Gun Control (or lack thereof)

I'll be honest with you--it has been a hard week. Luckily, my roomates and I had previously scheduled an outing on Wednesday night that served as a welcome, somewhat dangerous, and surprisingly expensive distraction... shooting!

CJ and Mark took us shooting with three guns chosen from their large collection... an AK-47, a Glock 23, and some other small handgun with a name that eludes me right now. Chantal and Wendy had both been shooting a number of times before yesterday, but I had only been once.

As would be expected, we had remarkably different responses to the experience:

I'll admit that I am a self-proclaimed wuss, but I still think everyone should should cut me some slack--growing up in New Jersey, the only people with guns were criminals or cops. I didn't make it a practice of hanging out with those groups of people during high school. As a result, gunshots firing make me jump, which doesn't make for a very steady hand. Despite my tough-looking face in this picture and the number of bullet holes that I put in the guy (check out the spot between his eyes in particular), I was quite uncomfortable during our stay at the shooting range.

Wendy enjoyed her formal lessons given by both CJ and Mark. Mark, who has been through the Police Academy, stood by Wendy and gave her exercises [ie: two to the body, one to the head, two to the body, one to the groin], to Wendy's delight. Additionally, Wendy was pretty excited about shooting one-handed and felt like a thug as she rotated her right arm and hand by 45 degrees and unloaded bullets into the defenseless sheet of paper. For such a small girl, she had surprising power and accuracy. Don't mess with Wendy.

Chantal, shown here shooting the AK-47, got progressively more excited (and less cautious) over the course of the evening. She initially chose the "shapes" target, to avoid the appearance that she was shooting at an actual person. As she gained confidence, she moved the sheet further away from her, and counted the number of bullet holes that penetrated the paper after each round (often coming to us exuberantly and yelling so we could hear despite our protective earmuffs... "I only missed ONCE that WHOLE ROUND!"). The night was capped off well when Chantal decided to try out Wendy's thug-style, one-handed shooting with the small handgun--she commented that it was hard to aim just as CJ and Mark alarmingly mentioned that 4 of her bullets had skimmed along and damaged the shooting range's wall. Oopsie.

As a result, we might not be invited back to the shooting range... I think I'm okay with that.

What do YOU do for a living?

Credit for this amazing photo goes to my chemical engineer-turned-anesthesiologist buddy Nick. Given the nature of our capitalistic society, I generally assume that the amount people get paid is roughly equivalent to value they add to society or to the people they work for. However, this photo makes me question that basic assumption... how many of you would be willing to shell out $50-65 for the solution to a partial differential equation? I definitely would not.

Therefore, the question must be asked... what do people in different professions actually get paid for? (Keep in mind that few individuals in the top tax brackets are reporting their actual incomes.)

Orthopaedic Surgeons: $388,784
Job description: operate power tools to break your bones and re-fuse them, while not being able to diagnose a common cold or fix a squeaky kitchen sink.
[Sorry, brothers... I still love you.]

Anesthesiologists: $302,724
Job description: shoot you up with proven drugs at proven levels to knock you out, while reading a book or newspaper during your surgery.

Entry level Attorneys: $86,677
Job description: push paper, proofread, and perform as a research and writing monkey; if the attorney shows exceptional promise... they might speak with you during their first few years on the job.

Sanitary Engineers (known in my childhood as "garbage men"): $58,646
Job description: ride around on a smelly truck most days of the week picking up your nasty trash that takes great effort to even move from the garage to the curb on a [gasp] weekly basis.

Paramedics: $37,455
Job description: be the first on scene to look at the bloody mess you've made and try to keep you alive.

Elementary School Teachers: $48,788
Job description: educate you and convince you to stop playing outside to do homework and, later in life, educate your kids and convince them to put down the remote or xbox controller. [Chantal will take exception to this figure, as the Provo first year teachers' salary is below $30k]

I'll let you make your own conclusions.

*All salaries quoted at 50% level from salary.com except Sanitary Engineer, where data comes from payscale.com.

Attention: law school applicants

I've been posting entirely too much lately--it's almost as if I don't have a life. On the contrary, after reading a number of articles recounting the terror that typically ensues after law school graduation, I realize how lucky I am to actually have a life a year out of law school. Allow me to share from the latest article sent to me by a caring (or perhaps cynical) friend to illustrate.

