This was really funny:
http://www.theonion.com/content/news/new_study_reveals_most_children
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
A Short Story
I wrote this for my creative writing class the other night. Hopefully you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.
The Raven
When I woke the bounty hunter was sitting next to the fire frying a couple sausages in a pan. He was a big man, not tall so much as broad, with a few days growth of beard.
“Don’t bother trying to escape,” he said without even looking in my direction. “I took the liberty of securing you while you were sleeping.”
“That’s not possible,” I mumbled. I rolled over and the sound of a rattling chain confirmed his words. My head was swimming, and I wasn’t quite sure if I was feeling all of my appendages correctly.
“Your provisions were drugged. I’m on good terms with a few of the merchants back in town.” He laughed. “You’ll feel better in the morning, just in time for the beginning of our journey to the Crown Seat.”
I shook my head, but regretted it as the world seemed to tip under me. When things settled down again I said, “You’ve got the wrong man. I’ve done nothing.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a yellowed parchment and shook it in my face. It was too dark to see, but I knew well enough what was on it. A fair likeness of my face, a brief description, and a promised reward.
“Don’t bother denying it. This is you,” he held the parchment close to the light of the fire and began to read. “Wanted: the Black Messenger,” he looked over at me and chuckled at my alias, “for crimes against the Crown. Reward: 10,000 in gold.” He leaned over, shook his pan of sausages a bit, and then turned back to me. “That’s a hefty sum. You must be a first class bastard for the Crown to be willing to pay that much for you.”
I tried to act nonchalant through the drugs. “I’m worth more than that.”
He laughed.
“So who are you,” I asked.
“The Raven,” he said.
This time I laughed, and I didn’t care what it did to my head. He got up and kicked me a couple times in the ribs for it, but I barely felt it, thanks to his drugs.
“You’re the Raven,” I asked when my laughter subsided, “You’re the most wanted, the most feared assassin in the world?”
“Yes,” he said. “How do you know I’m not?”
“You’re a little too portly to be the Raven. Stories say that he can be found anywhere a rodent can go. Somehow I don’t see you slipping through mouse holes.”
He shrugged. “You can’t believe everything you hear. Stories get blown out of proportion.”
“OK,” I said, “I can agree with that. But I still don’t believe you are the Raven.”
“Believe what you will,” he said as he reached for a sausage and began to eat.
“Did you make one of those for me?” I asked.
He snorted in derision and continued to eat. I fell asleep soon after.
Predictably I woke in the morning with a bucket of water in the face. “That’s original,” I said as I wiped the water away with my sleeve. Thankfully the world was more stable now that the drugs were out of my system.
“Get up,” he said. There was no humor in his voice, and I could tell it was lesson time. I’d done it enough myself to know what was coming.
I stood, curious to see how he would react to compliance.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” he said, and he punched me upside the head with a fist the size of a small boulder.
I hit the dust, with pinpricks of light in my head. Maybe those drugs from last night were still in effect after all. Before my head could clear he picked me up only to punch me down again. I hit the ground and came up fighting. Or at least that was my intent, but what really happened was that I came up floundering with the chains that bound my arms and legs.
“That’s the spirit,” he said before he leveled me again.
He left it at that, and while I lay with my ears ringing and face in the dirt, I was forced to reassess this man. There was a power in him that belied his soft and portly appearance.
After a brief moment he lifted me up again and tied my hands behind my back, and then with thick secure knots he looped a rope around my waist and fastened it to the horn of his saddle. My weapons were tied in front of him, safely out of my reach, but the rest of my gear, including my boots, was tied onto my own horse.
“Your belongings are going to make some peasant very happy,” the man said before he slapped my horse on the rump and sent it galloping away in a panic.
“I‘ll milk your blood for that,” I said. “That was a valuable beast.”
“True, but I can’t afford the risk of watching it,” and then he said something very intelligent, “because you’re a more valuable beast.”
Maybe intelligent was a little generous.
He spurred his horse forward and I was forced to step quickly to keep up.
The day passed as well as could be expected. He traveled at a rapid pace, my bare feet were torn to shreds, and I tried a couple token escapes which he quickly and effectively stopped with violence. For my first attempt I gathered some speed and then, using a large rock to gain height, jumped him from behind. It was a tricky plan, requiring that he fall off the horse, while I remained on it. But the man sat in the saddle like he was built into it. I bounced off of him and fell to the ground where he was sure to drag me for a good distance.
I can’t even remember what my second attempt was, but I do remember the image of one of his big fists, wrapped around what I can only describe as a log, coming towards my face. When I woke up with him looming over me, I said, “You don’t know how much I want to kill you, but I’m not going to.”
He laughed, slapped me across the face, and then climbed back into the saddle.
In short, the result was that by the time we camped for the night I was a bloody mess.
After tying me to a large tree he tossed a canteen and a sausage in the dirt in front of me. “Enjoy,” he said. And I did, because the water was divine.
Later he brought long strips of cloth and tossed them at me. “Sorry about your feet, but escape won’t be so easy now will it?”
I snorted and began to wrap my feet. It was a painful process so I made conversation to distract from the waves of fire rising through my legs.
“Today went well,” I said. “How many days until the Crown Seat?”
He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “The day after tomorrow,” he finally said.
“How long have you been doing this,” I asked.
He smiled. “Longer than you’ve been hearing stories about the Raven.”
“Do you like it?”
“I’m good with weapons, strong, and I have a knack for sniffing out wanted men, so it suits me.”
He sipped from a tin cup full of a thick brewed tea and watched me.
“How’s the pay,” I asked.
He took a long sip before he said, “It’s a living.”
I waited and eventually he began to elaborate. “From seeing the wanted posters you would think the pay would be good, but you have to realize that there aren’t that many criminals in the world. And I am sure as hell not the only bounty hunter. It tends to be a long wait from one bounty to the next.”
I chuckled to myself. “So on the side you work as an assassin, or is it the other way around?”
He laughed but didn’t answer the question.
I was about to egg him on a little more when I heard the soft swish of wings in the tree above me. I looked up to find a pair of black ravens peering down at us with dark beady eyes.
The bounty hunter didn’t miss a beat. “They’re drawn to the smell of your blood. Don’t sleep too well tonight or you may wake up missing an eye, or a kidney.”
He laughed, splashed the dregs of his drink onto the fire, and then rolled up into his blankets.
I fell asleep soon after.
The ravens were still above us in the morning and they stayed with us throughout the day. The bounty hunter took special pleasure in pointing them out to me almost incessantly.
“Shut up about the god-forsaken ravens!” I shouted at one point. My outburst earned me a boot to the face. I didn’t care about the ravens, really, I was just testy because my feet were burning like the wrath of hell. The boot print in my face distracted me from my feet and the ravens, briefly.
When we made camp for the night, there were more, six in total. They fluttered about in the tree, like feathered ghosts. They never called out, which was strange. My captor noticed it too, and he watched the ravens almost as much as he did me, though he grinned wickedly at me when he caught me watching.
“So what made you choose to call yourself Black Messenger,” he asked.
I shrugged. “What made you call yourself the Raven?”
He pointed into the tree and smiled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Somebody I killed once named me the Black Messenger. I thought it was fairly clever on his part seeing as he had a knife in his gut, so I just went with it.”
“Hey, that works,” he said.
“Yep.”
He was silent for a moment before he said, “We’ll be at the Crown Seat tomorrow.”
I nodded.
“I hate to turn you over to them, I know what they do to people, and you seem like a decent fellow.”
“I appreciate your sentiments,” I said. “I understand that you’re just trying to make a living.”
He nodded. “Good.” And then he rolled out his bedroll and went to sleep. He didn’t even wake when I got up in the middle of the night, chains rattling, to take a piss.
When morning came the ravens were gone. The bounty hunter gave me a larger portion than usual for breakfast.
When I was finished he mounted his horse and tied me to his saddle. He seemed resigned. “Let’s go,” he said.
I motioned, graciously, for him to lead the way.
We soon reached the Crown Seat, this year the city of Brylyrd, and made our way through the crowded cobblestone streets towards the palace.
The soldiers at the gates were familiar with bounty hunters and the whole process of bringing in prisoners, so we were soon well within the castle walls escorted by a pair of burly guards, on our way to the throne room where my execution would be ordered and my bounty hunter would receive his payment.
We paused at the door of the throne room while one of our guards announced us. Within moments the normal petitioners were ushered out and we were ushered in. The room was still rather full of nobles and guards.
“Majesty, a bounty hunter is here claiming his bounty.”
My bounty hunter stepped forward and pushed me to the floor, at the same time he bowed to reverence the king.
“I just want to let you know that I’m not really the Raven,” he whispered. “I just tell people that so they’ll be more docile.”
“I know,” I said.
“At ease,” said the king. “Let me see your claim.”
The bounty hunter straightened and held out his parchment with my picture on it. A servant took it from his hand and gave it to the king.
“The Black Messenger,” the king said in confusion. “Who the hell is that? I never ordered this.”
Understanding dawned in the bounty hunter’s eyes, as he heard the click of my manacles opening.
“I wrote the bounty,” I said, as I stood, ignoring the pain in my feet and my aching muscles.
Chains are good weapons, and chains with big heavy steel weights on the end are even better, in short, I made short work of the two burly guards next to me using the manacles provided by my bounty hunter. Then I took their various weapons and embedded them in the various guards stationed throughout the room. It was quick, and bloody work, though in truth I could have done it better if my feet hadn’t been turned into sausages. The nobles, of course, ran like cowards so I ignored them. Soon, only the bounty hunter, the King, and the Queen were left in the room with me, alive.
“I should have known,” muttered the bounty hunter. “I should have known when I saw those bloody ravens.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I needed you to bring me here, so I won’t kill you, today.”
“Majesty,” I said to the whimpering king, “you really are the lowest of despots, you’ve been petty, violent, and ineffective and I’ve been hired to remove you. In short, your rule here is over. Your life too.”
He ran from me then, naturally, and I chased him. And I’ll be damned if the fool coward ran outside and jumped off the wall to escape me. The result was the same, but not as noble with his guts splattered about him and all. I watched for a moment, just to make sure he wasn’t shamming. After a few moments ravens began to swoop in and pick at his corpse. I knew he was dead then.
I walked back inside, hobbled really, and picked up the bounty that had fallen to the floor. It wouldn’t do to leave my picture lying around.
“Lady,” I bowed to the queen, this was my first time seeing her in person and she was quite nice looking, “the kingdom is yours.”
She smiled, very faintly, as she pulled a bag from the folds of her robe and tossed it to me. It clinked with heavy metal.
I motioned to the bounty hunter who was nervously pulling a black feather from his shoulder. “Pay this man his bounty,” I said.
And then I was gone.
~J. A. Devenport
The Raven
When I woke the bounty hunter was sitting next to the fire frying a couple sausages in a pan. He was a big man, not tall so much as broad, with a few days growth of beard.
“Don’t bother trying to escape,” he said without even looking in my direction. “I took the liberty of securing you while you were sleeping.”
“That’s not possible,” I mumbled. I rolled over and the sound of a rattling chain confirmed his words. My head was swimming, and I wasn’t quite sure if I was feeling all of my appendages correctly.
“Your provisions were drugged. I’m on good terms with a few of the merchants back in town.” He laughed. “You’ll feel better in the morning, just in time for the beginning of our journey to the Crown Seat.”
I shook my head, but regretted it as the world seemed to tip under me. When things settled down again I said, “You’ve got the wrong man. I’ve done nothing.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a yellowed parchment and shook it in my face. It was too dark to see, but I knew well enough what was on it. A fair likeness of my face, a brief description, and a promised reward.
