand tiny bells were ringing in the small room. I watched in silent fascination. I counted them. There were about 34 of them, including the 3 who remained perched on the ceiling as when I had taken them for glow worms.

Guns.

I got into a discussion about guns recently and I thought I would write down my thoughts on the whole matter of gun control vs. 2nd amendment rights.

I am not often accused of being crazy, I attribute that mainly to the fact that I do not often engage in political discussions.

When I am called crazy, it is usually by a crazy person. I don't by any means fall under the category of crazy-gun-loving-backwoods-hillbilly-republican.... at least one of those descriptors is not accurate.

I love guns. I was raised around guns, my father had quite a collection of guns for both practical and recreational use. I love shooting guns. It is fun and rewarding, and I take pride in being able to handle one with skill. Some of my fondest memories are of shooting guns with my father, or on a camping trip with the other young men from church. I love cleaning and polishing guns, I like knowing my gun inside and out, being able to disassemble it, make it gleam and then put it back together... It's the equivalent of any other craft hobby. It's not playing with fire if you follow the rules of gun safety. I love building guns, my brother helped me build a gun this year from scratch, not scratch, but... kinda.

I also fear guns. I fear being shot; This is why I am certified to carry a gun to protect myself and others. If someone around me has a gun I want to see them following the proper safety techniques to ensure that I will not be staring down a loaded barrel. I have a fear of shooting myself; I always check my gun to be certain if it is loaded or not, even if I just checked it 20 minutes ago, 1 minute ago even. Sometimes I double-check, just to be sure. I don't take for granted that my gun is totally safe simply because I am AWARE of how to safely handle a gun, I am always AWARE of the state of my gun and ensure that it is totally safe. I leave nothing to logic or reasoning ("oh yeah, this gun is unloaded because I remember checking it before I put it away..."). I fear being at fault for someone else shooting themselves(leaving a gun in reach of ignorant hands, Etc). This is why I think I have a very low likelihood of having one of these incidents--Because I am fully aware if the very HIGH likelihood that these things can, and do, happen if you get lazy, cocky or stupid even one time.

When I hear about people whose friends accidentally shot themselves or others, I think of two things. #1. That poor guy and his family/friends. #2. what an Idiot.

People too often try to imitate Hollywood depictions of what it means to shoot a gun. They get really familiar with guns, but not the correct/safe way of handling guns. They know their gun inside and out, but they are careless when they handle it. This is certain to catch up with them sooner or later.

I think it is the people who love guns for the right reasons, or in the right ways, that are least likely to ever have an incident with one. People who are raised with a fond curiosity of guns usually aren't instilled with a sense of the devastation they are capable of. All they know is that guns bestow power and luster on the handler. Not to say they aren't aware that they can blow someone away, more like they are raised by TV and video games to think of shooting/handling a gun as mainly an aesthetic art. In video games, you never miss, you never accidentally shoot yourself in the foot, you never accidentally shoot through your bedroom wall and kill your little sister. In movies, they never check to see if a gun is loaded before waltzing off with their finger on the trigger, they constantly carry a loaded gun and there is never an accidental shooting (a few of them are out there, like the cat scene in Boondock Saints). For many, a gun is synonymous with being a badass, a vigilante or judge and jury. not much credit is given to gun owners as being respectful of their guns. More often, guns are seen as a symbol of power, and they demand respect for the individual wielding them. Again, thank Hollywood for that.

When people say that "only law enforcement should have guns." I have to wonder whether or not they are serious. It sounds like a great solution; only those who have taken an oath to protect the citizens of this country should have the tools to do so. if it were possible to enforce, this logic could solve the drug epidemic, "only those who have a medical need for narcotics should have them". My point is that idealogical reasoning has no place in regulation/gun control. If there were no law enforcement, there would be only those who act in a way that is congruent with mainstream society, and those who act in a way contrary to social co-operation. throw in the enforcement of these standards (police, etc.) and all you have done is assigned a group to be responsible for dealing with the delinquent members of society... so here we are with 3 groups. The group of people who have the common value of life, and integrity, who set the standard and definition of values that make up any given society, the group of people sworn to uphold these standards (police and government legislation), and the group of people who don't recognize or adhere to social standards, or recognize the authority of law enforcement or legislation--criminals. Criminals break the law, a law stating that you're not allowed to have a gun is only effectively taking guns from those who are willing to comply with that law. leaving guns in the hands of criminals and law enforcement. So what is the point? who notices a law abiding citizen? you didn't notice that they had a gun before because it wasn't used in an illegal manner. you don't notice that they don't have one now because they act in the same way as before, sans personal protection. Where we notice the change, after gun control, is the spike in criminal use of firearms. the inability of people to protect themselves means easy targets for perpetrators of violent crime. take a look at D.C. Until a few months ago, it was illegal to carry a gun--concealed or not. The rate of crime is nearly twice that of the national average. I wont presume to attribute this rate to the fact that criminals are capitalizing on the knowledge that there is a low percentage of their victims who are likely to have guns, allowing some room for criminal on "criminal" crimes--"criminals" being citizens who have guns despite the law, but only for personal protection, their only crime being gun ownership, as opposed to being a perpetrator of violent crimes. also, allowing for some criminal on criminal crimes, such as gang warfare.

