Dance Movies

I got Step Up 2: The Streets in my stocking for Christmas. It's pretty cool, as far as dance movies go. The dancing is quite good, and the final dance number--in the rain--is HOTTT. But, while Step Up 2: The Streets is visually stimulating, it suffers the same weakness as every other dance movie ever made: a bland and cliche story.

I don't understand why a subject matter that is so awesome doesn't result in movies that are actually good as a whole. I've watched dance movies that impress me with the quality of their dancing, but none have ever left me feeling inspired. In comparison, a football movie like Remember the Titans, which deals with the same core issues, is much more inspiring. How can football (or basketball, baseball, ice skating, bobsledding) come across as more inspiring than dance? It makes no sense.

Somebody needs to step up. Hollywood is focusing only on the visual stimulation of dance; they aren't seeking to use it in an inspirational way. Shameful.

Here is a short list of the dance movies that I can remember watching.

Strictly Ballroom--One of the better dance movies, ever, though it suffers from dated visuals, and the quirky nature of director Baz Luhrmann won't appeal to everybody.

Dance with Me--This one is good, but the story is a bit slow and will get real boring the second time through. Still, this movie offers the best glimpse of competitive ballroom dancing of any of the dance movies that I have seen. The last 15 minutes are real good.

Shall We Dance (American)--Lame. J-Lo is attractive, but that is outweighed by horrid dancing, cliche characters, and an uninspiring story. It does have Slavik Kryklyyvy for two seconds, and supposedly Tony Dovolani and Elena Grinenko (though I never have been able to find them).

Take the Lead--Not bad. The characters are kind of boring, but there are at least two pretty good dance scenes, though they are a bit over-edited (too many cuts). Jenna Dewan is a good dancer.

Step Up--One of the coolest songs I have ever heard (Show me the Money by Petey Pablo) some cool dance scenes. But otherwise predictable. Jenna Dewan can REALLY dance.

Center Stage 2--Attractive girls, good dancing, boring story. Yay.

Step Up 2: The Streets--Great dance scenes, Jabbawockeez, dancing in the rain, Brianna Evigan, typical story. Entertaining, but with no depth.

Christmas, Family. . . Chaos

My family tends to run a bit on the noisy side. I guess that makes sense because there are a lot of us--add a brother-in-law, two nephews, and a niece since this picture was taken--and we tend to dwell in small places (one day I may relate the story of living in a 16x20 Alaskan cabin with 10 people and a wheelbarrow bathtub). Whatever the case, when we get together there is a lot of. . . background noise. To those who come from small families that might sound kind of stressful, but it's really not. I've been missing that noise of late. Thankfully, a good portion of my siblings somehow ended up here in Provo, or close by, and the rest of my family flew down here for Christmas. We've been gathering at my sister's house, a house designed for small families, and thankfully, the noise is back.

Last night was typical. My brother (who seems has sprouted since this picture) and I got our guitars and started singing some songs, occasionally joined by two of my younger sisters. One of my brothers-in-law was lobbying hard to get some sort of game going, Hoopla or something, while the other was occupied by making intelligent and witty wisecracks about random people in the room while trying to keep his rambunctious and vocal young son in line. My other nephew started out in his high chair, covered in his dinner, and then spent the rest of the night entertaining his grandma and drooling over everything. My dad was doing a crossword puzzle on the internet, hardly a quiet activity. My niece generally ran around being quite adorable while three of my sisters sat on the couch and talked about boys, or clothes, dating, me not dating, or other similar topics.

All in all, the decibel level is quite high when we all get together. It's chaotic, but as my father likes to say it is a "happy chaos." There is a warmth in the air, an ambiance that is comfortable and pleasing. We are happy together.

Anyway, I love my family and there isn't any other group of people that I would have chosen to spend this life with. The end.

A Philosophical Question

This has been burning in my mind lately.

How can a man (me) distinguish between a lady being polite/nice and a lady showing interest or flirting?

Hypothetically, a girl walks by me and says "I like your shirt (pants, hair, muscles, whatever)." Is she flirting? Or is she just liking my shirt (pants, hair, muscles, whatever)?

I can't tell, and I think I misread it all the time.

A little Soul Searching (We'd be Sweating in the Zombie Apocalypse)

I've been nagging myself lately to write a new blog post, but I've really had no inspiration. I suppose, just for the sake of writing something, anything, that I'll ramble on about this latest exciting semester of life at BYU.

Yes, I'm going to bore you. But that is OK, just as long as you (my loyal and dedicated readers) understand that I am still quite alive.

Which really could be debated. . . being alive has a connotation of vibrancy and energy that goes beyond a beating heart and an intake of breath. And I, especially after the debacle of BYU's showing in the Las Vegas Bowl, and that heartrending loss by the basketball team yesterday, have not been feeling that extra oomph. I must be a zombie. Hopefully I look a little healthier than. . .
Rob Zombie.

Honestly though, I think I've just been a little bogged down in the tediousness of college life. Though, that might be a little misleading because I actually enjoy learning and the many other opportunities that college offers. I guess I'm really a little frustrated right now by: living in a dungeon, roommates that can't seem to clean up after themselves, University of Utah fans, tests, and the like.

Relocation would seem like a good option, but I doubt I could find a place that offers me a private room, sufficient space to store my years of accumulated bachelor wealth (junk), wireless Internet, and a bomb shelter for $240 (or less) a month.

Still, change is good and that's not what I've seen enough of in the last couple years. I need something drastic. The Zombie Apocalypse would do nicely.

Luckily the semester is over and my family has come to visit from Alaska. I think this will provide enough of a change of scenery that I will be ready for the upcoming semester. . . though I doubt my house is going to be any cleaner. Also, BYU football is over for the year, now there will only be hope for a beautiful next season, instead of terrible frustration.

Back to the zombie apocalypse. I'm sure I'm not alone in my desire for the excitement and terror that it would offer. People in our society have an inherent desire to live a life that is more fulfilling than what the 21st century offers. People are bored and depressed. The only remedy for that is a day of good, hard physical labor. Most people can't come home at the end of the day from an office job and feel relaxed, content. . . happy. Secretly, inside, we want to go back to simpler times. Times of kill or be killed.

Hmmm, that's another thing I've been missing lately. Physical energy expenditure. I've been doling out mental energy like a self sustaining nuclear fusion reaction. But I can't think of the last time that I worked myself into a good sweat. I need to go spend a couple hours shooting hoops. Maybe I can do that tomorrow.

Sweat is important. And I have not been doing it.

Fall Into Dust

So my blog is supposed to be at least partly about writing, but all the writing I've put on here are poetry samples, which aren't really my thing. So here's some prose. I wrote this a couple years ago in a creative writing class. . .building on something that I had started in my sister's writing group. It's long, sorry, and the format came out weird--no paragraph breaks--so it's not the easiest to read. Oh, and it's from a first-person-present POV. Kudos if you read all of it:)

