I Can Link My Blog With No HandleBars!!

How shall I look upon this day now? (Yesterday) A quarter century? Two and a half decades? The silver anniversary of my body and spirit's union? Perhaps as my graduation from a regular guy to "A MENACE!"
Shall I rename my blog: "Modern-Day Menace" or maybe, "Episode 1 and a half, the Randumb Menace" or maybe, "Dennis the Menace Part 2: This Time, it's not Dennis"?
It's strange... I don't feel like much of a menace...?
Anywieghs, for my birthday I didn't do much. I was treated by my little sister, but other than that, I went to a work meeting, then to actual work itself, and inbetween I was scouring Utah valley for Elderflowers. No, not elderberries. Anybody can find those. I mean ELDERFLOWERS, which I made this medieval cheesecake with that turned out to be just plain evil. Evil smelling, and quite evil tasting. I knew it was gonna be wierd when the recipe told me to mix the cottage cheese and the sugar. It was actually for an assignment for my 371 class, but after one bite, I decided my medieval experience was over. I'll stick with regular old cheesecake, thanksverymuch. If you do want the recipe and are feeling particularly masochistic, here it is. It's called Sambocade.
You know what, the Lakers lost to the Cavs. I can ask for no better birthday present. Well, maybe I could...

The Glorious Finale

Here is another essay written for my 218 class last semester, and most of you are familiar with this occasion. Considering a different audience, however, made me present it in somewhat of a different light:

If you’ve ever seen me, you may not believe me when I tell you that I played high school football. You'd be even more incredulous when I told you that I started on varsity at outside linebacker. For those of you unfamiliar with American football, the outside linebacker position is given to some of the bigger, faster types, and I am not particularly big or fast. In fact, I weigh in at about 150 lbs, but only in my dreams. In reality, I fluctuate between 135 and 140.

My high school career of football was not spectacular by any means, but I had my glorious moments. I was ecstatic with those few interceptions and a few lucky shots on opposing runners, but the most glorious moment came during the last game of my senior year.

Before I get into the details, it's necessary to preface the situation. It was a home game, first of all. The cheering crowd knew my name because it was a really small school and we didn't have a huge number of players (thus explaining how I was able to participate in the first place). The real doozey was when my father, who was also my stake president at the time, came to me before the game saying he had a vision that we would win this one (it would be our first district victory) and I would be a pivotal piece in our triumph. Can you imagine my excitement? Probably not. There are few things in this life that compare to the feeling of impending heroism, especially from a guy that nobody expects much from. Putting it all together, we have a hometown crowd, no regular season victories, and a prophetic guarantee of victory and adoration. Surely, this was the sort of finish that Disney made movies about.

Picture a small, yet boisterous hometown crowd. The Danbury Panthers entered the field in their black jerseys with gold numbers, and golden helmets with a panther that is identical to the Carolina Panthers logo. We were undersized and outmanned, but full of hype and hope and every bit as loud as our fans. Nothing I have experienced quite compares to that atmosphere: the smell of sweat that began even before the game was under way, the brightness of the lights that reflected off the wings of a hundred insects that were mindlessly attracted to its radiance, the taste of a rubber mouth-guard that had become saturated with my own saliva over the period of twelve weeks or so, the feeling of the pads and the helmet which fit uncomfortably because of the extra padding to compensate for my tiny head, the sound of the measly band that was a band nonetheless, and the whistle of the officials that governed our lives for those ninety minutes. For a guy like me, it was glorious and ominous at the same time, especially when our opponents came into view for the first time. I can’t remember what colors they wore, or even whether it was Brazos or Ganado we played that night.

The game began as most other games did that season: we quickly fell behind. I did my best, but as usual I was more of a speed bump than an actual hindrance to the runners I was up against (who outweighed me, on average, by about 45 pounds). The halftime whistle blew, and I was not disturbed by our lack of success. It was going to be a bit more dramatic than I imagined, but that was expected, even desired. Then about halfway through the third quarter it happened.

It was a turnover on downs, so I was headed for the sidelines as it was no longer a linebacker's responsibility to be on the field of play. Then my coach began to yell something: "He's a Mormon, he's the last person who would throw a punch!"

Remember I came from a very small school in South Texas, one of which there were precious few Mormons in attendance. There was only one on the football team.

As soon as I figured out that the coaches were yelling about me, I turned and saw my coach motion me over only to hear the news that I had just been ejected from the game for allegedly throwing a punch. This was as much news to me as it is to you now, if you are reading this for the first time, that is. Unfortunately, the call was irreversible. My game was done.

