I miss....

Recently, at a church activity, we were asking the question, "What is something you miss from your childhood?" This created quite the stir in my head. While the basic answers were given, I was searching my soul for some real answers.

I miss:
Being curious about everything.
Dreaming.
Wearing pots and pans on my head when a cowboy hat could not be found.
Pretending to be a gunfighter of the wild west.
Sucking my thumb while my other hand is down my pants.
Velocity and sword fights... girls wouldn't understand.
Innocence.
Defecating in my pants.
Watching sleeping beauty and wishing I was Prince Phillip.
Burning things down.
Fighting with my little brother.
Three square meals a day, guaranteed.
A loving Chauffeur.
Lego battles minus the force fields.
Not understanding or knowing the bad things that swirl around.


MGMT Time to Pretend and Kids

Baptism by fire.

This past Wednesday I took my first phone call.... I work for AT&T. I am an agent.

I have been tossing and turning in the night of how to present this event. I am still reeling from the effects that it had on me. Truly incredible. I am a changed man because of it. Thus the title. Maybe a little sacrilegious... perhaps it would be better to say that I have gone through the right of passage that every customer care agent must: making a complete fool of yourself.

The class sat around the table. Debating among themselves who should go. All had questions in their hearts. Wondering who would be the brave hero to save them all from pointless busy work and take a live call. Who would rise to the occasion? David, the beloved, arose from amidst the strewn chairs, grabbed his password sheet, and went before the class and into the dark and unforgiving world. Everyone held their breath. Would this soul be tainted or enlightened due to battle which was about to commence. All eyes were peeled upon this naive man.

In front of all he put on his headset, sat, entered the various codes and numbers in order to receive a call. A call that would come from some part of the vast universe. A caller who would never see or know what kind of man David was, his heart, or who he would become. David waited, with his trainer at his side. The class sat motionless, not daring to breath, fearing that it may just break any chances of luck the knight would need.

The phone beeped. David answered in the standard welcome. For some odd reason the number didn't show on his screen. He asked the caller for the number... several times. Even more queer was that the number kept changing. At first it ended in all 7's, then it had an 8, and finally had a 0 8 and 7. The young agent's head almost exploded from anxiety. Finally, the number went through and a name came up with the title of Ms. "It couldn't be," thought the agent. "I am speaking with a man. This is a man's voice!" That was the cardinal sin, thinking. "So, Mr. ____ what can I do for you today," said David. "It's MS!____." The agents face dropped. He was dead sure he was speaking to a man. It was the queerest thing ever. Questions were asked. Answers couldn't be found. The tension in the air was stifling. The heavens looked down and helped the poor lad and disconnected him. The class roared in laughter.

However, the agent had become a man. Just like Jake Sully when he conquered the Ikran and became apart of the Nav'i people. Or just like Leonidas, who killed the wolf at the tender age of 13. Okay, it wasn't that incredible... it was just really embarrassing. I don't know if many can understand where I am coming from, but it was really quite a daunting task. I guess anytime we attempt to do something new it can seem too tasking and difficult. The next call went a lot better. I did end up callin the Ms. back and gave her the answers she needed.

Po Po 5 O

Babylon. Pigs. Troll. Constable. Whatever you call em, they suck, and Cedar is full of them. They are just patrolling around, taking a bite outta crime... right. I am sure they are. Let me give you some examples of how much safer the streets are now because of them.

A late evening, two young men long board down an empty road. Red and Blue lights flash. The Officer writes them out a ticket. A ticket?! For what? Upgraded j-walking.

The brake light fully functions, however one of the back lights has a piece broken out. The horn blows. The driver pulls over, cursing under his breath. "I am warning you," says the uniform.

Headlights are broken out... which can be dangerous... if the vehicle was driving in heavy traffic. But it's 2 in the morning, not even the stray cats are up. Fog lights aren't good enough. The driver is feet away from his home, when he sees the blinding lights flash. After his license and registration is taken, a second bacon stain arrives. The additional backup flashes his lights throughout the car.

