When I created this blog, I decided not to make it too "politics-heavy". I did, however, decide that I would integrate a series of statuses that I posted on my Facebook profile throughout last year. These statuses consist of lessons and/or philosophies I have either learned or developed in the last three years--particularly during 2008, which was indeed a learning experience. But before I start those discussions, I need to vent something that has been on my chest for, well, my entire adult life.
Context. What is context? According to Merriam Webster Online at , the word has two definitions: 1)The parts of a discourse that surround a word or passage and can throw light on its meaning, and 2)The interrelated conditions in which something exists or occurs. Basically, context is meant to govern our interpretation of a line of discourse, whether verbal or written. The context of a discussion actually affects the discussion itself, simply because it indicates the purpose of that discussion.
For example, the 2008 elections included the controversial Proposition 8 bill. As many people are aware, this California amendment that would ban gay marriage received substantial support from members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. As a result of this substantial support from LDS church members, the LDS Church has seen its share of persecution. Protests have been staged outside of LDS temple grounds and threatening letters have been sent to leaders and ordinary members, etc.
Well, on Facebook, someone created a group calling for the end of this persecution. The creator of this group didn't agree with the LDS Church's position on gay marriage, so this group was obviously not meant as a political forum for discussion on gay marriage. But that is exactly what it became. People from both sides of the debate joined the group in an effort to vocalize their opinions on the matter. Some of them were polite, others not so polite. Either way, their purpose for joining the forum was irrelevant to the purpose--or context--of the forum itself. Some even assumed the creator of the group was anti-gay marriage simply because she created it!
My question to that is, since when does defending one person or group's civil rights equate with agreeing with the position or actions for which their civil rights are being violated? To me that is no different from persecuting those that contributed to the conviction of Jack Ruby, who shot JFK assassin Lee Harvey Oswald while Oswald was being transferred from police headquarters to the county jail. Persecuting the LDS Church would be like accusing those people of sympathizing with Oswald just because they didn't let his killer walk. If we were to do that, we would be taking things out of context by forgetting the actual reason for Ruby's arrest--the fact that he broke the law by killing somebody. The creator of the aforementioned Facebook group was not against gay marriage, but she was against persecuting anyone for exercising their rights as a U.S. citizen.
Now I could attribute this lament to my background in English, but in truth, I have been this way for as long as I can remember. I remember taking a Political Science course during my second semester at USU. One day, our professor was discussing Presidential elections through the years and the demographics on who voted for whom. He brought up the interesting fact that even though there are more female voters than male voters, we have yet to elect a female President. "Why?" he asked. Well, my mother didn't raise a fool, so I was perfectly aware that female voters over the age of 50, many of whom were part of the Baby Boom generation and therefore made a vast contribution to the female majority, had grown up in the 19th Amendment's infancy. By infancy, I mean the first 50 years. The way I see it, it takes much longer than that to eradicate a mindset that has characterized both male and female thinking for thousands of years: the idea that men are more capable leaders than women.
Long story short, I raised my hand and offered that explanation. I believe my words were something to the effect of, "Because many women still believe that men are more capable of running the country than women." Everyone in the room gasped as soon as I said that. The guy sitting behind me said, "That was the wrong thing to say." You'd have thought that I had said, "Men are more capable leaders than women." That was not the case at all! For the record, let's use some common sense. Women in the U.S. have only had voting rights since 1920, and while there were a few women here and there who had run for public office before then, most of them were write-in candidates. Since then, only two women have represented the two major parties in the Presidential elections: Geraldine Ferraro in 1984, and most recently, Sarah Palin. Both of them were Vice-Presidential candidates, so we have yet to break the Presidential candidate barrier. Can you think of a better explanation for that phenomenon?
Now I don't have an exact figure, so one might say that while there are more female voters than male voters, the Democratic and Republican conventions that nominate their candidates are mostly male, but that just substantiates my point. Why aren't there more female politicians to nominate female candidates? Could it be lack of interest? Maybe, but I believe that a person's lack of interest in something is often fostered by a belief in their ability to succeed at it. I don't like science, partially because I don't think I have a brain for it. I used to hate the game Settlers of Catan until I became good at it. But I digress. My statement was a valid one, as acknowledged by my professor. There may be other explanations that I didn't think of at the time, but the point is that because my statement was taken out of context, I was for a brief moment being labeled as a sexist. I suppose that is why I utterly despise the act of taking things out of context.
