Monday, December 05, 2005
Okay, here are the top 5 things people don't know about me:
5. I'm currently in a band called the Yogi Nogs. We are strongly influenced by the popular drink made by Hogi Yogi called "yogi nog." But rest assured, we would never even think of driving under its influence. We've contacted Hogi Yogi for a sponsorship deal, but they are yet to return our calls.
4. My name is not Mark (directed at Mr. Rutter).
3. I own and often wear a pair of boxers with a large picture of the Bumblebee Man on the front of them saying, "El yoyo, es grande!"
2. I like soda.
1. My name is not Ben Johnson (directed at Ben Johnson).
Well, there you have it. Five more things you were dying to know about me revealed. There will probably be posts up soon about each of these things. Hmmm, which reminds me, I need to take a poll.
Is green apple soda:
A. a great drink.
B. The greatest drink.
Be one of the first 5 people to answer and win a free can of green apple soda. (Contact the Vistaunet family for details).
Anyway, yeah, I guess I'll tag tshnp and alex or whatever his blogger name is.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Giving surveys isn't so bad. It's just how people react so quickly to my voice that bothers me.
Phone picks up.
I jolt awake. "Wha!? Oh. Hello, I'm Matt Karlsven of Harris Interactive, a national research firm. (click) Today we're conducting a survey on marriarge. May I speak with _______?......Hello?"
That's the response that seems to happen most frequently. Then there are the people who never learned how to communicate with other human beings, but have chosen to keep trying, no matter how much failure ensues.
Phone picks up.
"Hello, I'm Matt Karlsven of Harris Interact..."
They interrupt, "Harris who? Who is this?"
"This is Matt. Today we're conducting surveys on marriage."
"Marriage? Well, sir, I'm divorced, and never going to get married again."
"Okay would you like to take this survey?"
"Now I live with three women, and it's great." (He didn't really refer to them as "women," but this is a family blog.)
I start the survey, "What is your age?"
That one was actually me hanging up. 63 and living with three "women"? Ewwwww.
Or this one time:
Phone picks up.
"Hello, I'm Matt Karlsven of Harris Interactive, a national survey research firm..."
"Hey, Matt, I'm a telemarketer and I know that you can't call me. I'm on a do-not-call list," She says this last part with pride.
"Well, actually we don't sell anything. We just conduct surveys so we were not included in the law congress passed or the national do-not-call list. However, we do have an internal do-not-call list. Would you like your number put on it?"
"I could report you, you know!"
"You wouldn't do that, would you?" I ask sincerely.
"I could! I could put you guys out of business!"
"No, please, I need this job! This is all I have!"
"Well, that's too bad."
"This is my life! What am I going to do? How am I going to eat?"
"Look, it's okay, just don't call me again, okay."
"PLEASE!!! Where am I going to live!?! Please don't do this! You don't need to..."
Oh yeah, here's one that happened today:
Phone picks up.
"Hello, I'm Matt Karlsven from Harris Interactive, and we're conducting surveys on..."
"You can take your funking survey and stick it up your funking ace." (Family blog, remember).
"Okay, we will do that, sir."
I hear fading laughter before the click. It feels good to know that I've brightened someone's day, even if it does cost me the well-being of my ace.
I admire this next one for creativity:
Phone picks up.
"Hello, I'm Matt Karlsven from Harris Interactive, a national research firm. Today we're conducting surveys on marriage. What is your current marital status?"
"Hmmmm. What's YOUR current marital status?"
"Uhhh, I'm single."
"Then I'm single."
"Ummm. Okay. Is there anyone in your household who has been married in the past year?"
"Is there anyone in YOUR household who's been married in the past year?"
Wise to their scheme, I respond, "Uhhh....YES!"
"Could I speak with them?"
"Could I speak with them?"
Crap. I've trapped myself. "Ummm, no."
Well played, I have to admit. Well played, indeed.
There have been so many calls of the same nature as these. They don't usually end well. But I can say this: If ever you get a call from a telephone surveyor or a telemarketer, you don't have to do what they want, but at least jerk around with them a little. It sucks just having people hang up on you.
C'mon, say something clever, make funny noises, yell an obscenity. It doesn't matter. It'll make their day more interesting. Or possibly be the call that pushes them over the edge and convinces them that their only option is to go down in a hail of gunfire. Either way, it'll make their day more interesting.
Harris, I'm gonna miss you.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Why I Should Be Chosen as a Sterling Scholar
A Mathematical Approach
By Matt Karlsven
Why should I be chosen as a sterling scholar? That is a very forthright question to ask, and I must admit that it did catch me a little off guard. However, candor is one quality that I admire, so I will try my best to answer this question in this very concise yet thorough essay.
Through a very meticulous process, I have obtained the actual formula used to select sterling scholars. We will use the symbol SS to represent this formula. Therefore, an equation to represent this on a regular Euclidian coordinate plane would be f(X)=SS. X being the particular sterling scholar candidate. Note that although X does not appear in the SS formula, the extended notation of SS includes X. In other words, the method used to select a sterling scholar is largely dependent on the candidates considered for the award (at least I hope that’s the way it works).
To determine where I myself would fall in this formula, I decided to insert myself
into the equation. I’ll represent myself with the symbol M. Calculating the actual value of
f(M) would serve little purpose, seeing as this would prove nothing as to why I would be a
better choice than my opposition, and furthermore, it would be, as we say in the math world,
“pushing the limits of the metaphor.” This is why I decided to find the derivative of the
equation at X=M. This derivative turned out to be zero, or f ’(M)=0. This proves that I am
of either maximum or a minimum value when it comes to sterling scholar aptitude.
I can assure you that I am not of minimum value, but since most people, when told of this fact, insist that I prove it to them, I feel I must prove it to you too. This is done by using the second derivative test. I then found f ”(M) to be of negative value. If that’s not proof enough of why I should be sterling scholar, I don’t know what is. But if I had to state another reason, I’d say it would be my extreme devotion to the study and activity of mathematics, as well as the gaining of knowledge altogether.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
I get started taking pictures of jackets from a big pile Kim got out for me. One by one I put the jackets on a male manikin and shoot them. Full shot, close up front, shoulder, back, inner lining, tag, and damage to the jacket if any. The manikin has no head, but I still feel uncomfortable putting my arms around it to tighten up the material on the inner lining shot. I know it's just a manikin that doesn't even have legs, but it's still weird. They won't even let me get near the female manikins. After I finish my pile of jackets, I contemplate the vast similarities between these manikins and real people as I reach in this manikin's hollow neck and grab it's metal spine to move it out of the way.
I go out and ask Kim what I should do next.
"In about a half hour we'll have a model here, and you need to shoot her wearing these jackets," he says, gesturing to a pile of thirty or so jackets.
This got me pretty nervous. I've never taken pictures of a model. Well, not with them knowing about it at least. Will I need to direct her? How can I tell her to do anything without sounding like I don't know what I'm talking about? Will I have to make chit-chat with her? And most importantly, how am I going to relate this experience to anyone without sounding like a pervert?
The model finally shows up. And no, it wasn't a guy. I realize now that it would've been really funny if it were a guy, but no where near worth it just for a laugh. Besides, modeling is no laughing matter. This blog is serious, guys.
Kim introduces us.
"Bambie, (I forget her real name, but I'm pretty sure it was from a Disney movie) this is your photographer," he says.
I look around in bewilderment, for it is just us three in the room. I look down and see a camera in my hands. Oh, he means me, I think. I give my usual greeting, which vaguely resembles one shooing away a fly near my shoulder as quick as I can. Or so I hear.
Bambie and I go into the picture-taking room. We get started. She puts on the first jacket. Full shot, close up front, shoulder, back, inner lining, and tag. After about 5 jackets finished in silence, I feel I need to be a bit more involved.
"Could you give me some anger on this one?" I ask.
Her face remains the same as it was before.
"Perfect," I say honestly.
She puts on the next jacket.
"Now, I think we need some jubilant indifference in this one," I say.
"Now, some repressed absolutism would work with this one."
