LOST

Have you every watched LOST? Its crazy good if you haven't. Granted, it has gotten a little weird, but it's still captivating. Why is is that we're fascinated with things that are lost. When we lose things, its hard to function until we find them. We overturn every piece of furniture and look in places we know very well it's impossible its there. I've found myseflf looking in the back of the toilet for things...I have no idea why. And another thing, why is it that whenever you lose something, someone always has the nerve to ask, "Where's the last place you had them?" As if we hadn't thought of that. Thank you very much Captain Obvious...."Oh, ya know what, I had searched every other place besides where I had them last. Thank you for that inspriational guidance you wizard..."

First, a story... When I was younger, my older brother Joel, a friend, and myself walked over to a friend's house to play basketball. Our parents had gone out with some friends and we had neglected to tell anyone where we were going. We were playing basketball and as kids do we lost track of time. It was dark and we went inside to get a drink before we headed home. We realized that it was about 11:30 at night... In our infinite childlike wisdom, we decided that our parents were already asleep and we shouldn't call and wake them up to tell them we were on our way home. Awesome idea huh? So we started walking home. The walk was about a mile and about half way home we were picked up by some fine law enforcement officials. Apparently, we were "lost"... our house was surrounded by about ten flashing police vehicles and the "news" was on their way. The good thing about getting lost when you're young is that your parents really can't yell at you because they are so glad that you're safe.
Second, another story... When I was in about 7th grade, I went with my best friends Bo and Blake to Lake Tahoe on a little vacation. We went with their mom and their mom's friend. They had decided to go into town and do some shopping and left us at the condo to swim. We decided to go to see the new Star Wars movie. We went to the front desk and asked them where the nearest theaters were. They told us there were two, one was just down the street and the other was about 10 miles away. I don't remember why, but the front desk lady got the impression we were going to the one 10 miles away. We left a note that we were walking to the theatre...(ok, maybe we said we were going to the one 10 miles away, I don't remember) Well, we ended up going to the movie just down the street... After the movie, we walked back to the condo and again we were picked up by some fine uniformed officials. Again, we were "lost". (I should note, that Elizabeth Smart was kidnapped about a week before...) Again, its hard to yell at kids when you've been worried sick for the past few hours and you promised God everything just to see them again.
There are numerous other stories of me getting lost...camping, Lagoon, Disneyland, rodeos, etc...As you can see, I have a history of losing things...most often it is myself, although I commonly lose all kinds of things. My 6th birthday was ruined when I lost a little "helicopter pilot" figurine in my front yard. Humanity wasn't restored until about two years ago when I finally found him. I probably spent the greater part of my childhood on "resuce missions" for the poor guy. He now resides on my desk, I kid you not...
Also, I currently cannot find my black Prada sunglasses. I would really like to get them back...if you find them, help me out...

St. Jorge...

If you read my last post, you know how much I love to play games. I wrote that post not knowing what was in store for me right around the corner. Me and a few of my friends jetted down to St. Jorge for a weekend getaway. We mostly lounged around by the pool, witnessed "Hick & Stick" getting it on in the hot tub, heard an old man yelp at the top of his lungs while bearing his testimony in church. (Apparently it was his pacemaker...), and played glow stick hide-n-seek. This was the highlight of my trip...or it pulls a close second to the old man yelling in church. We hiked up to a cave in Snow Canyon State Park and climbed, crawled and stumbled deep inside the earth until we reached the 'playing field'. We then took our $22 worth of glowsticks and "activated" them. Once they were sufficiently glowing we cut off the tips and proceeded to cover the cave walls and ourselves with the glow stick juice. It looked awesome. We then played an intense game of hide-n-seek. The concept is brilliant...you are able to hide in the open, but no one can see you. You blend in perfectly with the rocks and walls. Believe me, we tried many times to take a picture but it would never turn out...so take my word for it. Even though it got in most of our eyes and burned like all fury, Rachel developed some sort of hives, and we all got cut and bruised, it was the most fun I've had in a while. Thank you Rachel...

The game to end all games...

