She Ionizes, and Atomizes; then Turns to Sunlight.....

I realize, and itemize, and etc.

Congrats LCpl. Miller, on the safe tour and return home.

Here's to Saїd, Johnson, and LBS.

* * * * *

montana

utah

"It pulls harder than gravity..."

Well Lucky, Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Me, Again! (I Hardly Knew, I Should Use My Feet Again)...

Brian invited me down to Zion's along with a few friends last Saturday. We did a canyoneering route down Birch Hollow into Orderville, followed by an exit through the Narrows:

I'll go ahead and be honest... I'm hooked on canyoneering. Hooked on it like a drug that only leads you to check web pages such as this and this everyday. The good news is, I now have an incentive to go back to Austria. Ich will Schluchter sein... Who's with me?!

* * * * *

In other news, I put my Toyota "Taco" through a hell of a drive yesterday. The Willard Basin road from Mantua to the base of Willard Peak is the slowest and roughest 8 miles I've ever driven. But it's nice to have the cake-walk summit baggin' at the end. Doesn't my "Taco" just look so pleased to have made the trip? It's almost, as if, she was always meant to do this sort of thing:

I got maybe too close to the goats on Willard Peak, but it allowed me to get some decent close-ups. Ben Lomond, a mile ridge hike away, was crowded at top, but it had that nice view. And I made a new friend, Mike the Sea-bee, along the way. End of story: I've now bagged 7 of 33 peaks this year. Yes, that's way behind schedule. But unless Laura can find away for me to join her in Yellowstone, I'll be doing a 3-day 9 peak route through southern Utah from August 10th thru 12th. Those are, of course, the days following the lake house in Montana/Glacier. That's only a week away and I'm so excited.

"Look at the Trees; Look at My Face; Look at a Place, Far Away from Here..."

Wouldn't it be nice if we could only, "pull the tricks out of our sleeves"?

I arrived back at Luck Spring after the big run...

Despite Zsa Zsa's 2 a.m. efforts to update me on J-Mill's flight details, and due to my apparent weakness to verbally confirm important facts--while still sleeping--I found myself groggily starring down the flight board at the park-and-wait. What had seemed to only be a dream was a reality, and in fact, the flight landed at 11:17 a.m--not 6. Not aware of that single detail, I analyzed the lonely flight arrival on the board and wondered, "would a flight from Lima connect in Cedar City"?

After a quick phone call with my dear sweet Zsa Zsa to confirm, I realized that five hours of an expectedly busy day were lost. I'd have to cancel on J-heff's and my hiking trip, and I'd miss the Alpine 6th Tigers' annual 4th of July breakfast feast. Frustrated with "life" ever-gradually being overshadowed by "work" in the bosses' so called "work-life balance", and in this particular week that being ever such the case, I eagerly looked forward toward a spur-of-the-moment Plan B: the big run.

The big run had been my target since March. It looked like a beautiful run with a perfect climb and a gradual decent. It wouldn't, however, result in being the longest distance I've ever run... that run was done with brand new running shoes and in the long, hot American Fork Canyon on Memorial Day, and that run resulted in a limping, ankle bleeding, and nearly weeping Thomas, straggling out of the canyon’s last mile exit to my truck. My ego was injured as well, as it was, after all, Memorial Day, and of course, there were plenty of cars full of patriotic locals in que to enter the mouth of the canyon, to observe me, pathetiquely (i.e. groaning and moaning) finishing the longest run of my life. I swore that day I would never run again.

Ach, but conditions were perfect! On this day I couldn’t miss the opportunity. I had ample time before J-Mill’s arrival, those new running shoes were finally broken-in, and it was still early and cool enough, yet just at sunrise, to see that fresh morning light hitting the Oquirrh’s. On this particular run, you see, I’d find myself skirting the base of Mt. Olympus with a glorious view of the entire valley—and the formidable Oquirrh’s across the way. So I ran, I saw, and I conquered... My senses and my body demanded it, and I gave in. In repayment, my body granted me a kind favor: no aches, no bleeding, and no tears... J

* * * * *

But I still hate running and I didn't even run a full Marathon. “Why run when you’re not chasing a soccer ball?”, I argue. I swear it's not healthy for one's body to run more that 11 or 12 miles... I even know someone who runs Ultra-marathons--that's 2 Marathons, at once! As much as I admire her, no one has enough endorphins to enjoy that torture.