The causes of these high crime rates could be attributed to variants of anything from a higher presence of gang, or organized crime rings, poverty levels, depression, gentrification/ghettos, etc. But, in any case, these higher crime rates do not justify a legislation that takes away the ability of innocent victims to protect themselves from attackers. I hate statistics, because they never fail to make a strong point for someone's argument-- an inherent effect of biased research. anyway, here I go, using some statistics that make my point. about 1 in 5 victims who are armed with guns suffer injury or death from an attacker, as opposed to 1 in 2 who are protected with other weapons or no weapons at all. so one could say that, even if crime rates are neither increased or decreased, by taking guns from those who use them responsibly we would increasing the mortality rate of violent crimes. Gun control is essentially the opposite of a deterrent for crime. criminals will be criminals, you cannot keep guns from them, they will acquire them via illegal means. But seeing that victims are able to thwart or deter crimes more effectively when they have a firearm, taking their guns from them would be to eliminate a deterrent of crime.

I feel the gravity of a great responsibility to use my gun with discression. I don't have any aspirations of blowing someone away. I don't daydream about killing people. In fact, Nightmare is the word I would use to describe the idea of having to shoot someone. But, with enough evidence of the risk of being caught in a classroom or cafeteria, gas station or office cubical, post office or burger joint, I also feel very strongly obligated to defend those around me who would otherwise be fish in a barrel for some mentally unstable man with a death wish, or a vendetta. Or a sociopath criminal with nothing to lose. I get dressed and evaluate the risks around my errands or destinations. Some days I decide that the only risk would be in traveling between destinations (I don't consider church a High-risk zone) in those cases I leave my gun in the car. If there is even the slightest risk of a situation where I would possibly need my gun, I am most likely going to carry it. Some days I don't want to carry, but then I consider the guilt I would feel if I chose not to carry and then witnessed a crime I might have prevented otherwise. I feel obligated to carry even if I don't want to.

LONG TIME COMING.

Just got back from a vacation. my first weekend for myself in about 17 months. I went with a good friend and his family on their retreat that took us all over the Idaho/Utah/Montana/Wyoming area, then down to Bear Lake, then out to Twin Falls Idaho. It was great to kick back and reconnect with friends. I feel like a part of that family. That may have something to do with the fact that I see more of this family than I do of my own. I thoroughly enjoyed and sunburned myself. I think I will take some time later to fill you in on the particulars... no pictures, I didn't have my camera with me. Revisit this post later and it should be more detailed. For now, I have some thoughts that I had better write down before they get too jumbled and confused.

The Sun Will Set....

I'm someone who puts a lot of value on being honest, and it is possible that I underestimate the value of buttering people up. I'm pretty straightforward if I need to say something. I've gotten over the excessive use of those words that lend uncertainty as to the point of my question or comment. you know, those words like kinda, sorta, maybe, a little, possibly.... I still use them I just get to the point. My friends often relay to me that I have offended someone in my tactlessness. Of course I feel bad that they were offended, but not to the point that I am going to walk on eggshells around them.

So, when my bishop found out that my weekends are about to clear up, and made the comment "great! so we'll be seeing you at church again!" I had to interject. "actually, no."

See, this is something else about myself; I'm not spiritually motivated. I hate the fact that it has taken me this long to write off going to church as something that just doesn't jive with me. But the fact is, there is nothing about it that I value--or rather, everything that there is to church that I value, I can also find from a different source, without the high concentration of things that I don't value. I won't expound here upon my reasons.

Something along with that. I'm trying to deal with the fact that I live in a society where so much emphasis and value is placed on ones faith and spirituality. There are aspects of this that I don't mind so much, but then again it puts me in a weird position. It's nice to live around so many people who generally have the attributes that I value, but then again, I would say that a very high percentage of these people have intertwined their values with their religion. And this is where I become the odd one out. It's all well and good if I don't smoke, have a very strong sense of integrity, respect women and children, know who I am, and am constantly working to be a better person. But if I do not "delight in the things of the gospel", then it's "seeyalaterbye". I don't have a problem with being honest with myself and others, but it hurts to forgo relationships that would be strained by the dynamic of my views and actions. I can't ask someone to be with me despite our fundamental differences. I could bare my soul and pledge my affection in hopes that she would love me anyway, or I could try the responsible approach and just stuff those emotions down, pretend that I never wanted something more and we can both go on about our lives. I've always been unable to function without exploring what might have been.
This time around I'm going to accept the terms of my decision and not put it on someone else to map out the boundaries I have committed myself to. This song pretty much sums up my feelings on that issue.

It sucks. but that's life. It would be easier to continue to go with the formula for happiness that the LDS church has laid out for its members, but that would only be for the sake of being accepted by family and friends or lovers, avoiding controversial discussions, Etc. I have never found a part of religion that I have valued that is exclusive to religion. I don't have to be spiritual to value honesty and integrity. I don't have to worship god to be an example of goodness to those around me. I have chosen not to exist on the pretense that I am inherently flawed. I wont say I am constantly, anxiously trying to become the best person I can be, but I AM trying to be a good person. And I don't attribute that to anything but my own interpretation of what is good. (Yes, my values are subject to social influence.... Please, let's not get all caught up in the philosophical implications of deciding what is "good" and "bad").

This isn't something I've randomly decided to do. Maybe I'll explain more later.

