Monday, December 27, 2004

... miscellanery...

There's a graying old man in a white jogging suit passing by outside...
Ambers, yellow greens and beiges bounce across from adjacent buildings...
The wind is lifting the weary limbs of slumbering pines...
And I'm listening to "Consent" by the Devlins... Thanks, Sabi. :)

Sunday, December 26, 2004


Oh yes... I forgot. My father took us to see "The Nutcracker," which is, according to my sister, an honored tradition for the Houston Ballet.

If any of you know me, (which I will assume w/o hesitation) none yet do, er... unless God is reading this, you'll understand that I would fain forego a football game or other sporting event to see something of this kind.

What can I say? For one brief cosmic moment, I got to sink into that welcoming bosom of dreams "amidst great midnight chandeliers" that I've only marginally scraped during my academia at BYU. Not to be cheesy, though I'm patently patterned that way, but it felt like home.

I dare not speak here of production values, knowing that I am still an all-around dilettante in comparison to the more culturally acclimated, except to say that it was extraordinary to behold through a veil of a winter's landscape a child waking from a Nutcracker dream, to see sugar-plum fairies pirouetting amidst giant falling snowflakes, and perhaps most profound, to witness the grandeur of a family gathering like it should be, but perhaps never has been---all enacted in effulgent, eloquent dance.

As I sat there, I was reminded that God, too, is an inspirer of poetry, of music, of things that drive mankind's dreams... and I once again felt close to my Creator, esteeming myself a creator also, albeit on a miniscule scale. It made my vacation, even from the cheap seats.

Well, my oratory has once again spilled over into the ostentatious... So, adieu.

Ornamental thoughts, as in adj : serving an esthetic rather than a useful purpose

---For much of the past few days I was more or less folded up in the back-cab? of my sister's pick-up truck: you know, that one-foot-square crevice that allows for the ample cramming of shabby T-shirts, old purses, notebooks, and shopping paraphernalia... and brothers, though in a manner not suiting said objects' safe transport. Once or twice I bumped my head as we hit one or two of Houston's more notorious potholes in a row, which while providing for some wicked loft likewise produced traumatizing turbulence.

---Driving in my sister's truck is no less harrowing, considering the aforementioned scabrous surface of Houston's highways and byways, and the bobbing suspension on her Nissan Kingcab XE; I felt like I was riding a speed boat across a varied wave-pattern, striking some throttling crest as I hit a poorly-paved pothole and then lilting and lulling on the descending side of the swell afterward. Today I drove myself to church in trepidation, to say the least.

---I notice that I also make with the strange Jerry Lewisness while I'm alone in the car. (Silly nonsense noise-making, high-pitched singing---Re: the funniest scene in Bruce Almighty.) Perhaps it's the general tedium of driving; maybe I'm just never as alone as when I'm barreling down an expressway in a confining metal compartment on wheels connected to a series of controlled explosions... LOL. Prozac, anyone?

---I bid my Grandma good-bye this morning... She was sad to have to journey home alone; I was sorrowful to see her go. Now that airports have become so technologically oriented she's bewildered as to how to accomplish certain tasks relegated (in the name of efficiency) to the Internet and computer terminals...

---Anyway, my Dad and I have begun (unofficially) a tradition of watching westerns---usually w/ Clint Eastwood---around the holidays. My father's family spent some time working on a ranch or the like in Colorado, and he seems to recall some of those gentler years watching Clint Eastwood pop a proverbial cap in Gene Hackman's gullet (or face?). Er, ... ahem! I'm sure it has something to do with the wild country... oh, and horses.

---Oh, and I got some 3 or so Nutcrackers amongst my holiday plunder... just FYI, Liz. :)

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Thank you, Mr. Telford

The photography instructor for my Visual Arts core photography class, and apparently current chair of the Visual Arts department, John Telford, told us "you can't take pictures w/o a camera." I assure you, the thunderingly redundant tone of his words is misleading. Today, I stood only a few feet from the uniquely beautiful Houston temple, splashed by sunset, both because of its luna pearl granite exterior and the now rosy golden rays streaming through lingering cumulonimbus and nimbostratus clouds whizzing round me and the temple environs---and I had NO camera. I could only pray that w/ my meager mind's eye I could take a snapshot to be seen on Judgment Day, a flicker of serenity amidst less lofty remembrances.

On a sunnier note, a comb-over man clad in a Santa Claus tie and brown? blazer approached me thinking that I was a non-member from the adjacent neighborhood (which ludicrous presumption would have been rudely dispelled by the disparity between my beggar-yuppie attire and the hulking mansions overlooking the near-by golf course) struck by curiosity regarding the lovely edifice and its purposes. He intended to be of some help, no doubt in an evangelical capacity. I, not prone to pulling someone's leg so near and so touched by the sobering surroundings, told him I was a member, and that in fact some of my brood had gone inside the distribution center to obtain some necessary somethings.

