The arrows don't have poison but they bruise

Right now, I’m frantically trying to get my things together so I can leave Washington first thing Saturday morning. I have an overwhelming sense of closure in this chapter of my life, and I think it’s only fitting to end this blog with it.

For many years, I've felt Ed Kowalczyk’s lyrics represented much of what I was about, what I felt, and what I saw. But now the time has come for me to be something else and follow someone new. Thank you dear readers and goodbye Heropsychodreamer, you were a good friend (and a worthy opponent).

Je te verrai à La Cinquième Montagne.

Poison in the Ink - The New Amsterdams

These relics of remembrance are just like shipwrecks, only they’re gone faster than the smell after it rains.

25 is a special number for me today.

In its honor, I shall recount, in no particular order, 25 events and items worth remembering from my summer.

1 500 g bottle of L-glutamine consumed
10 lbs gained
1 authentic Seattle Uitilikilt received as a gift
1 Columbia Titanium Grade Jacket purchased
400+ hours acquiring/tuning man skills
4 months first-hand exposure to/interaction with “the other side.”
1 Nude cyclist event attended
1 1996 Tacoma broken and entered
1 Fender 8G – ES acquired
1 Old friendship reborn
2 Friendships deepened
1 Tire repair kit reluctantly purchased
1 Stack of clothes disposed of
2 Mountains partially hiked
200 miles ridden via bicycle
60 miles run via a pair of New Balance 1006’s
4 Books purchased
2 CDs ordered
1 Life perspective overhauled
3 Single friends lost (and 3 Married friends gained)
1 Longboard given to GoodWill
1 Small stack of clothing trashed
1 Relationship reluctantly ended
1 POS fleece given to GoodWill (Sentimentalism should be used sparingly. The past easily turns to excess baggage.)

I don’t have any regrets, but there are a few things I wish I’d done. There’s always a few “shoulda, coulda, woulda’s.”

My Spanish project never took off. It’s not necessary for the FBI, but it would be nice to have. Luckily, I still have a few years to learn it. It’s too bad I wasn’t able to find/make more opportunities to get to know Biotech Girl. She was really cool. I should have started voice lessons as soon as I got to Seattle rather than waiting a month, but I still had time to improve significantly. I should have made more time for temple outings; I wish I had.

I have another year to do better, and hopefully, another 75 after that.

So Long Astoria - The Ataris

And I can't wait 'til I get home to pass the time in my room alone.

I can do it.

I can do it.

A 55 hour work week is still a vacation compared to the coming weeks of school. The past 15 weeks of design and fabrication have all been for this purpose only. Two days to run experiments; one day to calculate, analyze, write, and conclude. (Guru. I make these goals for closure and for pride. We both know that no decent scientist EVER rushes his experimentation into such a small time bracket.)

I can do it.

I am resilient to all things physical and most things mental...I have come too far to merely float and watch my last week end sans bruit.

Adam's Song - Blink 182

Woke up today to everything gray, and all that I saw just kept going on and on.

I spent most of my last Saturday in Seattle with MSU. We hiked a small area around Rainere and talked. At the summit of the hike, we stopped in a large medaow full of wild flowers.

The feeling isn't the same as the one from our hike in May. At Mt. Si, you can look off the edge of a cliff and get an amazing view. From up there, the world is small yet complete. The tiny streams, ridges, and trees fit together seamlessly, and the result is inspiring.

At Rainere, it's the opposite. For miles, a dense forest compresses your view to 20 feet. You don't know where you're going or when you'll get there. Then, BAAAM, the world is huge. You are suddenly surrounded by rocks, trees, grass, flowers, and glaciers; the meadow stretches on. It goes on without you and doesn't care what you do or what you think. It just is. In this environment, a person has three choices:

1. Let the medow continue to be himself and be happy to witness a little bit of his beauty.
2. Be angry that he moves without your permission and find a box to hide in.
3. Get pissed off that you missed Tour de France re-runs.

What You Wish For - Guster

We can live like Jack and Sally if we want.

Career Update: After consulting with MSU and a few others, I've once again decided that leaps of faith should only be taken when they must and never when they mustn't. I'm finding that I'm quite scared of getting stuck in a bureaucracy that requires me to be quiet and not make any noise in order to survive.

It's true that I could take a chance and finish all the initial stages of my FBI application. With luck, everything else would go as planned, and I'd have my life career ready-packaged in T-minus Two years and one week. However, what do I gain by rushing things? One less year as an engineer. That's pretty much it. Really, what is one year in 25?