No doubt this blog will come as a shock to at least a few of you, my dear readers. I can understand that. I hope you understand me as well. Please, don't grieve the loss of my eternal soul. I am not (I think) on the wide and welcoming, albeit slippery, pathway to perdition. I am simply disillusioned to (and perhaps a little bit idealistically critical of) the "only way" mentality of organized religion. I am evaluating my relationship with God through the absence of his influence in my life, and I believe in a god that respects my need to do so, for my own sake.
Again, I wish you would give me the benefit of the doubt before you throw the book at me. A few words come to mind as potential descriptions of my views. heretic, apostate, reprobate.... and maybe these fit, who knows? Just rest assured that my new paradigm is not a contrived excuse to do all the things that do not coincide with LDS doctrine (word of wisdom, law of chastity... all those).

Update

As per a request for a fresh post... here goes.

I quit my job. I have finally had enough of the bullcrap that goes on perpetually at my work. I'd like to think that I have been an influence for good in the lives of the boys I work with, but I have found that the vast majority of my efforts have been thwarted. Not by the boys or their resistance to change. By the company, and their disregard for the way... an RTC should be managed. I decided a little less than 2 months ago that I had had enough. I have been given the runaround for 16 months about getting health insurance, and I've put up with the bullshit for long enough. My 2-weeks comes at a bad time for my boss and the rest of the staff, we've had trouble getting adequate staffing for the past several weeks. I'd like to say that I don't care, but I do... I feel like I'm leaving a lot of people holding the bag for selfish reasons. But then again, is it REALLY that selfish to turn away from an employer who has snubbed me time and time again? I need to take care of myself, and I can't do that on the empty promises that come from this job. My boss asked me if there was anything he could do to persuade me to stick around, I told him that if he did something now, only after realizing that I am quitting, I would only be more insulted. To know that they could change what I've been trying to get changed for months, but only to keep me from leaving... I'm done talking about this now. I'm just boiling my blood over it, and I've done too much of that already. good news is, the last weekend of June will be my last week of obligation at that job, although I'm not ruling out the possibility of working there "On Call".

I bought my Video Camera. After months and months of saving, and my stimulus package/tax return, I finally got enough money to buy myself a high end video camera for making movies. I dealt with a lot of red tape to get the order in but as of about 1 this afternoon, my order was processed and my camera will be in the mail tomorrow. It is a Canon XH-A1, an HD camera. I have been drooling over a standard definition camera (XL2) for about 3 years, and when I finally got the money to get it, I went with the HD model. Hopefully I don't regret this choice. It was kind of sudden (in terms of research and so forth... I have spent TONS more time reading reviews and technical descriptions of the XL2). This camera has a couple of things about it that I might end up not liking so much. First of all, It's HD (Hi-Def) And I worry that I am giving up that "film look" that is synonymous with the XL2. getting the HD isn't so much out of necessity as an effort to get ahead of the game, make the transition to HD so that my equipment will last me longer, and hopefully rise to the challenge of my high aspirations (Cinema-quality, feature-length films). Secondly, This camera doesn't have interchangeable lenses. not that I could afford the alternate lenses for the other camera I was considering, but it is reasurring to know that one can change out lenses to get the desired exposure/effect for most applications. In researching this camera I learned that the fixed lens of the XHA1 is every bit as versatile as any standard lenses for the XL2 combined. Wider/Longer.... etc. still, to think I defaulted on some unforeseen situation by going with the fixed lens is worrisome to me. I have dreams of this camera eventually paying for itself, but I guess we'll have to wait and see.

I got my motorcycle Running. My 2+ year project is finally coming to fruition! with a ton of help from my brother I got a bona fide, operational motorcycle, sans working blinkers, speedometer/odometer and good looks (it is 5 different colors right now, not counting primer and bond-o). Hopefully I will have it looking brand new soon, although I have until the end of winter to have it ready to resell. I intend to use what I make off of reselling it to put a down payment on a newer, nicer bike. I'll also cut my brother in for a good chunk of the profit for all the work and time he put into it, including but not limited to: Shopping for/buying parts, Moving it around, research, condescending/informative explanations, actual work on bike, loaning me his helmet/riding gear, brainstorming/troubleshooting, using his wife as a gopher, more moving, etc. I got my helmet in the mail on Thursday, and I intend to get to work on the fairings sometime soon (next paycheck).

I am scheduled to get my tumors looked at. I finally called a doctor/surgeon to get my icky tumors looked at and, hopefully, hacked out. I guess tumor surgeons are in high demand, I have 3 weeks before my appointment, Luckily my dad never canceled my health insurance policy from 3 years ago, so I should have nothing to worry about on coverage.

I have made little or no progress on my script since my last posting.

And finally, My co-moviemaker has uploaded our long-promised 1st episode of Lords-a-Larping, Enjoy!

Got my motor bycle running.

Pictures to come, although right now it's looking like a skeleton or something.

My brother has helped me a tremendous amount. He actually pretty much did it himself, and i forked out the cash. But after over 2 and a half years I finally have a functioning motorcycle "Motorbycle").

I have been back and forth on whether to keep it or not, I have come very very close to selling it, and for good money. But the fact that it would bring more as a finished, running bike than as a project kept me from letting it go. Finally, after 1800 dollars I have something to show for it. It isn't much of a looker, but I'm making plans to fix that, too.

