Is it too much to ask for things to work out this time? I've only asked for what is mine. I wanted everything, I've got it all now...

Well folks, here it is. Three months of 48 hour weeks. No, it’s really not that impressive on the outside. But much like myself, I like to think its true value is only discovered in seeing what it does, what it can do, what it will do...

(My eyes aren't as tired as they look; the flash made me squint).

Lemmings - Blink 182

Maybe it's trite but I can always be wrong. Try not to be wrong.

The front that I have any common sense continues to fade.

I drove down to a Discount Tire Co. (from whom I bought my tires from a year ago) 5 miles from my apartment. After talking to a mechanic, I walked back to my truck to drive it into the shop. Suddenly, I notice my keys are not where they belong; they are still in the ignition, windows up and doors shut tight.

With widened eyes and a pit in my stomach, the gravity of the problem sunk in. I didn’t know the exact location of the spare key at home. My roommate was deaf, and I didn't have his phone number. I'd recently the charity card on my only friends out here, and harassing them on a Saturday night was out of the question. Five miles wasn't too far to run, but I had no house key and no compass to ensure I keep going the right way. I called a local towing company, and they quoted $50 and 20 minutes to arrive. The garage had no tools for getting in locked doors, not even a coat hangar or wire.

Holding to the Hitchhikers' Guide motto, I gave myself a minute to calm down and decided to try plan Z, "Mike's sheer abilities vs the elements." After staring at my doors for a few minutes, I formulated a plan. I had to pry open the top edge of the door and find a way to roll down the window. The shop could only offer a couple 14" breaker bars and some paper towels to assist my cause.

Wrapping one of the bars in a paper towel I slid it in through the top door corner and worked it downward until I'd bought myself a half an inch. Slowly tapping it to the left and inserting the second bar, I made a quarter inch gap at the top centerline. Unfortunately, the window lever was two feet down, and I had to pull it UP (as opposed to pushing it DOWN which is much easier). Looking around for something long and skinny, I unscrewed my antennae. "What else?...." The antennae was no good for pulling and too flexible for leverage. I found a 2' piece of twine in my truck be and fastened a loop to the end of the antennae.

Though the garage had closed, one of the workers stuck around to help me. I laid on top of the cab, poking, probing, and trying to move the window lever while the garage-man pulled down on the small window gap to decrease resistance in the lever. It was a great sight as testified by a small group of onlookers randomly hanging out in the parking lot.

A half an hour later, we'd succeeded! The onlookers cheered with almost patronizing enthusiasm. I raised my fists and cheered back; that night, both my absent-mindedness and genius merited recognition.

Ender Will Save Us All - Dashboard Confessional

And I am throwing away the letters that I am writing you, 'cause they would never do - I would never do.

I like the idea that no one is alone. It's something I've tried to perpetuate among my close friends for a long time. I have laughed with them, and I have suffered with them. Everyone has their low moments, and during those times the physical presence of another human being can do wonders. (Not always obviously, sometimes solitude really IS best.) Often having someone present to put their arm(s) around you and tell you truthfully that things will be okay is all it takes to make life tolerable again.

The problem I am running into now is that most of my friends have left Provo; I have left Provo. I can't be there when they need me, and it's frustrating as hell. The phone or even IM, is a nice consolation, but it's not always enough.

There is something in me that is never satisfied when it knows more could be done. The internal difficulty arises when that "more" is unreasonable. Even though it's possible, I can't really just trot over to Indiana or Utah or wherever for the evening when a friend is on the verge of breaking down. No matter what I do or where I go, I will always have friends who are too far away to visit, and my ability to comfort them will always be severely hindered.

So maybe people are alone after all. Regardless of outside help, their personal battles are their own. Friends have the capcity to ease the burden, but tonight, it's simply not enough.

Saints and Sailors - Dashboard Confessional

Like water through my hands, You'd give him any ending, But if he's all you say, Would he fly from heaven to this world again?

Good for blogging: "Mike, I'm freaking out." PG's fading love interest. The resignation of the company pessimist. Self-inflicted Handicaps. Elliott Smith and the Big Nothing.

On Monday I went with Biotech girl and TN girl to the FHE service project. Apparently, whenever "men" organize the proect, there are never enough things to do and people spend much time standing around. We stuck around anyway and had a good time. Back at their place, I jump in my truck and head home.

