ozzie the lamb

i went to church on sunday (can you believe it?) and garret hill gave another great lesson. however, something always strikes me wrong when people at church talk about sheep. i have never been able to pin down the problem--until garret shared a story about a young man who raised a bummer lamb, and was grief-stricken when his little lamb died in a storm due to the neglect and selfishness.

i raised bummer lambs once--and sadly it destroyed my ability to ever connect with the 'feed my sheep' metaphor. in high school and college i occasionally told people i participated in 4-h. inevtably, people like my cousin peter would mock and scorn. but i told them that it was more than working on the farm--we learned photography, public speaking, participated in talent shows, and cooked dough boys for the state fair (i guess my mom figured there had to be some way to boost her children's self esteem--and a blue ribbon at the state fair for expertly cooked snickerdoodles or dough boys was as good a way as any (a dough boy, by the way, is a delectable treat cooked by spreading dough around a thick stick and roasting it over an open fire, then smothering the cooked dough in butter and brown sugar.)). i spent a good part of my young adulthood arguing to others that just because i am from Spanish Fork does not necessarily make me a hick. the following story, however, proves that i was indeed part of the 4-h (the h's stand for head, heart, hands, and hicks, i think).

i was quite young when this happened and almost the only things i remember are severely traumatic. for a genius-idea of a 4-h project, our family decided to raise bummer lambs. one of the lambs was named ozzie (in honor of the great shortstop ozzie smith, of course, but that part is not traumatic). i can't remember the second lamb's name but i'm sure paul remembers. i think he had a special connection with these little lambs. we were pretty excited about the bummer lambs, so we put up chicken fencing around a small part of the pasture that stood in front of our old house (because that's what we usually do when we get excited).

as part of our 4-h duty, every day we had to feed the bummer lambs. so the kids of the house filled large, tall glass sprite bottles with milk, attached a bottle-top pacifier thing on top, and held the bottles through the chicken fencing while ozzie and the unnamed bummer lamb drank to their content. the best part of the feeding, however, came after the lambs sucked the bottles dry. these glass bottles were incredibly durable and could easily withstand the duress that comes from high-speed contact with grass and other dirt-packed ground. paul, jonny, and i liked nothing more than throwing the bottles against the grass to see who could make them bounce farther and more. libby, who was still in diapers, decided to join the festivities from time to time (paul, am i telling this story correctly?) anyway, libby got in the way of one of our contests, and the bottle ended up in between her eyes. screaming, blood, and black eyes were parts that made up my first traumatic experience with bummer lambs.

eventually ozzie and the unnamed one were full-grown. i don't remember if anyone came with me, but i think i was with my dad when we took the lambs to the auction. little did i know we were selling the sheep to their death. i remember sitting in the stands, watching ozzie walk on the auction block; as he came out, ozzie struggled with the auctioneer as the bidding started. i watched, delighted as the farmers and ranchers in the crowd bid on his ripe and fertile meat. the bidding nearly reached $125, and i was ecstatic that our hard work paid off. it was great...i spent an entire summer making a friend named ozzie, and then, in the fall, i was able to sell him off for over $100. i didn't understand why we didn't get more bummer lambs and get ourselves a bummer lamb industry started.

i hadn't though about this macabre scene until garret told the story on sunday about a man that accidentally killed his own bummer lamb through neglect and selfishness. later, when he was called to home teach, he was set on compensating his former bad behavior by fulfilling his responsibility. what about me, though? i purposely sent my lamb to his death. it wasn't through neglect and laziness. i raised this lamb for the direct purpose of profit and death. i can imagine ozzie saying to the unnamed one, 'i am going like a lamb to the slaughter, but i'm calm as a summer's morning. if you see stephen, tell him i forgive him, because he doesn't know what he's doing'. for that reason, i'm scared every time i get a home teaching assignment. look out home teachees, soon you'll be at a spanish fork auction, sold for $125 and made into tasty lamb chops. and the entire time my dad (my original home teaching companion) will be at my side, proud of his son's 4-h handiwork.