A single, solitary drum rips the silence of the new dawn and echoes across the shadowed valley, resonating between the painted cliffs until it fades away into silence.
Tension fills the air as I wait, hardly daring to breathe.
Across the valley another drum responds, and then another, and another, until the whole of the world seems to rumble to their rhythm, as if the very mountains will crumble into dust around us.
The commanding drums threaten to still my heart with fear but I dare not succumb to the terror. I look around at my comrades, fear is written on their faces.
“Steady!” I cry. “Hold fast!”
My voice is faint compared to the crushing beat of the drums but the fear fades. Many of them glance to the banner that flies above us, held by our stalwart banner-man. The sun has bathed it in a golden glow, a good omen. The men take heart and clutch their spears in defiance of the drums that mock our existence.
I make several rounds among the men on duty, giving encouragement when I can.
“Remember what we stand for,” I tell them. “Remember that you defend your wives, your sons and daughters, and your people. Remember that you defend your country.” They nod their heads with determination.
One young soldier stops me as I approach. “Are we going to be alive when the sun falls?”
I smile. “Are you married?”
“No,” he says, “but I am promised to a woman whom I love.”
“Then think not of our survival, think only of her. You are fighting to give her another moment, another day. When the sun falls tonight, we may not be alive, but she will be.” I don’t know what else to say. I wish to tell him that all will be well, that none of us will leave this life today. But it would be a lie.
He is silent for a moment and as I turn to resume my rounds he salutes me.
For hours the incessant pounding continues. Thousands of drums throbbing in unison, spelling our doom. As the hours pass bitterness fills me. Each drum represents at least one hundred of the savages. I curse those who sent us here and then withheld the promised reinforcements. They knew what we would face, they had been informed of the mobilization of the enemy army. But they sent hundreds when they should have sent hundreds of thousands. It was no secret that the king of the invaders had declared that he would soak the earth with our blood.
My lieutenant puts his hand on my shoulder. I find that my fists are clenched, and with effort I force myself to relax. “Thanks,” I mutter. Gently I touch the talisman that hangs from my neck, a small hoop with an intricate weaving of catgut in the middle and the feathers of a red-tailed hawk hanging from the sides. My wife had given it to me almost a month ago.
I turn to find the Lieutenant watching me from his shrewd old eyes.
“She said it would bring me home,” I explain.
He shrugs. Lieutenant Benarieh is older than I, his long wild hair and beard streaked with gray, a veteran of almost a thousand battles to my hundred. Facing possible death is nothing new to him. He motions to the jungle below us, a thick wall of trees and vines that waits, dark and alive. “It’s a pity we couldn’t clear more for a longer field of fire.”
I nod, though I’d much rather have a thick stone wall between us and them. “We’ve done the best that we can with the time that we were given,” I tell him. “Wishing for more is the game of fools.”
He grunts. “Words of wisdom indeed.” His gaze travels out over the valley below us which is now fully bathed in the midmorning sunlight. The drums continue, as fierce as ever.
Benarieh turns towards me. By the look in his eyes I can tell that he is about to impart some of the wise advice for which he is well known. “Commander, you’ve had what, three? Maybe four hours of sleep in the last two and a half days? I suggest you get some rest. You know as well as I that they won’t attack until the drums are silent.”
I almost protest, but the logic of what he says wins me over. Of all the men here, it is I who need to think the clearest. “Very well then, but give me your word that you will notify me if anything happens.” After his nod I turn towards the command tent, but I can not sleep. After a brief moment of thought I retrieve a roll of parchment and begin to scribe the words of my heart.
An hour passes before I roll up the parchment, seal it with wax, and place it inside a leather bag that already holds several other documents—scouting reports from our campaign.
I fall asleep then, still sitting at my small writing table, but moments later a commotion outside arouses me.
A soldier pokes his head through the tent flap. “A messenger, Commander, from the capital.”
“Show him in, and summon Lieutenant Benarieh as well.”
I glance down at my armor with some thought of making myself more presentable but am disabused of the idea as I notice, not for the first time, the caked mud and dried blood. My entire force has been living in our armor for the last month.
The messenger enters followed immediately by Lieutenant Benarieh. Both give an appropriate salute, and after my response I motion them to sit down.
Before they are even settled I ask my first question. “Do you have any messages for me from the Chief Captain?”
“Yes, the Chief Captain said that your request has been denied. You are to retain your command and Lieutenant Benarieh will remain as your second.”
I ignore Benarieh’s raised eyebrow. “What else? Where are my replacements? I was promised at least ten thousand over a month ago.”
“They’re not coming,” Benarieh growls.
The messenger nods his head. “There was an uprising in the capital by a group known as the Kingmen. Your reinforcements were called there to help quell the rebellion.”
It is a struggle to maintain my composure. “Without those reinforcements our position is no longer tenable. Do we have authorization to retreat?”
“No. You are to hold this pass at all costs.”
“What? Why?” My temper breaks lose. “Do you hear those drums? Do you have any idea what they mean? My men have been in this region for a month delaying the advance of the enemy. An enemy that is innumerable. We’ve been engaged in pitched battles since we got here. The last real rest we had was over a week ago. If we stay here we will be annihilated. All of us. Either way this pass is lost.” I struggle for more to say, but my temper is waning and so I fall silent.
“I’m sorry,” the messenger says as he rises to his feet, “but those are the orders. Do you have any messages to send?”
Numb to any feeling I hand him the leather bag. “You are dismissed,” I tell him.
He ducks out of the tent.
“What was all that about you retaining your command?” Lieutenant Benarieh asks. “Because it would be very foolish if you wanted me to assume command of your men. I know for a fact that they would follow you through the fires of Hell.”
“I’m not going to lead them there.”
“What?”
“We are retreating, Lieutenant. We’ll fall back to the plains and then continue to harry them from the flanks like we’ve been doing. We’ll do more good that way.”
He grunts and then chuckles. “And that is why young soldiers and grizzled old men like me follow you. Because you make smart tactical decisions and you care about your men. Of course it will be your hide once all this settles down.”
“It’s my hide now. And the hides of nine hundred men.”
Benarieh nods. “If it is a retreat you want, then it best be done now. As tired as the men are we wouldn’t make it after the drums stop. The savages would be scalping our asses.”
I begin to laugh and he joins in. It is the first levity I have had in weeks. When our laughter stops it is silent. Completely silent.
Both Benarieh and I rush outside.
“Form ranks! Form ranks!” I shout as I rush to my position. The banner-man blows the appropriate signal on his horn, and within moments the men are lined up in formation ready for battle. According to preconceived plan they form into two companies, A and B.
“So much for a safe retreat,” Benarieh mutters as we reach our post. “They’d run us down in moments. Retreat was the smart idea, but it looks as if we get to hold the pass.”
Already we can see the enemy emerging from the tangle of jungle below us. Painted with blood and carrying their weapons in hand they appear as demons driven from hell.
I nod to the banner-man, and he raises his horn to his lips. The note he blows is long and pure. It is a challenge, a call to battle.
The enemy responds in kind, shouting their challenge from thousands of throats. At the same time they break into a run, slamming the earth with their feet.
I raise my spear into the air. “Archers ready!”
As soon as the savages are halfway to us I drop my spear. “Release!”
The flight of arrows swarms into the enemy. Hundreds fall and die, but there are more, thousands more, that drive towards us. They trample their own dead and wounded into the dust in their eagerness to smite us, their enemies, to the earth.
I motion to the banner-man and again he blows the signal on his horn. This time a series of staccato notes. At his signal a barrier of wooden stakes is raised from the ground. The leading ranks of the enemy try to slow themselves, but the sheer weight of their comrades carries them forward and they slam into the barrier. Their bodies jerk with the impact, forward and back, like limp dolls. Immediately the men of Company A are there, thrusting with their spears to force the savages back. The charge stalls, but gains momentum again as they tear their way through our flimsy barrier. For a moment there is fierce hand-to-hand combat as my men stand and fight.
The drums have started again, further down the valley. I can barely hear them over the pounding feet and furious cries of thousands of men.
I again motion to the banner-man. “Signal a retreat.”
At the sound of his horn Company A wheels away from the savages to my left. Their retreat is quick and disciplined and the savages charge after them, mad with bloodlust.
“Perfect,” Benarieh mumbles at my side. “They’ve spread themselves out.”
As the horn sounds again Company B charges from the right, raking across the flanks of the savages in a wide arcing motion that follows the path of their comrades, who have formed a new front line a hundred yards back. The attack has a deadly effect and completely halts the enemy advance.
“Call them back before they overextend themselves,” Benarieh advises after a moment. At my command the horn sounds again and Company B retreats behind the new line.
The space between the two forces is littered with the dead and dying. The vast majority are savages, but a third of my own men also lie on the blood-soaked ground.
After a moment the enemy begins their charge again. This time there is no barrier of stakes to slow their advance, and they slam into Company A like a buffalo stampede. The entire front line is carried back almost fifty yards before the charge stalls.
Benarieh curses at my side. “The line is falling apart!”
At my command the horn sounds and Company B charges into the fray, filling the gaps that are opening in the line. For a moment they are able to drive the savages back, but then their momentum is lost. My force of nine hundred has now been reduced by half. It is obvious that the battle is lost, as the enemy counters and swarms around them.
I turn to face Benarieh. “You are a good man Lieutenant. Your wisdom has been invaluable.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “It has been my pleasure, commander.”
I nod and turn to face the enemy. “Banner-man, sound the final charge.”
The banner-man plants the flag in the ground and raises his horn to his lips. The note he sounds sends chills down my spine as I break towards the heat of battle. Benarieh and the banner-man flank me on my sides and with us charge my last few reserves. We match our feet to the rhythm of the drums of our enemy.
I lower my spear and raise my voice as we slam into the mass of writhing bodies. I find myself face to face with a young man, his eyes wide with fear, and then my spear plunges into his chest. A look of surprise crosses his face and he falls to the ground. I wrench my spear free, and ignore the blood that gushes across my foot.
Something glances across my scalp and blood begins to trickle down the side of my face.
Behind me the banner-man falls to the ground, his horn flying from his outstretched hand, his other hand grasps at his stomach to stanch the rapid flow of blood.
Benarieh is still by my side, screaming like a madman. He is covered with numerous cuts, but he ignores them all.
Behind us our men are dropping rapidly. And the swathe that we cut into the enemy formation is collapsing. Soon we will be surrounded. I take all this in as I dodge and twist, stab and thrust.
A gigantic savage, almost twice my size, swings a club toward me. My spear breaks as I block the blow, and I am thrust to the ground with my head ringing. I find myself lying across several dead soldiers, their eyes glazed over with death and their faces masked with blood. I roll over in time to see Benarieh impale the giant who clubbed me. I grab a sword from one of the dead and surge to my feet.
I am no longer thinking coherently; fighting only on instinct. My veins feel as if they are filled with hot lead. Even calm Benarieh, at my back, is fighting like an animal.
It seems we are alone in a sea of savages; none of our soldiers are visible. It is likely they are dead.
“No!” Benarieh screams, and I am shoved to the ground. Seconds later he falls beside me, with the javelin intended for me protruding from his chest.
Grief fills me. Ignoring the savages I drop my sword and cradle Benarieh’s head in my lap.
Around me the battle is over. It is strangely silent after the previous chaos, even though the air is filled with the sounds of the dead and dying. Even the drums have stopped. The savages begin to go through the bodies, searching for any living comrades. They see the black armbands on my wrists that mark me as Captain and leave me alone, to them the dishonor of defeat is worse than death. They effectively kill any other survivors from my army.
After several hours they march off in an almost never-ending stream. Some of them watch me and laugh as they pass by, but none bother me. They are gone by nightfall.
All the night I remain there, unmoving and numb to the world. Even the sounds of wild animals fighting over the bodies of my friends don’t bother me.
Dawn reveals the stark vision of the dead spread out around me. Ravens, vultures, wolves, and other eaters of the dead feast upon the cold carcasses, though they have not bothered me. As the sun paints the mountains in a pink glow, and then colors the leaves of the jungle a golden green, I come back to myself.
I leave Benarieh’s side, and with the aid of a spear, stripped from an unresisting hand, I make my way across the battlefield. The going is slow and there is a constant wave of black feathers around me as I disturb the birds with my passage. At one point I come across the young soldier with whom I spoke the day before. An arrow protrudes from his shoulder and the left side of his head is crushed. His right eye is missing, and his body shows other marks of scavengers.
“I hope your death wasn’t in vain,” I mumble through parched lips. As I walk away I pause to look back. “But she’ll most likely die anyway.”
Within hours I have left the battlefield behind. My wanderings have taken me up the side of a mountain where the heat of the sun is almost unbearable. I haven’t had water since before the battle. My mouth feels like leather.
Suddenly I find my path cut off by a cliff. The valley stretches out bellow me filled with the green of forests and the blue of rivers and lakes. It is beautiful. But all I can see is the dead, their eyes open and staring.
“It was all a lie,” I say touching the talisman from my wife. “I can’t return to you after this. I couldn’t look into your eyes. Farewell.”
I step forward into space and the ground rushes up to meet me.

