I had something to say.

The day started off normal. Everyone's did. Well, except for a few "pilots"...

The rumors started around lunchtime. Which, in high school, was more like 10:45 or 11. They were vague, and I didn't hear any directly. They just floated. Whispers from invisible mouths.

There was something about a bomb threat, but this was Rustburg, Virginia. It's not like that hadn't happened before. And no one ever followed through.

Just at the end of lunch, someone started panicking. Something about blowing up Lynchburg.

Why the heck would someone nuke Lynchburg, of all the places in the world?

After lunch I had history class. I would have been in 11th grade then, so it was Ms. Lipscomb. She took us into Mr. Singleton's room, but I still haven't figured out why. The tv was so snowy that, even if I had known what was happening, I couldn't have figured out what the reports were saying.

A lot of the kids didn't care. But the teachers didn't notice. They both sat, staring at the snowy screen, looking pretty grave about something.

The rest of the day was blurry. I think we stayed in history, but I don't really remember. I just know that no one in the school actually told us what we were supposed to be concerned about.

I only found out the details over the next few days, and not from school (ironically). By that point I was more annoyed about the hype than concerned with the tragedy. Who cares about a stupid tower in New York?

But I should have cared.

Only twice in the history of our country have we been attacked so blatantly, on our own soil. the first was Pearl Harbor. But at least then we had a face to go with it. Japan more than paid its dues.

Hundreds of people died for absolutely no reason. National security was breached in a major way. Money was siphoned. Equipment was destroyed. People were thrown into complete panic.

I should have cared. But I didn't.

Learning about all the people that died was like talking about Antietam in history class. The bloodiest day in the history of our country. 23,000 dead in one single-day battle. But it happened a week short of 139 years before 9-11. And I didn't know any of them. It was just a moment in history.

I didn't know anyone in New York. Or Pennsylvania. None of my family or friends were flying anywhere that day. The biggest effect it had on me was that school was practically empty for several days. Which was kind of fun.

I was 16. Old enough to take things more seriously. But I was too sheltered. It was too distant. Unlike so many other people in the country, I wasn't afraid to go to school, or to sleep at night. And I didn't really understand why I should be.

9-11 didn't really affect me at all. Not then, at least.

But ten years have passed since then. I've learned a few things over the years. That people can resolve their differences when something more important is at stake. About what patriotism means. That our country was strong, and wouldn't take such things lying down. About how quickly people forget...

People are back to their same old problems. Their same old arguments. Their same old complaints about the failings of America.

I don't think it will be too long before 9-11 day becomes just like Pearl Harbor day. Without cheating, how many of you even know what day that is?

Maybe I should have cared more. Been more concerned. Thought about the broader perspective. But I didn't. And I was okay.

Think about it. One of the biggest things that has ever happened to the American people, and how many of them didn't get hurt? How many didn't lose someone, didn't get stranded somewhere, didn't get too scared to sleep?

Even when we're in the middle of a direct attack on the people in New York City, we're still lucky. We're lucky that we have the freedom and safety to be complacent. We're lucky that we could just sit around not caring about 9-11, and nothing happened to us.

We didn't have to flee for our lives, or board our windows. We didn't have to suffer through hundreds of attacks.

We should care. I definitely should have. But I'm incredibly grateful to be living in a country where I'm safe enough and free enough to escape such a momentous event so completely unscathed.

Even if you take 9-11 for granted, don't do the same for our country.

Everybody Dance Now

Yes, I was just listening to that song. And totally looking absurd whilst jamming to it.

Afterward I watched some videos of Michael Jackson dancing, all the while wondering if he even had bones.

And I was just thinking about stuff. You know, dancing. And wishing I could do it. And I decided to make a goal for myself. It probably doesn't seem like much of a goal. Feel free to judge me.

My goal: To at least once in my life be able to dance in front of people.

We're not talking well. And we're not talking a lot of people. 5 or 6 would do. The point is just to be able to.