“Don’t bother denying it. This is you,” he held the parchment close to the light of the fire and began to read. “Wanted: the Black Messenger,” he looked over at me and chuckled at my alias, “for crimes against the Crown. Reward: 10,000 in gold.” He leaned over, shook his pan of sausages a bit, and then turned back to me. “That’s a hefty sum. You must be a first class bastard for the Crown to be willing to pay that much for you.”
I tried to act nonchalant through the drugs. “I’m worth more than that.”
He laughed.
“So who are you,” I asked.
“The Raven,” he said.
This time I laughed, and I didn’t care what it did to my head. He got up and kicked me a couple times in the ribs for it, but I barely felt it, thanks to his drugs.
“You’re the Raven,” I asked when my laughter subsided, “You’re the most wanted, the most feared assassin in the world?”
“Yes,” he said. “How do you know I’m not?”
“You’re a little too portly to be the Raven. Stories say that he can be found anywhere a rodent can go. Somehow I don’t see you slipping through mouse holes.”
He shrugged. “You can’t believe everything you hear. Stories get blown out of proportion.”
“OK,” I said, “I can agree with that. But I still don’t believe you are the Raven.”
“Believe what you will,” he said as he reached for a sausage and began to eat.
“Did you make one of those for me?” I asked.
He snorted in derision and continued to eat. I fell asleep soon after.
Predictably I woke in the morning with a bucket of water in the face. “That’s original,” I said as I wiped the water away with my sleeve. Thankfully the world was more stable now that the drugs were out of my system.
“Get up,” he said. There was no humor in his voice, and I could tell it was lesson time. I’d done it enough myself to know what was coming.
I stood, curious to see how he would react to compliance.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” he said, and he punched me upside the head with a fist the size of a small boulder.
I hit the dust, with pinpricks of light in my head. Maybe those drugs from last night were still in effect after all. Before my head could clear he picked me up only to punch me down again. I hit the ground and came up fighting. Or at least that was my intent, but what really happened was that I came up floundering with the chains that bound my arms and legs.
“That’s the spirit,” he said before he leveled me again.
He left it at that, and while I lay with my ears ringing and face in the dirt, I was forced to reassess this man. There was a power in him that belied his soft and portly appearance.
After a brief moment he lifted me up again and tied my hands behind my back, and then with thick secure knots he looped a rope around my waist and fastened it to the horn of his saddle. My weapons were tied in front of him, safely out of my reach, but the rest of my gear, including my boots, was tied onto my own horse.
“Your belongings are going to make some peasant very happy,” the man said before he slapped my horse on the rump and sent it galloping away in a panic.
“I‘ll milk your blood for that,” I said. “That was a valuable beast.”
“True, but I can’t afford the risk of watching it,” and then he said something very intelligent, “because you’re a more valuable beast.”
Maybe intelligent was a little generous.
He spurred his horse forward and I was forced to step quickly to keep up.
The day passed as well as could be expected. He traveled at a rapid pace, my bare feet were torn to shreds, and I tried a couple token escapes which he quickly and effectively stopped with violence. For my first attempt I gathered some speed and then, using a large rock to gain height, jumped him from behind. It was a tricky plan, requiring that he fall off the horse, while I remained on it. But the man sat in the saddle like he was built into it. I bounced off of him and fell to the ground where he was sure to drag me for a good distance.
I can’t even remember what my second attempt was, but I do remember the image of one of his big fists, wrapped around what I can only describe as a log, coming towards my face. When I woke up with him looming over me, I said, “You don’t know how much I want to kill you, but I’m not going to.”
He laughed, slapped me across the face, and then climbed back into the saddle.
In short, the result was that by the time we camped for the night I was a bloody mess.
After tying me to a large tree he tossed a canteen and a sausage in the dirt in front of me. “Enjoy,” he said. And I did, because the water was divine.
Later he brought long strips of cloth and tossed them at me. “Sorry about your feet, but escape won’t be so easy now will it?”
I snorted and began to wrap my feet. It was a painful process so I made conversation to distract from the waves of fire rising through my legs.
“Today went well,” I said. “How many days until the Crown Seat?”
He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “The day after tomorrow,” he finally said.
“How long have you been doing this,” I asked.
He smiled. “Longer than you’ve been hearing stories about the Raven.”
“Do you like it?”
“I’m good with weapons, strong, and I have a knack for sniffing out wanted men, so it suits me.”
He sipped from a tin cup full of a thick brewed tea and watched me.
“How’s the pay,” I asked.
He took a long sip before he said, “It’s a living.”
I waited and eventually he began to elaborate. “From seeing the wanted posters you would think the pay would be good, but you have to realize that there aren’t that many criminals in the world. And I am sure as hell not the only bounty hunter. It tends to be a long wait from one bounty to the next.”
I chuckled to myself. “So on the side you work as an assassin, or is it the other way around?”
He laughed but didn’t answer the question.
I was about to egg him on a little more when I heard the soft swish of wings in the tree above me. I looked up to find a pair of black ravens peering down at us with dark beady eyes.
The bounty hunter didn’t miss a beat. “They’re drawn to the smell of your blood. Don’t sleep too well tonight or you may wake up missing an eye, or a kidney.”
He laughed, splashed the dregs of his drink onto the fire, and then rolled up into his blankets.
I fell asleep soon after.
The ravens were still above us in the morning and they stayed with us throughout the day. The bounty hunter took special pleasure in pointing them out to me almost incessantly.
“Shut up about the god-forsaken ravens!” I shouted at one point. My outburst earned me a boot to the face. I didn’t care about the ravens, really, I was just testy because my feet were burning like the wrath of hell. The boot print in my face distracted me from my feet and the ravens, briefly.
When we made camp for the night, there were more, six in total. They fluttered about in the tree, like feathered ghosts. They never called out, which was strange. My captor noticed it too, and he watched the ravens almost as much as he did me, though he grinned wickedly at me when he caught me watching.
“So what made you choose to call yourself Black Messenger,” he asked.
I shrugged. “What made you call yourself the Raven?”
He pointed into the tree and smiled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Somebody I killed once named me the Black Messenger. I thought it was fairly clever on his part seeing as he had a knife in his gut, so I just went with it.”
“Hey, that works,” he said.
“Yep.”
He was silent for a moment before he said, “We’ll be at the Crown Seat tomorrow.”
I nodded.
“I hate to turn you over to them, I know what they do to people, and you seem like a decent fellow.”
“I appreciate your sentiments,” I said. “I understand that you’re just trying to make a living.”
He nodded. “Good.” And then he rolled out his bedroll and went to sleep. He didn’t even wake when I got up in the middle of the night, chains rattling, to take a piss.
When morning came the ravens were gone. The bounty hunter gave me a larger portion than usual for breakfast.
When I was finished he mounted his horse and tied me to his saddle. He seemed resigned. “Let’s go,” he said.
I motioned, graciously, for him to lead the way.
We soon reached the Crown Seat, this year the city of Brylyrd, and made our way through the crowded cobblestone streets towards the palace.
The soldiers at the gates were familiar with bounty hunters and the whole process of bringing in prisoners, so we were soon well within the castle walls escorted by a pair of burly guards, on our way to the throne room where my execution would be ordered and my bounty hunter would receive his payment.
We paused at the door of the throne room while one of our guards announced us. Within moments the normal petitioners were ushered out and we were ushered in. The room was still rather full of nobles and guards.
“Majesty, a bounty hunter is here claiming his bounty.”
My bounty hunter stepped forward and pushed me to the floor, at the same time he bowed to reverence the king.
“I just want to let you know that I’m not really the Raven,” he whispered. “I just tell people that so they’ll be more docile.”
“I know,” I said.
“At ease,” said the king. “Let me see your claim.”
The bounty hunter straightened and held out his parchment with my picture on it. A servant took it from his hand and gave it to the king.
“The Black Messenger,” the king said in confusion. “Who the hell is that? I never ordered this.”
Understanding dawned in the bounty hunter’s eyes, as he heard the click of my manacles opening.
“I wrote the bounty,” I said, as I stood, ignoring the pain in my feet and my aching muscles.
Chains are good weapons, and chains with big heavy steel weights on the end are even better, in short, I made short work of the two burly guards next to me using the manacles provided by my bounty hunter. Then I took their various weapons and embedded them in the various guards stationed throughout the room. It was quick, and bloody work, though in truth I could have done it better if my feet hadn’t been turned into sausages. The nobles, of course, ran like cowards so I ignored them. Soon, only the bounty hunter, the King, and the Queen were left in the room with me, alive.
“I should have known,” muttered the bounty hunter. “I should have known when I saw those bloody ravens.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I needed you to bring me here, so I won’t kill you, today.”
“Majesty,” I said to the whimpering king, “you really are the lowest of despots, you’ve been petty, violent, and ineffective and I’ve been hired to remove you. In short, your rule here is over. Your life too.”
He ran from me then, naturally, and I chased him. And I’ll be damned if the fool coward ran outside and jumped off the wall to escape me. The result was the same, but not as noble with his guts splattered about him and all. I watched for a moment, just to make sure he wasn’t shamming. After a few moments ravens began to swoop in and pick at his corpse. I knew he was dead then.
I walked back inside, hobbled really, and picked up the bounty that had fallen to the floor. It wouldn’t do to leave my picture lying around.
“Lady,” I bowed to the queen, this was my first time seeing her in person and she was quite nice looking, “the kingdom is yours.”
She smiled, very faintly, as she pulled a bag from the folds of her robe and tossed it to me. It clinked with heavy metal.
I motioned to the bounty hunter who was nervously pulling a black feather from his shoulder. “Pay this man his bounty,” I said.
And then I was gone.
~J. A. Devenport
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Kids & Germs
Sunday, December 06, 2009
A short-short on Love
And just for fun, I wrote this short-short late last night.
A Short-Short on Love
When Candace walked into the restaurant I was prepared. I’d been waiting for her all day. She strolled up to the bar, confident and sexy, a mortal Aphrodite. She slid onto a stool, and began pulling her long hair into a pony-tail. It took me a moment to close my mouth and remember that I was there for more than admiring her.
“A vanilla milkshake, please,” she said as I drew near.
I nodded and made my way over to the machine and began to make an extra special vanilla shake. When it was finished I presented it to her with a flourish.
“Hey Candace,” I said.
She looked up, and my carefully prepared speech disappeared into the vision of her clear green eyes. My next few words came out in an unintelligible jumble of sounds as my tongue and lips somehow just seemed to stop working.
But she nodded politely.
I mentally cursed myself as I walked away, and was once again forced to admire this vision of beauty from afar.
When Candace finally left, I turned to Mary, the other serving staff on duty and said, “How come I can never speak to beautiful women. Words just go right out of my head.”
She pursed her lips, shrugged dismissively and then walked away.
From this experience I can deduce a few hypotheses: 1) Men can never say what is really in their heads in regards to love and romance. 2) That when men can transmit words from brain to tongue successfully, it somehow comes out all wrong. 3) Women are marvelous communicators, so when they don’t choose to communicate something is seriously wrong. 3b) That something is usually something that was uttered from the lips of a man.
A Short-Short on Love
When Candace walked into the restaurant I was prepared. I’d been waiting for her all day. She strolled up to the bar, confident and sexy, a mortal Aphrodite. She slid onto a stool, and began pulling her long hair into a pony-tail. It took me a moment to close my mouth and remember that I was there for more than admiring her.
“A vanilla milkshake, please,” she said as I drew near.
I nodded and made my way over to the machine and began to make an extra special vanilla shake. When it was finished I presented it to her with a flourish.
