Mental Meanderings in the Morning

It has long been said that when you can't sleep because you've got too much running through your head, the best thing to do is write it down to get it out of your head. So, here goes:

I'll be administering another quiz on Monday and I keep going over the quiz in my head: Is this question fair? Did I phrase that clearly? Did I make an embarrassing mistake?

Before the quiz, there's a review activity: Did I set it up right? Will it run smoothly? Will they enjoy it as much as I hope they do? Will it really be a good enough review to be worth it?

Then I get to more general worries about teaching: How am I going to cover All This material before Spring Break? I'm SO sick of giving instructions for an activity and hearing, "So, what are we doing?" or "So, we're doing X?" in English. When they work in pairs or groups, I hear a bunch of them asking their partners, in English, what they're supposed to be doing. PAY ATTENTION! I honestly do make the instructions clear if you'll just listen up!

My thoughts about teaching wouldn't be complete without my Sunday School class tomorrow (or, every other week, leading the music for Primary). Did I plan well enough? Will the students/kids get what they need to out of the lesson? Will I make some colossal blunder and lose the respect of student/kids and teachers/parents alike?

Of course, I've got my own schoolwork to worry about. I've got a short paper due on Tuesday for which I haven't gotten beyond the planning phase. There's ALWAYS more reading to do.

Then, to top it all off, one of my friends posted a Spanish (technically Castellano, but whatever) version of Hakuna Matata on Facebook and I've got the tune stuck in my head.

Finances play a part in there too, of course, but that's more of a consistent back-of-the-head concern.

So, there's my report. Wish me luck getting back to sleep!

Hi again, at long last!

Hey out there, friends, fans and family, I'm stopping by here briefly in between things to give everyone some updates! First of all, let me apologize for the long gap between entries - I've got a heavy workload in my classes that just keeps getting more interesting as time goes on. I think I'm starting to get a handle on things now. First, a list of what's keeping me busy:

1. Golden Age Literature. So far this semester, I've written a 5-page (a full page and a half of which hinged on the interpretation of a single word) analysis (on which I got a 94% - YAY) of a sonnet by Góngora (one of the giants of his century) and given a presentation about my final project for the class, which will be a 15-20 page paper whose major focus is a comparative analysis of the sonnets of Garcilaso de la Vega of Spain and Sá de Miranda of Portugal - so chosen because they've got really similar backgrounds (to the point that it was rumored ((my instructor believes that the rumor is false, however) that they were both in love with the same woman!) as the men who brought Petrarchan Italianate verse to their respective countries. Some fun, eh? Not to mention, what an incredibly long and rambling sentence! What am I, some kind of literature student? Oh yeah . . .

2. Modern Hispano-American Poetry. I recently turned in (and got 8/10 on, which I take as a good thing since some others in the class have simply been asked to rewrite their paper from scratch) a 5-page paper about a poem written by Jorge Luis Borges (one of the coolest modern authors I've ever run across - if he's good enough to quote at my convocation opening ceremonies (not to mention in General Conference!!), then he's good in my book!) titled, in translation, John 1:14. The title of my paper: The gospel of Sartre (The guy who basically founded the philosophy of existentialism) according to Saint Borges. With the underlying concept of existentialism as defined by Sartre being "existence precedes essence," it really is amazing how existential John 1: 1-14 is! I'm currently in the middle of a similar paper on a poem by Octavio Paz, a major surrealist poet. Besides a simple analysis of his poem Olvido, I'll be comparing it to the works of Salvador Dalí, most particularly The Broken Bridge and the Dream. This blog entry represents a brief mental respite from that one. My final project for this class will be a 15-20 page analysis of Borges's abandonment of Ultraism (a school of thought of which he was one of the major founders). Borges's departure from Ultraism was sufficiently severe that he later rewrote a lot of his early poetry when his "complete works" were assembled. I'll be focusing on the differences between the original and the updated version.

3. Literary Approach to the Spanish Civil War. Each week for this class, we read a THICK tome (generally between 400-600 pages, though we've had some plays of late which has helped) about the Spanish Civil War, mostly works which take an autobiographical look at the author's experiences during the war. We then (each week) write a couple of informal pages of our thoughts about what we've read. My final project for this class has taken an interesting turn. I had originally thought to take a "War: What is it good for - according to each of the authors we've looked at?" approach for my final (15-20 page) paper but our instructor doesn't want us to base our final paper on what we're reading for class. That's right, he doesn't want us to use the approximately 3,500 pages of material we will have read by the end of this class. My current thought, after a brief discussion with him, is to base my paper on "Political Applications of Religious Archetypes in Art and Iconography of the Spanish Civil War." At least with that, I don't have to read quite as many thousands of additional pages, I just have to talk about pictures. All three of my instructors seem to love tying in visual arts to the literature - good thing I took those Art History classes back at SBCC! Thank you, Professor Handloser, wherever you are!