To all you quadruwheelers out there. open your eyes and look around. Your half-assed glances at a stop sign aren't enough to see a motorcycle, we just don't have the same visibility as a 3-ton Hummer H2. The majority of motorcycle deaths aren't because the rider was a Evel Kineval wannabe who was trying to break a land speed record, they are because other drivers "didn't see them". If you can't bring yourself to be aware of the two wheeler vehicles around you for the sake of their safety, it may help to consider that in any incident involving a motorcycle or scooter and a car the fault will be on the driver of the car 80% of the time citing negligence as the cause. Cyclists have not only their equilibrium to consider, but they also have to consider all the morons around them who are too distracted to notice them. so, in effect, motorcyclists are driving for themselves and everyone around them. cut us a break and don't assume that anything that isn't casting a shadow isn't worthy of space on the street. Thank you.

Get Smart (or creative).

Donor.
Skinned shoe.

guts and all.

Just like with baby seals, we only keep the parts we can use.
WTF?

A Muzzle?
Kinda a muzzle, we call it a barrel.
one more piece to put on.
gotta cover the barrel.
Nearly finished! Still need a waistband clip ( I think I'll make it from a tape measure)
This photo doesn't do the crappy needlework, or mismatched thread color justice.
How perfect? the (padded) seam doesn't hit the mag release.
Skechers brand concealed carry Holster!

Honest to a Fault

Hello again, Dear Reader.

Not a lot of substance today. Just an update on what is going on for me.

Got the call back about the promotion/job change I applied for this week. the answer was "no."
My roommate asked me if they said why... They can't exactly say "well, we had made up our minds who we were going to give it to before we even announced the opening. We just let you apply and interview for it as a courtesy." that, and "well, see... there are only 3 positions open, and you're number 7 as seniority goes..."I'm totally confident that I made a strong argument for myself. But that's a moot point when the decision is already made.

If nothing else, I can retain my dignity that I have been 100 percent honest throughout the process. I have no problem talking myself up, and I have no problem admitting my faults. Which, I believe, is something uncommon. Then again, maybe my unwillingness to deny that I have room for improvement was the deal-breaker. I was ready to take inventory of my faults and acknowledge them. Nobody is perfect. Somehow I can believe that the administration is more concerned with finding the people who will say the words "I'm your man." than they are with whether or not that statement is true. Even though I see time and time again that people just want to hear the words, I can't bring myself to lie. The bottom line is, I want this job because I'm sick of sacrificing every weekend to work, breaking my back and dealing with a system that is dysfunctional without being able to give my constructive input.

In other news, I got to talk to my dad for a good hour or so today. Got caught up on the weather and whatnot. I offered to spoil the ending of my script for him, but he wouldn't hear of it. He seems honestly enthusiastic about my passion for film. He encourages me and supports me in pursuing it.

I made a graph on my whiteboard (just beneath the one that tells me how many more pages of my screenplay I need to write before I allow myself to shave). It's one of those cheesy thermometer-style goal graphs. It's reassuring to see how close I am to getting my first video camera. As close as I am, I decided to keep going with it and tack on a budget for tricking it out with a standalone hard drive system so I don't have to deal with DV tapes/capture/file transfer. Or, at least, minimize it.

I'm about to kick back and enjoy the remainder of my "weekend" (since tomorrow I have to go to work and deal with all the people who I feel just snubbed their noses at me...) I'm doing some "research" in the form of a documentary on homeless folks. I'll let you know how it goes.

thanks for reading.

Pregnant

I realized in the middle of my early dinner that I may be pregnant.

Pregnant people (usually women) have the weirdest tastes when it comes to food.

Today I had a strawberry poptart, covered in peanut butter.

then I proceeded to eat mac and cheese, dip-style, on salt and vinegar chips.

Those Rainy days, They ain't so Bad....

"Homegrown. Rock to the rhythm and bop to the beat of the radio.
You ain't got to sing but you've got the face to play the roll"

-Fans. Kings of Leon

It rained today. I was asleep for most of it.

I got off work at 11:45 last night (as is customary). I got home feeling so tired I almost fell asleep standing at the fridge looking for something to snack on. Around midnight I heard the wind pick up outside. It was almost like a foley track from a really low-budget creeper movie. I like the sound of the whistling wind it actually made me perk up and get a little pang of nostalgia in my tummy. I decided to grab my blankets and pillows and sleep on the couch where the sound of the wind was really, for lack of a better term, perfect.

Upon ascending the stairs to my remotely-located room, I felt that I would not make it back to the couch, especially laden with bedding. Being unable to hear the beck and call of the wind, I resolved to dive into the middle of my king-sized comforter poured out on my twin sized bed and bury my face in my silky pillows and think myself to sleep, contemplating how to drive my story forward.

You can't truly experience a silk pillowcase until you grow a full beard. You would think that it would be smoother on bare skin, but even an unkempt beard feels smooth against silk... like a myriad of tiny ice skates supporting your face. It may be a stretch to say that it is also like having a million antennae feeling for any imperfection in the knit of silk and finding none.

what I'm trying to say is, I fell asleep quite peacefully.

When I awoke it seemed like the wee hours of the morning... maybe 7 or so. The light was smudged out like the sun had yet to vault the mountain range. In reality it was 1:30 and the sun was filtering through stuffy rainclouds and foggy windows. I had hopes that despite the dreary look, that it would be nice and warm--humid and sticky.

Not so, the rain from the night (or morning... it's all the same to me in this case) was freezing cold. and everything looked muddy. I wanted to work on my motorcycle. I looked forward to that all weekend and now my monday was to be chilly and wet.