“Hey Candace,” I said.
She looked up, and my carefully prepared speech disappeared into the vision of her clear green eyes. My next few words came out in an unintelligible jumble of sounds as my tongue and lips somehow just seemed to stop working.
But she nodded politely.
I mentally cursed myself as I walked away, and was once again forced to admire this vision of beauty from afar.
When Candace finally left, I turned to Mary, the other serving staff on duty and said, “How come I can never speak to beautiful women. Words just go right out of my head.”
She pursed her lips, shrugged dismissively and then walked away.
From this experience I can deduce a few hypotheses: 1) Men can never say what is really in their heads in regards to love and romance. 2) That when men can transmit words from brain to tongue successfully, it somehow comes out all wrong. 3) Women are marvelous communicators, so when they don’t choose to communicate something is seriously wrong. 3b) That something is usually something that was uttered from the lips of a man.
Life the Universe & Everything
Is the name of a marvelous book by Douglas Adams.
It is also the name of BYU's fantasy and science-fiction conference.
Here is website: http://www.ltue.org/LTUE2010.html
Why, you ask, am I giving a plug for it on my blog? Well, I have been selected to present an academic paper, of which I am the author, at this conference. Cool, and kind of scary.
It is also the name of BYU's fantasy and science-fiction conference.
Here is website: http://www.ltue.org/LTUE2010.html
Why, you ask, am I giving a plug for it on my blog? Well, I have been selected to present an academic paper, of which I am the author, at this conference. Cool, and kind of scary.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Dancesport in Review
I realize that I haven't done my normal after-Dancesport blog post, so here it is.
Dancesport was cool. I made it four rounds into Novice Latin and got cut from the Quarterfinals, which was better than expected; four rounds into 380 Waltz and cut from the Quarterfinals, which was worse tha
n expected; I made it to the second round of Pre-Champ Latin, which was within my expectations. Last, I got cut from the Gold Bar (485/385) Cha-cha which was also within my expectations.
In short, I did BETTER than I normally do, which still isn't very good. But I'm OK with that. I think right now I'm just happy to be dancing at all, because I've realized that I am in the twilight of my dancing career as I prepare for GRADUATION (which I still find intimidating).
Dancing has been a great experience for me, and I'm going to miss it next year. . . unless I'm lame and come back to Provo next year. It's in the back of my mind. I'm not staying in Alaska for the winter, and I have no idea where else I would go. So for now, Provo is my primary option. Anyway, blah, blah, blah. The end.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Whales
This isn't a new video from the Onion, however, I found the last 15 seconds quite amusing. Enjoy.
In The Know: Are Our Children Learning Enough About Whales?
In The Know: Are Our Children Learning Enough About Whales?
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Let the chips fall where they may
I'm writing now due to a unrequited sense of obligation rather than any particular creative vibe. I've been very sluggish as a blogger for the last month, and this brings shame upon my house--or it would if I actually possessed one. Once an individual enters their voice into the blogging world there is a moral obligation to continue to produce rational and thought provoking writings that serve to inspire (or infuriate) members of the blogging community (hint, hint). This is what separates us from the animals. This is what makes us men, and women. This is what makes us human! Blogging.
That is why I am posting today. To repent, and be human.
As many of you already know, because I've effectively broadcast the fact through Facebook and other assorted mediums, I can GRADUATE NEXT SEMESTER. Some of you are probably shocked at this, but I can assure you, nobody was more surprised by this than myself. There are some things in life that we are certain of. We know that death is certain. Taxes are certain, as the cliche goes. And women will always be veeerrrryyyyy frustrating (to me at least). But college? College is eternal, or so I thought. How rude my awakening has been.
At first I was in denial, I couldn't accept it. And so I tried to discover ways in which I could arrange an extra semester or two (in addition to the 14 semesters I've already taken for my UNDERGRADUATE degree). However, reason must rule, and in the end I can't keep sinking money into the college lifestyle. Now is the time for me to move on, to consolidate a center of power in the real world, from which I can rule all my domains like a medieval warlord (or, buy a house and hopefully write books that get published).
Now that I have accepted my fate, I must bull my way into the necessary classes, all of them, because they are ALL already full. The process, I am sure, will be interesting because they are introducing a new system to add/drop classes for next semester. I will become a master that system by the end of the first day.
However, with the end of my college career before me, the beginning of a new life also looms much too closely for comfort. All sorts of college type questions that I assumed would naturally resolve themselves now lie before me, unresolved. What am I going to do for a career? Where am I going to live? Why are freshman girls nicer to me than the others, and is it acceptable for me to date them? (remember, 14 semesters AND a two year mission, I'm old). Questions upon questions upon questions. I can't sleep at night with this uncertainty. I'm trying to form plans, but nothing is coming. I guess I just have to wait and see which doors open, which is scary, because I like to have plans. I like knowing.
One thing is for sure, I need to finish my book. But that will require time, because I refuse to succumb to the current trend of shortness. My book WILL have a long, well-developed plot that is weighty and thought provoking. It will have dynamic characters and a rich world full of cultures and traditions. And it will have magic. The problem that I encounter, though, is that my life is too fractured for me to devote consistent time to finishing it. Classes, homework, dance lessons/practice, dating?, family time, chores, sports on TV, etc. . . all combine to run interference. The best I have been able to do for the last ?? years--an hour here, fifteen minutes there, a little brainstorming in boring classes--isn't anywhere good enough if I want to compete in a fantasy market full of writers like J. K. Rowling, Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson, Tolkien, and so forth, all their billion published copycats, and all the billion unpublished writers who are better than me.
I need structure. I need a house, a cat, a clearly defined writing time, exercise time, and some artistic focus. Help.
That is why I am posting today. To repent, and be human.
As many of you already know, because I've effectively broadcast the fact through Facebook and other assorted mediums, I can GRADUATE NEXT SEMESTER. Some of you are probably shocked at this, but I can assure you, nobody was more surprised by this than myself. There are some things in life that we are certain of. We know that death is certain. Taxes are certain, as the cliche goes. And women will always be veeerrrryyyyy frustrating (to me at least). But college? College is eternal, or so I thought. How rude my awakening has been.
At first I was in denial, I couldn't accept it. And so I tried to discover ways in which I could arrange an extra semester or two (in addition to the 14 semesters I've already taken for my UNDERGRADUATE degree). However, reason must rule, and in the end I can't keep sinking money into the college lifestyle. Now is the time for me to move on, to consolidate a center of power in the real world, from which I can rule all my domains like a medieval warlord (or, buy a house and hopefully write books that get published).
Now that I have accepted my fate, I must bull my way into the necessary classes, all of them, because they are ALL already full. The process, I am sure, will be interesting because they are introducing a new system to add/drop classes for next semester. I will become a master that system by the end of the first day.
However, with the end of my college career before me, the beginning of a new life also looms much too closely for comfort. All sorts of college type questions that I assumed would naturally resolve themselves now lie before me, unresolved. What am I going to do for a career? Where am I going to live? Why are freshman girls nicer to me than the others, and is it acceptable for me to date them? (remember, 14 semesters AND a two year mission, I'm old). Questions upon questions upon questions. I can't sleep at night with this uncertainty. I'm trying to form plans, but nothing is coming. I guess I just have to wait and see which doors open, which is scary, because I like to have plans. I like knowing.
One thing is for sure, I need to finish my book. But that will require time, because I refuse to succumb to the current trend of shortness. My book WILL have a long, well-developed plot that is weighty and thought provoking. It will have dynamic characters and a rich world full of cultures and traditions. And it will have magic. The problem that I encounter, though, is that my life is too fractured for me to devote consistent time to finishing it. Classes, homework, dance lessons/practice, dating?, family time, chores, sports on TV, etc. . . all combine to run interference. The best I have been able to do for the last ?? years--an hour here, fifteen minutes there, a little brainstorming in boring classes--isn't anywhere good enough if I want to compete in a fantasy market full of writers like J. K. Rowling, Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson, Tolkien, and so forth, all their billion published copycats, and all the billion unpublished writers who are better than me.
I need structure. I need a house, a cat, a clearly defined writing time, exercise time, and some artistic focus. Help.
Friday, October 30, 2009
The Gathering Storm
The Wheel of Time has got to be one of the most frustrating series of books ever written. The main reason, of course, is that it's been almost 20 years since the first book was written. And, somewhere between books four and ten the plot became almost too complex and Robert Jordan's writing, so fresh and vivid through the early books, become repetitive. And his women became annoying beyond all reason.
But it's only frustrating because I love these books so much. And I can accept these weaknesses because, besides these few minor flaws, the books are brilliant and compelling. This is my favorite fantasy series in all of contemporary fantasy.
I say all this to illustrate the monumental task given to Brandon Sanderson when Jordan's editor/wife asked Sanderson (due to Jordan's death) to finish the most complex fantasy epic that I know of.
Now with Sanderson we've reached book 12, The Gathering Storm. There are still two books to go, but suddenly the series feels like it's moving again. In fact, I could argue that Sanderson has written book 12 true to Jordan's style while softening the many flaws that were contained in the previous books. In a sense Sanderson could save the series from being overwhelmed by its flaws. (Thank you Brandon Sanderson for not making me read anything about Elayne and limiting the chapters devoted to Perrin and his stupid wife). Things seem a bit more streamlined. Not to say that The Gathering Storm isn't complex. Every chapter seems to be about different characters, but fortunately they all seem to have a purpose. Which hasn't happened so much lately.
I don't know if Sanderson will be able to fully close The Wheel of Time. Jordan had far too many subplots (viewings/dreams/prophesies, etc. . .) for anybody to accomplish that. But, so far, Sanderson has done far better than anybody could have expected. Jordan's editor/wife made the right choice.
But it's only frustrating because I love these books so much. And I can accept these weaknesses because, besides these few minor flaws, the books are brilliant and compelling. This is my favorite fantasy series in all of contemporary fantasy.
I say all this to illustrate the monumental task given to Brandon Sanderson when Jordan's editor/wife asked Sanderson (due to Jordan's death) to finish the most complex fantasy epic that I know of.
Now with Sanderson we've reached book 12, The Gathering Storm. There are still two books to go, but suddenly the series feels like it's moving again. In fact, I could argue that Sanderson has written book 12 true to Jordan's style while softening the many flaws that were contained in the previous books. In a sense Sanderson could save the series from being overwhelmed by its flaws. (Thank you Brandon Sanderson for not making me read anything about Elayne and limiting the chapters devoted to Perrin and his stupid wife). Things seem a bit more streamlined. Not to say that The Gathering Storm isn't complex. Every chapter seems to be about different characters, but fortunately they all seem to have a purpose. Which hasn't happened so much lately.
I don't know if Sanderson will be able to fully close The Wheel of Time. Jordan had far too many subplots (viewings/dreams/prophesies, etc. . .) for anybody to accomplish that. But, so far, Sanderson has done far better than anybody could have expected. Jordan's editor/wife made the right choice.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Do you feel Safer?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Ego, Deflate!!!
I'm sitting in my room reading some workshop pieces for my creative writing class. Today's batch of poems kind of makes me feel ashamed. I suck!
The funny thing. . . here I am critiquing this stuff with comments like "the flow of this poem moves in interesting directions providing the reader with insightful glances into the human condition," and I realized that I don't know what the green blazes I am talking about. I don't even like poetry!