Looking at my job over the last four months, I've noticed a few changes in the abilities of "Mike the human Swiss Army knife." My newly acquired "man skills" make even the Mike of January 2006 look like a punk 4th grader with a screwdriver.

When I go to the FBI, my career as an engineer will be over forever. There will be no going back unless I wash out as a special agent and talk someone into giving me a spot on the professional staff. But who wants to work for the government as a science weenie? The pay is still low, the bureaucracy is still there, but now you all you do is work behind the scenes. Actually, these comments are all my own speculation. What do I know? The bottom line is a government job would only be worth it for me if I could see AND do stuff that is inaccessible otherwise.

So I've decided to slow down a little bit. I'll finish my degree and go be a real person for a while. The FBI isn't going anywhere and I won't lose the chance to get a Ph.D. if I decide law enforcement isn't for me. By waiting, I'll be able to gain some actual knowledge as to what life is like as an engineer, more time to compare first-hand experience (as oppose to second-hand speculations), and of course, more time to acquire even higher level man skills (that absolutely no one but me will ever care about).

Miss you - Blink 182

Get your hands off the girl. Can't you see that she belongs to me. And I don't appreciate this excess company.

Tonight was the first time I thought it might actually be nice stay out here. A few of us walked along Akila beech until the sun set. Had the sky not been overcast, the scene would have come from the most cliche teen flick ever. Still, cliches have good things in them too.

There is something happy and free about lakes and city lights and beeches, and there is something immensely satisfying about having someone(s) there to enjoy it with you.

Perfect Situation - Weezer

See the man with the lonely eyes, take his hand, you'll be surprised.

Over the course of the summer, I’ve befriended a kid in my ward. B1 is intelligent, quiet, enthusiastic about the church, yet extremely unsure of himself. Since I came out to Seattle, he’s been trying to decide if he should serve a mission. Unlike a lot of 19 year-olds, I think he grasps the magnitude of that decision. The significance of the temple endowment; the commitment it involves. “Duh!! EVERY worthy young man should serve a mission. There’s nothing to question…” But see? There is. It’s rather naïve to base one’s life decisions off the council of an authority figure, even if you do trust him/her. If there are any decisions that merit divine confirmation, this choice is one of them.

What does a person do when no answer comes? I know I’ve mentioned the dilemma before, but it really is a serious one. The answer to that question is very telling about a person’s true beliefs and desires. Many of the typical Mormon answers lead in to a self-sustaining circle, and though many don’t realize it, when you enter this circle, there is no need for God at all. He could disappear completely, and nothing would change. It’s a difficult trail, and I feel bad for my friend. He has no family support, and from what I can see, not a lot of social support either. I think missions can be a great thing, but they can be a terrible thing too. I think B1 will be alright, but he first must consolidate who he is, who he wants to be, and who he thinks he should be. Many people give up before they hit that point; I hope he won't be one of them.

Give a Little Bit - The Goo Goo Dolls

I got static in my head. The reflected sound of everything, tried to go to where it led, but it didn't lead to anything.

After three months, I finally made good on my promise to RCW and attended a Mariner's game. Unfortunately, I was unable to bring Biotech Girl along, but even alone, sport spectating is quite fun. The beautiful stadium, the cheering, team colors, the $4.00 bottled water, it's all great. Baseball is more chill than other sports, and I think it gives a person more time to kick back and let the game's atmosphere soak in.

This evening, Tennessee Girl invited me to come with her and company to an outdoor movie. It's like a weekly Renton sponsored family night. Tonight we all brought pillows and blankets and laid on the grass to watch the 15' presentation of Back to the Future I.

When Michael J. Fox's nose is 4 feet long or his coffee mug is the size of a bed, you notice things you may not have seen before. Tonight, I got a really close view of "the look." Not just from Emma Thompson, but also from Marty's girlfriend. I'd say she does it even better, and in truth, I'm rather disturbed.

If a bad actress can do a good simulation of "the look," why not any regular person? Are there no guarantees at all in love?

I don't think so, but I don't think that's bad. Most humans crave stability and reliablity, yet many of those same people crave drama, which is almost the opposite. I think this contradictory nature stands on the idea that love, though needing stability, also needs passion. Passion is easily found in drama, necessary or not . I would be a hypocrite to frown on people who sincerely like drama.

I'm never passionate about my functioning truck or an accurate oxygen sensor or a content family member. I am passionate about unlocking my door, debugging a GC, or finding the best way to stuff a group of thermocouples into a reactor. I confess that I find more excitement in having/solving problems than being happy that I have none.