CLUNCK, GRIND, GRIND, CLUNK. Something is wrong...emergency brake is off...transmission works fine...no dead bodies clinging to the undercarriage...I pull over and find that my rear tire is completely flat. "No problem." Oh yeah, my jack is broken. I walk back to the girls' place and borrow a crappy jack. Oh yeah, I've never used the spare on this thing. Oh yeah, I don't even know how to get the spare OFF the harness. "Damn..."

It's now 10:00pm; then rear axle is off the ground, the lug nuts are off, and the spare is ready to go. Something else is wrong. Despite all the kicking and banging I could muster, the wheel won't budge. It's now 10:30, and I've still had no luck. Concluding that I'm retarded, I abandon ship and head home. TN girl was kind enough to take me home.

The following day, after consulting with my father, my car savy co-workers, and the dealership, I decide I'm not so stupid afterall. Unfortunately, the problem is not fixed, and I have 8 miles to bike uphill in 85 degree weather.

I return to the scene of the crime with a mallet and ballpeen hammer. I bang and kick and twist and turn for an hour straight. Still no luck. In a last ditch attempt, I pump up my tire with a bicycle pump, locate the hole, and patch it with a $5 autozone special.

Problem solved. Solution time: 10 minutes. Promblem solving time: 4 hours.

This experience lends a few thoughts:

2. Strange. I was hot, exhausted, frustrated, failing with everything. But I'm not angry. Maybe I'm not like my father after all.

3. Man, what a piece of work I am. I've spent the last 15 years of my life learning to fix crap. Give me a $30,000 gas chromatograph that hasn't been used in six years, and I'll have it up and running by the end of the day. Give me a $60 busted tire and a little rust from MY OWN car, and I'm completely SOL. The irony is lovely.

4. For a change, I DID do things correctly, yet the "correct" response was the wrong one. The solutions was indeed simple. It just took time to find.

5. Dang. My hand hurts. Stupid soft, spongey body of mine.

Fly From Heaven - Toad the Wet Sprocket

Sic transit gloria, glory fades...

"GOALS." I hate that term, and unjustifiably, the business world that uses it at EVERY meeting, too many checklists, too many hoops for my taste. Somehow, I'm not smart enough to get done what I need, so I must set milestones in order to assure my tiny little brain that he's making progress.

At work a couple days ago, we had a big meeting that addressed "core values" and "BHAG's" (Big Hairy Audacious Goals). The idea behind a BHAG is you set a ridiculously lofty goal and THEN decide how to get there. It's like running a 4:30 mile when your PR is a 5:15. You can either set up small increments and improve each time (5:00 to 4:45 to 4:35 and so on). Or you can set a super high goal (say 4:15) and go from there. The idea is that the former method will get you down to a 4:35, and the latter will utilize your full potential and get you to a 4:25 or even the 4:15.

I.E. the human mind/body is always more capable than people realize.

Being a realist in the professional world, I feel the R&D BHAGs were overly unreasonable; I'm being asked to run a 3:00 mile, something no single human has ever done. My mentor agreed.

However, I must admit that no one proves me wrong better or more frequently than moi-meme. As I mentioned in a previous post, I've spent the whole summer trying to regain the strength and speed I lost last winter. I haven't touched a 225 lb barbell since early 2005 (I'll confess, my statement before was a guess, a generous one even), and I continue to struggle with 200 lb barbells time to time. Today, amongst a significant amount of personal frustration, I ignored yesterday's self-council and grabbed the 225. With no spotter, I hit a set of five, four, and four reps.

Either my anger has made me powerful or the irony Gods just wanted me to feel stupid. They do that a lot these days.

What's the point in going 'round when it's a straight line baby, a straight line down?

I've been taking voice lessons for a while now. One thing I have had to focus on is my range. I've been trying to consistently hit the G# an octave below middle C. Instinctively, I try to hit the note without scales. I figure, "G# is the note I need, so there is no reason to waste my time with A or B flat."

At work, I need to get five thermocouple probes into a three inch peace of 1/4 inch SS tubing, and then seal them with epoxy. The direct route is to shove everything in place, assemble my reactor, and pour in the epoxy last.

At the gym, I'm trying to get back to reping 225 on the flat bench. I seem to have no reason to go straight to that weight and go at it.