the trauma doesn't stop there. once, we were in gunnison, utah, on my grandpa's farm hunting pheasants. every year we tromp up the main ditch and usually we actually see some roosters. then a few of us make a futile trip to the now-waterless ponds. for some reason, we always think there will be pheasants, but there never are. although i do remember brian, my cousin, shooting a pheasant at the pond, but i think that only happened because he bought 30 pheasants and planted a few at the usually-unsuccessful spot. my dad and i were hunting the perimeter and we heard bleating coming from the west bank of the pond. we found a lamb sick and lying on its side, unable to move. my dad the farmer/doctor somehow determined the lamb was beyond recovery and decided we needed to put it out of its misery. so he shot it with his 12 gauge in the head. as he turned i saw him wipe a tear out of his eye. i wasn't so much traumatized by seeing my dad cry (he cried at the end of cars, akeelah and the bee, and the fast and the furious (probably)), but by the fact that every time i came in contact with sheep, they died. and most of the time i am with my dad. so when i hear the call, 'feed my sheep' i grow extremely worried for the sheep.

the crux

geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is delar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is delar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is delar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar. geronimo p. ashbar is deltar and deltar is geronimo p. ashbar.

oh deer

the other week i went to utah and went up a mountain to camp out, be manly, and kill things. i accomplished the first.

but my cousin cutler mastered all three objectives. i knew it was going to happen when we started out on friday afternoon. we were discussing the finer points of life when he told me about his 'hot manti girls.' when i asked him to back up such an oxymoronic statement, he produced this picture from his wallet:



he asked me if i could guess what grade she was in. i said fifth. he said, you wish. then he told me she is in 8th grade (he is in 9th). I asked if it matters what grade she is in. he said, no--she's hot though. and i guess he sort of had a point. so at that time i realized that stopping cutler from killing a deer was impossible: the deer had as much chance as did this hot manti girl. so at the very end of the next day, i was not surprised to see cutler riding an atv with a deer tied to the front. and here he is:



while we were driving up to our hunting spot, grandpa's car exploded. and here is a picture of that.


grandpa is something like 87 years old and he can fix anything with his hands and some chicken wire. so i decided i should take some pictures of that:





it was a pretty good trip to utah. i didn't meet any hot LA people or do any great mountain biking, but i did manage to get home at 4:00 in the morning because my flight back to new york was stupid.

and that is all for now. goodbye.

alphius: where are you?

i think this might be the best thing i have ever seen. you may have heard it was peter's birthday the other day. well, he came home last week with a present for me. you'd think i would be getting him presents, but that lovely brought me home a book. i found this picture in it and i haven't been this happy since i found out the niels bohr model was not the latest atomic theory. if this doesn't make you happy, then maybe you should check out this out. enjoy this picture of the best thing in the entire world

marriage?

today we went to church and our stake president was there and he told us we had to get married. and marc was visiting and he didn't even feel guilty at all because he was there with his fiance and they are getting married in two weeks and six days. then, after church, they came over to our house because it is peter's birthday today (happy birthday peter) and marc started beat boxing (he's real good, you know) and i threw down some fat rhymes--i was old schoolin' it and not even caring--not even a little bit. after, we went up to scarsdale to eat with peter's aunt, uncle and his parents (all of whom are great and i think we should get together with all of them more often) and on the way home marc started beat boxin' again and i couldn't help but throwin' it down yet again. it was a good day and it made for a good birthday--at least it was a good birthday celebration for me, even though it wasn't my birthday (it was peter's--he hit the big 25). so here is the happy couple. and i'm going to sleep.

a somewhat sort of news flash

from now on, i would like everyone to refer to me as geronimo p. ashbar. this name cancels out any previous nomenclature that you or any other person may have used to refer to me.



p.s. my friend andrew just returned from spreading freedom in iraq; i think i'm glad he's home.

pandemonium

someone asked me the other day what i like. i couldn't answer very well. here is an attempt. the following 44 items are things (in no particular order) i've liked in the past couple of weeks.