4. Work at UConn Residential Life's Front Desk. I spend 20 hours a week waiting for phone calls from people who either have maintenance issues or have foolishly locked themselves out of their dorm rooms. Thankfully, not a whole lot of calls come in between midnight and 3:00 AM (which is part of my shift on Wednesday-going-into-Thursday) so there's hypothetically time to get some reading done. Unfortunately, between the TV, the interruptions and the siren song of Facebook, it's not really a productive place to get my schoolwork done.

5. Emotional issues. First, a bit of history. As those of you who either know me or have followed this blog know (if you're one of those people, feel free to skip down to number 6 unless you'd really like a synopsis), I've been dealing with cyclical bouts of depression since January of 2004 (at which time I was ministering to a small congregation on the Guatemalan coast). The diagnosis given at that time was clinical depression and, after some experiments with Prozac (during which time I wrote this poem) they settled me in on Zoloft. This kept me, if not happy then at least functional through the beginning of 2006. My then-fiancee, Emilee, pointed out that, even though the Zoloft kept my bouts of depression down to about once a month, it also blanded me out so that I never seemed really happy. I left the Zoloft behind, convinced that my newfound love would banish my doubts and depression.
It didn't.
I saw a new psychologist in Provo, Doctor Griffin, who declared, "you're not just depressed - you're bipolar!" and prescribed Lamictal (for the depression) and Lithium (for manic moments) My bouts of depression began to come much less frequently, eventually only striking when I was under significant stress (read that as Finals Week).
That all changed when we got to UConn.
With the stress of a new environment, homesickness, financial pressures of student debt, missing our friends in Provo, missing our families in Utah and California, being thrust into graduate school without much guidance as to what the heck I was supposed to be doing here (not to mention the question pounding in the back of my head - what the heck AM I doing here?? Every time I tell people I came here from Southern California for graduate school, they ask that exact same question, reinforcing the issue), the depression became an almost constant burden. Finally, realizing that I needed more help, I set up an appointment to talk to someone at UConn's mental heath facilities.

6. New meds and a new diagnosis! After meeting with Doctor Powers (Psychologist) and Doctor Grace (Psychiatrist) at UConn's mental health facilities, they became convinced that I wasn't bipolar after all - especially since the dosage of the lithium was, clinically speaking, insufficient to have any real affect! Finding that I had a history with A.D.D. (I took Ritalin through high school), Doctor Grace took me back to cyclical clinical depression - A.D.H.D. just makes my normal, happy times SEEM like manic moments! Last week, they took me off the lithium and, instead, put me on VyVance - a fun little drug that's kind of like Ritalin, but with a very important difference. It doesn't take time to build up in the bloodstream - it's more like a 12-hour aspirin (if aspirin cured chaos as well as pain). On day one, I noticed a difference - as though my brain was reawakening to a level of intelligence which it and I had forgotten. This effect lessened over the next couple of days and I felt somewhat emotionally fragile. This Tuesday, I spoke with Doctor Grace again who said of my experience, "Perfect! That's exactly what I expected! Now we have to play with the dosage so you can feel that smart every day!*" She told me to experiment with different dosages - take 2 or 3 and observe the results. "You'll know if it's too much - you'll kind of bland out." Where have I heard that analysis of my personality before? Today I tried taking 2. I feel that I have been more productive and Emilee notes that I seem happier today. Yay for modern medicine!
*at least, for 12 hours of every day. Today's twelve hours, coincidentally, ended shortly before I began this blog entry.

I'm still hoping to get Emilee to post something about our trip to the Omaha zoo but that can wait. Come on, world - I'm ready for ya!!!!

These lovely parting gifts . . .

There's nothing like getting ready to leave a place to let you know who loves you. Yesterday, my boss threw a going-away pizza party for a couple of us who are leaving - on company time, no less. That's kind of expected at Independent Study, though. What's not as to be expected is Malia Beckstrand giving me the coolest going-away present ever: A book of the Batman dalies (1943-1946).

