Stupid. Don't Waste Your Time.

I've slipped into my old ways of being a crappy blogger friend. Goal: be better at this.

Some other goals include getting used to writing 2010, catching all 400+ pokemon in Platinum, watching all of season 1 of Pokemon, doing all this before Pokemon HeartGold and SoulSilver are released (March 14), somehow managing my time between catching Pokemon in Platinum and Emerald and LeafGreen and Diamond and the aforementioned HeartGold and SoulSilver all while reading new books like Dante's Inferno and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and movie-watching and daydreaming about moving back to Utah and nightdreaming about moving back to Utah and this is an entirely ridiculous sentence. I know what you're thinking. Yes, I am obsessed with Pokemon. No, I don't want you to set me up with your friend, and 5. No, 3.

I also plan on getting back on my healthy-lifestyle kick, for the holidays were somewhat rough to keep that going. Tonight I had a bowl of broccoli. It's a start.

Since I know I'm boring you to tears, or maybe death, and since I have no ganas whatsoever to write anymore tonight, I'll be done. But a question before you leave: what are some of the goals you guys, all n + 1 of you, have set/are setting?

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Pop Quiz

So there I was, pleasantly squished in the backseat of a puny little Mazda 6. The car was black, the sky was about 13 shades of grey, and I was thirsty. I suggested that we stop for an ice-cold refreshment since we'd be spending the next 2 hours crammed inside an oddly-shaped box on wheels, and I, for one, didn't want to venture that far from home without caffeine.

The nice lady behind the counter at the inconveniently placed convenient store was friendly enough. I couldn't understand much of what she said as I hustled and bustled and scrambled to find a soda that could handle a Jones the size of a small snow leopard. Thinking solely of my fellow travelers' needs by this point, I decided to don my thinking cap and hurriedly conjure up some ideas of what the kid trying to be too cool might call roadtrip snackage. I might be that kid.

Me: "Do you have any roadtrip snackage?"

Her: "What the $&% is that, honey?" (She really called me this! No, not really.)

Me: "Hmmm, how about Mike & Ike's? Or Hot Tamales? Everyone likes those."

Her: "Yeah, we have a s$$$-pile of those somewhere!" (This she really said.)

Me, giving her an awkward, you-just-offended-me glance: "......"

Her: "Sorry, uhh, crap-pile..."

Me, awkward glance turned into an awkward long-lasting glance: "Where?"

We find both crap-piles of candy-box-shaped gummi candies. Back at the register, the awkwardness ensues.

Her, signaling to my flannel purple: "That's a pretty (and forgive me for using this word) awesome shirt. I've seen a belt in the mall that would match it perfectly.

Me, lifting my shirt to show my belt: Really?! See, this is the belt I have on.

At this point, as she's looking at my belt and probably my belt buckle (since it's a nintendo paddle), it dawns on me that my fly is down. Pop quiz, hotshot: do I a) nonchalantly turn around and zip up, hoping it will go unnoticed, or b) over react, like I am wont to do, the same way a dog freaks out when Novocain is applied to its tongue, and say "Whoops! Sorry about that!" while simultaneously whipping around and zipping up?

If you guessed (a), you are blatantly and 100% perfectly wrong and you don't know me at all, in which case you should probably make an effort to get to know me better. If you guessed (b), I still think you should get to know me better. What you failed to realize is that there was a 3rd option: c) I made this whole story up. If you happened to guess (c), you're still wrong. The correct answer is (b).

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Powerfully Mustached

Do you hear that? It's the new sound Macs make when they wake up. Apple has finally done away with the (please forgive me, Apple!) annoying naneeeeeenuuuuuuu! and replaced it with (what's my favorite word, friends?) cathartic silence. Those of you with MacBooks or MacBook Pros will, nay, shall know what I mean.

And a quick note. Out of the n people that read Resplendent, I only like n - 1 of you. Sorry, nth-guy.

Now, on to the good stuff. It was one of those rare occasions the other day when I put my mind to some use and thought about stuff. Life, as it were, made its precarious way into my superior brain waves. More specifically, life with a mustache.