Far to the north she stands in the door of her home waiting for the running man to reach her. As he draws closer she can see that he is a soldier with the stripes on his armor that mark him as a scout. Small puffs of dust rise under his feet as they strike the worn path.
In moments he reaches her. Sweat drips down his dust-marked face, but his breathing is easy. In his hand he holds a small roll of parchment. “Lady, I regret to inform you that the southern passage, where your husband was Captain, has been overrun. As far as we know there are no survivors. We received this missive before he died.” His words are clipped, short, and businesslike. “It is for you.”
She takes the extended roll slowly, carefully, trying not to let her hands shake in front of this hardened warrior. She breathes and begins to speak, but it is some time before the words come out. “Thank-you. May I offer some water?”
“No need; my waterskin is full.” He smiles, a sad smile. “I must go, the Chief Captain has raised his banner in the capital and all the armies are mobilizing. Be well.” He offers a short bow and then jogs back down the path. In moments he is gone.
She sags to the floor and leans her head against the doorframe. Her hands begin to tremble as she opens the roll and begins to read.

I do not know if I can explain the feelings of my heart in the time that I have left to me. Even now the enemy is sounding the drums. Though I hope otherwise, I fear that our small band of soldiers will be destroyed in moments. Should I live, I will soon look into your eyes and hold you in my arms. Should I die, this is to be my final farewell to you, whom I have loved. Even as I write words fail me. There are no words that can encompass the depths of my feelings towards you. Should my mortal body fall into the dust this day, know that if it is in my power I shall wrest my spirit away from the paradise to which it is sent and wander at your side, for even Paradise, without you, would be Hell. And so, with these words I say farewell until we meet again at the feet of our God. You have brought peace to my heart and I am not afraid.

The Stream of My Conscious

I swear, I really don't like poetry. It's not my fault all the creative writing assignments in my British Literature class involve poetry. This one is a stream of consciousness that I wrote about dancing. Enjoy (hopefully).

Dancing and Self Revelation

Dancing. I search my mind
To find the words that convey
The sense of mental ease that it brings
Like idly strumming the strings of a guitar
Or shooting hoops in a darkened gym
With only the muted echo of the ball
Ringing on the hardwood
And the occasional squeak of a pair of Dadas
As they slide on a clean finish
Dancing heals
They use it in therapy
Usually stuff more like ballet
Or modern, contemporary if you insist
Because the body moves
As a reflection of the soul
When the soul is whole, so is the body,
But I don’t think it works the other way around
Ballroom is the best
A man and woman moving together
With a sense of ease and purpose
As music sings a steady waltz
Three beats to a measure
Lower on the one, rise on two through three
Lower again, maybe do a big top
Or a closed telemark or a tumble turn
It’s all the same,
Beautiful
I wish I could capture that grace, always
But Brent says I’m
“not a natural mover” and sometimes
He says I move “without passion”
He’s wrong, of course
The passion is there, inside
But I can’t release it at will
Usually it comes best when I’m alone
Plucking out a tune on a guitar or listening
To that magical swish as I bury the long trey
But I’m never quite alone when I dance
I always have someone in my arms
Which is what makes it so magical
Because everybody dances better
When they have someone to hold

Am I Michelangelo? No.

I had to do a creative project for my History of Creativity class at BYU (MFG 201, a pretty good class if you need to get some Civ GEs out of the way). It took me a while to decide what to do, but eventually I decided to try stone carving. The thing that tipped me over the edge was this photo (left), obviously by Araldo de Luca, in case you missed that fact. Check out that hair! Women haven't changed much in the last 2000 years, eh? This sculpture was most likely commissioned by a private Roman citizen. Anyway, I was amazed by this sculpture and I decided that I should give stone carving a shot.

After some research on the web I found what I would need to start my project (tools, stone) and that same research told me that I would have to shell out some $$$ if I really wanted to do it. After some hemming and hawing, for a couple months, I shelled out the $$$ and ordered some very basic, yet good quality, stone carving tools, made by Sculpture House, and 20lbs of soapstone.

My basic research for the project gave me a very general idea of the techniques involved in this art form, but once I got my stuff I did not research farther. I wanted this experience to be a marvelous journey of self discovery. And it was.

I started off quite ambitiously and just started hammering chunks of rock away. This picture (right) was taken within the first half hour of my commencement of this project. You can see that I've already done a great deal of damage, and started a rather intense cleaning nightmare in my room.

This actually allowed me to experiment with the effects of the five chisels that came with my tool kit, and by the time I knew what the strengths and weaknesses of each tool were, I had discovered how a face could be exposed from the stone.

I've heard, many times before, that sculptors free the sculpture from the stone, and from this experiment I kind of realize what they mean when they say that. And this meant that one of my unstated goals for was achieved; I wanted to approach this with the instincts of an artist, and I think I succeeded.

This picture here (right) is probably about at the halfway point. I found that the best chisel for basic shaping and cutting was a wide, toothed chisel, which is what leaves most of the lines on the carving. Later, I smoothed out this lines with my flat bladed chisels.

The farther I got into the project, however, the more I realized that I had no clue how to sculpt a human face. Instincts worked for the basic shaping, but the details were eluding me. What I needed was a model, preferably a girlfriend, who I could immortalize in stone. Since that option wasn't really an option , I did the best I could do as a substitute. I printed a bunch of faces off the Internet and tried to use them as references. In fact, these were the ones that I used:

Naturally, being a typical male, I gravitated towards insanely beautiful female faces, and I had visions in my mind of creating something equally grand. . . maybe after a couple years of experience as a stone carver.