On a related note, it sure is nice to sit back and laugh with another person. The Mariner's game was fun, but really, without some one there with me, it was just a bunch of middle aged men swinging sticks at balls of string. Life is too short to sit back and constantly watch others live it.

Tomorrow Tomorrow - Elliott Smith

and do you like making out and long drives and brown eyes and guys that just don't...quite...fit in?

Last night I attended a show at one of the nicer night clubs in Seattle. After picking dinner from the Pan-Asian menu, myself, MSU, and company sat back and watched Ska Cubana do their thing. I didn't think they were fantastic, but I don't know anything about music. Watching eventually turned into much shameless dancing with a couple dozen other attendants. I even danced with a gay man, sort of. It was fun.

Dancing is still a funny thing for me. As with singing and any other performance related activity, my motion (unintentionally) is about as fluid as a cubic boulder trying to roll down a hill. Combine this tendency with some congo drums and a lot of brass, and I resemble a boxer who has to use the bathroom while trying to warm up for a fight.

Actually, I’m even less graceful. My gay friend migrated his way into a group of attractive females giving me the "dude, I'm totally giving you an in" look. I had to laugh.

It was a good night.

So Impossible - Dashboard Confessional

And I'm not bitter, no. It's just I've past that point in my life.

I went to F1’s reception yesterday, and it was amazing.

I have no choice but to retract all negative thoughts about that relationship. Her two younger siblings were there, bored to tears, so I entertained them for a few minutes with stories of bad road trips and drivers who forget they are in America. F1’s mom was also present and very interested in talking. I like to think she had no choice because she was so impressed with me after the initial fifteen second wedding-line conversation (after all I DID wear nice shoes). She possilby could have simply needed a warm, almost familiar face with which to converse; she too knew all of three out of the 60 adults present. I was happy to oblige and left after an hour and a half with the best piece of wedding cake I’ve ever had and a long hug from a close friend. I’ve needed one of those for months.

Driving home, I had a transcendent moment of peace; the turmoil that is my normal life disappeared. Everything fit - the shade of the sky, the number of clouds in it, the hum of my truck, even poor Carrabba’s song about the little things that make a person special. I thought about being back with that group of friends I made almost two years ago - the eleven of us back together again, laughing like old times.

I thought about a friend of mine who recently went through a confusing, abrupt break-up that put her in shambles for a while. The last time we talked, she said, “Mike, I think my problem is I get too involved. Too much of my identity is caught up in finding and being with someone else. If I don’t have someone to love/love me, I don’t have anything. I think I need to zoom out for a while and take some ‘me’ time. I think I need to better learn to be happy with me rather than me with soandso." I certainly understand where she’s coming from, and I think there is a lot of emotional health to be found in being content with oneself as a lone individual. I don’t particularly like that image, and I haven't really worried about Mike's image of himself in a long time. But truthfully, driving home Tuesday evening, I fully agreed that being happy with ones own indiviuality was a necessity, and maybe, the one thing so many unhappy people lack.

I'm ready I am - The Format

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

He was bad, He was never good, But one thing that he understood, And she knew, All these lies would come true.

There is something about cheerfulness that always makes life better. Here in Seattle, a few random people never cease to make me smile inside, not because they are funny or silly, but because they are uplifting in everything they do, I quite like it.

Example 1. Rene the grocery store cashier. Rene came to the states in pursuit of a woman and decided to stay; I don’t know if he’s still with her. Every time I buy my groceries, we make friendly small-talk. Yes, we have yet to solve the mysteries of the universe or reconcile my issues with humanity, but there IS something else. Something so genuinely good, so perfectly warm about this man, I cannot help but be happy when I see him.

Example 2. Ti the UPS Store manager. I came to his place once because it was after 5:00pm and the post office had closed. He was friendly and seemed only to want me to have a good experience while he was around. I had to pay double because the company doesn’t do media mail, yet, surprisingly, I didn’t care. I continue to visit Ti with my postage needs. I don’t know that he recognizes me now, but I still believe he holds a level of sincerity beyond that of even the “nicest” ward 19 year old.

Example 3. Lenny the electrician who works at my company. Despite not having a buddy named Carl, Lenny is great. I ran into him once in the reference library. We introduced ourselves, and he never forgot my name. Who remembers the name of an intern!!? Now, Lenny always says “Hi Mike” when he sees me. Even when the guy is tired, he smiles. Even when he’s super busy, he will stop for a few minutes to tell you were to look for DIN rail-mounted circuit breakers and then go on to explain, in detail, the best way to mount your power sources on an electrical panel.