1.

apple products

2.

eugene richards

4.

honda accord wagons

6.

the flaming lips

7.

wes anderson

8.

sean watkins

9.

charlie hunter

10.medeski martin and wood
11.

bob dylan

12.

nickel creek

13.

soulive

14.

ayn rand

15.

this

16.

swiffer

17.

david grisman

18.

jerry garcia

19.

george clinton

20.

henry roth

21.

robert pirsig

22.

richard bushman

23.

the love song of j. alfred prufrock

24.

tarantula

25.

john scolfield

26.

jack white

27.

zhang yimou

28.

peru

29.

axe (phoenix) deodorant

30.

chris thile

31.

the potato eaters

32.

salvador dali

33.

canon 20d

34.

sigma 10-20mm

35.

marc and kaedi fehlberg

36.

upright citizen’s brigade theater

37.

paul and amy

38.

rolling stone

39.

new yorker

40.

our friend puccini

41.

the second movement of the 7th Beethoven symphony

42.

bach cello suites

43.

inwood 3rd ward

44.

the people’s republic of china

the new radical

drawing pictures during church is the new radical.

so. people have been bothering me about posting peru pictures. guess what? i am not your slave. i will not be used. you will not be a parasite off my life.

so i will post some pictures that i drew during church today. it helped me get through. i am not an artist, nor do i claim to be. and no, i am not prince hamlet, nor was i meant to be. but i think i did do peter justice. please see below.



above iss a picture of some girl looking out the window. she is scared because she doesn't want to face the alien robot that is attacking the city.




This is Peter as he prepares to give a talk in church. he is thinking a lot about atp. in fact, he can't get the krebs cycle out of his mind.



becca and i were talking and we decided to illustrate a short history of mullet. my favorite one is the one about the apostles.

so i hope everyone is having a good time. i am thinking about posting peru pictures, but i will do it on my own timeline.

thank you.

parsnips a-plenty

cute kids, right? nobody would want to hurt these little ones, right? why would anyone try to ruin their lives or, for example, try to run their house down with some sort of motorized vehicle device? i don't know. its beyond me. and yet, someone did.

that someone rented a scooter in a place called pucallpa, peru. then, he drove down to the shanty towns situated next to the ucayali river (a major feed to the amazon). then, he took hundreds of pictures of these kids and their friends. he made a fool of himself by attracting the whole neighborhood. he made them stop their volleyball game so he could photograph them. he forced himself into their volleyball game and dominated on offense and defense.

then, as he was leaving, he was kickstarting his scooter. of course, he assumed the scooter was in neutral. when he realized it wasn't, it was too late. the scooter (with him on top) flew out of control and he couldn't get to the only-functioning foot brake. he crashed over the small cement embankment you see in the picture (between the three kids and the man in the doorway). then, he went flying in the air. he tried turning the scooter, but the friction caused by the handlebars moving against only air did nothing. he crashed into the side of the small wooden house you see. the seat of the scooter popped open and hit him as he fell onto the ground. his companion was laughing hysterically. he also was laughing and spurting out something like 'lo siento' to the man who owned the house. that man helped him pick up the scooter and watched as parents protectively moved their children out of the way as he (the said gringo) started his scooter and drove off.

this guy who crashed his scooter got hurt. look at the picture of his arm. maybe it will scar. that would be super neat.

as you wish

just in peru...no big deal.
eat it pig dogs.
there were too many vibrations.
buses es muy frio.
std face...that´s funny right?
in the face of the rain droplet pending.
our lives, as it were, mirrored in the arequipan festivals.
guapo...not you. him. i mean you´re pretty too, but...
two upon two and one alone wishing to be upon one.
lenses peering...exploiting...stealing...
this is the best thing that has ever happened to me

confused confessionals

lately i've had a thing for charmed. that's right--the show they show on tnt at 4:00 in the afternoon. i am despicable. which leads me to the overwhelming question: have i become the following?

they (the second-handers) have no concern for facts, ideas, work. they're concerned only with people. they don't ask: 'is this true?' they ask: 'is this what others think is true?' not to judge, but to repeat. not to do, but to give the impression of doing. not creation, but show. not ability, but friendship. not merit, but pull. what would happen to the world without those who do, think, work, produce? those are the egotists. you don't think through another's brain and you don't work through another's hands. when you suspend your faculty of independent judgment, you suspend consciousness. to stop consciousness is to stop life. second' handers have no sense of reality. their reality is not within them, but somehwere in that space which divides one human body from another. not an entity, but a relation--anchored to nothing...Opinion without a rational process. motion without brakes or motor. power without responsibility. the second-hander acts, but the source of his actions is scattered in every other living person. it's everywhere and nowhere and you can't reason with him. he's not open to reason. you can't speak to him--he can't hear. you're tried by an empty bench. a blind mass running amuck, to crush you without sense or purpose.

