Halloween Musings...

Halloween.

I am torn between thinking that the holiday is great and despising this time of year as a time when people have a ready-made-excuse to be something they know they're not. Do you really enjoy being something you're not? Do you really want to change and be so different?

I guess on one hand, it could be something very good and be a stepping-stool to a knew life and even a sort of spiritual rebirth of sorts. Then again, I don't think I've ever seen too many "saint" costumes or little Noah or Moseses running around town knocking on doors.

Maybe I've just given myself a great "righteous costume" and make two big styrofoam tablets and run around as a prophet. But even saying that, I wonder if that isn't getting sacreligous bordering on blasphemy... I just don't know how I feel about it.

What I am saying is that: even all those good moms that think they're going to side-step the whole issue of "evil" and have their kids dress-up as mystical or fantastical figures, aren't they indulging in the same exact thing, but kidding themselves into thinking that they're not? I mean, isn't even dressing up as the "best" costume the same as dressing up as an evil thing? I guess not, but at the best, I think you are only choosing to dress up as the lesser-of-two-evils, which is still choosing "evil".

Just stay home, I say, and play games as a family and tell stories (not of the devil or ghosts or witches or goblins though...), and, oh yes, eat all sorts of candy. It doesn't have to be Halloween candy, but is just the anyday candy that you could buy any time of year (regardles of what is on the candy or what it's oftentimes used for--it's just innocent sugar!).

In fact, play How to host a Murder--as you would play "Clue" or chess (you even "kill" knights and rooks in chess, but that's just part of the game). Man, don't go overboard and condemn everything as being evil... Just have fun and enjoy October 31 regardless of the pagan-evil-doings going on around you.

JPS

Whiteshoe Inventionish Column

Lofty and Low Volume XVI: The Programmers Edition

Lofty
1. For loops
2. <STDIN>
3. Command Line
4. Grep
5. Main ()
6. Scalar data
7. Object destruction
8. Class
9. Fork
10. End;

Low
1. Hashes
2. Printf
3. #require
4. Nested data structures
5. Backquotes
6. -x files
7. Globbing
8. Zombie processes
9. Whitespace
10. Out.close();

Volume XVII: The AOL Instant Messenger Abbreviations and Acronyms Edition

Lofty
1. brb
2. btw
3. IMNSHO
4. y
5. np
6. u (frequently used with r)
7. rotflol
8. hehehe
9. ttfn
10. k

Low
1. gtg
2. wtf
3. IMHO
4. n
5. thx
6. r (frequently used with u)
7. rotfl
8. lol
9. wb
10. asl

Volume XXI: The 1980s Innovations Edition

Lofty
1. Jelly shoes
2. Atari 2600
3. Trapper-Keepers
4. Compact discs
5. Transformers
6. The Brat Pack
7. Parachute pants
8. Usenet
9. Mohawks
10. Underoos


Low
1. Friendship bracelets
2. Boy bands
3. Rap
4. Pegged pants
5. Voodoo economics
6. Air Jordans
7. Commodor 64
8. 1-900 #s
9. Individually wrapped cheese slices
10. WWF

Musings of Phil, a JAVA Programmer Who Spends Altogether Too Much Time Thinking to Himself in Computer Code

phil = programmerComputer;
phil.begin(thinking);
Coke.pick-up;
Coke.begin(drinking);
phil.swallowCoke;
phil.belch(quietly);
new phil = happy phil
happy phil = not thirsty phil
phil.begin(typing);
if bossLooking
then phil.begin(programming);
or
if bossNotLooking
then phil.begin(gameComputer);
new phil = happier phil
happier phil = gameplaying phil
loop: phil.begin(typing)

Winners of The White Shoe Haiku Contest

The White Shoe Staff
[The White Shoe Haiku Contest ran for several months, with one winner posted every day alongside each new White Shoe piece. For a brief, shining moment, the haiku contest meant everything to us. It was a phenomenal thing. We had joy, we had fun, and despite the fact that this contest occurred during the winter months, it was as if we had seasons in the sun. Important Note: Although this page is archived as it originally appeared, this contest is over. If you still have haiku that you want to submit, we are sorry, but it is too late. Read the haiku to small children. They will give you prizes we cannot.]
· · ·
In addition to posting one new haiku alongside each White Shoe piece, we began and ended this contest by featuring a few haiku about haiku. Meta-haiku, if you will. Our postmodernity baffles even us. Enjoy the counterintuitive reverse-chronological-order goodness that follows.
· · ·

Enough is enough.
Haiku contest with your terse
terminology.