This is what I ended with (below). Pretty much a lame face (see my reference pictures?). The problem that I encountered is that pictures don't do justice to the way the lines of the human face flow into each other. It certainly didn't help that none of the pictures that I used were of the same person (I could have chosen, say, Eva Green, but the problem is that it's difficult to find all the appropriate angles that I wanted of the same person).

Another problem that I had, was the tools that I had were not adequate to the task of finishing and detailing the sculpture. Basically I needed a set of files, rasps, and rifflers as well, to establish the final details like lips and eyes.

Still, I don't think my project turned out badly at all. I rather enjoyed the process, and I'll probably end up making it a hobby in the future.

Black Friday

Once again humanity has shocked me with its stupidity.

At the beginning of the season that is supposed to be the least selfish and the most caring time of the year, a time for many of us to remember our Savior, a mob of people killed a temporary Walmart employee. I can see it in my mind, the eager Christmas shoppers, each with a list of things to buy for their special person, a son, a daughter, a wife, or a husband, charging into the store, carelessly trampling the body of the man who opened the door for them. And then, when informed that they have to leave the store because somebody has just died they respond, "but I've waited in line since yesterday!"

I want to karate chop that person in the throat; which is shameful in itself, because I want to revisit violence upon a whole mob of people, most of whom are probably quite innocent alone, just self absorbed and oblivious.

Oh, the irony of the moment. There is such a juxtaposition of images and values here, the values that we should have been feeling at the beginning of this season, and the selfish and careless mob consumerism that turned over 2000 people into accomplices in a murder.

Truly, Black Friday is a fitting name.

Twilight

This isn't a review of the movie, which I haven't seen and probably won't for quite some time; this is a review of the books, or perhaps, more of a review of Stephanie Meyer as a storyteller.

It may surprise those of you who know me that I have read these books, they aren't something that I would typically read, but I figured that since Stephanie Meyer is a product of BYU, that I should acquaint myself with her work (scout the competition). Anyway, the first day of Thanksgiving break, I read the forth book at my sister's house which is what prompted this post.

So, my thoughts. Hmmmm. Being a man, it's hard to get past the bodice ripper approach to the vampire genre. The Twilight series is more of a romance with the vampire approach added as an interesting twist rather than a vampire story that includes romance. Every page literally drips with drivel like, "he was as beautiful as a Greek god. I just wanted to reach out and caress his perfect marble cheeks, but he was out of reach. I felt the tears forming in my eyes. . ." And while that wasn't a direct quote (best I could come up with, sorry), it gives you the idea. While this type of writing might be interesting to many girls, as a man, it makes the story a bit cumbersome.

Which is what is so frustrating about Meyer's writing. She certainly adds interesting approaches to the vampire genre, and, every once in a while, she decides to toss the more adrenaline oriented audience a bone, but it isn't enough to make the story completely engaging. She has, at times, marvelously brilliant ideas, yet they are clouded by shameless romance.

Unfortunately, I think this romance approach alienates a large potential audience. Not that Meyer is hurting, with her legions of emotional teenage girl fans, but it's quite possible she could have doubled her fan base with a little more attention paid to the interests of the opposite gender (a little more action please).

My sisters and I were talking about these books the other day, and one of the things that they complained about was that they did not like the characters of Edward, Jacob, and Bella. It isn't a good sign when the three main characters are disliked by members of the target audience. I myself could have cared less for Edward or Jacob, both of them were a bit off from a masculine perspective, but it would take another thorough reading of the series for me to decide why. Initially I want to say that they are written too much through a woman's eyes, but that may not be it. I did like Bella's character, probably because her narrative voice sounds accurate to what I expect from a 18-19 year old girl. That could be a disastrous assumption though. And, I'm not gonna lie, Bella became cool in the end. I think I'm in love.

The support characters (mainly the Cullen family) are all considered to be pretty awesome, and Meyer does an excellent job making the reader like them. I doubt there has ever been a cooler group of vampires created than the Cullen family. But that is a rather general claim that I have no right making because, honestly, I'm not that well versed in vampire literature.

I think I may be coming off here as giving these books a quite negative review, and yes, much of what I have said has been focused on the flaws of Meyer's approach to her novels. But on the other hand, I, a 26 year old American male, read these books straight through. It really says something that I was able to slog through all that romance just for the few tidbits of vampire story that Meyer tossed in there. At its core, the essence of Twilight is a very cool story. You just have to struggle to find it amidst all the mushy, emotional writing.

Utah 48, BYU 24

Curse you Max Hall! I couldn't tell which team you were playing for yesterday. Did you purposefully throw that game? How can anyone contribute SIX turnovers and not be getting something under the table?

OK, I don't really believe anything of the sort. I'm just really angry right now.

Writing Constipation

So many times, recently, I have sat down with my fingers perched over my keyboard, with an overflow of thoughts and ideas ready to spill upon the page. . . and yet, I stall, because the meager words that I am able to express are so inadequate, so empty. Ah! the torment of the writer!

Quantum of Solace

I managed to see a late showing of the new James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, this weekend after Dancesport. Here are my initial, first viewing, thoughts.

I'm still not sure if I like this movie as much as its precursor, Casino Royale. The first movie developed Bond's only real relationship with a woman, Vesper, which was what made it so intriguing and. . . good. Quantum of Solace takes place immediately afterwards as Bond pursues the organization behind Mr. White. Obviously, because Vesper is dead, this movie lacks that romantic element of the first. However, this does add an interesting twist as Daniel Craig does an excellent job, again, of portraying a man who has lost his soul. You can see the development of Bond's character, as he resorts to sex and excessive violence to deal with the percieved betrayal of Vesper. I think this adds an element that has never been seen in a Bond movie before, because you get the sense that Bond is really in pain; you start to understand why he is the way he is.

Plotwise, QoS, is a typical Bond film; tons of villains, two unbelievably attractive women, action, intrigue, blatant product placement by Ford, lots of shooting and explosions. . . yeah, it's good.

And hooray for the absense of the painful one-liners that were typical of every Bond film made before Casino Royale.

My initial grade is an A- but that might change when I view the movie again.

Life Again. . .

It seems that I have once again survived another week of Dancesport. What a relief that it's over. For those of you who don't dance, Dancesport is a sort of high cost/reward type of event. In essence, life outside of dance is put on hold for a week, and all energy is placed into dancing at the highest level possible. Dance is fun, but a week of focusing on nothing else tends to be quite draining. I shall try to illustrate why.

My week actually began over a week ago at a warm up competition at Hillcrest High School in SLC. For those of you who don't know what the heck Dancesport is, here is my succinct definition; a competitive event where ballroom dancers go to show off their fancy moves in front of a panel of judges who make split second judgments between couples based on posture, smile, balance, rhythm, costume, etc. . . Anyway, Hillcrest was a disaster for my partner and I. We only competed in one event, Novice Latin, so we made the drive up there with high hopes and came away (an hour later) rather crushed after being eliminated--for good reason--in the first round. I have no scientific explanation for what happened. It just did. The end.

That was how this whole adventure started. On Tuesday, my Latin partner and I met with our coach (who was a judge at Hillcrest) and he was rather truthful with us--perhaps a bit more truthful with me than with her--which is good, because I find the truth to be helpful. But I don't really like hearing it that much. Still, it was nothing that White Zombie's "More Human than Human" couldn't cure in a few minutes. I came out of the whole experience with a new found determination to practice. Unfortunately the net result of practice times for my partner and I the week of Dancesport was only about 1.5 hours--not my fault--and the only real result was an elbow to the face, which, if it had been maybe a centimeter higher, would have broken my nose. I've never been hit in the nose that hard before.

Even with a little practice as we had, I feel totally redeemed, for the most part, from the debacle at Hillcrest. We danced the Novice Latin category again on Friday, and we danced worlds better. We made it to the second round--not that far, but a big improvement from the previous week--who knows, if we practiced to the point where we knew our routines instinctively we might have made it much farther.

On Saturday we competed in the Pre-Champ Latin event, which is the next level up and, consequently, much more difficult. This time did not go quite as smoothly, and I admit that I had a complete brain fart at the beginning of our Samba, so that the first 15-20 seconds were absolute patheticism. 180 (beginning) students could dance better than I was doing at that point. And then my shoe came untied and I almost died. And then, my partner's dress sliced open my finger and I bled all over her gloves and I had to madly scramble to stop the bleeding before the Rumba, which, though without the drama and violence, wasn't really danced any better. By some miracle, we still made it to the second round. Ahhh, the sweet taste of redemption; we danced much better, though this time, Samba again, I got an elbow to the solar plexus that had me gasping for air for several steps. Dance is so fun! We were eliminated thereafter.