I can't really explain it. But I've tried a lot of times. I go to ward/stake dances specifically intending to actually dance at them. Every time I move to a new place, I try to make a new start. These people don't know me. I have a chance to be my real, absolutely crackpot self with them.

But I can't.

Not I'm scared to. I actually can't. My feet and my arms won't let me. And I don't get why. It's not like anyone else who dances at these things actually looks good. But I can't do it.

And then I look even dumber, because I'm that weird, obnoxious one that actually cares.

I hate it. But it's not something I've figured out how to fix.

So yeah. That's my goal.

In the mean time, enjoy the first ever moonwalk. (It's toward the end.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgPKc9FUC6Y

James Bond vs. Scooby Doo

It's been months (since June) since I've had real internet, and two weeks since I've had internet at all. So I decided to do a short blog post in commemoration of finally having real internet that I'm actually supposed to use.

I was going to do one of my Picture of the Day posts, but I couldn't think of anything in particular, so I hit random article on Wikipedia for a topic. It was: The name of some Nissan car I don't care about. But it did give me an idea for a picture post.

So this one time I wrote a wicked awesome car chase scene. Not a typical action movie one with guns and 100 mph races down the highway. In this scene we had one of these:

In hot pursuit of one of these:

I know, right? How does that work? Well, it wasn't a long scene, but it involved some spectacular maneuvering followed by a full-throttle jump off of an overpass to the road beneath, where the van subsequently drove onto this:

and the Aston Martin passed them in the dark, and gave chase to nothing.

Well, I thought it was pretty awesome anyway.

THE primary reason that I will be mad if Hunger Games gets rated R

There's been a lot of talk. Some of it perplexing. There's a lot of disturbing content in the Hunger Games series, true. Therefore, a lot of people think that the movie will be rated R.

I will be supremely disappointed if this turns out to be true. But not because of not wanting to see a rated R movie. It goes much deeper than that.

While there is a lot of dying, etc, in the Hunger Games, it isn't explicit. It's implied. This is a tactic which makes the books so much better than a cheap shocker novel. When you can imagine the scene for yourself, it's so much more deeply personal. And therefore much more effective.

I've tried to explain this about a thousand times, and it never has really worked. But today I found a quote that does a much better job that I can. Obviously, his context is the creation of a horror novel, but the point is exactly the same.

"How many times have you been disappointed by a motion-picture adaptation of a favorite horror novel? The reason is usually simple: the pictures were those of the director's choosing, not those you had seen with your mind's eye while reading the book.

"Reading is an intimate act, a sharing of imagination by a writer and reader. Its power is undoubtedly heightened when the subject involves our deepest and darkest fears. When a writer chooses explicit images, spelling out horrors, he (like a film director) provides the picture, depriving the reader of the opportunity to share in the act of creation. Reading explicit fiction is thus a passive act, a take-it-or-leave-it proposition that may soon cause the reader to lose interest in you and your story.

"But there is a more fundamental objection to explicitness. Too many purveyors of the "gross-out" are working from the proposition that the purpose of horror fiction is to shock the reader into submission. They indulge in the cheap tactic that motion-picture directors call "pop ups": the hand thrusting into view, the sudden close-up of a ravaged corpse. But shock is a visceral experience, a sensory overload from which most of us recover quickly, with a laugh or a scream.

"Great horror fiction is rarely about shock, but rather the more lasting emotions; it digs beneath our skin and stays with us. It is proof that an image is only as powerful as its context. Stylists such as Ramsey Campbell and Charles L. Grant can invoke more terror through a lingering shadow, a fugitive stain, than most "splatter" films can produce with gallons of spilled blood. That power - not only to scare, but also to disturb, a reader, to invoke a memory that will linger long after the pages of the book are closed - is the true goal of every writer of horror fiction."