[Samuel Adair | 3.6.01]

- - -

A first line of five
Then onto one of seven
Five on the last line

[Josh Stott | 3.6.01]

- - -

Five, seven, and five
are seventeen syllables:
a perfect haiku

[Bake Neko | 3.6.01]

- - -

If I write real fast,
there won't be time for my brain
to play editor.

[Susan Taplinger | 3.6.01]

- - -

The first line has five.
The second line has seven.
Then end with five more.

[Lincoln Bahr | 3.6.01]

- - -

My fingers are tired.
All this counting confuses.
Seven more than five?

[Rez | 3.6.01]

- - -

some haiku express
depth of insight and beauty
but this one does not

[Rez | 2.12.01]

- - -

Seasonal Haiku

Spring, summer, and fall
(sometimes also called autumn).
Last of all, winter.

[Lincoln Bahr | 2.8.01]

- - -

When I have dry mouth
I like to get a cool drink
Man that tastes real nice

[Josh Stott | 1.17.01]

- - -

For those who ask me
How do I write my haiku —
I use my fingers.

[Bake Neko | 1.3.01]

- - -

Why am I angry?
Sell my soul for tuition —
unprepared teachers.

[Matt Graham | 12.11.00]

- - -

Heavy Metal Haiku

duh duh duh duh duh
duh duh duh duh duh duh duh
Smoke on the water

[Richard Guest | 12.7.00]

- - -

A tedious date
He kept on about his work
She admired her nails

[Mary Flodden | 12.6.00]

- - -

If a tree falls on
someone you hate, do you still
need to hide the ax?

[Megan Schoonover | 12.4.00]

- - -

The first line is too…
short — Now I count on my fin-
gers, and now it's done

[Susan Taplinger | 11.27.00]

- - -

Writing bad haiku
Is like eating chocolate chips
Under the blankets

[Susanna Lee | 11.27.00]

- - -

See the thought, pushing
against the seventeen bars
of its prison cell.

[Mark Orin Berrett | 11.27.00]

- - -

Surely I am not
The first one to find humor
In changing haiku's length

[Eric D. Snider | 11.27.00]

- - -

You pretty much can't
Use anapestic hepta-
Meter in haiku

[Reid Gray | 11.27.00]

- - -

One two three four five
One two three four five six sev…
One two three four five

[Josh Stott | 11.27.00]

- - -

A bird calls, doves coo
This day I think I will rue
I'm writing haiku

[Angela Zimmerman | 11.27.00]

- - -

A poet I'm not,
though my third line does contain
"a seasonal word."

[Andrew Thomas | 11.27.00]

Absolutely Real Items Overheard Online, Grammar and Spelling Uncorrected

1. AOL N'Sync Chatroom, 6-19-00
Chatroomgirl: Yeah im tryin to git sex off the computr witch is discusting

2. Dee Jay Zone UK
(located at http://www.expage.com/page/deejayzoneuk)
TO ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO GRAFFITI MY GUEST BOOK WITH FAKE NAMES OR BAD COMMENTS "YOU ARE SAD AND WASTING YOURE TIME APART FROM MALCOLM WHO HAS NOTHING BETTER TO DO EXCEPT PLAYING ARMIES WITH THE LIBRARY POSSY"

3. AOL Britney Spears Chatroom, 7-26-00
I think Melissa is evil. She likes to pose nude for magazines like playboy, penthouse and readers digest. Readers digest said to stop sending nude pictures. she doesnt listen.

4. Mahir's Untitled Page
(located at http://www.geocities.com/mahir_girlfriend/)
If you come here it must because I been many countries — I go still. I just lost girlfriend. If you want to be girlfriend please E-mail me mahir_girlfriend@yahoo.com. I invitate she everytime my home, she can stay my home everytime. If you to be my girlfriend if she want I'm ready please don't dump me after I like you.

5. Smokey Goes to the Park
(located at http://psykho.com/smokey/park.html)
Smokey (a dog) always does his bussiness on top of rocks, logs and stumps where everybody can see. He really goes out of his way and puts a lot of effort into doing this. We are not sure why he does this. Our only guess is he just wants the whole world to see his crap.

