Jerusalem, If I Forget You

Let my right hand forget what its supposed to do.

I'm here. It's real. Everything. All the rumors. I couldn't be happier. At least I assume I could not be happier at this moment with the circumstances I'm limited to at this stage in my life. I could have a kitten to snuggle with tonight and ice cream in a cone. But those are temporal pleasures. Okay, the ice cream is a temporal pleasure.

I've decided I am going to get high grades in all my classes. I want to study. I want to be informed and do research. They give us an enormous amount of time for everything we need to do. Which is nice because all I want to do is play and explore. Just yesterday we found a door that leads underneath the center. It had bullet holes in it.

On Monday of this week I attended a long orientation meeting concerning the final preparations for Jerusalem. I found out that the clothes I had planned on bringing would not be sufficient so that night I went shopping and underspent on every item I thought I needed. I was pleased. I even for pants that fit well. I was greatly pleased. I went to sleep around midnight with the plan to finish packing at two or three am.

On Tuesday at two am I awoke to a great pain in my stomach. On the way the bathroom (because I assumed I was going to throw up) I discovered a sudden urge to go No. 2. Upon arriving at the bathroom I was surprised to find that I stressed myself into having diarrhea. Details will stop there. Not a pleasant way to awake as I did throw up afterwards. Finding myself still in pain I retired back to bed and slept for a couple more hours. I packed from four to seven and left. I met up with Dwight Bellingham, a friend from my mission, and we travelled to the airport together. The flights were great. We played trivia on one flight and I watched movies on the other. The first flight left at 11 am on Tuesday. I arrived in Tel Aviv on Wednesday at 2 pm, or 5 am in Provo.

We had orientations and tours for the next couple days. Delightful. I feel some of my faith in religious classes will be restored. There are 58 girls and 21 guys in the group this semester. We're athletic and beautiful and intelligent. People ask questions in class! Good, thoughtful, earnest questions. I am so happy.

I've been late to two meetings and confronted by security twice as well. I promise I am doing nothing wrong. I'm just adventuring. We were coming home last night and I came in through a door with a group. Well, the door had been propped open by a spoon. Right as I opened it a security came around the corner and asked me what was going on. Of course I was honest, but it was certainly very suspicious.

Today we had church. It was nice. Sacrament on the Sabbath (of the Jews) was interesting. I'll enjoy it really. I finally finished and copied down several poems I wrote many moons ago. I'll post one here tomorrow probably. It's a favorite. I thought of the concept almost a year ago and finally wrote it a month ago (I think). We went to the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden this evening. A big group. Our journey involved several wrong turns and asking directions from a stranger. He suggested we walk down a valley and then climb through a whole in the fence. Well, we never found a fence on the bottom of the valley. We later realized his directions were a shortcut that involved hiking up the side of the valley wall and the fence was up there. I spooked a dog while walking towards an abandoned house in the valley. Neat little structure. It used the natural overhang of the wall for three sides and the roof. We found the Garden of Gethsemane on the way but it had closed shortly before we arrived. In the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden we found a group of Mormon tourists, two young Palestinians smoking hasheesh from a hookah (a very pleasant blend. Sweet but not overpowering), and a Palestinian family having a barbeque. The last group invited us over but I think most everyone felt awkward because they spoke little English and almost no one speaks any Arabic. I was able to wish them a good night though. It felt good. It was obvious that my Egyptian Arabic is much different than Levantine (I'm assuming) Arabic. When we got home we found a group of young boys playing soccer. They asked if we would play with them and a couple guys said yes. I stuck around and we had some good fun. Our field was tiny, about as big as a bedroom. Once we won Ahmed (one of the kids) said "one more, one more." Then after that point he said "one more, one more." And the same after that point. And the same after that point. :) It was a lot of fun. Very fun kids. And honestly, some of the kids here must be some of the most beautiful children I've ever seen. Soft curly locks and gentle smiles adorn handsome faces and fit bodies. I'm really enjoying it here.

Puppy Love Angry Love

Many moons ago I was experiencing some difficulty with a companion and mentioned it to my parents. Well, my mother used it as a chance to write to my companion and explain to him that I am "sometimes difficult to love." I was kinda wondering why she would think that. Kinda harsh for a mom to say that about you... But I agree. Here is why.