As another example, I used to do volunteer tutoring in Roslindale, just a few miles west of downtown Boston. Most of the students are Hatian and therefore black. One time, as my student was wandering off from our table, I said, "Hey Jeff, what are you doing, boy?" I don't know why I added that last word, but he is a boy--a boy of 13, to be exact. However, I don't think I need to tell you the potentially dangerous misunderstanding that could have caused. Fortunately, the students who heard me just laughed, and they laughed at my reaction when I realized what I had just said. Imagine, though, what could have happened if they had decided that my comment was meant as a racial slur.
I hope I don't sound irritable in this post, or worse, arrogant and hypocritical. I am in nowise perfect in this regard, so sometimes I have to back up and consider the discussion taking place and whether my interpretation of the topic is how the instigator intended it. We need to listen to each other more, and not try so much to formulate our arguments in response not to what the other person said, but what we wish they had said. So many people in the aftermath of Prop 8 wanted an excuse to discuss their views, so when they saw that Facebook Group, all they saw in the title was Proposition 8. In a Political Science class, feminism is always a popular topic, so my classmates removed the quotation marks from my statement and simply attributed it to me. It is during these serious and potentially volatile situations that I abhor the idea of taking someone's words or actions out of context to further one's own agenda and completely ignore the context itself, which oftentimes validates those words or actions. When we do this, we are irresponsibly putting someone's reputation at risk.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
My Summer
So it has been nearly four months since my last post, which probably explains why I have only two followers, neither of whom is my mother, so that's pretty bad. However, I know she reads it because she asked me a couple of months ago when I was going to post again. Then again, she may have been using those annoying maternal powers of revelation--the very same that told her I was playing nintendo when I should have been doing yard work during summer vacation as a kid, thus prompting her to call from work and check on me--to trick me into thinking that I have a third follower, albeit unofficial.
Unapologetically, I have consumed the entire summer without so much as a quickie on this blog of mine, simply because not too many events of a significant nature have occurred, at least nothing significant in my life or here in Boston. I don't intend to bore you with my vacation exploits, unless something spectacular occurred in the process, such as finding myself at the beach like my friend Chris Alexander...seriously, I saw the photos on his blog, and he met a kid at the beach who looked exactly like he did 15 or 20 years ago! The closest I've ever come to that was three years ago, when my friend Ruthann set me up with a girl in her ward who looked more like me than my own sister. But I digress.
Some important things did happen since my last post. First, in early April, my friend Rob Briggs and I performed in the LP2 Ward Talent Show. We performed in it last year as well, singing Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive". We received high accolades then, and this year was no different. We performed Sister Hazel's "All for You", one of my favorites from high school. I still wonder if the end started to deteriorate in quality, as I could feel both hands start to weaken as they pressed and strummed the strings during the last verse. No matter, because Rob's lead part came in soon after and stayed dominant for the rest of the song. Rob is a gifted guitarist, and since I started playing with him when I first came to Boston, he has helped me become a better musician just by example.
Sadly, he has left me for Rexburg, Idaho. He actually left the day after the talent show, so we had a going away party for him at someone's house in Allston. He drove all the way out there, and it seems to have paid off for him. He has since joined some sort of guitarist publicity organization at BYU Idaho, and he has made it into every talent show he has auditioned for. Since he left, I haven't really found anybody to jam with, though I have been busy anyway.