Why this gift is particularly appropriate requires a bit of explanation, even knowing (as you, my faithful readers, should) about my penchant for superheroes. It all begins almost a year ago, when work was just heating up at Independent Study. (Man, if I were any good at drawing, I'd make a comic strip of it with that kind of intro - curse my clumsy fingers!) As Rush approached, Independent's customer service department opened up a room in the basement which became affectionately known as The Batcave. A handful of CS people would head down there every day to work.
What was special about the Batcave (other than the cool moniker?) The computers were faster, the screens were bigger - their only problem was lack of access to things like the fax machine (and the acoustics, but there's not much you can do about that). A call came up from the Batcave - we need a Robin! Since I preferred to work upstairs (that acoustical issue drove me nuts when I went down there), I was only too happy to volunteer.
I began to throw myself into the role. Our inter-office instant messenger, Spark, allows for an avatar - the Boy Wonder quickly became my symbol. When I got to work or returned from my lunch break, I would announce that the Boy Wonder had returned to Gotham City and was ready to receive orders from the Batcave. It was really lots of fun.
Malia, being a frequent Batcave denizen, was the first to join my enthusiasm. Her Spark avatar quickly became Catwoman and a fast friendship was formed - not that we hadn't been friends before, of course. Working the 6:00 AM shift together for a while will make either fast friends or bitter enemies out of just about anybody. Ah, those were the days . . . but I digress.
Since moving to the Morris Center, the Batcave is now long in our past, but the banter continues. We often swap jokes and stories or provide an electronic shoulder to cry on over Spark, something which helps keep me relatively sane in my repetitive work. And now she gets me a great going-away present.
I've already learned a great lesson from the book. The most important thing in becoming a real superhero is - yup, you guessed it - long hours. For those of you able to read that, I salute you. For the rest of us:

Both their parents innocent victims of the guns of Gangland, Bruce Wayne and his young ward, Dick Grayson, have dedicated their lives to fighting crime. . .

Long hours of rigorous training in their private gym . . .

. . . And long hours of diligent study in their scientific crime laboratory . . .

. . . Have created those mighty champions of justice - - - Batman and Robin
. . . Symbolized by the hooded bat costume, designed to instill fear in the denizens of the underworld!


Speaking of long hours, it's time for me to get back to studying for finals. Watch for the thrilling adventures of Steve, coming soon to this blog!

Having fun at work

My current job at Independent Study (my unofficial title is Overdue Lesson Guy) can get kinda tedious at times. My workday begins with picking up a 2-foot tall stack of papers, lugging it across the parking lot and finding the 15 or so pages I need, leaving the rest of the stack for another department I then spend about an hour going through the report with various highlighters looking for bad news that wasn't there yesterday and double-checking its accuracy against what's in RS6000, our main student database. I then spend the next 2-3 hours putting that new bad news into another database and emailing our instructors their particular piece of the bad news., with any remaining time being filled with projects for my supervisor, Lauren. Within those emails, however, I've recently found a bit of fun.

You see, some of our lessons are graded in-house by a group of friendly neighborhood tutors. Since I know them personally, I can afford to be less . . . shall we say formal . . . with them. Instead of the form letter that I send everyone (Professor Whatsyourface, the following lessons haven't been graded for a long time, please let us know if you have them and grade them as soon as possible. That sort of thing, but more precise and formal), I can send something a bit more creative.

I began by sending the form letter in various languages. While my first translation that I sent (to Spanish) was my own work, I turned to good old Babelfish for things like Chinese and Korean. I also sent one in "|337" 0r h4ck3r-5p34k, then one in the form of a Star Trek captain's log. Recently, I began doing lesson-themed parodies. I wanted to share some of this with you all, as I think some of them, at least, are worth a good chuckle.

1. The Mad Lib - feel free to play along!:

Tutors:
Please provide the following:
Plural noun__________
Past tense verb__________
Another past tense verb__________
Number___
Verb__________
Person in room__________
Past tense verb__________
Verb__________
Adverb__________
Verb__________
Plural noun__________
Past tense verb__________
Adverb__________
Past tense verb__________

The following ______ (plural noun) _______ (past tense verb) one or more lessons that have not been ______ (past tense verb) in over ______ (number) weeks. Would you please ______ (verb) this list and let ______ (person in room) know if you either have or have not ______ (past tense verb) these lessons? If you do have these lessons, please _____ (verb) them as soon as you ______ (adverb) can. Also, please feel free to _____ (verb) me if you have any _________ (plural noun) at all. Thank you for all of your hard work; it is ________ (past tense verb) and ______ (adverb) __________(past tense verb)!