And you know what, these three guys DO remind me, in a way, of someone in Hollywood…

May I learn to be like them all.

On with the Show - The Get Up Kids

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through, eventhough it's not my place to save you.

Today, I got another glimpse of what love feels like. I cried like a baby.

My Reply - The Ataris

No point in living in my adolescent dreams.

I have a few favorite bands. Two of my three released new music this month, Live and Guster. Live cut their teeth in their 1994 sophomore album, Throwing Copper. Everyone knew Live’s music even if they didn’t know the band’s name, and for good reason, that CD rocks.

A couple years later, Live released a third album. Fans wanted another hard rock tribute to crashing lightning, placentas, being all over you, and making money off fans; what they got was insight into Ed Kowalczyk’s spiritual journey. The album was personal and much darker than its predecessor. Surprise surprise, the album saw little success.

From Secret Samadhi, Live continued to produce music and change their sound. They tried to send a more uplifting message to their fans, but in my opinion, their new goal only served to cheese out much of their work. You can usually find a couple good songs on each CD, but overall, the music has lost its creativity to me.

Guster is different. Like Live, they change their sound with successive CDs. But unlike Live, their music is free of self-importance and over simplified themes. Guster simply sings and plays about life in general, happy, sad, depressing, odd, cool, anything. Every CD is a new adventure. It’s like a book by your favorite author or movie by your favorite director. Well, MY favorite artists that is. You never know what they’re going to say or how they will do it, but you can trust it will be quality.

I guess everyone isn’t like me. Change and improvement make my life worth while. I guess I should be happy I’m the oddball. Otherwise, bands like Guster would be even more popular than they already are and liking them wouldn’t be cool anymore.

Guster’s latest album is what I call an “end of the day” CD. Similar to R.E.M.’s Automatic for the People (in overall vibe, not sound), Ganging Up on the Sun is good for sitting back after a long day and remembering that life is still full of…well, life.

Right now, I’m thinking a lot about the past. Ryan Miller echos

I wanna pull it apart and put it back together
I wanna relive all my adolescent dreams
Inspired by true events on movie screens
I am a one man wrecking machine

I often find that to understand the present, I must reconstruct the past. I have to rehash my decisions and relive old experiences. Yes, mister Miller, I understand exactly how you feel (I just wish I had your range.)

One Man Wrecking Machine - Ryan Miller

I'm not fully convinced that there's something wrong with this, could another point of view, biased and untrue, tear me away from you?

Yesterday’s endeavors fried me. The sun out here cannot be trusted; the weatherman cannot be trusted. Yesterday morning was cold and cloudy, so I brought my awesomeo jacket. The weather stayed as it began for a couple hours then BAM the sun is out with maximum radiation with poor little Mike caught with his proverbial pants down, defenseless to the elements.

This morning I woke up, face baked to an intense pink. I spent the morning reflecting yesterdays events and conversation and left for church at 2:00pm. Can I just say that I loath such a late meeting time? Ugghh. Needless to say, I was not particularly happy today. But I will say this. The contrast between Church today and the festival yesterday was significant.

Don’t get me wrong. The festival (for the most part) was harmless. The people had a good time, and simply acted how they wanted to act. Deep down, I knew I didn’t belong with them however. I could be wrong, but I don’t believe I’ve been brainwashed by my Bible-Belt upbringing. I feel that I’m open enough that when I see things that “fit” me, I can embrace them without hesitation. Yesterday was an example of educational exposure (too educational if you ask me). In contrast, today I was at church, crispy and unhappy. Yet momentarily, I found peace, and it was wonderful.

Valentine - Get Up Kids

Don't want a hippe chick, or a disco queen, just want the girl, from a na-nineteen eighty-three

The Annual Fremont Solstice Parade...let me tell you…boy-oh-boy...

I saw it coming, but nothing really prepares you for fifty nude cyclists riding around the block for 45 minutes on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Painted head to toe, not painted at all, young, old, tall, long, short, skinny, fat, A, DD, and everything in between. George Bush, The Pope, tree spirits, a guy that looked like he came from a Chemical Brothers video, Napoleon, a tiger, a cowboy, Spiderman, all kinds of stuff.

