31 May 2010


Begin transmission.

I deleted my other blog forever. You know, the one that was this one before it was this one? Or the one that was at the other location but is now at this location....yeah...

I clicked "New Post" hoping I would start typing and profound and wonderful things would begin to flow from my fingertips to your screen via the great and spacious interweb; alas, it appears that my hopes were in vain. I don't feel well at all. Nausea. Not sure of the cause. Yes I am. No I'm not. Ugh! I'm too sick to argue.

Goodbye forever, [other blog]! I shall never again trust your kind, what with your broken promises and [named urls] and [omitted] and [omitted]!

I've gone mad.

End transmission.
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27 May 2010


Here are some photos from my trip to Nauvoo. I'm hoping to go back and spend some more time photoing. Soon, friends. Or not so soon. You have 3 days.

I'm mediocrely satisfied with at least 2 or 3 of these. What do you think? Honestly. Don't just say stuff. I'm the only one that has been given permission to "just say stuff" around here. I'm going to stop writing now.

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24 May 2010


I am an extremely long-winded fool, or so I've been told. Put your hands up if you agree with the so-called tellers.

OK, put your hands down and continue reading. I solemnly swear to avoid deviating too far off course today. That was probably a lie. I've also been called a fibber from time to time. Example: my mom came into my room once and asked, "have you made up your book report yet or can I take that book back to the library (you little fibber!)?" Solid evidence.

Another instance.
Me: Ma, can I go play?
Ma: Did you do your practicing?
Me: Yeah, both sax and piano. One half hour for each.
Ma: When?
Me: Before you woke up (duh!).
Ma: OK, son. Thanks for being honest. Have fun (you little fibber!)!

Keep in mind that it was 8 a.m. when I asked if I could play. Ergo, in order for me to have had time to practice each instrument for 30 mins each, put everything away (reeds, books, etc.), eaten breakfast (most likely Grape Nuts brand cereal), and allowed for Ma to wake up and get ready, I would have had to have woken up at 6 to begin practicing. My room was right down the hall from Ma & Pa (Kettle)'s room. And my sister, AB, would have also been sleeping on the other side of the wall. So not only was I a fibber, I was a brainless fibber. I guess that didn't really develop until...well...I'll get back to you. Also keep in mind that if you have (or once had) the initials AB, you must be pretty cool.

Long-winded. I must admit that were I to have a text conversation with me, I'd get extremely exhausted after like 4 or 5 texts. I write looooonnnnnggggg texts. I usually can't even say hello in less that 16 words, excluding the time I did it in one word (in this sentence).

Evidence. I was challenged by my good friend GAW to go a week writing only one-word fb statuses. Today's status was RESTRICTIVE! , and so it is. And difficult. Please encourage me in this, friends. And also help me by saying "TOOOOO LOOOONGGGG" if I ever text you a longer text than, say 32 words. With that, I'm going to stop. My focus is gone for the day.

One more thing: if you can guess who I'm imitating with the one-word, all caps, exclamation-pointed status, I'll gift you something. May not be a direct quote.
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12 May 2010

Diving Lessons

I walked in with expectations set at a maximum. A rocket ship on a mission to explore the Universe couldn't soar any higher than such a maximum. They assured my continued safety: they being the kind-yet-deceitful people and not my expectations. I was always taught to jump in head first, although the thought of diving into a standing body of water scares me more than investing a minute or two out of my 500 allotted and timidly touching send preceded by a 10-digit code said to connect me directly to the girl at whom I would inquire Friday's plans. It would have been simpler to have said, "Diving scares me more than asking a girl on a date." Either way you view it, its veracity is in the affirmative.

I proceeded from whence to hence ever-cautiously with shields up and the proverbial phaser-banks loaded to capacity. Prepared to take the leap of faith, my mind wandered back to my childhood. By childhood, of course, I'm referring to a period of my life that took place 3 years ago. My days that summer consisted of a few hours spent devising plans and study guides for the future education of the student populace in fields from basic Multivariate Calculus to Biomedical Science and Quantum Mechanics. Gone were the simple days of Math 101. We were in an ever-changing world and attempts to impede change and growth were futile. One should add that students who would resist this imminent change were consequently rejected by society, or rather the Utopian standards which were being implemented into society, and thereby subjected to a meaningless existence, allowed only one hour of entertainment, such as an anime cartoon; the rest of their pathetic days were spent writing, "I will cease this impotence immediately," while simultaneously baking loaves of french baguette for those of us with a keener intellectualism.