2. Thus sayeth the Overdue Lesson Report:

Luke, Chapter 1

³It seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all these lessons from the very first, to write unto thee in order, most excellent Tutors,
⁴That thou mightest know the certainty of those things, wherein thou hast been instructed.
⁵THERE was in the days of Lauren, the queen of IS, a certain student who had submitted lessons unto the tutors . . .
⁷And they had no grade . . . and they were now well stricken in weeks, having been 2 weeks since their submission . . .
¹¹And there appeared unto him an angel of the Lord standing on the right side of the altar of incense.
¹²And when the student saw him, he was troubled, and fear fell upon him.
¹³But the angel said unto him, Fear not, Student: for thy prayer is heard; and thy lesson shall be graded . . .
¹⁸And the student said unto the angel, Whereby shall I know this? for I am an old man, and my lesson well stricken in weeks.

Alma, Chapter 5
14 And now behold, I ask of you, my tutors of IS, have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his lesson on your desks? . . .
26 And now behold, I say unto you, my tutors, if ye have felt to grade these lessons, I would ask, can ye grade them now?

3. Declaration of Grading:

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to grade the lessons which have connected them with students, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should grade the lessons which they are impelled to do within 2 weeks.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all students are created equal, that they are endowed by Independent Study with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the grading of their Lessons. That to secure these rights, Tutors are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of Lauren, That whenever any Form of Lesson is not received, it is the Right of the Students to resend it, and to institute new Grading, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

4. Overdue Soliloquy

To grade, or not to grade--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous students
Or take red pens against a sea of e-mails
And by so grading end them. To grade, correct--
No more--and by a grade to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
A student’s heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To grade, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub.

5. Dr. Seuss and Sam-I-am:
Will you grade These lessons, man?

I will not grade them, Sam-I-am.
I do not have those lessons, man!

Would you grade them here or there?

I would not grade them here or there.
I would not grade them anywhere.
I do not grade those lessons, man!
I do not have them, Sam-I-am.

Would you grade them in a house?
Would you grade them with a mouse?

I do not grade them in a house.
I do not grade them with a mouse.
I do not grade them here or there.
I do not have them anywhere!
I do not grade these lessons, man!
I do not have them, Sam-I-am.

Would you grade them in a box?
Would you grade them with a fox?

Not in a box.
Not with a fox.
Not in a house.
Not with a mouse.
I would not grade them here or there.
I would not grade them anywhere.
I would not grade these lessons, man.
I do not have them, Sam-I-am.

Would you? Could you? In a car?
Grade them! Grade them! Here they are.

I would not, could not, in a car.

You must grade them. You will see.
You may grade them in a tree!

I would not, could not in a tree.
Not in a car! You let me be.

I do not grade them in a box.
I do not grade them with a fox.
I do not grade them in a house.
I do not grade them with a mouse.
I do not grade them here or there.
I do not have them anywhere.
I cannot grade these lessons, man.
I cannot grade them, Sam-I-am.

A train! A train!
A train! A train!
Could you, would you, on a train?

Not on a train! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! Sam! Let me be!

I would not, could not, in a box.
I could not, would not, with a fox.
I will not grade them with a mouse.
I will not grade them in a house.
I will not grade them here or there.
I do not have them anywhere.
I cannot grade these lessons, man.
I do not have them, Sam-I-am.

Say! In the dark? Here in the dark!
Would you, could you, in the dark?

I would not, could not, in the dark.

Would you, could you, in the rain?

I would not, could not, in the rain.
Not in the dark. Not on a train.
Not in a car. Not in a tree.
I cannot grade them, Sam, you see.
Not in a house. Not in a box.
Not with a mouse. Not with a fox.
I will not grade them here or there.
I do not have them anywhere!

You will not grade these lessons, man?

I will not grade them, Sam-I-am.
Could you, would you, with a goat?

I would not, could not, with a goat!

Would you, could you, on a boat?

I could not, would not, on a boat.
I will not, will not, with a goat.
I will not grade them in the rain.
I will not grade them on a train.
Not in the dark! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! You let me be!
I do not grade them in a box.
I do not grade them with a fox.
I will not grade them in a house.
I do not grade them with a mouse.
I do not grade them here or there.
I do not have them ANYWHERE!
I do not grade these lessons, man!
I do not grade them, Sam-I-am.