"You're a natural."
"Let's see. I think we need a little bit of sarcastic innnocence."
And it went on like this.
She put on the next jacket and I saw it. I had hoped this wouldn't happen. The shoot was going fine and then something like this had to show up and put the whole thing at risk.
Well, it wasn't so much the stain itself, but the location of the stain. There was probably no worse place for a stain.
"Um, do you think you could brush that off?" I ask her, while vaguely pointing at the jacket, eyes never leaving the camera.
She tries brushing it off, but it's in there pretty good. She tries scratching it out, but that just lightens the material around the stain, thus making it only more evident.
This is going nowhere, and we need to get rid of that stain. It's time for me to be a man, to step up and solve the problem myself without any more of this immaturity.
I hand her a rag.
Eventually she got the stain cleaned off. The stain actually turned out to be a good thing after all. While she was cleaning it off, I was able to do a lot of the tinkering with the camera while looking really embarrased and uncomfortable that I had been wanting to do for so long.
I got done taking pictures of her after about 45 minutes. I don't know who got completely fed up with the situation first, me or her, but the overall feeling that it needed to end was mutual.
I load the pictures onto the computer thinking that things didn't go so bad after all. I mean, I got to take pictures of a real-life model. This could be a good blog, I think.
The pictures from the camera start to show up on the computer screen. I maximize the first picture. The second. The third.
Hmmm, I don't remember asking for confused, annoyed, OR terrified.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
I believe that I was once called a "silent appendage" in dealing with my hometeaching skills. It's not my fault really. My dad always goes on about some theory he has about how the battle of Armageddon is going to start, or how the world economy is going to fail pretty soon or whatever. I, of course, have to sit and listen to his rantings at every house to which we go. But I have mastered his theories pretty well so I can step in from time to time and remind him of things he didn't explain or left out.
"...and if you thought that was bad, wait 'til you hear this..." says my dad.
I interrupt, "Wait, Dad, you forgot about the part where society falls apart and half the population of America is incinerated while the other half has to endure starvation and terrible diseases and hopes for an early death."
"Oh yes, this will be much worse than the bubonic plague, literally." he goes on.
The family does seem to be very engrossed by my father's "lesson." But I think they were just being polite. I mean, not blinking while having their eyes that wide for so long couldn't have been comfortable. They were laying it on a little thick clenching the armrests of their chairs like that. And the violent shaking. Please.
"You're not fooling anyone," I say to the boy of a family we're teaching as I administer eyedrops to him for the third time this hometeaching session.
This probably isn't the best time to say it, but I don't understand what the whole hype about being politically knowledgeable is all about. Call me old fashioned, but I affectionately believe in the old traditions of hard work, sacrifice, loving one's country, and the weakness of the individual. I just don't understand all these people who watch and read the news, and then just sit around complaining about it. How come you have to know about everything going on with politics, anyway? There are so many better things you could learn about. Paint a painting, sing a song, or dance a dance. Seriously guys, the politics thing, it's over. The fad is winding down. It seemed like a good idea, but it just didn't pan out.
Yesterday I found myself at the dollar theater, sitting in a car-racing arcade game seat with Erp in the seat next to me. We missed the movie by ten minutes and decided to wait for the next movie. It didn't start for two hours. I was actually having some fun pretending to play the game I was at, and striking up conversations with tiny bilingual girls. It was awesome.
I only mention it because these are the times when I despise politics the most. Erp, you're a great guy.
Anyway, I just felt I needed to post something, even if it's this unfocused, uncouched, and unsofa-ed crap. Don't worry, I have some thought-provoking stuff coming up soon, I promise.
Ah, who am I kidding anyway? I have no new ideas for posts.
Are you happy now?
Monday, October 17, 2005
It does kind of upset me that they don't really ask me to do anything. I mean, c'mon, I'm able, I'm willing. I may not have the grace or ogling skills of Taylor Killian, but I'd at least feign doing a good job.
My thoughts turn to the first real assignment I was given as a senator. The BBQ at lunch. It was the senior senators' job to organize it all. The dominoes had almost all fit into place. I could tell that no one wanted me involved, but I was a senator, fair and square. They tried to give me a stand-on-the-sideline sort of job like bring the buns or supply the gas. My suppressed repartee knew no bounds. But then, to their dismay, we discovered that only those with a food handlers permit could cook the food. And, haha, I happened to be one of the few who had sat through the 2 hour power point presentation to become qualified to prepare food for large crowds of people.
The day of the barbeque came and I was as excited as ever. They gave me the smallest and least-powerful of the three grills, but who cares? A grill is a grill. Or at least a glorified hotplate. I crammed 4 burgers and about 8 hotdogs on my grill and began to wait. I saw a bunch of pink wads of apron and decided that I was definitely one of those eligible to where the honorable accesory.
The lunch bells rang and kids began to make their way outside to our setup. It was great. The kids started to get a little unruly for having to wait, so I threw a few hotdogs at them to settle them down. One of the hotdogs hit the sidewalk and left a small dent in it. Sidewalks just aren't made like they used to be I guess. I made a few adjustments the ice started melting off the hotdogs on the grill in no time. I decided that the first burger done would have to be tasted by myself to ensure it's quality. It was certainly up to par, and I can definitely verify that the next 2 or 3 burgers were as well.
Some of the kids began to complain of severe stomach pains for having no food. This was very irritating. I mean, I was slaving away at the grill for their benefit and they couldn't show a single ounce of respect in return. Little did we know that my indignation was to be ratified about an hour later, when the real stomach pains started to set in. Poetic justice at its finest.
On several occasions I had to lecture the kids on the importance of being patient. Grease-coated spatula in hand, I made sure to drive every point with a flick of my wrist. I could tell I had a real effect on them from their sharp screams of agreement and their rush to find cold water and soak various parts of their bodies. Satisfied with their response, I checked on the meat and re-greased my spatula for the next group of bodies.
Many of the complaints were that the burgers weren't cooking fast enough. I assured the kids that I was under direct orders that I give no person an underdone burger. One kid became extremely bothersome.
"Look, I've been waiting here for over an hour. That burger is done," he said.
I check the burger.
"Nope, it's still got a little grey in the middle."
"You're a terrible chef. Most of those burgers are ash."
This was pushing it too far. I don't mind people degrading my standing as a chef, but poking fun at my ash, that's just too much.
"You don't like how I run my grill?" I ask. "Well, how about this? NO BURGER FOR YOU!"
I use my spatula to direct him to the back of the line and I can tell that he gets the point as he screams and covers his eyes in shame.
"And let that be a lesson to the rest of you!" I scream while waving my arms violently. Several other people scream and cover their faces as well.
As the crowd finally dispersed, I had a feeling of accomplishment. I had done what I was assigned to do. I could tell that the "upper class" student government was very pleased with my work as well. They even went so far as to try to retire me from ever helping them again. What an honor. Those guys are so nice.
The meat was all gone, and now was time to clean up. My grill was really greasy and I had nothing with which to clean it. Then I remembered the apron I was wearing. I quickly pulled it off and began to scrub vigorously at the grill. I had the grill looking good as new and placed the soiled apron on the table.
"Has anyone seen my aprons?" asks Jared.
I run. Fast.
"They're not mine," he continues.
I'm almost out of sight.
"I had to give my wallet as collateral!"
I finally get around the corner of the school before I burst out laughing. Yeah, I'm evil. What's it to ya?
I'm a Senator, aren't I?
Sunday, October 02, 2005
"Golden Retriever" by Super Furry Animals. It was such a good song that I decided to listen to it twice.
7:05. I leave. I'm supposed to be at the guy's address -5 minutes from now. Lousy space/time continuum. I get to the street his house is supposedly on, but as I find the place where his house should be, all I see is Tanner Gregory's house, and then a big empty lot next to it. I drove back and forth on this street several times, looking in disgust at the non-existent house.