Meanwhile, my Standard partner and I, as of say, a week ago, had no clue how to dance our quickstep--a six sided routine thrown at us in an hour by our coach. And our waltz was suspect as well. But, with two lessons this week, and a last minute practice session, we managed to get to the point where we could dance them. . . kind of. So, we danced the Novice Standard event, and got cut the first round. I kind of expected this, but I have high hopes for my Standard partner and I. There are moments that suggest the potential for dramatic improvement by the March competition.

Last of all I competed in the Gold Bar Cha-cha, a class event. The most advanced technique class at BYU. . . what was I doing there? I'm not sure. Still, I was confident for this event because my partner and I had excellent connection and a good knowledge of our routine, and we did dance well, though my partner got sliced on the wrist by a broken bracelet. We got cut the second round, which was disappointing, but not unexpected because of the quality of the dancers in this event.

Anyway, Dancesport is over. Now life starts again. . . and it's actually a bit of a relief.

Pictures later.

Romney/Palin 2012!

Well, I can't say that I am pleased with the results of this election. I certainly hoped that it would go the other way, but reality prepared me for the worst.

I hope Obama proves me wrong. I hope he IS the saint that the media has portrayed him to be. I hope he somehow possesses the political savvy to solve all of the problems which he will face; the economy, Iraq, etc. . . I hope there is something deeper than his charisma. I hope he will stand firm on the rights which are granted to Americans in the constitution. I hope he really will fight for the people (and not just vocal minority groups; Brady campaign, PETA, Gay rights activists, etc. . .).

On the other hand, I have many fears, too many to list here. Suffice it to say that I will be watching how Obama treats the key issues in which I believe; 2nd ammendment, marriage, abortion, etc. . .

With that said, Romney and Palin for 2012!
Romney should have been the Republican nominee anyway.
And even if Palin did come off a little clumsily during some of her interviews I still think she would have been an awesome VP. Give her 4 more years to get herself situated on the national stage (hint: she can do the same thing Obama did) and she'll be in the running.


That's all I have time for tonight. Later!

Tragedy, Guns, and Rape

I stumbled across this article today and was absolutely astounded and horrified.
http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=6121915&page=1

In essence, an 8 year old boy shot himself with a micro-Uzi, a fully automatic handgun capable of delivering 600 rounds a minute (I got that stat off of wikipedia but it's actually for the regular Uzi. The micro-Uzi probably fires at a higher rate. . .I've seen stats of up to 1700). The kid was at a Firearms Expo with his father, and there was a qualified firearms instructor nearby. I'm not sure exactly what happened, and I doubt anyone will ever be able to definitively say--these things happen so fast--but basically the kid opened up without his father or the instructor close enough to assist him. As a result, the boy was overcome by the continuous muzzle rise and ended up shooting himself in the head. As I understand it, automatic weapons are hard to control, even for adults.

Obviously this was a grievous mistake by both of the adults present that ended in a terrible tragedy. It should not have happened.

Naturally, the anti-gun members of our society are swarming all over this story condemning Americans and their "selfish belief in guns." I was surprised by the vehement anti-gun comments on the article; to find myself labeled as "evil." As if a person who believes in the Constitution, Freedom, and the right to personal protection is somehow misguided by false ideals.

An example of what anti-gun people think about us gun owners: "Gun owners are anything but responsible. They are sick, and they are getting sicker. It's a form of mental illness that's spreading throughout our country and our legislators are responsible for every innocent death. . .Get the guns away from every jackass and luney [sic] tune that shouldn't even be holding a toothpick." (It pleases me that most of the anti-gun comments are neither intelligent or logical).

Here is one of the more disturbing comments that I found, "A woman lying raped and dead on the ground is morally superior to a woman standing with a dead rapist at her feet and a smoking .357 in her hand."

What?! Why is it the woman's moral superiority that is being questioned here?

Personally, I think that the woman standing over the dead rapist with a smoking .357 did a service to humanity. A dead rapist is a safe rapist (I realize this may be somewhat extreme, but this is a subject that merits extremism; I would shoot him myself). A woman has every right to defend herself with lethal force. Period.

Anyway, this has given me a lot to think about. I feel sorrow for the family of the boy that was killed, but I fear the results of this accident will result in more anti-gun legislation.

As an end note: Obama will not support gun rights. His rhetoric is pretty, but he conveniently avoids taking any sort of stance on the second amendment. He says things like "I support the hunters and fishers," and "even if I wanted too, I would not have the votes to ban guns," but it is all just a front. His voting record has been extremely anti-gun (yes, I trust the NRA in this).

Oh, an interesting article on an alternative way to protect against rapists if women don't like the smoking .357 route: http://www.rense.com/general19/rape.htm

A Good Quote

To the universe

belongs the dancer.

Whoever does not dance

does not know what happens.

~Jesus Christ (according to the apocryphal Acts of John) 

A Strange Dream

Let me tell you about the dream that I had last night.  It won't sound as cool or complex as it really was when I try to put it into words, partly because I only remember the barest of details.  Anyway, I'll warn you now; it was rather odd.

I dreamt I was a ghost, and I'm not talking about any of your run of the mill passive spirits, I was a full-blown-all-out-haunting-spirit; rattling chains, causing floors to creak, and doors to mysteriously open, I did it all.  The funny thing about all this was that I was unaware of the creepiness of what I was doing.  To me, I was just behaving in a way that was natural and expected; having a good time, not a care in the world.

I lived in a large old mansion, or a castle, with a family (and this is where the details get fuzzy, because I can't remember, specifically, the people who lived there with me.  I want to say there were a couple girls, damsels in distress and all, but here I might really be dreaming).  There was also an old wizard that lived there, unrelated to the others, and he was kind of scary.

Anyway, here I was living the good life in my castle (and I got the sense that I had been doing this for a long time), when I suddenly began to notice that people were catching glimpses of me as I was going about my daily haunting.  It wasn't anything big, just a flicker of the eyes when I ghosted through a room, small things.  But it was enough to make me worried because nothing like that had ever happened before.  It was unnatural for people to see me; I was a ghost!  So I began to be very cautious; I would hide when people entered the rooms that I happened to be in, diving behind the closest chair or whatever. 

One day, the evil wizard walked in with several other people, and as I had been doing, I dived behind a large orange leather recliner.  But as I did so, I noticed the wizards eyes dart my direction and then away again, as if he had made unwanted eye contact.  As I watched him talking with the other people I knew that he could see me, he knew I was there, and that scared me.

There is a missing fragment here; I can't remember what happened in the interim period, maybe nothing, but the next thing that I can remember is that the wizard captured me.  I don't know how he did it, but his plan was to use me to augment his power and that was really scary.

That's all that I can remember.  I don't think I woke up at this point, there was much more to this dream than what I can remember.  It was one of those dreams that makes you resist waking up because you don't want to leave. . .and when you do, all you can think is, "that was freakin' AWESOME!!!!"

Interesting, eh?  When I tried telling my roommate in the morning it really sounded like I had been tripping on drugs all night long (I swear, all I did was eat at Carls Jr.).

The cool thing is that I can add this to my writing projects list.  I can make a good story out of this.  Which leaves me with about three multiple book projects that I need to finish. . .  Doesn't that just suck?

The Method of Creation

First of all, I have to apologize for my last post. It has a faint hint of bitterness to it which is just lame. Girls, and the association therewith, is a complicated subject for me, filled with high expectations, dashed hopes, and only imaginary success. So, it's hard for me to hear my ecclesiastical leader tell me that I need to subject myself to more of the same; that it is my duty to do so. I am in the wrong for my current lack of initiative, and hopefully, I will be able to regain my. . .nerve.

With that said, I want to talk a little bit about the process of writing stories.

I've been searching for a long time for a solution to the mythology and religion for my current work in progress. I want to include religion in my book, inspirational morals that will help my adoring public go through a cathartic process. However, I want it to be subtle; so much of what I read from religious authors (especially Mormons writing for a Mormon audience) is just blatant preaching, almost painful to read. The worst example of this was a book called Tathea by Anne Perry. . .I'll admit that I quit reading, so maybe I missed out on the book's redeeming qualities, but what I did read (around half), was horrid. The book was supposed to be allegorical in nature, but it was so obvious and clumsily delivered that it came across as some sort of extended sermon, by a really boring orator, disguised as a fantasy.  Anyway, I don't want to fall into that same trap; I don't want to be any sort of talking head or anything in my books.  That's the trick though, isn't it?  To include religion as part of the story, but not to force that religion upon the reader.  Orson Scott Card ran into the same problem with his Ender's Game books.  I love Card, and Ender's Game will probably always be one of the best books that I have ever read, but the main series, Speaker for the Dead, took Ender's character and pretty much killed the series.  It was a bit. . .boring.  I am being overly harsh on Card, who is a magnificent writer, but I had such high expectations after Ender's Game that the rest of the series came across more like, "blah, blah, blah."  It felt like Card set the hook, and then just held us on the line a preached for a while.