6. StraitPimpen
(located at http://www.straitpimpen.com/)
StraitPimpen always loves to here stories about your pimp way as well as any comments with ideas to increase the pimpness of our web site. If we like what you sent, you will be entered in the contest to win to be the pimp of the month on StraitPimpen.com.

7. AOL X-Files Chatroom, 7-27-00
HumnGrbl: i hate my life
SaRaH: i hate my life more then u hate u'rs gerbil
HumnGrbl: no u dont
SaRaH: hell yes i do
HumnGrbl: u dont have a b/f u havent seen in 6th months
SaRaH: i threaton to kill myself yesterday
HumnGrbl: i tryed 2 3 times in the last month

QCstuff: u have a wierd name human gerbil
HumnGrbl: i am weird and depressed

8. eGroups ListServ
Kenn: I have a heart like the sea. It's true.
Jeff: Salty?

Inspirational Quotes by Members of "Team Elite," Whose Native Language May or May Not Be English, Found on a Display Near the Entry of My Workplace

"Power!"

"Sincerity!"

"Growing together."

"Get your eternal luck."

"Challenging spirit makes a big deal."

"Dreams come true! Let's challenge!!"

"Change your life with your (own) mind."

"Live your dreams, don't regret your life."

"Human Emotion — the most important thing."

"A man who wants to be successful has no right to be pessimistic."

"Every adversity carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit."

"Remember the thoughtfulness of his/her view, and let's keep going together."

"There are unlimited possibilities and chances, but only a few will catch it in their hands."

"You can achieve anything in life that you want if you help others achieve what they want."

"If you die without achieving your goal, be sure to return as a ghost to accomplish your dream."

"To change one's life, start immediately. There is nothing we can't do, except that for some it takes a bit longer."

"Who have ever known somebody's sorrow, only the person could be tender and excellent. Feel happy at any time!"

"With help from others, I now have unforgettable kindness, tenderness and gratitude to everyone who helped make my own dream of having a fabulous life come true."

"Success is the most preferable terminology for everyone that guarantees to gain happiness. At the same time, success is not the static status of being something but the continual process of aiming at the higher."

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Angry Letter to Editor (from Whiteshoe.org)

To Whom It May Concern (you know who you are):

I was at Gandolfo's, the local deli, during my lunch break, as I am almost every day, buying my favorite sandwich. That is, buying my sandwich. I get the same thing every day: roast beef and turkey on sourdough with mayo, hot mustard, salt, pepper, olive oil — and here's the best part — balsamic vinegar. It's not really on their menu, but they know me, so when I ask for my regular, they know what I mean. It's taken me a long time to come up with the perfect sandwich, and I relish in it, like I said, almost every single day.

Well, the other day — this day I'm talking about, when I'm at the deli — I order my regular, and the guy there knows me (I hate when there's a new guy. I practically feel like asking for someone else to talk to, but I usually just train him, because maybe he'll be there the next day, you know how it is), so he says it'll be two minutes, like usual. So I'm walking to the register to pay for my lunch and wait for my sandwich, and this other guy comes in to get his lunch. I'm thinking, "This guy wishes his lunch is going to be as good as mine," because my sandwich isn't on the menu. Only this guy, he asks all cute-like, "Do you mind if I just make my own sandwich rather than order one on the menu?" So maybe he's smarter than I think, because usually these delis have their menus all made up for just the average schmo who doesn't know what a good sandwich is.

I'm sure you've guessed what's going to happen (and I'll address you in the second person personal now, if you don't mind), you order my sandwich. You didn't add one thing extra and you didn't leave anything out. So the Gandolfo's guy writes it all down and walks over to the register, and I motion to him like, "Hey, what's the deal with that guy?" You know, squinting my eyes a little, raising the corner of my mouth, and I nod in your direction. He comes over to me all, "Do you have a question?" like he doesn't know what's going on.

"You're not actually going to make that for that guy are you?"

"Uh, yeah…"

"But that's my sandwich. Why don't you just add a little something extra. Or maybe leave out the hot mustard."

"Sorry, sir, I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm going to get him what he ordered."

Now, this guy isn't exactly new. I mean, I've seen him around for a while; he's not new. But I sure haven't seen you in here before, and I sure haven't heard of anyone ordering my sandwich. Now, if they were to put up my sandwich on the menu and name it after me and put my picture next to the description, then maybe that'd be different. But this I won't stand for.