- Douglas E. Winter

THAT is why I sincerely hope that the Hunger Games movie is not rated R. Because if it is, it means they've sold out. It means they've spelled out everything for us. They've gone for the blood and gore and slasher movie shocks that will completely cheapen the story.

Instead of a lasting impression that causes us to re-evaluate ourselves and our lives, all we'll get is a few buckets of cheap special effects and a gag-reflex or two. I want a life-changing movie, not a gross-out party.

I'll be mad if it's rated R because it will mean that hollywood has, once again, completely destroyed a perfectly good series just to make a couple bucks.

I always used to think the phrase was "word to the Y's"

Stereotypical and cheesy, yes. But nonetheless valid. I love this picture. It's funny and accurate at the same time.

Sometimes life feels like that. Like we're trying to cram ourselves into this hole that just doesn't fit. It's not always true, though. Sometimes we just have to be patient and wait for gravity to do its job. Slow and steady gets it done.

And sometimes we're in the right hole, but at the wrong time. The carpenter hasn't cut us down yet. We're still a rough block. But life experiences turn us into the peg that we're ultimately meant to be. Sometimes it hurts. No one likes being sliced and sanded. But the end result is way more awesome than just sitting around and staying an un-cut block that doesn't fit anywhere.

And sometimes we really are just trying too hard to do the wrong things. We have to branch out and try new things.

Either way, though, it's the struggle that makes it interesting. How boring would it be if we just slipped easily into our little round hole and sat there forever while everyone else was going around doing stuff?

You'll probably want to skip this one... just saying.

What good is a blog if you can't use it occasionally to lash out at the world?

Don't worry. I don't hate life. Just some of the people in it. Be warned, though, if you don't want to read about some of my pet peeves, you should probably skip this post. You won't be missing much.

I have many a random, tiny pet peeve. They're mostly stupid and illogical. Like people leaving the bathroom light on. For some reason that drives me up the wall. But that isn't what I'm annoyed with today.

If there are two things I hate, it's quitters and word-breakers. And I just discovered that I live in a ward full of them.

Alright, alright, that's a very harsh thing to say. How about a ward half-full of them.

I'll get over it soon. It's really not that big of a deal. Like at all. There is no life and death involved in the story I'm about to relate. But this sort of thing happens to me so often that it's hard for me to not start to hate society over it.

The Story

This past spring/summer we've had an intramural team. In spring we played kickball. In summer we played softball.

Spring was great. We had loads of people, and only had to play one game without a full team. Sadly it was the last game, and we came in 2nd instead of first in the championship. But it was still good and we had fun. And it was all fine and dandy.

Summer started good. We had so many people sign up that we couldn't put them all on the roster. They had to call around and find out who was actually serious about coming in order to decide who to keep. And our first game was the same. We had to rotate so many players that we almost had enough for a second team.

The second game was awesome. We kicked serious butt. But not too long after that, a bunch of people were out of town, so we played with a skeleton staff and lost horrifically. During said skeleton staffed games, there were several people who had promised to be there, since most of our regulars were gone.

Yeah, they never showed up. That happened twice. We were only just barely, barely able to not forfeit. We haven't played with a full team since.

And here we are, halfway through the tournament rounds. We've been losing, because of our shortage of people, but we've been playing really well despite that. Our team is actually really good. We had a brilliant chance of winning this thing.

Yes, I say had. Because we had another game tonight. And all of 4 people promised to come. Only 3 of them for sure. One was all wishy washy about it. (One of the same who didn't show at a previous game and almost ruined it for us, so I don't really trust them anyway.) So basically, we're just gonna quit halfway through the tournament.

I know it's because some people had to go out of town, and it's not their fault. But there are enough people here that we could've played. They were just too busy. Translation: didn't feel like it.

Why I'm Angry

Like I said, not the end of the world. Just summer intramurals. So why am I ticked at 20 or so of my neighbors?