i guess i am most scared that i have somehow suspended my faculty of independent judgement. it makes me want to avoid all reviews of film, book, or art, and build my independent voice. so much so that the economist scares me, the ny times scares me, and online debate scares me. what do i think? i don't know. am i regurgitating mindless babble collected in the collective graveyards of dissent and opinion, consent and contestings? am i even sincere in what i think, or do i vomit arguments and debates for the sake of opposition and protest?

whatever it is, i am still disappointed that i secretly dream of living a life like the three sisters on charmed...

pelham prosthetics

hello everyone. just a quick update: hannah and i are living it up in the nyc. nothing could be better. we go to work together (are both slightly miserable because of the work), come home and nap, and then go out for glorious nights on the town. last nite we saw tarzan. the fact that i slightly, secretly, semi-enjoyed myself is a tribute to how enjoyable hannah's company is (not to the quality of the show).



in fact, its a wonder we still get along. on the way home from washington d.c. (where we saw jonny and mom and judy) i slept on her shoulder nearly the entire way. we've practically spent all out time together. the only times we disagree are when she invades my cookie dough and my cellular telephone device.

last nite we came home and i became infatuated with this fire hydrant. you know how i am with fire hydrants. here is a sneak peak at the goodness i encountered.

please give heed

do not:

watch the da vinci code

do:

watch x-men 3.

(however, realize that x-men 3 is only for entertainment purposes. it should not be seen as anything other than good, clean escapist fun.)

i saw it last night at 12:05 am. if you go, please stay until after the credits.

all of which are american dreams

this here poetical verse, and the accompanying audio recording give voice to what the nyc is. hear now allen ginsberg:

My Sad Self

To Frank O'Hara

Sometimes when my eyes are red
I go up on top of the RCA Building
and gaze at my world, Manhattan--
my buildings, streets I've done feats in,
lofts, beds, coldwater flats
--on Fifth Ave below which I also bear in mind,
its ant cars, little yellow taxis, men
walking the size of specks of wool--
Panorama of the bridges, sunrise over Brooklyn machine,
sun go down over New Jersey where I was born
& Paterson where I played with ants--
my later loves on 15th Street,
my greater loves of Lower East Side,
my once fabulous amours in the Bronx
faraway--
paths crossing in these hidden streets,
my history summed up, my absences
and ecstasies in Harlem--
--sun shining down on all I own
in one eyeblink to the horizon
in my last eternity---
matter is water.

Sad,
I take the elevator and go
down, pondering,
and walk on the pavements staring into all man's
plateglass, faces,
questioning after who loves,
and stop, bemused
in front of an automobile shopwindow
standing lost in calm thought,
traffic moving up & down 5th Avenue blocks
behind me
waiting for a moment when...

Time to go home & cook supper & listen to
the romantic war news on the radio
...all movement stops
& I walk in the timeless sadness of existence,
tenderness flowing thru the buildings,
my fingertips touching reality's face,
my own face streaked with tears in the mirror
of some window--at dusk--
where I have no desire--
for bonbons--or to own the dresses or Japanese
lampshades of intellection--

Confused by the spectacle around me,
Man struggling up the street
with packages, newspapers,
ties, beautiful sits
toward his desire
Man, woman, streaming over the pavements
red lights clocking hurried watches &
movements at the curb--

And all these streets leading
so crosswise, honking, lengthily,
by avenues

stalked by high buildings or crusted into slums
thru such halting traffic
screaming cars and engines
so painfully to this
countryside, this graveyard
this stillness
on deathbed or mountain
once seen
never regained or desired
in the mind to come
where all Manhattan that I've seen must disappear.