"No, you're not going to get him exactly what he ordered, because what he ordered is mine. You can't give him my sandwich."

"Oh, of course not sir. Don't worry, you'll each get your own sandwich," he says to me, kind of raising his eyebrows and talking in a higher octave than usual. Like he's talking to a wacko or his kid or something.

"No, you don't get it," I tell him, "that's my sandwich, so you either tell him you're not making it for him or you add something or leave something out, you got that?"

So this guy just taps the counter with his hand a couple times and walks into the back. Out comes Craig. I guess he's the owner or something, and he asks me what's going on. I try to explain it to him, but he doesn't get it either, so of course I punch him in the face and he grabs me from over the counter (I'd say he's a good foot taller than I am) and rams my head into the register. I'm sure you remember this part of that day, as you were standing right there watching. So I leave, without my sandwich, and with you, I'm sure, getting my sandwich instead.

Here's the deal. I'm leaving this letter for you outside the deli so that you know what's going on and so you'll stop ordering my sandwich. Or maybe we can work out a deal where you can go in and get us both one, since it's practically all your fault that they won't let me in there anymore. I think that's only fair, and I'm sure you can see what kind of predicament you've put me in. So call me at (212) 555-2209, or I can wait outside here every day until I see you coming out of the deli, and then I make sure you never eat another of my sandwiches again, if you catch my drift.

Thanks for your cooperation,

Dennis Horn

WhiteShoe revisited

I am going to "re-publish" my Whiteshoe Irregular pieces http://www.whiteshoe.org.

Go to the above site to see the website...

JPS

An Online Conversation with Lita about Her Perceived Level of Safety at School

[Redactor's Note: Lita Nguyen (not her real last name) attends sixth grade in Fremont, California. She is often online, chatting with friends and family. This interview was conducted in September by White Shoe Correspondent Josh Stott, via AOL Instant Messenger. With minor exceptions, Lita's original spelling and capitalization have been retained.]

LITA: Today at lunch there was dis group hanging out near dis window.

(Pause)

JOSH: Is that the whole story?

LITA: Somebody pushed dis grl name lisa to dis guy name milton than milton pushed dis guy name roman to da window, and da window broke, and roman got lil pieces of glass in his head. Dass wat i heard

JOSH: Ouch.

LITA: My friends and i were in da corner.

JOSH: Did Roman have to get stiches?

LITA: i dunno. We didn't know wat happened cuz we came when we hear da crash.

JOSH: Are there a lot of fights at your school?

LITA: There was a fight like a couple of days ago.

JOSH: Usually boys? Or sometimes girls, too?

LITA: This dude shot Tony in da foot with a bb gun, and Tony pulled a knife on him.

JOSH: Is this the Tony that you like?

LITA: Yea. Da dude wit da gun got expelled.

JOSH: Why was Tony carrying a knife?

LITA: i dunno

JOSH: And why didn't he get expelled, too?

LITA: i think he got away wit it

JOSH: I don't know about this liking guys who carry knives, Lita…

LITA: Well, as long as he dunt pull it out on me

JOSH: Do a lot of boys carry them?

LITA: My friend, sarah, who's in his 4, 5, and 6 period class say dat he acts hella mean in class, but he's hellllllla nice in science or whenever i see him. i dunno.

JOSH: I wonder, though, how nice he is, if he's pulling knives on people.

LITA: He didn't use da knife though. He juss took it out and tucked it back in. But dat was a rumor. i heard it from dis dude who sits next to me in wrld hist.

JOSH: You never know...

[full transcript of interview on www.whiteshoe.org.

A Conversation that Inspired this Piece but Never Actually Took Place (at least not involving me or anyone I've ever known...)

I still can't quite tell what he's getting at, let alone who he is exactly.

"Now who are you again?" I ask, hoping to finally get a straight answer.

"Look, all I'm sayin' is that you should use me, I mean, use my stories. I'm funny," he responds for the fourth time.

I still wasn't sure this wasn't a prank call from a friend, but I didn't recognize the voice and the accent didn't sound phony.

"Okay, okay," I say. "Hold up for just a minute, sir. I have no idea who you are. Let's start there, can we, with who you are?"

"My wife reads you all the time, I mean, she reads your stories. She won't put 'em down, she's laughing and all and she won't tell me what's so funny. I mean, I never read 'em or anything, but she seems to think there's somethin' funny about 'em. So I think to myself…" he says, dodging my question again, and I wonder if he's intentionally avoiding identifying himself.

