no big deal.

this is the view from my hotel room. wish you were all here...

full circle

anyone remember this? Well, it's happened again, although this time Petey wasn't there. As you all know, the WGA is on strike, thus forcing our beloved Stephen Colbert and John Stewart off the air. What to do? How can we possibly get our news without their nightly reviews?

Luckily, UCB hosted the favorite son of South Carolina last nite and Brian (liz's brian) got us tickets. Just think, out of the three hundred million people in America, we were four out of 225 who were able to see Stephen. The show was perfect; in fact, even better with the school play aspect of the performance. For the word, the writers came out with posters to show the words that usually appear on screen. I won't say more, as you can find reports other places. But just know that I missed Peter not being by my side as well...

Also, if you are still reading this, you should check out this New York Public Radio interview. Brian Lehrer interviews Jan Shipps and does a pretty good job. I made some comments during the interview, but I'm afraid I did not represent very well...

hire this

So, this is what I do on a Wednesday nite.

mitt the mormon

i think paul will especially like this article about his favorite person ever.

ephinanies

sister beck must have been thinking of graco's slogan when she gave this talk. so, i guess graco wants the world to ask mormon women about their products. am i right?

get ready for utah

i know i can't wait. i hope you can't wait too.

ions bonding

so what if i like salt?

theo the dicy

check this out in the new york times. it's an article on how a practicing christian lost his faith because he couldn't answer the question of theodicy. the problem being that god, perfectly good, cannot create something evil or flawed. yet, on the earth, so much suffering and evil occurs. how did he create something so bad? it seems like most people (like 3 out of the 4 people who actually ever look at this) who read this web log probably believe in God. so, how do we reconcile it? how do we deal with the problem of evil? let's hear your thoughts. and no fair using vague quotes, etc. i'd rather we stick to what we believe and try to back it up with scripture, logic, or hard facts from pertinent sources. or we don't have to. we could just get ready for our big trip to chuck-a-rama over christmas time.....

photo fare

i've lately had a thing for very old photographs. i came across this collection of photographs. i think it may have something to do with all of the books i'm reading right now by this guy. maybe not all the books by him, but especially these three. the books are almost perfectly written and coincided nicely with my discovery of these photographs.

there is nothing more american than photographs of the western usa during the 19th century. the photographic processes they used were tedious and required much time of both the photographer and the subject. all involved were serious about preserving memories. the camera, however, was not as commonplace as it is today, and represented something new and advanced. these cameras and processes created more beautiful documents than can any modern-day megapixel or software-advanced photoshop.

i found the above collection of photographs made by george edward anderson, a photographer based out of spanish fork and springville. i found many scanned negatives of my direct ancestors, as you can see below. at christmas time, anyone who is in utah should plan on a trip to the library with me to find the hard copies of these photos. then we can go to the d.i. and shop for cameras. and after that, we can maybe go to chuck-a-rama, another thing that represents the essence of america.


this picture is of my great great grandfather's family. he has a goatee. and he has a wooden leg, but you can't see it here.


this is thomas david and priscilla merriman evans. They are my great great grandparents on my mom's side.


this is my great aunt, maggie evans.


The old guy is david thomas davis, my great great grandpa. he went to wales with thomas david evans (see above) on a mission for the mormons.


This is spanish fork at a 24th of july parade.


this is a house called the peter frandsen house.

my britney barometer

isn't it strange that no matter what company you are keeping, if you bring up britney spears, it will spark at least a 10 minute conversation? i thought that i used to be immune to it. unfortunately, last week someone turned on the tv and i saw her dancing at the mtv music awards, and now i can think of nothing else. seriously, i spend my days obsessed over britney. did you realize that she is just 5 months younger than me? which is totally wild because she is the only female artist in history to have her first four studio albums debut at no. 1 on the charts. and, in 2002, Forbes ranked her as the world's most powerful celebrity. but who needs money and power when you live in a room that measures 8 x 10?

a link

please read this

another mormon thing

saw this on mormon stories. take a look at our official stance on the mountain meadows massacre.

i just finished re-reading Juanita Brooks book on the subject, and I still know little about what actually happened. this new book that is coming out seems interesting. Elder Eyring claims Brigham Young is completely absolved of responsibility with this new research. sister brooks definitely didn't come to such a powerful conclusion, although she claims he probably wasn't to blame. however, she certainly does hold that he was responsible for some kind of cover up.

was there press on the movie september dawn in Utah? nothing much out here. the movie definitely places all the blame on Brigham Young, and almost none on local leaders, something that is not at all supported by the historical documents (at least probably, anyway).

opus no. mormon

remember when i spent an entire year playing 'music' for a certain byu performing group? remember when i sold myself for a year just to get a free trip to china? the experience there, and other places, has led me to ask some questions regarding the state of mormon music, and more broadly, mormon art.

first, what, exactly defines mormon pop music? which part of that style of music makes it fit into that genre? is it even possible to create quality mormon pop? there is plenty of quality popular music in the 'secular' music world. however, i have yet to encounter creative, innovative, original mormon pop music (with one exception being ryan shupe's 'walk the walk'). more often than not, talent, virtuosity, and creativity are traded for trite, cliche, and cookie-cutter formulas that are easy-pleasing and even easy-listening. the mormon popular music genre does nothing to challenge its listeners; it does nothing to truly express--it seems--deep and complex emotions that truly reflect the faith required to stay strong in a complicated, rich religion during a complicated time. what is needed to create quality in mormon pop music?