Remember John Stossel on 20/20? He had that segment, "Give me a break!" Well, John, it is time to come out of retirement and give us a break. Light a fire underneath these fools. Why at night do I drive slower than an old lady? Cause you have to believe that every car is policia! We drive in fear. Fear of our protectors! That is whack.

Shaggy Ft. Sizzla and Collie Buds: It a mad mad world.

Hiding from doing nothing.

Convergys is probably one of the most boring places of employment. I would say that we sit for around for about 2 hours out of the day. That may be an exaggeration, but it feels like it. It was OK at first. I practiced pencil tricks, drew, poked fun at others, or read. I recently have been forgetting my book, and I am getting too good at pencil tricks. My new thing is hiding.

There aren't many good places to hide. There are cameras everywhere. The best place to hide is the Men's bathroom. I usually choose the second stall. It is the darkest. The lights aren't directly shining over it. I also can txt freely in there. We aren't allowed to have our phones out when we are around the computers... we have access to some highly sensitive information. The stall also has probably one of the most intense locks I have ever seen in a bathroom. It is a flat, four inch, shinny metallic bar. It rotates around and rest on its ledge, insuring that no one will visit me.

Some times I just sit there, wondering what the heck I am doing in this place? What is going on in the real world? How many times could I have beaten Super Mario in the amount of time I have wasted? Other times, I just don't do anything, ironic. For some reason I would rather do nothing alone. Clear mind, blank stare, and open mouth, almost drooling. I shake myself awake, return to the classroom, sit down at my chair, and sigh. A broken and defeated man.

Then, this song comes to mind. Sharam ft. Kid Cudi, She came along.

All the places you go...

If you were going to live out the last year of your life where would it be?
I am sure most would say some place exotic or romantic.
I wouldn't.

I've been to some really unique places in my short existence. From Kauai to NYC, down to Cocoa Beach, and even further south to the jungle of Guyana. I'm not saying that I have been to a grip of places, but enough to confidently say, that up to this point in my life, I would choose the small town in the desert hills of Northern Nevada.

Fallon. People often cite that it is a boring city. Nothing to do. No entertainment. Those are just negative vibes. Here is the thing, people make the place. No matter how many attractions, a city is empty without a friend, or a smiling face welcoming you into the gates.

Ignore that your average Fallonian is a redneck. The place is a diamond in the rough. People are sincere, not afraid of who they are, in fact they are proud of themselves- G.E.D and all. Forget the unwashed hair, these people are hardworking souls, just trying to carve their own place in the world. And who is to blame? I blame the Navy. They caused the leukemia cluster! Google that shiz!

The true reason I love Fallabama, is because that is where my heart is. That is where I was raised from birth. That will always be home. That is where my family is... or was. Take for instance Dorothy. Did she really love Kansas? Not really. She was a teenage girl stuck on a farm with her unmarried uncles and grandparents. Plus she had a nasty neighbor. "BUT WHY DID SHE WANT TO GO HOME SO BAD AND LEAVE OZ!?" Easy, she realized that going home would be way better than living in a dream land. Who would like dwarfs and witches from every region? Not me. Not Dorothy. Not any sane American dammit!

Beauty is nature in unadulterated state. That is what you find in Nevada. The land has stayed relatively the same since the beginning of time. And no matter where I am in the Silver State, I know that when night comes, I can look up and see the stars.

Sam Sparro. Song: Black and Gold. By request.

Facebook.

We are all familiar with this re-created myspace. All of us are members of its club. We play its games. We poke each other. We post something dramatic, hoping someone will notice. And are constantly reminded of the people we need to "reconnect" with, people who have visited our profile, and upcoming events. But where did this come from? Why all of the sudden do we combat this urge to get online and check our notifications, hoping that we've been tagged in that recent road trip we went on?

You see, it all started with the cavemen. This need to post on walls. A caveman would need to boast his bounteous kill in the recent hunt. Communication was limited to grunting (despite what the geico man might say), so he drew a picture, which could convey a thousand words. Do you see where we are going with this? Egyptians, Mayans, Romans, all of the ancients did it. They of course had a designated people to carry out this important assignment... carving stories into walls.