A little embarrassed, he graciously bowed out and away and I returned to my ruminating, proud to have been of some hope to a servant of God hungering and thirsting after additional proselyting opportunities.

And that, fair friends, was the bulk of my day, aside from a number of errands of small distinction on the daily, let alone life-time, level.


Monday, December 20, 2004


I'm not very adaptive, methinks. An adventurous person would have at least ventured beyond the back porch/balcony thingy and gone for a walk... I'm still figuring out how to sit down and draw in what feels very much like an alternate universe. Which reminds me: I miss my ghetto drafting table.

Sunday, December 19, 2004

The muddy mood of the "mission field."

Sunday observations:
#1---It's odd that most anywhere outside of Utah is unofficially (which term---in its common sacrament meeting application---means that even high council speakers employ it liberally) dubbed "the mission field."
#2---I've discovered that I'm just as incompetent a servant of God as I was some 10 or so years ago. I know this for a number or reasons, but in particular because I vehemently defied my father's revulsion at my having worn a shirt a second day in a row (what, am I going to be accepting the Pulitzer after leftovers?).
#3---Personal soap-boxes are detrimental to gospel doctrine.
#4---Graying/silver hair is attractive only to sweet Grandmothers and their beauty salon buddies.
#5---Women are still unnervingly alluring. (There's something WRONG with me!)
#6---Due to numbers 2 and 5, I'm still vaguely pondering shock treatment.

Saturday, December 18, 2004


So I'm afraid to complain anymore... It's really the only substantial element of my blogging, and where most of my quasi-comedic musings come from, anyway.

For instance, I find it odd that our technologically-governed society can press people into a claustrophobic metal missile w/ wings, send it aloft in the sky, rudely leave them huddled w/ the remnants of a ham and hot mustard sandwich on their lap, and then jostle their seat upright because of something called "initial descent."

Gratefully, I had the window seat, and could ruminate as to whether I was looking at mountain ranges, or bleeding earth, lakes or oil spills, and just generally peer into clouds and know visual clarity for a rare moment; in effect, I could ignore some of the inevitable unpleasantries of the plane ride.

I don't deny that even the foulest experiences are beautiful. I should remind myself of those poor individuals in "deprived" countries that may never know the experience of flying in a plane, but oh wait... I doubt it matters to them, given the prevailing lack of less luxurious accoutrements.

At times I'm just wondering why we don't find these things ludicrous. Doesn't the world seem more and more like THX 1138, or myriad other sci-fi flicks, wherein people---on a personal level---become less and less significant? Just think about the typical airport experience: one is essentially driven forward, down, left, around the elevators, down this corridor, onto this escalator, like ... well, a cow. I can't remember if I mentioned already the eerie nature of "people processors," but I think I just reiterated the ugly reasons why people will hate going to the DMV, the post office, etc. Somehow one's humanity is sublimated in so vast a machine. (Oooh, Metropolis reference!)

On a related tack... previous to now, I've flown on Southwest airlines, offering perhaps the most "ghetto" air travel experience (and yet, not surprisingly, the most HUMAN---the stewardesses/stewards have more fun w/ the pre-flight rigamarole) and had not yet witnessed the televised pre-flight message, wherein screens lower from above the seats and a cool, pretty, plastic version of a stewardess then flawlessly advises passengers about the floatation device and the emergency exits. She ceases being "human," in my feeling. It's comparable to the same disconnective powers of television and the internet, driving a wedge between flesh-and-blood human beings. It's also too "perfect," despite obvious bugs in the monitor. Give me a painted hussy, an old hag, a high-school drop-out with pink highlights, but not a perfectly-modeled icon.

Of course, I have no real intellectual authority on which to back up my theories, which is why, perhaps, my BLOG is the best and only location in which they can be registered. And here also, the most suitable receptor of my nonsense, the oblivion of cyberspace, will receive it in its glory.

I don't argue that ecumenically I'm not most likely a hypocrite, a fool, etc. for feeling this way, especially since my patent lethargy keeps me from acting on my theories, or at the very least researching and publishing them, but I can't help but make the observations anyway. My sincerest apologies for offending the academic and/or action-oriented ear at making them known here.

Until later, kiddies.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Re: THE LIZ FACTOR or "The Juice"

One of my numerous theories, perhaps to be someday published in a Dave Barry-type book, is that we each have varied levels of a substance called "The Juice," human pherimones, if you will.