The article, entitled "Who Says Being a Lawyer Has to Suck?" starts out by telling us about Grace, 31, who has a resume any prominent law firm would "salivate over"--1. Phi Beta Kappa as an undergrad, 2. graduation with distinction from Stanford Law school, 3. prestigious clerkship with the Ninth Circuit her 3L year, 4. first job at one of San Francisco's most elite law firms, and 5. Fulbright Scholarship to do research at Oxford secured during her first year at the firm.

Despite her appearance as any law school's golden child, Grace describes her associate experience in a tone that would frighten even the most ambitious masochist:

She describes the nearly three years she spent as an associate as the loneliest time she could imagine. She used to think she was lucky to not have a life – no boyfriend, no kids – because at least she didn’t have to feel guilty about working about 80 hours a week. The other associates were no consolation. Everyone fought so valiantly to prove they did have a life outside the firm – that they knew the latest events in Iraq or what had happened on last night’s Grey’s Anatomy – that lunch had become a pressure-filled hour of one-upmanship. The final straw was when she looked at every single partner in her office and decided that, even though each of them earned around $1 million a year, there wasn’t one whose life she envied.

“You take the best and the brightest our country has to offer,” she now says, just two months after deciding to quit her job, “and subject them to mind-numbing drudgery for all hours of the day, year after year…” Here her voice trails off, and she looks like she’s about to cry. “I hated it when people would ask me what I did because it was so boring even to talk about.”

When Grace told her firm's partners that she was quitting to do something else, most whispered that if they only didn't have the mortgage or family, they would also quit. This, along with the following staggering statistics reported in the article, casts a shadow on our "prestigous profession":

1 - Merger mania has created cutthroat firms with 1,000-plus attorneys and worldwide ambitions. Partners are under extreme pressure to bring in enough business to generate over $1 million each year in per-partner profit. Smaller firms scramble to compete for clients and rainmakers or be bought up for big profits. In the mayhem, the hours for associates have gone from intense to insane, and the brass ring of partnership that used to make their enslavement palatable is becoming more difficult, if not impossible, to attain.

2 - In one year alone, 2005, one in five associates in the nation up and left his or her firm. Of associates with about five years’ experience, an astonishing 78 percent are no longer with their original firm (up from 60 percent in 2000). These attrition rates are the highest ever recorded.

3 - In 1958 the American Bar Association estimated that “there were only approximately 1,300 fee-earning hours per year.” That amounts to a roughly 40-hour workweek, plus two Saturdays a month. By 2003, however, about 28 percent of associates were billing more than 1,950 hours. Today, associates at top Bay Area firms often bill upward of 2,200 hours, and some as much as 2,600. In order to hit 2,200 hours, a person has to be on the job from 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. every weekday and seven hours on Saturday twice a month, with three weeks of total time off a year.

4 - Associates, who bitterly see how their labor is billed out at up to 10 times the rate of their salary to allow their partners satisfy the hunger for higher profits, are each expected to pull more hours, morale be damned.

5 - Even when associates are able to grind out the hours and make full partner, they find it rarely delivers the golden prize it once did. “The power and prestige of being a partner is completely gone,” says Albert. “A partner is only as good as the money he or she brought into the firm last year. If you’re not a hunter, meaning you don’t bring in clients, you better stay really good friends with some hunters or you’re out of luck.” It is becoming increasingly a part of business for partners to lay each other off.

6 - In a 2001 study, 71 percent of female and male graduates from the nation’s top five law schools reported experiencing serious conflict between their work and their personal lives. And when male lawyers in their 20s and 30s were asked if they were willing to take lower salaries in exchange for more free time, 70 percent said yes.

In response, I thank my lucky stars for my attorney job, which requires no billable hours, allows me to work 9-5 with 18 days of vacation leave a year, and provides a 25cent candy/soda/snack machine for those "tough days". I will take it.

Tribute

"I am no longer a young man filled with energy and vitality. I am an old man. I'm given to meditation and prayer. I would enjoy sitting in a rocker, swallowing prescriptions, listening to soft music, and contemplating the things of the universe. But such activity offers no challenge and makes no contribution. I wish to be up and doing. I wish to face each day with resolution and purpose. I wish to use every waking hour to give encouragement, to bless those whose burdens are heavy, to build faith and strength of testimony."- President Gordon B. Hinckley.

