Ten Years

Brother Landen dropped me off that morning after seminary. I remember walking up the front walkway towards the main entrance to the high school, just off to another day of school. As I approached the gate, with the office on my right, I suddenly saw students begin running out of the cafeteria through the side door, coming my direction.

I was very confused and not sure how to take it. I tried to find out by saying, “What’s going on?” “What happened?” A kid I’d never seen before (and never have again) exclaimed, as he moved along with the crowd, “Someone’s shooting!”

I don’t think it sunk in right then – it didn’t seem real. But then I heard a loud gunshot, and I turned around and ran with the crowd toward the street. We stood beyond the school gates, a huge mass huddled together, until a teacher beckoned us to come back. He ushered us through the main gate and to the right, past the main office and across the quad from the cafeteria to the library. Dozens of students were in there, and we were all confused as to what was going on. My friend Ben’s girlfriend Shy came up to me with tears running down her face, saying she’d heard that Ben was shot in the head. Nothing was real to me – I tried just to comfort her, telling her I was sure he’d be okay. He wasn’t – he died in the hospital later.

No one really had cell phones back then. The school officials in the library with us let us use a phone at the back of the library if we wanted. When it wasn’t so crowded, I made my way toward it and used it to call my family, but the line wasn’t working. I realized that the lines around this area were likely very crowded with phone calls, so after several attempts, I called my dad at work. My dad’s secretary answered and said he wasn’t there. I told her it was me, and told her that I was okay. I realized later that that was the best thing I could do for all of my extended family, because when they couldn’t get through to my house, they called my dad’s office, and his secretary would tell them I was fine.

My parents probably had to wait longer to know that. They were taking my little sister to middle school when they saw everything near the high school. They drove her to school and dropped her off, then headed back to the school. They parked somewhere and stood across the street from the school at the church with other parents. At some point, a police officer read a list of names, and asked for the parents of those children to come talk to him afterwards. My dad told me he was standing with my seminary teacher’s husband when they read the list, and neither mine, Taylor’s, nor Lacy’s names were read. Brother Stockwell put his arm around Dad as they both cried.

After what seemed like forever, we were finally informed we were going to be leaving. We exited the library through the back door instead of the door that faced the cafeteria, and joined with hundreds of other students who were being let out of their classrooms where they had also been locked down. I wondered if my parents would be there. We walked the entire length of the hallway before we got to the parking lot on the other end of the school. Right when we got to the opening, I saw my parents standing there. I only remember their faces being so relieved, and my dad crying as he swept me up in his arms. I’d never seen him cry before, and I knew then that I would never in my life need to doubt his love for me. My mom was crying too, of course. She hugged me too, and we walked to the car and drove home. I don’t even remember where they parked it.

In the aftermath, I watched the news, I read the newspaper – things I had never really done before. I listened to national news anchors mispronounce words like Willamette, and I read about how my friend, Ben Walker, had died. I learned of how people I knew, and people I eventually met and became friends with in the years that followed, had been injured or killed. I went to Ben’s funeral. I visited the wall of flowers that, until the shootings, had just been the fence in front of the school. I watched my father help one of my friend’s dad give a blessing to her. I talked in my seminary class with a reporter from the New Era. And I continued on with my life. 

I finished high school. My family moved – to Washington, then six years later to Portland. I served an LDS mission to the south of England for two years. I went to college. I graduated from college. And now I’m 25 years old, living in Utah and working for a market research firm. But in the last 10 years, I haven’t forgotten what happened on that day – and it is still one of my most vivid memories.

Please remember the families of Ben Walker and Mikael Nicholauson, as well as Kristin Kinkel (Kip killed their parents), in your prayers. And good luck to all the survivors of the Thurston High School shootings. But not just those injured – the community members of Springfield, Ore. are also survivors.

Television

I am not the biggest fan of sitcoms. I hate that the plots are so weak, and that all they go for is the cheap laugh. It seems sitcoms are actually getting worse nowadays, if that’s even possible. The comedy is so lowbrow that it makes you feel disgusted with yourself when you finally manage to peel yourself off the couch and jumpstart your brain. You wonder where the evening went, and why you didn’t engage yourself in something more worthwhile.

I recently read an article recently about sitcoms, and how they are wasting America’s time. But not only their time, but their brain power. The article goes on to say that Americans spend 200 billion hours a year just watching TV. It also mentions in comparison, that Wikipedia took approximately 100 million hours to get to where it is now. Think about all that ingenuity and intelligence and research (come on – some of Wikipedia is reputable) that went in to making that glorious, informative web site. And at only a tiny fraction of the time we waste mindlessly watching TV (0.05%, to be exact).

Now on a personal note, I enjoy watching Law & Order. This likely comes as no surprise to my girlfriend, my family, or close associates. This show is different from most shows – it makes you think, it engages you. And yes, it may be a little dramatic, but at least the situations are somewhat more realistic than shows such as CSI.

Is it predictable? Yes. Is it the same format every time? Yes. But is it more interesting and entertaining than a sitcom? Also, yes.

