Twlight Concert Series Take 2

 

 I went to my second concert in the park of the summer. It was a good performance. However, I'd be a damned liar if I said it was anywhere close to the epic night of the first concert in the park. Edward Sharpe and the magnetic zero's were the main act of last night...

I didn't like them.

I assume that by making the previous statement I will enrage any hipster who reads this blog post. Do not be alarmed if you find my corpse dead covered in bike tred from a pack of fixed gear bicycles. However, I am an honest man and despite the admiration that many people have for Mr. Sharpe and his magnetic zero's, I like George Washington cannot tell a lie. They were disappointing.
 The thing that bothered me was that the band looked like a group of vagrants who somehow managed to escape their government sanctioned home at the Sunday Breakfast mission. I mean just look at the guy. Its quite possible that he sleeps on a bed of putrid strawberries, rotten apple core's, cardboard, and rusted Hormel chili cans. I have no doubt that Ed (whose real name is Alex) was conceived in the dumpster behind McDonalds. His father may quite literally be a common street rat. Not the way in which Jaffer uses to describe Alladin but I mean an actual rat who potentially carries with him the bubonic plague.   I doubt the man has ever showered. To be so brazen as to state that he knows what a toothbrush is, I am not.
 After old Ed told us about the vision he had expereinced as a teenager when his father took him to a reservation in New Mexico, I didn't care how folky his music sounded.

I ask you now. Which one of these pictures is Edward Sharpe (Alex) and which one is a picture that I got off the internet when I typed the word homeless man

In the words of the infamous Mr. Owel "the world may never know."

Vern Romney BAMF

Yesterday I was asked by my mother and Uncle Ricky to pick up my grandpa who has just had surgery and take him to his hearing aid appointment. Begrudgingly I agreed to do so. I had things to do and people to see but I suppose that these things were not as important as taking your eighty seven year old grandpa to his doctors appointment. However, that did not soften the fact that my day would be spent accompanying old iron sides whilst he traveled throughout the greater Utah and salt Lake County's (not to mention I would have to take him to the school of the devil. Also known as the university of Utah). I decided to do it for one reason. I respect my grandfather. I respect the person he is, and the person he has been. He was the attorney general of Utah, a bishop in the LDS church, a patriarch, and most pertinent to me in my life a great father to my mother. For that I suppose I owed his old bones ( I use that term not in a pejorative manner but rather in a fond and jovial tone) a trip or two to the doctors.
I arrived at his him and much to my dissatisfaction I noticed every door in the house to be locked. I then remembered that my uncle spent the night last night and he like myself has a tendency to imagine the worst of all possible situations happening and as a result he prepares for such. There was no way of getting into the house so I had to call up Vern Romney and request that he open the door. It took Grandpa Vern about five minutes to walk down the stairs and open the door up for me. When he arrived I saw that he was wearing a blue shirt. It was a nice collard polo. I then entered the room went to shake my grandfathers hand and noticed that the man was wearing no pants whatsoever. There his lower body stood nude and completely unashamed. He himself was unashamed of his grandson seeing him naked.
This was not the first time that I had seen a person wear a t shirt without pants. Nor was this the first time I had seen my grandfather do something rash like this.  On my mission a four hundred pound black woman investigating the LDS faith by the name of ranisha drove up, honked her horn, and beckoned that I come to talk to her. When I went up to her car window and asked if we could visit her for a bible study sometime I noticed that she was wearing absolutely no pants nor underwear whatsoever. I went blind for a couple of days. However, I was once blind but now I see.
Three days after returning home from my mission I went with my aforementioned uncle and grandfather to the BYU SDSU basketball game. While driving home Grandpa requested that we stop. We concurred and went to the nearest gas station so that we could refill on gas and relieve our dear grandpa. We arrived at the gas station and found that we needed a key to go to the bathroom. I went to go find the key and when I came back with my key my grandpa had already finished his business.
I think I have figured out why grandpa does these things. For a long time I didn't know, but now I do. What am I going to say to him? What is anyone going to say? "Grandpa you need to put on pants." and then grandpa would say, "you need to shut your mouth and realize that I reared your mother the best women you ever have known." or I could state "grandpa you need to use wait until we get to the restroom." then he would state, "you need to wait until you have gone through the invasion of Okinawa, raised seven children, and been a bishop and patriarch before telling me what to do." What can I say? honestly this guy has done more with his life then I ever will. All I can do is allow him to live the few years of his life without the burden of pants or bathrooms.  