Yes, naked people are gross; I now have knowledge of this fact. However, from another perspective, the event was completely harmless and non-sexual. Families brought their kids (ages 1-15). We all sat around and cheered the crowds; many signed socially progressive petitions. Fun for all breeds, shapes, and attired. A dozen floats, dancing East-Indians, forest spirits, fertility gods, and “Beat the (George) Bush,” a ten foot president and a six-foot spinnable wheel with pictures of all kinds of nasty fates and their accompanying articles of destruction (the three-foot boot on a pole was my favorite).

The fair had a relaxed aura to it. No commercialization, no electric motors, no text. MSU really likes the environment. “Americans are too uptight about everything.Their religious “morals” often miss the point. They paint such a dark picture of human nature.” I had to agree.

Today, I decided that hippie chicks are not for me, not by a long shot. I should have talked to a few of them, but I wasn’t in the mood. For me, the general vibe of the event was good enough. Down in the park, a guy sang while playing an accordion. At the front of the dancing, thirty-person crowd was a girl, my age, topless, and painted red and white, head to toe.

“She’s cute.”
"....”
“Don’t you think she’s cute?”
“Mehhhhhh…I don’t’ feel any kind of attraction.”
“Well, yeah but look at her. There’s nothing wrong with what she’s doing. She’s not hurting anyone. She's just enjoying life.”

Such comments seemed to be the theme of the festival, and yes, I agree with the last part of MSU’s statement.

Returning to my previous point, today I learned, officially, that I like clothing. I like brassieres. I think razors are good, and I prefer that people exercise and be a little worldly. I admire many things in what I perceive as the hippie mentality. However, I definitely did not feel “at home” today. It’s very possible that “my people” may yet be found somewhere in this city, but Fremont is not that place.

Next Sunday is the gay pride parade. Maybe I’ll find my Missing Piece there. :)

New Wave Girl - Nerf Herder

You wore a shirt of violent green, uh-huh, I never understood the-fre-quen-cy, uh-huh.

Now that I have a little money, I’m zooming out to take a look at my material possessions and deciding what I can buy to make myself more desirable to all the new lady-types in my life. As you’d expect, I’m starting with my clothes. It’s funny, you work in a chemistry lab for two years and new holes never cease to appear weekly on even the best of Old Navy $10 T-shirts. I’d guess my average shirt has 20 sulfuric acid stylistic enhancements.

I bought some new stuff. Actually, I’m buying A LOT of new stuff. Actually, I’m virtually chucking everything but my newest shirts and favorite jeans. In some ways, it’s sort of sad. For example, I replaced my POS fleece with a Columbia jacket I found on clearance. The material is awesome; I think my new jacket even claims to be bullet proof (I’m trying it out the first robbery I encounter). However POS fleece was there when I was learning to tolerate the French as a greenie missionary (by “the Fench” I mean "my trainer"). POS Fleece was there when I saw my first sub-20 degree winter. POS fleece was there on rainy bike rides up to campus for my last two years at BYU. I really don’t want to see him go despite the fact that all but his main zipper have fallen apart and that his elastic drawcord broke in the first six months of ownership. Despite the fact that he’s too big and despite the fact that even my celestial mother said he was ugly. Despite the fact that he was never very good to start with much less be worth anything six years later.

POS fleece in many ways is like me. A while back, TB and I (and maybe Cinderella too) had a conversation about St. Exupery’s “apprivoiser.” “Ca signifie, ‘creer des liens..’” The world is always more beautiful in French. Literaly, the phrase means, “to create some ties/links.” The Fox and the Rose are special to the Little Prince because they are “unique au monde.” More accurately, they are unique to HIS world. I think real friends are similar. You hang on to them, not because they are particularly convenient or useful or even at all helpful, but because they have become special to you as an individual.

Where do such feelings leave POS fleece? In the closet for now. You'd better ask me again when I have to move back to Utah. Special things are great aids when I need to feel human, and on most days, there's nothing I want more than to remember the good times of the past. Nevertheless, nothing boots you back into reality like 12 hours crammed in a compact-pickup. It's only there that you realize what is truly apprivoisee and what is just a piece of crap you should have trashed years ago.
What's the Frequency Kenneth - Michael Stipe

teach me wrong from right, and I'll show you what I can be...Say it if it's worth saving me.

What does it take to pollute another person’s ideas? A stray thought? A bad comment from another person? Fifty negative comments?