Therefore, this is part of human nature, wall writing. We have saying about walls. "Can you see the writing on the wall" "They hit the wall" "Do you mind carving on my wall"... it is all around us. However, history is full of power hungry men wanting to limit others. Writing things down became more popular. Paper became accessible. And some jerk named Gutenberg, invented a printing press that almost destroyed the wall writers.

Despite the best efforts of the so called inventions and progress, there were those who held on to the core beliefs of wall writing. Although suppressed to the underground circles, it thrived. Spray paint liberated the gang members, who once again revived the forgotten art. The public saw this revitalized form of communication and wanted to participate. Bathroom stalls became a perfect way to update everyone, "MIKE WAS HERE", or give out numbers. YES! The revolution had begun. Most messages were uncouth and inappropriate, but it was still a light. A light that others followed.

Enter the modern age. Cyber walls. You, yes you, you are apart of the truest communication. Enjoy those walls. There are only character limits on comments, but the possibilities--limitless.

Song: Dan Black ft. Kid Cudi. Symphonies.

The great hair debate

No more sitting on the edge of your seat. Relax, be stress free now. I know everyone has been awaiting this post. I apologize that I have taken this long to finally address one of the most pressing issues that humans have ever encountered-- hairy men. The debate has been raised like a waving flag.

To introduce this pragmatic issue, we must establish what is beauty. This in itself is a tough definition or qualification to outline, because beauty is relative. Relative to time, culture, location, government powers, and religion. I am sure you can think of many examples of how each of these external factors influence beauty.
Fast forward to present day. Pop culture, that is forced fed to us through the media, tells us what is pretty, acceptable, and the norm. Unfortunately we have evolved to this point in our history, where those with the money chose what is the norm. TV, the internet, music, movies, etc. all of the facets of media point us in a direction of their choosing. Men are to be tanned (spray on or not), fit (aka rippling six pack), axed hair, and stylist clothes. Women are to be thin, more curvy than a Virgina road, manicured and pedicured, and fashionable (the more skin we can see the better).

Now I could go on forever and ever about the evils about the media, how we should really view our self, and what true beauty is... but today, I am going to tackle just hair, hair on men. Who decided that hair is gross? Hair is fine if its in the "right places"... which are? Arms? Legs? NOT the back. OH help us all if its on the back. No one wants to marry a man who has a cape! But seriously, what is the big deal? We are descendants from apes.

I've shaven my legs, arms, and chest... more than once. And while the new hair is growing back, all prickly, I ask myself, "David, are you going to shave again. Just restart the whole eradication process? What is the point? Do women really care? Does it directly contribute to my game? Should I really be concerned with what others think? You will miss how nice the sheets feel on your legs." I slap myself at that point. No one should interrogate themselves.

Answers: See picture above. Some women would prefer Mr. Sellek. A more rugged, fierce and intimidating man. A man that looks like he could work at a tire shop or run a bar. Then you have Mr. Pitt. Some like that Calvin Klein look. Hairless like a new born babe. A man that could pass for a young successful business man. The solution comes down to what type of impression that wants to be made. I find that I want to be something in between. Nothing says "I'm a man" more than a full chest of hair, or a fat Cuban cigar. Then again, nothing says "I'm classy" more than a hairless chest... or a nice Rolex.

The debate continues. I feel that the government should intervene and make the decision for us. Too many men are polluting our beaches and pools with their capes. Too many are silky smooth that they often slide out of their beds. Put it to our great government. Take the choice out of the media's hands. Mr. President, this is your time to shine. Lead us in the true way of manhood.

"I work for AT&T"

Three to midnight. Five days a week, for seven weeks of "training". Eight dollars an hour. At the end you should be able to handle any situation that you may encounter as a customer rep. Problems vary from dropped calls, billing inquires, and delayed rebates. Sounds exciting. Well, I work for AT&T. And within the first two hours of orientation I was planning my own suicide.