It's okay. I went and worked on it anyway. In the process I realized that I could save about a hundred dollars on parts if I struck some items from an order I placed thursday afternoon.
I checked, it appeared as though my order had not been processed as of 4PM so I canceled it and reordered only the parts I need.

I plan to have a perfectly awful looking, fully functional motorcycle by the end of the month.

I took a 2 hour nap at around 7. I got up around 9 and buckled down to write some more of my story. It's tough making a story move forward, finding ways to make it interesting even in the boring everyday parts. I slowly painted the character I needed.

He is about 52 years old, wears a camouflage cap over his graying hair, he cries when he's drunk and he usually is so. when he wants to feel like a productive member of society he goes from store to store collecting business cards, and stuffing them in a wallet with nothing else it it.
He thumbs through these cards with an air of importance. He begs the interest of those around him but is too important to volunteer any insight to them.

He enters the story for about a minute. I don't think we'll hear about him again.

I've been posted up at my computer for about 4 hours talking to friends, plotting my story, listening to Iron and Wine, and now Kings of Leon. I think it's time for me to go.

see you around.

You didn't see that coming, did you?

Yo.

I guess you could say I have a knack for lying. If you hadn't noticed, my blog is only about half true... and that's counting my Alaska road trip accounts. Most of the short stories I write are discernibly fictitious, but I guess I walk a fine line. I'm not surprised when I am asked if one of my true stories is fiction... I deal with that a lot. But I have been asked a few times if my fictional stories is true. I guess there are a few ways to interpret that. Either I have a pretty boring life and write about non-interesting things... and people are puzzled by the similarities. Or the other extreme... I have fairly uncommon experiences and write fictional things that seem to fit in with the rest of my blog. I guess the thing that I would like to hear is that I write convincingly whether it is fact or fiction. It matters less to me if they are incredible stories or mundane... as long as someone is reading them.

I have conceptualized a story that has a BIG twist in it. something that you wouldn't expect at all. and it's way out of the ordinary for my type of writing. I'm developing it into a screenplay, that will hopefully catch someone's eye (f not, i intend to make the film myself).

I have written a few stories that were not supposed to be crazy and mind-blowing, just interesting --Writing outside the box/lines. I have decided not to post them, or just scrapped them altogether because they are too similar to life. these are the stories in which no one is diffusing a bomb, they aren't the accounts of being held hostage in a shootout, no one is running from a serial killer or the mob. The characters are just people. people doing very normal things. I guess these characters are really just a projection of myself, doing very normal things. What I aim for though, is for an element of simplicity that becomes a point of interest for my reader. A concept that is entirely plausible, even likely, that they have never considered. A neighbor who doesn't know what it's like to be behind the wheel of a roadster, because he was too tall to fit in one by the time he got his license. The mischievous behavior of a young adolescent as related by the perpetrator-- with an emphasis on the "fun" aspect, where the expense this "thrill" had for the victims is not even considered without the equally self-centered perspective that getting caught/being in trouble was the worst part of it all. I guess the reason I don't care to share these is because I don't think they would be appreciated. Their lack of conflict/resolution are a bore in comparison to the typical short story.

I am finding an application for this type of writing though. I think it is good practice for creating characters.

I just watched a movie made by Akira Kurosawa in the 50's. It's called "Rashomon" and it deals with the concept that truth is subjective--the whole "eye of the beholder" sort of philosophy. It also makes a strong commentary on human nature and our inclination to omit self-incriminating information. or, in some instances, to exaggerate or take pride in these details.

To tie this back in with the theme, I think I have a knack for considering the unique perspective of the characters I write about. I guess you could say I write personal accounts for different personalities. When I say my characters are a projection of myself, what I mean is that I consider the "life" of my character and decide what kind of person I would be/how I would act if I had those same experiences.

The one thing that doesn't work well is that I don't-in simple words- know the "life" of my characters. I know the situations I know who they are at the point that they are faced with the situation. I know the result of how their past, but not their pasts. At least not in a was I can describe or depict. it's just a feeling.

That sucks. Because right now I need to know these things. I need to be able to tell that story.

I'm writing a screenplay. It is a pretty tough job. Luckily I have an interesting (I think so at least) story to tell. But as far as my characters... I am having such a difficult time building a background story for them --a past.

I think the best solution for this is a pretty boring one. Lots of information. I'm reading books on the subject. I'm researching historical facts for accuracy. I'm learning statistics. Protocol and policies. Case studies.

I've done it before for other stories, but I have a feeling this is going to equal more than just a few papers or a book. This one's gonna be a biggie. I have a book on the homeless population, a book about the rehabilitation program for mental patients as of 1964. I have a "wish list" on half.com for a book on the internal operations of a cult-like movement in the 1930's.

Trust

I had this strange idea the other day. I don't exactly think it's an answer to the question, so much as a possible contributing factor.

The question is this: Why does love seem to expire?

I, for one, am a major skeptic of many of the social paradigms surrounding love. I hate that Love has become this materialistic term. Something defined by the amount of money spent to prove the depths of ones affection.

I would go so far as to say I've lost faith in the institution of marriage (as regulated by faith), as it seems so much more to play off of the religious obligations of two individuals to the ideologies of their religion of choice.

I hate the fact that couples get divorced.

What I hate more is that they live together in misery because of the influence of faith in their lives. Especially when this means that they have been fooling themselves for two decades, only to end up with a broken home, Children who are born under false pretenses of love, but under the sanctimonious guise of consecrated marriage.