The funny thing. . . here I am critiquing this stuff with comments like "the flow of this poem moves in interesting directions providing the reader with insightful glances into the human condition," and I realized that I don't know what the green blazes I am talking about. I don't even like poetry!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Qualifier
Just as a way of explanation, the previous post, Erato, is a prose poem I wrote for workshopping in my creative writing class. It isn't a confessional in any way. I'm not a bad person. Duck Farts and Redheaded Sluts are alcoholic beverages--I know this from Open Mic Night at the bar in McCarthy, Alaska which serves as the community gathering place for all the 30 residents and 50 or so tourists. Also, Erato is the Greek Muse of lyric poetry.
Anyway, Erato wasn't the best of my poems that I submitted. I thought it was, but everybody seemed to like this one the best.
Wolves
There is a story here. Among the scattered bones and cloying stench of death. The mossy forest floor is a sick yellow underneath a newer carpet of loose hair and bits of decaying flesh. Several fist sized saplings in the area are snapped off, almost waist high. Their remains lie trampled into the moss. He died fighting, this one. A lower jaw bone and a hip socket lie close together. Evidence. A caribou, or a light colored moose. It’s hard to tell without the rest of the skull. There is no need to search for the killer. Just outside the swath of death lie numerous piles of hair-filled feces. Enough to show that a good sized pack of wolves gorged themselves for a day or so.
I wonder, if this was a man, would I stand here so calm among his rotting remains, piecing together the clues of his demise?
I actually didn't really like the way this one turned out.
For all of my readers out there, I am interested in your opinion. Both poems are still in rough draft form, so present me with your thoughts. Which do you like better? What do you like or dislike about these poems? And do you have any suggestions for improvement? Feel free to comment harshly if that is your desire. Thanks!
Anyway, Erato wasn't the best of my poems that I submitted. I thought it was, but everybody seemed to like this one the best.
Wolves
There is a story here. Among the scattered bones and cloying stench of death. The mossy forest floor is a sick yellow underneath a newer carpet of loose hair and bits of decaying flesh. Several fist sized saplings in the area are snapped off, almost waist high. Their remains lie trampled into the moss. He died fighting, this one. A lower jaw bone and a hip socket lie close together. Evidence. A caribou, or a light colored moose. It’s hard to tell without the rest of the skull. There is no need to search for the killer. Just outside the swath of death lie numerous piles of hair-filled feces. Enough to show that a good sized pack of wolves gorged themselves for a day or so.
I wonder, if this was a man, would I stand here so calm among his rotting remains, piecing together the clues of his demise?
I actually didn't really like the way this one turned out.
For all of my readers out there, I am interested in your opinion. Both poems are still in rough draft form, so present me with your thoughts. Which do you like better? What do you like or dislike about these poems? And do you have any suggestions for improvement? Feel free to comment harshly if that is your desire. Thanks!
Monday, September 28, 2009
Erato
Once I had a muse. She lingered in my dreams and fed me lines and lies dipped in honey. Pages and pages I filled with foolish and empty rhetoric on love. I was in love. But once I treated her to a night in the city she vanished among the tangled streets. Without a word. I was left alone under the flashing neon lights, with the sound of sirens singing in my ears. Long nights since I have searched, and searched, for her, and found nothing. Once I thought I found her in a bar on 4th serving duck farts and redheaded sluts over the counter, but the gothic lipstick was wrong. The feeling was wrong. I was wrong. But I took her home anyway. When I woke in the morning blank pages met my eyes, and I could not fill them other than a few constipated and bitter lines. Of truth. Time passes, but I still wake at night tangled in blankets and sweat, clinging to cheap motel pillows, with the echo of her name ringing across the room. Whether a plea or a curse I cannot tell.
~Joseph Devenport
~Joseph Devenport
Sunday, September 20, 2009
My Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week.
Ok, so it really wasn't that bad. Just the ending.
Wednesday--For the first time I am actually in a place where I can watch television for So You Think You Can Dance, because they moved the show to the Fall. Once I found that out I tuned in, by myself, at 7pm for the Phoenix auditions with great expectations. Lame. And worst of all? I experienced, for the first time, a same-sex ballroom dance couple. Call me narrow minded, bigoted, racist, or whatever. Nasty. Insulting to ballroom dance. Boo! And Mary, and Mia (the judges) were getting emotional "you're so courageous," (blah, blah). Go away. On the other hand, there was a girl who had spinal meningitis when she was a baby and was deaf as a result. She danced very well. It was touching.
Thursday--I went to World of Dance with very high expectations. I was disappointed. First of all, no Cougarettes. Second, the Ballroom team, for whom I have much love, was a letdown. The Pirates number was good, but it has always fallen short of the standard set by Cinemagic or some of the other ballroom themes. . .though the very ending is freaking awesome. The Mambo really is kind of bland, and the new rumba falls well short of "If That Were Me"--the song is just really kind of weird (a guy singing that he wants to dance with his father?). Third, the modern dance company did the same routine three different times to the same musical formula, just in different costumes (though they did do really cool things with lighting in the second one). Fourth, I realized that the folk team does the exact same routine every time too, just with different cultural steps and costumes (the women all start out dancing sedately, then the men come in and turn it into a party). Fifth, my favorite number was the last ballet piece. Very funny. Sixth, I had four empty chairs next to me on one side, and an old couple on the other. I felt lonely.
Friday--wasn't that bad. Residual loneliness.
Saturday--BYU lost, badly, to Florida St. AND I had a pounding make-me-want-to-yark headache at the same time. It was fitting, but nobody should have to endure that kind of pain. I had to take TWO doses of Excedrin, that's 128mg of Caffeine, which is why I am still awake blogging.
And that is my horrible, no good, very bad week.
The End.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Ekphrasis
She could be dead, for all we know, lifted up as an offering to the gods. Her eyes are closed and her arms fall behind her, limp, held in place by sinew and bone, but not by the coursing of blood. There is grace in her form that follows the curve of her spine and explodes through the point of her toes. She is beautiful, even in the form of death. Light, almost holy, illuminates her face. If she is dead, she died content, or in love. But the dead often appear so. ~Joseph Devenport
Picture: Darci Kistler and Robert LaFosse by Annie Leibovitz
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Save me From my Torment!
I think all clothing stores should have a little entertainment area with plush leather couches, multiple TV's playing sports, and video game systems galore so that men--who are efficient at shopping--can entertain themselves while the women of their lives try on clothes for hours on end.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Target Acquired?
All I wanted to do was peek through the door to check out this really cute girl I saw. Now I'm her TA.
Does that mean I can't ask her out?
Does that mean I can't ask her out?
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Star Trek
Hooray for the Dollar Theater!!! Now is the time where I catch up on all the cool movies that I missed while I was dwelling in a tent for the summer in the Arctic. First up was Star Trek.
Yes, I think I may be a closet trekkie. No, I don't dress up and act really weird all the time (though secretly I've always thought that would be really fun), but I have watched a good portion of the movies and the original TV series and I must say I do enjoy them. Anyway, I don't know that this whole preface was necessary, but here is one that is (it's from the Onion!)
Trekkies Bash New Star Trek Film As 'Fun, Watchable'
Now, for my official review. . . I don't know what else to say, the movie is fun and watchable. I think one of the appealing factors of the movie was that it really didn't take itself too seriously. There were lots of subtle jabs and over-characterizations that were aimed at the original series. For instance, Captain Kirk spends a great deal of time trying to find out Uhura's first name, which he never does. I don't think she ever even had a first name. . .
I would have liked a bit more character development, since this is the first time we're ever supposed to be meeting them, but that would have added an hour or so to the length of the film. It was also a bit of a stretch that the crew members were all assembled onto the Enterprise all at once. It pretty much comes down to the disaster and then all of the sudden everybody is there, on the Enterprise doing what they have always done.
And what the. . . Karl Urban (Eomer in LOTR) as Bones? He did a good job for the part but I never would have guessed though. Actually, I was very pleased with all of the young talent in this film. All of them were able to capture the essence of the original characters without becoming flat quite well.
Anyway, in short, good film. Just don't sit in the very front row. You might get a bit dizzy.
B+
Yes, I think I may be a closet trekkie. No, I don't dress up and act really weird all the time (though secretly I've always thought that would be really fun), but I have watched a good portion of the movies and the original TV series and I must say I do enjoy them. Anyway, I don't know that this whole preface was necessary, but here is one that is (it's from the Onion!)
Trekkies Bash New Star Trek Film As 'Fun, Watchable'
Now, for my official review. . . I don't know what else to say, the movie is fun and watchable. I think one of the appealing factors of the movie was that it really didn't take itself too seriously. There were lots of subtle jabs and over-characterizations that were aimed at the original series. For instance, Captain Kirk spends a great deal of time trying to find out Uhura's first name, which he never does. I don't think she ever even had a first name. . .
I would have liked a bit more character development, since this is the first time we're ever supposed to be meeting them, but that would have added an hour or so to the length of the film. It was also a bit of a stretch that the crew members were all assembled onto the Enterprise all at once. It pretty much comes down to the disaster and then all of the sudden everybody is there, on the Enterprise doing what they have always done.
And what the. . . Karl Urban (Eomer in LOTR) as Bones? He did a good job for the part but I never would have guessed though. Actually, I was very pleased with all of the young talent in this film. All of them were able to capture the essence of the original characters without becoming flat quite well.
Anyway, in short, good film. Just don't sit in the very front row. You might get a bit dizzy.
B+
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Sunnyside Up
Since I live in an expensive new (to me) apartment with a pool, I decided to go try out the swimming. This was a new experience because apparently people don't really spend that much time swimming in these things. They actually lay around off to the side and get sunburned. And, I might discreetly add that there were several HOTTIES scattered about. So I gave tanning a try. It was interesting, but the whole experience presented a whole new puzzle in the social dilemma for this Alaskan male. How does one flirt/socialize/associate with a girl who is dressed in a tasteful one-piece without coming across badly?
Here's how I envision that they do it in California:
Man approaches woman sunbathing, subtly flexes muscles.
Man: "Just look at my chiseled abs and rippling biceps."
Woman (peering over rim of sunglasses, sighs): "I'm not impressed, but did YOU notice my sun-kissed legs that practically GLOW when they catch the light?"
Me, I mean, Man: ". . . , . . . Yes."
Woman: "Well stop drooling on my legs. I'll have to oil them all over again."
Here's how I envision that they do it in California:Man approaches woman sunbathing, subtly flexes muscles.
Man: "Just look at my chiseled abs and rippling biceps."
Woman (peering over rim of sunglasses, sighs): "I'm not impressed, but did YOU notice my sun-kissed legs that practically GLOW when they catch the light?"
Me, I mean, Man: ". . . , . . . Yes."
Woman: "Well stop drooling on my legs. I'll have to oil them all over again."
Monday, August 31, 2009
Back to School? Already?
So here I am back in Provo, Utah where the ladies fill the sidewalks like King salmon in the Copper River. I feel like one cast with a good lure would net me one, or more! Wow! It’s always a bit of a shock returning here. Life in Alaska is quite different especially considering the nature of the work I do. No offense to any of my coworkers, but their scruffy mugs get a bit tiresome. The ladies here in Provo are infinitely better looking and much, much better smelling. I sit here writing this in the hall of the dance building where an almost never ending flow of female dancers passes by--pretty much the most awesome ladies on campus--anyway, the hall smells quite nice due to the combination of perfumes and lotions. It is good to be back.