Here’s the kicker. What if those original ideas ARE false? What if reality IS polluted? Say you have a choice: happy, motivated, and blind to reality or aware and unenthusiastic? As you probably know, I’ll always pick the latter when given the choice, but what about when I don’t know the choice is available? I WILL be happier and more dedicated to the cause not knowing the truth. How can I embrace a cause I believe to be either false or severely lacking in design?

I voluntarily choose misery over happiness (at times). If you ask me why, I’ll tell you it’s not really happiness v/s unhappiness; it’s fiction v/s reality. “Does that negative reality make you any better off?” Today, I say “no.” Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel differently.

Oh, and I finally started a fire in my lab today. As always, it was small enough that I kept it off the books. I’m like, 6 for 6 now.

Savin' Me - Nickelback. No I don't own one of their crappy CDs, I just thought these lyrics were applicable. Afterall, the group isn't ALL bad.

Caution on the road lies lies and hidden danger. Southern California's breeding mommy's little monster.

Last week I noticed movies were on sale at Hollywood Video, 5 for $20. Though it was impulsive, I figured I’d take a chance. How can you argue with $4 a movie? Here’s what I picked:

Closer
I Heart Huckabees
A Mighty Wind
Garden State
Big Fish

I’ve never seen the first three, but they seemed to have possibilities.

I’ve wanted to see Closer since it came out a few years ago. Critics gave decent/good reviews, and Natalie Portman and Clive Owen received Oscar nominations for their parts. A week ago, I watched it in my self-made home theatre. On a scale of 1 to 5, the film hits a 3 (1 being average, Goodwill Hunting being a 5, 12 Monkeys a 4, X-men a 2). Closer has four characters, a female stripper, a female photographer, a male doctor, and a male writer. Among the above actors, Jude Law, and Julia Roberts, can you guess who plays who? The plot is a heterosexual, love diamond, but the focus is on Jude Law. As Time Magazine reviewer remarked, it’s an adult sex movie without sex. Unfortunately, I can’ recommend anyone see it. In fact if you ARE thinking about seeing, I would discourage you unless you’ve spent at least 100 hours in a male, high school locker room. Is it that explicit? No. It’s beyond. If you DO see it and ARE able to see beyond the dialogue and STILL appreciate the movie's message, you win my respect. That said, if you actually ENJOYED it, I'm afraid you are too perverse for even me (but you can have my copy of the film, I'll sell it otherwise).

Last night was I Heart Huckabees. Coincidentally, Jude Law is in this one too. I think it’s a movie I’ll watch about once a year. Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin are Existentialist Detectives who “solve” the related problems of their patients. If you like artsy movies, you’ll like this one. I do suggest you skip the sex scene however. It’s less graphic than the one in Thank You for Smoking (which wasn’t at all graphic), but it’s also…well...a scene that involves sex. A half naked man? I don't want to see that.

Easy Target - Mark Hoppus

We once walked out on the beach and once I almost touched your hand. How I dreamed to finally say such things yet only to pretend.

It’s Saturday morning, and I’m fighting two mirrors in attempt to cut my hair in the back. My phone rings, so I stumble over to it, hands covered in hair, “Mike, I’m freaking out. I’m almost hyperventilating!!!” One of my bestest closest friends, Purdue Girl, was driving to a Church History museum in Missouri to meet THE GUY. She was introduced to him through a friend about a month ago. Email correspondence turned to phone correspondence which then turned to “talking until 3:00am” correspondence. In five minutes, she was going to meet him in person for the first time. As background, she had driven home to St. Louis for a couple weeks from Indiana. TG lived a few hours away, so it was a good opportunity for them to meet.

“WHY am I so nervous? I’m NOT like this.” “Because you’re playing for real this time. Trust me, I know how you feel. The most nerve racking moment of my life was a similar situation. Playing for real is stressful because you’re afraid of messing up. The outcome DOES matter this time. So what would you like? I can patiently listen as you explain your feelings and calm your nerves, or I can tell you what to do.” “I don't know what the hell is going on, tell me what to do." (I should have savoured the moment. I may never get that request again.)

In a nutshell, I told PG to breathe and the new situation changes nothing. When you play for real, you feel extra pressure to make things work, to the point of being somebody else even. Yet we know we’re not supposed to be somebody else, so red flags start going off everywhere. People get so lost in the moment, they forget that no matter what happens, the sun still rises in the East and credit card bills wait for no man. The good news is that unlike mine, this story has a happy ending (so far).

Talking to PG yesterday and last Saturday resurrected a few memories in me.