"Listen," I interrupt, "I don't know who you are or who your wife is, and I'm going to hang up if you speak one more sentence without telling me who you are."

"Uh, all right. Now hold on. Now just hold on. This is Jim, my wife is Carol, and she reads your stories," he says. "She won't put 'em down, and I never read 'em, but everyone's always tellin' me that I'm a funny guy, right? So, I get the idea that you could maybe talk to me while's I'm bein' funny and all, and you could maybe write about it?"

"I see…" I'm still wondering if this is a joke. "You want me to write about you?"

"Nah, nah. Not about me, just maybe put some of my stories in, you know, I mean, my wife don't think it's such a hot idea, she don't think I'm that funny, always rollin' her eyes like so, but she don't know I'm callin' you about this."

I decide this isn't a joke, and my curiosity piques. "I see…" I get in two words while he takes a breath, and when he speaks again, he uses a hushed voice, possibly to avoid detection by his wife.

"See, everyone's always sayin' that I'm such a funny guy. I mean, people's always sayin' that, since I was practically a kid and all, and I'm just saying…"

"That you want me to write your stories," I interrupt again.

"Exactly!" He's now forgotten his hushed voice, and I move the earpiece slightly away from my ear.

"Well, uh, Jim was it? I'm sorry, but that's not really how it works. You see…"

"But," now it's his turn to interrupt, "all's I'm askin' is that you talk to me for a while, see if I got any funny stuff you'd wanna use in your stories, I mean, I'm sure that you know how it is when you just get that inspiration and you just let 'em have it and all, and they're laughin' and holdin' their sides and all and tellin' ya what a funny guy you are, right?"

"Well…"

"You're funny and all, at least my wife's always readin' your stories and laughin' her damn head off, I tell ya, and coincidentally she's in the next room and she don't want me 'bothering you' she says."

"That is a coincidence," I say, and suddenly I'm chuckling, imagining the stories Jim would have to offer. My focus snaps back in midsentence.

"…got that in common, we're both funny guys."

"Sir, I'm not sure you…" I try to explain.

"So listen," he says, "why don't you just talk to me and see if I got anything good for your stories, I mean, like I said, I haven't read 'em, and I don't write too good, but I'm funny as hell, I mean, I'm funny as hell, if you'll just listen…"

"Jim?" I say, trying to get his attention. "Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Jim, you've convinced me. I'm going to use you in a story."

"You mean it? So, you want me to come on over to the house or we could meet…"

"No, Jim, no. I actually have all I need from this conversation. Tell Carol hello for me, will you?"

Dissapointed

His left hand reached into his pocket purely out of habit, and his fingers searched in vain for the change that was not there. Consciously pulling the hand back out, unfettered by a watch or rings and still clutching the nonexistent coins, he extended his hand over the small, empty, ceramic bowl on his dresser and spread his fingers.

"Cha-ching!"

He smiled to himself at his joke, almost chuckled. "There really were no coins falling from my hand into the bowl, yet I made the noise as if they had fallen into it with a clank nonetheless," he mused to himself. "That really was a funny joke; I should write that down…"

Dropping his jacket onto the bare mattress in the corner of the room, he violently removed his tie and rubbed his sore neck as he walked to the refrigerator in the far corner of the room. Opening the door, he drew out the carton of milk, took a long swig, and was replacing the carton on the empty shelf when his phone rang. Startled, he turned toward the short table next to the sink where the phone sat.

"Who is it?" he called out to the phone. "What do you want?" Boy, was he on one tonight or what? "I should get paid for this stuff," he mumbled.

His questions were answered, which surprised him. The voice didn't come from the phone, though, but from the door.

"It's the police. Open the door now, sir, or we'll be forced to break it down. We have a warrant."

He walked quietly to the still-ringing phone, picked it up, and before he could even say a word, he heard a familiar voice calling to him. "Get out of there! Get out, they know about it all. They know where you are!"

Hanging up the phone without speaking, he walked back to the refrigerator and opened the door.

The voices from the hallway resumed. "We know you're in there. The building is surrounded. Now open the door. "

The milk carton was slippery in his hand from the condensation. He shut the fridge, turned around, and sat down with his back to the cool metal door. He closed his eyes and took another long swig from the carton, this time spitting it all over his pants as he broke into full-blown laughter thinking about the jokes he'd made. But the laugher quickly stopped and his smile disappeared when he remembered how disappointed he had felt when he first walked into the room that night. Disappointed with the egg-salad sandwich he had eaten for lunch.