Reality is not so kind. I can't hit G# because my A and B are not always strong. Epoxy is not viscous enough to oppose gravity, and I'll never get anywhere starting at 225 because I can't get out more than three reps when fresh.

Impatience is my greatest weakness. My teacher constantly reminds me that I must ease down into the lower notes using scales. I must stabilize A before I go lower. My boss reminds me that you have to let epoxy partially set up to increase viscosity. He also suggests I first plug the bottom of the tube with silicone caulk. Most professionals say you can build strength more efficiently when you keep your rep range from 4 to 6. 200 or 210 is a much better weight to build from.

Rarely rarely rarely is the effective solution the one closest at bird's eye view.

The First Single - The Format

That's simply my life story.

90 degrees and 50% humidity. Today, I couldn't have cared less.

MSU's son (age 21) is in town from Boston, and the three of us spent the day traipsing through Seattle. For the first time all summer I felt like a city dweller. Though I enjoyed looking at the Space Needle and Frank Gehry's Experience Music Project (the bizarrest thing since the Freemount Parade), they didn't make me feel like anything but a tourist. Who wants that? In the hot summer air, we spent four hours doing nothing but walking around. It was great. The streets are inundated with shops and people of all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors. Today, I wanted to live in the city forever. City life is public transport, humongous book-stores masked as tiny shops, small authentic restaurants, music venues, and of course, rose flavored ice cream. Rose water, milk, sugar, cream, and rose petals. Awesome.

My Life Story - MXPX

Keeping a hold of what you just let go – You’re just somebody that I used to know.

Friend 1 was dating Person 1, then dumped by P1, then dating P1 again, engaged to P1, almost dumped by P1, engaged again, postponed by P1, on again, almost dumped again, back on again, and it’s not over yet.

A few of F1's friends are furious with P1. "How can F1 put up with P1!!!? How can F1 live with P1's self after hurting F1 so much. How can F1 continue to forgive P1? GAAHHHHH!!!! P1 can do soooo much better….P1 DESERVES better…"

There is a lot to be said here, but it's not my place. I will however make an observation on a theme I am only beginning to grasp.

F1 is not out of F1's mind. F1 is in love.

Unfortunate for my emotions, I have yet to understand how love works, but luckily, the last three years have taught me to identify it at the very least. To me (and yes I'm vastly over simplifying here), romantic love is the unconditional desire to be with someone. The power this feeling has on a person is unimaginable. And honestly, it's a great thing when shared by the other party. It holds people together, makes life better, happier.

What happens then, when love isn't shared with equal intensity? Should a person try to "make" it work or should he/she walk away concluding as did Elliott Smith in this post’s heading?

The emotional abuse of P1 is unacceptable, yet the happiness seen in F1 during the good times is unparalleled. How should a friend respond? Should a friend respond at all?

If F1 were to ask me, what advice would I give? I honestly don't know. As a friend, I say, "Walk away, you can find someone who treats you better, loves you more deeply, commits to you without hesitation, and appreciates you in ways P1 could never conceive." As Mike I say, "NEVER give up. No battle is lost!! All problems have solutions. People can change. You CAN win!" As an optimist, I say, "It CAN work! P1 will figure things out how great you are. P1 is young and will mature soon enough." As a pessimist, "You will never find anyone else better. P1 has flaws, but so does everyone else. At least you know about P1’s problems. You should stick with it." As a realist, I say, "6 billion people in this world, and only one of them can make you happy? COME ON..." As a brother, I would say, "Where is this SOB that I might scatter his entrails across I-15."

It's 3 to 3; I guess the choice is up to F1 after all. In chemical thermodynamics, engineers spend one semester learning about the ideal and the rest of their careers learning to understand/work with the nonidealites. How could people be any less complicated?

Take your time, hurry up, the choice is yours, don't be late.

The ducks are all in a row; I finally have a place to live in yee old SLC.

How I would love to drive home tonight and reunite with my Provo dwelling comrades-recently returned, newlywed, and/or still kicking. I wonder if I could get my boss to pay me for those last five weeks of work I'd miss...

Come as You Are - Nivana

I’m trying to find truth in words , in rhymes, in notes, In all the things I wish I wrote…

Horray for me!!! Utah now legally possesses my loyalty. On the bright side, I officially have no need to worry about tuition.