The problem is not that people feel obligated to follow the teachings of their ministers and other church leaders. I think that's great. What I see as a problem is when people allow this faith to dictate over their own judgment, their own judgments.

The problem is not that people put too strong of emphasis in the religious aspect of their marriage. I think (arguably) that people could do with more adherence to religion in their lives. The problem is that they put MORE faith in this aspect of their lives than they build in their relationships otherwise.

This is where the title of this blog finally comes into the text. People have replaced the need for communication with a trust that they can survive in a relationship without it. I say "the" need instead of "their" need because I'm not sure if people realize that they need communication. We have developed a paradigm in which we don't speak about difficult subjects. Instead, we sweep them under the rug to fester and mutate into the truly devastating diseases that seem to render so many relationships terminal.

Strange concept. Trust can be the most detrimental thing to a relationship? can be. I don't think it was meant to be a tool to skirt the issues between two people.

I think it has gradually become a social misconception that being in love means you are so perfectly matched with someone that there are no problems between you. Bullshit.
others believe that love is that flighty feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you see that special someone, hear their voice, or even think about them in the middle of everyday life. I think there's something to that.

I think that feeling that most of us experienced as 12 and 13 year olds when we were "infatuated" with someone is the feeling we are meant to feel when we are in love. I'm not saying we were all in love at 12 and 13, I'm saying that we never should have lost that feeling. we should have been able to retain it, hone it till it responded to the qualities in someone else that we individually esteem. It never should have been buried under thick callouses around our hearts.

Those callouses are the effect of being burned to many times. learned pessimism toward relationships. we are burned when we are the victims of lies or shaded truths, unresolved differences... unmentioned issues. The heart eventually learns that the truth must be derived from codes of communication. True feelings are never plainly evident, they are manifested in passive-aggressive comments, hints, misplaced anger (anger or frustration with one issue that is manifested over another issue I.e. the wife being pissed that the trash wasn't taken out, but really the frustration is centered around the wife feeling as if her husband doesn't listen to, or value her input or opinions).

The same is true for feelings of love and affection. We live in a society where women are the soft hearted, romantic types. the ones allowed to cry or swoon. men are expected to contain their emotions in a totally stoic and badass manner. If they are in love, they should not make this apparent by being affectionate or saying so. they should do something to incite emotion or praise from their female counterpart--buy her flowers, and when she fall on you with kisses, give a grunt of approval and carry her off to the bedroom. I don't think so. Why is it so unacceptable for men to be open about their feelings? It seems to be a social stigma on men being soft and open outside of the bedroom.

Again, I think that women are equally guilty of using round about methods of communication. Women have this innate ability to map out a conversation and manipulate where it will lead before it even starts by making just the right comments and asking just the right questions before they lead into the discussion they really want to have. "does this dress make me look fat?" is a notorious one liner to dig for compliments. the underlying discussion being that she doesn't feel appreciated by her husband or boyfriend because he never tells her outright that he thinks she looks wonderful. but then again, she never tells him outright that she needs that validation.
I don't respond well when I feel insincerity coming from someone. I am loathe of people playing a part, going through the motions, saying the words, with no emotion. I don't know who to blame for this. But I think this is blamed for the commonly-accepted definition of love that exists today.
Love should be a open channel of emotion and communication. Not something moderated by taboos and fauxpas, inhibitions dictated by social acceptance. lies, shaded truths, insincerities and so forth.
People are willing to settle for the appearance of love in order to get the benefits a relationship. I see so many people in relationships who are settling for someone who will validate them enough to justify their being together, but there is no real love between them... unless you are one of those that consider the definition of love to be two people who have a chemical attraction to each other, and if by "chemical" you mean Oxytocin or other neurotransmitters. Even then, after a prolonged period of the brain releasing these "love" chemicals, our receptors adapt to it and its effects are less stimulating after time.



I blame not communicating as the culprit of failed relationships. we go from being in love
to being out of love and even resolving never to love again. How do we manage to trick ourselves back into it? how do we have a such a love/hate relationship with love? We want love, but we don't want to work for it, we don't want to change. For guys, we don't want to want love, we just want someone to love us. for girls, it seems they love and want to be loved but get burned out on being the only one who is openly loving.

Seems like people think of romance as a set of rules to get you married, and love as the knot of marriage that may prove to be tough enough, or may prove too weak to keep divorce out of a relationship. I think love is essentially selflessness and an eagerness to understand each other, an ongoing task that doesn't sit still. What was it that woody Allan said? "Love is like a shark, it has to be constantly moving or it sinks." Too often I see people who think love is like instant jell-o; just add water, heat up till it boils, let it sit til it cools, enjoy it while it lasts!

What a Day!

I woke up today, before my alarm went off. I thought 'you know, I could try and sleep until my alarm goes off, or I could get a jump start on my day.' I opted for the latter.

Upon opening my laptop to print off the paper I stayed up till 4:00AM staring at, I saw the clock in the bottom right-hand corner. 11:19AM. "Hmm.. that can't be right... *check phone* ....****!" I grabbed the most readily available clothing which happened to be the shirt I worked out in 3 days ago and a pair of jeans that are just now getting broken in (they look brand new, so I've worn them about 4 times without washing them). I dashed out the door to catch the bus. I ran to the stop for the 811 but the 830 was going to have to do, the 811 is quicker, but it didn't come for another 40 minutes. The 830 came creeping along about 8 long minutes later. And, wouldn't you know it? the driver was dedicated to his job. He waited at each stop until the exact second that RideUTA.com quotes people when they look up routes. Did I mention that my Psychology final ended 4 minutes AFTER I woke up? yeah, it did.

