You've Got Blogger

It appears that I have become completely addicted to blogging. In the absence of a lengthy school and work schedule, I have resorted to blogging to fill the hours once filled with the study of books and the performance of work. With this being stated I am glad that I have filled  my time with blogging where I can actually write somethnig that is of semi worth in comparison to spending countless hours re clicking my name on Facebook in an attempt to hope that the news feed yields something of the slightest amount of worth. I must admit that I blog more than any person that I know.
 As of late I have made it my summer goal to gain as many followers on blogger as I possibly can. Thus I have begun to follow as many bloggers as I can. After all you have to give love to receive love. So far its paid off. Instead of two followers I now have four followers. So what if one of those followers is myself and so what if the other is my room mate who left his computer on and I then clicked the follow button on my blog. A follower is a follower no matter what way it may come.
Among the blog that I have begun to follow are a group of women known as the Anti-Austens, a self titled group of feisty women stuck in Provo committed to proving that all of Jane Austen's novel's are indeed fiction. To their self proclamation regarding Austen's work being fiction I say, of course life is not a Jane Austen novel. There is no possible way that God would allow life to be that boring or painful to read. However, to their blog I say wonderful! a masterpiece! pure brilliance! These women without knowing have managed to capture the attitudes of women that I have never before known. Their blogs are beautiful and reflect the embittered opinions of women who have managed to endure the trials and tribulations of going on dates where their meals are paid for. Regardless of the sarcasm associated with the previous statement, I am in love with all or a great portion of these women.
 After reading these stories I have decided that I am going to try to go on a date with at least one of the Anti-Austen's. What can I say I am a romantic and the setting for this love story is unparalleled by anything Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, or Spike Lee have ever concocted.  Think about it, a blogger disillusioned by years of crappy dates encounters another blogger made cynical and sarcastic by the hundreds of dollars lost on dates that ended in a handshake at the door or a dodge of a kiss, the two fall madly in love. The two read each others blogs. A fight over the couples imperfections then occur and the two go back to the bitter bloggers that they once were. However, after further investigation and the encouragement of either her gay best friend or her matronly and large black best friend (both of which tend to provide the comic relief in these sorts of films), the Anti-Austen realizes that she has made a mistake and proclaims her love for me on the blog which has just been picked up by the New York Times. Thus ruining her chances of becomming a world famous blogger, but restoring the love that she once had with me.
     Thats it. After writing this post I have decided that I am going to contact the Anti-Austins and leave my contact information. All I hope is that the Anti-Austen is hot.

Sincerely

Mr. Darcy

Search for a Story

            In the past few days I have found it increadibly hard to find something that matches the posts that I have previously made. This is tremendously bothersome. It has always been my intention and will continue to always be my intention to deliver the best story possible to those persons (I can now say persons because I have two followers; big ups to my main man Jake Balser and my girl Sarah “old faithful” Holden. I give an extra shout out to “old faithful for allowing me to use her computer but take that second shout out away because she is leaving to California without me.). However, as of late I have not been able to find any experience or story to write about.

            This lack of poetic fodder is not a reflection upon my laziness or indolence. Quite the contrary, whenever I can I do things that I believe will create a good story I go ahead and do them. For instance yesterday my cousin Andy invited me to go play volleyball with a couple of girls and a couple of his friends. Now there is not a single bone in my body that enjoys the game of volleyball and that is especially true when I am surrounded by a group of individuals who are completely uninterested in playing in a serious game of volleyball. However, I knew that a funny little Malaysian man who is prone to committing random acts of stupidity would be there, not to mention the fact that the likelihood of me meeting an immature girl who I could write about was pretty high given the fact that most volleyball courts somehow shrine those types of women. Much to my chagrin when I arrived at the volleyball courts there were no stupid blond girls to see and the Malaysian did not do anything noteworthy the entire night. Perhaps the best thing that I viewed while I was there was the kind smile of Jake Balser.

            My quest for the ideal story took me to Spanish fork this evening. As I have made aware in previous posts I am a rock chip salesman and as a rock chip salesman I am in a prime position to meet people with ill, strange, odd, good, and bad reputations. So I decided that I would find people who could deliver me a good story and the way that I could do that would be to head down to the outskirts of society. When I arrived at Spanish Fork, I noticed two things. First that everyone there was a redneck. Second that these so called rednecks, who usually are known for their adverse and uncouth manners were in fact the most civil individuals I have ever encountered. It is an interesting thing to think about. In places such as Provo, Redlands, and Alpine, which are supposed to have some of societies most civil individuals, I have been treated far worse then in places such as Delaware and Spanish Fork. With that being stated to say that Spanish Fork was normal would be wrong.