The first day was incredible. Incredibly boring. Incredibly frustrating. Incredibly odd.

There are so many characters working for Convergys, that it should be a reality show. I think Mark Burnett should look into it. Just hide cameras throughout the building and watch these people interact with each other.

Walking through the door you immediatley notice Bob, the rent-a-security guard. His over gelled hair screams of a guy stuck in the past. A two year vet, he takes his job very serious, scanning his computer screen with 10 different video feeds.

Once in the classroom you discover secrets about your associates that are volunteered too easily. One lady stands and tells of her seven boys, two of which were still born. A woman, with painted on eyebrows, proclaims herself the cat savior, harboring 61 cats. Her cats differ in age, intelligence, and care. On the other side of the room, a Newcastle resident boasts of her degree of Elementary Education from SUU. Finally, one speaks of the fear of interacting with people.

Nothing compares to the instructor, or training, named Bradley. However, he would prefer you to call him B-Rad. B-Rad is an energetic man, who isn't afraid to make a complete fool of himself. The guy is growing on me, but initially I wanted to punch him. He loves to sing. He recreates classic songs, like Three Dog Night's Joy to the World, Rolf Harris' The Kangaroo Song, and ACDC's Thunderstruck. His voice isn't terrible, but every songs seems to have his awful face shake sound. I don't know what else to call it. He loosens his face, shakes it, and makes a guitar like sound. I searched for a giant brick to throw at him when I first heard it, but surprisingly I found no such object.

Then he has a laugh that isn't human. I can usually imitate how a person laughs or sounds. His is unearthly. The laugh is.... something that must be heard, not explained. I guess you could just say that it will drive a sane man insane. Or in the words of Dane Cook "There are certain sounds in this world, that when you hear them, they make you react in certain ways... some sounds soothing... but then there are certain sounds in this world, that for whatever reason just the way it hits you, it makes you want to punch to punch a baby. It makes you want to punch a baby. God forbid that you're in a nursery when you hear the sound. You go on a baby punching tangent." His laugh is the sound that makes me want to punch infants. Luckily his wife is deaf.

I am sure that I will make some more posts.

The Celtics

I hate the friggin Celtics. Maybe b/c everyone in Utah is loving on them right now. But I am about ready to blow a lid.

First of all they all act like they have chips on their shoulders. Like life is so tough for them. I guarantee you'll see KG, Ray Ray, Paul Pierce, and Perkins make the pooping face, or the "someone slapped my mother" look. I failed to mention Sheed, the biggest goof of them all. What are these guys problems?

I guess Ray's mom should quit coming to the game with that rhinestone jersey and nasty face. Begging for refs to get off her boy. Umm, Flo, he is a grown man. Maybe you should grow up too. Or maybe Paul will get carted off with a wheelchair again. Don't try to re-create drama bro. Willis Reed doesn't find it cool. Then again, it would be great if Perkins got another T, then the NBA could ignore his one game suspension again. I love when officials reverse calls, real ballys.

What would take the cake is if KG punched himself again, maybe even a slap would do. Hitting other players did not draw any attention to his obscure behavior. I just had a... yeah, I did... I just had an inclination of what KG's problem is; he is a psycho.

LA in 7. It will be great series. I just hope they can smile while losing.

The Boys. The Crew. The Herd.

Last night Mowgli and I stayed up and chatted. We had some sweet stories to swap. We also talked about the kind of friends we have and the group we were apart of. I realized that we are an interesting group of fellas. I have written about my friends before, probably b/c they are probably influencing me the most right now... so here I am, writing about them again.

We had a chill and grill at Blastoff's house. It was interesting what roles we all played. Somehow I was the cook, no kisses for me. Shame really. There were some cuties. The others somehow gravitated to the basketball hoop, while the ladies congregated at the table. Interesting.

