Isolation, Chapter 4

Isolation, Chapter 4

Chapter 1: Here

Chapter 2: Here

Chapter 3: Here

Josh’s words were hard, yet even. The control in which they were said surprised even Josh himself, though not a man of strong emotional displays, he did take his privacy seriously, and personally. The silence following his words made Josh wonder if he had gone too far.

The reporter still felt unsure of how to proceed. However, a flash of insight came from Josh’s speech, that being Josh had no idea the effect his poem was having on the literary world. With this knowledge, the reporter decided not to show his hand just yet.

“So, Josh,” the words helped bring the reporter back to the task at hand. “First, I just want to thank you for letting me talk to you today.” Josh only nodded. “And I also want to say that I loved the poem—just beautiful; it really touched me.” This brought another simple nod from the poet.

Switching gears, the reporter flipped open his commonplace book for inspiration. “So, tell me, have you written a lot of poetry, or was your submission to the website an aberration, you know, a one-time thing?” Oh, the reporter thought. He knows what an aberration is. Josh sat and looked at his guest. After a moment, Josh simply bowed his head as if in disgust. Sensing a possible faux pas, the reporter interjected, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Josh looked up and simply asked, “Did you even read my poem at all?”

The reporter stopped, his mind raced back to the first time he read Josh’s poem, an e-mail from a colleague at a newspaper in Miami told him of an amazing new poem that was gaining an underground popularity among the college crowd. He found the link, read the poem, admitted to himself that it was a little “highbrow” for him, for he never though himself a big fan of poetry. He thought the poem showed insight, but, to be honest, he just let it slide through one side his brain until it exited the other. As a reporter he was more interested in the writer than the writing.

“Of course, I read the poem,” knowing Josh had really asked if the reporter had understood the poem. “I…well…I mean, sure, I read it…and…you know, it was really good…” Josh stood up and looked down at his guest. Cutting him off, he said, “Hey, I’m sorry,” the apologetic tone evident. “I guess I’m just a little sensitive about what I write. Hey, can I get you something, coffee, tea?” Josh turned and entered the kitchen as the reporter responded, “Coffee, black will be just fine.”

The silence helped both men, each using the time to think about how this interview could be a success. Josh returned and the gesture of warm stimulant in liquid form provided perspective for the two men.

Josh spoke first as he set down his cup of tea and returned to his chair. “So, The question, you asked about…” This time the reporter stopped Josh from speaking. “Josh, look, I’ll be honest with you. I read the poem and it was a little over my head.” The coffee felt good as it warmed from the inside. The fire only went so far and it appeared from the reporter’s perspective that the fireplace might be the home’s only source of heat. Josh let the reporter continue. “But even though poetry is not my thing, I know something about people, and after I—and others, many others—read your poem,” the word ‘others’ hung in the cold air, the affect on Josh apparent. “Being a newspaper man, I felt like there’s a story here. You’re a story, and I think people would be interested to know more about you.”

The reporter stopped. He learned years ago if he gave the interviewee time to think, he was sometimes rewarded with what he felt were better answers.

“That’s why I got on a plane a day and a half ago just to talk to you and ask you some questions about who you are and why you write. So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just sit here, enjoy this coffee—and any more coffee you may have percolating on the stove—and listen to what you have to say.”

Josh looked at the reporter and wondered where he should begin. From the beginning, came to mind. “Robert,” Josh said. “Have you ever been to Southern California?”

The question caught the reporter off guard. “Um, sure, couple of times, why?”

“No offense, but unless you’ve lived there, you can’t understand what it’s like growing up in that environment.”

“Tell me about it,” the reporter said, sensing Josh might open up to him after all. But before Josh could answer, a question had to be asked. “Wait…what? Are you saying growing up in California was…..what? Tough?”

Josh just smiled as he let the subtle sarcasm escape into the cool air. “Now I know that even if you read my poem, you didn’t understand it—you didn’t let it become part of you.” Josh settled in his chair, the cat rose, stretched before his human subjects, and sauntered into the kitchen. “Okay, I’ll give you that—growing up in Southern California is not the worst curse inflicted upon mankind. I think my problem was,” Josh paused, a serine smile crossed his lips. “The problem was.….it was too perfect….I had it too good. That was my problem.”