It's 7:15. I see Jessica Barry drive down this street and park not too far from the impression of one of my flawlessly repeated three-point turns. I see her walk toward a house on the other side of the street. I read the numbers of the house. 1123. My thoughts turned to the unfortunate postal worker assigned to this area. It would be very confusing to have to deliver mail to a house and an empty lot with the same address. I calmly parked my van after another three-point turn and began to follow her to the front door. Smooth, as always.
The guy (whose name is Bro. Packard, I later found out) let us in with a bow. Impressed with his hospitality, I decided I wouldn't embarrass him by mentioning the dog attached to his arm. He showed us in to some seats where a girl was already sitting. Jessica introduced herself very friendly-like to her, so of course I had to as well.
"I'matt," I said. I always have trouble keeping the m's separated in that sentence and still sounding normal.
It looked like she didn't hear me, or just didn't understand what I had said. I looked across the room and shuffled over to the only unpadded seat in the room and looked at my suddenly quarrelsome hands. We sat silently for a few minutes until the doorbell rang. It was Josh Larkin. He's my tennis partner.
"Hey Josh," I said with a welcoming smile.
He's probably still mad about last week's game, I thought. I don't see how he could still be sore about it though. It wasn't even all my fault. I mean, you'd think he'd learn to hit the ball back or even dodge out of the way after a few times. And besides, the doctors said that the bruising will go away within a few weeks. Some people just can't let things go, I guess.
Now I remember where I've seen Bro. Packard before. About a year ago I was part of a group that was supposed to make a stake movie and present it to the stake at some big meeting. I remember at one point being alone in Kody's basement with him:
"So, are you an actor?" he asked.
"Kinda," I responded.
"Do you think I've seen you in any plays?"
"Um, I've done a few, but I'm more of a free-lance actor."
At this time, Kody, Nate, and Adam came back into the room.
"So Mark here tells me that he's had a little experience in acting," said Bro. Packard.
Nate began "Oh, Matt. He's more of just a stunt man. I don't even know why he's here."
And the meeting went on like that.
I hoped Bro. Packard hadn't remembered any of that. But then again, I hoped I wouldn't remember any of that either.
My flashback was interrupted by Bro. Packard reading off who wasn't there yet. I was pretty bored until he got to a certain name.
"...David Ridge..." he read.
My eyes lit up. DAVE! But then,
"Oh, David called and said he can't make it tonight."
I turned my attention to the aforementioned dog. It was no longer connected to Bro. Packard's arm, but rather sitting between my legs. I began scratching behind its ears. It didn't really respond at all for a while. How long am I going to have to do this?, I wondered as I scratched harder. The dog abruptly fell over hard onto the wood floor. I saw its chest deflate and prayed that it would fill up again. I couldn't deal with killing an innocent animal. Not again. The dog lay there for several moments not moving at all. I looked around at everyone else in the room as if to say, "You all saw it. It came at me with a knife." Just as I began thinking out the detail on how I would dispose of the body, I was interrupted by a strange noise. I looked down at the dog and it had begun breathing again. Thank goodness. Then I realised that the sound was coming from the dog. It was snoring. Really snoring. And pretty loudly at that. The dog lay there snoring like that for the entire meeting.
The meeting was just to make sure we all knew how to use the topical guide and stuff. At one point, Bro. Packard asked me to read the piece I would be introducing entitled "Joy in the Morning." I began reading.
"There will be joy in the morning. Joy in the morning. There will be joy, joy, joy in the morning. Joy, joy, joy, joy, joy. There will be joy in the morning..."
And it went on like that. And that's just one of the four-parts I had to read. I looked up in the middle of my reading and looked helplessly at Bro. Packard. He just smiled and gestured for me to keep reading. Ugh. I finished reading what seemed hours later (I don't know the exact time because Bro. Packard had cleverly taken all the clocks from the room before we arrived) and looked up. Even the dog looked sleepier than when I had begun.
I went home very dissatisfied. I had to write some boring talk, I probably killed the man's dog, and worst of all, I had to do all of this without the reassurance of Dave by my side.
But who knows? Maybe there will be joy in the morning. After all, people die in their sleep all the time.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Have you guys seen those pseudo-satirical commercials that are all like, "Where are the nuggets on a chicken?"? I know you have. I admit that I chuckled a bit when I first saw that commercial. Well, I don't really chuckle, but as my face remained in permagrimace, I thought to myself that this was a pretty original idea for a commercial. But now that I think about it, the commercial is just stupid and painfully un-thoughtout. I mean, what if competitors used that same strategy for other types of products. Like, "hmmmm, I can't seem to find where the quarter pounder is on this cow. It must be an overprocessed piece of filth." Of course, it probably is an overprocessed piece of filth, but that's beside the point. Under their logic, all food must be presented to the consumer as much in its original form as to allow an immediate recognition of the actual expression the meal had on its face when it died. I don't want to know anything about the pain the animal went through for me to eat, I just want to enjoy my meal. And I don't think I'm the only one.
I say that as long as a food has a recognizeable shape, then it is acceptable. And the chicken mcnugget is no exception. Generally, there are two types of chicken mcnugget. There's the lumpy oval, and of course the boot. The boot is advantageous in a few ways. One of which is that the toe of the boot allows for a minimum-sized handle as you dip the nugget into the river of sweet and sour. The heel of the nugget is also acceptable for this but there are some disadvantages. Another advantage of the boot shape is when there is only a tiny amount of sauce left in the corner of the package. You just stick the toe of the nugget in there and it can usually wipe it clean. Of course, both of these techniques cannot be employed at the same time. But that's the beauty of it all. A ten-nugget order allows for at least 1024 different combinations, and that's just boot-shapers. Don't get me started on the oval ones or the not uncommon "mutant nuggets."
The permutations are practically endless.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
I love the feeling I get when I make a sandwich for myself. I feel so capable. I don't do my own laundry, I have no real job, no woman, and my social skills are lacking at best. But whenever I finish making a ham sandwich, I can't help but think to myself, "I'm going to make it. I can take care of myself." Then, of course, I ask my mom to come cut the sandwich and to make it look like a butterfly the way I like it.
It has been said on the art of sandwich-making that "it takes a minute to learn, and a lifetime to master." The actual design of a standard sandwich is quite simple. Bread, condiments, meat, cheese, vegetables, more condiments, bread. But these elements of the sandwich have so many subcategories that the possibilities are endless. And then there are the new contemporary ideas beginning to sprout. Among these are the double and triple deckers. I haven't quite mastered these yet. I am always thwarted by the pieces of bread that fall in the middle of the sandwich. Next to impossible it is to spread mayonnaise on both sides of that piece. A zero-gravity environment would be ideal for this sort of project. I'm in correspondence with NASA at this time developing a plan to make this concept a reality.
I've often been accused when I order a sandwich at a restaurant that my choice in extras has been found wanting. I am usually open to change and the radical thinking of the "cultured" person. But, you know, sometimes you just need to relax and not get bogged down with the details. I am a simple man. And at times I enjoy a simple sandwich. C'mon, bread, meat, cheese, lettuce. How can you go wrong with that?
I hope we don't ruin the sandwich like we have so many things before my children can enjoy it. It's just such a great thing, but great things are very apt to being tainted and corrupted once released to the general population. I mean, look at popular music, t.v, and, ironically, the internet. It's a shame that this has happened. But we can prevent this from happening to the sandwich if we all do our part. If you come across a sandwich obviously sloppily stacked without care, walk away. If you see a sandwich with questionable ingredients, just say "no way" and walk away. Do not linger near an obviously mass-produced corporate sandwich. A sandwich with an expiration date sticker is no sandwich at all. Walk away. It's just not worth it.
It's our responsibility to maintain this world. Some may say that I'm overreacting, but I feel that the sandwich is in grave danger. I have written several letters to congress on the matter which have strongly stated that the sandwich should immediately be put on the Endangered Delectables List. Anyone willingly to be a cosignatory on a letter to the President of the United States addressing the sandwich problem would be greatly appreciated.
This is a serious problem, and serious problems require serious solutions.