Monday's at the choclate

Greetings from Provo Utah. Where the most common end to an introduction you will here is the relationship of another status. There is no place in the world like Provo. At least I hope that there is no place in the world like Provo. The frustration that is intrinsic to a life of celibacy drives even the most sane of people to madness. The thought of shedding the monk like vow of chastity we take on ourselves is almost maddening. one would believe that a religiously driven society that teaches abstinence before marriage would be less inclined to an obsession with the opposite sex, yet as Provo proves it is the exact opposite.
Indeed I myself am a victim to this rampant and consistent obsession with the opposite sex. Dating seems to rule the rest of ones life. It seems to outweigh, school, friends, and even Facebook. In nearly every facet of society people talk about the progression of ones dating life. It sickens me.
Almost paradoxically the only time that one can evade the constant barrage of questions regarding the opposite sex is when one finds himself on a date. Thus dating becomes an outlet to avoid the very topic that he is currently doing, which is dating. It is an addicting experience and it is easy for that to be that way. It feels good for an individual to agree to go on a date with you. It feels splendid to recieve affirmation from individuals. However, as of recent times I have become completely dependent upon the opinions of those who I date. My self affirmation is thus destroyed and in its stead is the affirmation of the women you date, which is never as satisfactory as those words which you sincerely give yourself. This is a very complex blog.
I have come to praise those who do not search for such an outlet. My friend Ian is a prime example. He has not gone on a date in an extended period of time. this is not out of an inability to date but rather it is out of an inability to find any substantial and worthwhile girl in Redlands, which for those of us who  have lived in Redlands understand how difficult it is to find someone of the opposite sex who is worthwhile. despite of the proverbial desert that Ian finds himself in he is managing to do things of far more value than I myself am doing at the present moment. He is coaching a swim team. He is reading books of philosophy. He has started a successful band. Indeed he is grooming himself to be a renaissance man. In contrast to that I am grooming myself to only be a groom. After this I will not understand what I need to do.
I see a psychologist every once in a while. We had a discussion about exactly this. She told me that I needed to expand my life. I agreed. Thus for the past month that is what I have been doing. I have been focusing on dating myself. It has been a great experience. I will tell you that. there is nothing more enjoyable than coming to the realization that you like youself.
For instance I have recently heard rumors about one date from my past that went ari. It was a hard pill for me to swallow. I thought the date went well and I thought that I treated my date with civility and curtasy but I guess that I was sorely mistaken. The girl reported that I was a jerk and a completely conceeded individual. While I am quite certain that this is simply sour grapes from not being asked out on a second date, the words cast by this individual are as sharp as ever. I have a profound amount of respect for her and who she is and to here that her feelings towards me are not mutual is something that really hurts. It was at this moment that I needed to step back and ask myself. Will I allow myself to be torn down by the opinion of someone else or will I decide to step back and examine the situation myself. I have tried to do the latter and I believe that it is working. No man can be completely certain however.
  I had a conversation with my friend from the Choclate regarding this very issue. She is currently going through the same experience that I am but in a far more intense situation. She is the victim of a bitter divorce and is experiencing the feelings that would be associated with going through a divorce. When such a thing transpires it is easy to feel worthless. It is simple to cave in and come to the conclusion that what is stated about you from others is valid. However, this woman is a complete inspiration to me. She remains steadfast. She is learning how to step outside her natural self. It is wonderful and splendid to see. I am very proud of her and will attempt to emulate the things that she does.
Well that is my little soapbox for the day. Goodnight. 

The Sad Story of Someone

Dear Family,

                Greetings from Provo Utah, “Home of the largest Glenn Beck fan club in America.” I think in twenty to forty years Mr. Beck and his followers might break of and form their own church. I could see it sweeping like an epidemic. I see people making their pilgramidges to Provo Utah where Glenn Beck was instructed by the Angel Ronald Reagan to form his own religion. I suppose the Beckonians would call it the Dome of the Reagan.  I could then see a religious outbreak occurring in the nearby city of Salt Lake between the Mormons and Beckonians. Both would make claims to being the rightful heirs to the city due to the fact that it was where Glenn Beck wrote his first memoirs that later would  become scripture. I can see this all occurring.

                Forgive me for my blatnt sarcasm. I suppose I have been associating with the cynics of Provo, Utah for too long now. I suppose that I am becoming one. It is within my nature to be a cynic, but it is not within my spirit to do so. I despise the fact that I now look at individuals and dwell upon their faults.  Not so long ago I completely rid myself of such childish and egocentric things. It has no place in my life. There is no value to my cynicism. While I am talented at tearing others down I am better at building people up. I am seeking to be better and I hope that I might be able to do so. I will do better.