Apart from the many forms of love (friendship, competition, beauty/nature, etc) I feel there are two kinds of intimate, romantic love. Puppy love and something higher that I have not yet decided how to define exactly yet so it will be angry love for now.

Puppy love is how I feel about puppies. Puppies are so cute and innocent that I just love having them around. I would enjoy having puppies around me pretty much all the time. They make me smile. Always. I have no evidence of an exception. I am gentle with puppies because I want them to like me back. There is just something about puppies that calms me down and makes me want to play. I see most relationships being here. This type of love is necessary in a relationship and I think most true loves start with this kind. Its innocence and pleasure is what makes us love love. This love expresses itself in sweet nothings, pranks, cuddles/wrestles, flowers "just because," making dinner together, long walks where nothing is said, and catching a duck for your girlfriend (my roommate actually did this for his fiancee before they were engaged).

Angry love requires some more depth. I do not see it as any better, more natural, or longer lasting. It is simply different and used differently. Puppy love I think is limited in its emotional variety. Puppy love is happy and excited. I cannot get mad at a puppy. I can be frustrated at a puppy, but it does not last long. If it makes a mess I clean it up and am happy again. Angry love can experience the full realm of emotions. It often grows as a result of time of presence. The more time we spend around someone the more comfortable we become. We are better able to communicate with and understand that person. So we let them see more and more of our emotions: tears, fears, and anger. Eventually we should reach a point that we could be angry with someone and not leave, because we still love them. Our emotions are simply expressed in a less favorable way. We still feel very strongly for them. This is a wonderful place to be because it means two people can argue without fear of offending the other. This allows them to build each other up, teach each other, and grow together.

I think one of the reasons I am so "difficult to love" sometimes is that it is very hard to hate me. I am akin to puppies: gentle, cute, and playful. Yes, I will make messes and mistakes, but it is really hard to get angry at me about them. I do disappoint and give people every reason to genuinely get angry at or hate me. But the next time I will see you I treat it as if nothing bad ever happened. I am genuinely sorry for my mistakes and want you to teach me how to be better. Unfortunately, this has not given many people the chance to see if they could be angry with me and has not solidified my relationship with those individuals to include both kinds of romantic (or flirty or friendship) loves.

But, for those individuals who have taken the time to try to hate me (who have simply stuck around long enough for me to seriously disappoint or harm them), I feel extremely loved and like my relationship with them is beautiful for it. We are gemstones within the ground. If you do not like the rain of sadness or life's buffings how do you expect to be cleansed and shined? Relationships are the same.

Rules

Stake conference this weekend was magnificent. A real treat. Stories were uncovered at great personal expense to reveal the lightness that comes from peace and hope. This future was connected to the Gospel of Christ time and time again, without need of coercion or force. Out of it all I received a poem and a law.

The poem is one I've wanted to write for over a year now.  The last two lines are not what I want though, so I'll post it someday later.

The law was...well...plagiarized.
We have the famed Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. (A great way to live and learn. It helps you put yourself in others' shoes)
The lesser law is the Silver Rule: do unto others as others do unto you. (At least you come out even)
The Copper Rule: do unto others as you feel they deserve. (You do not want to be the judge of what someone deserves. You do not want that responsibility. It will break you)
And the Platinum Rule (which is really what started everything else): do unto others as you want God to do unto you.

Compliments

I have never been very good at accepting praise.  It really bothers my parents.  I imagine it might bother the Lord too.  I do not recognize my part in great things because I see myself as replaceable.  Anyone else could do what I do and probably much better.  But occasionally I receive a compliment so heartfelt, undeserving, and spontaneous, a compliment relying upon no situation or stimulus but only a pure desire for some to appreciate me, that I am floored.

A few months ago, I was talking with my roommate and he just exclaimed that he appreciated how much I enjoy life.  He went on to explain how he loved that even if I do not understand a topic I am willing to talk about it.  And more than talk about, I am excited to talk about it.  He expressed that he feels if I understand a subject then I am excited to discuss it and if I do not know much or anything about a subject then I seem pleased to be taught.  He thanked me for asking good questions and showing interest in him.  I had never thought of myself that way.