“Too good?” asked the reporter. “You’re right, there’s no possible way I can understand growing up in that environment.” The reporter wondered if this young man, this week’s literary darling, was suffering from some sort of mental ailment, or perhaps a case of Anthropophobia.

The reporter thought of his own childhood. Oh, how many times had he wished he had grown up in California, going to the beach after school instead of trudging through the snow on Long Island during those long, cold winters. And during the few summer months when he did make it to a beach on the Atlantic, it was nothing like the beaches he saw on TV or in the movies. Those California beaches, now those were beaches.

“Well, even in Paradise, a hell can exist,” said Josh

“I suppose you’re right,” the reporter countered. “But you’ve still got to explain it to me.” The reporter closed his notebook and set it on the small table along with the half-eaten oatmeal. “You’ve a captive audience; I’m all yours. My flight doesn’t leave for several hours and I’ve got no where else to go.”

Bob Eggett And His Friends

Tonight we loaded up the van and drove to Weber State University to attend a fundraiser for Bob Eggett. You can read about his story here:

(If you feel the need to help, here's the information)

Bob was at the fundraiser talking to as many people as possible. The place was packed.

I've never met Bob. We have mutual friends. Even though I've never met Bob there were things I could tell about him. I could tell he was loved. There were so many people there doing whatever they could do to help. I could tell he has a loving family. His children painted this picture that was auctioned off.

I particularly agree with this:

We did not stay for all the entire event. We had to give up our seats so others could sit down to eat. There was a line outside the door for people to get in and I'm sure people continued to show their support long after we were home.

I don't know what will happen with Bob. Eventually, I guess, we all know what will happen to him for it will be the same thing that happens to all of us. Best of luck, Bob. I pray for you, your family, and friends.

More Basement Treasures: Dad

About a week ago, I posted some pictures of my mom and her family (you can see that post here). The pictures were found in our basement. At the same time, I found some pictures of my dad. I've posted the one of his B-17 crew before, and I just had to add it again (I love that picture...). My father wrote the names of each airman, men I'm pretty sure are all gone from this life. My dad had to be one of the youngest men in the photo. He enlisted when he was 18 years old in 1944. I never got to ask my dad about his experiences and now I'll probably never get to ask any of the men he flew with about those times, either. My dad is kneeling, farthest to his left, our right. He's "Yours Truly" on the written piece of paper.

My father was a policeman and this picture below shows him posing in front of a shooting target. The gun he's holding is a revolver he won because of that hanging target. He was the first person in the history of Idaho (at the time...) to get a perfect shooting score and the gun was the prize for his marksmanship. He worked as a security guard for the nuclear site in Idaho at the time (it was because of his marksmanship skills the army in their wisdom assigned the tail gun on the B-17 to my dad...). The PHILTRON was their site publication. I have no idea whether or not it is still being published.

One thing I think is lacking today is a healthy respect for guns. In the same PHILTRON article my dad is seen here teaching kids about guns.

I've got so much more "stuff" to sift through in that basement. Better get out the scanner...

Discipline--A Matter Of Perspectivce

Discipline--A Matter Of Perspective

We have four kids. There was a time when four children meant an average sized family. Now, that's a large family. Whenever a building contains four, five, or six people living together, conflicts arise. Today I thought about some of those conflicts and how we as parents handle those situations.

We're first-time parents (isn't everyone?) so what our children don't understand (and many times us parents as well...) is that we're learning things as they happen and sometimes making things up as we go along.

I came home and my wife and I talked about some things we might want to change in how we discipline our kids. I thought of something at work. When I ask a child why they sometimes misbehave and they say they don't know, they really might not know. I mean, they only have a few years of total life experience to draw on, and I'm looking at them expecting to see things they way I do, with all my years, and years (and years...) of experience.