You do not grade them. So you say.
Try them! Try them! And you may.
Try them and you may, I say.

Sam! If you will let me be,
I will grade them. You will see.

Say! I'll grade these lessons, man!
I will! I'll grade them, Sam-I-am!
And I would grade them in a boat.
And I would grade them with a goat
And I will grade them in the rain.
And in the dark. And on a train.
And in a car. And in a tree.
They are so overdue, you see!

So I will grade them in a box.
And I will grade them with a fox.
And I will grade them in a house.
And I will grade them with a mouse.
And I will grade them here and there.
Say! I will grade them ANYWHERE!

I now do grade these lessons, man!
Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am!

6. Charles Dickens abridged and revised (warning - even worse puns ahead):

Marley’s lesson was ungraded: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of its reception was placed in RS6000 by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. The Tutor signed it: and The Tutor's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley’s lesson was as dead as a door-nail.

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley’s lesson was as dead as a door-nail. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

As the Tutor threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.

This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine merchant's cellar. The Tutor then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.

The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

"It's humbug still!" said the Tutor. "I won't believe it."

His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, "I know him; Marley's Lesson’s Ghost!" and fell again.

Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before: he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.

"How now!" said the Tutor, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you want with me?"

"Much!" -- Marley's Lesson’s voice, no doubt about it.

"You haven’t graded me," observed the Lesson.

"I haven’t." said the Tutor.

"What evidence would you have of my need to be graded, beyond that of your senses?"

"I don't know," said the Tutor.

"Why do you doubt your senses?"

"Because," said the Tutor, "a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

At this the lesson raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that the Tutor held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon. The Tutor fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.

"Mercy!" he said. "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"

"It is required of every man," the Lesson returned, "that the assignment written by him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that lesson goes ungraded in life, it is condemned to be so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world -- oh, woe is me! -- and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!"

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy pages.

"Oh! Stapled, bound, and double-spaced," cried the phantom, "not to know, that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian lesson working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its grading. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"

"But you were always a good man of the business school!" faltered the Tutor, who now began to apply this to himself.

"Business!" cried the Lesson, wringing its pages again. "Students were my business. Grades were my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my grade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"

"I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Tutor."

"You were always a good friend to me," said the Tutor. "Thank `ee!"

"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three Lessons."

The Tutor's countenance fell almost as low as the Lesson's had done.

"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned?" he demanded, in a faltering voice.

"It is."

"I -- I think I'd rather not," said the Tutor.

"Without their visits," said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to keep your job at Independent Study. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one."

"Couldn't I take `em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?" hinted The Tutor.

"Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!"

***

Abridgement: The Lessons visit and convince the Tutor of the error of his ways. He swears to grade all lessons that he receives in the past, the present and the future.

***

The Tutor was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to the Overdue Lesson Guy, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a grader, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

It was always said of him, that he knew how to grade lessons well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as the Overdue Lesson Guy observed, Please Grade Them, Every One!

A funny thing happened on the way to the office . . .

Okay, it was actually after I got to the office, but I had to use the title. Anywho, this blog entry will be a little bleary-eyed today, since 8:00 is normally the time I get up to get ready for work and it's just barely that time now. So what am I doing up before my accustomed time? Lemme tell ya . . .

Last Monday, my Songwriting teacher told us that there would be a test review on Friday at 10:00 and another at 11. He also declared that, since we hadn't had time to give oral reports about our "model songs," (songs after which we patterned our original songs) we would instead turn in a short paper on them on Friday, thus making attendance at the review session somewhat obligatory.

10:00 is the time that I normally get to work (thus my normal 8:00 - 8:30 wake up time), so I realized that I had a problem. I couldn't even go to the one at 11:00 because I need to be at the place where I'm taking the GRE before 12:30. Thus, I asked my supervisor's permission to come to work early, and she agreed. I figured I could get my main job done in just a few hours (I usually spend an hour answering emails after I'm done with my reports), so I decided to come in at 7:00.

When I got here, the office downstairs where I usually collect my reports was locked. Turns out it doesn't open until 7:30. So I headed upstairs, booted up my computer and my assorted programs and answered the emails which were in my inbox. At 7:35, I had answered my emails and headed downstairs to get my reports. Which were not on the desk. Thankfully, the guy who prints and sorts them was there and was able to give tthem to me.