Monday, September 05, 2005
I think a lot of why I don't like the class is the teacher. Miss Sweetwood is one of those teachers that is strict about stupid stuff by which only a neurotic and paranoid person would be irritated. One time the class was put in pairs to do some work. My partner was Marshall and we decided it would be a good idea to go in the hall to work away from all the noise of the classroom. We walked outside and finished the work earlier than everyone else and walked back in and sat down. Immediately Sweetwood called us up to her desk and told us that she had specifically told the class not to go in the hall. The problem was that she told the class this after we were already in the hall. I told her that sound is not very apt to going through thick walls but she was still mad. She's retarded.
For the first two weeks I had eaten my lunch in statistics. It's right before lunchtime and I think I might be mildly diabetic so I need food during that period to concentrate. But the last time I had statistics, I pulled out a sandwich and began to carefully, quietly, and neatly eat it. I wasn't disturbing anyone or anything. Sweetwood was near my desk, getting mad at Marshall for taking her stapler to his desk to staple his assignment. I scolded Marshall for his unforgiveable transgression.
"Geeth, Mahsull, why yu haf oo ake 'ings sho har' for 'er?" I said with a mouthful of sandwich.
Sweetwood heard this and spun around in my direction to see me holding my half-eaten sandwich.
"Does this room look like a cafeteria?" she asked. I hate it when people ask questions like that.
"Wan' a bite?" I asked with a still pretty full mouth.
"Put it away."
I quickly took 3 or 4 more bites and put the sandwich in my backpack. By the time I was able to get it out again, it was warm and mushy. I couldn't waste it but when I offered it to people, no one would accept it. I eventually had to throw it away. I still feel bad about that.
Anyway, Sweetwood is a terrible teacher and in no way can be compared to Danner, the best math teacher at phs.
And if Sweetwood is reading this, here's a statistic for you: 300% of your class sucks while -200% is okay (With a margin of error of 200%). I'd draw a box-and-whisker plot or a histogram of this information for you if they didn't irritate me so much because of your bad teaching. Which they do.
Stupidness, thy name is Sweetwood.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
A while ago I was raving to everyone about how great the library was. This was because I had discovered the cd and dvd sections in the library. There is actually some good stuff there, if you look for it. And for no cost, you can have them for two weeks. I thought that I had gotten the 5 books, 3 cds, and 2 dvds from the library with impunity and I was rubbing it in everyone's face. The world was my burrito.
But then this morning, I went on the internet to see how much time I had left to have all these items. Crap! They were all due yesterday! My mind raced as I thought of the enormous fines and bounty hunters that would undoubtedly enter my life. Wait, I can renew them. I thought and relaxed a bit. I tried to renew them on the Provo City Library website, but all I got were bright red letters by each title saying that I couldn't renew them because they were already overdue. Sure, kick a guy while he's down.
I looked down the list of items I had borrowed and saw something peculiar.
Twilight in the desert: the coming Saudi oil shock and the world economy
I had definitely not borrowed that book. The only explanation was that someone had stolen my library card and borrowed the book, then carefully placed it back in my wallet. But who could've done that? It had to be someone near me who was interested in world events, well-versed in financial matters, and probably rides a recumbent bicycle most-likely in questionable attire. This question plagued me all day and the more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. Why would someone do such a thing!? And more importantly, what kind of sick person would be interested in reading this book?
I was in the kitchen tonight, and I looked and saw one of my dad's boring books about blah blah blah or whatever on the table. I looked closer and saw the title.
Twilight in the desert: the coming Saudi oil shock and the world economy
"DAD!!!" I yelled as I quickly grabbed the book and ran downstairs where my dad was.
"Yes, Matthew?" he responded.
I seethed with anger. I could only make quick sharp grunts while I stood there with fists clenched and face reddened for several moments.
Finally I got the words out.
"This book is overdue a day. I thought I'd just tell you that"
I know I went a little overboard, but I didn't want him to go through the same thing I was. It can be very confusing, you know.
If anyone has any information about the person who borrowed a book with my library card, please contact me at once. Oh, and don't worry about my dad's overdue book. He says that it's not really his problem anyway so he's not going to worry about it. That's what I love about my dad. He never burdens me with his problems.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
I've destroyed the bond of friendship and respect between the only people left who'd even look me in the eye.
Now I am sitting at the computer in my room listening to the musical talents of my three small cousins playing an accoustic guitar, electric guitar, and the smallest one playing kamalei's uke. Their music is roughly contemporary with not much rhythm or melody, but it has style. And that's why I love it. There seems to be a little argument going on among themselves on who is the "leader" of the band. It would be a shame if they broke up at the climax of their fame, but I fear it is inevitable. Oh, there it goes. Nathan, the middle child, just quit the band because it makes him "tired and hot." Lucy, the oldest and self-appointed leader, then kicked nathan out. Milli, the youngest has also just quit. Lucy demanded that Milli hand over her pick, but Milli would not give in. Now Lucy is all alone. The leader of a broken up band. I am all alone too now, the owner of a few broken up instruments.
I think it's appropriate for me to post the lyrics to a great TMBG song entitled, I am a Human Head.
I'm a human head and my best friend is also a head.
I don't really need my best friend.
Now my friend is gone and I'm only a head by myself.
I find I don't need my whole head.
Now I'm just the top of a head. Just the scalp and the hair
I don't like the scalp, just the hair.
What do I really need? Best friend also a head.
Just the head, just the scalp, and hair.
Friend, no. Head, no. Scalp, no. Hair.
I am only one human hair, with no scalp for a home.
All I need's the top of a head.
Now all I am is just a scalp. I don't have any head.
I'd be glad if I had a head.
Now I have a head, look at me, I'm a fine floating head.
Where's my friend the other head?
Milli eventually came back to Lucy. Originally their band name was LMN signifying Lucy, Milli, and Nathan. This new Nathan-free spin-off band is called The Dumpster Mummies.
It's tragic, really.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
And what makes books so great anyway? Are they really that much better than television or movies? To quote Matilda, one of the greatest movies of all time, "there's nothing you can get from a book that you can't get from t.v. faster." I suppose the only reason people read nowadays at all is because the particular book they're reading hasn't been made into a full-length movie or a USA original series yet.
I hate people who read books more than once. Especially mystery novels. I think they do it just so they can feel smarter and superior to the unfortunate characters. Don't go in there, the murderer is waiting in there! BANG! I told you. Pathetic. Personally, I can't wait to get through a book just to be done with it. As I read, I check every few minutes to see how thick the pages I have yet to read are. Holy crap, I've already read like 1 and a half centimeters! If only I knew what this book is about. I then admire how much I had read for a while until I get bored. Then I put the book back on the shelf as I've been taught, and proudly ask my mom to get me an even harder book by this Seuss fellow.
But don't get the wrong idea. I thoroughly enjoy reading basically anything. No matter what crap you hand me, chances are that I will enjoy it. I also enjoy most any books suggested to me. I may not be a connoisseur of literature, but who wants to be a connoisseur anyway? I get enough excrement handed to me as it is, without having the word "sewer" in my title.
As useless and inefficient as books are, they are still a part of our society. And until we find some way to dispose of these books in a quick and efficient manner, we will have to continue to resort to mass book-burning parties the way our forefathers intended.
If anyone has any suggestions for books I should read, feel free to tell me and I promise that I might feign interest.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
So far I have:
1. Indian Reservation by Paul Revere and the Raiders
2. James K. Polk by TMBG
3. Tippecanoe and Tyler Too by TMBG
4. The Battle of New Orleans
5. People of the Book by The Vistaunet Family Singers
And that's it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to write and record some songs to fill the c.d. up, but I'd like to avoid that as much as possible. I'm desperate for more songs. If anyone has any ideas, they would be greatly appreciated. If not for me, do it for Mr. Smith.
And don't worry, this blog isn't going to become a place for list posting. I like to keep it real.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
I had been invited to go to Johnny B's that night in hopes for being entertained but mostly just for something to pass the time. Then yadda yadda yadda I found myself in front of everyone, sticking my butt out and drumming enthusiastically to the beat of Wipeout.