A Sting Concert Travelogue: The Englishman Who Came to a Concert and Left a Strip Club

[Redactor's Note [from http://www.whiteshoe.org]: This is a truthful account of an event that took place on 26 July 2000. Everything you are about to read actually happened. Facts can be verified with the author's wife.]

6:30 P.M.
My wife, my sister, and I leave home to pick up a friend on our way to the Sting concert.

6:40 P.M.
Return home to pick up forgotten tickets (my fault).

7:00 P.M.
Arrive at friend's house, who lives near venue and will give us directions to the concert.

7:30 P.M.
Unintentionally arrive at airport due to friend telling story about the wedding she attended the night before and hence forgetting to say, "turn left" six blocks earlier. At the venue (where we are not) the concert is beginning. k.d. lang (who insists on not capitalizing her name) is opening for Sting. My wife is excited to see her.

7:45 P.M.
Finally get back on freeway and mindlessly follow crowd of cars we can only assume are also going the concert.

7:47 P.M.
Before finding a parking space, drop off my sister who will pee in the car if she does not get to a bathroom immediately. Also drop off my wife, who wants to catch as much of k.d. lang's show as possible. An interesting phenomenon has taken place: My wife's desire to see k.d. lang as well as her anger toward me for missing that turn have both increased in direct proportion to how late we are for the concert. I mention this phenomenon to my wife and regret it for the rest of the night.

8:00 P.M.
My sister's friend (who deserves a name at this point in the story — it is Kristen) and I wait in line to get into the concert. Once inside, Kristen immediately gets in another line, this one for the women's bathroom. I briefly wonder why the men's bathroom never has a line. At this point, I am unaware that I am about to enter a pornographic show. k.d. lang (who is still not capitalizing her name) finishes, my wife having heard a little less than two full songs. She informs me that she will now conscientiously not enjoy the rest of the concert.

Intermission
I see a friend who has seats near ours, and he warns me of "the dancing girls." He also complains to me about "Siren Man" seated next to him who screams not like, and I quote, "WOOOOOO," but like a police siren: "WoooooooooOOOOOOooooooooo." Friend's allusion to "Police" siren does not fall on deaf ears.

Sting Comes on Stage
I crawl like a dog across the seats on my row (everyone is standing). I am still unaware that I am entering what could be legally classified as a strip club. I stand in a pool of beer and who knows what else. It is, I believe, eating through the soles of my shoes.

First Song
I become painfully aware of "the dancing girls," who occupy the two seats in front of me. Neither is older than 12 — okay, 15 maybe, but at oldest, 16, and that's it, no older — and both are dressed in what they would probably call "hippie" attire. They dance to songs that were written before they were born. I notice that they know the words to "Every Breath You Take" and the chorus of "Roxanne." Stay tuned: their part in the night's drama is not over.

Second Song
Sting comes over to crowd (I am in the third row) on our side of the stage and a lunatic man hands him what appears to be a half-empty bottle of shampoo with a yellow sticky-note attached to it. The man is immediately beaten by yellow-jacketed security guards, and he cowers back into his seat.

Third Song
A sixty-year-old woman, sitting directly behind the now-beaten lunatic just mentioned, decides that the stage is a coat rack, walks up and sets down her purse and other various belongings on the corner of the stage. She also is immediately accosted by security. In less than two songs, the same woman will pull off her bra and throw it to no one in particular on the stage — just glad to have the bra off, I surmise.

Fourth Song
We are now all wading through a pool of beer and, very possibly, the vomit of a drunken man. A non-drunken man, who, I am assured by my law-school friend standing next to me, is a court bailiff, agrees to buy beer for the dancing girls, but is quickly talked out of it by his wife. He brings them a Coke and a Dr. Pepper.

Maybe Sixth or Seventh Song
Sting shakes his tantric hips at the crowd for the thirtieth time, and raises his outstretched arm — palm up, fingers extended — which the crowd interprets as the cue to go hysterical. My wife screams in my ear as Sting begins to play one of her favorite songs. I am now completely deaf in my right ear, but remain unaware that a porno show is about to begin. In retrospect, I should have guessed it when the bra came off of the sixty-year-old woman.