                Today my attention is to be drawn towards a certain inidiudal and friend who I have known for a while. I had a recent experience with her that I would like to share with you. When I was nineteen years of age I met a young, talented, increadibly bright, African American women by the name of Francis Lars.  For sometime my relationship with her could only be deemed as a Sunday aquintance. Occassionally I would say hello to Ms. Lars and she would respond back in an equally respectable but trivial way. Eventually, however, the two of us were invited to go on a day trip to Los Angeles with our mutual friend David Smith. As I have stated in previous letters, that trip saved my life. I was in a depressing time in my life without many friends and it was at that point that I realized that I could have fun in my life. Needless to say Francis was a large contributor to the fact of me once again obtaining happiness I will forever be indebted to her for that.

                From that point on Francis and I began to have a close friendship strengthened by the fact that we were both individuals who enjoyed a good conversation. As time progressed I began to enjoy Francis’ friendship more and more. She was smart, talented, witty, and funny. However, as time progressed I also viewed some of Francis’ less appealing attributes. While she was all of those things the girl was also a hot mess. Here this women was with all of the talent in the world and she was working a dead end job. I believed and still believe that she was the worlds most intelligent receptionist. She had all the brilliance in the world but for some strange reason she was not in school.

                Eventually time progressed and so to did the lives of myself and Francis I was preparing to serve a mission and she was headed off to Boston to do some humanitarian aid project or another noble interesting thing like that. She was always doing interesting things.

Francis left and we stayed in contact until I headed out to Philadelphia for my mission. As time progressed I lost contact with her, but I always wondered how she was doing. After coming home from my mission and speaking with her I was excited to see that she wrote me on facebook. We met up once while I was in Provo and talked for a little while only to say goodbye. Yet I am now up here and now have been wondering for a while how Ms. Lars has been doing. I missed her and our friendship. I missed her joy for life and joy for the gospel. 

Yesterday I texted Francis to see what she was up to. Surprisingly Francis responded to my text and we planned to meet up. It was about ten oclock when I reached her house. I was excited to see my old friend.  We exchanged our hugs and greetings and began to talk. Within a few minutes of our conversation Francis headed over to the countertop and asked if I would like a drink. I replied in the affirmative and she then asked if I would like coke. I felt as though I was living on the edge and responded that I would like to drink a little bit of liquid sin. She poured me a glass of coke and I began to drink. I then looked over to her who was wrestling through the cupburds frantically looking for something. I did not know or understand what she was looking for but I was in no hurry and would wait for her. I finally asked if I could help find what she was looking for and a split second later she replied, “o there it is.” She pulled out a glass bottle filled with a liquid that was yellowish hue. Now prior to my mission I would have believed that this bottle was simply some fancy grape juice not much different to that which my father had had in his study, but the fact was that I had gone on a mission. I was proud of that fact and my ignorance had been swept away by the countless numbers of bottles containing a liquid with a yellowish hue (although I may say that Francis' bottle did not have a King Cobra on it and it was a tad bit more fancy than those who I knew previously). Nonetheless, my heart sunk with despair. The following moments were akward at best. It is impossible to describe unless one has had such an experience themselves. However, I was at Francis' house and she lived by her rules and I did not want to boss her around. I think one of the most akward things that a mormon can experience in life is seeing another person who you thought was still a good mormon pour a glass of alcohol. You attempt to remain cool and open minded. You try maintain eye contact with them and not look down at their bottle, but the shock is just too much. It is impossible not to do so. Both you and the Mormon drinking the alcohol  know that things are akward but still you do your best to ignore the fact that it is akward.

The result of such a shock is not damning to a conversation, however, it simply impedes for a small time its progression. Eventually the two of us overcame the awkwardness of the conversation. We began  to talk about the present and our futures. I found that Francis was not only attending school but progressing very well. She is now one of the top ranked undergrad writers in regard to the field of African American inequality or something along those lines. It was exciting to here that. She has even published a couple papers. With further questions I found that my dear friend will be headed to Harvard, Princeton, or Columbia in the coming year to study law. I was thrilled that she could be living out her dream and using her talents. It appeared that all was going right for Ms. Francis and I was indeed happy for her.

