Watch this video of me and Kimmybot2000 atop a roof in Agra gazing at the Taj Mahal and discussing the important things in life.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Belles in my Future
During my senior year of college I participated with a string quartet in a Christmas performance at the Laie, Hawaii LDS Temple Vistor's Center. We were just one of several acts. My favorite act by a mile however, was the Laie Belles, a group of 12 or so decrepit Mormon women. Despite their many stops and starts and inability to actually create music I felt an urge to learn the bells. Needless to say I asked them if there was any chance they'd let a 20-something man join the group, even just unofficially as an honorary member. I recall suggesting they call themselves the Laie Belles and a Gentleman (Ugh. I'll understand if you choose to disown me).
The head Belle laughed at my idea, she clearly didn't take me seriously. My will to learn the bells however, pressed on, an inescapable desire. Not a month later, to my delight a spritely senior missionary couple, the Farley's, who also happened to be former members of the famed Mormon Tabernacle Choir, were assigned to work with my congregation. Naturally, they worked especially close with our own choir and eventually sweet Sister Farley unveiled what might as well have been the holy grail: a box of shining, crisp, seductive bells. Bells fit for a king.
I immediately claimed stake to at least one bell, demanding of course, that it be the bell with charismatic solos; a bell allowing me to perform the bell-playing abilities that I knew I innately possessed. My demand was met and, more carefully than a surgeon, I gloved my hands and took to learning my part. If I couldn't be the Belle's star gentleman I sure as heck would make sure the spotlight found me in this new church choir.
I learned my part and could make my bell sing the sweetest melody. It possessed a timbre so moving it could make even Kate Gosselin cry. My part? One note, one solid ring of the low F#. So maybe I wasn't the star I envisioned, but my note was important. It came on a loud, intense downbeat after a long silent pause.
The big day arrived. I polished my bell and practiced my counts and the big ring. Our group took our places on the risers in front of the entire university and began. The singers and bells blended beautifully. My ring approached and the song became slow motion. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I felt woozy, nervous, anxious. I forgot the lyrics, stopped singing and lost count. The pause, my cue, came too quickly and I panicked. I gritted my teeth, swallowed hard. Slow motion turned to warp speed but I shook my nerves and managed to completely recompose myself and find my place in the music. Then, with every bit of confidence in the world and with all my strength I lifted the bell over my head, pulled it back for increased momentum and GONNNNnnG!!! I rang that sweet, shining bell. Not one, but two counts too early.
I ruined the choir number and managed to do it in front of my whole school. Better yet, my big moment was captured in the BYU-Hawaii newspaper.
That image is below. I guess I'll never be an honorary Belle.
The head Belle laughed at my idea, she clearly didn't take me seriously. My will to learn the bells however, pressed on, an inescapable desire. Not a month later, to my delight a spritely senior missionary couple, the Farley's, who also happened to be former members of the famed Mormon Tabernacle Choir, were assigned to work with my congregation. Naturally, they worked especially close with our own choir and eventually sweet Sister Farley unveiled what might as well have been the holy grail: a box of shining, crisp, seductive bells. Bells fit for a king.
I immediately claimed stake to at least one bell, demanding of course, that it be the bell with charismatic solos; a bell allowing me to perform the bell-playing abilities that I knew I innately possessed. My demand was met and, more carefully than a surgeon, I gloved my hands and took to learning my part. If I couldn't be the Belle's star gentleman I sure as heck would make sure the spotlight found me in this new church choir.
I learned my part and could make my bell sing the sweetest melody. It possessed a timbre so moving it could make even Kate Gosselin cry. My part? One note, one solid ring of the low F#. So maybe I wasn't the star I envisioned, but my note was important. It came on a loud, intense downbeat after a long silent pause.
The big day arrived. I polished my bell and practiced my counts and the big ring. Our group took our places on the risers in front of the entire university and began. The singers and bells blended beautifully. My ring approached and the song became slow motion. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I felt woozy, nervous, anxious. I forgot the lyrics, stopped singing and lost count. The pause, my cue, came too quickly and I panicked. I gritted my teeth, swallowed hard. Slow motion turned to warp speed but I shook my nerves and managed to completely recompose myself and find my place in the music. Then, with every bit of confidence in the world and with all my strength I lifted the bell over my head, pulled it back for increased momentum and GONNNNnnG!!! I rang that sweet, shining bell. Not one, but two counts too early.
I ruined the choir number and managed to do it in front of my whole school. Better yet, my big moment was captured in the BYU-Hawaii newspaper.
That image is below. I guess I'll never be an honorary Belle.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Dearest Housewives:
I washed and dried this pair of red wax lips with my clothes. Fail.
Why couldn't it have been the 'stache of wonders?
Roomie swore up and down that her natural stain remover stick would do the trick. Fail.
After three hot cycles and four days, this morning my laundry sat in the washing machine sad, bestained, and sour.
I got to thinking. Recently I participated in a greasy service project. So greasy in fact, that we relied on a mechanic's orange and pumice hand cleaner to do the trick. Grease on hands? Why not greasy/red wax stains on clothing? BINGO. Success. Thank you Fast Orange with pumice for restoring my clothing to its natural state. Housewives? Get on it, you can thank me later.