Now the first things that went through my head were not "Why would anyone throw a punch in football? You'd hurt your hand more than anything," or "Wow, this is ironic on so many levels" or "One day I will be an official and make sure that this never happens to another.” These are all legitimate thoughts that came to my mind some time later, but the first thing I thought was simply, "It's over. My chance has just been robbed from me."

Now if you've ever participated in any sort of competition in your life, whether it was high school or something else, you should be able to relate to me on this part. Imagine losing your very last opportunity to compete in whatever it was you did on account of someone else's mistake--God and all His angels are witness that I punched no man that day. So if you can empathize with me on this case, surely you would also forgive me for doing the manliest and most obvious thing I could on such an occasion—I took off my helmet and went to the bench for injured players and sat down… and cried.

That lasted for about fifteen minutes with various teammates, coaches, waterboys, and even a cheerleader offering their consolation. Then I felt like I was not done with my football career. In what I consider to be one of the most heroic efforts of my life, I put my uncomfortable helmet back on and went back to stand with my teammates and yelled out encouragements and the sort of adrenaline-fueled, borderline murderous things athletes like to hear until my lungs were sore. The actual guilty party, a sophomore no less, approached me sometime and said he was sorry and that he was going to ask to have himself removed from the game. That sounded as silly to me now as it did then, so I told him to instead go out and hit the opponents harder.

Ultimately, we lost the game and my efforts made little difference, whether on the field or off as the fourth quarter martyr. Why would I then consider this to be one of the most defining moments of my life? I didn’t win the game, in fact the team didn’t win the game, and I had been sent to the sidelines in shame and made it fifteen yards easier for the opposing team to score. Despite this, I feel it was so extraordinary because I rose to the occasion amidst adversity, and did something that seemed so difficult and at the same time so inconsequential. I firmly believe that these small and inconsequential acts are what define us most, and I could write an entirely separate essay on that issue.

I am also a firm believer that the Lord helps us in whatever situation we need Him, even if it is a somewhat meaningless game of recreational competition. Because of my size and lack of raw athletic ability, my high school football career was a source of struggle for me, and that struggle made me so much of a better man and prepared me for the mission and for life in ways I wouldn't find anywhere else. So when my father envisioned my heroics in that simple game, I don't think he was wrong in the slightest. Sure, it turned out like all the prophecies in the fantasy novels people read—completely different than the surface meaning—but I think that it turned out much better than even I realized, and since that experience I have lived with the axiom that I'm sure someone said before me, but I still consider it originally mine: Life never turns out the way you expect it; it usually turns out better.

The Day That is Three Days Before a Real Holiday

When I went to school yesterday, and everyone keeps saying "Happy Singles Awareness DAy!" I'm thinking, "Woa, the world is way more aware of couples than singles on this day..." And then my sister explained to me that it is called such because singles are more aware of their own singleness. I'm thinking, "Woa, I'm painfully aware of my own singleness every day of the week!"

"And the man of little consequence needed not the help of the festival of hormonal imbalances (or as some would say, Valentine's Day) to remind him that was yet a man of little consequence."

So I figure, since there is Valentine's Day, why not spend every other day of the year celebrating that singleness! Perhaps I should really indulge in my autonomy while I still have it, right? At least up until that day that I actually do end up strapping on the exceedingly heavy weight of everlasting joy and punishment (or as some would say, marriage).

At least it's always a good day to get candy in class, which is the only time I really look forward to having candy because it helps me stay awake.

Hypothetically Speaking

If I had a three wishes from a genie, my first wish would be to have a never-spoiling, self-refilling gallon of 1% milk. My second wish would be to set the genie free, which negates my third wish. I like to keep things simple.

Jinx Kinda

I was watching The Bucket List the other day, and it got me thinking... no, not about my personal bucket list, but about my computer.
My computer is a lot like a cancer patient. I tried to save some money and "restore" the thing myself, which ended up earning me a blue screen of death every time I tried to access the internet. Maybe a day later, it overcame that malady, in which I put Microsoft Security Essentials on and all the sudden it was working better than ever! Little did I know that this was only a brief period of remission before the terminality hit.
A few days and a "Windows Service Pack 1" later, it quit altogether on even starting up. My computer is dead, to begin with, as dead as a door-nail.
It's funny because that very same day, I broke my new watch (which I fixed just recently). Still... I have a history of broken watches, backpacks, cars, computers, phones, bones, teeth, and hearts. Could it be that Todd loves broken things?