I moved. I finally left the Back Bay. Thanks to the ugly parking situation in Downtown Boston, I decided I could live without having a Radio Shack, a Boston Market, a pharmacy, and a Post Office right across my street. I actually moved a total of three times. I first stayed with the Briggs' in Lexington for a couple of weeks because the original place I had found didn't work out, and I had already found a replacement. It was a fabulous two weeks, stocked with cooked meals, easy parking, and cable TV. I then moved into an apartment in Brighton with one other roommate, Andrew Hansen from the Charles River Ward -- the 31 and older ward. I was replacing my former "hometeachee", Devin Mackay, who had just gotten married. I was taking the tail end of his lease and was prepared to renew the lease when it expired at the end of July. The place was roomy, boasting the coveted living room that had eluded me during my months in the Back Bay, as well as a kitchen big enough for me to turn on the stove and then turn around without bumping into the refrigerator. Andrew is also a minimalist and is very clean. Besides, we had the spiritual benefit of living above the sister missionaries. And of course, I was living less than a mile away from Stephanie and Jan Marie. What could be better?
But it was not to be. Shortly after moving into Brighton, I was searching the LDS housing website for the Boston area just for kicks and giggles. Scrolling down the Gentleman section, the entries of which are curiously almost always expired by the time I read them, I came across an entry with a familiar address: 580 High Street, Medford, Massachusetts. Why was this address familiar? I am not ashamed to say that not only were there sisters in the singles wards living there at the moment (that's not the 'not ashamed to say' part), but I had also been there on three different occasions because I had been on dates with two of the sisters that lived there (that's the 'not ashamed to say' part).
Trent Ostler, a former LP2 member who had been going to law school at BYU, was looking for three guys to move with him into the place. I remembered what the place looked like, so I was immediately interested. I then called Anna, one of the sisters I knew there, to inquire about the place. I assumed the girls were all moving out, but while that was true, she told me that Trent was advertising for the downstairs unit. A week later, I went out to look at the place and almost immediately fell in love. It had a hardwood main floor and a carpeted, finished basement level, a kitchen and bathroom on each level, and tons of spacious rooms. Most importantly, it was a house! I had wanted to live in a house ever since I had left the Briggs' house last year, and the dream was finally coming true. Not only that, the rent was super cheap. I immediately decided that I would not be renewing my lease in Brighton. Even though I would be leaving LP1 to return to LP2, it wasn't that big of a deal. I have learned my way around Boston over the past year and feel like I can get around no matter where I'm living. I don't need to live close to a T or even close to my friends to have easy access to the social scene. In fact, Trent and I have already agreed that our place in Medford will be the social scene!
Long story short, I have since moved into Medford, and I love it! After figuring out some logistics and buying supplies for the place, I'm pretty much loving life. There aren't as many grocery stores or restaurants close by like there were in Brighton, but I definitely have sufficient for my needs. I also have easy access to a freeway that will get me to church in just 15 minutes at the new Stake Center in East Cambridge. If I want to spend the evening in downtown Boston, I have only to take the 94 bus into Davis Square and take the Red Line right into Park Street, or I can simply park my car at the meters close to the church in East Cambridge--meters which are free after 6:00 p.m. as opposed to the rest of Cambridge, where the hours have recently been extended to 8:00 p.m.--and make a quick jaunt over to Central Square, from where I can also take the Red Line. As for my friends in Brighton, these days a 20-minute drive doesn't seem so long.
Interestingly enough, one of the primary factors in my decision to move into Medford was that it would be closer to work. Indeed, since it is right by I-93, it would be just a 30-minute drive up to Tewksbury. In Brighton, I was currently driving 40-45 minutes, so of course Medford was the better deal. Ironically, just a week after deciding to move to Medford, I was transferred to the Raytheon facility in Sudbury, about 20 miles west of Boston, and more importantly, 20 miles southwest of Medford. Who knew? Technically I did, but they had been talking about sending me to Sudbury for months, and it just wasn't happening. I suppose, however, that it was a good thing I hadn't decided to move to Andover, a town right next to Tewksbury, like I had briefly considered while still in the Back Bay. It just goes to show that things rarely go as planned, at least not perfectly.
Just to be clear, Sudbury is geographically closer to Medford than Tewksbury is, as it is to Brighton as well. But no matter where in the greater Boston area you're coming from, you can count on a peaceful, leisurely 40 mph drive down Rt. 20 during the last nine miles of your commute. This is because the closest freeways are I-95--which runs north-south and has an exit onto Rt. 20 in Weston, still nine miles east of Sudbury--and I-90, which is three miles south of Rt. 20 by the time you get that far west. Therefore, your commute will always be however long it takes to get to Weston, plus 15-20 minutes depending on traffic. Medford is a good 10 or 11 miles from Weston, so I wasn't counting on making it there in 10 minutes.