President Hinckley is a rockstar. I mean that with all sincerity and respect. After passing away yesterday, I'm sure he's on the other side running around, bonding with his wife, meeting his predecessors, and making everyone laugh. I am particularly grateful for his efforts to face every reporter with his characteristic humor and candor, while making the LDS church seem like less of a cult and more of a respected religious organization around the world. His personality will be irreplaceable... I'm just glad we were blessed with his leadership, hard work, and presence for so many years.

I need all wheel drive Xo(

The inevitable has finally happened--my driveway (aka solid sheet of ice) has finally caught up with me. Early this morning while not fully awake, I intended to skid my car down the driveway as usual. However, after cutting to the left too much, I found myself unable to straighten my car out while unsuccesfully spinning my wheels on the icy driveway. Hoping that I'd still be able to skim by on the shoveled portion, I then proceeded to back up and get stuck in the snow bank to the left of our driveway. A lot of wasted gas, a dose of futile pushing of the car by Chantal [yes, in her dress and heels], and some serious revving of the engine in both 'drive' and 'reverse' later... I abandoned my car from the passenger's side door, since the snow pack made it impossible for me to open the driver's side door.

Luckily, my buddy Tom and his Chevy Silverado came to the rescue after church. Since it was apparently impossible to attach towing cables to the little metal hook beneath my back bumper, Tom attached his rope/towing mechanism directly to my rear axle. [Despite his caution and care, I wonder if I should be worried by the sheer number of times Tom's said something like: "Man. I hope we didn't wreck anything on your car. If it starts making any rattling noise, or if your car starts driving sharply to the right... you have to promise to let me know." Uh, Tom? If my rear wheels fall off during my commute, I'll be sure to let you know.]

In any case, I made myself quite useful by using my digital camera to get a photo and video documentary of the towing process, while Tom set up and supervised to ensure that my rear axle wasn't ripped off, Chantal pushed my car, and CJ operated the truck. Meanwhile, Wendy entertained herself by tossing snowballs to a neighborhood golden retriever that came bounding into our yard at this inopportune time.

All I can say is that there is something amazing to be said about trucks and their functionality. And, contrary to my prejudice against American cars in general, American trucks rock. Oh, and I need all wheel drive.

Crackberry. It's like a strawberry, but faster.

Following the example of an unfortunate email that I received lately from an angry girl carrying an illegitimate child, I now abbreviate "baby" to "bb" when typing, texting, or instant messaging (which pretty much covers all of my preferred methods of communication). However, since "bb" is already taken, the recent acquisition of a pretty Blackberry leaves me without an easy abbreviation for the device that was going to be named "strawberry" until marketing execs thought that name sounded too slow. I've finally settled on "cb", short for "crackberry", a nickname for Blackberries that I have quickly come to understand.

Wikipedia, our source of all truth and knowledge, explains the nickname: "The ability to read e-mail that is received in realtime, anywhere, has made the BlackBerry devices infamously addictive, earning them the nickname "CrackBerry"."

It's true friends... this thing is addictive. I've been chatting, changing my status on Facebook, and emailing people pictures taken on this thing entirely too much. I have a sneaking suspicion that if my work-sponsored cb is taken away (because I decide to change jobs, not because I'm abusing the privilege), I'll "need" to buy my own cb for myself.

On the upside, my work has assumed liability for my personal Verizon contract and transferred my old number to my shiny new cb. Therefore, I have no cell phone bill for the first time in ... many, many years. Life is good.

Hi, sexy.

In response to a mortgage foreclosure debate and with a desire to express his opinion, a Maryland man (who probably considers himself to be an active and engaged citizen) looked up and called the number listed in the phone book for the Governor's Office. A woman answered the phone and greeted him by saying "Hi, sexy."

Fortunately, secretaries at political offices around the nation have not merely decided that this is an appropriate way to greet callers. Apparently, the number for the Governor's Office is misprinted in the latest edition of the telephone book (as well as an earlier edition, which means the misprint has been there for two years)--the printed number connects with an adult phone service. Oopsie. Let's hope that Maryland citizens are using more modern technology to contact their state leaders, and that the Governor's Office isn't ringing as infrequently as this guy's experience would suggest.

Me v. Winter. This is war.

This winter has been the worst ever. It seems like the weeks that I park outside are directly correlated to the snow storms and ice sheets which assault my car (and spirits). However, this morning's commute was especially fun and included the following:

1. Sliding down my snow-covered, solid ice of a driveway in reverse with the fear that someone would drive by at the same time.