To be frank, it's beyond amazing. In a word, as you (but not the nth you) knew would come into play due to the title: power. You ladies are probably saying by now, "Ewwww, the author of our most favorite interweb blog is a card-carrying mustachioed. " I know how you think, and I am in accord. See, I've come to the conclusion that no woman, whatever magical era of the world's existence in which she has lived, has ever truthfully said, "I just wish my man had a mustache," or "I feel like the world's problems would be solved if the President of the United States would grow a mustache." Actually, I don't know if any person, male or female, has said either one of these sentences and meant it.

Which brings me to my point. There are many reasons men, and, in some cases, women, grow a mustache.

1) She's just really unlucky, and should get it waxed or LASERed, and quick!

2) Probably most importantly, a mustache empowers the males of our species. With a mustache, a man can do anything, be anyone, go anywhere, and speak Italian, as shown here:

2) Family Guy really isn't the most appropriate show in the whole wide world or even on the world wide web. But it's a satire, and name a satire that is wholly appropriate, nth guy.

3) Although cartoons are deemed children's shows here in the States, this couldn't be more wrong. Children shouldn't be watching shows like Family Guy. Anime is another type of cartoon not generally directed towards kids. This has been an example of how uneducated we are in America.

I could go on and on about some cool anime cartoons until the n + 1th guy gets blue in the face, but I only like him slightly better than the nth guy.

See? I successfully distracted you. You are now thinking about cartoons and Family Guy and some of you may even be offended and are no longer thinking of mine, or anyone else's, mustache. That's true power, my n - 1 friends, derived only from sporting our not-so-favorite, nose-tickling, drink-filtering, velcro-like something. Can you even imaging having something velcroed to your mustache? No. Now go away.

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The Gaussians

I'm not very good at articulating. I don't presume to be grasping at straws when I say that I have a sturdy hold on the English language. Strong vocabulary: check. Strong grammar: check. Spelling: dubble check. Never mind all of that when I'm speaking: I get choked up, stuck finding a word, making silly mistakes such as ending a sentence with an unavoidable preposition, confusing you're and your and too and two and to and there and they're and their and doing and doing. Sometimes I have to take a deep breath. Sometimes I have to get that ringing out of my ear.

But then I realize, the ringing isn't coming from within my ear. It's purely external: the sound of a bell. I look around and see no one; there's that awful feeling of utter vacancy: the feeling you get when you're alone and yet sense a presence there; its eyes candidly watching, waiting to catch you unawares; the stale air wisps under your nostrils at the sudden whoosh of your head returning to it's standard position: obediently straight forward, with the attitude of mindless labor; your own two eyes staring noiselessly and endlessly at the clock which reads 2:30; the computer screen flickering its seamless, digital image relentlessly at your face, displaying the products of a certain urban outfitter; your right birdie finger emulating the movement of a carefully swung oar during the championship Moloka‘i Outrigger Canoe race, enabling the screen to shuffle aimlessly through pages and pages and your mind to capture the visible digitalization of myriad pairs of jeans tight enough to make your mother blush; your wallet curiously appears onto your otherwise empty cubicle desk; credit card facetiously slides out of its multifaceted holster upon receiving a secret push from an unknown source; 2:45.

You hear the bell ringing. No. The bells. Many bells.

To your right you see the apparition of what appears to be something bell-shaped. Your mind wanders back to the days when the general consensus was the Earth to be bell-shaped; those days when followers of Johann Carl Friedrich Gauss ruled the planet; you remember Pop-Pop recounting old tales of the mysterious disappearance of many Gaussians in the late 1700s. An extermination, he had proclaimed it. He was just trying to scare you, wasn't he? One day, the Gaussians will return.....A day when bells are no longer seen a symbol of One, of the whole, of purity.......

You realize that the bells are not alone; footsteps now accompany the heartless, ostinatonous chiming of the bells. Could it be them?