When we first arrived, me, manders, boo, and phil were sitting on the back row. I had the courage to volunteer to be hypnotised, but this was only under the assumption that at least one of those three was going to join me. The time came for people to come down to be hypnotised and I walked/jogged down to take a seat with all the other enthused fools. of course, no one else from our party had followed me down. Those ten or so strangers and myself had just begun an experience we would not soon forget. Or would we?
The hynotist started out by having us close our eyes and hold our hands out and imagine that each hand was a magnet attracted to the other. Soon our fingers were interlocked quickly growing more and more stuck to eachother. Then, the guy said that very powerful glue was being poured over our hands. The more we pulled, the more stuck they got. As the glue dried, I tried to bite the glue off but to no avail. We were then told that our hands in fact were not stuck together. how stupid of me I thought as I easily pulled my hands apart.
We were then systematically put to sleep one by one. As I went to sleep, I fell over into the red-headed guy's lap who was sitting next to me. This relationship would not be short-lived. His nervous breathing was very soothing, and soon I found my face becoming more and more buried in this guys lap as instructions were given to us by the hypnotist. He woke us up. At this point, he told us that one of our index fingers would stick to any part of our body unless the other index finger is stuck to our body somewhere else. I found this mildly amusing. Kirtley Jackman (hypnotised person #8) had somehow stuck his two index fingers together. As this happened, a guy next to me leaned over to me and said completely seriously, "He's screwed." We were then told that our fingers would not stick to our bodies about the same time as we realised our fingers would not stick to our bodies.
At a later time, I was the only one put to sleep and I was given instructions that whenever the hypnotist said the word "shave" I was to ask him for a bandaid because I had just cut myself shaving. I woke up and saw that I was missing one of my sandals that I thought I had been wearing. The man went on talking and soon said the word. I got up and asked him for a bandaid. He gave me one and I put it on the right side of my face. He soon said the word again. This time when he gave me a bandaid, I thought I'd reveal the smooth unhairy skin of my chest. I lifted up my shirt and put the bandaid near my left nipple. Everyone laughed, but I didn't think it was that funny.
Later, we found ourselves hugging the audience after a rousing chorus of "I Love You" at the end of Barney's show. We then felt a powerful impulse to hug everyone in the audience. I quickly scanned for any good looking girls in the audience. I was only four years old at the time, but I matured quickly. I then found myself back to normal and for some reason I was hugging the same guy whose lap I had earlier used as a pillow. Very awkward. Of course, when we sat back down, he switched seats and I felt very alone and rejected. But this feeling did not last. For as another person was put to sleep, a girl came running across and took one of that person's shoes. This was the one who had taken my sandal! I ran to where she had just sat down and demanded it back. She denied everything. I kept demanding it back until finally the hypnotist asked if I actually saw her take it. I begrudgingly said no and sat back down. The hypnotist then asked the thief if she had taken my sandal. But this time, her chair was equipped with a lie detector that would shock her if she lied and increased in power by three times each time she lied. Ha ha, revenge at last! I snatched away my sandal from her hand as she looked at me with tear-filled eyes.
The last part I'll mention is the infamous bum drumming. Everyone was put to sleep and told that we were all in the world-famous bum drumming group and we were about to go on stage for a concert. We woke up and were presented to the crowd as the song Wipeout began to play. I jumped up, turned around, bent over, and began slapping my own drum with great vigor (we were told that it was forbidden to play anyone else's drum). I drummed double time with my left hand on my left cheek. With my right hand on my right cheek I hit right on the beat as hard as I could. As I was doing this, I was trying to swing my hips to the beat as well, just to spice things up a little. And spice things up it did. The crowd was going wild to our expert drumming and we couldn't have been more pleased. The music faded out and we returned to our seats. I gave a guy a high five before I sat back down. Probably the best and most serious high five I've ever given anyone.
"That was fun," said the girl next to me.
"It was a good show," I replied.
A good show, indeed.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Tinky Winky=upside down triangle head.
Dipsy=straight line head.
Laa Laa=looped head.
It really took that long to figure it out. It's such a weird show. I didn't really know what was going on, but it seemed bad because they kept saying "uh oh" and then they'd go and worship some paper windmill idol.
I always find it awkward to watch t.v. with my parents, or anyone really, but mostly my parents. It's like they're judging you on the shows you watch. I hate that. It would be like I'm watching a perfectly fine, if somewhat mediocre, movie on t.v., and as soon as one of my parents walks in, there is a swear word or some kind of sexual innuendo. It's not like those things bother me to the point of changing the channel, but I don't know if it bothers my parents, or if it bothers them that it doesn't bother me. And that bothers me.
So, if given a choice, would anyone out there choose to watch a movie in standard rather than widescreen? Of course, no one would. I am a strong widescreen supporter myself, but I really don't think it's that much of a difference. On some dvd's where they give you an option, it shows what the picture would look like in standard compared to widescreen. Everyone at this point seems to get very irritated that standard is missing part of the shot on the left and right sides. Big deal. So you wouldn't be able to see some unimportant extra standing there looking out of place. Like you would be looking there anyway.
I admit that with the complicated plots and subplots going on in the movies of today, one might feel that they have to study the entire screen at all times in fear that they might miss something and be lost for the rest of the movie. I know, for this has happened to me on several occasions. The trick to overcoming this is to memorize one short segment of the movie. Then when you're talking about the movie later with someone and they mention some part you missed or didn't understand, you can just respond saying, "Yeah, but do you remember..." and then explain in terrific detail the aforementioned scene. They'll be very impressed of your knowledge of the film and/or feel inadequate and inferior in your presence. Either way, you're not fit to be discussing movies anyway if you can't even remember the plot of the dull glib drivel of today's movies.
In conclusion, I like Tinky Winky the best, with Po coming in a close second.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
I'm just really cheesed about this because somehow yesterday, a mosquito managed to bite me right between my eyes. How could that happen? The only way I could see that happening is if the mosquito somehow landed below my chin out of my sight, then proceeded to crawl up my chin the my mouth. Then it would have had to wait until I said a word with a "p" or "b" sound in it to jump over my mouth when the chasm is at its smallest. After having done this, it must've climbed up one of my nostrils while dodging the countless perilous nose hairs. Then, finally, it must've bitten right between my eyes from the inside of my face. Having accomplished its goal, it then found a nice soft place in my brain and died there.
The bite actually fits in pretty well with my progressively more omelet-like complexion. What a considerate mosquito to choose someone with already declining physical features instead of someone with moderate to fair complexion with an equally strong self-esteem. Actually my own self-esteem probably fits somewhere between moderate and fair. However, my mosquito-esteem is definitely somewhere around poor to needs improvement.
I wasn't always so hostile toward mosquitos and animal life in general. In fact, one of my favorite pastimes was to sit scratching for hours and eventually scratch myself to sleep. It was so simple then. But then I found out that scratching leads to bleeding, and scabs, and scars, and finally death. Well, probably not that last one, but society has been coming up with all sorts of crazy causes for death. What's another unresearched, unproven medical FACT?
I know it's kind of a round about way of saying it, but what I'm really trying to tell you is that I hate the letters "p" and "b." Oddly enough, I adore the letter "j" despite its common association with them.
Monday, July 11, 2005
It was a great show indeed. Undoubtedly one of the best shows I've ever been to. I enjoyed the very diverse fan-base that was there. I especially enjoyed seeing an extremely old-looking guy with no teeth on the front row who sang along to every song. Of course, every once in a while he would stop to suck his lips and replentish his saliva supply. Disgusting.
One thing I did notice about the Johns is how much older Linnell looks than Flansburgh. It was a big shock to me, but it didn't affect in any way my ongoing crush on him. I mean, his music.
Alright, that's all I'll mention about the show. Today was really boring. They say that in the arctic regions where it can go months without the sun visible, that people can get depressed during those times. I think I have the complete opposite problem. Today and most of this week has been super hot. I mostly stayed inside all day and watched t.v. or played hearts on the computer. I'm so disappointed in myself. And then tonight, my mom suddenly wants to watch Schindler's List. Very depressing. If only life could be more like Seinfeld...
