So there you go. I am a fan of a lot of stuff. It seems that I should be a fan of more stuff. Like cliff-jumping, Base jumping, jumping in general, eating ritz crackers, playing catch at 8,000 feet, deli sandwiches, etc.
Showing posts with label shower. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shower. Show all posts
Monday, April 27, 2009
Being a Facebook Fan
On facebook you can be a fan of lots of things. You can be a fan of Coca-Cola, Larry Bird, the X-files, or George Washington. But you can also be a fan of things that, while ridiculous, are nonetheless important to some like cuddling, sleeping, not being on fire, and drinking beer. Currently I am a fan of these things (some of them more than others):
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I have a dream of using the bathroom in freedom
Generally, I try not to be too crude or dumb sounding when I write this blog, and, I hope this post is no exception. However, just now I decided to share something that might be a bit crude. I have lived off and on in a rented place for all of my college experience. There are many things I will miss about college, the places I've lived in, people I've met, etcetera. However, there are some things I will certainly not miss upon graduating from BYU and leaving rented housing. One such thing is not being able to use the bathroom because a room mate has conveniently read my mind and snuck in right before I was able to make it there. It makes no difference how badly I needed to use it. My palm reading, tarot card reading, or bathroom fortune cookie always screws me over.On more than one occasion I have forgone my morning shower. On more than one occasion I have had to go on campus to do my business because all the bathrooms were occupied at home. On more than one occasion I have had to leave my wet bath towel on my bed in my room because the second I left the bathroom someone charged in and locked it. Bathroom freedom has almost reached mythic status in my life. It seems I can only attain it at the hours I least need it.
But I have dreams. They say everyone does. My dream is to be able to use the bathroom whenever I need to go. My dream is to be able to shower on demand. My dream is to be able to walk into the bathroom with the fresh smell of anything but what I am typically subjected to (I would settle for gasoline or mild skunk). In my dreams the bathroom is a special place. It is a sanctuary of sorts where I am king of the porcelain throne, and no one objects. My subjects are full toilet paper rolls and clean lids, and some appropriate bathroom literature.
But for now it is but a dream.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Phone Tag and Rediscovering Your Inner Child
From the days of our early childhood to maybe even last week (for some of you), we have been brought up with social games. There is duck-duck-goose, "pin the tail on the donkey," "truth or dare," and the classic, and my personal favorite, tag (not to be confused with Mitt Romney's son Tagg). For those of you reading this in Pakistan or Singapore, tag is a game where there is a group of people, with one designated as "it," and thereby endowed with the prerogative, power, and responsibility to tag everyone else. The last person to get tagged wins.
(This man is enjoying a nice game of tag with a polar bear)
Tag quite often devolves into arguments among children. One says, "I got you," with the other saying, "No you didn't," or, "That was my jacket, it doesn't count." But, petty bickering aside, it's a pretty wholesome activity. And, I'm not about to make it into some metaphor for life or root out your inner demons by psychoanalyzing your success or lack thereof while playing the game as a child. However I do want to talk about the more relevant form of tag for adults, or more sophisticated adolescents. This derivation is called 'phone tag.'
I myself am a master at phone tag. You might think it hubris on my part, and, perhaps you're right, but I have proof. First off, let me start by explaining the ins and outs of phone tag and by which criteria you can go by to find out if you've got skills. Phone tag, (the structured form) involves two people. One person calls the other, for whatever reason does not reach the person, then the other calls back in hopes of getting a hold of the person who called. The game only continues if they never get in touch. When someone finally does, the game is over. Either the caller or the called wins, and that depends on the context of the game (and, if you really want to talk to the person, I guess everybody wins, but I'm not espousing Marxist dogma).
So to my case study. Myself. I make plenty of outbound calls and receive plenty of inbound calls, but I am meticulous in calling people back if they call me. So, you might say I am naturally inclined to end phone tag quickly. But you would be wrong. Whether it happens to be divine providence or luck, I seem to get embroiled in regular bouts of phone tag. It starts off simply enough with me calling someone and leaving a message. Then the person calls back, but for some reason they catch me during the .5% of the day I don't have the phone with me. This might be while I'm taking a shower, making a sandwich, at the gym, or circling the earth in a satellite (that happens more than I'd like to admit). Then, I call them back and magically get the voice mail box again. If it carries on I either leave random or ridiculous tag messages. For instance, I might claim to be a towing service, or prize patrol, or an angry Chinese man, but always I end with "Tag, you're it" even if it is unintelligible in a thick Chinese accent.