Eventhough you're only casually reading this blog posting, I already know what you're about to say... You want to say, "but what does the Journal of Endocrinology have to say about this?" Well, fine, here you have it: (but don't blame me if you don't like what you read)

Joe's Endocrinology?

Running is like taking time out of your Saturday morning to go play Frisbee. That is the ultimate way to waste your time and have nothing to show for it but a lower semen count. (no offense, BYU Freshman class of 2001).

Granted, it’s done my body good. Running’s done that, as has chocolate milk (do you realize how much protein is in choco milk?)… In addition, Emmitt’s troubled looks ease week by week as I’m able to give just a little more endurance on the field. Yet, Goldman’s indoor team still loses... But really, it’s not bad for a bunch of busy bankers.

If the added running hasn’t helped the Goldman indoor team enough, at least I could keep up with the Goldman cycling team. Learning that one can ride another’s drift (yeah, like in NASCAR), I was able to stick with the team for the full ride, and quite possibly have one of the most fun rides of my life at the Harmon’s Best Dam Bike Ride. Thanks for your contributions towards MS research, everyone.

Below is my promised “look” in spandex-esque:

* * * * *

It’s finally been a good summer, what with all the running, kicking, and biking. But the good summer had come almost too late. With the long wet spring and half-summer, I thought I wouldn’t’ve achieved my bigger goal. But after a fantastic hike to Cardwell over the weekend, I’ve found myself re-energized and excited to complete the rest.

…and then there’s Orderville this Saturday, Willard and Ben Lomond next week, Montana/Glacier/Canada in August, Modest Mouse, Phoenix, Placebo (all in concert, all in SLC), and the big grad school apps in September. Life’s outlook shines golden, right now.

* * * * *

“Because Nobody Knows Ya, and Nobody Gives A Damn Anyway”

Memories Of the People Who Care If I Live Or Die...

In keeping with this blog's traditional spirit of vagueness, I doubt any reader of this blog follows anything I say in this post. But the most remarkable thing happened to me tonight at the missionary reunion.

But don't feel insulted as if I were withholding anything from you. I appreciate it that you do, in fact, read this, and I try to make it as entertaining as possible. At least consider that I've set this blog to be unsearchable in any web search engine, and I've removed any site tracker, so feel free to know that I don't know reads this, unless you comment, and I feel confident that only people who know me actually read it.

But back to the vague issue... This post is about Munich, Germany, among other things.

A year or more ago, I was leading some old friends down a tunnel underneath the Altes Rathaus in Munich, which I believe is one of the few Munich buildings left standing during the carpet-bombings of WWII. As we were walking down the tunnel, I attempted to tell my friends just what I did as a missionary in that tunnel back in December '02. But I didn't get so far in my attempts to visualize the experience for them. My initial efforts failed to resonate within them, and I quickly eased my efforts to explain and decided that some things are maybe too complicated or whatever, and are at the least better kept to myself. So I keep it vague--pearls casting and so on.

So tonight, the most remarkable thing happened to me.

I typically hate my mission reunions, but I'm always required to go as somehow, once upon a time, I was chosen to be the guy who invites everyone to the reunion, and with that I'm responsible to be there myself, or whatever. I hate reunions because it's always full of people that I, and my ego, never cared to get to know while I served. Here's a big secret that aboslutely nobody knows about me, and you'll probably be really surprised: I'm not a very charismatic person. Thus, being social is like forcing a square peg into a round hole, or whatever they call it.

So, my time at the reunion involved my playing chess on my iphone until my former companion, Brett, and my former district leader, Jake, arrived. The three of us are like molasses and honey on glue. I just made that up... it means, we stick together really well.

Anyway, LeRoy is doing his thing, and giving his talk, when I see Spencer walk into the house. Spencer was one of those, whom we called "Harker Missionaries". That description usually has a negative conotation, but nothing negative would apply to him in particular. He was one of the older missionaries, who didn't spend much time under Praesident Wirthlin's reign, and was my district leader as I served as a junior companion in, you guessed it, Munich.

I avoided making any eye contact with Spencer, as I doubted he remembered me at all, and while I remember him, in particular, as one of the best missionaries I knew on the mission. Soft-spoken, yet significantly selfless, Spencer served a mission when others were often only on a mission. Spencer had always held a deserved spot in my mind as one of the best missionaries I ever knew. Thus, I recognized him as he walked into the house.