The apparition of the bell-shaped figure becomes more solid than an ancient stone that has been safely guarded within the Nutty Putty caves of western Utah Lake since the prehistoric era; a time long before said caves were formed. You realize you've seen the bell-shaped shape before: a Christmas decoration that hangs ever-gleamingly at your drab cubicle. It looks mysteriously like the one on your right; you dangerously continue staring, attempting at a conclusion of a previous encounter. It dawns on you, as across the bell-shaped apparition read the words Merry Christmas!: the bell has lost its symbolism. You feel sudden doom; imminent and insatiable death; despair seeps in exactly the way a banana cannot pierce the side of a T-1 Jayhawk.

The footsteps grow louder. The bells' ringing becoming an increasing nuisance as each chime causes a slight shudder in your heart. The word tintinnabulation grows ever weary in your mind, your conscious mind. You see the image of one great Poe flash before your eyes. Presently you wonder if the subconscious realm is playing what is known in 1990 vernacular as a mean joke. In your imaginations, the improbability that you will be completely able to come up with a perfect end to this blog post maxes out at one. You recall that one equals one hundred percent. It all makes sense.

Bell-shaped shapes. One. The Gaussians. All illusions. An awful way to describe the feelings of utter vacancy that exude from the cube-shaped work-area you call your desk between the times 2:30 and 2:45, when the rest of your world is at break.

I hesitantly turn back to the international super web; back to electronic commerce; dreaming. Cue the eerie feeling of being watched; cue the candid's eyes.

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Thing(s)

Thing(s) I don't like today (or ever):

• Auto-start music on blogs

Thing(s) I do like today (or always):

• Turkey

This post makes no sense. Please disregard. Except for the part about not liking auto-start music on blogs. If you are involved in this, please stop.

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Looky What I Can Do!

Please, check this out. A real post coming soon, I promise.

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Free

For those of you with an iPhone/iPod Touch, check this out. You can get a free game from this company every day from now (or rather the 1st...I just found out about it myself) until the 24th. And it's like one of those calendars you open during December. Who doesn't like those?

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Thanksgiving, Year 2

Fortunately, the President of the United States has decided that we should set apart a day to give thanks for what we have. In his own words, “[B]y virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, [I] do hereby proclaim Thursday, November 26, 2009, as a National Day of Thanksgiving.” Say what you may about Obama, I think it’s a good idea. A great idea. Not very original to pick the already-named Thanksgiving Day as a day of thanksgiving, but still a fantastic idea. You can find the official proclamation here.

In honor of his wishes, I've decided to (once again) declare my gratitude to all the humans, animals and inanimates that have blessed my life in some way. As many of you have come to expect with my brain, these are in no particular order; moreover, somehow I’ve become even more long-winded (or the writing equivalent) in the past year, so this list is quite long. If you just want to skim the list to see if you appear, see if I care. If you don’t appear, just try harder in the 12 months that remain until Thanksgiving Day 2010. Also beware of cliches and cheese; mind you, it’s all sincere.

Amber, you are my best friend. You always stick by me and my decisions, no matter how rash or out in right field they are. You put up with my weirdness by exceeding it only with your own. You give me cool nicknames. Words truly cannot describe how you have saved my life on so many occasions. Love you to death, Wham!

Mom, everyone says this, but you really are the best mom in the world. You’re the strongest woman I know and a true example of how one should live the gospel given any curve life can throw at them and in every situation. You’ve given me everything and your love is amazingly unconditional; I rank it right up there with God’s love. I haven’t been the perfect son, but it doesn’t matter to you. Thank you. Love ya, mom!

Shawn, Sheeila and kids, you have such a beautiful family. I miss you guys more than I miss Spain, Logan, and playing baseball in the park growing up combined. I think you should start a blog, or get on Facebook, or something so I can see your kids grow. Even though you were always a punk when we were younger, Shawn, you are and always were a great example to me, and when I’m in the wrong, you give me the Shawn-look, as it’s come to be known behind your back, and it pulls me back to where I should be. Thank you.

