As Easy As Stealing Milk From A 5th Grader

Tuesday, December the 7th. Today, was a bad day; I sunk lower than I have ever been. I admit that I have never been in quite the position to be a bully, maybe that's what drove me to it... but today I did what I have never dreamed of doing; today, I bullied a fifth grader. Granted, at first, I didn't mean to force my will upon her, but how could one say no to a college senior, someone bigger than you (although not by very much). I was thirsty and all I could think about was quenching my thirst. In a crowded room, all I could see was her unopened milk carton, how it lay there, helpless. I waited for her to make her move and partake of that delicious succulent substance, but her move never came. Eventually, overtaken by greed, I asked her, "Are you going to drink that?" I did it in innocence, even in ignorance; I didn't expect her to lie to me but what was I thinking, I was so much older than her. How could she say no? Impossible. I took the milk, immediately realizing my mistake, but it was too late, I couldn't reject the offer. So I opened that milk and in one chug, drank the whole thing. The 5th graders were flabbergasted, horrified by my cupidity; their response astounded me and reaffirmed their helplessness to my power, "You drank that in one chug?!?!?" It was rude, cruel, ruthless, but nonetheless, over. The weight of my actions weighed heavy on my shoulders and I realized, it was as easy as like stealing milk from a 5th grader...

Beauty

As my Brigham Young University undergraduate education is nearing an end, an important question has manifested itself and many have asked, "Are you worried you're graduating without being married?" Normally, this wouldn't be such a recurrent question but as dating dynamics are different at BYU, it is quite conventional. Naturally I wouldn't be too concerned about this question; however, Ralph Waldo Emerson disturbs me when he said, "The radiance of the human form, though sometimes astonishing, is only a burst of beauty for a few years or a few months, at the perfection of youth, and in most, rapidly declines." If beauty rapidly declines in most, maybe I should be more concerned in my pursuit for an eternal companion in order to find her before she reaches the tail end of her "burst." So back to the question, why aren't I married? In order to answer this question, it is important to understand what is necessary in a companion. People claim, true beauty is inner beauty and to some degree, I agree. But what really is beauty? Who decides what or who is beautiful? Is beauty objective? Beauty is hard to define, but we know it is antithetical to ugliness. Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "The secret of ugliness consists not in irregularity, but in being uninteresting." So can we conclude that beauty is determined by interest and that an interesting person is beautiful? I have found that uninteresting people are not attractive. They may be aesthetically pleasing but their company is not especially desired. Others argue that beauty is something we can not have. 'The grass is always greener on the other side.' To this Emerson questioned, "If I could put my hand on the north star, would it be as beautiful?" To remedy this dilemma, people counsel to lower your standards but in any endeavor should we be counseled to settle for less than our potential? There is a difference in settling and realizing your potential; however, executing is always harder than talking. When are we settling and when are we failing to reach our potential? Am I waiting to reach my potential or am I erroneous in the necessity to settle?

Pick-Up Lines Gone Bad

Approximately 8 months ago I ate lunch in BYU's cafeteria, the Cougareat in the Wilkinson Center. As I ate, I noticed a fairly attractive girl eating lunch with her friend (also a girl). As I pondered strategies and techniques to approach this girl, two men came up to me inviting me to a party that Friday night. This was my inspiration. I created a plan of attack. I presented my proposal to a peer for critique and after I had worked out all glitches, it was time to implement my plan. I decided to be a promoter of this party for a cheap excuse to talk to these lovely ladies. I neared them, got their attention and with flyer in hand asked if they had already heard about the party that Friday? Obviously they had but this was only an excuse to start conversation. I proceeded, asking if they were planning on going. "No," they quickly responded. Luck would have it that I had anticipated this response and quickly turned the party flyer over. There written was a name and a number, my name and my number. "Well call if you want to do something fun then," was my sole explanation as I left the flyer on the table, walking away to never look back. My strides were long that day as I crossed the Wilkinson commons. My expectations weren't high that day and that small ounce of hope that she'd call wasn't what held my head high; I knew I had a personal triumph. I would probably never see that girl again or at least one would think and I had "left it all on the field." I had done my best to carpe diem. Coincidently, I did see this young lady a few times in passing, to and from classes. Never did she acknowledge me and I did not wish to make her feel awkward, as it was probably a common event for guys to hit on her. Time passed, spring led to summer, and she was never to be seen. Summer's leaves fell in the fall air and my new class schedule led to a surprise. Real Analysis led to straight to her. Not only was she in my class, but she sat by my friend. As common courtesy would have it, I had the obligation to sit near my friend which led to a very awkward encounter with this mystery woman. I have had my fair share of uncomfortable moments so I knew it would take more than one class to perturb me. And thus it was so... Not only was she in my Math class but my Econ class too. How could this happen? Two classes in one semester, no, I couldn't believe it. All I had left was my personal life as she had already penetrated my academic life in both of my majors. But fate is fate, and on that same Monday I stumbled across her yet again. FHE, there she was, in my ward too. My only refugee gone, stolen from me.