Like all families, we've got a ways to go. And I'm sure I'll be tweaking this opinion time and time again, but just the realization that I need to try and see things through my children's eyes will hopefully make a difference. I guess we'll see...

The Moth Wanted To Die

The Moth Wanted To Die

Due to our unpredictable (and beautiful...) weather we've experienced lately where we live, I mowed the lawn this afternoon and had to hurry to get ahead of...the snow.

Mowing the lawn is a singular event. It reminds me when I worked a graveyard shift and had to drive to work at midnight with hardly anyone else on the road. I had time to drive and think. When I mow the lawn, I mow and think.

Last year I remember a time when I mowed the lawn and while I mowed, a moth kept getting in my way. It didn't follow me, per se, but every time I mowed passed the moth, it seemed to jump up and land on a un-mowed section of the lawn right in front of the lawnmower. I thought, maybe it wants to die...

The thought sounded weird when I thought it and I dismissed it. But, on the next pass, the moth jumped again. It got so bad, I ended up not mowing the particular area where the moth landed thinking it would surely have moved by now. Nope... One time when I passed, I tried shoeing it away (with my shoe, even...how appropriate). It hoped, but only a short distance. However, there was one time when I passed the area and there was no moth.

Eventually, the entire lawn was mowed and I don't remember running over the little thing. I admit to you now that I may have ended the moth's life. If so, I wonder if the moth wanted to die. Maybe one day I'll find out.

Isolation, Chapter 3

Isolation, Chapter 3

Chapters 1 can be found: here and Chapter 2: here

The reporter placed the call right after he landed and simply asked if Josh had been the one who submitted the poem to the website “a few months ago.” To his amazement the young man on the other end of the phone said he had indeed submitted one of his, what he called, “not one of his best” poems to the site. The reporter’s heart jumped as he stood alone in the small airport lobby. Yes! he thought—his hunch paid off, and now came the tricky part. He had to see if he could get the interview. The long plane trip gave the reporter several hours to contemplate possible angles to construct the story. Of course not knowing if Josh would allow him an interview, not to mention the very distinct possibility Josh may not be the author of the country’s newest “favorite” poem brought angst to the tiring journalist. All those doubts disappeared with a single word over a public telephone in the lobby of the airport at Barrow, Alaska. Sure, the reporter thought, I can hang out here for a few hours, start my article, get a bite to eat, then become the most read reporter in the country in just 24 hours. Things were definitely looking up.

The time dragged as time usually does when anxiety overwhelms. The reporter, an observer of life in all its varieties, did what a person does when trying to kill time. Interestingly enough, the floor tiles—those whose entire surface area remained unobstructed by chairs, file cabinets, vending machines—totaled 513, of which 259 were black tiles, 247 white tiles, and seven off-orange tile squares located near a unplugged and unattended hot dog wagon in the room’s corner. In the one hour, 45 minute span, the reporter saw 10 people enter the building and eight people leave. Already tired of rehearsing the questions he planned on asking Josh, the reporter slipped into a light nap and for a reason, he dreamt of pineapples. A pleasant voice from a diminutive, grandmotherly ticket agent/elementary school librarian/church organist brought the reporter back to the frozen black of Alaska’s morning. The reporter thanked the woman, gathered his belongings, retrieved the rental car keys from the nice lady who just woke him up and opened the door into the dark.

Josh felt about as appetizing as the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal looked. For him, the two hours came all too quickly. With a half hour to spare, Josh arose and took a shower—no sense making this stranger’s visit unpleasant. He had just finished pulling the Norwegian sweater over his wet, thick, sandy-brown hair when a clear knock echoed through the small house. The reporter had arrived.

With towel in hand Josh made his way to the door, frantically trying to remove the remaining water from his hair. “Josh Hansen?” came the reporter’s voice through the door even before Josh reached it. “It’s Robert Feingold, the reporter from the New York Post—I called you earlier…” Josh opened the door just as the reporter continued…“about the poem…”

Both men looked at each other, each having an expectation of how the other would look and each being slightly disappointed their mental pictures turned out to be wrong. The reporter broke the silence. “Yes, do you have a minute for some questions?”