I think that I also relate to the main character – most often, my ideas and thoughts are the same or similar to Jack McCoy’s. I cheer for him every time he gets the bad guy, or argues with his boss over ethics, or disagrees time and time again with his incredibly liberal (and apparently homosexual – as taken from her last episode on the show, although that kind of came as a shocker to everyone else) one-time partner. I can’t even remember her name – she was the blond chick who was always freaking out about something.

But you become connected to the issues. My girlfriend says I get really involved in it. But how can you not? The show is charged with issues: political, ethical, moral, legal. You can’t help but get involved in them.

Anyway, my suggestion to all of you? Stop watching sitcoms and watch Law & Order reruns.

Josef Frizl - Truly a Monster

Oh – poor baby. Josef Fritzl, the Austrian man who imprisoned his daughter and several of their children in his cellar for 24 years, feels the media coverage has been too one-sided about him.

“Without me [she] would not be alive anymore... I was the one who made sure that she was taken to a hospital,” Mr. Fritzl said. “I could have killed all of them – then nothing would have happened. No one would have ever known about it,” he added. “I'm no monster.”

Let’s see here. You lock up your daughter in a cellar and tell people she’s run away, rape her who knows how many times, have seven children with her, keeping three of them locked up in the cellar with her and incinerating the body of one who died so as to destroy any evidence, threaten to gas them if they try anything, and live a two-faced double life.

You were a sex-offender already – convicted of rape. You frequented a brothel, where all of the prostitutes were afraid of you, because you wanted them to pretend to be corpses when you had sex with them. And your daughter, Elisabeth, whom you locked up when she was 18, says you began to sexually abuse her when she was only 11 years old.

Yet you say that at least you didn’t kill them – and you’re not a monster, because you brought your daughter flowers, and you brought your children, the products of your incest, books and stuffed animals.

Now, your lawyer claims you’re insane, and is trying to get a certificate of insanity for you. Now I’m not a psychologist, but someone who has the presence of mind to know what they’re doing is wrong is not insane. “I constantly knew, over the entire 24 years, that what I did was not right,” Fritzl was quoted as saying. He also said he had an addiction – but having an addiction does not excuse one’s actions.

Here is my response to you, Josef Frizl: “But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”

You will burn for this, Mr. Fritzl. I hope that God grants you mercy, but only after you endure horrible pains for your sins. Of all sins, rape is the most abhorrent to me, and it is my opinion that you should receive capital punishment. Rapists, especially those that sexually abuse children, should be castrated and/or sentenced to death. You’ve not only raped once, but countless times, and there is undeniable proof that you did. You also sexually abused a child – and not just any child, but one whose trust you should have guarded – your own. In some criminal cases there are gray areas, but not in yours. Yours is open and shut. You deserve to die, and you need to, to begin paying for your crimes, you evil, evil man.

Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Reproduce

Not to draw undue attention to my friend, who recently wrote a blog about dating, but she draws attention to herself all the time anyway, so I don't feel bad about it. :)

Now, this girl made a bet with her mom that she could date 100 different boys before she got married (date in the loosest sense of the word - she had to go out with 100 guys - so at least 100 first dates). Something like a real-life 50 First Dates (I haven't seen that movie, and I don't think I'm drawing a correct parallel, but it sounded good in my head).

Anyway, so when she made this bet, her mom must have been over the moon with happiness, because she knew her daughter was not going to get married her freshman year (did any of you even KNOW 100 different people your freshman year?). Now, 100 first dates, 41 (at least) second dates, and 10 "relationships" (as per her stats in her blog entry) later, she's graduated from BYU. Not married, not engaged, but now she has all these character traits in her head that she likes, each from a different one of the 100. Unfortunately, not one of them happens to have it all.
Her words: "...there does come a point when you have to realize that no one is perfect!!! Including me!!! So why am I still holding out, expecting to find it? Why do I keep walking away from incredible guys again and again?"

Now comes my opinion. I don't think it's her mother's bet that's the problem (entirely). I do think it plays a role. But there seems to be a general consensus among young, single, LDS adults - particularly BYU students - that we need perfection in a spouse.

Now, I'll tell you why I think this problem is exacerbated at BYU in particular. The reason is the dating culture. You probably think I mean the dating vs. hanging out bit, that Elder Oaks spoke of, but that's not what I mean. Sure, that's a problem, and will always be an issue. But the problem I see at BYU is that everyone is too good. Now I don't mean their morals are too good - you should always be true to your personal values and beliefs.

Allow me to illustrate.

Remember home? That place where you were the only Eagle Scout in your high school? The place where you were always asked to play the piano at ward functions? You were valedictorian and captain of the cheerleading squad. You were popular, you were friends with everyone, you were amazing! But here at BYU, you can barely maintain a C+ average, you have no time for extracurricular activities, hardly anyone knows you, and to top it all off, you realized that absolutely EVERYONE here plays the piano...better than you.