            Perhaps the most entertaining story that I had happen to me was I met a man who rivaled kurt cobane in regard to the tidiness of his dress and his personal hygiene. Spanish Fork’s closest thing to the lead singer of Nirvana was dressed with nothing but some cargo pants. Smoke rose from his left hand where a cigarette was positioned between his middle and index finger. The face of the Spanish forkian was unshaven and his skin looked a tad bit worn.

            I struck up a conversation with him and he treated me with the more civility than any active member of the church had. We began to talk about what he did for a living. He was a framer and sat out in the baking sun all day building houses. During the conversation I noticed that there was a metal stud poking out of this man’s right nipple. I took a mental note of what I had seen and then asked if he had any rock chips that I could fix for him. When he responded that he had no rock chips our conversation quickly began to draw to a close. I slowly began to walk away from the man when I asked “hey man did that nipple piercing hurt?” He looked at me and then calmly stated, “not as much as another piercing I got.” I scanned his body to see if what piercing he was talking about. When I realized that there was no visible tattoo on his body I put two and two together. I then said, “oh how was that one?” He then stated that it hurt but not in the way that you would imagine. It hurts the day after. 

Well I guess that that was a pretty good story. So there you have it. That has been my week thus far. 

I Feel Great

As I was skating through Los Angeles a thought came to me. The thought was simple but profound. I came to the realization that I like myself. Furthermore I came to the realization that I needed to rid myself of all negative thoughts coming through my head. The thoughts of doubt and dispair that I have felt for my entire life have evaded from me in the past three days. Whenever there is a thought that comes into my head regarding me and what I have failed at I immediately escape from its grasp. I think of that which I am good at. I have decided to lose all thought of competition between myself and others. All that I am doing is just comparing myself with myself. It is a wonderful experience.

fallible perfection.

 I went to Los Angeles with my friend Ian and his hardcore band on Friday. It was an awesome experience. The morning began with a discussion between Ian and I regarding Western Europe and North America's obsession with being on time. We talked about how absurd that it was to get angry over someone being a couple of minutes late to work. However, after we were waiting for, Will (the drummer of the band) for two hours we began to respect the importance of punctual.
 Following the delay we went straight to the recording studio, which was located in the heart of East LA. It was just south of the latin kings stomping ground. Just west of where the crips hung out, and in the heart of the Ghetto. This first picture is of the dirty syringe that I found when I entered the bathroom. If my blog had a scratch and sniff app I would put a scratch and sniff sticker that smelt like dirty cheap kush (marijuana).

  After about five minutes of listening to my friends hardcore band I decided that I would risk my life by skate boarding down the streets of East LA. I saw the sights of east LA which consist of graffiti, abandoned warehouses and Homeboy Productions (a bread factory  run by former gang members). Pain and misery are the only things to see in East LA

My skateboard journey's then took me to China town. As a child I thought that this place was really cool. I now know that as a child I spake like a child I acted like a child and I was indeed a child. The place is teeming with angry Asian women, old Vietnam vets, and the pungent smell of peeking duck which permiates throughout the city blocks. In reflection Chinatown is still pretty cool, but I just remember it being so much bigger and better then it really is.

 Within twenty minutes of Chinatown I grew tired of the countless number of shops selling tiny overpriced bamboo gardens, fake bonsai tree's, and the Chinese versions of pinata's so I made my way deeper into the heart of downtown LA. I skated past the Disney music bowl, through the diamond district and onto the garment district where I ran into a used bookstore. The bookstore was filled with the typical people you would find at a bookstore, a couple of old ladies, droves of hipsters, and a couple of young latina girls whose bodies were uncovered and littered with tattoo's and piercings.   

 All in all I loved skating around LA. As cynical and sarcastic I may be regarding the people of Los Angeles, I love them. I could not have imagined a better day as this. I love seeing the fallible individuals of the world. I love viewing them as they are. I believe that they are the truest people. They do not hide under the thin disguise of perfection. These people realize who they are and what their follies may be. It is difficult for me to describe my admiration for them. It is confusing. I respect and love them and as a result I consider them to be perfect because they are perfectly content with their imperfections.