Embarrassing Moment

So at the end of August my family and I went to Yellowstone. It was an amazing place! I love the US National Parks! Anyways, this blog isn't to express the joy I felt in Yellowstone, but to convey the embarrassing moment I experienced so that other may find joy at my expense. At Yellowstone, we went to the old Inn right by Old Faithful to eat at their restaurant. It was a beautiful, exquisite wood building. As I was using the bathroom, I went to wash my hands before dinner. As I approached the sinks, several were taken. There was one individual who was in between two sinks, I decided I'd use the sink to his left. As I commenced the cleansing of my hands, I happened to glance to my side to look at this individual. He happened to be mentally handicapped. I noticed that he had also taken the liberty to observe the man at his side, me. As he looked at me, he burst into laughter... What is so funny about my appearance, I may never know; however, judging by his laughter, it might be worth it to you to take a glance.

"I Love You"

Why are the simple words 'I love you' so nice to hear?Almost always, the feelings behind these simple words is expected and often times anticipated; however, there is a sweet, overwhelming feeling incurred by these straightforward words. No matter how anticipated they are, these words satisfy something deep in the soul, a feeling that seems only possible in fairy tales. As I have matured, these words have gained significant meaning. The only feelings I can recall that correspond with those aroused by these words are those I felt as a missionary, bringing souls unto Christ and seeing others accept the invitation of the Lord, Christ, to come unto Him. Maybe that is why we call charity the pure love of Christ. As we bringourselves and others tosalvation, we develop charity and experience those feelings associated with it, the very feelings endured upon hearing those beautiful words. Recently, I was address with these three simple words by a dear loved one, how my bosom swelled with joy, how I felt important, how I felt truly loved. I felt a literal swelling in my heart. How I adore those three exquisite words, 'I Love You.'

Another Tribute: Becca

Every year on the 21^st day of July, I have the privilege to commemorate the coming into this world of my little sister Rebecca, Becca for short. Becca is amazing. She has taught me so much. She is the only reason I can say that I know the meaning and have been to a regatta. Last year Rebecca was the player of the year on Langley High School’s crew team. She amazes me that she’s such a good rower. I recall as a young whippersnapper, my brothers and I went to the Ashburn pavilion, a swimming pool and work out facility. We decided to try the ergometers, also a vocabulary word learned due to my sister, because we thought they looked cool. Oh how my back ached after using that machine! How I regretted having used it! (In all reality, I did enjoyed using it but truth be spoken, it was one of the harder work outs I had ever done.) How surprised I was when I came home from college one day to see a real ergometer in our basement! ‘What was it doing there?’ ‘Where did it come from?’ and ‘How did it get there?’ all raced through my mind at the same time. As it so happened to be, it was the schools. Becca got it on loan to further her training. What dedication she had to her newfound joy.

First one to Greet me from the Brazil

Becca has always had a soft spoken but strong personality. I have been impressed over the years how much Becca puts up with. With five older brothers, she has been the victim to a lot of injustice including but not limited to my barbarisms, brutalities, and balky behaviors. She is a true example of humility.

She's Beautiful

Another thing that sets Becca apart from the majority, i.e. all, of my family, is that Becca is undeniably the most into graffiti. I sent two years of my life living within the graffiti covered walls of Brazil as a Latter-day Saint missionary. Throughout my time as a missionary, I came to not only appreciate but also love the expressive art behind good, wholesome graffiti. I do not wish to promote the illicit behavior of tagging but I intend to speak of the art form of graffiti and its style of art. I find it beautiful when properly done (this includes permission). Rebecca and her friend graffitied her bedroom. It was a very cool and innovated bedroom look.

In conclusion, I wish to express my gratitude for my younger sister. I love her and wish I could be closer to her, not only in distance but also in bond. I am proud of her and will only admit this once, I think she’s taller than I am. Today she turns 16 and can now officially ‘date’ under our standards. I, therefore, ‘can not’ get mad at her dating; however, if you are reading this and get any ideas, you better beware… As she is my younger sister and is leaving the pre-dating world, I would like to have fun by reminiscing with an old childhood practice, acrostic poems.

First Time Driving!