Other things are not quite so awesome. As usual dance auditions proved (I just finished them) to be a bit nerve wracking. I managed to stumble through them well enough (surprisingly Latin seemed to be a bit better) so I feel the post-audition relief right now. Hopefully I made it into both classes. I desire to medal in both Gold II Latin and Standard either this semester or next, and if I don’t make it that would throw a serious wrench into my plans. Dance, overall, is a bit of a question mark this year, like this: ??? I honestly feel as if I’m coming to the end of my ballroom dance journey here at BYU, which is sad, because dance has become such a significant part of my life. Unfortunately I now face the reality that graduation is near and I need to focus on a degree--boring I know. I also must eventually accept the fact that I’m not Sergey Surkov; I’m not that great of a dancer, at least competitively, and I don’t have that much of a chance to move up to one of BYU’s touring teams. So, this journey may be nearing the end. All I can say, if this is truly my last year, is that my experience here has been awesome. I’m just happy to have tasted the beauty of ballroom dance. Now I guess I’ll graduate (next year) and return to my post in the mountains of Alaska and become an eccentric, hairy-faced, yet successful writer. Maybe I’ll write about ballroom.
Otherwise, I got into Provo Saturday afternoon and promptly spent the rest of the day transferring all of my belongings, enough to fill a 5x15x10 storage unit, into my new room which is mostly filled by a large queen sized bed--which is magnificent, though it certainly diminishes floor space. My new room is filled to the brim with boxes of books (not surprising, I am an English major), a mountain of clothes (which was a surprise), and piles and piles of junk papers which most people would probably throw away. I am not most people. Still, space requirements and a desire for comfortable living demand that I streamline my accumulated wealth. Hopefully this week I can gather together a large DI pile which will most likely consist of clothes, assorted junk, and, heaven forbid, a book or two. I’ll also try to dispose of my old magazines and maybe some of my junk papers. Maybe I can get rid of my nice pair of winter boots (never worn) which are much too nice for a Utah winter. And I could sort through my movies and remove the ones that I don’t like and the ones that are overtly inappropriate. I don’t want to part with any dishes or anything, in fact, I may need a few new ones. A casserole pan. A good cake pan. Some bowls. I may be able to sell a guitar here in the near future, in need of a guitar tune-up to make it sound right (which I can’t do), but otherwise in sound condition. I have one TV too many, I really don’t need one in my room, though it might be nice from time to time.
Overall, I just need to be more disciplined in life. I need to exercise regularly so I can have bulging biceps and rippling pectorals (I mean, even more than I now have). And I need to start regular scripture study again which I have had a hard time maintaining through the last year and a half because of work and other scheduling issues. I mean, I didn’t even finish reading the book of Matthew this summer. To be fair, it’s not only my scripture study that I have been neglecting, I didn’t finish Jonathan Strange and Dr. Norrell or Thirteen Moons this summer either. And I didn’t even start The Once and Future King or the Silmarillion.
So there they are, my concerns and goals (minus the ones regarding dating, etc. . .) for this coming semester. Let the games begin!
Other things are not quite so awesome. As usual dance auditions proved (I just finished them) to be a bit nerve wracking. I managed to stumble through them well enough (surprisingly Latin seemed to be a bit better) so I feel the post-audition relief right now. Hopefully I made it into both classes. I desire to medal in both Gold II Latin and Standard either this semester or next, and if I don’t make it that would throw a serious wrench into my plans. Dance, overall, is a bit of a question mark this year, like this: ??? I honestly feel as if I’m coming to the end of my ballroom dance journey here at BYU, which is sad, because dance has become such a significant part of my life. Unfortunately I now face the reality that graduation is near and I need to focus on a degree--boring I know. I also must eventually accept the fact that I’m not Sergey Surkov; I’m not that great of a dancer, at least competitively, and I don’t have that much of a chance to move up to one of BYU’s touring teams. So, this journey may be nearing the end. All I can say, if this is truly my last year, is that my experience here has been awesome. I’m just happy to have tasted the beauty of ballroom dance. Now I guess I’ll graduate (next year) and return to my post in the mountains of Alaska and become an eccentric, hairy-faced, yet successful writer. Maybe I’ll write about ballroom.
Otherwise, I got into Provo Saturday afternoon and promptly spent the rest of the day transferring all of my belongings, enough to fill a 5x15x10 storage unit, into my new room which is mostly filled by a large queen sized bed--which is magnificent, though it certainly diminishes floor space. My new room is filled to the brim with boxes of books (not surprising, I am an English major), a mountain of clothes (which was a surprise), and piles and piles of junk papers which most people would probably throw away. I am not most people. Still, space requirements and a desire for comfortable living demand that I streamline my accumulated wealth. Hopefully this week I can gather together a large DI pile which will most likely consist of clothes, assorted junk, and, heaven forbid, a book or two. I’ll also try to dispose of my old magazines and maybe some of my junk papers. Maybe I can get rid of my nice pair of winter boots (never worn) which are much too nice for a Utah winter. And I could sort through my movies and remove the ones that I don’t like and the ones that are overtly inappropriate. I don’t want to part with any dishes or anything, in fact, I may need a few new ones. A casserole pan. A good cake pan. Some bowls. I may be able to sell a guitar here in the near future, in need of a guitar tune-up to make it sound right (which I can’t do), but otherwise in sound condition. I have one TV too many, I really don’t need one in my room, though it might be nice from time to time.
Overall, I just need to be more disciplined in life. I need to exercise regularly so I can have bulging biceps and rippling pectorals (I mean, even more than I now have). And I need to start regular scripture study again which I have had a hard time maintaining through the last year and a half because of work and other scheduling issues. I mean, I didn’t even finish reading the book of Matthew this summer. To be fair, it’s not only my scripture study that I have been neglecting, I didn’t finish Jonathan Strange and Dr. Norrell or Thirteen Moons this summer either. And I didn’t even start The Once and Future King or the Silmarillion.
So there they are, my concerns and goals (minus the ones regarding dating, etc. . .) for this coming semester. Let the games begin!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Summer in Review: Bear Compliance and the Resulting Terror in the Night.
Summer is over. Looking back I can hardly tell where it has all gone. Not that I'm complaining mind you, my bank account is full again and I had a good time. However, it is time now to return to the world populated by people, which brings greater challenges, for me, than this summer has delivered. Still there are a few interesting highlights from this summer that I will share.
Work was more enjoyable this summer, but less rewarding. I know that doesn't make any sense. Hear me out. Early in the summer one of the local powers in the NPS began to initiate some changes in the process of doing things. Going into detail would be as boring for you as it was for me, so I'll try to explain succinctly. In short, my crew was ordered to do more paperwork (less work) and several of the planned work projects were removed from our schedule. Thus the summer was spent doing pointless projects that delivered no
sense of real accomplishment. We spent a lot of time out in the woods this summer, but I feel as if we did very little (as opposed to last summer when we worked our fingers to the bone). Anyway, it was still fun, and I got to see a lot of new country, but there was always a sense of conflict between the actual work crews and the administration. That = LAME.
BEARS were less plentiful than I saw last summer; I only saw one close, one from a medium distance (both black), and two from an airplane (both grizzlies and far away). Anyway, the real story comes from the last month of work. Several weeks ago I was in a crew of three that was sent to a remote pass in the mountains to work on an airstrip. While we were out there a group of five or six, led by a guide, showed up. At first they were friendly, but the next morning they were upset that we were using power tools to work on the runway (a ridiculous and stupid sentiment if you ask me) the guide also snooped around our camp and complained that we weren't "bear compliant." A video was recorded and sent to the local park ranger. While there really was nothing wrong with our camp sight and we were working close enough to it that bears weren't a threat anyway, the complaint put my crew on the radar of the administration. Not a good thing. The week later one of our crew had his gear raided by a grizzly bear as he waited for his flight out of another location. This resulted in another complaint, an official investigation, and an interesting series of lectures presented before my last trip of the summer. The lectures included several thinly veiled threats about job security, several drunk driving analogies, and several references to experiencing the feel of someone else's brains in your hands, oh, and about two hours worth of stories about people getting their chest cavities ripped out, and faces/heads ripped off.
In short, bears are just short of immortal demi-gods who wander the Earth searching for victims. They possess insurmountable strength, keen intelligence, the speed of a car cruising just under the speed limit, and the devil's own temper. Oh yeah, they're bulletproof, and can bite through your skull like a fat boy bites through a German chocolate cake.
After that we were finally provided adequate bear safe food storage (which had not been provided by the admin before and was the core of the issue) and we were sent out into the woods to do what we normally do.
The next evening after a reasonably good day of work we all gathered around our campfire ate dinner and commenced with our evening's conversation. Naturally talk tended to always return to a certain, gory, theme. This conversation lasted for a couple hours as the light gradually faded and grew more and more sinister. At one point several of us heard a strange sound in the distance, but it faded away before the entire group grew silent. I had heard similar sounds emitted by ravens earlier in the summer and said as much. The conversation continued. After a short period of time the sound came again and conversation immediately stopped. It sounded like a person alternately talking and then screaming in the distance. An eerie silence followed and we all looked at each other in confusion. Then in the absolute silence that followed the sound came again, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was a woman screaming in mortified terror and pain. I can still almost hear words in her scream. We all knew, at that moment, that our worst fear were realized. All eight of us sprang into action gathering shotgun, satellite phone, bear mace, and such. At the same time a few people began calling into the stillness trying to establish contact. There was no reply. I have never heard such deathly silence. We broke into groups. Four of us went straight towards where we thought the sound was coming from while the other four (myself included) raced down the only trail in the area on ATVs hoping to intercept anybody that might be in the area (there would be no reason for anybody to leave the trail at this point). Nobody found anything and we never heard the sound again. We all returned to camp, all of us were obviously on edge and creeped out. I was the first to offer an alternate option because I have read that mountain lions sound, at times, exactly like a woman screaming. Only a few people considered this to be a viable option. The chief concern with this was that mountain lions don't live in Alaska, but I was able to dispute this point because I have seen one before (have I told that story). Anyway, gradually my theory won over, and was possibly verified when we heard the sound six days later in the early morning.
Still, none of us slept very well for several days after that.
If it was a mountain lion I have to say that they produce the creepiest and most horrifying sound imaginable to a man. Just think back to any horror movie that you have ever seen and recall the screams of the helpless girl characters that are pulled into the darkness by an unknown terror. It was that scream.
That's right, any demi-god abilities that bears lack, these guys have. They're a blend between ninjas and Nazgul. Just don't pee your pants when you hear one of these scream in the night.
Work was more enjoyable this summer, but less rewarding. I know that doesn't make any sense. Hear me out. Early in the summer one of the local powers in the NPS began to initiate some changes in the process of doing things. Going into detail would be as boring for you as it was for me, so I'll try to explain succinctly. In short, my crew was ordered to do more paperwork (less work) and several of the planned work projects were removed from our schedule. Thus the summer was spent doing pointless projects that delivered no
sense of real accomplishment. We spent a lot of time out in the woods this summer, but I feel as if we did very little (as opposed to last summer when we worked our fingers to the bone). Anyway, it was still fun, and I got to see a lot of new country, but there was always a sense of conflict between the actual work crews and the administration. That = LAME.
BEARS were less plentiful than I saw last summer; I only saw one close, one from a medium distance (both black), and two from an airplane (both grizzlies and far away). Anyway, the real story comes from the last month of work. Several weeks ago I was in a crew of three that was sent to a remote pass in the mountains to work on an airstrip. While we were out there a group of five or six, led by a guide, showed up. At first they were friendly, but the next morning they were upset that we were using power tools to work on the runway (a ridiculous and stupid sentiment if you ask me) the guide also snooped around our camp and complained that we weren't "bear compliant." A video was recorded and sent to the local park ranger. While there really was nothing wrong with our camp sight and we were working close enough to it that bears weren't a threat anyway, the complaint put my crew on the radar of the administration. Not a good thing. The week later one of our crew had his gear raided by a grizzly bear as he waited for his flight out of another location. This resulted in another complaint, an official investigation, and an interesting series of lectures presented before my last trip of the summer. The lectures included several thinly veiled threats about job security, several drunk driving analogies, and several references to experiencing the feel of someone else's brains in your hands, oh, and about two hours worth of stories about people getting their chest cavities ripped out, and faces/heads ripped off.