2. "Driving" for 3 miles which started as solid, stopped traffic on the interstate, then "accelerated" to bumper to bumper traffic. Total travel time for the 3 miles = 55 minutes. Total travel time for the 25 mile commute = 90 minutes.

3. Facing the 100 meter long, inclined, completely unplowed driveway to our new building with trepidation.

4. Putting my car in park on said incline (complete with parking break) behind a Mitsubishi Mirage stuck in the snow, and a Saturn sedan which tried to pass the Mitsubishi on the left. The Saturn then also got stuck in the snow... thereby completely blocking the 2-lane driveway to my building. Tire chains solved the Mitsubishi's problems, and my Civic (with a whole lotta gas) ended up making it up the hill. Good Civic.

5. Making it into the "parking lot" by accelerating to the end of the indented snow, then looking to the left... if I parked in the spot to the left, I'd be stuck in the snow. Then I looked right... if I parked in the spot to the right, I'd also be stuck in the snow. Shocker. So, I gave up and put my car in park, perpendicular to all the other cars in the "lot" and abandoned poor 'ol Civic right then and there. [To my surprise, when I came out of the building, there were two cars parked next to me, also perpendicular to all the other cars. I'm such a trend setter].

In any case, after arriving home, I decided to use the *&(*^ snow which created such a headache in the morning for my own entertainment. We made an igloo. Then, realizing our igloo was too small for all of us to fit in, we made a fort. The logical next step was to make a pathway so that the warriors in the igloo could get to the fort for battle. Please note the cleaned up penguin who stands as sentinel over the fort/path/igloo kingdom.

Pleased with our efforts, we then drank hot chocolate in our fort. Take that, Jack Frost.

How do I sign up for THAT job?

I have recently been trying to figure out what my ideal job would be. I hate when interviewers ask you where you will be in five or ten years--apparently, my response is supposed to indicate whether I have goals or something. I'm pretty sure I've never actually given a good (much less accurate) answer to that question. Regardless, I've found the perfect job for me.

The Associated Press ran a story this morning about Anthony Armatys (only 34 years old) of Illinois who accepted a position with Avaya in Basking Ridge, New Jersey, but then rescinded his acceptance before he started working. A system error caused checks to be deposited in Mr. Armaty's account from fall 2002 to March 2007, when the company finally realized the error. During that time, however, Armatys collected $469,000 in pay and even had the gumption to withdraw $1,900 from his company retirement account administered by Fidelity Investments.

Free $400k+? I will take it.

[For the record, Armatys is being charged with theft by deception and awaiting extradition to New Jersey with bail set at $50,000. Details, right? And have I mentioned that I'm proud of my home state?]

Always Something There to Remind Me

My friends know that I pride myself on being a relatively effective consumer complaint letter writer. I am beside myself with joy when I receive a response letter from a manager that both addresses my concern and gives me a reason to remain a loyal customer. Most recently, my success was marked by a letter with the following: "Please find the enclosed coupons for two free gallons of Dreyer's ice cream. We apologize for any inconvenience you may have experienced by purchasing a mint tingle gallon of ice cream that was mistakenly packaged without any chocolate tingle."

However, putting my pride aside for a minute, I realize that my attempts at writing these consumer complaints do not come close to the verbal stylings of Wendi from Texas. The following is an actual [censored] letter from an Austin woman sent to Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. Forgive me for posting the entire letter--an abridgment simply wouldn't do Ms. Wendi justice.

[Warning: any males who become uncomfortable in discussions of feminine products should stop reading now.]

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.

But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from 'the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's [censored] into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you [censored] kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?

FYI, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

Pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bull. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,
Wendi
Austin, TX

Lemmings and kittens

USA Today reports that American Idol is starting next week--the producers are wary after the show's first ever decline in viewership last year (allegedly due to the lack of personality and talent of the finalists) and poor attendance during the Idol tour. In addition to being giddy about the Writers Strike that prevents us poor couch potato Americans from being able to watch scripted shows, the producers are making the following adjustments:

1. Letting singers play musical instruments during their performances in the first combined gathering of audition survivors,

[Translation: trying to convince the viewers that these contestants actually have a shred of musical talent]

2. Visiting finalists' hometowns and interviewing family and friends earlier in the process to help viewers get to know them faster, and

[Translation: trying to sway viewers' votes to make the voting even more producer-controlled than it already is, and finding a sob or glory story that fits every viable contestant]

3. Adding an hour to the Hollywood Round and a possible "where are they now?" segment to highlight earlier Idol performers on top-12 results shows.