On my leave, I would frolic my merry way home to greet my so-called amigos as we would pile into an automated horseless carriage, commonly known as a car, and head to the pool. One friend attempted to teach my otherwise quick-adapting brain cells (whose growth rate is 10 times faster than quick-rise, instant, dry yeast on 2 tablespoons of pure-cane sugar used by The Incompetents) how to properly send messages via electrical currents to my stubborn legs, arms, and fingertips and instruct them to dive head-first into the pool. The real problem was never an issue of getting my body to form the proper diving pose as it was with convincing myself that water is quite a bit softer than cement from such a short distance, and that my body would act as a genuine Moses and divide the water, providing safe passage into the pool by means of a flawless, painless, and beautiful swan dive. The judges would all hold up a card with the number 10 printed in bold Times New Roman.

As my confidence grew, so did my eagerness to show off to a delightful member of the female gender. Hey you, dame! I would say, for in those days, it was appropriate to address a woman as such, as you thoughtfully shared a bowl of strudel over a roaring campfire whilst discussing theories on Galactic Economics. Look what I can do! I said. Climbing up the ladder, my legs began to involuntarily tremble. I stepped closer to the edge of the diving board, shifting my weight up and down ever-so-slightly in order to assess its ability to flex and the effectiveness of its springs. One!, I cried. Two! A slight whimper escaped the gaps in my teeth and projected towards the female ape-decendent anxiously awaiting my already-presumed belly-flop before the subsequent number was reached. Three!, I yelled, and was off. Soaring. I felt not unlike a bowling ball as it's heaved by a 2-year-old as high as that 2-year-old can muster the strength to toss it. The tosser. Up I went. One inch. Two inches. Back to one inch. All members and extremities now flailing about like Edward from Cowboy Bebop. You can imagine what came next.

Embarrassment. I will not stand for this.

These thoughts were more prevalent and more present in my mind than Kate Beckinsale at any other given time. Should I dive?

Reassured of my safety, I allowed my expectations to maintain steady their present altitude. It was short lived. They stabbed me through the heart with their proverbial dull, jagged knife. I didn't say this would be a happy post.
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05 May 2010

In the Words of My Favorite Yellow Friend with Rosy Red Lightening Cheeks

Pika-pi! Pi-pika-chuuuu! Pi pika pikachu pika pi! Pi ka pi chuuuu pika CHUUU! Pika-pi pika. Chu-pikAAA pika CHUUUUUU. Pika pika! :)

Pika CHU pika pika pi! Pika pi pika pik pikachu pika! PikapikachuuuUUUUU! Pi-Pika-Pi CHUUU pika CHUU Pikaaaaaa! PikacHU Pi- pikachUUuu pikapiiiii pikAAAAA.

Pikachu! Pikachu! Pikapik CHUU PI piKKAAAAA Pikachu!! Pi-pika pikachu pi CHUUUU Pikapika chu pi! pikapiiiiiiiiiii.

Pika-pi pikaCHUUUU piKAAAAAchu!

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04 May 2010


Today at work, I was told (by three (3) people, independently) that I'm going to make a great wife someday.  Thanks, guys.  I guess it kind of fits, though.  I'm also sisters with a girl that's my fake sister.  Did that sentence make any sense to you?  Probably not.  But I never accused you of being intelligent.  Sentient, maybe.  But not intelligent.

Then I stop and think, have I ever accused anyone or anything of sentience?  The answer comes in the form of a cloud of smoke right before a camp fire ignites or right after a volcanic eruption.  iPods, iPhones, Shane, iPads, trucks, scooters, MacBooks, Pan's Labyrinth, Mountain Dews, photos, Final Fantasy, paellas, pretzels, Faxanadu, PoK√©MoN, iTunes, Bjork.  I just wanted to list of few things for no reason.  And yes, I'm sure I have accused someone or something at some point in my life of sentience, so stop asking!

After all was said and done, I finally made it home.  It's a beautiful town full of beautiful people.  The streets bear no appellation other than a number followed by a direction.  The water is all constructed out of salt which must be filtered before consumption.  A large, white building with 6 pillars stands in the centre of town and acts as a beacon for at least half of its population.  There's a presence, or multiple, of long-time friendships and paths long-treaded upon.  The breezy, salty air swoops through, blowing through my ever-lengthing locks, bringing a permanent smile to my face.  On the pavement, the shadows appear to be growing, as if the light cast by my hopes and dreams is at long last lazily making its way to greet me.

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03 May 2010

Master Leon, the Chef

Sometimes, as an aspiring photographer, I presume that I should snap photos. To be honest, I haven't picked up my camera since the last import into Adobe Lightroom nearly 3 months ago. Sad, yes. However, this Digital Age in which most or some or at least I live, although destroying our society altogether, has provided them/us/me some useful perks.