New York, October 1958

persuasive carnivals of wide tarantulas

its 6:30. that means i have two hours. i need to do homework; however, i have decided to write this entry instead. so here i sit at my desk listening to a new band introduced to me by petey. and i hope that i can write this baby quickly enough to also get a paper written for school on saturday.


i have much to report. so please forgive me. this may be somewhat of a travel-log, instead of a web-log, but i have much to tell. last week i returned to the utah for to attend my lil' sister's wedding. she was a beautiful bride, her betrothed a beautiful groom, as so attested by the uploaded photograph. of course, the ceremony was beautiful, and grandpa frandsen was spiritually powerful as he explained and explicated the blessings of the temple. however, the highlight of the day for me were amys' comments. she shared her feelings for her adopted sisters and family, and explained how she came to realize the deej was the one for bill. i agree. the day continued with photographs, a reception, and a lot of clean-up. i guess i had fun as the hired hand on the bass in the corner. i, of course, had a good time seeing old friends, especially James and Becca Kearl, ryan and angie lemon, and sugar.

the next morning the three frandsen 'men' headed down to the desert. moab called and we heeded its beckoning. after much discussion, we decided to head down thursday morning, in time for a 10:00 ride of porcupine rim. what can i say? it was perfect. check us out.



we were tired to the very bone after the ride. so we crashed our favorite moab motel, stole/borrowed some towels to act as our pillows/light-blockers, and took a nap next to the pool. i think i lost more energy sleeping, seeing as how i woke up in a pool of sweat.

either way, we woke up and headed to amasa back, my favorite moab ride. but i was tired and couldn't do a thing up the front side. but, i soon got my legs back. only to confront the back side, called jackson's track. the link i just gave you said to not 'even think about the single track that goes down the backside.' but paul led us down. and i nearly died twice. seriously. death.

are you still reading this? i'll bet peter stopped a long time ago. skinny probably never started. libby is not even thinking about computers or blogs. but paul is probably still reading. what about you, jonny?

well. the backside was beautiful. check out the pablo.



we kept riding. it was nearing sunset. but we battled on, in a war against the sunlight (as some over-serious biker chic told us). paul had heard that we might have to ford the stream that is usually not full. well, spring-time or recent rains put the water mid-way up our stomachs. we came to the water and debated what to do. paul, with virtually no hesitation, stripped down to nothing and anxiously waded across the water, commenting several times how pleasant the brackish water was to his body. i told him to beware of man-part-eating lizards. he nakedly forded the stream several times to secure our belongings. he is such a hero. then he told us we must do the same with our bikes. jonny excitedly stripped down. i, of course, followed. nothing like chillin' naked with just the brothers. check out the pics (if you dare).

this be me.

this be paul, as is evidenced by his wedding ring (notice ladies: he does have a wedding ring--this body is all amy's).

this be jonny. he's married too, ladies. don't even think about it. dd: no touchy.

this be all of us. in this picture i am the only available one. check out that body. boo yes. so, if there were only three guys in the whole world, i would be the only available one. bring it on, ladies.

well. we came home for a funeral the next day. it was sad.

the next day paul blessed his babies. it was happy. he has a cute family. michael is the cutest thing. ever. check out their pic.

they is be the cutest family ever invented. except, of course, for my future family. that smile on michael was induced only after promising him a 'special treat,' a trick i picked up from my teaching days (regretably).

the next thing i want to tell you is that i bought a new camera. consequently my old one is for sale. let me know if yous wants it. and this last picture is of petey and me on the day i bought the new hardware (notice how i didn't get all pretentious and say petey and i?).



you finish it, petey? it's now 7:27. i split my time perfectly. and the album is just finished. looks like i better both listen to something else, and write something else.

peace.

oh. didn't i tell you?

oh yeah. i live like a block from this. no big deal. just the george washington bridge. i don't even care. not even a little bit.

the vandals took the handles

i went on a trip this weekend. on friday ryan barnhart and i got in my car with no real plan and drove west and then north. we called his brother on the way and solicited a place to crash in ithaca (did you know ithaca is gorges?). we decided to stop in harmony, pennsylvania for some sight-seeing. on the way we found a 'porch sale' and i bough a red hot chili peppers cd. then we saw the banks of the susquehanna. we also saw a graveyard where emma hale's parents are buried.

anyway, i could go on and give a travel-log; however, this is a web-log, not a travel-log. so i will tell you some of the best parts, not a minute by minute recounting. we drove by a large camp site kind of place on the way to ithaca. all kinds of rv's were parked everywhere. we stopped to check out what was going on. motocross was the name of the game. all day racing on saturday. so the next day we drove to palmyra and saw all the stuff. it was good. there was a lot of stuff and a lot of new stuff that wasn't there the last time i visited. like a new temple. and the smith home (the second on the farm) is restored and 85% original. that is where joseph hid the plates and where he found out martin harris lost the 116 pages. so it was good to see all those places. and the sister missionaries were hot.