Today, a lovely young lady (who is engaged to a different roommate) told me that she had always wanted to go on a date with me.  This was immediately after I had asked her to attend a show with me (at which her fiancee is working).  I smiled.  Inside too.

A companion from my mission told me that he loves seeing me on campus because it always makes him smile.  It was just a random message on facebook with no obvious reason.

A girl I dance with expressing thanks for having me as a partner this semester.

A long-lost friend posting a message on my blog.

A note on my door from a friend in my ward saying thanks.

Nothing big.  Nothing fancy.  Just true gratitude for me.  It is strangely humbling.
What is the greatest compliment you have received?  Who will you thank next?

Flashmobs and a Hipster Defense

Friends, it has been far too long.

For the first time in my life I find myself in defense of hipster ideology.  I just heard about a "flash mob" performed at the BYU vs Gonzaga game.  A video of the event is below.  It was a great idea.  It was executed well.  It was entertaining.  It was not a flash mob.

A flash mob is an organized group performing a sudden and seemingly unplanned event that takes non-participants by surprise and then disappears just as suddenly.  This was an organized group.  They performed together.  They entertained others.  But the dance was no secret to those not participating; it has been widely advertised.  Also, the true magic to a flash mob is that no one outside the mob can identify the leader.  And participants are little more than strangers.  Random people come together, do something in united chaos, and leave.

This noble and beautiful event was a spirit section.  Those involved in the dance did exactly what cheerleaders try to get the spectators to do every game.  They jumped and hollered and had a great time.  They pumped up the players and showed their support for their team.  It was marvelous.  They did a fantastic job.

Labeling something a flash mob has now become a fad.  Flash mobs are cool so everyone has to do one (why I feel in defense of hipsters.  I finally found something that lost a bit of its "coolness" by becoming too mainstream...).  There is no shame in proper names!  Reserve flash mobs for flash mobs.  Call a spirit section a spirit section or student body section or awesome people who planned out a really neat dance to show their support for the team.  Don't reuse words to provide an unnecessary connotation.  Otherwise you'll start sounding like a maverick.

BYU vs Gonzaga Spirit Section

Embarassing Day

 First, a slight rant against a religion class.  On my final I was asked a question about my study habits. Through the semester our teacher posted several videos online of apostles speaking about New Testament doctrine, stories, and characters.  The last question of the final (worth 12 points out of 200 so 6% of the test) asked how many of the videos did I watch through the semester.  I have watched maybe half a dozen.  I couldn't play them on my computer.  What I saw was information I knew and mostly came from General Conferences of the past.  I answered honestly knowing I'd lose 11 points.  I do not know why I answered honestly.  I'm not even glad I did.  I'm frustrated that my study habits were being questioned.  The test is to prove acquisition of knowledge not how it was obtained.  The test shows understanding of a subject not how often it has been studied.  The test is to permit passage to a higher difficulty in the subject not show the diligence in work to get there.

Sorry friends, I have one more thing.  I do not like BYU's grading system.  It produces what appears to be an influx of B students.  I have classes that require a 94% to get an A in them.  Maybe that is the standard we should be graded on.  But I've shot for a 90% my whole life.  Well, a 92% in case I mess up on a final.  So I'm getting an A- in many of my classes.  This would appear as a 4.0 at NAU and at many other universities I'm sure, but here it appears as a 3.75 (which is not even high enough for most scholarships mind you).  3.75 came from having a few B's, not by having straight A's.  Also frustrating, but something I'm slowly caring less about.

Honestly, today might be the most embarrassing I've had in a very long time.  I just missed my Arabic final.  All week I've been telling myself 2 to 5, that's my last final, Friday from 2 to 5.  Well, it was actually 11 to 2 today, which is what I wrote down in my planner.  But why would I check that when I knew it was from 2 to 5...  On my way to the final I ran into a guy from the class riding away.  I asked where he was going.  So I even found out I had completely missed it before walking into the class in front of everyone.  Instead I got to quietly wait around the corner, talk to my professor, and figure things out.  What this means is an answer to a prayer, honestly.  I've been wondering a lot if I should retake Arabic 101.  I love the language and I want to be good at it.  I want to understand this stuff but it never clicked this semester.  If I had gotten a C in the class I probably would have tucked my tail and kept going, never catching up.  But this forces me to retake the class.  I failed.  Outright.  First F in a class of my life.  But when I retake it I'll be able to focus on what isn't clicking.  I can learn the names of letters, get better at numbers, do all the homework, memorize more, and speak more clearly.  It is not what I would have said I wanted (a good grade) but it is what I want (to really understand Arabic).  Hey, life is good.