I don't carry my camera around, as can be denoted from the previous paragraph you may have skimmed. I'll be honest, I cannot live with 3 things: food, Pokemon, and my iPhone. Since Pokemon aren't actually real creatures, and are therefore made-up by some genius Japanese dude, it follows that this sentence can be deemed unnecessary. What's left? Food and iPhones. As I will now proceed to show you, while aspiring greatness among phototakers united, I have actually become a master chef.

Photo time.

I made pretzels.

They were quite wonderful.

Tonight I made a traditional Spanish paella with pork.

I also tried something new: homemade French baguette (left). Delightful.

Maybe if I decide I want to become a chef (for reals, yo), I will become a master photographer too!

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02 May 2010

I Added Skip-Zones To This Post


The other day I came across a last name that got me thinking.  I ask you the very same question that I asked myself the minute, nay, the second I came across said surname:

Would you rather have the last name Upchurch or live in a place called Ipswich?  

This led me down what the world would call a random train of thought.  Those who have been influenced by brilliantly minded GAW will recognize right off that it's not random at all.  

I didn't have a bingo machine at my desk in which infinite balls resided with every possible thought process in existence, assuming that such a machine had been invented as of the other day.  And even if such an one existed and I was the proud owner of one such an one, my bulging biceps would exhaustively lack the strength to crank the handle in order to randomly drop a train-of-thought-ball.  Given that all this has happened, I argue it is still not completely random due to a trivial, insignificant (redundant) think I like to call bias introduced by the infinitive nature of the bingo machine.  

Back to my appropriately-named seemingly random train o' thought.  Ipswich.  That's in the UK somewhere: a location to which Arthur Dent invited Zooey Deschanel (sigh!) to vacation.  Actually it's only where I remembered Mr. Dent inviting Mrs. Bell...I mean Ms. Deschanel to vacation.  In reality, she asked him to go to Madagascar and he said no and asked her to go to Cornwall instead.  I'd go with you, Zooey (sigh!).  Ah man, I love that show (Zooey...sigh!).  And it was an even better book, so I'm told.  I was planning on reading it once, and then I lent my copy to this numbskull who's yet to even crack it open for a laugh!  I'll never see that book again, and I could have bought 4 pizzas for what I paid for it!  Oh, Sephin, I do miss you.  Soft-Taco Sundays were the best!  I still put spread the refried beans on half of the tortilla with a spoon, just like you taught me.  Speaking of blog-urls, I don't want some dude's name as the url for my blog.  I think I'll change it.

And hence, here we are.  Here you are!  New locale.  New look.  Not really.  I'm bored of this post.  Comment.  Follow.  Make yourself a homemade pretzel.  Though, you really should make at least 6 homemade pretzels for it to be worth your time.  That's what I would do.

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01 May 2010


Would anyone be offended if I changed the location of my blog? You have 2 days.

Another thing you have only two days for is Monday. Monday generally means that you wake up groggy from a long night of playing Final Fantasy (pick your roman numeral) (I'm currently choosing VIII) and drinking Mountain Dew.

I keep trying to give up the Dew. And then I found out about the 3 new flavors they brought out for the summer. The deal is you try them all and then go vote somewhere online. They (supposedly) keep the one that gets the most votes. Here's what I think they should dew (get it?): just make all the flavors they've ever available at any given time at any given store.

Were that the case, you could do what Levi and I once did, which is make Suicide Sherbet. We decided after watching Wanted, which left us depressed and wanting more out of life, and after eating a few caffeine mints, that, since caffeine is the only drug we were willing to abuse, we would attempt to inject the highest possible amount of it into our bodies. And by inject, I mean the following story. We went to Macey's (a Utah grocery store open SIX days a week, for my out-of-town readers) and bought a twelve pack of every available Mountain Dew. Live Wire (orange). Regular (yellow). 3 then-summer-flavors (don't recall their colors). Code Red (duh). We bought a tall can of NOS (energy drink). Cream. Went home. Mixed a can of each, threw in the NOS, added some cream and like a cup of sugar (for good measure), tossed it in my ice cream freezer, put it on the porch outside, plugged it in. Thirty minutes later, we were bouncing off the walls like William Shatner in the following scenes:

In the following days, I would make Suicide Sherbet smoothies by half-filling a glass with the frozen caffeine overload, adding a can of Mountain Dew (any flavor), mashing it together with a spoon, and slurping. And gulping. And running a marathon. Not really that last one.

I don't know why I told you that story or embedded the video that probably offended you. Just let me know if you care, you, if I change the location of my blog. Alright, you!?

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