“Of course,” said Josh apologetically. “Please.” He opened the door wider and moved to allow the reporter to enter, but something in Josh’s body language communicated to the reporter that his visit represented some kind of threat to Josh. “Come in—it’s freezing out there,” Josh said.

“Is it always this cold?” the reporter asked as he entered the room, realizing immediately the question must sound moronic to someone living in Alaska. “Actually,” Josh said. “We’re in the middle of a heat wave, you know, global warming being what it is.” The attempt at humor had the desired affect.

“Yes, I see,” the reporter said with a smile, a cloud of uncomfortability existed between the two men. As the reporter entered the home the overwhelming number of books crammed into such a small space amazed him. It appeared that almost every possible space wherein a book could fit had a book in that space. “Here,” Josh said pointing to a chair strategically placed next to he fire. “Please sit down.”

For a man used to talking a mile a minute, the reporter found himself at a loss for words. He had made the long trip and was sitting in the home of the literary world’s biggest mystery. All the questions, that flowed only hours before were gone. Instinctively, the reporter reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small notepad and pen, inwardly thanking deity he had the foresight to write many of his thoughts down beforehand.

“Josh, can I call you Josh?” Again, the question sounded stupid as it left his mouth for he had already called him Josh several times—a nod from Josh signaled the acceptance of the informal address. “First, I want to thank you again for meeting with me. I can understand if you didn’t want to meet with me…”

“You can understand if I don’t…?” Josh interrupted, but paused before speaking again, as if his mind needed to figure out the statement he wanted and needed to say. “To be honest, sir. I have no idea why you’re even here,” Josh finally said. “You said it was because I submitted my poem to that website—something I forgot I had done almost the second I hit ‘SEND.’ But for the last few hours I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how that poem would make a supposedly intelligent man get on a plane and travel halfway around the world in the dead of winter—to Alaska, of all places—just to talk to me. So forgive me, but I don’t think you do understand my reluctance to meet with you.”

A Danish Easter

Being Easter, I thought a lot about Jesus Christ today. This made me think of Denmark. I had a missionary companion that said whenever he thinks of the Gospel, he thinks of it in the Danish language because when he was a kid and a teenager, church wasn't a priority. So when he learned the Gospel, it was in the Danish language.

I rummaged through more of my basement treasures and ran across a couple of slide (yes, slides...if you don't know what they are, ask your parents...) and I scanned them into my computer.

When I first got to Denmark, I had my first member dinner at Bjarne Jakobsen's house (we had so few meals with members--not their fault, believe me--that I actually remember most of them...). His kids were so little back then. He found me on Facebook recently and on his Facebook page he posted a picture of his family. His kids are no longer little. I remember his wife saying that she had seen the Christus statue in SLC, but not the one residing a few miles away in downtown Copenhagen. I thought that interesting. Here's the original:

Another original is this painting (sorry about the photo quality...) of Carl Bloch's Peter's Denial located at the Danish National Museum in Hillerød. It's up north, but the drive from Copenhagen to Hillerød is so beautiful (when the weather's good, so good luck with that...). I highly recommend it if you're in the area. You can see the end of one painting and the beginning of another--both Carl Bloch originals.

We decorated Easter eggs one Easter when I was there. This is Elder Todd Johnson (I wish I knew where he was--it would be fun to re-connect with him). I believe the Danish flag Easter egg was one of mine. I could be wrong, but I know for sure that the egg closest to him, the green one that looks like a car (a VW Bug, to be more precise...) is mine. I always make green VW Bug Easter eggs whenever I get the chance.

This last picture is that of our ward house in Fredricksberg. The building still remains, but it's no longer a ward house, but an LDS temple. I love that building I forever know as Priorvej. I took this picture during common Danish weather (see weather tip about driving up the Danish coast mentioned previously...).

Denmark is a wonderful place. And I doubt many think of Denmark and Christ very often together. But there are times when I do.

A Day In The Life...