I say this because I've noticed a patent lack in the quantity/quality of mine, and a whopping Exxon Valdez-sized load just oooooooooooooooozing from others. Allow me to cite a noteworthy example from the now infamous ex-fiancee's apartment (Courtside)

INT. APARTMENT. NIGHT... A studly, dark-eyed fellow named Colby (the name just burns w/ male soap-opera hubba-hubba) on a fateful evening stopped by to say "Hello." Since things were ever up-and-down w/ this would-have-been-lover, I was not yet sure as to what kind of feelings she had for me. I was either trying to play it cool or thinking that, romantically "All was Well in Zion." At any rate, Mr. Beefcake didn't even cross the threshold, and all eyes were fixed on his masculine frame. Not one female eye in the room dared dart away for a second, lest they miss perhaps some mischievous flicker of a grin, an involuntary flex of a bicep, or other assorted evidences of a Tom Cruise swagger.

I remained, of course, perplexed by the power this newfound personal idol had on these college gals: typically aloof, studious, serious, etc. but now beyond hope of self-mastery. My own love-interest lingered at the door, drinking-lounge-style draped over the door like how a butcher hangs meat in the window. She was clearly advertising.

At this point, I could feel the disparity between my male "umph" and this hunk's estimable potency. As he bid them good-bye, all four girls' eyes pierced sheet rock, wood and paint and followed this virile figure with a hormonal radar as he passed through the outer door and down the few stairs leading in front of their window. Naturally, I had to clear the way so each of them could pry open the blinds and giggle at his "wiggle" as he walked away.

I was amazed. I felt like the pup in the old---was it MGM?---cartoon where the biggger dog is circled by an excitable pup, eager to be apprentice to an apparent master of "doghood." Clearly I needed schooling... or scrubbing? He was well-groomed.

Alas, such as it was, I entered it into my lengthy list of humorous anecdotes and there it remains... proof positive that some guys got it, some guys don't.

Super 8 mm film splicing: torture for perfectionists

I cannot adequately address the torment I suffered for some 9 hours editing my final project for my Super 8 class; what's more, I cannot speak of the final moments, splicing the film pieces together, w/o employing expletives, such as I did bountifully as I attempted to place pieces of tape small enough to merit tweezers (which I was not wise enough to use) onto an equally miniscule reel of film w/o obscuring the apertures in the film itself. This requires matching the holes in the specially-designed tape to those in the film. Madness ensued. I'm only all to gratified to suppose that only the creaking wood frame of the Villa and its assorted vermin residents heard my cackling, my curses, and my raising an angry fist or two to the gods of motion pictures.

Still, that much is over, and even though I've yet to complete a vital project (another kind of fastidious torment) for another film class, I feel my anxiety subsiding, and hope rising as the prospect of parting w/ Happy Valley, if only for a brief sabbatical, looms closer.

Praised be the holiday that encourages just a little sloth...

Monday, December 06, 2004

THE LIZ FACTOR or The Origins of Redguy

That's right. My apartment was bombarded by a feminine force of nature; apparently men can't help but flock in Liz's direction. She has but to smile, utter some of that trademark witty banter and toss around those long blonde locks and my roomie Stuart does his best schtick; Chris actually emerges from the Chris Cave to sneak a peek(yes, he's a super-hero; we're still working on the name and where to put the big red button); and I stutter like a broken-record machine on rocket fuel. What could overpower the considerable self-control of three studious college students? I give you: THE LIZ FACTOR. (Okay, so I exaggerate, but the attention was impressive. Way to represent, roomies!)

For Sabi: Redguy is well, a red guy. He's a Korvaxian from the Treiz galaxy. LOL. Okay, so he's a space alien-type character I made up, but some of the details are still pending. Lest some plagarist punk rob me of my glory I'll only say that I want to do some computer animation movie w/ his story... Hey, I can dream, dangit!!!

Wednesday, December 01, 2004


It was a blissful holiday, and no offense to my fellow denizens of Happy Valley, but I didn't want to come back...
Furthermore, excepting the future enjoyment of video games (the Fates willing), what past-times I once enjoyed seem empty or pointless...
Truth be told, I guess I'm sick of the way I usually am, especially on this BLOG, and until I feel I can say something original/exceptionally witty I doubt I'll be posting much.
Y'see, I don't have epiphanic moments unless I'm wowed by an unusually dispiriting dilemma. I become sullen, sardonic, and so forth: an energy-sucker. Allow me to explain the energy-sucker concept as one highly-animated (and tall) religion instructor (and business professor) at BYU implied it. There are two kinds of people in this world: energy suckers and energy suppliers. I, as I understood his insinuation, have ever been the former, and well, I was tired of it then... now I'm near-postal down-spiraling.
So, until I feel like I do more than whimper and radiate my self-absorbed sulking, I'll avoid posting.
On more than one occasion I'll come to my Blogger dashboard, bring up the create a post window and then leave because I don't have anything to say...
That being said I'll skedaddle.