So I headed upstairs with my reports, ready to begin and a bit worried that I might not be able to finish in time. I looked over my reports and made a surprising realization. My reports contain all of the lessons which have been submitted to BYU Independent Study over 2 weeks ago. My job involves putting new lessons into the system and emailing instructors about them, which new lessons show up on my list 2 weeks and a day after they are submitted.

Guess what day it was 2 weeks and a day ago . . .
Guess how many people were in the office to process lessons 2 weeks and a day ago . . .
Guess how many lessons were officially submitted 2 weeks and a day ago. . .
Guess how many lessons I have to put into the system today . . .
Guess how many emails I have to send today . . .
Guess how much I can accomplish at work today now that my emails are done . . .
Guess how many hours of sleep I feel as though I got . . .


On a much more pleasant note, though, I took a practice test for the GRE last night and the results are quite favorable. To anybody our there who reads this, I ask for your prayers of support today so that my actual score can be even better.

Giving Thanks

As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, we are instructed "to give thanks in all things” (Mosiah 26:39), as was stressed by Elder Bednar of the Quorum of the 12 Apostles during our last General Conference. As my wife and I emerge somewhat from a period of hardship, I feel it appropriate today to take some time to express my thanks for my blessings.

I am thankful for my wife, for the warmth, peace and joy she brings to our home. Emilee, I thank you for your support, your tender care, your patience, your love, your gentle touch. I thank you for the hard work you do to make our home a happy p

lace where the Spirit of God may dwell. I thank you for your guidance when I feel lost and your fun-loving spirit when I feel down. For this and so much more, I thank you.

I am thankful for my parents, for the support and teachings they have given me. Mom and Dad, I thank you for raising me in the light of the gospel of Jesus Christ, for teaching me correct principles and helping me to explore my talents. I thank you for supporting me financially and emotionally as I complete my schooling. I thank you for praying for me every night for as long as I can remember, praying that I would meet those critical spirit

ual goals. For more than I can possibly express, I thank you.

I am thankful for my brother, for the example he has given me. Derrill, while we are very different from each other, you have always been a firm defense and support to me. You were always the first to extend a hand of friendship and forgiveness after our quarrels. Your quiet spiritual leadership has helped to shape me, to make those critical decisions that have made me who I am. For the music and the joy that we have shared, I thank you.

I am thankful for the gift of music, for its power in my life. I thank God for the talents with which he has blessed me, for ears to hear and a voice with which to sing. I thank Him for the talent of composition which has allowed me to more fully express my devotion, as well as my feelings. My thanks go to Impact Vocal Band, the Santa Barbara Channel City Chorus, the BYU Men's 

Chorus, 

Wild Pitch, The Honor Chord, Sing For Your Sweetheart and various other choirs in which I have participated and which I have directed. For the sweet resonance of the heart, I thank God.

I am thankful for our friends who enrich our lives and help us to extend 

our focus beyond ourselves and our personal needs. Without our friends, life would be a lot more boring. For your generosity, your patience, your eagerness to share, for laughs and love over good eats and weekend sleepovers, for helping us smile through our problems and our pain, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I am thankful for my job, for the security it grants me. The power to pay my bills while maintaining my personal integrity is a tremendous gift, especially in this day and age where so much of business is based on trickery.

I am thankful for the opportunity I have to study at BYU. I am grateful for the chance to learn not only a vocation but also more of the doctrine of the gospel. The chance to associate with so many who are of my same faith and hold my same values is a priceless treasure.

I am thankful for Jesus Christ, for His love and His atoning sacrifice. I am thankful that He was willing to suffer and die so that I can be forgiven of my sins and live forever with my Heavenly Father. I am grateful for His gospel and the life with which I have been blessed through living according to His teachings. I am thankful to be a member of His church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Sants. I am thankful for the scriptures, the Bible and the Book of Mormon, written by ancient prophets who testify of Him. I am thankful for a modern prophet, Thomas S. Monson, for Apostles and other church leaders who lead God's church just as prohets did in ancient times. Within the framework of the restored gospel, I am especially thankful for the temple, for the opportunity to live with my family for all eternity. I am thankful for the power of the priesthood, through which I and my family may be blessed and eternally joined. I testify of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ and I give my heartfelt thanks and devotion to Him for it.

Whenever I hear the song of a bird/
or look at the blue, blue sky/
Whenever I feel the rain on my face/
or the wind as it rushes by/
Whenever I touch a velvet rose/
or walk by a lilac tree/
I'm glad that I live in this beautiful world/
Heavenly Father created for me.