A Day In The Life...

My wife and I are parents. This fact is proven by the existence of our four children. We had a very hectic week and that week was capped by a very hectic day. I do not--of course--wish to imply that our hectic week and hectic-capping day were worse than any other parents of four children may have had...all I know is that we am so tired right now.

We woke just after 5:30am this morning. After picking up the grandparents, we drove to Logan for my daughter's gymnastics meet held at the Spectrum in Logan. I remember attending USU basketball games as a student, arguably the best place to watch a college basketball game in the state of Utah, and the Aggie's home winning record over the past 25 years supports this claim.

Before we left town, I had to snap a picture of the apartment where I lived with three recently returned missionaries when I attended Utah State. Ours was the bottom right, but I don't remember ever hanging a wreath on the door...ever. When I lived with my roommates for five months, all I heard from the three RM's is that a mission goes by so fast! Two weeks in the MTC and I wondered when the "Fast" part of the mission going by so fast kicked in...

This building was once owned by Grace and Reed Anderson. We called them the Grace and Reed Apartments, but eventually, the place became known as the Race and Greed Apartments. That's just the way it was...

By the time we got home, did laundry, practiced for tomorrow's Easter program, and did some grocery/Easter shopping, about 15 hours passed from the time we woke up to when we could stop shopping, stop laundry-ing, and stop thinking about all the things we needed to do as parents.

After picking up the last of the supplies and getting dinner at a fast-food place (Don't judge us!!!), we drove by my friend's house, the Christensen's, and I took a picture of their incredibly beautiful tree. I don't know what type of tree this is, but what an amazing thing to look at in spring.

The Wisdom of Instant Messaging/Old Testament, Vol. 3

I've been sitting on the latest Old Testament I/M rant for a few days, but I think it's worth waiting for. Oh, and what does instant messaging have to do with a $10 D.I. watch? Absolutely nothing, but I found a 17 jewel Elgin (that is so far keeping great time, by the way...) and I bought it and it's a beautiful watch.

Steven (7:11:06 AM): scot-tay
Steven (7:11:11 AM): had a funny experience the other day
Scott (7:11:19 AM): Do tell....
Steven (7:12:15 AM): the mrs. was in a bad mood the other day
Steven (7:12:18 AM): got home
Steven (7:12:20 AM): dinner time
Steven (7:12:28 AM): she made stew and rice
Steven (7:12:38 AM): she had some bread thingies that looked like naan bread
Steven (7:12:50 AM): or pita bread
Steven (7:13:02 AM): asked her if it was pita or naan.
Steven (7:13:27 AM): her cranky answer was
Steven (7:13:30 AM): its not naan bread
Steven (7:13:40 AM): marry an indian wife if you want it
Steven (7:13:44 AM): ok
Steven (7:13:47 AM): let that one go
Steven (7:13:58 AM): later in the night she was out and our neighbor came over with pita bread and hummus for us
Steven (7:14:05 AM): the irony
Steven (7:14:22 AM): when she came back she saw the bread on the table and hummus and asked where i got it
Steven (7:14:27 AM): i told her my indian wife made it for me
Steven (7:14:28 AM):
Steven (7:14:30 AM): i laughed
Steven (7:14:36 AM): she said words i shant repeat
Scott (7:15:09 AM): That's pretty funny....and since you live in Utah--even funnier!
Steven (7:15:25 AM):
Scott (7:19:12 AM): You should try out on an open mic night at a comedy club--you'd kill, man!
Steven (7:19:30 AM): oh how wrong you are
Steven (7:19:47 AM): theres a difference between something funny that happens and being a homer simpson in front of a mike
Scott (7:20:23 AM): Yeah, but they both bring the laughs...
Steven (7:20:31 AM): yes.
Steven (7:20:36 AM): but im more of the laugh at then with kind'

And then, came the Old Testament talk. I try not to interrupt too much. I just enjoy the ride...