In short, bears are just short of immortal demi-gods who wander the Earth searching for victims. They possess insurmountable strength, keen intelligence, the speed of a car cruising just under the speed limit, and the devil's own temper. Oh yeah, they're bulletproof, and can bite through your skull like a fat boy bites through a German chocolate cake.After that we were finally provided adequate bear safe food storage (which had not been provided by the admin before and was the core of the issue) and we were sent out into the woods to do what we normally do.
The next evening after a reasonably good day of work we all gathered around our campfire ate dinner and commenced with our evening's conversation. Naturally talk tended to always return to a certain, gory, theme. This conversation lasted for a couple hours as the light gradually faded and grew more and more sinister. At one point several of us heard a strange sound in the distance, but it faded away before the entire group grew silent. I had heard similar sounds emitted by ravens earlier in the summer and said as much. The conversation continued. After a short period of time the sound came again and conversation immediately stopped. It sounded like a person alternately talking and then screaming in the distance. An eerie silence followed and we all looked at each other in confusion. Then in the absolute silence that followed the sound came again, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was a woman screaming in mortified terror and pain. I can still almost hear words in her scream. We all knew, at that moment, that our worst fear were realized. All eight of us sprang into action gathering shotgun, satellite phone, bear mace, and such. At the same time a few people began calling into the stillness trying to establish contact. There was no reply. I have never heard such deathly silence. We broke into groups. Four of us went straight towards where we thought the sound was coming from while the other four (myself included) raced down the only trail in the area on ATVs hoping to intercept anybody that might be in the area (there would be no reason for anybody to leave the trail at this point). Nobody found anything and we never heard the sound again. We all returned to camp, all of us were obviously on edge and creeped out. I was the first to offer an alternate option because I have read that mountain lions sound, at times, exactly like a woman screaming. Only a few people considered this to be a viable option. The chief concern with this was that mountain lions don't live in Alaska, but I was able to dispute this point because I have seen one before (have I told that story). Anyway, gradually my theory won over, and was possibly verified when we heard the sound six days later in the early morning.
Still, none of us slept very well for several days after that.
If it was a mountain lion I have to say that they produce the creepiest and most horrifying sound imaginable to a man. Just think back to any horror movie that you have ever seen and recall the screams of the helpless girl characters that are pulled into the darkness by an unknown terror. It was that scream.
That's right, any demi-god abilities that bears lack, these guys have. They're a blend between ninjas and Nazgul. Just don't pee your pants when you hear one of these scream in the night.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Another Gem from the Onion
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Man vs. Nature
I just had a really odd Alaskan experience I thought I'd share.
So, the toilet in my cabin doesn't work. Luckily, there is a plethora of trees available as ready replacements for the crown jewel of indoor plumbing. Tonight as I found myself watering something of a willow variety I heard something bounding through the brush towards me. I looked up, expecting a frolicking bear cub (reported as nearby earlier in the day), and had several visions of how awkward it would be to be mauled by a mama bear while answering the call of nature. I quickly recognized that the source of the sound was nothing nearly as dangerous, it was only a baby rabbit about the size of a junior sized football. But it was running straight for me. The image imprinted on my mind was rather odd. The rabbit was running through a corridor trees that gave the same impression that one would have standing in the middle of a railroad track while watching a train approach. And apparently the rabbit was running on tracks too, because it it bounded towards me looking neither left nor right, not a care in the world. Just a rabbit out for his evening jog with the iPod blaring.
I kid you not, I could have soaked that little furball if I had wanted, he just about soaked himself, but I'm a kind soul and I let him pass. He pulled a u-turn around me and ran back into the woods. I don't think he ever recognized that I was anything but an odd looking tree.
I thought it was funny.
So, the toilet in my cabin doesn't work. Luckily, there is a plethora of trees available as ready replacements for the crown jewel of indoor plumbing. Tonight as I found myself watering something of a willow variety I heard something bounding through the brush towards me. I looked up, expecting a frolicking bear cub (reported as nearby earlier in the day), and had several visions of how awkward it would be to be mauled by a mama bear while answering the call of nature. I quickly recognized that the source of the sound was nothing nearly as dangerous, it was only a baby rabbit about the size of a junior sized football. But it was running straight for me. The image imprinted on my mind was rather odd. The rabbit was running through a corridor trees that gave the same impression that one would have standing in the middle of a railroad track while watching a train approach. And apparently the rabbit was running on tracks too, because it it bounded towards me looking neither left nor right, not a care in the world. Just a rabbit out for his evening jog with the iPod blaring.
I kid you not, I could have soaked that little furball if I had wanted, he just about soaked himself, but I'm a kind soul and I let him pass. He pulled a u-turn around me and ran back into the woods. I don't think he ever recognized that I was anything but an odd looking tree.
I thought it was funny.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
I wish I had this in my Arsenal!
This splendid video from the Onion sufficiently appeals to my sense of humor. Enjoy.
Obama Axes Pentagon Plan To Build Billion Dollar Tank In Shape Of Dragon
While this video is satirizing several films, it is also subtly addressing the issue of Obama's decision to end production of the F-22 (it probably is also satirizing the F-22 itself). Bad move. With all the ridiculous things he IS spending money on, why does he decide to quit the production of the ultimate fighter jet in the world? I have a feeling we're going to be wanting those 150 F-22's that were canceled in the future. We'll be wanting this dragon tank as well.
Obama Axes Pentagon Plan To Build Billion Dollar Tank In Shape Of Dragon
While this video is satirizing several films, it is also subtly addressing the issue of Obama's decision to end production of the F-22 (it probably is also satirizing the F-22 itself). Bad move. With all the ridiculous things he IS spending money on, why does he decide to quit the production of the ultimate fighter jet in the world? I have a feeling we're going to be wanting those 150 F-22's that were canceled in the future. We'll be wanting this dragon tank as well.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Painted on my Heart
Meet Ernest (13), Talauna (11), Carlita (7), and Demetrius (4), the newest members of the Devenport family. I don't want to get into to much detail, but these kids have essentially been abandoned by both of their parents. So here they are, living with my family, because my parents are noble like that.
I don't know how long they'll be staying with us. But they definitely show signs of needing a stable home. This whole experience has illustrated to me that the greatest tragedy of our superficial and selfish society is the children who grow up in broken families--who then grow up according to the example of their parents.
Children should not be subjected to the pain that results from the betrayal of their parents.
That's why it hurts me when Demetrius comes running up to me all excited because he saw his mom and she gave him a Transformer. . .
All I can think is "Kid, your mom is running away from you. The price of that toy seems to be the limit of her love."
Monday, July 20, 2009
I'm still Alive
I know I've been slacking over the last couple weeks as far as blogging goes. This isn't entirely my fault because I've only been home for one day in that time period--spent babysitting neglected children (more later)--in essence I'm giving a valid excuse for my neglect.
Unfortunately, I only have two days before I depart again for another trip, so I'm not going to get anything really substantial posted before I leave again. I may do something later today or tomorrow, but I have several subjects brewing in my mind that may require a bit more effort and eloquence than I can generate right now.
So here are a few pictures from the last couple weeks of working in the Alaskan wilderness to tide you over until I get my act together again.
The beautiful pastel colors of an Alaskan night.
An eagle chillin' in a tree--hard to get a good picture of while bobbing up and down.
Childs Glacier calves right into the Copper River. We saw some pretty massive ones, but I never got a good picture.
A forest fire producing a nice hazy effect and a red-ish sun.
A small glacier up in the mountains.
An Alaskan fish wheel. This one is pretty hardcore, four baskets?
The crossing of Miles Lake. It looks lonely. It was.
A public use cabin I helped build (in four days) at Caribou Creek.
Early morning fog on the Copper.
Some mountains along the Copper River.
Unfortunately, I only have two days before I depart again for another trip, so I'm not going to get anything really substantial posted before I leave again. I may do something later today or tomorrow, but I have several subjects brewing in my mind that may require a bit more effort and eloquence than I can generate right now.
So here are a few pictures from the last couple weeks of working in the Alaskan wilderness to tide you over until I get my act together again.
The beautiful pastel colors of an Alaskan night.
An eagle chillin' in a tree--hard to get a good picture of while bobbing up and down.
Childs Glacier calves right into the Copper River. We saw some pretty massive ones, but I never got a good picture.
A forest fire producing a nice hazy effect and a red-ish sun.
A small glacier up in the mountains.
An Alaskan fish wheel. This one is pretty hardcore, four baskets?
The crossing of Miles Lake. It looks lonely. It was.
A public use cabin I helped build (in four days) at Caribou Creek.
Early morning fog on the Copper.
Some mountains along the Copper River.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Letter from a humble citizen
Dear President Obama,
In the light of your recent declaration of the month of June as Lesbian, Gay, and/or Trans-gender month I have the following suggestion for the month of July. In light of the great work done for our country by "Adulterers" I submit that the month of July be devoted to a celebration of their contributions to American society (here I could drop some prominent names that have cropped up in the news recently). This declaration of July as "Adultery" month would help unite American society against the vicious, unethical and negative stigmatization that are heaped upon Adulterers by the religious members of American society. And blah, blah, blah, so forth. . .
Thank-you President Obama for all that good things that you have done with your presidency so far.
The End.
In the light of your recent declaration of the month of June as Lesbian, Gay, and/or Trans-gender month I have the following suggestion for the month of July. In light of the great work done for our country by "Adulterers" I submit that the month of July be devoted to a celebration of their contributions to American society (here I could drop some prominent names that have cropped up in the news recently). This declaration of July as "Adultery" month would help unite American society against the vicious, unethical and negative stigmatization that are heaped upon Adulterers by the religious members of American society. And blah, blah, blah, so forth. . .
Thank-you President Obama for all that good things that you have done with your presidency so far.
The End.
This is America?
June 15, 2009
MEMORANDUM
To: All DOI Employees
From: Kathleen J.H. Wheeler (Signed)
Acting Deputy Assistant Secretary – Human Capital, Performance and
Partnerships
Subject: DOI EVENT – Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month 2009
The Department of the Interior (DOI) joins the Nation in observing the month of June as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Pride Month. During Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month, the contributions of LGBT Americans are remembered and acknowledged.
As stated in the attached Presidential Proclamation, “LGBT Americans have made, and continue to make, great and lasting contributions that continue to strengthen the fabric of American society. There are many well-respected LGBT leaders in all professional fields, including the arts and business communities.”
Bureaus and Offices are encouraged to conduct activities across the country in observance of LGBT Pride Month. Managers and supervisors are encouraged to participate and encourage the participation of their employees in programs and activities in observance of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Pride Month.
Attachment
___________________________________________________________
For Immediate Release June 1, 2009
LESBIAN, GAY, BISEXUAL, AND TRANSGENDER PRIDE MONTH, 2009
- - - - - - -
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A PROCLAMATION
Forty years ago, patrons and supporters of the Stonewall Inn in New York City resisted police harassment that had become all too common for members of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community. Out of this resistance, the LGBT rights movement in America was born. During LGBT Pride Month, we commemorate the events of June 1969 and commit to achieving equal justice under law for LGBT Americans.