Why couldn't it have been the 'stache of wonders?
Roomie swore up and down that her natural stain remover stick would do the trick. Fail.
After three hot cycles and four days, this morning my laundry sat in the washing machine sad, bestained, and sour.
I got to thinking. Recently I participated in a greasy service project. So greasy in fact, that we relied on a mechanic's orange and pumice hand cleaner to do the trick. Grease on hands? Why not greasy/red wax stains on clothing? BINGO. Success. Thank you Fast Orange with pumice for restoring my clothing to its natural state. Housewives? Get on it, you can thank me later.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
jet
I'm going on a trip and it's almost all I can think about. Also, I am wicked into classic movies right now.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Me Being Serious.
Every now and again I get the urge to be nice. I am a family home evening coordinator at church, (a job, I never realized until now, that takes a lot of time!) and stumbled upon a webite full of ideas. I haven't dissected the site yet, I actually didn't need to because the first idea it led me to was perfect for Monday's lesson. The topic was service, and I wanted to incorporate a quick and easy project into the lesson. The perfect solution? Make A Child Smile, a nonprofit organization that spotlights several terminally ill kids at a time, providing their bios and contact info. and the opportunity to write them a letter. I love this concept.
Our small group wrote and mailed about 10 letters. These kids are living through horrible circumstances, difficult to think about, but hopefully a couple kids will feel better for a minute or two and smile. Take five minutes and try it out for yourself, it feels kind of good.
Our small group wrote and mailed about 10 letters. These kids are living through horrible circumstances, difficult to think about, but hopefully a couple kids will feel better for a minute or two and smile. Take five minutes and try it out for yourself, it feels kind of good.
Friday, March 5, 2010
All the Apparatus
A few of my friends from the BYU-Hawaii days are in this band, All the Apparatus. It may be a biased mild obesssion, but it's a mild obsession nonethless, I really enjoy their stuff. Love this song and its accompanying music video as much as I do, and if you're in Portland go find them on the streets somewhere downtown and hear it live.
Support the cause and buy their album here
Support the cause and buy their album here
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sundayches
I suffer from the Sunday Headache. Right now I have a headache. It has always been a little bit of a joke and I haven't given it much thought until recently. While visiting my family over the break I confessed to my mom one rainy Sunday afternoon that I had an epic head splitting Sundayche. She shot back, "What! Your dad has a headache every Sunday too." "No!" I shrieked. Total truth. This, along with an allergy to the beach, is my all-time favorite genetic inheritance (disorder).
Today I am in Phoenix defrosting and delaying my homework, and finally Googled "I have a headache every sunday". Though I could not find an official medical response I discovered that the Sundayche is not so uncommon. The answer? Precisely what my dear friend Kimmybot hypothesized, weekly shock to my biological clock. I am busy, not overwhelmingly so, but my plate is considerably full Monday through Saturday and when I finally settle down for a day and sleep later than is probably healthy, my mind and body panic.
I like this answer and I'm sticking with it, but a few gaps remain; why did I have a Sundayche while visiting my family in Oregon and far from busy? Am I crazy? Did I expect the pain and bring it upon myself? Do I have any brain doctor friends who might provide me a logical answer? Preferably one living in Reykjavik who also has connections to national tourism councils? Thanks.
Today I am in Phoenix defrosting and delaying my homework, and finally Googled "I have a headache every sunday". Though I could not find an official medical response I discovered that the Sundayche is not so uncommon. The answer? Precisely what my dear friend Kimmybot hypothesized, weekly shock to my biological clock. I am busy, not overwhelmingly so, but my plate is considerably full Monday through Saturday and when I finally settle down for a day and sleep later than is probably healthy, my mind and body panic.
I like this answer and I'm sticking with it, but a few gaps remain; why did I have a Sundayche while visiting my family in Oregon and far from busy? Am I crazy? Did I expect the pain and bring it upon myself? Do I have any brain doctor friends who might provide me a logical answer? Preferably one living in Reykjavik who also has connections to national tourism councils? Thanks.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
2010
I have a busy year ahead of me. School is set to challenge me even more than it has the last few months, I hope to find a museum internship, and I've decided that I will go to Antarctica.
I am absolutely in love with the beach and I've seen my fair share of them, but my trip to the desert last March gave me a taste of something new. It is well known that Iceland needs me and will eventually come beckoning, but until then I'm taking matters into my own hands and proving that I can handle some cold air.
In other news I have been at my parent's home in Oregon for the last two and a half weeks and weighed in tonight at a staggering 193, exactly 14 pounds heavier than when I arrived. And I can't get my mind off of the seared ahi burger from Bricktops restaurant in Nashville. Salivating at 2:15 in the morning.
I am absolutely in love with the beach and I've seen my fair share of them, but my trip to the desert last March gave me a taste of something new. It is well known that Iceland needs me and will eventually come beckoning, but until then I'm taking matters into my own hands and proving that I can handle some cold air.
In other news I have been at my parent's home in Oregon for the last two and a half weeks and weighed in tonight at a staggering 193, exactly 14 pounds heavier than when I arrived. And I can't get my mind off of the seared ahi burger from Bricktops restaurant in Nashville. Salivating at 2:15 in the morning.
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