Love is absolutely the greatest in the woyld. To the best of my knowledge, the one thing better than being in love and absolutely enthralled with someone who deserves such admiration is having that feeling be mutual. It’s sad, but I think a lot of people go through life without those feelings. I think some even get married without them.

What does a person do when there is a void of love in their life? Becoming obsessed with something I don’t have is a trap that grabs me on my low days. I have a hard time imagining my life without love, yet occasionally, such a future seems rather likely. And the more I think about it, the more I obsess/worry, and the more unhealthy my thoughts become. Now that many of my closest friends are finding SO’s that are S in the long term sense of the word, I have to take a step back and observe. “How did this happen? Why did this happen? Am I doing something wrong? Am I doing anything right?” Unfortunately, I can only reach one real conclusion. Time and location do their own thing. (That and giving up and hiding in a pit with lots of cats is still a bad idea…for now.)

If you don't, don't - Jimmy Eat World

Loveline won't call back. they don't know, they don't care, they don't see, but I do. But I do.

I came out to Seattle with a lot of projects, some of which could be done while driving. Unfortunately, my mornings have proven to be less productive than I had planned. Adam Carolla has a radio show on 107.7 FM. For those of you who don’t know me, I loath radio shows. No seriously, I DETESTE the things with the unbridled fury of a thousand fire ants crawling up the naked leg of an unsuspecting intruder. The only thing worse than an obnoxious middle-aged overweight male who laughs too hard at his own jokes is two or three of these clowns placed in the same room with nothing but a microphone and some worn out sound effects.

Somehow Carolla is different. Don’t get me wrong he’s still a complete jerk, but somehow, he pulls it off well. He is what I call “the likeable jerk.” It may be that he spends more time insulting the world than laughing at jokes that aren’t funny, maybe it’s the show’s variety (Stock or NFL Althlete?, Sports with Dave Dameshek, Beat Daves Mom at Trivia, Movie Reviews with Ozzie, etc.), maybe it’s that I’ve finally given in to the forces of darkness, whatever the case, Carolla is good.

Show me a guy (or girl) who can pull off the "likeable jerk" effect, and I’ll show you someone I will like more than every nice person I’ve ever met.t

Teenager - Better than Ezra

I'm here hold on, to me I'm right here waiting. And take, My one last breath, and don't forget, That I will be right here waiting.

Friday night at the gym and pro-wrestling is blaring on the TV’s. Sorry 3M, after 30 minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore and changed the channel on 3 TV's.

It’s funny, I’m the only person I know who functions better with less blood in his brain. Whenever life sucks, all I have to do is find a way do eliminate my mental focus. Suddenly, life is not so bad nor is it so complicated anymore.

What does this mean? The Memorial Day diet starts on…Memorial Day of course. I’ll spare you the details, and no, there will be none before and after pictures.

Not Now - Tom Delonge

(Up the stairs: the station where the act becomes the art of growing up.)

My favorite CD of all time is easily Brand New’s Deja Entendu. I got the CD for Christmas a few years ago, and it’ s still getting better. The second track is about a kid who loses his virginity. When you look up the lyrics, part of the song goes.

He whispers that he loves her,
but she's probably only looking for s…
So much more than he could ever give,
A life free of lies and a meaningful relationship.
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides.
He waits for it to end and for the aching in his guts to subside.

Now if you listen to the song, it sounds a lot like Jesse Lacey sings, “A life full of lies and a meaningful relationship.” Sometimes singers do that. They change a few words at the last minute. It’s amazing how much altering one little word can affect a song’s meaning. I hate to say it, but I prefer what I hear to what was supposedly written. Maybe I’m cynical about love, or maybe it’s like the rest of the CD. I can’t really relate to the songs at all, but the emotion behind them makes me feel right at home. I don’t know of an album that “fits” my personality better.

Sic Transit-Glory Fades - Jesse Lacey

Where the streets have no name.

I still don't feel like sharing all the detail of my job, but I will share a thought I found interesting. If a high school kid were to ask me about where in the world of industrial profession to work, I would draw him this picture.
You work where ever on the ladder you like. At my job, I get to see some of everything, and I must say, I see it more like this:
This picture opens for two ways to look at a person like me.

I could be an intellectual snob who only respects those who build the foundation. If you're a salesman, you must understand that the world will always go on fine without you. Your task is the easiest and the least important.

Or I could merely have found confirmation on what matters to me professionally and where I will be the most useful. (I.E. Like being a modern dancer, a job as a BS Engineer would never suit me.)
Vanessa Carleton singing it.

And your hair, smells of smoke. Who will cast, the first stone?