Steven (9:36:41 AM): my rereading of genesis has been much different this time then in previous times
Steven (9:36:48 AM): abraham and family are all very human to me
Steven (9:37:21 AM): abraham issac and jacobs wives all are noted for their 'barrenness'
Steven (9:37:25 AM): when it comes to child rearing
Steven (9:37:44 AM): and yet abraham marries his sister. issac marries cousin, jacob marries a cousin
Steven (9:38:02 AM): the women are being blamed but im wondering if the men werent barren as well
Steven (9:38:44 AM): abraham constaontly has sarah lie about being husband and wife when they encounter new people cuz it seems being married to a hottie can get you killed
Steven (9:38:54 AM): even if the hottie is in her 90's or later
Steven (9:38:59 AM): isaac does the same thing!
Steven (9:39:08 AM): this abimelech guy is ruler of the land they live in
Steven (9:39:14 AM): took sarah when she was around
Steven (9:39:21 AM): till god told him to give her back
Steven (9:39:32 AM): then he does the same thing to rebekah
Steven (9:39:42 AM): god tells him to give her back to isaac
Scott (9:42:07 AM): Old Testament stuff--that's trippy!
Steven (9:43:09 AM): parental favorites
Steven (9:43:30 AM): god keeps em 'barren' till abraham has dozens of kids from the 2ndary wives
Steven (9:44:13 AM): how can abraham not see he was setting isaac up for resentment when he gives everything inheritence wise to isaac and sends off his other kids
Steven (9:44:13 AM): ?
Steven (9:44:34 AM): i felt bad for esau this time around
Steven (9:44:41 AM): we always read about him selling his birthright for pottage
Steven (9:44:48 AM): but the dude had a rough time of it
Steven (9:44:53 AM): he's born butt ugly
Steven (9:45:02 AM): the wolf man has nothing on this hairy guy
Steven (9:45:07 AM): so he's going to have trouble finding a date
Scott (9:45:19 AM): I wonder how he feels about that whole birthright thing now...
Steven (9:45:28 AM): isaac loves esau more cuz esau brings him some tastey bacon
Steven (9:45:36 AM): but rebekah loves jacob more
Steven (9:45:44 AM): and plots against her kid and husband to get jacob the birhtright
Steven (9:46:26 AM): one of the religious commentaries i read about jacob, the pastor guy who wrote it said that jacob getting shafted with leah when he worked for rachel was divine karma for shafting esau earlier in life
Steven (9:46:35 AM): im beginning to wonder if there isnt some truth to that
Steven (9:47:13 AM): when u read in genesis that rebekah has jacob put on sheep skin on his arms and neck to fool blind isaac i cant help but feel sorry for how hairy esau must have been
Scott (9:47:39 AM): or how blind Isaac was...
Steven (9:47:45 AM): ha yes
Steven (9:48:20 AM): when esau comes in and finds out his been tricked his first reaction isnt to kill jacob, its, dad give me a blessing
Steven (9:48:23 AM): i gave my blessing
Steven (9:48:29 AM): must have been to jacob accidently
Steven (9:48:35 AM): that blessings good for him
Steven (9:48:42 AM): well give me a different blessing then
Steven (9:48:43 AM): sorry
Steven (9:48:46 AM): all out
Steven (9:48:50 AM): come on dad
Steven (9:49:11 AM): ok. be fruitful but your basically going to serve your brother cuz i gave him the good blessing
Steven (9:49:23 AM): thanks dad. excuse me while i kill my brother
Steven (9:49:38 AM): rebekah sends jacob to her brother to marry a cousin
Steven (9:50:01 AM): jacob rightfully fears esay on his way back after years of being with laban
Steven (9:50:22 AM): he arranges his company so that rachel the favorite is the last in the caravan line
Steven (9:50:24 AM): leah is in front
Steven (9:50:58 AM): after 6 kids of hoping jacob would pay attention to her, she is a buffer between esau and rachel if esau goes ape
Steven (9:51:09 AM): and these are the patriarchs!!!!!!!!!!!
Steven (9:51:15 AM): so i guess there is some hope for me
Steven (9:51:33 AM): if the patriarchs were all very human perhaps i can get by some
Steven (9:52:22 AM): other thoughts. abraham isaac and jacob were all very rich
Steven (9:52:27 AM): but they lived in tents
Steven (9:52:29 AM): i live in a house
Steven (9:52:32 AM): they had to dig wells
Steven (9:52:35 AM): i get tap from the sink
Steven (9:52:39 AM): they had lots of herds
Steven (9:52:45 AM): ive got a food storage supply
Steven (9:52:52 AM): he had alot of gold
Steven (9:52:56 AM): i work for the state
Steven (9:53:02 AM): 3 out of 4 aint bad
Steven (9:53:09 AM): for being better off then their lifestyles of then
Steven (9:53:24 AM): amen
Steven (9:53:31 AM): and that will be my next talk in sacrament meeting
Scott (9:55:08 AM): Maybe all those steeples they put up on all the old and new churches are really lightning rods for just such an occasion...