Dad, I miss you. I love you. I can’t wait until I get to see you again, until I get to feel your embrace, until I get to be with you forever. Your life was a legacy of how to honor the Priesthood. You came to every dance recital, you were at every piano recital, you were at every band concert, you came to every football game and even started watching football on the television box to show your support and love for me, you were there to call me out when I was wrong and to congratulate me on my successes, you sent me on a mission where I was able to teach people because of how you taught me, you encouraged me through extra letters when you knew I was struggling, you called me at school to check on me, you gave me your car so I had a way to go on dates; since you left, you have been a sanctuary to me when I am sad, lonely, in despair and in need of love through your lingering presence in my life, your legacy, your example, and your love.

[Deep breath]

I am also thankful for: writing in one gigantic, run-on sentence; Mike and our heart-to-hearts about fabric or girls or Family Guy or math or probability or ridiculous tv shows or Star Wars or Alfred Hitchcock or Gertie’s Brick Oven Pizzeria or life; IMing with Kay Tea Bell at work to make the day go faster and her bringing me salsa from Margarita’s in Kansas City every weekend; friends what put pictures of me up on the wall in their rooms; films; theatre; Shaney and his ever-present excitement when I come into town; Ken-doll + Zatarra + K + Yaz (don’t ask) + Good Laws + you and his always kicking me in the throat when I need a good throat-kicking, and pulling me back to reality when I need a good back-to-reality pulling; SNAKE and her beautiful hissing sounds and her beautiful face that makes the hissing sounds; the Hess what has my favourite blog which always makes me laugh and (always) cheers me up when I’m having an otherwise cheerless day; President Obama and his allotting me 2 hours of paid-time-off yesterday; 13” aluminum MacBooks; the bishop and his family and their taking me under their wing and being my away-from-home family; the ppk .380 and the James-Bond-like grandeur I exude while shooting it; great literature; my 24 public blog followers; my infinite, uncountable set of hidden blog followers; Banks and her dry, sarcastic, cynical, optimistic sense of humor; the USDA; the Hawaiian what calls me Leo; Celtic musicks; my new Missouri friends (both married and not); my previous upstairs neighbors; art and anyone named Art; Grandpas and Grandmas; my great co-workers and their patience with my insolence; anyone with the last name VanBibber; Colio for getting me a job with NASS and being my best school/work/scooter friend (just upped the ante); my 2nd cousin, once removed (who is serving a mission in Argentina!); missionaries; Seth and the greatest appellation ever which doubles as a Spanish curse word and what got everyone I met in the previous year to call me by said nickname; Summer-Mae-Winter-June-Oaklady-Oaktree-Okey of the Summer-Mae-Winter-June-Oaklady-Oaktree-Okey diet and the 55 lbs I lost this year; Nemo + Cuz + Micah-man and his being my mental counsellor for the past 3 years; the Shrivner and her singing beautiful music and her awkward touches and the awkward things she says like Why don’t you just date me?; arch-enemies; my guitar; Jenova; my 3 nieces and 1 nephew; my testimony and knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ and belonging to His church (!); photography; great musicks; Final Fantasy; KC; MelliMar; Hales; non-hydrogenated oils; GAW; Sephin; Levi Baker and his vampire laugh and our constant disagreements on Mac vs. PC; Mickey Wayne; I-21; the Paget family; Spain; Paella; the Griffiths and their midi files; a phone that doubles as everything; chili; Game Stop; all of your blogs; skinny jeans; my cousins; my aunts and uncles; my digs; Jalface and cool trips to California; the Beebe family; Carolyn; my faithful commenters; 100-inch projections; Seth’s blood-sister; hating on terrible, generic-crap-some-would-call-music music; missionary work; the cathartic sound my phone makes when I send or receive a text in texting-mode; all 20+ remakes of Wham’s Last Christmas; getting asked to quit my job and move to Australia by a girl; facebook (love/hate); zombies; and knowing when to end a long list by measuring its increasing silliness.

There is so much more I could have said. I don’t know if I hit everything for which I’m thankful, but this list suffices me, or at least it has to unless you want it to go on for 3.14 days. Obviously some of it was a bit silly; mind you, I meant every word of the serious parts (and some of the silly ones). I hope you all have a fantastic Thanksgiving. Keep blogging. Keep reading. [I] love you all!

Comments welcome.

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