Super 8

I just finished watching the new hit movie Super 8. It is a story of a group of teenagers in 1979 who happen to witness a government conspiracy regarding the existence of an Alien. However, the commercials don't show that. The commercials show nothing about the movie. No one who watches the commercial would ever be able to decipher the meaning of the movie. It could have been about fairies for all I know. Anyway there is no real need to see the movie. If you have ever watched ET, the Sandlot, and any of the Alien movies try and combine them all and then you can imagine what Super 8 is like.
The year of 2011 is just an off year for movies. Summer blockbusters are really busting no blocks. There is no need whatsoever to watch any of these films. I saw Thor and have now watched Super 8 and I don't think I will watch another movie in the theaters this summer.

The Team that Saved Basketball

I have had the chance to witness the greatest event in the past five years. Today marks the brave stand of truth and righteousness. Today marks the death of a band of people far more devious than Darth Vader and Lord Sidious themselves. The Dallas Marverick's have successfully defeated the Miami Heat. I hate the Mavericks, but because they have beat the Heat I will respect them until the day that I die. It is true that having the Mavericks beat the Heat is like having Joseph Stallin help beat Adolf Hitler, but I am still indebted to those communists and that dirty German Dirk Novinski. May he never win another title as long as he lives.

Romney and the Salt of the Earth

Greetings from Centennial apartments, "home of Romney, Jesse Owen, and the salt of the earth." I sit here in an aged comfortable apartment with all of the commodities that were avaliable during the turn of the century. We are equipped with running water, electricity, and a few other conviences that were probably not readily available during the time of my great great Grandfather Gaskell Romney's childhood.
  I suppose I am stretching the truth a little bit when I am stating that the centenniel apartments are a dive. In fact I would venture to state that they are the most technologically advanced housing apartments that I have lived in since arriving in Provo, Utah. Although that is not saying much either.
The thing that I do not understand really is the fact that I am living in a place that should draw a popular crowd. Centennial apartments has a nice pool, a large and spacious courtyard, and a nice barbeque. The management is pretty nice and while the apartments tend to be a bit antiquated they are still able to be inhabited. These apartments are every bit as good as its neighbor King Henry. However the crowd that Centennial draws is a far different crowd than that of King Henry.
 In all candidness and truth the people who Jesse and I are living with are the eccentric and quirky.  They epitomize the stereotype of being a mormon. They are strange, odd, and geeky. I love them, but when I am presented as the wild one of the ward there is something wrong with my ward.
  By now you might be inquisitive as to why there is a picture of what you think to be women and a couple of men from bathing at the beach in the nineteen twenties. Well the truth of the matter is this. The picture was not taken July 4 1919; rather it was snapped earlier today at Kiwanas park in Provo Utah. What you believe to be flapper girls from the roaring twenties are actually in fact the members of the relief society in the BYU 247th young single adult ward.
 When I was informed that we would be having outdoor water games I decided that I would dress for the occasion. I decided that I would go to kiwanis park with nothing but a swimsuit and flip flops. I stepped outside my house and made my way to the courtyard where we as a ward were meeting for the extravaganza. Slowly I walked toward the congregation of my fellow ward brethren and sisters. As I did so I noticed the odd stares of nearly everybody in that congregation. All faces were turned directly to me. Jaws had dropped and there was an odd silence occasionally interrupted by a whisper. It made me feel remarkably weird to put it gently. It was as though a scarlet letter had been pinned to my chest.
Following a few moments of their eyes gazing toward me the silence broke and we began to walk toward the park. However, I could not help but feel as though I was being labled as a heathen.
My feeling of heresy was only amplified when I met my date (because all ward activities are a ward date night).Within moments of our meeting one another and the casual questions of who are you? what are you doing? and what is your major? My date looked and me and stated, "you know the only time my mom ever let my brothers go without a shirt was when they were swimming in a pool. Otherwise she considered that it was an act of immodesty. I would have to state that I feel the same way." The conversation ended quite immediately and the heathen was cast out to the outer realms of the group.
 I am not joking about the extreme modesty that was portrayed during this activity. It was almost shocking and alarming to view. When the time came for the slip in slide most of the ward members went in a T shirt and jeans. One girl was brave enough to take off the T shirt and jeans and go in her swim suit, which I kid you not was a bonafide swimsuit found in the roaring twenties. I swear to you it was about ankle length. That women could have worn that bathing suit in the middle of Saudi Arabia and no one would state anything about the need to be more modest. Well that is all that I have for today.
until next time
May you be modest in thought, words, and actions.    