Of course, the other problem is to not include any sort of ideals at all, then your writing becomes dark. . .without real redemption. 

This is going in a whole different direction than I intended.  Suffice it to say, I think I found a way to include religion in my book, that will feel authentic, that will still be in line with Biblical mythology (and I use mythology here in the academic sense of the word), but it won't come across as being preachy or anything like that.

I figured out how to do it while I was reading the mythology of the Virgin birth in ancient American cultures.  Namely, I was reading the mythology of Quetzalcoatl, whose name I already understood to be translated as "the feathered serpent."  However, there is another translation that helped me to have one of those magnificent and sudden moments of intense brain activity. . .an epiphany if you will.  Anyway, problem solved.

The moral of the story is, always be ready because inspiration for your writing can come from anywhere!  That is what I was originally going to say before I started ranting on authors and their preaching.  The End.

Duty and maybe Love

First of all I must congratulate myself; this is my 50th post that you have the pleasure of reading. What a milestone! To celebrate I am writing while drinking 750ml of hot chocolate and premium protein. MMMMmmmmm!

I was going to write something big and introspective for this, but I didn't like how it was turning out so you get the short version:

Yesterday was ward conference, and the counselor in the Stake Presidency implied that we elders should be dating three times a week. What!? How can anybody even afford that? My "interest pool" can't even supply enough girls for me to be dating that much.

I guess I wouldn't feel guilty if I was dating once a week. . .or month. I'll not even give a number to how many dates I have been on in the last five years, but I will say that it is a small number.

Anyway, guilt. I guess I'm not doing my "job."

You can't guilt me into finding my best friend! You can't make me arbitrarily assign that label to a girl even if I am dating her regularly. On the other hand, that option will net more girl friends than whatever it is that I claim to be doing. Blah!

BYU 7, TCU 32

I shall hereby fall into despondence and melancholy for the rest of the week. Today blows. Laughing and smiling privileges are revoked for all humanity until the next BYU win.

Perks

Let me tell you a story. At the beginning of the semester in my English 356 class (mythology) the teacher told us that we could buy our books online because they might be cheaper. So I did. I ordered my books from Amazon, and still, a month and a half later, have not received them. I've written a nasty e-mail to Amazon, checked for the books at the library, and tried to buy the books at the bookstore, but none of these actions netted me with any books. So, today was my mythology test and I prayed, quite vigorously, this morning that I would be able to complete the test to the best of my ability. I was asking for help and I got it. The test turned out to be something quite surprising: with a companion, write a story that utilizes 25 of the vocabulary words on the list (that she had given us). . .

I think I passed.

Afterwards the teacher grabbed me as I was leaving and asked me why I hadn't been doing my reading responses, so I explained my sad story, and she was sympathetic and gave me a very easy way to make up everything I had missed.

Generally, like most humans, I am an ungrateful wretch, but sometimes I just have to acknowledge that God helps me out. . . a lot.

On top of that, I got a large envelope from the National Park Service today. When I opened it a found a "Star" award, which I received for "substantially exceeding job requirements." I kind of shrugged it off until I read one of the accompanying papers and found that there was a $500 bonus that accompanied it. :) Can you imagine me dancing a little jig? Hard work pays off.

Last of all, I am currently in love with a new song called "Alone with the Sea" by Hurt. I think I've listened to it about eight times in the last half hour.

And just so you know, "in love" is not a phrase that I use often.

In the manner of Keats, Shelley, and Byron. . .

I am not a fan of poetry; I hate most of it, in fact. Some of it however is good, but those poems are quite rare. With that said, I had to write a lyrical poem for my British Literature class. I thought it turned out badly--not quite living up to the master plan in my mind--but it was well recieved in my peer review group even though it has an extremely lose form. So, I will post it here for your reading pleasure. If you are a poetry critic, please be kind; I'm a little embarrassed.

Lamentation of Silence

Mute are the muses that guide me
in the presence of these sirens
that invade my reverie
haunting me always
with their melodies
that whisper
in the wind and down the byways
like something from a dream
remembered and forgotten.

I pray you, Speak! Feel my plight
ere this holy specter vanishes
from the pleasure of my sight
but not my soul
where her eternal absence
will wroth and roil
like a tangle of serpents
flailing and striking
until all is still.

Come muse, Speak!
Curse these words that choke
Curse this love that binds
my thoughts and words
to formless theory and bitter hope
Speak, and grant me sanity
let heart and mind end this violence
and come together
to end this
the utterance of my silence.

~Joseph Devenport

Palin vs. Biden

I just finished watching the VP debate and I just want to say that I think Palin did quite well. A small town Alaskan, 2 year governor, took on a 30 year career politician and DID NOT LOSE! And considering the media bias against her over the last few weeks I think that this is a great victory for her.

Biden was a little more polished and spouted off more numbers, as expected; tonight he showed himself for what he is, a career politician. Palin was much more eloquent than even I expected, though she tended to give broader answers at times, but it's like she said at one point, she's only been doing this for five weeks.

Anyway, Biden had a strong showing, but I have to give the victory to Palin for exceeding all expectations.

Quote of the Moment

I came across this quote in my Literature and Film class today. It's pretty good.

"The Lord of the Rings is a touchstone. If someone dislikes it, I shall never trust [his] literary judgement about anything again. It is a touchstone for more than literary judgement; it is a touchstone for one's whole personality. Those who love Tolkien are almost always good people, honest people. Some are Hobbit like and some are Elvish, but none are Orcish. Not all Tolkien haters are Orcs, but all Orcs are Tolkien haters." ~W.H. Auden

Pride and Prejudice

Here are a few of my thoughts on Pride and Prejudice, which I am reading--for the second time in the last year--in my British Literary History II class.

First of all I have to give praise to Jane Austen for her absolute brilliance. In her creation of this story, she wrote one of the best love stories in history, as proven by it's popularity these days--I know of only one girl that has not read it. Jane Austen also gave life to some of the most fascinating characters that I have ever read. And she is a master of dialogue which feels authentic but so often drips with wit and sarcasm. . . which makes the interplay between her characters so fascinating.

I know of a few guys who have read this book and not liked it, but for the most part I think Pride and Prejudice has a real appeal for the male gender. Personally, I relate to Mr. Darcy. I understand him. In fact, I relate so well to him that Internet personality tests tend to give him as an example of my personality type. It's a shame that I don't have his whole rich thing going on. . .

As far as the filmic adaptations go, I have to disagree with pretty much every woman that I have ever talked too. The 2005 version directed by Joe Wright and starring Kiera Knightly is by far the best. I know that it isn't as true to the book, but it is a far better as a film. I do think that Colin Firth is absolutely brilliant as Mr. Darcy in the older TV mini-series but that isn't enough to sway me--I think Matthew Macfadyen is highly undervalued for his role as Mr. Darcy. But characters aside (I'll come back to them), the 2005 movie is beautifully filmed while the other two major versions feel like sophisticated soap operas with simplistic camera work and staged scenes counterbalanced by intelligent dialogue. The new version also has an excellent musical score which was, I believe, nominated for an Academy Award. Now, back to the characters. Kiera Knightly is BY FAR the best Elizabeth Bennett of any version, and not just because I am more attracted to her. If you look in her eyes--where Elizabeth Bennett exists, that's why Darcy fell for her in the first place, her "fine eyes"--you'll see that Kiera Knightly becomes Elizabeth Bennett to the core. None of the other actresses who have portrayed Elizabeth have captured the same tomboyish wild spirit that Kiera Knightly did, which is unfortunate, because that was an important aspect of Elizabeth Bennett's character. Donald Sutherland is also quite good as Mr. Bennett, though his role is much reduced from the book, and Judy Dench is perfect as Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Rosamund Pike is also an excellent Jane, and I really liked Tom Hollander as Mr. Collins.

Anyway, I didn't intend to blab that much about the film, but it's pretty well done; an excellent job of putting Jane Austen's story into a 2 hour film.