When I was younger I was obsessed with hiding. I was constantly hiding and popping out to try to scare people, most commonly my mother or siblings. I would hide in closets, under beds, behind doors, under couches, around corners...anywhere that my childhood frame could fit. Sometimes I would wait for minutes while my prey unsuspecting worked their way into my lair. I loved the excitement and the thrill of the victory when someone would jump and scream. *(I still do this. It is my flaw. Why? Perhaps I have some deep psychological issue that must be dissected by a qualified professional.)*
Hiding was was my first game love, but not my last. I used to play Cops & Robbers with my brother almost everyday during the summer. I think it was our excuse to beat up on each other...because everyone knows that cops beat up on robbers. If you went too fast on your bike then you deserved to be knocked off, drug through the road, handcuffed and left to think about what you'd done. Simple as that, no way around it. The laws of the land could not be ignored. Do the crime, do the time.
As a child, nothing was more fun than playing games; hide and seek, kick the can, flashlight tag, or capture the flag. Capture the Flag (or as I affectionetly call it, CTF) was ALWAYS my choice. To this day I am still in love with the concept. Two teams, two flags, one goal.
A few years ago my best friend Preston and I decided to add our teenage ingenuity (and free time) to this classic game. We spent the greater part of a day and about $60 at Home Depot creating competition quality flags complete with hemmed fabric, reinforced PVC, and sharp screw/spear ends for easy and efficient placement. They were our Sistine Chapel...our Titanic...our War and Peace.
Upon completition of our masterpieces, we began the daunting task of selecting a host site. More research than you can appreciate went into the process. We weighed the pros and cons, asked for opinions, performed field analysis, and followed our intuition. We finally decided on a new park being built in the Jordan River bottoms between Draper and Riverton. The troops were assembled and the teams decided. *Side note: It is more difficult than you imagine to explain the rules, objectives, and strategy of CTF to somone who has never played...and English is their second language. Thank you Fernando.*
In our minds, we expected an epic battle of good and evil. Scenes from Troy, Braveheart, Gladiator and Saving Private Ryan ran through our minds like an eager river of anticipation. Sadly, the game never reached its full potential. Even our military quality flags could not save it. People lacked courage and vision. People were weak and spineless. The love of the game was not instilled in their young hearts. They wanted ease instead of excellence. People gave up, gave in, and gave nothing. The game asked for their best and they weren't willing to part with it. Granted, there were a few stalwart players who tried their best to do it justice but ultimately the dedication of a few could not overcome the apathy of many.
For now the flags rest quietly in a darkened unworthy corner of Preston's garage...undisturbed and unloved. One day they may rise from their hypothetical ashes like a phoenix and regain their destined glory...but only in the hands of people who love them as much as they deserve.

Viva Mexico

Since I left for Mazatlan, Mexico a day after I got back from Chicago, I contemplated following up my last blog with a list of "Things I Learned in Mexico"...I'll be brief.
-They drive with their horns
-Its nearly impossible to spend an hour on the streets without someone trying to sell you timeshare
-You get really good at your 12 time tables (the exchange rate)
-They are all Laker fans...the Jazz get no love.
-You always sleep better when you can hear the ocean
-You burn quickly on antibiotics (ask my mother)

Now for the good stuff...err, mostly good, but always exciting. I left Salt Lake City and everything was great. I had a row all to myself, couldn't be better. We land in Mazatlan and not so quickly go through Immigration and Customs (if you've seen my Passport you would understand, it totally looks fake...only because its been through hell, literally, I have a stamp from Hell) only to discover that unlike us, our bags did not make the trip. I tried not to sweat it which is difficult to do in 100 deg weather...they told us they'd be on another flight and they'd deliver them to our hotel. No worries... I wanted to hit the beach, but had no suit so I hit up the nearest Mazatlan Beach Wear store where I proceeded to buy some clothes without once effectively communicating with the store employees...my total came to $1,290.(Confession: It was in Mexican pesos...something like $92 US.)
I had gone with my mom and my grandma. Normally, you wouldn't think they'd be the most exciting company in Mexico; but we did exciting things. We went zip lining through the jungles of Mazatlan. (Jungles=dry, arid desert.) It was actually a blast. We drove in a wicked cool "Swiss Army Vehicle" (Random thought: If the Swiss are neutral, why are they so darn good at making 'army' equipment?)
After our awesome adventure through the Mazatlan desert, we took a walking tour of a working Tequila factory. Exciting right? Wrong. First, I knew we were doomed when our tour guide couldn't speak a lick of English...and non of the tour takers could speak Spanish. Not a good combo. Secondly, the tequila factory smelled like my uncles dairy farm. Thirdly, it was in the middle of nowhere. I kid you not. (Interesting fact: The tequila cactus plant takes 7 years to mature.)Next on my list of fun adventures was parasailing. Frequent blog readers and fans will remember I've been skydiving twice, but I had yet to parasail. I crossed that off my bucket list. I have a cool video of me doing it (thank you Grandma) but it's 13 minutes long and I'm sure you don't want to see it. Therefore, I will post a pic and you'll have to believe me that it was in fact me and not some random person.