* * * * *

Back to Munich, early December 2002: Praesident happened to be in the city on one of those days, to notice that there was a huge amount of tourists and Germans alike visiting the Christkindlmarkt in the central square, called Marienplatz. Immediately, word was delivered to our district via the assistants that we needed to shift focus from door-to-door contacting only to strictly street contacting for the month of December. Street contacting (in Germany) usually results in one or two things: it's either very awkward and depressing, or it could be fun and exciting. I would generally find that street work would be cyclical... that I would at times have no luck and feel awkward interrupting people (see charisma comment above), or at times I'd still have no luck, but I would manage to be bold and daring and do my best to get a Book of Mormon in front of people's eyes.

We, being our district, chose the tunnel between Marienplatz and the street leading towards the Isar Tor, as the volume of traffic was high. I also like to think, that a tunnel seemed warmer during that frigid weather. With the number of tourists that there were, I'd keep two Book of Mormons (yes, you pluralize "Mormons" because the whole title is an object, not just "the Book") in my suit jacket pockets. One would be in German, the other in English. So when I'd approach, say, that one Irish guy on one occasion and he'd respond to my introduction with a, "sorry, I don't speak German", I'd whip out my English copy and say, "neither do I". I figured I was really a cowboy, and the books were really my pair of 6-shooters.

There would be two of us doing the contacting, while the remaining four would sing Christmas carols (always being careful not to sing "Stille Nacht" until Christmas Eve).

* * * * *

So, I'm at the reunion. I joke that LeRoy was once Africa's most notorious big game poacher, and Brett believes me for a moment once seeing all of the animal skins in the Wirthlin home. We're having a good time with the elephant hoof stools in the basement when Spencer walks into the room.

He walks up to me and says, "I just wanted to say 'hi' before leaving for the night. You were, afterall, one of my biggest inspirations on my mission". No one heard him say that, but me, him, and his wife, thankfully... What do you say to that? "uh, you're welcome?"

Surprised, but having his words re-surface an old memory of him saying the same in a church basement back in the Rueckert Strasse in '02, I responded agilely to say, "that's a surprise that you say so... considering the fact that I only remember myself at the time as an unwillingly submissive missionary to the iron fist of Elder Schluchter dominance, and having a belligerent attitude toward missions, considering the unwarranted cold in Munich". I then made my shivering motions with a miserable look on my face. It was a little tongue-in-cheek, but true. What else would you say, anyway?

He smiled, as if he remembered, and then said, "do you remember when we used to sing carols and hand out the Book of Mormon?"

He might've asked a general question, but it was apparent to me that, despite not being vocalized, he was refering to a specific incident. He might as well have said, "do you remember that one woman?"

"Of course, how could I've forgotten", would've been my unvocalized response.

I don't think I inspired Spencer in any way. I honestly feel like it was just an overwhelmed reaction to a very unexpected stimulus. The inspiration laid in the situation, and not in any one person.

Spencer then excused himself after we wished eachother well and luck, and I turned to Brett and Brittany, his wife, who had continued their own conversation as Spencer and I had spoken. I stood there dumbfounded for a moment, and then joined Brett and Brittany's conversation.

For the remainder of the reunion, I found myself enjoying the reminiscing of old memories of former companions and friends, just a little bit more. I enjoyed talking to Pete and Jake and Brett and Brandon and LeRoy and Mary so much more, because I respect and care for them so much.

When driving home to Muse, I learned that memories of Munich might just be very meaningful (see title).

There was our companionship prayer in the middle of the Treffauer Strasse...

A thin and 3rd-generation overcoat in the Zillertal Strasse...

An oil-man turned Seventy in the Hofbrunn Strasse...

And, of course, that satisfying and faith-gratifying miracle in the Aidenbach Strasse, as I was 22...

All of which, in Munich alone, lead me to declare, it was,

"joy unspeakable, and full of glory"

So Let's Sink Another Drink...

Mikey arrived in Mosul (Nineveh) last Saturday. How did the insurgents mark his arrival? By doing what extremists do best. Welcome to Iraq, Mikey!

A buddy of mine from work, who first informed me of the blast, and who is an Iraqi veteran, described hearing a car bomb once in Baghdad:

"loud", he said.

Then tonight, Mom tells me that Mike called and said he camped one night at a base near the Syrian border. Syria? Is this for real? Yes, and it's nuts.

It's nuts to think one has an immediate family member in Iraq. When I was 8, I'd collect the "Deseret Storm" trading cards, and see images of the Iraqi deserts and think just how cool war was. Obviously, to me at the time, a U.S. soldier was about as real as a G.I. Joe.