I decided that no amount of toe tapping would get me there in time to catch my professor and ooze some lame excuse, and plea for mercy. I got to the school no later than 7 seconds after 12:00PM according to the clock on the buses nav system. I bee lined it to my psych classroom on the off chance that my instructor was still there. That was a big fat negative. I then scurried to my history class fully expecting a tongue lashing from my professor.

It wasn't so bad. He just criticized me for being late and "missing it!" (photos of his grandchildren, no... I'm serious.) but he was pretty much just jeering me.
It was about this time that I realized that I smelled like crusty socks and shampoo (I took a shower last night, but my dirt clothes masked the scent of Irish Spring Aloe). I don't think we went over anything in class that we hadn't covered Tuesday. but I must admit, the fact that my psychology grade just went from a B+ to a C- (or worse) was kinda distracting me. As soon as class got out I went to the computer lab and emailed my Psych professor (resisting the temptation to cook up an excuse for my missing class) I told him that I missed it due to "extenuating circumstances" and left it at that. I now had time to verify the suspected cause of my overstay in dreamland. Yep, out of all the days I could have set my alarm for 9PM instead of AM this semester, I decided to do it on the last day of classes.

I got some pointers from my English professor on my final paper (he gave me an extension on Tuesday for a week, since my trail version of Office Word had expired and locked my drafts of my final paper). I went and checked out the pool set from CC and went to kill some time, waiting for my Psych professor to get my email. On the way to the pool table I saw the Yellow blouse and dark brown hair of one of my English 1010 classmates, so I decided to invite her to kill some time with me. She was at a checkout stand and I waited for her to finish up. Normally, I wouldn't be so forward, but she had gone out of her way to talk to me in the hall the past couple of weeks and we chatted a little in class, so I thought it was okay to ask. It is, after all, the last day of class and a simple "no" isn't going to break my feelings. As she turned around I started to say something like "you have somewhere to be?" but I stopped short when I realized that I had the wrong person. DAMNIT. same hair same blouse, same black bra strap. WTF? My day is going like a bad movie at this point. So, I resolve to play pool alone for the next hour.

I had barely played one game against myself when I hear an Latino-accented voice. "Do you have a partner?" I looked up to see two flamboyant South American guys walking toward the pool table. The thought that his phraseology was intentional crossed my mind. I responded with a shrug. They introduced themselves as "Jacques" and "William" from Brazil and Mexico, respectively. They played on the same team and I played on my own.... no pun intended. I think they cheated on purpose under the guise of ignorant foreigners. they played ball in hand when I scratched and every sloppy sink they counted and continued. When they scratched I had to play from the top, I finally decided to play slops as well. After a few games I decided to leave but before I said anything they handed me the pool cues and left. I played two more games against myself and returned them to the Campus Connection.

No reply from Mr. S yet. I decided to head home and keep working on my English paper.
On the way out the door I saw the bus pull up to the depot, about 300 yards away. "just my luck...." I resolved to miss it. but when I was about halfway there i noticed that it was still parked. So I laid rubber and ran for it. The Santa Clause midget bus driver almost slammed the door on me but I got on. He mashed on the gas which, naturally, sent me tumbling behind the white line. "That's okay", I was thinking to myself "Finally! I catch a break." The guy sitting accross from me looked like he had just stepped out of 1985, London. Probably hung over from a Billy Idol concert. He had bleached-white hair and had sewn patches all over some black corduroy pants. He had also hemmed them to fit tight... or rather, not fit at all. His denim vest/jacket had a bunch of band logos on it and he had brown high top Dr. Martin's on. Seriously? where do these people come from?

I got off a couple of blocks before my place and decided to just relax and not stress. Just as i was thinking "don't let it phase you, Evan..." I felt a wetness on my arm.

Bird crap.

First/Worst

I guess you could say I've just had my curricular rite of passage, My first ever spring break. I didn't really have big plans for this spring break, I was going to spend a week on the road in California with a couple of roommates and a friend or two. But when it came down to it, I decided that I was not keenly interested in spending a lot of time in a cramped vehicle driving through Nevada, and up and down the 101. It wasn't that I wouldn't enjoy the company, or rehashing the arguments that go hand in hand with road trips (who drives, where/when we stop, radio stations, speed limits, elbow room, "that's my pillow", "I hate [genre] music" tangents, Moral Philosophical Debate: Copilot privileges and responsibilities, and who could forget the "Are-we-there-yet" jokes.... Not that I wasn't rife with ticklish anticipation of these things, I guess I just didn't trust in my mental capacity to handle all of those elements immediately after working 52 hours out of the 86 that made up my Friday through Monday, and my subsequent Allnighter that got the best of me around 6 AM on Tuesday, the scheduled Time of Departure for the road trip.