[Translation: finding a way to appeal to either the viewers' senses of (1) jealousy, by showing the utter failure of previous contestants, or (2) pride, by showing the success of previous contestants, thereby validating the time, money, and occasional techie [illegal] dialing schemes of viewers that go towards supporting their favorite Idol]

Apparently, the "secret weapons" of Idol are the highly watched episodes during the first few weeks where viewers are baffled by the showcase of American singing talent while Simon Cowell provides a number of entertaining soundbytes. When the judges faced complaints that they were being too harsh on contestants, our favorite Simon responded, "Sometimes we say things that maybe we shouldn't, but we're not drowning kittens."

As long as they continue to refrain from drowning kittens, I'll be tuning in. I'll see you there.

Update: Season 5 winner Taylor Hicks was dropped by his record label. Shocking.

Day off work

I took another day off of work today. Well, technically I "worked from home" today. I suppose that would have been more productive if I could actually get Microsoft Outlook to connect and download my new emails. Sigh. However, let the record show that I dutifully remained inside when Wendy invited me to make a snowman with her. Had I known that she was really going to create a snow penguin, I may have been convinced to shirk work and join her. For the record, I heart penguins. Also, Wendy is having a hard time adjusting to being back in Utah after her long Christmas break in California. Poor girl.

Pay for your own dang self. You too, Hillary.

I work in the health insurance industry at a company with a commitment to help customers understand consumer-driven healthcare while better spending and saving their healthcare dollars. As luck would have it, healthcare and health insurance are pretty hot issues in the current presidential campaign. While I don't pretend to be an expert on our political candidates for President or their platforms, I do claim to know a thing or two about health insurance.

On the way to work a few days ago, an analyst on NPR reported trends in voting for different demographics in the recent Iowa primary--apparenty, in the democratic race, younger voters favored Obama, middle-aged voters were split between Obama and Clinton, and elderly voters strongly favored Clinton. Clinton's support is easily explainable by the dollars she throws into ads directed towards the eldery, as well as her policy stance on health insurance.

[Disclaimer: I do not claim to be an Obama supporter. I am, however, a Hillary hater.]

Clinton supporters are attacking Obama for not proposing a federal mandate that every American buy health insurance--Clinton's proposal, on the other hand, prohibits insurers from giving price breaks to the young. What does that mean to us? Well, chances are good that if you are reading this blog, you're probably relatively young. Young people, aged 18-34, generally need minimal amounts of health care ($1,500 a year, on average, according to a Commonwealth Fund study). In most states (with New Jersey [I'm ashamed] and 4 others being the exception), your health insurance premiums are directly tied to the payout a health insurance company expects to make on your behalf. Therefore, if you are young and healthy, you'll have a significantly lower premium than someone older or with health issues.

In other words, Clinton's mandate "would force the young to subsidize the heath tab for the middle-aged generation. This subsidy would come on top of the payroll tax younger people already pay to support today's Medicare recipients. This is contrary to a fundamental American principle. This nation has always believed in making life better for its children, not exploiting them". (For more info: The Truth About Mandatory Health Insurance, Betsy McCaughey, WSJ, Jan 4, 2008).

My response? I'll show YOU exploiting. Call me selfish, but I say... Hillary, pay for your own dang self.

Love me, but don't show me

Last year while I was Christmasing in Arizona, my brother and his kids introduced me to High School Musical. My life, at that moment, changed forever for the better. I am proud to report that my brother's family pulled through again this year, and introduced me to something equally as grand as High School Musical--Sons of Provo (whose starring cast I will refer to as "the boyz").

You might recognize the frontman, Will Swenson, from the Singles Ward... or, if you are more spirichally in tune, you'll remember him as Captain Moroni from the CES seminary videos. Will does not disappoint in his performance in Sons of Provo, which recounts the rise and fall of the biggest LDS Boy Band that never really was.

While I recognize that sitting through the whole movie might be difficult for some, selections from the lyrics of three of my favorite songs written and sung by this boy band simply must be shared with the world via this blog.