When the Deseret Storm II started, I clearly remember an angry German telling me it was going to be just like Vietnam... that the U.S. would invade, get bogged-down, and eventually retreat in failure. Being the occasional anti-white handbook missionary that I was, I would typically handle those situations by pulling out my voter registration card and indicate where it clearly stated:

"REPUBLICAN"

I would then continue to explain that yes, I was a republican, and yes, I voted for Bush. The latter claim was technically a lie due to my age at the 2000 elections, but it was easier to say in German than, "I confidently and proudly support Bush".

But now with Mikey, having boots on the ground, my attitude has focused on the fact that I "proudly support my little brother". With his love for his country and his courageous patriotism, I could consider him as an American Schiller, or some sort of Nathaniel Greene re-incarnate. I can't help but notice the scope of it all: while I spend $5 on a service flag magnet for the truck, Mike flies half-way around the world to willingly fight... and then he says, "I want to go to Afghanistan--because that's where the real fightin' is". If only I could somehow mirror his ambition in my own life, I'd be a lot further.

Before leaving, Mike brought me home his flak jacket for my birthday. I have no idea what I'll ever need it for, but it's so cool. I just feel tougher wearing it.

* * * * *

Do people really still think that Iraq was only about the WMD's? I don't think so. I also hope it's over soon... I'd really like to visit Iraq some day--and see the Ziggurats. I guess you could say that visiting the great Ziggurat of Ur would be like doing genealogy work, in a way... I can at least claim that I have a great ancestor who once lived there. A lot of my friends can claim the same thing too.

Oh, and I sometimes wonder if Mahonri M. used to live near a Ziggurat. Hmm... I guess I can only speculate, for now at least.

"now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known"

One can't help but want to look forward to that...

* * * * *

Some of my more favorite books on my book shelf.

Some of my most favorite books aren't included, as they're in my truck or on my desk in SLC... as they should be.

I purchased the Maria and the Rosary at the Christkindlmarkt in Klagenfurt, Austria. The "Pilgrim's Cross" I bought at the Mariazell Basilica. Michael S. told me that I wasn't allowed to have the Maria on my desk in my apartment, because someone might "look through the window and get the wrong impression".

Just in case...

Holy Water... Just in case...

This book happened to be one of the most thoughtful birthday presents I've ever received.

But that was about as thoughtful as she would ever get.

I found this little guy in Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit, A.K.A Bangkok. Apparently, I was ripped off, but I only paid $6.00 USD.

This reminds me of a time when John and I took a trip to the emergency room. Here's the story: Elder John Madsen and I, both greenies, were doing yard work for a member of the local branch. While hacking away at the outside hedges, John mistakenly swung the hedge trimmer too low to the ground... The trimmer's power dies, and I hear a groan of frustration when I then discover, that John had cut the hedge trimmer's cable with the very same hedge trimmer. After some elementary electrical cable repair, we get started again... this time I was the operator of the hedge trimmer.

20 minutes later: the power dies, and then I groan in frustration. Another cable repair...

We then set off for a third, and final, time. John's at it again. I'm on the opposite side of the hedge. I hear the trimmer hacking away at the other side, hack hack hack. Suddenly,

hack hack hack groan hack hack hack.

John had just hacked his finger to the bone.

How this relates: that member, in who's yard we were working? He gave me that Stein.

Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for readin'.

I'm Going to Colorado, to Unload My Head...

I can't miss the opportunity to title my blog post as such above, because if I were to wait any longer, I would've already gone to Colorado, and not "I am going..." As you may have guessed, it's an appropriate title considering the circumstances. No, I don't "draw lines" on truckers' atlases... I fly hundreds of miles to see a band perform (and in boulder no less). By the way, that's such a great song and I would be so pleased if they played it tomorrow night.

Plus, if Jeff and I are lucky, we'd have just enough time to do all of that fun Colorado stuff; there's something for everyone... like plant a tree, vote for O'bama!, or join your local militia! But maybe we'll skip all of that for a short trip to Niketown, a showing of Richard III, and of course, the concert (again, in boulder no less...)

* * * * *

The above book is nearly 180 years old. And it came to pass, I didn't even dare open the spine.

With all due respect to its remarkable condition and value, and in despite of its age and wear, it's the most powerful piece of literature that I've ever read.

* * * * *

Aber siehe, alles geschah gemäß der Weisheit dessen, der alles weiß...