The conversation continued to evolve and became even more interesting. Francis asked if I would like to go outside with her as she smoked a cigarette. For some reason I replied with a yes. As she began to light up her Camel Crushes (a menthol tobacco hybrid which proves the fact that she is half black as well as half white) the conversation began to change. I asked how she was doing. I thought I that I had done that previously but I asked how she was feeling about life. Her demeanor began to change quite rapidly. While everything appeared to be going right for this women things were indeed wrong. I asked about her standing in the church and how she felt about it. She responded with a tragic story. Ever since she has been back in Provo she has felt a social pressure that has led her to believe that racism and bigotry against her is strong. She has felt as though the competitive life of Mormonism has been to great of a burden for her to handle. She feels judged and so she has left the church. A darkness came about my friend. A depression came about her. She was completely estranged from the church.  With a few further questions I found that not only was she estranged from the church but she was completely sad and alone.  Eventually our conversation ended and I left the house. As the day has passed I have reflected time and time again on the what has happened to my friend. Here is a women who is beautiful, talented, and successful. Here is a women who is achieving whatever dream she has had. Here is a women whose future on the surface appears to be bright, but she is alone. She is bitter. She holds hate in her heart. She resents a society who she has assumed has judged her based upon her beauty. She has allowed the trials that are intrinsic with everyday existence to become unsurmountable problems that she will never be able to over come. Currently she is depressed. Currently she is downtrodden. Currently she is a tragedy.

Family I am so grateful for the gospel and the power it has brought into my life. I am thankful for the knowledge that Jesus is the Savior. I am grateful for the hope and happiness that it has brought into my life.  I thank God everyday for that. I am so thankful for you. I am so grateful for the things I have been taught and for what I am and have been experiencing. Allow me to shed the wretched cloak of cynicism and glory in the successes of my fellow man. Allow me to be happy and joyuss about the future instead of miserable about my present circumstances. I thank you all and hope that you have enjoyed this letter.

Yours always

Romney Evans.

I hate the movie tangled

That is all.

The Island

 Greetings from Coronado California, "where the island is small, the people are rich, and there are less black people then Provo Utah." In the words of Lebron James I have decided to take my talents to Coronado California for the fourth of July. However, Lebron James would never state that because I don't think that they allow black people on that island. Its really the whitest place Ive ever been. It is also the most elitist place that I have ever stayed at. We were at the fourth of July parade and I am not even kidding there was a float that was sponsored and built by the border patrol. It won first place and for no good reason. I have never seen a group of people cheer so loud for the oppression of another group of people. I could see these people worshiping Glenn Beck.
  It would be around this time that I would post a grip of pictures on my blogging wall so you could enjoy the memories that you never really experienced. However, I was with a group of people who did not take pictures and as a result I did not take pictures. Occasionally one will find that the taking of pictures distracts from the experience itself. One can become so consumed with capturing the memory that the memory simply escapes them. Its kind of along the same line as the mother who plans her families trip out so much that she kills all spontaneity, thus extinguishing the potential fun of all people involved (I am an eye witness to this travesty. So much so that by the time I hit high school I refused to go on any family trips and I swear to you if I ever visit another church history sight as long as I live my head will explode).
  However, I have diverged from the topic at hand. It has been really nice on this island and I do love it.

Romney Evans Bowling Lane Technician.

 Well after three months of the daily search I have finally found a job. If there is one thing that I have learned from this entire thing it is the fact that no matter how hard you try, no matter how good your accolades are, how talented, good looking, smart, and poetic you may be a snowball has a much greater chance surviving the fiery inferno's of the great beyond then you have getting a job without knowing anyone. I have finally found a job. A couple of weeks ago I contacted my friend David Lake to see if he has any job openings whatsoever. He responded with a no but told me to send a resume to him so he could notify me if anything opened up. I didn't do it but it was a good suggestion.

 Two weeks ago Dave sent me a text saying if I wanted a job I better send that resume in. I responded that I did indeed want the job and then immediately went to work on the resume. At about the halfway point I texted David and asked what the job that I was applying for was. He then told me a bowling lane technician. Now, if there was ever a job title that would suit me less I wouldn't know. There is not a technical bone in my body. There never has been. There never will be. That is a fact. It is a fact that has existed from the beginning of Romney and will continue to exist well after I am buried and my flesh has been eaten by maggots and worms alike. So the thought of a technician is ridiculous in almost anyway one could imagine. Bowling lane technician is by no means an exception to this rule. However, I decided to finish my cover letter and resume and just hope that David doesn't know me to well--- on a side note I somehow managed to relate every possible job that I have ever had to being a bowling lane technician and let me tell you that is a difficult feat when the only jobs you have ever had are pushing products to customers or pushing children into swimming pools---. The good thing was that David didn't know me to well and that was that. I later received a call from Peter (the head student of BYU bowling and the identical twin of james franco) asking me if I could come into the bowling alley for an interview. 

I entered the interview five minutes late. We had a informal chit chat and I was introduced to the old man who was the head lane technician. I noticed that he had more hair on the top of his head than I did on mine. The rest of the interview I spent gazing the top of this mans head wishing that I could have that much hair. I am tired of writing so I am just gonna finish this post. I got the job. I have no idea how I did and the fact that I did is a testament to knowing people.