Have you guys heard about Wasatch Junior High going up in flames? I saw the news reports tonight about it. They interviewed some adults about it and they seemed very sad about it, which is understandable. But then it showed some kid they interviewed, and he was in tears about it. Bawling his head off! I knew that kid was a phony right off. You could even see all the other kids holding hands around the burning, hazardous school singing what seemed to be Christmas songs, but I couldn't understand the lyrics so well. No one was hurt from the fire, so I feel no remorse in making fun of it. However, the whereabouts of the principal are not known, but I heard they've gotten several plumber-detectives on the case. There are no leads on who the kid who flushed him down was.
You guys asked for a post, and this is all I got. Thanks a lot.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
"Hey Patrick." I said very relaxed like. Just in case it wasn't who I thought it was, he would think I was talking to the Guns and Ammo magazine I was holding.
But it was Patrick. So that was cool. He graduated 2 years ago so I don't see him very often. He sat next to me so we could talk and catch up on things.
"So, how's your sister doing?" he said.
"She's still in Idaho."
Then he walked off.
But the real point of this blog is to tell of how I totally tricked the haircut lady into thinking I was grown up. It was awesome. She had a bad habit of asking me questions and then not giving me time to answer them. She asked what I was doing for July 4th and I started to say how I was going to watch fireworks with my family. She assumed I was just visiting my family for it. She asked if I had a job. I said no, but that I needed one to save up for my mission. She assumed I had already graduated from high school. Then she asked if it was very hard to travel and visit my family. I said it wasn't too bad because I live pretty close.
All was going well. She completely thought I was a lot older than I am. But then she said that the other, more attractive and less ugly haircut-lady person was interested in me when I walked in. I wasn't ready for this. I mean, I'm just a kid. I'm not ready for a relationship based on a lie! So, in order to avoid any conflict that could ensue, I immediately turned red after her comment and laughed uncomfortably. Then, of course, I began to drool a lot and at the end of the haircut, I asked for a "wauwy pop."
I've learned a valuable lesson today. Never pretend to be someone you aren't, because those poor hair salon people just don't know any better. And above all, avoid getting the ugly hairdresser that sings along to country on the radio while she cuts your hair. ugh.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
On the first day, we seemed so pathetic. Nate and I, I mean. We were frantically trying to find the few things dealing with youth conference that would be bearable. And we didn't find very many. I admit that the barbeque at the beginning was a good idea and was delicious, but the next planned event really killed our enthusiasm. And yes, I'm pretty sure you can kill something that doesn't exist. The event was the Manti pageant. Well, not so much the pageant as the 4-5 hours we spent sitting on a tarp for the pageant to start. I guess this was such a popular event that we needed to get there early for "good seats." Good seats!? We were sitting on a tarp for crying out loud! And not even a good tarp. It had a huge rip in the middle of it and got a bunch of little blue pieces all over me. Of course, some protestors were there. I love those guys. I tried to get a no parking sign and go march around with them, but to no avail.
The pageant finally came and it was okay I guess. I didn't see a lot of it because I was more concentrated on trying to get the feeling back in the outer layer of my body. I found curling up in a ball and shivering violently on the ground to be the best method. It was cold.
But AFTER all that, after breakfast the next day, after the service we did, came the greatest activity in youth conference history. WRESTLE MANIA!!! It all started out with a few soiled mattresses and a few soiled pants worn by a few fine young men. We layed them out outside and got ready for the carnage to begin. After much debate, we decided to call the area where the wrestling would take place The Chamber of Secrets. A great name indeed. The adrenaline was rushing in all of us as we prepared.
Me: The first rule about wrestle mania is that you don't talk about wrestle mania.
Me: The second rule about wrestle mania is that you don't talk...
Zack: I'm stupid! (I'm not sure this is exactly what he said, but the meaning I got from it is the same)
Angry that he had interrupted me, I quickly challenged him to three rounds in the chamber. He didn't last two. Poor Zack. It turns out that only one of the mattresses was good for bodyslamming people onto. I wasn't even close.
This match actually happened after we had had wrestle mania for a while. There were several very significant matchups that happened before this. Two small children managed to throw nate out of the ring. Guy and Brother Hodges duked it out for the heavyweight division. And several sibling rivalries were settled. Me and nate tried to take on Todd and Daniel, the new kid in the ward, in a tag team match. However, Daniel neglected to tell anyone that he was almost the state champion of wrestling last year. Nate went in first against daniel. Nate couldn't move his neck for several hours after the match, and it's probably still sore. Poor nate. He'll probably adjust well though. I mean, he barely even used his legs before, so no big deal.
As the boys slowly lost momentum, the girls started to seem a little more...enthusiastic about equal rights. I think it started when Todd grabbed Caitlyn and bodyslammed her. I guess the girls just thought, "That could be me!" Many girl-on-girl matches ensued. We all watched in horror and curiosity as the girls viciously tried to pin one another. As one girl was helplessly held down, a person crying out, "Gouge her eyes out!" could be heard. The pinned girl was very offended by that remark. Not so much because of its blutness and violent suggestion, but mostly because it was delivered by her own mother. I don't blame her mother though. I mean, she had 20 bucks in against her daughter. Teenage girls can be so unreasonable sometimes.
No one planned wrestle mania, and it will probably never happen again, but I'm pretty sure that the unanimous opinion is that it was an integral part that made this youth conference the best one ever.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
But now that it is likely that "respectable" people are reading this, I'm commiting to only write what I feel is especially important and relevant for the bettering of mankind. (insert poop joke here)
Does anyone really know what smelling is? Really, I don't think anyone in the world really understands it. I mean, I think we've pretty much mastered the hearing and vision thing. And everyone touches stuff all the time, so we are pretty learned in that. And then there's taste. Who cares about taste anyway? But smell, it's totally ludicrous. You can't fathom it. You could be sitting in a car minding your own business, and then BAM! You're breathing air that has formerly been in Zoram's butt. And you're aware of it too. That's what's so perplexing. I mean, what's the point of a sense that can only alert you to stinks that don't really hurt you and you wouldn't even be aware of if it weren't for that sense?
Smells usually grow less pungent over time, but they never really leave completely. So really, with every breath you take in, their are millions of stinks that you could be sensing, but luckily our sense of smell isn't powerful enough to sense them all. It would be very confusing to us if it was. They say dogs have about a 1000 times more powerful sense of smell than humans. They have to deal with smelling all those stinks, which can be very overwhelming and distracting. People always wonder why they spend so much time smelling other dogs' butts. They're just trying to focus.
They say that the nose is the most imperative and noticeable part of the face. If you really look at it, the nose itself is very peculiar. It has two holes toward the bottom. No one knows where they go, and it is forbidden to venture in there to find out. Basically everything else on the face you can move around and show expression with naturally and with relative ease. All you can really do with the nose is flare your nostrils. I guess you can also stick your nose up at somebody. The reason this can be so offensive is that it takes a lot of effort to do. It's not just some subtle facial muscle movement. You gotta have your neck and back muscles prepped and commited to the movement. And don't get me started on how it affects your balance. If one tries sticking their nose up at someone without the proper preparation and training, permanent damage can be imminent. Isn't it easier to avoid all this trouble and be nice to people and make fun of them behind their back like regular people?
Smell. What a crappy sense. Why couldn't we have gotten a third ear or something instead?