Of course, we always seem to drift back to the Simpson's and other topics...

Steven (9:55:16 AM): yes
Steven (9:55:35 AM): fast sunday testimony meeting is often the reason i suspect
Steven (9:55:43 AM): open mike night at church is a risky thing
Steven (9:56:05 AM): cant count how many times religion has been tied to a variety of local sports teams winning or losing
Steven (9:56:11 AM): who knew it could make a or break a testimony
Steven (9:56:18 AM): or tesimonies that arent really testimonies
Steven (9:56:20 AM): the travelmony
Steven (9:56:29 AM): the lifestorymony
Steven (9:56:44 AM): the grampa simpson pointless ramblingmony
Steven (9:56:56 AM): the i hate so and so ward dirty laundry mony
Steven (9:57:39 AM): the latest philosophies of men mingled with scripturemonies
Steven (9:57:57 AM): the solicit latest socialcauzeimony
Steven (9:58:15 AM): the givemeattentionmony
Steven (9:58:40 AM): thechildrenrecitediknowthischurchistrueandjosephsmithisaprophetmony
Steven (9:59:04 AM): theadultsoundslikeakidrepeatedchurchistrue/jsprophetmony
Steven (9:59:12 AM): and plan just not a testimony mony
Steven (9:59:16 AM): and the list goes on
Steven (9:59:47 AM): no joke, about a year ago one of our neighborhood crackpots went up to the mike and did the darth vadar breath and then said luke i am your father
Steven (9:59:49 AM): no joke
Steven (10:00:11 AM): this same dude got up another time and started encouraging people to join his book club that focuses on why america is going to hell
Steven (10:00:13 AM): no joke
Steven (10:01:03 AM): another crackpot lady, known for her randomness got up and started talking about how her children dont respect her and how she isnt going to let that keep her down
Steven (10:01:27 AM): another time same person got up and went straight to the piano and played some three page song she wrote
Steven (10:01:44 AM): then came to the mike and said she wanted to share her testimony through music and encouraged us to go up and do the same
Steven (10:01:53 AM): you cant write this stuff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Scott (10:02:03 AM): Is there a spirit attached to Chopstix?
Steven (10:02:03 AM): this is how the singles ward and home teacher movies are made!!!!!!!!!
Steven (10:02:07 AM): life experiences
Scott (10:02:36 AM): I think it's your close proximity to Utah County...
Steven (10:02:40 AM): napolean dynamite is funny cuz that stuff really happens
Steven (10:02:43 AM): ha
Steven (10:02:45 AM): thats good
Steven (10:03:10 AM): the only good that comes from these crackpots is that its funny to see our bishop with his head in his hands
Steven (10:03:19 AM): i find that funny for some reason
Steven (10:03:22 AM):
Steven (10:03:29 AM): im laughing while typing cuz of these memories

It's a lot of texting, but when you get stuck on a tangent, you just can't stop. Until next time, we'll see what nuggets of wisdom come through the magic of instant messaging.

If you're interested, you can access the previous Instant Messaging Blog Posts: Here For Vol. 1 and: Here For Vol. 2. Enjoy!