He gave me my eyes that I might see/
the color of butterfly wings/
He gave me my ears that I might hear/
the magical sound of things/
He gave me my life, my mind, my heart/
and I thank him reverently/
for all His creations, of which I'm a part/
Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me.

Thanks for reading.

Joyous Return to Active Duty

There are times in life when one gets tired of doing the same thing day after day and wants a change of pace. When local officials asked for someone to help with a project they were working on "for a few days," I felt my opportunity had arrived to do just that. I happily volunteered and reported for duty. Little did I know that "a few days" was really 2 weeks.

There are times in life when one gets tired of having a change of pace and wants to get back to doing the same thing day after day. The project has been consuming my life and my soul for far too long (hence the absence of posts for the last 2 weeks), and it's good to be back.

I'm sure that many of you are curious as to what the project was. While I can't go into too much detail, a massive database was being compiled of super-criminals (super-criminal being defined as someone who uses abilities or powers beyond those of average criminals, which really isn't that hard when you think about it). The database itself was fairly straightforward - compile a list of current location, known contacts and security level of the penitentiary to which they were sent. I began with the ones who are currently incarcerated (approximately 1000 names), since we have somewhat more information on them (Current Headquarters: Algonquin penitentiary, Cell block D. Locations of known henchmen: Cell block C, etc.) This process took several days, but was completed without much incident.

Then they gave me the list of the supervillains who have escaped from imprisonment or are still at large. Not to alarm anyone, but this list contained no fewer than 2,000 names and, for obvious reasons, little was known about their current location and contacts. This part of the process involved over a week of painstaking, mind-numbing research. As the project neared completion, I asked the commissioner if he had any additional requirements. This was a mistake. He immediately gave me additional information to seek out. I finally finished with everything an hour before my deadline, 2 weeks after I began.

I used the word "mind-numbing" to describe this process. After the first 2 days on the project, I began falling asleep in front of the station computer. Realizing I needed something to keep me going, I discovered Pandora, a free online music site that lets you create your own online radio stations, using a "seed" of an artist or song, from which it derives certain stylistic points to create a station. I quickly created a station for musicals (using Alan Menken and Sir Arthur Sullivan as my main "seeds,"), another for stirring, dramatic orchestra music (using John Williams), and a station for slower, more haunting music (using Howard Shore).


These kept me going for about a week. But I soon found that, by the end of my shift going in to week 2, even the dramatic strains of the Star Wars theme were insufficient to keep me on my task. I finally resorted to something quite different. I realized that the only way I would be able to complete the project would be to shut out all thought and emotion beyond that needed to complete my task. With a trembling hand, I moved my mouse to the "genre" based station, seeking a numbing form of music and made a selection. Thus it was that for the last week of my task, I spent several hours each day listening to the whining, grinding beat of techno. Shutting out all thought, all feeling, I became a machine, my fingers moving in time with the droning sound. Selling a piece of my soul to the beat, I completed my task day by day. It's good to be back.

Vibroman's revenge!

[7 years ago, California . . .]

Vibroman and Sapphire Sting wrested on the edge of the San Andreas fault as the earth trembled beneath them. Vibroman's dastardly device was rapidly aggravating the motion of the tectonic plates, and would soon begin causing damage to nearby towns. Sapphire Sting shot a stunning cosmic blast of radiation from his fist into Vibroman's chest and flew to the device. Using every ounce of his strength within him, he released a miniature-scale equivalent of an atomic blast, destroying the device. The tremors began to slow as Sapphire Sting hovered above the gap, but the stunned Vibroman lost his balance and tumbled into the void. Sapphire Sting was weakened from his effort and could only watch helplessly as Vibroman vanished into the black of the abyss.

[Today, Provo, Utah]

An all-too familiar tremor shakes the building where Mild-Mannered Stephen Watson toils at BYU Independent Study. It seems that, somehow, Vibroman lives on. This time, though, he seems engaged in a secretive war of attrition to wear down Sapphire's nerves. Timing his work carefully, the ground shakes in unison with a nearby construction crew drilling into the earth. Everyone in the office claims that it's simply the work of construction proceeding, but Sapphire Sting's instincts tell him otherwise. To protect the innocent, however, persuit of Vibroman (or his successor) will have to wait until the construction crew has moved on, as they would be easy victim's to Vibroman's mad plot.