The long and short of things is that Jane Austen is pretty cool, and reading Pride and Prejudice is not a painful experience, even for guys.

Secrets of the Universe

I think I've had a rather astounding discovery. The other day in my Literature and Film class, we were talking about romance addiction--yes, you really can become addicted to the idea/feeling of romance. . . candlelight dinners, exotic beaches, having that picture perfect someone at your side. A strange topic, I know, but really we've been discussing the Western ideal of romance as found in mythology like Tristan and Isuelt--basically, love at first sight and all that stuff--which leads us to this problem that people have with romance addiction. So the conversation meandered along, and I was mostly asleep, but as the topic started shifting over to the idea of the fantasies that people create for themselves I became more alert for two reasons. The first reason is that as a self proclaimed writer, I deal in fantasy. I depend on my ability to create situations--romantic or otherwise--with my mind, so I started to wonder if maybe writers are perhaps romance addicts at heart (maybe not Tom Clancy, but certainly Nora Roberts and Stephanie Myer). But that's not really the heart of this blog, the second reason was because I had an epiphany.

I know why there is so much divorce and crime and stuff. I know why society is degenerating so quickly. It's because things are too good. People have too much time to indulge in their fantasies, but worse than that, people fantasize about things that are within the realm of possibility. You want a bigger house? You can get it. You want a supermodel at your side? Not impossible. Sure, you might have to sacrifice things like your family or your soul, but just about anything is possible these days. This is perhaps the only time in history where such social mobility is possible, and people fantasize about that. They always dream about how things could be better, and that's why things are so bad. Because they stop caring about now.

Let's rewind a couple hundred years or so. . . no, let's go even farther back. . . err, let's forget picking a specific time, but rather, let's pick a lifestyle. Farmers. Before all these technological creations that make farming much easier, farmers labored in the fields all day with their hands. Work started early, and ended late. Even the women worked hard. People were so involved in work they didn't have time to fantasize, and if they did, their fantasies just weren't possible. A farmer couldn't really fantasize about having an affair with a supermodel because they didn't exist, and it just wasn't possible. A farm wife couldn't dream about a romantic getaway in Tahiti because that wasn't possible either.

Worse, our society today capitalizes on this. Movies and books paint pretty little pictures about the ideal romance, the ideal home, the ideal woman/man, the ideal car, blah, blah, blah. Life and love should be fast paced and full of excitement. We are bombarded on all sides by these ideals that are possible, but not realistic. And so, people become disenchanted with the now. They cannot be satisfied with what they have, and they constantly believe that obtaining the next thing will make them happy. It only brings them misery, because they leave behind the things that are really important.

Yup, we're decaying because things are too good, and because we dream about how they could be better.

Time to Spoil Myself?

I've decided to buy a new electric guitar. This decision comes because my current electric guitar is around 10 years old, and it doesn't sound right with itself--no matter how much you tune it. It was a cheap starter guitar, but it hasn't always been this bad. I'm no musical prodigy, like my young brother, but I can't stand instruments being out of tune. Pretty much, my current electric makes me wince when I play it. And, I bought a couple text books today for one class, tiny little things, but they almost cost $200. If I can pay that kind of money for a couple cheap little books, then I can buy myself a nice electric guitar! So, I am considering this beauty.

And I might possibly throw in this amp as an early Christmas present or something.

Let me know if you think that you can find me a prettier guitar and amp for under $500.

Politics Again!

It's just that time of season. Here are my latest thoughts on politics.

First of all, I'm surprised with the intensity of the liberal media's attack on Sarah Palin. She is NOT running for President. One of the major things that they are throwing against her is her lack of political experience. Somehow there is something wrong here. The liberals are using Sarah Palin's lack of political experience as a smoke screen to hide Obama's--and I do realize that he has more than twice as much political experience as Palin; 4 yrs as a Senator and 7 yrs in the Illinois Senate, but, he is running for PRESIDENT. Relatively that's barely any experience at all.

Also, I've been reading Internet comments from readers of the Salt Lake Tribune, who's readership seems to be largely liberal. I'm restraining myself from calling them names, but the word ignorant comes quickly to mind. They are using instances from Alaskan politics in an effort to discredit her. Please people, if you don't understand Alaskan politics, keep your comments to yourselves. Hunting predators from airplanes (And I'll state right now that I am NOT a hunter) is important for a significant portion of Alaskans who SURVIVE by living off the land. When the predator populations are out of control, these humans have nothing to eat. And please, don't say that they can go to the store. The vast majority of communities in Alaska live off of any established road system and all the goods have to be flown in, if there even is a store. I'd invite anybody (SL Tribune readers!!!) to pay $20 for a jar of peanut-butter WITHOUT that cushy job. Suddenly hunting becomes a good option, and suddenly wolves become a danger to your existence. Idiots!

Now let me talk a little bit about the 2nd amendment. I may not be a hunter, but I strongly believe in the right to bear arms. I don't understand how any man, or woman, would not desire to possess a way to protect themselves or their family. I'm sorry people, I wish it didn't, but crap happens ALL the time, even in peaceful cities like Provo, UT. People can't depend on the rule of law, or Police, or somebody else to protect them. Therefore, they should have the means to protect themselves, if they wish. A gun is a tool, a tool that allows an individual to protect themselves, and others. When a benevolent government can ensure that crime does not exist, and that the neighborhood pit bull isn't going to maul my child (this is a little more important in Alaska), then I will gladly beat my guns into plow blades or whatever, until then, I keep a loaded gun with me as much as legally possible.

If man is the cause of Global Warming, I would really like to know what we have been doing on the planets other than Earth. I didn't know that my driving an SUV would raise the temperature on other planets in the solar system. I wish someone would explain the physics of that to me.

This kind of turned into a rant. Sorry. On a lighter note, BYU thrashed UCLA on Saturday 59-0. That was an awesome game to watch. By the end I felt really bad for UCLA, especially after they couldn't even score on our third string defense.

Palin raises McCain

I don't usually get into the whole political dialogue. Talking politics with people requires way too much research to keep abreast of all the issues and candidates and blah, blah, blah. To me, at this point in my life, it's just not worth it. I find it enough to support politicians who support the main ideals that I do: the 2nd amendment, anti-abortion, and traditional marriage.

With that said, I will now express how awesome it is that Sarah Palin is McCain's VP pick. First of all, she is from Alaska. I'm not biased or anything, but she gets major points just for that fact alone. She not only supports gun rights, but unlike most politicians who try to pander to gun totin' Americans, she actually knows how to operate one and has done so. I hear tell that she has a bear pelt on her couch which she obtained for herself. No small task. She is also intelligent, and has iron determination; I think her pit bull analogy is much closer to her character than people realize. She is also a real world mom. Unlike other female (and otherwise) political figures, Sarah Palin hasn't lost touch with the real world. She really is a fresh face in the political scene. And, from what has happened in Alaska during her governorship, it seems that she gets things done. Go Alaska!

I wasn't too excited about McCain before, but because of Palin, he will get my vote.

I'll also add that I do not support Obama. When he said that "[people] cling to guns and religion because they are bitter," he revealed himself--for the first time to my eyes--as an elitist who does not believe in the ideals upon which this country was founded, and he has nothing in common with the roots of American society. He's popular because he is charismatic and a media darling, but I think he would be a disaster as President.

Back to School and Stuff

This may be the first semester where I will like all of my classes. So far, all of my English classes will be covering good literature and none of my teachers appear to be demons in disguise. Usually my classes start out fine but then the teachers start breathing fire and the literature turns out to be the most boorish forms of classic slop. Blah! I don't think that is going to happen this semester.

Dance-wise I finished up my auditions this afternoon for Gold II Latin and Standard. I think I did all right considering that I hadn't danced the audition dances (rumba and foxtrot) in four months. I'll find out tomorrow if I got in.

I'm struggling right now to think of relevant things to say.

Oh wait! Can I just rant a little bit about dirty dishes? I hate them. There is a twisted cycle that has been going on in my apartment: I need a dish, I wash said dish, I use dish, I wash dish again, I leave dish in dish thingy, I find dish dirty in sink. . . I hate the dish cycle.