About Halfway through Concert
Sting curiously picks up the bottle of shampoo, looks at it in wonder, and sets it on top of one of the speakers. Kristen suggests the sticky note on the shampoo is possibly a "message on a bottle." Kristen's allusion does not fall on deaf ears (except my right ear). Sadly, the purpose of the bottle and the attached note is never discovered.

Nearing the Final Songs of the Concert
The adult entertainment begins as the old woman, now braless and dancing on the front row, hikes up her skirt for Dominic Miller, Sting's guitarist. My wife claims that the woman is completely without undergarments, but for my sanity's sake and to prevent permanent emotional scarring, I will forever refuse to believe her. Near this time, the taller and more fully clothed dancing girl, not so much dancing as she is bouncing, makes an unfortunate bounce and ricochets off the chair in front of her and then the one behind her before falling into the now bubbling pool of beer on the floor. She will sit out most of the rest of the concert. We are not displeased. The shorter and less fully clothed girl, however, takes the site of the old woman's bare flesh as her cue to show everyone her chest, which she will do approximately five more times before the night is over.

The First Encore
Sting and the rest of the band run off the stage and then almost immediately back on. It is already clear that they plan to do two encore sets. As is always the case these days, the encore is not a reward for an enthusiastic crowd, but merely a warning that the show is about to end.

The Second Encore
Sting again returns to our side of the stage, only this time he is met by a pair of immature, fifteen-year-old breasts. Fortunately, during these flashings, the girl is directly in front of me and I can only see her getting ready to flash, her hands holding onto the bottom of her midriff blouse, and then the face of the flashee. Sting's expression is one of utter surprise, followed by a look that a disappointed father would give his fifteen-year-old daughter upon discovering her disgraceful behavior. I actually feel sorry for Sting — he has daughters about the age of this girl and I'm sure he hopes they aren't stripping in front of large crowds. At that moment, Sting ceases to be a rock star and turns into an aging father. I recover from this feeling only as he begins to play "Message in a Bottle" by himself on stage (possibly inspired by the shampoo bottle — we'll never know).

Last Song
Sting plays "Fragile" and my sister's life is complete. We leave for home — scarred and saddened.

Science!

Just shout it out one time... Now you're Thomas Dolby. Ok, you don't have to be, really, if you don't want to be.

Tonight, I met with 2 other PSY 3400 classmates to discuss chapter 8 in our class (eating disorders and sleeping disorders mostly). Mostly though, Reece (a pre-medical degree of some sorts-I think he called it a PA [physicians assistant] student) we talked about scienve vs. truth. At another study-group I once told him that I "hate" psychology and said that since I studied Philosophy, I'd learned that psychology is kind of the "anti-philosophy" (which is kind of ironic and funny, because the kind of philosophy I love most is called by Dr. C. Terry Warner: The Philosophy of Psychology).

So, he was talking about how all of science is just theory (hey, if Biology is the hardest science [and I think maybe Physics is?] and its most fundamental theory is the "theory of Evolution", then how much 'TRUTH' is there to SCIENCE?). My whole point was that Philosophy's "goal [is] the discovery, understanding, and living of certain truths (specifically, not the same truths that you'd seach for if you're a scientist, phychologist, anthropologist, etc.). Like what? Ethics, Metaphysics, Logic, Reason, etc." (Stott 2001).

The simple truth is, though, that the only TRUTH out there to be found/embraced/followed is Jesus Christ.

So, Reece and all who haven't found the WAY to follow, click on one of these links above! Just kidding Reece, I'm sure you were only talking about that because you were telling me about school AND we were inside of a state owned and run college. We can't all go to BYU.

Does that sound snobby? Simply post a response to this piece then...

JPS

LDS General Confrerence

Today, in my church ward, during the 3rd-hour block Priesthood/Relief-Society, the priesthood didn't have a structured lesson, but bore their testimonies about the Oct. '07 general conference...

I actually went to the Conference Center in SLC this conference. It was the first time I've ever been up there. I had been to the Tabernacle and most of the LDS buildings up there, but it was way fun and an awesome experience to be with all of those Priesthood Brethren that night.

When the room was filled with a loud and booming "AMEN," that was the first time I think I've ever heard a room say the word that means that "I agree with everything that the 'Voice' of that prayer has said/prayed for" that does justice to how I think a prayer should end.

It was a wonderful experience to be up there and to participate in that session of the 177th General Conference.