The next day or so I decided to live on the edge and some sweet tattoos. (Confession: They are henna, temporary...I'm so not cool)

This tattoo means "Strength"

This tattoo is LIVESTRONG.

Normally that would be enough adventure for most people. I didn't know what I was in for. I leave Mexico to come home and we had a layover in Phoenix, AZ. Soon after landing we were told that our flight to Salt Lake had been cancelled. What the F? Through of series of jogs through the airport and several rebooked flights we ended up spending the night in Phoenix. Unfortunetly, our bags did not spend the night...once again I was bagless. We flew home the next day...finally.
Here are some Mexico pics for your viewing pleasure.

In Chicago...

CHICAGO

I spent the last week in Chicago having a blast. I was hanging out with this cool kid Anthony and I learned a few things...

--In Chicago there are literally hundreds of different ways to get from point A to point B; and the fastest route is often the longest.
--In Chicago the roads don't have pot holes, the pot holes have roads...--In Chicago the roads are very narrow...and people usually park on both sides.
--In Chicago you can only turn right on a red light between 7AM-7PM.--In Chicago you don't put ketchup on your hotdog...ever.
--In Chicago Roosevelt, Washington, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Lincoln, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Jackson, Van Buren, Harrison, Polk are roads not Presidents.
--In Chicago people pay a toll to drive on roads...imagine dropping a few coins to take Bangerter home.
--In Chicago red, green, blue, brown, orange, yellow, purple, and pink are trains, not colors.
All in all, I had a lot of fun hanging out and going to the nicest gym I've ever been in...fancy stuff.

The wink...

;)
Typing this little guy in a web conversation means "wink"...and sometimes, as me and Rachel discovered in Gmail chat, it actually creates a little face that winks at you. Believe it or not, it kept us entertained for longer than it should have.

Winks are interesting expressions. A wink is like watching America's Funniest Home Videos. In moderation it's great, but you can't watch it everyday. As my great grandfather use to say, "It's easy to overwink and impossible to underwink." (Ok, he really never said that, but I wish he did.) You have to know when to use the wink. It must be strategically placed with perfect timing and delivery. You can't just throw winks out left and right...you'll become the tragic "over-winker." We all know an over-winker. (If you don't know an over-winker, you ARE the over-winker. I'm sorry I'm the one to have to tell you. Just stop doing it...) The over-winker is almost as bad as the exaggerated winker. You know, the one that uses their whole face as if to say, "Look, I'm winking!" These two faults are cousins to the "creepy-winker." You have to be careful, it's a very delicate science... Everyone appreciates a good winker.

The wink can have many meanings. It can mean, "Go along with whatever I just said" or "I think you're smoking hot but I'm too afraid to say anything so I'm winking at you" or "You know what I REALLY mean" or "I'm kidding" or "Riiiigggghhhhttt."Although most of the times the intent of the wink is clear, sometimes it is not. One of the great Seinfeld episodes in season 7 is titled, "The Wink." In the episode, Jerry squirts grapefruit into George's eye at breakfast, and for the rest of the day George is misinterpreted because everyone thinks he is winking at them. As only Seinfeld can do, we laugh at sometime simple: the wink. For your viewing pleasure, I have included the classic Seinfeld scene.


The next time you go to wink....if you have to think about it, don't do it.

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I have been experiencing a moderate to severe case of "blog block." I haven't written a post in a long time and my fans are clamoring for new material (if only Bryce...if only). This blog won't be my best ever, but probably one of my favorites. Anyone that reads anything that I write knows that I use a lot of ...s in my writing. I found out not long ago from my friend and English extraordinaire Rachel Clark that these little nuggets of perfectness are called ellipses. My other good friend Wikipedia tells me "An ellipsis can also be used to indicate a pause in speech, an unfinished thought or, at the end of a sentence, a trailing off into silence..." I mostly use them to indicate a pause in my speech or a trailing off into silence. No joke, 99.99% of all my texts contain an ellipse and about 90% of all my text messages end in a ... . For example: "Just sitting around...doing nothing..." or "That sounds like fun...lets do it..." or my favorite "Oh...". They are my calling card, my M.O., my way. I'm sure I overuse them, but they are perfect for how my mind thinks. I'll continue to use them because I like them...and it annoys some people...which makes me like them more...

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