LGBT Americans have made, and continue to make, great and lasting contributions that continue to strengthen the fabric of American society. There are many well-respected LGBT leaders in all professional fields, including the arts and business communities. LGBT Americans also mobilized the Nation to respond to the domestic HIV/AIDS epidemic and have played a vital role in broadening this country's response to the HIV pandemic.
Due in no small part to the determination and dedication of the LGBT rights movement, more LGBT Americans are living their lives openly today than ever before. I am proud to be the first President to appoint openly LGBT candidates to Senate-confirmed positions in the first 100 days of an Administration. These individuals embody the best qualities we seek in public servants, and across my Administration -- in both the White House and the Federal agencies -- openly LGBT employees are doing their jobs with distinction and professionalism.
The LGBT rights movement has achieved great progress, but there is more work to be done. LGBT youth should feel safe to learn without the fear of harassment, and LGBT families and seniors should be allowed to live their lives with dignity and respect.
My Administration has partnered with the LGBT community to advance a wide range of initiatives. At the international level, I have joined efforts at the United Nations to decriminalize homosexuality around the world. Here at home, I continue to support measures to bring the full spectrum of equal rights to LGBT Americans. These measures include enhancing hate crimes laws, supporting civil unions and Federal rights for LGBT couples, outlawing discrimination in the workplace, ensuring adoption rights, and ending the existing "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy in a way that strengthens our Armed Forces and our national security. We must also commit ourselves to fighting the HIV/AIDS epidemic by both reducing the number of HIV infections and providing care and support services to people living with HIV/AIDS across the United States.
These issues affect not only the LGBT community, but also our entire Nation. As long as the promise of equality for all remains unfulfilled, all Americans are affected. If we can work together to advance the principles upon which our Nation was founded, every American will benefit. During LGBT Pride Month, I call upon the LGBT community, the Congress, and the American people to work together to promote equal rights for all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.
NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim June 2009 as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month. I call upon the people of the United States to turn back discrimination and prejudice everywhere it exists.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this first day of June, in the year of our Lord two thousand nine, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and thirty-third.
BARACK OBAMA
MEMORANDUM
To: All DOI Employees
From: Kathleen J.H. Wheeler (Signed)
Acting Deputy Assistant Secretary – Human Capital, Performance and
Partnerships
Subject: DOI EVENT – Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month 2009
The Department of the Interior (DOI) joins the Nation in observing the month of June as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Pride Month. During Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month, the contributions of LGBT Americans are remembered and acknowledged.
As stated in the attached Presidential Proclamation, “LGBT Americans have made, and continue to make, great and lasting contributions that continue to strengthen the fabric of American society. There are many well-respected LGBT leaders in all professional fields, including the arts and business communities.”
Bureaus and Offices are encouraged to conduct activities across the country in observance of LGBT Pride Month. Managers and supervisors are encouraged to participate and encourage the participation of their employees in programs and activities in observance of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Pride Month.
Attachment
___________________________________________________________
For Immediate Release June 1, 2009
LESBIAN, GAY, BISEXUAL, AND TRANSGENDER PRIDE MONTH, 2009
- - - - - - -
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A PROCLAMATION
Forty years ago, patrons and supporters of the Stonewall Inn in New York City resisted police harassment that had become all too common for members of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community. Out of this resistance, the LGBT rights movement in America was born. During LGBT Pride Month, we commemorate the events of June 1969 and commit to achieving equal justice under law for LGBT Americans.
LGBT Americans have made, and continue to make, great and lasting contributions that continue to strengthen the fabric of American society. There are many well-respected LGBT leaders in all professional fields, including the arts and business communities. LGBT Americans also mobilized the Nation to respond to the domestic HIV/AIDS epidemic and have played a vital role in broadening this country's response to the HIV pandemic.
Due in no small part to the determination and dedication of the LGBT rights movement, more LGBT Americans are living their lives openly today than ever before. I am proud to be the first President to appoint openly LGBT candidates to Senate-confirmed positions in the first 100 days of an Administration. These individuals embody the best qualities we seek in public servants, and across my Administration -- in both the White House and the Federal agencies -- openly LGBT employees are doing their jobs with distinction and professionalism.
The LGBT rights movement has achieved great progress, but there is more work to be done. LGBT youth should feel safe to learn without the fear of harassment, and LGBT families and seniors should be allowed to live their lives with dignity and respect.
My Administration has partnered with the LGBT community to advance a wide range of initiatives. At the international level, I have joined efforts at the United Nations to decriminalize homosexuality around the world. Here at home, I continue to support measures to bring the full spectrum of equal rights to LGBT Americans. These measures include enhancing hate crimes laws, supporting civil unions and Federal rights for LGBT couples, outlawing discrimination in the workplace, ensuring adoption rights, and ending the existing "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy in a way that strengthens our Armed Forces and our national security. We must also commit ourselves to fighting the HIV/AIDS epidemic by both reducing the number of HIV infections and providing care and support services to people living with HIV/AIDS across the United States.
These issues affect not only the LGBT community, but also our entire Nation. As long as the promise of equality for all remains unfulfilled, all Americans are affected. If we can work together to advance the principles upon which our Nation was founded, every American will benefit. During LGBT Pride Month, I call upon the LGBT community, the Congress, and the American people to work together to promote equal rights for all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.
NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim June 2009 as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month. I call upon the people of the United States to turn back discrimination and prejudice everywhere it exists.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this first day of June, in the year of our Lord two thousand nine, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and thirty-third.
BARACK OBAMA
Friday, June 19, 2009
Another Political Rant
So here I am meandering my way around the internet, scrolling through current headlines to keep abreast of the current events of this troubled world. What would you guess I found?
This heartwarming story about the Obama's dog.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090619/ap_on_go_pr_wh/us_white_house_dog_card
What a joke.
It is completely ridiculous how the media fawns over president Obama. He's the knight in shining armor, the "ninja" president (because he killed a fly on television to which PETA issues a mild disappointment. . .PETA? MILD???)
Nothing Obama does, according to the media is wrong. If President Bush had killed a fly on national television PETA would have crucified him. But no, the media celebrates it.
Unfortunately the only way to put a positive spin on Obama as a president is to gloss over his spending policies, his federalization of private businesses (GMC), and all sorts of other sordid and ineffectual liberal policies.
When Bush was president, I don't remember any cutesy stories about his dog's baseball cards.
*Speaking of PETA, their latest push to rename fish "sea kittens" is quite laughable. Apparently, nobody would want to eat something with such a cute name. Look at their website and laugh until you can laugh no more. What morons!
This heartwarming story about the Obama's dog.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090619/ap_on_go_pr_wh/us_white_house_dog_card
What a joke.
It is completely ridiculous how the media fawns over president Obama. He's the knight in shining armor, the "ninja" president (because he killed a fly on television to which PETA issues a mild disappointment. . .PETA? MILD???)
Nothing Obama does, according to the media is wrong. If President Bush had killed a fly on national television PETA would have crucified him. But no, the media celebrates it.
Unfortunately the only way to put a positive spin on Obama as a president is to gloss over his spending policies, his federalization of private businesses (GMC), and all sorts of other sordid and ineffectual liberal policies.
When Bush was president, I don't remember any cutesy stories about his dog's baseball cards.
*Speaking of PETA, their latest push to rename fish "sea kittens" is quite laughable. Apparently, nobody would want to eat something with such a cute name. Look at their website and laugh until you can laugh no more. What morons!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Friday, June 05, 2009
Normal Mormon Husbands
This guy is pretty funny.
www.mormonhusbands.blogspot.com
(There's a working link in my blogroll)
www.mormonhusbands.blogspot.com
(There's a working link in my blogroll)
Friday, May 22, 2009
Band of the Week
I've come across a pretty cool Gothic band, along the lines of Evanescence or Lacuna Coil. They're called Within Temptation. Songs to check out are "Memories," and "What Have you Done."
I like them because of the contrast of dark, chunky electric guitars countered by the ethereal clarity of a female voice.
Yes, I know they look kind of scary.
I like them because of the contrast of dark, chunky electric guitars countered by the ethereal clarity of a female voice.
Yes, I know they look kind of scary.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Rehab. . .
I've been thinking, now that I've gone home for the summer and have much more time on my hands at the end of the day, but thinking is about as far as I have gotten. I have a myriad of ideas swirling around in my head, but every time I try to sit down and put them to paper I encounter a severe lack of energy and ability to do so. This isn't something new, but I've only now been able to analyze it. This isn't a normal case of writer's block. It's something deeper; not case of not being able to find the right words, but the lack of ability to even reach the source for words. I've lost my creative energy. I pick up my guitar, maybe with the intent to find something, a little solace perhaps, but after a few cursory pickings I find that I have no feeling for the music and I can't go on. I put the guitar down. The same happens at the keyboard and anywhere else that I used to find a creative outlet.
I happened upon what I think is the problem while listening to "Rehab" by Rihanna. This is a line from the chorus, "It's like I've checked into rehab, and baby you're my disease." The idea here, obviously, is that love is like a drug. And somehow, for a brief moment in time, all the connections fell into place. . . I'm craving this "drug." It doesn't make as much sense now, as I'm musing about how to express things on a public forum, but it made at least somewhat of an impact. The problem is that I'm drug free--I don't have Rihanna's disease, and I've never had it.
I think what it comes down to is that I'm a bit of a romantic--which might come as a surprise to some. All through high school and early college the source of my creative inspiration was the idea of being in love. And there were a lot of girls who crossed my path who were beautiful enough to provide me with the illusion of just that. My creativity was fueled by the color of their expressive eyes, the slight hint of a smile, or an honest laugh.
But that energy source has faded. I have not been enthralled, for lack of a better word, in quite some time. I'm growing older, more bitter and jaded, discouraged even, because my illusion of romantic love is fading. And that is the source of my creative woes. I have no muse.
All the great artists and writers, that I can think of, made some form of tribute to their "muse." That means that if I want to be a great artist/writer, then I need to find one, and soon.
. . .Of course, the Phantom had a good muse, and he got really creepy.
Here's (not a link) Rihanna's music video for "Rehab" which I think is pretty cool*.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWqvMtSga8M
*It's a typical music video with a scantily clad woman (Rihanna), motorcycles, a classic car, Justin Timberlake, and lots of PDA.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Sharpshooter
I completed shotgun training for my summer employment last week and it went considerably better than last year. I got 10/10 which was the best score out of everybody in the class (except for a grizzled old timer who also got 10/10). It's kind of surprising, I really don't shoot much compared to most Alaskans, and this was really only my third time ever shooting a shotgun--the other two being last year's training. When the instructor of the course saw my grouping he said that I should be on a shooting team. I did have a nice group, by the end I was just shooting through a large hole in the center of the target. Hmmmm. . . third time with a shotgun, ever.
Yes, for those of you who envision otherwise, it might come as a surprise that I don't greet strangers at the door with my shotgun in their face. I may come across as being a crusty mountain man at times, but I really don't dislike company enough that I would ever greet people at gunpoint.
Which brings me to my next point, kind of. I can't find ammunition anywhere in Alaska. I have a brand spankin' new gun that I want to take to the range, and I can't find any bullets for it. All of the shelves in Alaska are bare. I guess it's because people here are still panicking over the fear that Obama is going to restrict gun rights--which I totally understand. But it's frustrating; I want to go shooting and I can't. It's all Obama's fault.
Yes, for those of you who envision otherwise, it might come as a surprise that I don't greet strangers at the door with my shotgun in their face. I may come across as being a crusty mountain man at times, but I really don't dislike company enough that I would ever greet people at gunpoint.