For the first time at the Renton Health Club, I saw someone at the gym who seemed to have lower body fat and bigger muscles than myself. That someone was a she. ‘Nough said.

So I had to get a drug test today. There I am, maneuvering my way through South Seattle, and I discover I may not pass it. During GG’s big 30 person party on Saturday, NM came and knocked on my door, “Mike if you feel uncomfortable, I could bring you up some food.” “Nah, no sweat, I was on my way down actually.” “Ok…do you mind marijuana? Two of GG’s friends are smoking it in his bedroom. If it makes you uncomfortable, I'm sure we can do something about it.” Two seconds later the scent hits me, but it wasn't too bad I go down stairs and notice someone else smoking it in the back yard. Oh well, I figure I got about 30 seconds of second hand exposure. Anyway, I hear that marijuana can stay in your system for a month. Now here I am, a mile from the Diagnostic office; what do I do?

1. "Uh, I kinda smell some pot at a party…so if the test comes out positive, it’s not my fault”
2. Turn around and do the test in another week.
3.”Hey dude, I MIGHT have some marijuana in my blood. What should I do?”
4. Do nothing.

Despite living in a society that proclaims, “Innocent until proven guilty,” I felt the converse. I was automatically guilty the second I hinted I may have seen weed in the past four years. If I was truly worried, I should have chose 2. But as far as doing it today went, I was hosed. If my test was positive, there would be no way out. Who in their right mind is going to believe a 24 year old single male (who they don’t know) that he hasn’t smoked pot despite it being in his blood stream?

I guess I think it’s sad that we’ve forced our country to be so distrusting.

Me vs Madonna vs Elvis - Jesse Lacey

With pretty eyed boys girls die to trust

Today had the potential to be my first real-life encounter with sex. Yes, for 24 years, I’ve survived in my naivety. My parents are still virgins. My high school colleagues kept it off school grounds. My mission apartments were all rated PG. But today was different. Towards the beginning of the week NM and GG both informed me that a “friend” would be staying the night on Friday. My female intuition kicked in immediately, so I asked for no further detail. (For those of you who don’t know, my room is separated from GG’s by a “Jack and Jill” bathroom with ill-fitting, latchless sliding doors. It works, but the privacy is minimal.) Around 7:30pm, I came downstairs already in “just about to go out for the night” mode. The four of us chatted and ate zucchini bread for a few minutes, and I was out. GG asked me if I was going out for a run (I detected no necessity in his question). After bumbling for a minute, I communicated that I was leaving to see a movie. Once they figured out what I was trying to say, GG and friend smiled and responded simultaneously with a hand sign and the phrase “poovie.” At first I was puzzled, but then it made sense. Make a consonant “P” and then an “M” sound and pay close attention to your lips. Can you see a difference? As far as I know, putting your hand an inch in front of your mouth is the only way to distinguish the two if you can’t hear, and how many people are going to do that?

It worked out perfectly, GG didn’t have to feel about bout putting me in a potentially awkward position, and I got to continue my naivety believing that sexual attraction exists only between attractive women and myself. Still, I left in violation of my morals; I went to a theatre alone. Knowing that I could have bought a new DVD or CD for the same amount, I reluctantly gave the nice lady my $8.50 and entered the theatre with fingers crossed. I guessed that “Thank you for Smoking” was the only movie with potential.

I think I guessed correctly.

This movie was one of my three favorite types. I call it a “life” movie. Aaron Eckhart is the main lobbyist for a tobacco company. He’s slick but not slimy. Throughout the film he poses several good questions and generates a fun atmosphere. I could learn a lot from his character. A little like SLC Punk and many other movies, this film has occasional pauses and narrations by the main character. I like this style. Rather than arguing that “evil” is subjective, Eckhart’s character claims that by definition, arguing is not about truth. It’s about being right, and the person who argues is always is. Pretty much everyone is a hypocrite. A Vermont senator (the always exellent William H. Macey) is pushing a skull and cross-bones sticker for every cigarette pack in America. Without giving away too much, in the final conflict, Eckhart reminds Macey that deaths from lung cancer are miniscule in comparison to those from high cholesterol. What is notorious for raising cholesterol? Vermont cheddar cheese of course, so why no poison sticker there? This movie was potent enough to enjoy, but not so contrived, I gagged at a lack of believability. Though the one and a quarter sex scenes have no nudity, sound effects, or passion, the movie is still an adult comedy and certainly worth seeing.
White Houses-Vanessa Carleton