Friday evening I went with a couple co-workers and company at an outdoor presentation of Hamlet. Despite the scent of various burny things (weed, beef, charcoal, yeast, etc.), the play was awesome. The style was surprisingly humorous, and the performers were sarcastic. Hamlet reminded me of Ben Stiller and Claudius like John Malkovich. The costumes seemed to come partially from the Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet, partially from DI. We sat in lawn chairs in a lake-side park right before sunset; it was awesome.

My co-workers had to bring along their newborns, and it made dinner surprisingly enjoyable. Babies ARE cute, but there was something more. The look in the eyes of the new parents struck me. I noticed a sparkle I’d never seen before.

Right now, the two social forces in my life are that of my LDS co-workers/church-related friends and that of MSU/non-LDS colleagues. I like both groups, but the contrast in their ideologies is significant. The latter feels very much, "Do your own thing. Relax. Do what makes sense. Don't let people push you around. Use your brain. 'Kids?' Meh. Another way for people to feed their egos." In contrast you have the LDS, "Follow the Lord and be a good person. Raise a righteous family, and find happiness in all that you do." In spite of the logical and physical consistency and in spite of all the intelligent ideals the non-believing world preaches as reality, I have never seen in them the level of content and sheer joy that I saw last night.

I'm ready I am - The Format

The things we do are never gonna change, the things we do are never gonna cha-a-ange.

Blog Worthy Posts: the three year old deaf boy, singing with my head voice, the pressure of the "perfect" mother, Play-It-Again Sports, Toni Morrison

Too many topics, too little time.

On Wednesday, I finished my panel, and it was time to punch holes in the enclosure for the outgoing wires. Hydraulic punches are the best tool for this task. I've never used the things before, but they consist of only a hydraulic piston and a carbon-steel, screw-driven punch. How hard can it be? Trial 1 fails, so without hesitation, a fellow intern and I perform on-site disembowelment to find the problem. After blankly staring at the tool for five minutes and replacing the seal, we got it working. The Company Builder arrived in time to give us a few more tips, and I was ready for Trail 2. I positioned the punch and begin to pump the piston lever to turn the drive. I encounter more resistance than expected but figuring I have never used the tool before, I continue.

As I near what feels like the endpoint, CB notices my biceps are straining to finish the job, an unusual event indeed:) "Mike are sure you set it up right?" "Yeah, I'm pretty su..."

KABLAMERS!!!

Sparks and shrapnel all over the place. My senses recalibrate, and I quickly check my body for new holes. Luckily, I can find no puncture wounds. Looking around hoping not to see severed appendages or bleeding co-workers, I catch only a few concernced stares. Whew.

The accident wasn't actually that bad, but still, I continue to feel God must prefer I keep my body in one piece a little longer.

Every time I screw up at work, I keep a memento. I'm slowly building a collection for my wall of shame- a shirt with multiple two inch acid-burnt holes, shattered ceramic tiles from exploding peroxy-acetone, rusted sheet metal, a papers towel - all good stories, all filled with valuable lessons. These relics serve as reminders that I must always keep my mind in the present. Right now, there are no body parts on that wall, and I'd like to keep it that way. Still, I have at least two years left as an engineer; I can only hope fate will continue to smile upon me.

The Format (again)

Please save me, this time I cannot run. And I'll see, you when this is done.

"I see dead...wires." At work, I spent the entire month of June working on a graphically interfaced pseudo-programming language called "Labview" to command my computer to talk to my gas manifold/reactor through an RS485 networking card. You have to setup things like temperature, pressure, oxygen, and flow sensors in order to "see" what's going on.

In the mean time, I ordered lots and lots of parts. They arrived last week, so the nature of my work has changed substantially. No longer the computer-oriented engineer, I am the “task-oriented operation guy." Specifically, I've been playing electrician for the past two days.

For hours and hours on end, I stripped, soldered, tightened, drilled, positioned, burnt, poked, and smashed my fingers. Amongst all the swearing and the cursing of the stubby finger gods, I successfully assembled my electrical panel.

It reminded me of a BB thread some time ago about the hard sciences. I took that position that art was more creative and more open, the crowds responded with strong opposition. And perhaps they were right. When I look at my beauteous work, I am surprised at myself. Truly, electricianism IS an art. An art I have yet to master. HOWEVER, what most people would call "creativity" in an electrical enclosure, an electrician would call a Darwin Award waiting to happen.