Monday, June 06, 2005
One example of this that I have seen is in my dad. Like when he tells me something I need to do, he says it really about 6 or 7 times over and over. I think it's because he thinks I don't really ever listen. But the thing is that I always listen, but I just don't do the things he asks. And now that he's started repeating himself so much, I've started to not even listen. So then he repeats it even more, and I don't listen even more. Yeah, it's a cycle of madness. But no one has conquered the paradox of the chicken and the egg, so who am I to try to crack this one? (Lame pun intended)
It's always awkward when you want to tell your friends to shut up when you're at their house. I mean, you can do it anywhere else with a feeling of impunity but there's something about being at their house that changes everything. They have the home court advantage. Like, if they wanted to, they could kick you out or even hold you hostage. They hold all the cards, and you're just a misplaced pawn in their twisted game of backgammon. I only say this because today I sat-in during trevor's family home evening. Orrin came in the front door about 20 minutes into it and loudly went into the next room. While Bro. Richardson was desperately trying to teach a lesson about kindness, Orrin kept disagreeing with him and yelling "Poop!" alot. At this point, my teeth were pretty well acquainted with my lower lip and there still wasn't any sign of it ending. About 5 minutes after the closing prayer, trevor and daylen started their senseless arguing that we have all come to know and love. They started yelling at each other that the other one needed to be kinder to them. I felt my eyes glaze just a little more while I uttered my fourth "yeah" following my second "really?" of the argument. I felt like a detached and underpaid referee at a boxing match.
Whenever things like this happen, I think of the song Lazyhead and Sleepybones by, of course, They Might Be Giants. It's about two people named Lazyhead and Sleepybones who are basically the same and should be friends, but always disagree. Like, when Lazyhead says someone's skinny, Sleepybones says thin. And when Lazyhead says identical, Sleepybones says twin. etc. They might as well have named it Lazydaylen and Sleepytrevor. (lame rob joke unintended)
Well, Lazymat6t is feeling tired, but Sleepymat6t wants to rest. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'd better sleep on it.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Actually, I wasn't dreaming, and my room was flooded from the rain we got last night. I got up and saw that the flooding was coming from the infamous back door in my room. I saw that the water was spreading and getting on all of my stuff. I quickly began throwing all my stuff that was on the floor onto my bed. But the more stuff I moved out of the way, the quicker the water spread. It soon became a sort of stuff triage. I had to decide which items were the more valuable and the least damaged which I would save, and which ones would have to stay on the floor and protect the rest of my room to the bitter end.
My mom later recounted that she awoke to some sort of scraping sound. She came downstairs and saw me there shivering in my spongebob boxershorts trying to scoop out the water with a pitcher. Luckily, Guy came over with a super powerful vacuum that could suck up the water and was guaranteed to suck a full-grown man's scalp off if set right. Apparently Guy had already tried that one.
So yeah, this whole day we've been fanning out my room, not to dry the carpet, but Guy let one rip in my room and we were afraid to light a match for fear of deadly explosion. Oh man, I've managed to go for so long without a joke like that in my blog, and now the streak is ended. Well, all except for the one in Guy's pants. Zing! Man, I'm on a roll.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
So yeah, the bookcase reference. That happened today. I had missed a quiz in my 2nd period english class and snyder wouldn't let me make it up, even though I had told her I would be gone that day before I left and she said I would be able to make it up. I then asked if I could take it in 8th period and she said no because there were no desks open. So I decided to sneak into 8th period anyway and hide behind a little bookcase. So I was sitting all curled up on the hard tile floor for the majority of the period waiting for her to give the quiz. She never did. So that sucked. At the end of the period I simply got up from my hiding place and walked out. At that point I had the strenuous task in front of me to explain the 8th period why I was there. I couldn't bear those accusing faces looking at me.
"Why are you here, Mat6t?" one said.
"Aren't you supposed to be in seminary?" said another.
"Mat6t, you're so stupid. Why do you always come to our class?!" said another.
"I hate you and you smell bad and you're a big idiot!"
Well, that last one I said to Ms. Snyder. Actually I just would've liked to have said it to her. And I would've if I weren't so tired this morning. See, I'm holding myself back all the time. Doesn't all that repression and anger-bottling deserve more than a C? I'm glad I stole all those Prentice Hall Literature books. Wait, I gave those back. Crap!
Sunday, May 22, 2005
The 12 hour car ride down actually wasn't too bad. We rented a van that had air conditioning to drive down there, but had to forfeit all but about 2 inches of leg room for it. During that time, I read, slept a little, and watched movies on my brothers laptop. Blah blah blah, we finally got to our motel at around 11 pm.
I just wanted to go to sleep, but for some reason, all our relatives that were there thought it would be a good idea to go to the sizzler or something. Terrible idea. We drove around in a convoy of 4 cars looking for somewhere that was open. Nothing was. Finally we ended up going to Jack-in-the-Box. Worst food ever. I don't think I'm ever going to go there again. I guess each separate section of the meal was good on its own. But when you ate the fries and then a burger and then have a drink in any order, it tastes terrible. The night ended up with me just sticking fries down my sister's drink straw while she wasn't looking. Quite hilarious.
Oh yeah, one more thing at dinner. My Grandpa was there. My Grandpa. Man, I could write a whole blog about him. But it would be really boring. Anyway, he has the funniest and weirdest-sounding laugh ever. And he's a little senile. When my brother Mike and his wife first heard him, they just started laughing so hard. Like bright red-faced and convulsing laughter. They didn't want to make Grandpa feel bad, so they pretended they were laughing at my sister. She cried herself to sleep that night.
The Day of the Wedding:
I couldn't go into the temple because I'm not old enough or whatever and...I've done some things I'm not proud of while my band was on tour. Good times marching band was. Anyway, I had to be in the waiting room for a couple hours while it was all happening. Finally people start coming out of the temple. Everyone except my brother and his probable wife. Everyone started theorizing what was going to happen next.
"I heard they were coming out over there."
"I think they're going to walk down that pathway."
"I heard they were going to be launched out of a giant cannon."
I really said that last one. No one around me knew who I was so they kind of laughed unconfidently or pretended they didn't hear me. I scowled at them. Finally, the moment arrived. My brother Joe and my new sister-in-law Meagan, came out.
This is it? I thought. I had seen my brother basically every day before, and now we drive 12 hours across blistering deserts in a smelly car and sleep in a dank just to see him again? I guess it wasn't too bad....until the photographer came into play. I hate wedding photograpers, and I always will. On these such occasions, it's the only time people have to treat photographers with respect, and they automatically take advantage of this. So in the main picture of everyone, he was getting us all posed right. It's taking a long time so I decide to pull out my game boy to pass the time. And get this, the photographer tells me to put it away! What a jerk.
When Meagan was walking around in her wedding dress, I noticed something peculiar. Several little kids were holding the back of her dress. My first impression was to warn Meagan of the kids trying to steal her dress. Then I realised what they were doing. They were trying the old Look-up-the-bride's-dress ploy. Why hadn't I thought of that. It was confirmed what they were doing when I saw the one boy of the group look up from his task with a big smile on his face. Pervert.
It was a pretty good trip and there were several other things not really worth mentioning, but worth blogging about, but this blog is running-on a little long as is this sentence. Oh yeah, the maid service really sucked at the motel, so I managed to blow my nose on some towels. It felt really good.
I look forward to catching up on what I missed these last four days in the blogging world. Well, not really, but still.
Recommended crayon: Non-toxic
Monday, May 16, 2005
Of course, it is my birthday today. And what a birthday it was. I woke up around nine, remembered I had a book report due in English this week so I read for three hours until I finally finished the book which ended up with the main character commiting suicide. Happy birthday indeed.
The day has been pretty boring, but no more than expected. We were planning on having a little celebration or something tonight, but my dad had to teach in Salt Lake, my mom was sick, and my siblings didn't really care. I ended up going to Cafe Rio by myself, and then coming home and eating a piece of cake, by myself. The problem with all this though is that I didn't really care. I didn't feel neglected or sad or anything. I wish I could've sat there eating my cake, gently weeping while singing Happy Birthday in a shaky voice to myself.
I take back that my siblings didn't care. At least one of them did. That's the married one, Mike. He bought me two king-sized Twitrices (plural of Twix). It's weird, ever since he got married, he seems to remember all of the family celebration things. Like, he even remembered about my parents anniversary this past week. I didn't even know my parents were married. It's like, once you have the constant presence of a wife around, you start caring about stuff and doing little things to make others feel happy. Now I know why so many guys avoid marriage.