so, after palmyra we drove back down to the motocross. there was an entire parking lot full rvs and families and little kids on motorcylces. i could only think of two words to describe the whole thing. one of them is trash and one of them is white. but then i got sucked in by the entire event. i ain't never seen motocross before. so i took a lot of pictures. i include them below. hope ya'll is good.

poseidon crouched

seven days ago i took four pictures of myself. i call them "the four portraits of an artist as a young man." and yes, my name is stephen. what is yours? is it dedalus?

ad hoc vs. post hoc

we are morning the loss of our dearly departed, our recently returned, our one and only ryan glen clark. we don't know why, but he decided to go back to utah, back to the daily grind, back to freshman and blond highlights. can't say i miss him though: a couple of months with a large room to myself is enough to cure any sensation of loss. but, i have lost a partner in the search for the best nyc cheese cake (although i think we already found our champion). and i have no one to talk to at night, so i write web logs instead. in fact, right now i'm considering a return to my room; however, only bills, laundry, and taxes await me. so i stay out here in the living room and continue to write incoherently. i don't even know what i'm doing--perhaps i'm creating a chautauqua. would you like to join my chautauqua? or, maybe i need a roomate back so i will stop writing nonsense--or is it a chautauqua?

either way, i need to put off sleep as long as possible: the sooner i go to sleep the sooner i must wake up. but i do have the weekend and i think peter and i might sell our souls and go to ikea again. i haven't quite decided, but i don't think i like ikea. maybe because its slowly taking over the world. or maybe because i don't like a majority of things. or maybe because i get lost whenever i am in one of their buildings. or maybe i hate all things swedish. or maybe i just like beginning sentences with the words 'or maybe.' or maybe not.

i've always thought maybe is a strange word. write maybe on a piece of paper, close your eyes, and then open them and only look at the word 'maybe.' strange. its probably swedish. and thats probably why i hate indecision. because i hate all things swedish (does anything other than ikea and army knives even come from sweden?).

did i mention that i spoke with andrew t. wright on the phone? he wants to know who keeps commenting and then deleting his or her comments. i told him i don't know and i don't care.

i have this other friend, andrew taylor, who is in iraq. i haven't heard from him in a while. except for this voice message he left me. but i can't call him back because he is in kirkuk or somewhere.

ok. its now 11:38. if you are still reading this, you should have stopped six paragraphs ago.

unprecedented precincts

i can't help myself. even though i have no permission, i'm going to post an email i got from a jerk friend. please indulge me in this. i will present the email in its entirety . please enjoy. (p.s. this email is from skinny, and i had to live with him once for an entire year--or at least a school year)

So here I sit preparing for my nitely voyage to the Maceys. It’s now 11:19 p.m. which means I have approximately fifteen minutes before I make my way to that happy place to begin fixing the end caps and making sure the paper aisle is properly stocked and faced. It’s an exciting life I lead, I must admit. I’m sure you’re all quite jealous. If any of you would like to know what’s on sale I’d be happy to tell you. Let me just say that there is quite a deal on cup of noodles these days. I’d buy some while they still last if I were you.

Speaking of dating, let me tell you about my new plan. It’s spring time you know, that means love is in the air here at the B.Y. As I’ve renewed my determination to date more regularly, I’ve come up with a system to make my dating experience more effective (after all, aren’t we always striving to become more efficient) and enjoyable. Here’s the plan, pretend I see or meet a nice girl here on campus. My inclination is to ask her on a date right? Well, from now on, before I ask her out I’ll give her this survey to fill out. That should help in the weeding out process I should think. Or say somebody wants to set me up with their cousin, roommate, sister-in-law friend’s-mother’s-cousin’s-best friend, etc. I’ll just give them a survey to give to said person. Then when I get it back I’ll make my decision. Now realizing I can’t be too picky, I’ve decided to put 80% as the cutoff level.
Anything below and I’m afraid they miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

So, after hours and hours of collaboration with the best minds this
generation has to offer, this is what I’ve come up with. I must note that
these questions are indeed in order of importance.