I'm the King of New York!

Well, not really, but I do wish.  On that note though, Newsies is set to hit the Broadway in a few months.  This might be one of the few events I've honestly waited the majority of my life to happen.  It's weird.

New York was glorious.  Such an adventure.  Just getting there was fun.  I was walking to the bus and was early (6:30 pm).  A bus was leaving right when I walked up, but that was no big deal because the had planned on was a little later.  Except a little later became a lot later because it was rather late.  Which made me late for my train.  Which made me late for my second bus.  Barely late.  Like, I can see the bus I need to get on pulling into the parking lot as the train is slowing down late (9 pm).  So I had to take a taxi instead because no more buses ran that night.  My cabbie is a Sudanese refuge who moved to Salt Lake City at the turn of the millennium.  Crazy.  Awesome too.  Good man.  I get to the airport and find I can't check in my luggage because it is too late.  Well, that's fine because my flight isn't until 5:30 am the next day.  I make a call though to see when they open up to check baggage.  I was told 5 am.  Thirty minutes to get through security and get to my gate?  Sounded like an adventure.  It ends up they opened at around 4:30 am so it worked out fine.  But I slept in the airport that night.  Not too bad actually.

New York is so neat.  I met up with JJ and Kelli at the baggage claim and then we traveled to Grand Central Station (we stayed in a hotel over it, the Hyatt).  The graffiti in Queens is quite superb.  Not only the symbols and designs but locations.  And many of them were advertising which I think is neat.

We ate so much food.  It was nice to be full.  And we sang so much.  My voice is not used to singing for four hours straight.  We sang under the direction of John Rutter (you would probably recognize his music.  He was commissioned to write one of the songs for the Royal Wedding in England this last summer).  So, I had six songs to practice before arriving in New York.  We ended up performing more than twice that many.  None of them were too difficult, but I've never had to use sight reading types so desperately.  Thank you Mr. Manz.  And the concert was just a delight to be in.  The orchestra and the power of the music and the audience, it was all great.  Carnegie Hall is unlike any other performing space I've been in.  The wings are walled off so they don't mess up your acoustics.  Also, there is also no light above the stage so that there is less open space to take away from the acoustics.  Which would make quick entrances and lighting a nightmare.  But this is Carnegie Hall, where the audience is in no rush to be entertained and they aren't here for dancing or acting.  The sound is all that matters and the hall delivers.

And we traveled all over the place.  We saw Follies on Broadway.  Lovely show.  It is by Sondheim so the emphasis is on social commentary through the music, which is almost an overwhelming focus.  We went to the Bodies exhibit (which was shorter than I was expecting).  It was neat to see the real parts of the body connecting and doing their thing.   I do like New York pizza.  We went on a river cruise after the concert.  When we got to the pier and things looked familiar, but I didn't know why.  Well, that was true until we walked up the ramp onto the boat.  It was the exact same company, the exact same pier, and the exact same ship I had been on for the exact same river cruise in 2005 with Alyssa Fabia while in New York for the People to People conference.  Ridiculous!  Other neat places were the Manhattan Temple (I got to participate in sealings for the first time!  Natalie-the-Elder and I really wanted to go, so we just made it happen), Battery Park, Central Park (so big, so varied, and so cool.  There was a musical group that just started playing and some roller-skating group came up and started dancing with them.  Fun to watch), the Brooklyn Bridge, and Grand Central Station.  I love New York.  It has such a feel to it.  A real pulse.  A life unlike any other.  The variety is so wonderful.  One of my favorite moments was watching a Hasidic Jew being helped by a Sikh at a food stand (Sikhs are the ones who wear the turbans and are often mistaken for Arabs).  It just seemed so right and good.