I still hold that because scientists care more about creation for the sake of utility than creation for the sake of expression/creativity, they are inherently less artistic. Where does that leave me, a lowbrow in desperate need of more color than black, red, white, and green? I don't know; I'm still working on that one. For now, I have to find some Band-Aids.

Now Now - Blink 182

Wipe the drool up off your face and make your plans, The prison where you hang your head missed your demands.

I came out to Seattle with a big stack of things to improve about myself. Now that I’m well past the half-way point, it’s interesting to take a step back to see if I've made good on my goals.

One unexpected observation: the amount of money I’ve spent on an area is directly proportional to my progress.

New Books. Oh how I love books, yet if you look at the expenditure of my free time for the last two months, you’ll find I’ve only read a few hundred pages. Though I love to read, it’s obvious that I love many other things more. $13

Spanish. My goals are always lofty, but they keep me going. Sadly this project has barely gotten off the ground. $30

Le Corps Physique. To make up for all the ground I lost last winter, I intended to kick it into overdrive this summer. I’ve done alright. I haven’t done the triathlon training I would have liked. Yet my stamina has improved, and my image is much more frightening than what most of my friends remember. $70

Music. Here's the big one. I took piano lessons when I was a kid, and after four years, I hated them. I quit once I hit the eigth grade. I regret that decision, and when I began college, I swore to reclaim my past "glory." Now, 6 six year later, I have begun fullfilling my vow. I brought out my family's dusty five-octive keyboard. It's far from a piano, but it was free. As expected, fake piano keys, crapy Japanese electronics, and book of simplified hymns are not enough for my ambitions. Now, I am up to $647, and my improvement is significant.At least my blog is consistent. During May and June, no posts on books (though one on Toni Morrrison is coming), none on spanish, several related to exercise, and two dedicated to music in addition to every title that comes from a song of significance.

I'm not sure why, but it's only been this summer that I've realized the impact music has on my life, my emotions. There is a song for every occassion, and a musician that expresses how I feel better than I ever could. Full of rath over the Taco-Bell cashier who knows only 10.4 English phrases, happy I finally got a consistent reading on a flowmeter, sad that my sister's cats were declawed, or excited to get up and try again. But it's not just about reflection.

I rarely need an extra shoulder for crying or an extra ear for bragging. What I need is an outlet that doesn't involve testosterone. A combination an artist's empathy and their expression of feeling rather than the stifling of emotions is just what I need most of the time.

Music has a way of attaching itself to your soul, carrying it wherever the lyrics and instruments are headed. You pick your music, and you can usually shift your direction. Someday, I hope to do it without the help of strangers.

Buildings Tumble - MXPX

We’re not sentimental, we’re just oil filled machines Trying not to say the things we mean.

Not too much intellectualizing today, just blood, guts, a little charity on my part, a wrong turn, and a few tears (Would you believe it? The salt you lost from a 57.4 mile ride is substantial as is the sweat that can ends up in your eyes when you stop.)

he Beginning of the End - Guster

You just don't seem to see I've been waiting all this time to be something I can't define.

Tuesday marked a paradigm shift-I started my FBI application.
I had not desire to be an engineer this week.

Don’t get me wrong. I still love my job, and the challenges, and the subject matter, and the people, yet when I go home, my day doesn’t wind down, it begins. I am free but not interested in relaxing. I have to get to the "important things."

Henry Erying Sr. once said that who you are is defined by what you think about when you don’t have to think about anything. I cannot deny my nerdiness. If you look at my bookshelf, you’ll find only one love story and little fiction, yet if you ask me about vapor-liquid-liquid equilibrium, I’ll change the subject even if you know more about it than I do. I realize that few people are scientists twenty-four seven; even the engineer’s engineer wouldn’t dream of discussing numerical solutions with anyone who wasn't paying him to do so. Maybe I'm not different after all.

What what do any of these comments have to do with th FBI then? The FBI focuses on people. It focuses on doing, discovering, and finding. When I go to sleep at night, I find my day at work, good or lousy, never reflects any feeling or any thought. My job makes me happy, but it doesn’t make me tick. I doesn’t drive me; it just keeps me going.