Energy Drinks?!?

Hey there... Can anyone explain what is good about drinking an energy drink to me? Ok, now keep in mind that you shouldn't eat/drink/inhale/inject any harmful substances into your body. Now, what is good about an energy drink?

Does anyone know what ingredient is inside of the can? Reading the list of ingredients I couldn't see anything that would give you "energy," except for the drinks that have coffee in the drink, but I'm talking just a plain-old energy drink.

I don't think that anybody can tell me what's inside of them that's good for you, but for that matter, I don't think anyone can know what's inside of them besides water. If you do know and can tell me how they "give you energy" then email me or call me and tell me...

JPS

Paul is NOT dead...

John, I'm sorry to tell you, but Paul is far from dead and is still alive, kicking, and getting married all over the place!

But I digress... WAIT! I am talking about Paul McCartney and not digressing... Silly me.

I guess I always liked Paul and always owned the album "McCartney" but I admit that as I've been listening to his other albums over (and over) I realize how much I have always actually LOVED his music, but never realized how much.

Good thing that my best friend, http://www.themdg.org/, has been a FANATIC ever since I've known him. Thanks Matt for letting me not realize how much I should have been loving the music that you already have been loving, only in that now, that I am finally realizing how good it is, it's like brand-new music that I've discovered. Now, just trick me into "realizing" how good Sting's music is and steal my CDs so that you can loan them to me or give them over if you're feeling generous.

Now I have digressed...

Paul M. is so good that I think I'll link to his website: http://www.paulmccartney.com/

OK, or just "google" him and see all the fan sites!

Just don't PIRATE his music (I don't feel that way just for him, but don't think you should pirate anyone's music unless you've talked to them and they feel like it's OK or if the music is out of print or not available on CD [just let me keep talking like this and I will justify every "pirating" I've ever done...]).

Pop in Paul's album with Wings: "Wild Life". It is just fine stuff...

JPS

Chicken!

Hello all...

I don't know why we don't all talk about "chicken" more often. I can't think of it even being mentioned in any of my classes or over the pulpit... Why, I feel like asking, can't we just talk more about chickens?

I guess chicken[s] isn't as funny ad just talking about chicken (singular). Maybe just crying out CHICKEN every once-in-a-while is theraputic for me. I think just the idea of yelling that word brings a smile to my lips and makes me enjoy the idea of the word "chicken".

I don't know... Maybe I'm all by myself on this one, but I have a sinking suspician that everybody likes the word as much as I do--at least "deep down" (but are maybe afraid to admit it...).

So, I would like to challenge someone out there with some mad HTML skills to make a tribute to the word chicken... That will be my wish

School days again

So today I went to school as I do on every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and enjoyed another PSY 3400-Abnormal Psychology class... Today we talked about Suicide. I'm against it... I mean, who are we kidding here? No! I'm not saying that I'm against those people who end up taking their own life, but I'm against the taking of life in general; be it your own or the life of your brother/sister, friend, stranger, etc. So in reality, I am saying that I'm against you if you are planning on killing yourself...

[breaking the 3rd wall and talking to the camera]

"So, I just have a few questions that I would like you to answer if you are planning on killing yourself: do you have any idea how you will do that/do you have it all planned out in your mind? If so, how much do you think you'll be able to complete your suicide? Is there anything that I can do to help talk you out of it? What about playing on the team next season, wereren't you looking forward to that? Don't you remember the way that it felt to make that last point and then be congratulated by the whole team?

Oh, you were just kidding about taking your own life? Well... if you don't mind, we are going to head on over to one of my good friends and talk to him about something that we studied in my class today. Just come on over with me..."

[exit scene]

JPS

Hallelujah!!!

My best friend, Matt Graham (themdg.org), has inspired me to create this blogging-journal-of-sorts to let the world see what I am doing.

I guess I have decided to do this for 3 reasons:
1-Matt would always write into his computerized diary/journal every single night,
2-My dad wrote in his journal (book-form) every day,
and 3-Henry B. Eyring's talk in the Sunday (Oct. '07) morning session emphasized writing down our experiences so that our posterity will have them.

These are just 3 reasons why I know that I should be keeping a record of everything that's going on... The angels are recording each thing that I do, but as Pres. Eyring admonished, my children won't be able to read about those experiences unless I leave them a personable a legible copy of those experiences to remind them of all that I've done and what they can do.

JPS