So I suppose the moral, if there must be one, is to keep your inner child alive through adaptations of children's games like phone tag. If you can find a way to play duck-duck-goose with phones, texting, or skype, you're my hero.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Dangers of Sledding: A How to Guide
Sledding is a very dangerous past time. Almost as dangerous as wearing skinny pants on a regular basis. Let me tell you why in list form:1. You might fracture a bone in your hand (that's what I did wednesday, yet some how I'm still typing)
2. Cooking eggs with one hand is a challenge.
3. Showering, dressing oneself, and styling one's hair takes some unique creativity with one hand.
4. Peeling clementines and other citrus fruits becomes extremely taxing.
Now, if I may, let me cite some good things about sledding (to the point of breaking your hand):
1. You can't wash your own dishes.
2. You have a good excuse not to tie your shoes.
3. When you slip and fall on your untied shoelaces and break your other hand, women will faun on you.
4. If you're lucky, one of your attractive care takers will fall in love with you due to the Florence Nightingale syndrome.
On this last note I will expound. Let me begin by saying that breaking any bone is a bother. It's inconvenient. It even hurts and itches from time to time (although one of my high school wrestling coaches always said if it's itching then it's healing - but healing or not I want to scratch it). But, even with inconvenience comes benefit. I, for instance, plan to milk this injury as much as possible. I might even dictate blog posts to people, have people read to me, tie my shoes, wash my dishes, and occasionally give me massages. And, even if I get some questioning look from whoever is helping me, all I need to do is grab my hand, wince a little and then look back at them gratefully saying, "I really appreciate it. You're my favorite." In a couple of days or weeks I should have successfully started a romantic relationship. I mean, nothing says romance like spoon feeding an invalid (That's me).
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The call of the ocean
I was listening to Hawaiian music in the shower this morning. The sound of the ukulele and the amazing vocal range of an almost 800 pound man named Israel Kamakawiwo'ole filled me with a longing for the ocean. The tropics. The beach. The surf. 
Part of this longing has to come from the fact that it is getting colder in Utah. That, and as it gets colder, the trees shed their leaves and I can see more of the barren desert that surrounds me. I get this feeling of distance from the sea. I almost believe it is gone. There is only a vast sea of brown earth. Oh sure, there are multiple shades of brown, but it's still brown.
I hate to see my surfboards idly leaning against the wall with nothing to do but hope. They were meant to ride the waves. I was meant to ride the waves.
The ocean has always inspired men. It beckons like an unconquerable expanse. It is truly the last frontier, regardless of all of man's peregrinations and circumnavigations. We know very little about it. It's mystique and seemingly endless grip on the horizon fills the soul with wonder and contemplation. You can allow your mind to slip into an infinite blue that has no master. It liberates me. It is somehow home.
Well, I guess there's only one way to solve this problem. Ditch Utah. Go to the coast. Marry a mermaid. Live underwater with clownfish and sea turtles. And surf.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
I am Victorious.
VICTORY! Well, for now at least. Here's the breakdown of my day.7:00am - Woke up
7:30am - Woke up
8:00am - Woke up (for real)
8:02am - Wanted to take a shower but couldn't, someone was in there
8:05am - Dressed and finished French shower (smelling like roses, but still being as filthy as the Seine River)
8:06-8:45am - Intermittent reading for 9 o'clock class, as well as reading of todays news and eating random stuff and halloween candy
8:45am - Walked to class
9:00am - Got to class just as the bell rang
9:00am-9:50am - Tried to stay awake in class. Started off great for the first 10 minutes (Being close to the front didn't help)
10:00isham - Got home with intention to nap until noon, but got distracted by life
10:45am-12:05pm - Sort of napped, yelled at a showering brother listening to Phish, put on headphones and listened to ambient sounds and the ocean.
12:06pm - Ate some ham, cheese and spinach tortilla sandwiches. Washed them down with milk
12:35pm - nowish - Wrote a ridiculously long paper for a class midterm with interruptions (friends, emails, facebook, this blog, etc.)
Current Time: 5:48pm - VICTORY. Well, for now.
Homework left to do: Shoot myself.
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