Which brings me to my next point, kind of. I can't find ammunition anywhere in Alaska. I have a brand spankin' new gun that I want to take to the range, and I can't find any bullets for it. All of the shelves in Alaska are bare. I guess it's because people here are still panicking over the fear that Obama is going to restrict gun rights--which I totally understand. But it's frustrating; I want to go shooting and I can't. It's all Obama's fault.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Oddly Enough. . .
It's kind of strange, but I've come to realize that I kind of missed the ribald humor of my summer work crew. And, oddly enough, I find the down to earth life of a blue collar American worker to be a strange relief from the intellectual labors of a collegiate education.
Monday, April 27, 2009
The Moose and the Duck
Life has been rather hectic lately as I tried to orchestrate the end of my semester (finals, papers, etc. . .) with moving my years of accumulated junk into storage. As a result, I was looking forward to the calming effect of returning to my native land where I could be one with the elements. For the most part, I'm recuperating quite nicely. . .I went to work today, rode a snowmachine, got sun/snow burned, and lifted heavy items on ice and mud. It was good.
However, not all about returning home has been inspiring. There are some things about Glennallen, Alaska that I tend to forget a bit too easily against the grandeur of the raw wilderness that has so imprinted itself in my character. I was rudely awakened to this when I attended a "concert" that my brother was participating in.
First of all I should point out that my brother is a musical genius. All of my siblings and I have accomplished some degree of proficiency in music, but my brother puts us all to shame--if only he had the work ethic to equal his talent.
With that said, the "instructor" of music for this "concert" was the best musician Glennallen could offer. He's a man who is so convinced of his own genius, that he falls short of intelligence.
The concert was embarrassing.
To fully understand the scope of embarrassing I shall explain the song--composed by the instructor and performed by his After School Honor Choir--called, "The Moose and the Duck."
It goes like this:
Unnghhhhhhhh, Unnnnnghhhhhhhh
Quack Quack
Unnnghhhhhhhh, Unghhhhhhh, Unnnnnngggggghhhhhhhhh
Quack Quack, Quack, Quack
Uuuuuunnnnnnnnngghhhhhhhhhhhhhhgghhnnnnnghghghghghgh
QuackQuackQuackQuackQuackQuackQuack
And so forth, for several moments with the instructor waving his arms as if he is conducting the London Philharmonic Orchestra. And he's serious. This is something being performed for the community. . . it's not a warm up exercise.
And there's my brother--musical genius that he is--sitting in the back of the choir, tall, gangly, with long rebellious-musician hair, grunting like a moose in mating season.
I am so embarrassed, and so sad. And I kind of want to move back to Provo.
However, not all about returning home has been inspiring. There are some things about Glennallen, Alaska that I tend to forget a bit too easily against the grandeur of the raw wilderness that has so imprinted itself in my character. I was rudely awakened to this when I attended a "concert" that my brother was participating in.
First of all I should point out that my brother is a musical genius. All of my siblings and I have accomplished some degree of proficiency in music, but my brother puts us all to shame--if only he had the work ethic to equal his talent.
With that said, the "instructor" of music for this "concert" was the best musician Glennallen could offer. He's a man who is so convinced of his own genius, that he falls short of intelligence.
The concert was embarrassing.
To fully understand the scope of embarrassing I shall explain the song--composed by the instructor and performed by his After School Honor Choir--called, "The Moose and the Duck."
It goes like this:
Unnghhhhhhhh, Unnnnnghhhhhhhh
Quack Quack
Unnnghhhhhhhh, Unghhhhhhh, Unnnnnngggggghhhhhhhhh
Quack Quack, Quack, Quack
Uuuuuunnnnnnnnngghhhhhhhhhhhhhhgghhnnnnnghghghghghgh
QuackQuackQuackQuackQuackQuackQuack
And so forth, for several moments with the instructor waving his arms as if he is conducting the London Philharmonic Orchestra. And he's serious. This is something being performed for the community. . . it's not a warm up exercise.
And there's my brother--musical genius that he is--sitting in the back of the choir, tall, gangly, with long rebellious-musician hair, grunting like a moose in mating season.
I am so embarrassed, and so sad. And I kind of want to move back to Provo.
Attention All Extroverts
This article (thanks Ransom) explains, quite well, the dilemma that faces the introverts of the world. Extroverts should be required to read this:
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200303/rauch
(Sorry, my link thing doesn't seem to be working. Anybody care to explain what the problem might be?)
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200303/rauch
(Sorry, my link thing doesn't seem to be working. Anybody care to explain what the problem might be?)
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
When did this Storm Begin*
Today was the last day of classes but I am numb to any real sense of relief. I think I'm just so exhausted that it has yet to register in my mind that I am almost free. The last week has been pretty intense. . .
Dance Concert was awesome. The End. On the flip side, it took a great deal of energy with all of the extra rehearsals, and it consumed my entire week.
Thus I found myself desperately trying to finish a paper Sunday afternoon--which I didn't quit working on until almost 6am Monday morning, and it still wasn't finished. I then had to get out of bed at 7:30am to go about my day. I then spent till 2am Tuesday morning finishing the stupid thing. . .Blah!
You can understand why I might have been a little loopy over the last couple days.
Oh, and for three consecutive Tuesdays now I have been awarded some sort of ticket. The first two were parking tickets, but tonight I got pulled over (I was speeding). This isn't a good trend. It makes me feel like there is a change in the wind. . . before this I have never actually received a ticket, and now three in a row. Bam, bam, BAM! Lady Luck seems to have deserted me. . .
Maybe, if I go to bed right now, I will get more than three or four hours of sleep tonight. That would be a welcome change.
*Title of a new Shiny Toy Guns Song
Dance Concert was awesome. The End. On the flip side, it took a great deal of energy with all of the extra rehearsals, and it consumed my entire week.
Thus I found myself desperately trying to finish a paper Sunday afternoon--which I didn't quit working on until almost 6am Monday morning, and it still wasn't finished. I then had to get out of bed at 7:30am to go about my day. I then spent till 2am Tuesday morning finishing the stupid thing. . .Blah!
You can understand why I might have been a little loopy over the last couple days.
Oh, and for three consecutive Tuesdays now I have been awarded some sort of ticket. The first two were parking tickets, but tonight I got pulled over (I was speeding). This isn't a good trend. It makes me feel like there is a change in the wind. . . before this I have never actually received a ticket, and now three in a row. Bam, bam, BAM! Lady Luck seems to have deserted me. . .
Maybe, if I go to bed right now, I will get more than three or four hours of sleep tonight. That would be a welcome change.
*Title of a new Shiny Toy Guns Song
Saturday, April 11, 2009
What is a Man?
Once again I'm posting something from somewhere else. I swear, I'll start writing stuff again once I'm not so dad-gum busy. . .
This was amusing, but also rings very true. The miter saw line is awesome!
http://dating.personals.yahoo.com/singles/datingtips/88036/dating-question-what-is-a-man;_ylc=X3oDMTJzbzEwODFzBF9TAzI3MTYxNDkEX3MDMjE0MjE2ODk4MARrA3doYXQgaXMgbWFuBHNlYwNmcF90b2RheQRzbGsDZGF0aW5nLXF1ZXN0aW9uLXdoYXQtaXMtYS1tYW4EenoDYWJj
This was amusing, but also rings very true. The miter saw line is awesome!
http://dating.personals.yahoo.com/singles/datingtips/88036/dating-question-what-is-a-man;_ylc=X3oDMTJzbzEwODFzBF9TAzI3MTYxNDkEX3MDMjE0MjE2ODk4MARrA3doYXQgaXMgbWFuBHNlYwNmcF90b2RheQRzbGsDZGF0aW5nLXF1ZXN0aW9uLXdoYXQtaXMtYS1tYW4EenoDYWJj
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Macbeth Review
The number and style of Shakespeare adaptations are virtually endless so it really isn’t surprising that a “Mormonized” version of Macbeth would eventually arrive. This particular version, directed by Barta Heiner, takes place within the realm of the Book of Mormon--with Mayan architecture and cultural symbology. Heiner justifies her adaptation by pointing out the “striking similarities between the characters in Macbeth and the people and the signs of evil that are documented in the Book of Mormon” (Director’s note, program). That may be true, but unfortunately that doesn’t translate into a good adaptation. Changing the costumes and altering the names of the characters and places does not make an adaptation. While there is potential in Heiner’s approach, the transformation is incomplete. The result is a production that is at war with itself. On one side is the production design and on the other is the text. As a result, the audience never melds with the production because they can never fully believe in the setting or the dialogue.
Part of that problem stems from the weakness of the production design itself. At first the set is interesting, consisting of large Mayan pillars that form a semicircle around the stage which has three large “fire pits” on an elevated platform. But as the play plows forward the static set becomes a liability; there are only so many times that actors can interact with a fire pit without becoming redundant. The set also lacks adequate acoustic accommodation, thus forcing the actors to expend effort into projecting their voices which limits the possibility of dynamic character portrayal.
The costumes of this production are also a weakness, lacking authenticity. Most feel as if they were pulled from a mismatched pile of garb found at DI; like the garish robes of children playing dress-up. Judging by audience reaction, the best costumes of the night entailed a group of shirtless men with large muscles, which drew audible admiration from the ladies present.
On the positive side, the cast invested themselves into their roles and delivered solid performances, even with the difficulties involving the production design. The best performances were from the actresses playing the Wayward (Weird) Sisters. These scenes were able to transcend the conflict inherent within the adaptation because the idea of witches is so universal that the conflict in the setting and language disappeared. Randy King’s performance as the porter also deserves mention because it displayed the humor found within Shakespeare’s writing through King’s lively delivery. Other positives include the battle scenes, which were energetic and entertaining, and the sound and lighting, which delivered an excellent ambiance for a Shakespearian tragedy.
Normally I would commend a director for staying true to Shakespeare’s text, but in this case it was a mistake. If Barta Heiner wanted to do a Book of Mormon version of Macbeth, a greater gamble should have been taken to develop a script that would incorporate Book of Mormon language and themes. Otherwise she should have stuck to Shakespeare’s original formula, which is never a wrong move.
--J.A. Devenport
Part of that problem stems from the weakness of the production design itself. At first the set is interesting, consisting of large Mayan pillars that form a semicircle around the stage which has three large “fire pits” on an elevated platform. But as the play plows forward the static set becomes a liability; there are only so many times that actors can interact with a fire pit without becoming redundant. The set also lacks adequate acoustic accommodation, thus forcing the actors to expend effort into projecting their voices which limits the possibility of dynamic character portrayal.
The costumes of this production are also a weakness, lacking authenticity. Most feel as if they were pulled from a mismatched pile of garb found at DI; like the garish robes of children playing dress-up. Judging by audience reaction, the best costumes of the night entailed a group of shirtless men with large muscles, which drew audible admiration from the ladies present.
On the positive side, the cast invested themselves into their roles and delivered solid performances, even with the difficulties involving the production design. The best performances were from the actresses playing the Wayward (Weird) Sisters. These scenes were able to transcend the conflict inherent within the adaptation because the idea of witches is so universal that the conflict in the setting and language disappeared. Randy King’s performance as the porter also deserves mention because it displayed the humor found within Shakespeare’s writing through King’s lively delivery. Other positives include the battle scenes, which were energetic and entertaining, and the sound and lighting, which delivered an excellent ambiance for a Shakespearian tragedy.
Normally I would commend a director for staying true to Shakespeare’s text, but in this case it was a mistake. If Barta Heiner wanted to do a Book of Mormon version of Macbeth, a greater gamble should have been taken to develop a script that would incorporate Book of Mormon language and themes. Otherwise she should have stuck to Shakespeare’s original formula, which is never a wrong move.
--J.A. Devenport
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