Keeps Me Searchin' for a Heart of Gold, and I'm gettin' Old...

... and a very merry Chaoflux, I would wish to you today!

Who would've known that on a day such as this--today being the 50th day of the Gregorian Calendar--that all Discordianists alike would celebrate their holiest holiday of the season of Chaos? Please see the hyperlink above, if this doesn't make any sense, dear faithful reader.

"Really?", you might ask? Today is Chaoflux, a.k.a. Chaos 50? Sure, you wouldn't have thought so starting out the day, but sure enough the evidence was all there:

I woke up earlier than usual, thanks to an uneasy mind (chaos), and decided that with this extra free time provided to me today, I might as well spend it by buying a dozen muffins from Paradise for my team at work. A kind gesture, I hoped to achieve, but this simple, orderly, act was thrust into conflict, as my mother also baked my favorite brownies (4 dozen, no less), which my sister carried down the hall to my team this morning, as they were intended for team and me. Confronted with such a surplus of baked goods, and too few of us to consume all, I thought,

"chaos..."

As my dear friends on my team at work constantly reminded me, I was meant to spend the evening doing something special. Jokingly, and in hopes to impress with my wit that cute data team specialist within a voice's reach at the Bloomberg terminal, I said, "yeah, if I'm lucky, I'll spend the evening with just American Idol and me". The remark stirred up loads of laughs from team, as I unabashedly am often able to conjure, but resulted in little recognition from that cute data team specialist.

Chaos?

But heeding my colleagues' expectations, I set out this evening to, in fact, treat myself to something special. My special treat?

One bacon cheesburger

-thousand island

+barbeque sauce

Large order onion rings

X-lrg Orange Ole!

Total= $11.23

It was my special treat, at a no less than gluttonous price... and in the spirit of Chaoflux, I purchased something that I did not intend to completely consume. It was at this point where a near-witness of the validity of Discordianism was received by me, as I looked into the drive up window at Crown Burgers, and saw the following:

No doubt intended to clarify, that 2-letter word taped at the end of the notice contradicted proper grammar, invalidated consequentially the meaning, and resulted in the remark,

Chaos.

* * * * *

Chaos... a funny concept, and an odd word. Back on the ol' mish, the Germans would call something that was crazy and disorderly as "Cows", well, at least so it sounded to me. Later I learned it was simply how they pronounced the word "Chaos". But understand, I don't honestly adhere to any sort of Chaos theory nor religion, as my faith is based on something characterized by pure order and exactness.

Nevertheless, I, just like everyone else, can't help but notice how chaotic life is. In fact, considering the past 5 seasons of Discordianism... back to the last Chaoflux, I've realized how Chaotic my life has been. Unfortunately, I realize that (1) it has arguably been one of the saddest twelve months in my many years of existence, but (2) it has noticeably now peaked in a portion of that joy, which is unspeakable and full of glory… and I don’t need to elaborate on that point any further but to simply say:

Everyone has disappointments, but unfortunately there are some who use even the most vicious letdowns as an excuse to feed their own selfish purposes, and in turn, treat others poorly. Now, I don’t speak in specifics, but I judge in generalities… and I find it inexcusable for anyone to create a sense and need of self-entitlement for themselves, just because life dealt them the less-than-desired card.

I’m sure others feel this way, and what I’m saying isn’t new. What’s worth emphasizing is that there are some types who, when confronted with letdowns, they acknowledge a certain sense of selflessness, and in turn, are humble enough to find joy in helping other people. I know at least one person, whom I always see actively looking for opportunities to help other people. I work with such a one, I play Wii with one, and I’m immediately related to many others. One has sweaty hands, the other hated his mission. One’s a Mormon, the other is a Muslim. There’s just so much to say for the types of people who look out for others, with no thought of self-glory, before and as they look out for themselves.

Each of these daily examples show me a better way to live, and they're miles beyond what I can hope to personally achieve. But I humbly claim that it rubs off a little on me, and I'm all the better because of it.

* * * * *

Tonight, after such a “chaotic” day, MJ called, and then handed the phone over to Conner and Jordan. Conner asked me to play X-box with him tomorrow. Jordan wished me, “a happy birthday”.

* * * * *

Gerettet ist das edle Glied

Der Geisterwelt vom Bösen:

Wer immer strebend sich bemüht,

Den können wir erlösen!

Und hat an ihm die Liebe gar

Von oben teilgenommen,

Begegnet ihm die selige Schar

Mit herzlichem Willkommen.