I had to weigh the value of sleep against the thrills of the road and opted for the former. Besides, I had also made it apparent to a friend from work that I would really like to tag along with her to Vegas if she had an open seat. I had really been feeling more like a Vegas spring break ever since the first planning of spring break, and the prospect of going to Vegas for a few days outweighed my expectations of a week in California. My roommates continued on to California as planned, and I slept in my bed. I forced myself into consciousness at about 9:30 on Tuesday. I had a project due at 12:40, so I missed class to finish the damned packet in time. (UVSC didn't start spring break until Wednesday). I gave up one of my days of spring break by not leaving town. Something in me is obligated to do what I am able despite my previous decision to skip classes to get a head start toward California. After dropping off my homework (and getting a good rebuking from my history prof. ) I decided 'what the hell' and went to my English class as well, even though I had told him I would not be there.

Things improved when a couple of friends dropped by to visit, one of them being a buddy from Memphis who I hadn't seen in over 2 years, the other my old roommate (also from Memphis) who got married a couple months ago, I had seen very little of him since. When they dropped by, I was trying to revisit the days that I cooked for myself, I had a few pots and pans doing simmering-type things on the stove and a spatula and dinner fork. It was more like a fire prevention refresher course.. although some stir-fry came of it eventually. I went over and played some Nertz! with my estranged friends and then returned home for some shuteye around 1:30AM, hoping to hear from my friend at work about an open slot on the Vegabus.

Wednesday morning, no word on the Vegas situation. I was feeling a little guilty for having invited myself along anyway. I still considered dropping a reminder, but in the end I decided it would happen if I was welcome. I opted instead to go shooting with my brother and I invited my visiting buddy along as well. I think I spent most of the afternoon daydreaming about what possessions I could hoc to finance my next planned purchase, A Taurus Millennium Pro (that's a gun) for concealed carry. after shooting, my brother and I gathered the brass from around us and took it home to prep for reloading. I went over to my married buddy's house to play cards to kill time till about 7:30. I went to a little birthday party to make good on what works out to be a cycle of bi-monthly encounters with someone by now all but estranged to me. It was pleasant-ish, with a slight smack of obligation on my hostesses part. I took my leave a little later than comfortable and spent the rest of the night with the melodic tones of Jeff Buckley and Leonard Cohen's deliberations on relationships-gone-awry, and misguided affections playing in my ear.

Thursday I spent much of my time in bed. I had told my buddy the night before that intended to sleep until someone or something woke me up. It proved to be my resolve to get over myself and find something worth doing that brought me out of my semi-conscious reclusion. I killed some time looking for a good read on half.com and browsing an enthusiast forum before I took a shower and headed over to my brothers place to deprimer some casings from Wednesday's shooting excursion. My brother can always say something witty or altogether offensive enough to distract me from my self pity. My two Memphian buds were supposed to come over and help me film some footage to mess around with, but in the spirit of the past 3 years of my movie making career, it was all talk and no action. They opted for a hot meal instead-- but I was still invited.

I found out later that night that the guy I had gotten to cover my Friday shift had flaked out, and it was only in my message reminding him to show that I found out he had "made other plans." I spent about 3 hours trying to find someone to take the shift so I wouldn't have to come in (this was to be my first weekend off in over 8 months, and I was kinda looking forward to it, even if I was stuck in town with nothing to do.) However, after a single well-meaning offer and about 30 'negative's, I gave up. I decided to confirm my Sunday coverage just to be sure, to which the text reply read "I can't, sorry."

This marks the first time in about 3 years that I got really, really, by-the-book, pissed(not counting Alaska, because I wasn't really alive then). I threw my phone at the wall and clenched my fist for a minute. then I grabbed my phone to let my boss know that I was going to be working the weekend afterall.

My weekend at work started off prettishiddy. I was not in the mood to spend the last 3 days of my spring break doing what I had been doing week in and week out for the past 32 weeks in a row. I got through a 3 hour block of meetings before I finally decided that it was within my capacity to let it slide off my shoulder and just pretend that this weekend had always been intended to be business as usual. It really helped to change my attitude and the day pretty much whizzed by. Luckily my Saturday shift cover guy was good on his word and I got look forward to my first Saturday off since last August.

Saturday morning I meant to be up and about early, checking to see if I could meet with the UFSA rep at school about starting some courses to get the ball rolling. I want to look into working as a wildland firefighter this summer and there is a certification course required before I'm eligible. I slept in however... and I woke up to a phone call from my (bored) Memphis buddy wanting to go to lunch with a girl we both knew from Memphis who just moved out here for school. We met up with her and her roommates at Brick Oven Pizza and had a few slices of Nostalgia, I had a Calizone. They invited us to tag along with them to Temple Square since a couple of them had never been. After some troubleshooting we all piled into my 4Runner and I drove us there.

It's been a while since I was there, and really it was nice to have some sort of religious experience. After a couple of tours we went to a party by U of U and watched Better Off Dead. They fed us, too-- Pizza, waffles and fried chicken (chicken and waffles may sound bad, but I remembered passing up an opportunity to try it at Roscoe's in L.A. and decided to give it a try, IT is SO good. I ate mine taco-style, and smothered in syrup.) As we left I noticed that my car was having some trouble shifting from 2nd to 3rd gear, but it eventually did and when we got on the interstate it was working just fine. however, after 30 minutes or so my "A/T OIL TEMP" light came on. so we stopped and let it cool down in a gas station parking lot for a good 15 minutes. it didn't come back on the rest of the way home.

On my drive to work Sunday morning my 4Runner wouldn't shift out of 1st gear, I crippled to work at 20 MPH. nothing changed over the course of my 14 hour shift-- same story on the drive home.

I'll be riding the bus to school in the morning.