Mom, Ignore These Last Two Photos

Rower

Excellent

Beautiful

Empathetic

Caring

Can’t believe there’s another C, wish she was here to help because she’s so much more Creative than I am

Awesome Sister

Pants Club

Yesterday I joined the ranks with the Rip Your Favorite Pair of Pants Biking Club. This club has existed for sometime. Legend has it that it has been around since the creation of bicycles, back in the early 1800’s. Baron Karl von Drais is said to have officially started the club in Mannheim in 1818, the year after he publicly displayed his invention. The Parisian guild, which led to membership worldwide, was instated in summer of 1820 when Drais looked for greater and a more diverse support group.

I was first introduced to this club in late May this very year. My friends and I planned a wondrous trip down to a little city called Moab, located on the desert flats of eastern Utah. For those who don’t know Moab is a wonderland for those outdoor inclined people and for all that is good in the world. She is known for her camping, hiking, mountain biking, and off-roading. One of our friends Aubrey was graduating from Brigham Young University and planning on taking a job in New York City working for the National Basketball Association. Aubrey, who happens to be the most outdoor savvy of all our friends, had never been to Moab.

Maybe not the most savvy, but pretty savvy...

So naturally, as a going away present for our dear friend Aubrey, my roommate, Greg, and I set out to plan a trip to Moab. As Moab is a Mecca for mountain bikers, we decided to attempt the most famous mountain bike trail in the world, Slickrock Trail, and this is where our story begins.

Slickrock Trail is known for her unforgiving uphill climbs, her duplicitous downhill descents, her beautiful bends, her ridged rock formations. My favorite part of the trail is Swiss cheese ridge, a beautiful, relaxing straightaway, for a lack of a better word. Although this section is still challenging, it is possible to get a fair amount of speed climbing and descend the various prominences. Technical skills are required but this section is relatively easy physically. The trail starts in a parking lot and continues roughly two and a half miles until you reach the ‘main loop,’ a section about six miles in length. As Greg would come to testify, the placement of first two miles has no representation of its difficulty. Although the downhill portions seem most dangerous, as you get the maximum amount of speed and appear to have least control over your bike, Greg would soon come to realize the perfidious uphill ascents pose an equally dangerous threat, one of a different nature. As Greg followed me up a particular hill, he placed too much weight backwards and proceeded to pop a wheelie. As he slipped off the rear of his new bicycle, his seat catch hold of his Oakton lacrosse shorts. The pressure and momentum of his body was too much for the frail material and continued to tear his most prized possession literally from his body. These weren’t any pair of lacrosse shorts; these were the practice shorts that had led Oakton High School to an impeccable season, winning the Virginia State Lacrosse Championship and warranting Greg one of two enormous state championship rings. Greg was heartbroken but in that small moment he sacrificed a small token for a greater good, to enter into a greater cause, to get a greater purpose in life, to join a high rank amongst that very club named after those who have sacrificed and lost their very britches in the line of duty.

This was my first exposure to this elite league of gentlemen and ladies bounded together by a similar experience. At first, I admit that I laughed at my friend Greg and was glad to be excluded from their ranks. However, with time I would come to realize the importance of this fraternity in every young bikers life. It was yesterday that I fully comprehended the impact of this association. I went with my mountain biking class to Midway, Utah, situated in the foothills of the Wasatch mountain range near Heber, Utah with the intention to ride at the Dutch Hollow bike trial. After a hard ride through the Enchanted Forest, Boneyard Trail, and the 1000 Turns of death, we leveled off on a flat piece of trail called Aqueduct Trail.

It was an easy and fun straightway conducing to good speed. Everything was going fine but a split second would usher me into the previously mentioned institution. For a nanosecond I looked over the edge of the trail that led to the 100-foot fall over a 60 to 70 degree descent. As I diverted my attention from the trail to the enormous fall by my side, my foot catch hold of something, most likely a root or rock, off the side of the trail, which sent me, flying off the trial. In an entanglement of body and bicycle, I tried to stand up; however, something would not allow me to actually stand up. Every time I tried, my foot just slipped down. Quickly I realized that I was on an incredibly steep hillside and need to be careful where I placed my feet.

As I hurried to avoid being seen by anyone in my class, Grant came around the corner. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine,” I responded, as all men would independent of the severity of the fall. “How did you stop from falling all the way down?” As I looked back, I realized that I was incredibly lucky that I hit the only four inches of flat land on the hillside and miraculously stopped. “Did you rip your shorts?” Of course my pants already had two one inch holes in the front so I ignored the comment as I wiped off my dirty hands and legs. It wasn’t until we returned to the parking lot that I realized that I had really ripped my pants. There was a six-inch rip straight across, accentuating the bottom of my left gluteus.

Today was my day. I had finally ascended the ranks and could finally call myself a member of those glitterati.