The St Luis Cardinals of Orem, Ut

I have been coaching a youth baseball team in Orem for the past little while. I have enjoyed it tremendously. The team is filled with untalented and uncoordinated children who couldn't play the game of baseball if their life depended on it. Some of my favorite players include Richard, Hugo, and Ben. Richard is thirteen years of age and about the oddest kid you will ever meet. Last game he came to the baseball game without a hat. He said that he wasn't sure if he needed it. I don't know if there has ever been a more redicolous statement that I have heard in my life. When has a baseball player ever not worn a hat.
  At another point in time Richard told my cousin Andy that he was not going to make it to the game. After Andy asked why he wasn't going to go to the game he responded that he had a ball room dance competition to attend. Later Andy told me that it took all his heart might mind and strength to avoid laughing straight in Richards face. I thought that maybe next game Richard should wear a fedora rather than a normal baseball cap. 
 The best part about Richard is that he hits a baseball like he is chopping wood. When Richard swings he lifts the ball directly behind his head and then swings the bat straight down with all of his force. It is perhaps the most unorthodox swing ever to be concocted by the human mind. Indeed Richard is a cross between a mentally handicapped child, Fred Astaire, and Paul Bonyun.  
  Then there is Hugo. Hugo is a thirteen year old foster child from California. His brothers are both heavily involved with Northern California gangs and are at the present moment incarcerated. However, Hugo is like the nicest kid in the world. Although he is a bit strange. Infact he reminds me of a young me. During games some of Hugo's favorite pastimes are to sit in the grass in right field, pick daises, and occasionally tackle the nearest player. My favorite past times as a baseball player were the same thing. The fact of the matter is that Hugo isn't good and probably never will be but he is out there trying and I love it.

Lacking the essentials

I have finally decided that I am going to move away from Provo until the fall. I am tired of the situation that I find myself in. It is more than possible to grow tired of a place and I believe that for all intensive purposes I am indeed provo'd out. I believe that I have outstayed my welcome at the universtiy that Brigham built. Besides everyone who is single is gone anyway. Goodnight and good luck Provo, Utah.

Stay Dry

Well it appears that the life of a door to door salesman is far more difficult than was originally anticipated. The first day gave me false hope as to how profitable I may be. I have worked for five hours in the past two days and haven't made a sale yet. It is very frustrating (although I must admit that this cold streak is far worse than I have ever experienced). I think that my lack of success can be contributed to the fact that for at least half of the time I have been knocking areas that the day previous have already been knocked by Rock chip salesman.
  Lack of success seems to bitter a person towards the fellow man or woman who is rejecting him at the door. I have experienced much rejection in the two years of being a missionary as well as the months of being a sales person. Rejection comes from all people of all sizes shapes and races. There are some rejections that hurt worse than others. Getting yelled at hurts far worse than a simple no thank you I am not interested. However, with all the forms of rejection that I have experienced in my life there is one way of rejection that is more angering than any other form. It is not the person yelling at you for being on their doorstep or the quick slam of the door. It is not the sound of a gun. Rather it is the simple careless phrase pouring out of the mouths of indifferent and indecent people. It is a phrase such as "Good Luck." 
   Out of all the assanine and despicable remarks that could be made this is the worst. "I'm not interested in buying your product...but Good luck." how dare you attempt to present yourself as a caring benevolent individual. How dare you actually try to pass off as though you are my friend. I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as luck. If there were such a thing as luck and if it could be effected by people wishing you to have luck, then with all of the people who have wished me the best of luck in finding someone with a rock chip, there would have been one person who would have presented themselves by now.
The only thing worse than good luck is strictly a response presented to missionaries. It is by far the most despicable and down right apathetic response available. It only presents itself in weathers of extremity. The phrase was forged by Lucifer in the very depths of hell. It is disgusting. It is wrong. and it is frustrating. Whenever it rains, or whenever it snows, or whenever it is hot, the minions of Satan whisper this saying straight in the ear of an uncaring person. In times of heat it is "No i'm not interested thanks though... Stay Cool." in times of Snow it is "No Im not interested thanks though... stay warm." and the worst of all in times of downpour it is "stay dry."
Stay Dry. Stay Dry? May your soul, if you have one, be banished to the fiery inferno's of the netherworld. You indecent human being. How dare you. Have you not an ounce of the milk of human kindness within your blackened soul. I ask to come in to avoid, for just a moment, the severity of the extreme and unkind weather and all you banish me. You place me in tyhe cold rainy storm and tell me to stay dry. Your sick. Your the type of person that would turn Anne Frank and her family to the SS and then as they are being taken away handcuffed being poked by bayonets and assuredly marching to their death you would tell them, "stay alive." The antithesis of love is not hatred. Nor is the antithesis of love apathy. No the Antithesis of love and all things virtuous lovely or of good report is you Mr. or Ms. person telling me to stay dry.  May a swarm of genetically altered wasps known as tracker jackers come and sting you to death. May their venom induce aweful delusions of those you love being malled by spiders. May you suffer an ignaminous and unkind end and as you do so I will look at you and tell you to "stay alive."
well I feel much better after this post. Good luck to everyone and try and stay dry.    