So you try hard to be even better than your best...because your best isn't good enough anymore. And you begin to expect more from people - particularly the people you date. But not more in the good sense of the word - you've always expected your future spouse would be strong in the gospel, would be a good mother or father, faithful to you, true to his/her convictions. But now you expect him to play the guitar and write you songs. You expect her to wear trendy, cute clothes, sing, and go snowboarding with you. In other words, you begin to expect all kinds of things that you didn't expect before.

Now, new expectations alone aren't bad. The problem arises when your list gets so incredibly long that you become inflexible, and every item on the list becomes an essential. You have to remember that no one will have all the qualities and traits you want. The difficulty is selecting the few, most important ones you can't live without. This may sound like common sense to many of you out there, but trust me - in Provo, it's not.

BYU has conditioned us to think that there will be someone a little better just around the bend. Someone with more of the qualities you want. But here is my unsolicited advice - you need to get over it and realize that person does not exist. Instead, find someone who fits you, someone you can talk to, someone you enjoy being with, someone with personal potential (because you marry who they can become), someone you can love. And don't dismiss them right away because you think they're not a perfect fit. First impressions are not always right. And if you're not careful, remember that you might just look around the next bend and find there isn't ANYone there.

Death to the Malt Shoppe

Now, some of you may disagree with the title of my entry. But let me tell you, I'm quite ticked off at the Malt Shoppe. Let me start off with the little reasons.

Their food isn't that great, and their burgers are too small.

Their cheese fries don't have enough cheese, and they are often overdone.

Their service SUCKS, and it takes absolutely forever to get any food.

Their restaurant just feels filthy inside.

But all of that isn't that bad. It's a greasy spoon, 50s-esque diner (albeit not a very good one). I mean, I ate there just the other night. Their being a lousy restaurant isn't enough for me to want to destroy them. So--what is, you ask?

Their parking situation. Did any of you notice the new signs up there, saying you can park in the parking lot if you're going to the Malt Shoppe or Panda Express, but not if you're going to Pita Pit? Yeah - me neither. So we got towed today. Parked there for about 20 minutes, ate food, came out and the car was gone. What the HELL is with that?

So what to do? You walk 10 blocks to where they parked your stolen car and pay $135 to the vultures to get it back, getting back to work late, having to stay an extra hour to make up for lost time. Ridiculous? Yes.

Why do they like screwing people over? Was the Malt Shoppe just jealous, because they didn't have any customers, so they decided to tow someone else's? Besides, how do they even know who to tow? Is business so slow that they can follow people around to the other restaurants to see where they go? Did they not realize that unless you're in downtown Manhattan, that's a bad business practice? Cuz I sure as hell am NEVER eating at the Malt Shoppe again. And I'm planning on badmouthing them to absolutely any and everyone who ever cares to listen to me about it. Not only that - I very well may write a few letters to the editors of local papers. And I write well - I'll probably be published. This crappy establishment just lost a lot more business than they bargained for.

But where do we go for good, greasy burgers now, Adam? Leatherby's closed down! Well, let me tell you. Stan's. That's right - Stan's, over across from Gold's Gym in Provo. It's cleaner, cheaper, better priced, and their service is better. Oh, did I mention that Stan's Drive-In does NOT have any complaints to the better business bureau about advertising claims or practices that misrepresent their service or product offer? Nope - they don't. But guess who does? The Malt Shoppe. Surprise.

Moral of the story? Eat at Stan's! It's better, and they don't try to screw people over! Located at 525 N. 900 E.

I also welcome your comments about getting screwed over by immoral business practices.

--
Malt Shoppe delendo est

I'll Just Make This Easy For You

Whenever I hear those words at work, I cringe. Because I know exactly what that means. For those of you who have never been to my restaurant at lunchtime, allow me to translate.

"I'll just make this easy for you" equals, "I'll just have a water, with the soup, salad and breadsticks."

Now, maybe for some of you that sounds easy. Not for me. Let me explain. Soup, salad and breadsticks is not done by anyone in the kitchen. It's done by me - the server. I make your salad. I get your breadsticks. I pour your soup. I get your drinks. And then I run back and forth, bringing out 50 more bowls of soup, 25 more salads, and 18 more baskets of breadsticks for you, only to have you show me your gratitude with a $0.62 tip.

So please, don't make things "easy" on me. Make it difficult - please. I would love to have to work incredibly hard to get you your one entree and one or maybe two bowls of soup or salad that you'll eat along with it. Please - make me earn that 5% tip.

Look alike

On occasion, I've had people tell me I look like some famous person. There are a couple that I get consistently. The first was Pippin (Billy Boyd) off the Lord of the Rings movies. I think a big part of that was that my hair used to be long, although I've still gotten it since cutting my hair short.




Number two was the guy from the movie The Invisible (Justin Chatwin). I had a lot of people tell me I looked like that guy, although I also think it had something to do with the hair.




And then there's one more. This is the one I get most consistently. Last week at work, even, I had three different guests tell me that I looked like this guy: Edward Norton (The Italian Job, The Illusionist).


Now, I don't know if these actors and I share a common likeness or not. I mean, the myheritage.com thing told me I look like Mark Ruffalo, Matthew Perry, Bob Saget and Haley Joel Osment. But heck - I dunno. Let's hear your opinions.