second, the state of serious music is perhaps in a slightly better state in the mormon art world, but not much. it seems in the church as a whole, mormon pop music is overtaking serious mormon music. exceptions include mack wilberg, barlow bradford, robert cundick, and murray boren. but it also seems that few people in the church as a whole even know mos of those names, except for mack wilberg. his music is good, published by oxford university press, but still has a populist pull and steers clear of serious modern music in its orchestration and arrangement.

why is it that in the mormon world, or even in salt lake city, serious music has yet to really catch on? is it the price? are mormons too cheap? certainly the utah symphony has problems selling out, but everyone flocks to the free concerts given by the orchestra at temple square. are we too cheap? or is it that we simply don't understand music? we don't understand everything that goes in to creating serious, modern music? is the solution a series of educational programs?

even the orchestra from temple square is sufffering from this populist turn. if you ask members of the orchestra at temple square, they will tell you that their work is more of accompiament to the choir than creating serious music. they are dissatisfied with this musically, but support it in the missionary sense of the mormon tabernacle choir.

last, i wonder why serious mormon musicans do not really participate in the mormon music scene. if you are a serious classical or jazz musician, you are most likely not involved in mormon music; rather, you are busy in the wider classical music world trying to make a living. the same goes for pop musicians who are creating original work. see, for example, my brother's favorite musician, brandon flowers. how do we make it possible for these types of people to be a part of the mormon music world, perhaps not exclusively, but at least peripherally.

great expectations, you ever heard of it?

i hope you can name this person.

tiny masters of today

hi. hi. hi.

i don't like to do this (give a report of a concert i attended), but this time i just can't resist. i mean, the yeah yeah yeahs were great and everything when i saw them at webster hall on tuesday. i love them, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. yes, it was great, and yes karen o did scream into the mic while she was pretending to eat it.



but i want to talk about the tiny masters of today. i could write a bunch of stuff and pretend to be witty and cool. i could also pretend i know so much about rock and roll and the ny music scene, but i really don't. so just check out this little band--they aren't the most talented in the world, but they were great and everybody loved them at the show. the kids twelve and the girl is 10. and they are punk rock in its most innocent (is that possible?) and pure form.

teacher training

despite my fervent warnings, it seems lafe has found his calling in life.

modernity

watch this if you dare.

hey. don't worry about it.

a goochoo goochooo goonison

gunnison, utah. in these pictures. enjoy.

in the palm

its just been so long, hasn't it? thats because april is the cruelest month.

engaged, underage, bridezilla

a couple of weeks ago a coworker mentioned the mtv, engaged and underage reality show. she talked of a mormon couple. today i found it on the mormon stories site, and everyone must watch it.

To watch the episode, click here and then click on the “Engaged and Underage: Episode 6" view all.

why don't we just let these kids get married civily and then later that day seal the deal in the temple?

Utah Family Offended at Son´s Absence from Family Blog

Sources confirmed Saturday that a Utah family was incredibly offended at son´s and brother´s refusal to comment on family blog. "It feels like Stephen doesn´t love us anymore," commented the mother. "It´s been an entire week and he hasn`t posted a single thing." Patricia Frandsen, a local homemaker and child rearer, interviewed just after she rechecked the blog, claims that her son´s refusal to post is a slight not only to her, but to the entire family. Frandsen also said, "It´s his passive-aggressive way of telling us he doesn´t like the comments we are leaving. Or is it that he doesn´t like us? Does he like us? Oh...I just wish he would get married."

"Ever since stephen moved to New York he has become aloof, liberal, and above doing anything with his family," commented Libby Frandsen-Jones, Stephen´s sister and frequent commenter on the blog. Tracy Frandsen, the blog´s author, agreed and added, "At first he stopped calling daily, then he stopped coming home for the weekly sunday dinner, and now he stops commenting on the family blog. What`s next? Join the aclu, leave the church and vote for hillary clinton?"

Jonathan, Stephen´s younger brother, who recently started his own blog, added "When i first came home from my mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Stephen was listening to Rage Against the Machine. Now he is 25, unmarried, and he refuses to comment on the family blog."

The family blog, started just over three weeks ago, has attracted a large amount of attention from the Frandsen Family. The blog has taken the virtual place of once-weekly-held ´heritage nights,´ and is a forum where Tracy Frandsen can post his weekly letter, and the rest of the family can comment, correct, or cajole at will.

A success by any standard, the web log fetched 104 comments from its first post. The second week, when the second post only attracted 76 comments, Frandsen complained to his friend, Madison Sowell, that perhaps he should stop posting on his blog, because of waining support from its readership. The Frandsen Family responded fiercely with 79 comments, giving Frandsen capital to spend, eventually resulting in a post, two weeks later, that was written from the point of view of the family dog, an annoying, ugly little mut. The week previous to that, when Stephen Frandsen failed to comment, the blog only received 52 comments.

"I think its pretty obvious that two weeks ago, the small number of comments on the blog was due to Stephen´s neglect," said Paul Frandsen, caught just before mountain biking down a steep and dangerous hill with his daughter strapped to his somach, and his other daughter and son in a trailer behind his $2500 bike. "But I´m not mad or anything. I called him to have him confirm or deny some news that leaked out in the comments. He denied (I knew he would) and he let me know that he hadn´t had time to formulate any comments."

Stephen Frandsen was out of the country and could not be reached to comment; however, it is clear that the declining number of comments warrants some serious soul searching on the part of both the blog´s readership, and its author.

the lamb

so while i was home in utah, i found my old journal. inside i found this picture and this description. now you know i wasn't lying about the lamb.

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.