A) Because I hate quitting stuff. It's even hard for me to exit out of a computer game when I have to go somewhere. I've only quit something big like a team once in my life. It was 10th grade soccer. I didn't even have a good reason. And I am STILL mad at myself for doing it. Ten years later.

A team of people is a whole lot different than a computer game. Yes, it is still just a game, but it's a social thing. A team. People working together to accomplish something. People relying on other people, and interacting together. Quitting on a team is akin to betrayal. And forcing an entire team to quit halfway through something that they've started because of not caring enough to keep your promises is one of the top things on my I-Will-Hate-You-Forever-If-You-Do-This list.

B) It's a BYU intramural team. Since I'm not a student anymore, I had to pay actual money to be on it. Most of the people are students, so they got to do it for free. And therefore, they don't care about other people's inconveniences. Since they personally don't lose anything by not showing up, they don't even pause to think about the people who do. I payed to play softball, and now I don't even get to.

C) Keeping your word. Apparently in the world we live in, people's promises don't mean anything anymore. It used to be that signing up for a team or a project meant "Yes, I will come." I guess now it just means "Hey, this could be fun. I may or may not actually do it, but it's the thought that counts right?"

Not right. Your thought does not count at all. If you say you will be somewhere, just do it.

D) It has NOT been convenient for me to be on this team. I work afternoons and nights, and I've had to take shifts off of work for nearly every game we've played. Essentially meaning that I've payed in over 100$ to be on this team. That's a freaking lot for a broke person.

So all the people who are whiny about "oh, I have too much to do" or "oh, I just got off work and I'm tired" etc... I say unto you, shut your face. I made a very concerted effort to be there because I signed up to do it and I keep my word. It was not easy or convenient, but I did it. Where's your excuse now?

E) I HATE word-breakers. If you haven't gotten that message yet already, I'll say it again. I seriously HATE it when people promise to do things and then flake out. Hate.

**note: Sometimes there are valid excuses. Like "my parents surprised me and flew in" or "I couldn't get my work shift off" or "my sister just had her baby today". So don't think I'm too much of a jerk. But if you can't come, at least tell us. Don't just not show.

F) I used to play baseball all the time as a child. I don't get to anymore. In fact, ever since 90% of my peers got married and started having kids, I don't get to do much of anything anymore, except babysit. I signed up for the team because I NEED to do something besides sit at my computer all day. I really, really want to play.

But apparently no one cares. It's not a real thing to them. Just some random activity. I seriously don't have any friends who care about the same things I do, except like 2 who live hundreds of miles away.

G) Also, I'm not good at being social. This was one way for me to try really hard to put myself out there and get involved in the community. And lo and behold, no one else even cares about it. Thank you for crushing me back into the hermit-ness from which I sprang.

Alright, there are more things I could go into. But I won't. For your sake. If you're still reading this, I applaud your determination. As a reward, you may now eat some ice cream and pretend it's from me.

Actually, I may go and do the same.

Hello again to all my friends,

I haven't blogged in basically forever. There are two reasons for this. A: I haven't had any blog post ideas. B: Absolutely nothing has changed in my life in the weeks since my last post. And that includes still being homeless for fall/winter. I thought I had a place. I was so glad to be done with my housing search. And then the complex owners sold it out from under me. It was a lovely mess.

That said, I thought I'd make a post, despite the fact that I don't know what to put on it.

I did wake up with a very interesting image in my head this morning.

Bursts of flame followed each step he took. One wrong step, one slight hesitation, and he’d be toast. Very literally. He’d have laughed at his little joke, but the belly of a volcano was no place for such things.

Bare feet flying, he leapt nimbly from stone to stone, leaving each one just as it sank away into the magma. There would be no turning back.

I thought that was rather intriguing. I mean, it's the opening scene, and we see this guy sprinting full out through a volcano. Barefoot.

Why is he in a volcano? And why the heck is he barefoot? Seriously?

I don't know the answer. But I very much intend to find out.