Survey—Are You Qualified?
(the correct answer is in parenthesis)
1. Do you like the San Antonio Spurs? (yes)
2. Is Greg Maddux the greatest right-handed pitcher ever? (yes)
3. Would you enjoy going on a date with public transportation? (yes)
4. Do you want a huge wedding ring? (no)
5. Do you or have you ever studied in the periodical section of the library?
(no)
6. Do you want more than six pictures at your wedding? (no)
7a. Would you ever kiss anybody in a public setting? (no)
7b. Hold hands in public? (no)
7c. Hug in public? (no)
8. Do you watch the Bachelor, American Idol, or Simpsons? (no)
9. Do you consider S. Eliason to be one of the greatest musical geniuses of
all time? (yes)
10. Would you be offended if your date watched SportsCenter on a date? (no)
11. Do you hate the Yankees, Real Madrid, Chelsea FC, Patriots, and Kobe
Bryant? (yes)
12. Can you appreciate a finely stocked grocery aisle? (yes)
13. Can you tell me what aisle the tissues are on in the Spanish Fork
Maceys? (yes)
14. Would you be offended if we ate at Wendy’s on every other date? (no)
15. Is Robin Hood your favorite Disney movie of all time (Yes, although The
Lion King or Beauty and the Beast are also acceptable answers).
16. Have you ever seen My Fair Lady? (yes)
17. Do you periodically question the sanity of Stephen Frandsen? (yes)
18. Have you ever watched a folk dance performance? (yes)
19. Is it really easier to be a Utah Mormon in comparison to a Mormon
outside of Utah? (no)
20. Do you despise California and everything therewith associated, excepting
the sundry LDS temples there? (yes)
21. Do you know the last time the Cubs won the World Series? (yes)
22. Is Peyton Manning your favorite NFL player? (yes)
23. Do you mind if I spend five hours a day playing Madden Football or NBA
Live? (no)
24. Do you get annoyed when people yell on the telephone? (no)

Thank you for your time.

please pass

please excuse this post. i want my name to show up on a google search. and i want it to be on this web log.

stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen stephen frandsen

the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors

were you run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality?
were you suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China?
my only question, then, is what happened to the angel-headed hipsters lost in the machinery of night?

but this only leads to an overwhelming question (oh do not ask what is it): what of poetry?

the best minds of generations past are lost to most of our generation. why? what is it about words in verse that turn most of us off to enjoying and contemplating some of the most sophisticated ideas of the 20th century? we all know einstein, bernstein, and potok; however, few of us know ginsberg, eliot, or auden (myself included). these poets influence most of modern consciousness, but we place no credit at their feet.

i probably won't start reading modern poetry in an effort to understand the fabric of our modern society. but, it seems like those of us who understand parts of modern life should at least understand the part these poets play in providing literary background to all we do (movies, media, relationships, and understanding).

so, if you don't start reading modern poetry, at least start understanding the parts these poets play in modern life.

(if you took this post seriously then call me)

what are we cheering for (for what are we cheering)?

my little sister the cheerleader. my little sister the violinist. my little sister who has a refreshing sense of humor and bad taste in boys. my little sister, hannah. if i were to think of one compound word to describe hannah, it would be poopface. and if that's not a compound word, it is now.

i went home to utah and i saw her dance and jump and yell and cheer, and now i want you to see the same thing. please feast your eyes on these pictures.





in addition to witnessing hannah cheer her little poopface out, i also saw the twins. the twins are cute. they are small. here are some pictures. i do realize that some of you don't know the twins. as such, this web log entry most likely does not interest you. if that is the case then i suggest you do something else.

here is the picture of the little ones.

midstride

this is art. this is art. and this is art.

why, then, can this not be art? or this? or this? or, for what it's worth, bears! or robots...

boston, snow, and bombs

so here are a bunch of pictures that i don't want to explain. some of them are of libby. some of them are of us in boston. some of them are of the big snow storm. ryan (my jerk roomate) and i dug the car out of the snow tonite. while we are enjoying our snow day in nyc, peter is in puerto rico with marc's girly. what will happen?

some things to look for this coming week: 24, peter's return, my last week of school before the break, 52 degrees on thursday, the twins' good health, and the word 'modernity' (marc, you owe me $5).

peace, ya'll