I spent six weeks driving from Brighton to Sudbury, and that drive wasn't ideal. True, Rt. 20 goes right through Brighton, but the stretch that runs through Watertown and Newton can be kind of tumultuous. Mind you, you're still in Greater Boston, so you're subject to crazy intersections of the worst kind. Besides the place in Newtown where they randomly placed a stoplight for pedestrians (no intersection, just a crosswalk accompanied by a stoplight), there were at least two crooked intersections--you know, intersections where the road on the right doesn't align with the road on the left. We had one back in Logan, and the remedy was simple: Make it a four-way stop. Here in Boston, the solution was to add two separate stoplights. You can imagine the traffic congestion that tends to cause, especially since once you're through one stoplight, you're already facing another. Translation: A 40-minute commute. I suppose it could have been worse. Once you get to Weston, the traffic coming into Boston is much, much worse. The traffic is almost always bumper-to-bumper. The opposite is true at the end of the day. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Medford has proven to be different. Despite adding five miles to my commute, if I leave no later than 7:00, I can get to I-95 within 10-15 minutes, after which it takes me just five minutes or so to get to the Weston exit. Translation: I can easily make it to work within 30-35 minutes! For once, GoogleMap got it right and my GPS can take a hike. And I should point out that included in my transfer was a switch in positions. I am no longer writing, but editing. This has since broadened my exposure to the different projects Raytheon is working on, as I perform quality reviews on manuals from several different programs. Both my former Team Lead and my former Supervisor felt this would be a nice fit for me, and it has. At first there was some confusion determining process when it comes to quality reviews, but that has since been cleared up, and I feel like I have been doing this job for years.
So why am I telling you all this? Probably because in retrospect I feel like my decision to move to Medford was inspired. One might attach simple logic to the equation, as the rent is cheaper, the parking is easier, and at the time, the commute to work was shorter. But why do logic and inspiration have to be mutually exclusive? I feel God doesn't expect us to make inspired decisions that are illogical. Sometimes the logic just takes a while to present itself. I should point out that I left Lexington last year for the same considerations that I disregarded when I moved to Medford. I wanted to be closer to a T, I wanted to be closer to my friends, I wanted to be closer to Boston. Those all seemed like logical considerations at the time, and yet they led me into a very illogical situation in the Back Bay. Logic on its own seems to have failed me in the past from time to time.
Besides, I ended up getting transferred, and things have still worked out in better ways than logic could have conjured up. My previous concerns seem so petty and unimportant, and I feel happier--perhaps because I am starting to focus on the more important things in the eternal perspective and less on those temporal things that have often left me feeling empty and disappointed. Medford life is much calmer than the Back Bay anyway--so calm that when I went out to my vehicle this morning and found that someone had broken my sideview mirror (just the glass), I felt very little frustration. Of course that means I'm going to start parking in our driveway--rather than on the side of the busy street in front of our house, but that's probably why I'm calm. Frustration arises when bad things happen that we don't feel we can control, and in the Back Bay I didn't feel in control of very much at all. It was a last-second choice after the deal in Somerville fell through, and it was a choice I didn't feel good about. But I felt good about Medford, and I feel that because I acted on those feelings, I have more control, more choices. Honestly, God gives us what we can handle, and I can handle what I have been given.
Unapologetically, I have consumed the entire summer without so much as a quickie on this blog of mine, simply because not too many events of a significant nature have occurred, at least nothing significant in my life or here in Boston. I don't intend to bore you with my vacation exploits, unless something spectacular occurred in the process, such as finding myself at the beach like my friend Chris Alexander...seriously, I saw the photos on his blog, and he met a kid at the beach who looked exactly like he did 15 or 20 years ago! The closest I've ever come to that was three years ago, when my friend Ruthann set me up with a girl in her ward who looked more like me than my own sister. But I digress.