Unleashing the Thunder

I'm sitting in the Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, Alaska and I'm feeling the need to vent some anger. So I was supposed to fly to Utah today at 2, but when I showed up I was told that my mom--who purchased my ticket--had entered the times wrong so that I was arriving at my destination before I left. I was confused because I had a printed itinerary that made perfect logical sense, which I showed the customer service rep. She then said that somebody must have changed something in the system and then proceeded to book me onto a flight 9 hours later. Grrrrrrrr!!! That's a lot of time to kill. In short, my day, and my parent's day, was ruined. Even shorter, GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

Of course, with all my free time I accessed the Internet to check up on BYU's first game of the season and was pleased that they had won. However, this brought up some more bile. The BYU ticket office changed their whole system so that the All Sports pass was sold only online. Then made it all stupid and complex. You have to form stupid groups on the net--which is fine, I want to go to the games with my sister--she formed our group and got hers. But, I was in the field and never got a chance to purchase mine until August 25th, but when I tried I was told the system was arranging the seating. When I got on again, the next day, all the tickets had been sold out. No All Sport pass for me this year. I don't know what happened, but somehow I never was able to access the group that my sister had made; I was never e-mailed of it's creation, and there was no way to access it when I signed in to the BYU ticket website. On top of that, my sister was charged two unexplained fees for her ASP, totalling $19. I'm sure one of them was an online transaction fee but I have no clue about the other. Rip Off! How can they MAKE us buy it online and then charge us an online transaction fee?!? In short, no ASP for me this year. Grrrrrrrrrr!!!!

I am angry.

If I didn't censor my writing, this venting would possibly look more like this: I am angry @&%&%$W! &&%# #$*&(@$%@ @&$** *@@*(2*(*(*( @#^@^%@#$! @%%@$!@%^ @%&!@&@ @%^@ @@ @%&@^%#@#&^*&@#$ !!!!(*&#@^&*!(*^&^$*&(*&(*&*&*&****@^&*(!&@!!!*&^@^#%%^##^@%$$@$@!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Future is Here. . .

This has been a good summer, but I am quite ready to return for another year of school. I have high hopes for the next two semesters. This semester I have a couple of pretty cool English classes lined up: Literature and Film and Mythology and Folklore. I'm very excited for the second class, my writing delves a lot into mythology so I am hoping that this class will help me more fully develop some of my ideas.

Most of all I look forward to my Ballroom Dance classes; I've only been able to sate my appetite for Ballroom by watching videos on youtube. I can't wait to get back to dancing, though I will confess that I do have some nervousness about this--opportunities for dance being quite rare in the wilderness. I am afraid that I have lost what little I gained last year. . . while all of my friends have progressed through the summer. I'm going to be very, very behind; the classes that I need are audition based. Plus I have to find dance partners all over again. . . blah!, but with hope.

Coming back to Alaska has also illustrated how much I really do enjoy some sort of contact with humanity. I may be an introvert, but I need some social exposure. This semester I vow to be a bit more aggressive in inserting myself into the social sphere. Good luck to me.

Anyway, I've been ready to go back to a place filled with sunshine, dance, and women for the last couple weeks. Now, that future is here. Only three more days of preparation, and I'll be on my way.

Bear Encounters II

I think I might have a superpower; I can sense bears with my sixth or seventh sense. While I was camping for work last week there were several times that I had thoughts like I am going to see a bear tonight, or There is a bear outside my tent. I only get these random thoughts when I am isolated; if I'm in a group of people I am oblivious as anybody when it comes to the presence of my bear friends. But when I am alone, my extra senses kick into high gear. When I had thoughts like those I mentioned above, I was right.

So the first example of this. . . I was alone at our camp and I knew I was going to see a bear. Sure enough, at one point I turned around from what I was doing and there was a black shadow several hundred yards away among the trees. I knew it was a bear before it even moved. It turned out to be a pretty big black bear and he wandered closer to camp, pretty much ignoring me. He didn't actually come into our camp, which would have made things very hairy--me being by myself and all--but he did come pretty close.

The next day I was in my tent reading when I sensed a bear outside my tent. Three different times I looked out my little plastic window and couldn't see anything. Finally, I poked my head out of my rain fly, and there was a little black bear chewing on the berries not fifty feet in front of me. I watched him munching for a little bit, and he ignored me, which I consider to be a good thing.

Anyway, when I get feelings like this, I am always correct. I think it works with any living creature, but bears are fairly easy for me to sense.

One time, when I was young and afraid of bears (because I had read Alaskan Bear Tales), my family was living in a little cabin. I woke in the middle of the night, terrified, because I KNEW there was a bear outside. Nobody believed me, though my mom did get up and look out the windows, but she didn't see anything. The next day, there were fresh bear tracks everywhere.

That's just one of my superpowers though. I have many, many others.

That Sam I Am

My brother is in the room next door reading Green Eggs and Ham to my very adorable niece and nephew. People always interpret this book to say---try things you don't think you will like because you might actually like it. . . obviously. But I have to wonder: What if Sam is a salesman? A drug dealer? Whoa! There are a few twists on this classic Dr. Seuss that I never thought of before. . .

People, don't trust Sam! If you don't think you will like green eggs and ham, stay true. Trust your instincts.

May Creek

I haven't talked much about working for the NPS lately. Basically it was all I was talking about on my blog. . . boring. However, I think I will mention my latest excursion into the bush. This time we went to a place called May Creek which can only be reached by plane. Here is the only real picture that I could find on the net of May Creek.

This is the airfield, which I must add is pretty snazzy; it's almost a mile long. . . long enough for a C-130 to land on.

First of all, flying on a bush plane. AWESOME! We flew in on a Beaver, built by de Havilland in 1948. It's serial number was like 38 or something like that. . . the plane was a classic. The cool thing that I noticed about flying in a bush plane was that we only flew at an altitude of 3000 feet, meaning that we flew between the mountains instead of above them. It was pretty awesome to look out your window and watch the mountains sliding by, or being able to pick out individual trees on the ground below. Cool stuff. I've decided that I still wish to pursue my childhood dream of becoming a pilot and will, at some point in my future, when I am rich, buy myself an airplane to facilitate the fulfillment of this dream.

We touched down on the Airstrip, unloaded our gear and then reloaded it on a couple ATV's and proceeded to our cabin. One of the first things I noticed on the way was a big fat pile of red pooh. Bear pooh. The area is berry heaven, and therefore bear central. It seems bears don't really get that much from berries, they shoot right through their digestive system, so the pooh was about as abundant as the berries. EVERYWHERE!

We had a cabin, complete with woodstove, propane, and solar power for the lights, and a sweet outhouse. Yes, we were living the high life.

Work was typical for the next week; rainy, which wasn't too bad because we knew that we had a warm dry place to go after work. I spent most of my time working a chainsaw, and swamping (dragging what we cut off the trails into the woods), not that fun, but not really all that bad either.

It may have been day two or three when I saw three bears, a mother and two cubs crossing the airfield. They sure took their time, and didn't even pay any attention to us. One of the cubs, after they crossed, darted back out of the woods and wrastled one of the orange traffic cones that outlined the runway for a few minutes before mama got him back on track. That was my only notable bear encounter. The rest of the crew had their own encounters at some point, and I would wager that we had upwards of 10 encounters/sightings of different bears among the whole crew. Some of the guys had their coats hanging under a weather port, and a bear shredded them a bit. I was with a group that startled another. We never saw it, but we heard it scramble down an embankment and then were able to track where it had sprinted down the trail ahead of us. There were tons of bears, but thankfully, there were no. . . physical. . . encounters.

There was also a wolf that was scouting our cabin, but I only caught flashes of him moving through the woods. I've seen them before, but it still blows me away how ghostlike wolves can be. . . or any other predatory animal for that matter.

On a different note, because we are a group of hairy Alaskan men, we naturally gravitate towards competition, and in honor of the Olympics, we had our own version right there in May Creek. Our events were things like: left handed football toss, free-standing ladder climb, the ladder hop, horseshoes, and the May Creek Mile (run on the Airstrip). I can't say that I did particularly well in any event, though I did have a pretty sweet stall in the freestanding ladder climb, showing a dancer's balance, but I wasn't high enough enough to win--the typical technique was to scramble up as the ladder was falling. Bah! Where is the poise? The control?

The mile was a beast! I have not run since high school basketball, but I still beat my previous fastest time by seven seconds. . . which isn't saying much, I'm not a fast runner.

We flew out on Sunday, and while waiting for our plane, a group of us hiked up the trail towards the old Chititu gold mine and did some gold panning above some falls; cleaning out a seam in the bedrock. Of course this included a pretty hairy crossing of the Chititu, which was quite fast and muddy. We found some color, and a copper nugget, in about an hour of panning. What could we have found with a full day, and a shovel?

Anyway, those are the highlights of a pretty fun trip. Alaska rocks! Even if it is a bit cold and rainy this summer. And, someday I will own a digital camera so I can capture at least some of these moments on film.