Recognizing the unique dating patterns of Provo (the location for this movie), the Boyz sing about the difficulties we face as we try to remain on the straight and narrow during courting, and the unreasonably long length of time during which we're expected to hold strong:

Love Me, But Don't Show Me
These two weeks together have been the sweetest of my life,
My hearts prayer was answered when you agreed to be my wife.
Your love's like a cancer, girl, cuz I got no resistance,
There's only one answer girl: You got to keep your distance!

Love me, but don't show me.
I want our wedding night to be right.
Miss me, but don't kiss me.
If we start to makin' out girl, You won't be wearin' white.

After each date with you, I'll fight with all my might,
To treat you like a gentleman, and shake your hand goodnight.
I'll breathe in your perfume; it's fillin' up my lungs,
But don't you even start to try to use the gift of tongues.

Moving on, the Boyz serenade us with a moving ballad about the sweet spirited girls we all know and love:

Sweet Spirit (a ballad)
She... doesn't turn your head when she walks down the hall.
She... may not be the slender beauty fair and tall.
She... has some acne scars that populate her skin.
But she has beauty emanating deeply from within.

Ooo, sweet spirit, You're so.... [dramatic pause] niiiiiccceeeee.
You may not appear it, But your soul's a pearl of great price.
You're such a good person, Sincere and true.
You'll never hear her cursin'
You're such a special person,
I hope your looks don't worsen,
Or you'll never say... [another dramatic pause] "I dooooooooo."

And, lastly, the Boyz present a song which causes us to reminisce about many-a-testimony that have been shared in our singles wards:

Spirichal As Me
I like to take notes in Sacrament Meeting
But I'm not just some regular guy.
I've memorized the names of every Prophet and Apostle
And I've never told a lie.
When I'm eating lunch in the school cafeteria
I bow my head and pray out loud.
I'm so humble and meek,
And possessing such heavenly qualities makes me proud.

Maybe, someday, You will see
You could be as Spiritchal as me.
And maybe, someday, We'll just see
That you could be as Spiritchal as me.

I relate every topic to my mission, And the baptisms I had.
When I think of how lost Some people are, It honestly makes me sad.
If you follow my lead, let me be your example,
Then maybe someday you'll be, As virtuous, lovely and of good report- As spiritchal as me.

I'm so bless-ed for living like I do
Spreading my light to people just like you.

Realizing that the true magnitude of these lyrics simply cannot be felt without the beautiful musical stylings that are to accompany the words, let me extend this invite: if any of you were as moved by these lyrics as I was, feel free to contact me--my brother was kind enough to give me the blessed DVD as a Christmas present, and I would be more than happy to watch Sons of Provo with you. Again and again.

Christmas "vacation"

My Christmas was quite entertaining and included ice skating, family bonding, gingerbread house making, steak and dim sum eating, racquetball playing, pedicuring, movie watching, etc. Unfortunately, my vacation was also marred by a cold I caught shortly before Christmas, and a virus that invaded my body about 5 days ago before I had gotten over the original cold. I'd like to pay tribute to our capitalistic society which has made the following product inventions possible:

NyQuil. Anyone who has had the opportunity to take this stuff knows of the blissful coma it can create. Unfortunately, I am told that NyQuil can be addicting and affect your sleeping patterns, so I have been trying not take it two days in a row. I am sorry to report that despite my diligence, NyQuil has recently lost its effectiveness--last night after taking 2 Advil Cold & Sinus and then tossing and turning for a few hours, I finally gave in and took another NyQuil. It took me another 2 hours to fall into an altogether too-conscious sleep.

Select Comfort Intralux Pillow - Contour. This pillow is pretty much the awesomest thing ever made for head comfort. And, especially when you're stuffed up to the point of not being able to breathe, the contours in this pillow open up your airways much better than normal pillows.

Halls Cough Drops. This picture (with "Sugar free" prominently displayed across the front of the package) is not illustrative of the non-sugar-free cough drops that I in fact purchased. However, as great as these drops have been on soothing my throat and attempting to manage my cough, I regret that decision to buy sugar-filled cough drops as I have slept with cough drops in my mouth for the past two nights. I suppose a trip to the dentist to drill out cavaties is yet another happy result of the virus that plagues me.

With that said, if anyone can give me an effective suggestion for controlling my cough at night so I can actually get some sleep, I would be forever grateful...