The Pep Talk

Well my first day of sales was a success. It took me about three hours to make my first sale of the summer. I had knocked on about a hundred doors. After about the hundred and first door I struck up a conversation with a guy on the street and started to just ask him about his life. His name was Eric and he seemed to be quite the interesting guy. He was born in Idaho and grew up in Bear lake, which is a resort town by summer and frozen hell hole by winter. after Speaking about his hometown of Bear Lake, he told me that he had a rock chip that he needed fixing. I started to fix it for him and then suddenly my repair drill slipped causing a small dent to appear through his glass. He was not happy and I ended up doing the job for free. That's the last time I ever try and sell to a guy from Bear Lake. Not because I think all people from Bear Lake are rude but because I probably will never meet another guy from the town of bear lake again.
Following that disappointment I was pretty much down. I returned to my apartment and sat in it for about twenty minutes trying to figure out how I was going to feel productive this entire summer. Suddenly I heard a ring from my cell phone and noticed that it was my little brother calling. With nothing more than a  melancholy tone in my voice I answered the phone. Bradford then informed me that he got a 4.0 this semester at RCC (way to go on that B-rad). After his informing upon his successes he asked me what was wrong. I then told my dear brother of the problems that I was having and how frustrated I was. My brother then gave me a pep talk. I don't think that there is anything more humiliating than your little brother telling you that your not a failure. The very fact that he is four years my younger and is giving me advice about my life is just about the most embarrassing thing in the world. Following this discussion I got up and went out and made forty dollars. I thank brad in part for his compelling advice to me (which it actually was) and in part of his embarrassing me to the fullest extent possible.

The Life of a Salesman

After being rejected from countless numbers of jobs and job positions I have come to the conclusion that I am going to go ahead and do Rock Chip repair once again. I feel as though I have been confined to the life of a salesman. I feel as though these are the only jobs that I can get. I dont like knocking doors but I will do it. In fact I am going to get excited about it. It is my goal to start making money and start making it fast.

The Various Kinds of People of the World

Throughout the past years I have come to the conclusion that people are usually cut out of the same cloth. I have concluded that stereotypes are for the most part are indeed true. Thus, I feel as though indivduals can easily be labled.
For the most part I do not think that this is a bad thing. I am able to label people and most of the time those labels allow me to enjoy the company of others and it allows me to brace myself for what is coming. This evening and weekend I have decided that there are some cloths that I mesh well with and there are others who do not go well with the cloth of Romulus Jones.
I have decided that the cloth that I mesh the least well with are Rock climbers. Climbers usually are directly above field rodent and directly below four legged reptile in what I enjoy to spend my time with. I do not enjoy their pagan devotions and their various terms of ways to begin rock climbing. It is mind numbing. I feel as though I am on the outside of an inside joke. I feel as though there speakings of and devotions to mother nature border that of the galic tribes who craeted stonehenge and the tribes of the Amazonians. They disgust me in many ways.
On the flip side after spending the weekend in sacramento califrnia going to my friend Matt Ott's wedding I have come to the conclusion that I quite enjoy the company of pill pooping exactsy tripping techno heads. For the entire weekend Nate Moorhead and I were accompanied by two of matts old friends who were once big into the rave scene. Despite all of their foibles probably caused by previous spouts of drug use, I enjoy how relaxed and fun loving they are.
This weekend was fantastic. I loved it so much. I enjoy being away from Provo Utah. It is healing unto my soul.