What then? Jack Bauer? Agent Mulder? Jason Borne? It’s a good question. At this stage in my life, I can say that had I not served a mission, I would have joined the Marines. It wouldn’t have been a career, but I would have gladly sacrificed four years of my life for the experience (full knowing that “experience” could get me killed). Now why would I do that? Why on earth would a person WANT to join seemingly deranged organization lead by a president no one can stand? All I can say is that I was cut from a different cloth than most people. The FBI may provide a way to join both worlds.

The First Single - The Format

Cuz I'm a 21st century digital boy, I don't know how to read but I got a lot of toys.

After one minor deconstruction, three total disassemblies, one hard drive reformat, one almost nervous breakdown, and two attempts at installing the OS and drivers from scratch…THIS BATTLE STATION IS FULLY OPERATIONAL….again.

Technology is wonderful. I won’t deny that it has improved my quality of life, but man, building equipment that requires disassembly to a mound of screws, silicon, aluminum, copper, and solder in order to maintain proper function is poor design.

Right now, with my technical qualifications, my time is only worth around $15 or $20 an hour, so there remains economical sense in repairing my possessions tout seul. But someday, my time will be worth more. I figure I spent around 20 hours to get everything working; that’s $300. For the work I had to do, I would be hard pressed to pay a professional less to do the same work. But how about six years from now when I’m worth several times what I get now? For $750, I could buy half a new computer. That stage is what my father calls, “a battle of man vs machine.”

Why battle? Money? There is no economic sense in spending a day on an item that a pro could fix in half the time for half the money. Independence? Yes, if you are the kind of guy/girl who can fix crap, you are less dependent on other people, BUT you are, nonetheless, still bound to the functionality of your technology.

Conclusion: people who fix stuff for practical reasons are delusional. Or at least, I am.

Dad, the BIGGEST Curmudgeon of all, as MSU calls him, has one card with which justify this character contradiction--the glory of the battlefield. Granted such glory is not loved by all. Some would rather go to the game than play; some would rather sit back and calculate than build. I am the former, so when it comes to inanimate objects, there are few satisfactions greater than transforming a $1000 dollar paper weight back into something a person cares about.
Twentieth Century Digital Boy - Bad Religion

Well I made my way back down to the valley, right on past 83rd street that's where we once belonged, but I'm gone. I swear I'm long gone.

As a few of you know, I am sad today. I feel that there is one realization I should document as it came from a conversation with TB.

I'm not the type to wallow in self pity…If it could change things, I would however. No amount of suffering can change the past… and it's unfortunate because we humans can take a lot of punishment, so the only thing we really lose by our mistakes is each other…I don't think there is anything sadder.




I can agree. But part of the whole deal is learning how to hurt other people and yet keep moving. That sounds mercenary. But we definitely hurt people a lot without meaning to.

In context of such thoughts, I’ll comment on Nartuo, a Japanese Anime/Manga. Yes, please make all the jokes and stereotypes you like. I’m as weird as they come anyway. In this particular series, Naruto is a young ninja who wants to be the greatest ninja that ever ninjaed in all the history of ninjaing. Complicated, huh? Partway into the series, Sasuke, Naruto’s best friend, reluctantly accepts that he is too weak to defeat his older brother who murdered their parents. In order to get stronger, Sasuke abandons his village to join forces with the series’s uber-villan. Naruto pursues his friend and despite his very best efforts, fails to bring him back. This example is one of hundreds reflecting the central theme of the story.

Perseverance. The part I appreciate about the novel are those very failures. In their losses, the characters find no romantic consolations or cheesy booby prizes, only doorways back to the world that knocked them to the ground, bloodied and broken. The fools of the series are the snobs who insist their talent will bring them victory without blood. The sneering, gifted underachievers always lose in the end, good or bad. Cliched triumph? Read the manga and let me know.

Returning to the shurikenless reality, you read all the time in kiddie literature, “He wouldn’t quit, even when they covered his body in papercuts and threw him in lemon juice. He kept going…” Now little student/sunbeam/subordiant butt-kisser, what must we do? “PERSEVERE!!! YAYYYY!!!!!!” Consequently, EVERYONE perseveres.

I must ask, “perseverance towards what?” Really, the question is not so much what the word means, but what it means to YOU. Money? Fame? Education? Frivolty? Love? Respect? It's a question for the ages. I'll get my own figured out someday; that's a promise:)

Give it Up - The Fomat