The boys got loads of confidence, but when push comes to shove, and the women are there... it is daunting for any of us. Seriously. Girls are intimidating. On the other side of the coin, it was light outside. Great time to play ball. OR they weren't interested in the girls. Whatever it was, it was a little awkward. I mean, we invited some hunnies, and no one wanted to tap the bunnies. At the same time, if I wasn't glued to the grill would I have done anything... and if my foot was healed? No.

We are all really similar.



Competitive: We all hate, hate, hate losing. Hate it so much. Mowgli threw a paddle at a guy one time after playing ping pong. Golden never loses ping pong... but when we lost in a softball game he didn't even crack a smile...and he is always smiling. The worst is old Burkalicious. He gets really upset. He is probably the sorest loser of them all. It doesn't have to be sports... it can be anything.

Fun Loving: Most mistake us for overconfident, some would say cocky. I think we are just misunderstood. We just love to have fun, even if that is at the expense of others. Cracking jokes is part of who we are.

Therapy: We all have a similar language of love, words of affirmation. Now, we all love each other like brothers, and the way we mostly seek that love is through compliments. It is important for us to hear the others say, "Dawg, you rocked that man." We just build each other up and it is sincere.

Talents: Hidden and various. Stick around and you'll see.

A brief look at each player on the team.

Golden/Petite/Chadillac Bio: A lil over 6'0" Maybe.. maybe. 160 lbs. Hometown: C-City. Status: In a relationship. Has some serious quickness on the bball court. The guy also has some sweet curly hair. Girls dig this dude w/o him saying a word. Smart boy as well, he is going to go far. Loves to have a good time. I would trust him dating my little sister... if I had one. He feeds me... CANNOT be beaten at ping pong. Oh, he also struck out the other day in slow pitch softball. Suns fan?

Mowgli/Simba Bio: 6'1" Probably 173 lbs. Hometown: F-Town. Status: Single. One of my all time best friends. Never get tired of him. The man has the potential to have any lady fall for him, but he ain't a playa. He also has the brain gene. God blessed all of these fools. However, he can't dribble with his left. He can get upset real quick, or at least I can get him upset real quick. Lakers fan.

Domp/Pud/Plato Bio: 6'0" exactly 170lbs. Hometown: C-City. Status: Good as dead, in a relationship. The most "chill" guy I have ever known. You'd think he would've smoked so much weed he got a perma-high. I haven't seen him in a long time. He is worse than me when he gets a girl. D-E-A-D,I just ordered a casket . Snowboarder/high jumper/jazz fan.


Blastoff Bio: 5'10" around 165 lbs. in the evening. Hometown: C-City. Status: Its complicated. Solid guy. That is what comes to mind when I think of Blastoff. Just a good person. If I asked him for his kidney... he wouldn't give it to me, but he would definitely lend me support. Solid Short stop. Not a Lakers fan.

Burkalicious Bio: 5'13" wrestled at 145 lbs. Hometown: Parawon. Status: Single. Stud of a missionary in the Indies. Ready to get the H out of here. Ready for the big lights-Provo. Particular, he hates animals inside. Loves that new sound. Killer looks. Just marry this clown. Get him off our hands. Hates the Lakers and Yankees.

Shredded Wheat Bio: 6'0" couldn't be 150 lbs. Hometown: C-City. Status: Single. Own PF. Lives life his way, and that is fine by me. Avid fan of all sports. Knows his stuff. He could stump the Schwab or Trebek.

Dave In his own words "four foot nothin." 160 lbs. So according to that, he is a midget. Hometown: Hurricane? Midvale? Where is it? Status: Also DEAD! But I see him! Dave is elders quorum pres. Really can't beat that. He is the man. Can hold his own in any weight room. He is going to marry some girl on the dance team.


There you have it. The men who are my brothers. We are a tight knit crew created through love, that will only be broken b/c of love. Give us a chance. We are a great group of young men. Some have it more together than others. But truly take a chance on us, it may be the greatest investment of your life. Remember when Aladdin comes to Jasmine with the magic carpet? She was so nervous, but he said to her, "I can open your eyes"... yeah, that strikes home.