Anyway, back to birthdays. Nobody likes their birthday. I think that's been cleared up and is common knowledge already. However, in my case, the actual leading up to my birthday was much worse than the birthday itself. And I'm pretty sure it was worse than my original birthday too. And that's saying something. A week or two before my birthday was when it began. People always like, "Hey, your birthday's coming up! Wait, you're not seventeen yet? That's so weird. I remember when I was that young..." And then they go on treating you like a two year-old. This did not bother me when I turned two, but it bothers me now.
And then you got people like Luke, who share the same birthday as you. He would go on fantasizing about how we will know 18 year olds in a little bit and that he had already drawn up the paperwork for a subscription to Seventeen Magazine. You keep on truckin', Luke.
And why are birthdays such a big deal? It's like, "Wow, you're still alive. Here's five bucks." Not that I don't enjoy being handed money, but....okay, that but isn't going anywhere. I enjoy being handed money. Period.
And to end my perfect birthday, I am now blogging.
Happy Birthday. There's no such thing.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Oh man, I feel like I'm in that one twilighty show about that zone. I still haven't seen another living soul since I've woken up. I hate it when I sleep in or stay out too late just once and then my whole sleeping pattern is totally screwed up. It used to be fine where I'd get to sleep around 3 a.m and wake up around 6:30 a.m every day. It may not have been the "recommended" amount of sleep, but at least I was consistent. Now that's all gone. I get home from school and fall asleep within 1 or 2 hours, usually waking up 4-6 hours later. This then causes the problem of not being able to sleep at night. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. I mean, usually not sleeping at night really really sucks a lot, but last night I was laying in bed wide awake until around 4:30 am and I couldn't have been more comfortable. It was pretty sweet.
One sleepless night that was on the opposite side of the spectrum was not too long ago. I was only up until about 2, but it seriously felt like every five minutes that passed was about 2 hours long. For some reason I had this one They Might Be Giants line stuck in my head, "Sleeping is the gateway drug to being awake." It kinda just depressed me, but it's from a great song of theirs so it wasn't so bad.
A Salt Lake Tribune pen to anyone who can name that song.
Monday, May 02, 2005
And speaking of missions, I have recently had a big change of my opinions of my own mission. In the past, I have known I would go on one, but whenever I really thought about it, I would get scared about how hard it would be and how I might be missing out on a lot of things I would be doing back home. But lately, I have just thought that I don't have anything better to do, so why not go on a mission? You probably think that this is a pretty weak reason to go. Well, that's become my reasoning for most everything I do, so BACK OFF! So yeah. Mission. Pretty sweet.
The recommended Prentice Hall short story is: The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
In case someone who hasn't seen that poster, it had the word "MAT6T" written really big, and then underneath it and smaller it said, "now that I have your attention, vote for sex." See, because it has been popular to write "SEX" in really big letters and then "now that I have your attention..."
The only reason ANYONE disapproved of that poster was because they didn't understand it before someone explained it too them. Everyone who understood it right when they saw it thought it was funny and perfectly fine. See, when you reference something and make fun of it, it is funny. But when people don't recognize what is referenced and why it is funny, they assume it's stupid or inappropriate or whatever. And the truth is there was NOTHING wrong or inappropriate with that poster. I think kylen just takes me too seriously. I mean, I like being taken seriously and everyone should and needs to be taken that way. The problem is that kylen (and several other people) take me seriously in the wrong ways.
I guess I'm just a little frustrated with the way you guys handled it when you saw the poster. You all ganged up on me and ASSUMED things. I hate it when people assume. The whole situation reminded me about the people who don't eat chocolate or drink coke or whatever because they think it's a commandment. There's nothing wrong with doing things like that, but it bothers me when people try to enforce their beliefs on other people. The thing that bothered me most besides the assumptions that were made was that kylen threatened to take it down if I put it up. What's up with that? What happened to freedom of speech and expression? I understand that if something isn't appropriate or if it's against the rules then it cannot be put up, but the poster was perfectly fine. I don't care what you guys assumed, I didn't break any rules. You have an opinion and you're entitled to that, but you're not entitiled to infringe on the rights of others. You guys have to understand that just because you disapprove of something that it doesn't make it wrong.
I don't really have anything against you, becca, because you did nothing wrong. As I recall, you just told me what you thought and gave me advice to not put the poster up, and I respect that. But kylen just took it too far. I could go on for hours, (and it looks like I already have) but I have to go to bed.
To sum up: Kylen is a big big poopy pants/head.
Monday, April 25, 2005
At first it seemed that The Beach was just a ripoff of Lord of the Flies. But lately people have gotten pissed off at me because I say everything is a ripoff of something else, so I decided that maybe I should give this book a chance. I promptly retrieved the book from the fireplace and continued reading.
So basically there are several people on this island paradise. Most of them are travelers who had come there of their own volition. They seem to have created a very perfect society in which everyone does their part and lives happily. Their main struggle is trying to keep the island a secret and making sure they have a substantial amount of marijuana.
Oh, and did I mention the marijuana? On the other side of the island is a huge field of the stuff. So, or course, most everyone spends a lot of their time smoking, being high, or thinking about smoking and being high. I found this to be quite hilarious. And yet it was very necessary to give the right mood and flow of the book.
So anyway, eventually a part of the people on the island go a little insane and try to kill some people and only a few people survive. And why not? It has been shown time and time again that when a group of people are isolated for a long period of time, they will eventually kill each other, or possibly invent some new alternate use for radioactive elements. Either way most of them die.
I'm pretty sure that this book was meant to be viewed as more than just a bunch of stuff that happened. It could have represented society and that eventually we are all doomed. It could have also paralleled (not ripped off) Lord of the Flies, in that one interpretation stated that each character could represent a part of the human psyche. I'm not so sure that this is the case because the characters in The Beach seemed a little more three dimensional than those of Lord of the Flies.
Anyway, it was a great book no matter how you look at it. If you can get over all the f-words and all the pot-smoking doesn't bother you, I strongly recommend it.
I give it a solid 14 out of 17 on the mat6t rating scale.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Prom was actually pretty awesome. I was a little worried that we wouldn't be able to entertain the girls for a whole day and that a lot of the time we would just be sitting around doing nothing. Well, that's kind of what happened, nevertheless it was really fun.
So yeah, not much more to say about that. I guess I could tell you all what we did for the date but if you can't trust me that it was awesome, without me having to explain why, um......that's too bad.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Surely this is some mistake, I thought as I opened that class up to see what mistake Ms. Snyder had made with my grade. And there it was. 3 failed quizzes right in a row. And worst of all, I remember failing those quizzes and knowing that I got what I deserved. I hate that. And this is why I don't check my grades very often.
It's like when my dad keeps bugging me to get my Eagle.
He always says, "If you get it done, you won't have to worry about it."
And I always say back, "Well, I'm not worrying about it now, so what's the point?"
I guess there isn't really a point to most of the stuff I do except to take up my time. Most of the time when I do something it's because I had nothing better to do at the time. Like with all my student government ordeals. Last year, when I ran for Junior Vice President (I lost miserably, of course) the only thing that got me to run was that I found a paper on the floor that talked about it, and I wasn't doing anything better at the time so I decided to run. I also wanted to prove that I could beat out Erp, but did we really need an entire election to prove that? No, I think the constant degradation of him would have, and is doing just fine.
I have this impulse to always get any paper anyone is passing out, even if I have no idea what it is, and also I have to sign any paper that is placed in front of me. Because of this and my consistent inconsistencies, I am signed up for dozens of clubs and activities, but no one knows who the heck I am because I never show up. But I figure that I'm just as good as anyone who is committed and sticks to something. They go all out and work hard, and I sign up for a bunch of stuff. Tomato, Tomato.
I actually had plans to change my ways for track. I was ready to show up every day without fail. I got there the first day and the coaches explained that to be a half-decent athlete, you had to work hard and be committed and listen to Coach Olsen. I immediately decided right then that I was not going to be a half-decent athlete. And today, I am proud to say that I weasled my way out of the track meet to which I was supposed to go. haha, take that, floyd.
And don't get me started on Floyd. Let's just agree that he is insane and he smells funny.