Some important things did happen since my last post. First, in early April, my friend Rob Briggs and I performed in the LP2 Ward Talent Show. We performed in it last year as well, singing Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive". We received high accolades then, and this year was no different. We performed Sister Hazel's "All for You", one of my favorites from high school. I still wonder if the end started to deteriorate in quality, as I could feel both hands start to weaken as they pressed and strummed the strings during the last verse. No matter, because Rob's lead part came in soon after and stayed dominant for the rest of the song. Rob is a gifted guitarist, and since I started playing with him when I first came to Boston, he has helped me become a better musician just by example.
Sadly, he has left me for Rexburg, Idaho. He actually left the day after the talent show, so we had a going away party for him at someone's house in Allston. He drove all the way out there, and it seems to have paid off for him. He has since joined some sort of guitarist publicity organization at BYU Idaho, and he has made it into every talent show he has auditioned for. Since he left, I haven't really found anybody to jam with, though I have been busy anyway.
I moved. I finally left the Back Bay. Thanks to the ugly parking situation in Downtown Boston, I decided I could live without having a Radio Shack, a Boston Market, a pharmacy, and a Post Office right across my street. I actually moved a total of three times. I first stayed with the Briggs' in Lexington for a couple of weeks because the original place I had found didn't work out, and I had already found a replacement. It was a fabulous two weeks, stocked with cooked meals, easy parking, and cable TV. I then moved into an apartment in Brighton with one other roommate, Andrew Hansen from the Charles River Ward -- the 31 and older ward. I was replacing my former "hometeachee", Devin Mackay, who had just gotten married. I was taking the tail end of his lease and was prepared to renew the lease when it expired at the end of July. The place was roomy, boasting the coveted living room that had eluded me during my months in the Back Bay, as well as a kitchen big enough for me to turn on the stove and then turn around without bumping into the refrigerator. Andrew is also a minimalist and is very clean. Besides, we had the spiritual benefit of living above the sister missionaries. And of course, I was living less than a mile away from Stephanie and Jan Marie. What could be better?
But it was not to be. Shortly after moving into Brighton, I was searching the LDS housing website for the Boston area just for kicks and giggles. Scrolling down the Gentleman section, the entries of which are curiously almost always expired by the time I read them, I came across an entry with a familiar address: 580 High Street, Medford, Massachusetts. Why was this address familiar? I am not ashamed to say that not only were there sisters in the singles wards living there at the moment (that's not the 'not ashamed to say' part), but I had also been there on three different occasions because I had been on dates with two of the sisters that lived there (that's the 'not ashamed to say' part).
Trent Ostler, a former LP2 member who had been going to law school at BYU, was looking for three guys to move with him into the place. I remembered what the place looked like, so I was immediately interested. I then called Anna, one of the sisters I knew there, to inquire about the place. I assumed the girls were all moving out, but while that was true, she told me that Trent was advertising for the downstairs unit. A week later, I went out to look at the place and almost immediately fell in love. It had a hardwood main floor and a carpeted, finished basement level, a kitchen and bathroom on each level, and tons of spacious rooms. Most importantly, it was a house! I had wanted to live in a house ever since I had left the Briggs' house last year, and the dream was finally coming true. Not only that, the rent was super cheap. I immediately decided that I would not be renewing my lease in Brighton. Even though I would be leaving LP1 to return to LP2, it wasn't that big of a deal. I have learned my way around Boston over the past year and feel like I can get around no matter where I'm living. I don't need to live close to a T or even close to my friends to have easy access to the social scene. In fact, Trent and I have already agreed that our place in Medford will be the social scene!
Long story short, I have since moved into Medford, and I love it! After figuring out some logistics and buying supplies for the place, I'm pretty much loving life. There aren't as many grocery stores or restaurants close by like there were in Brighton, but I definitely have sufficient for my needs. I also have easy access to a freeway that will get me to church in just 15 minutes at the new Stake Center in East Cambridge. If I want to spend the evening in downtown Boston, I have only to take the 94 bus into Davis Square and take the Red Line right into Park Street, or I can simply park my car at the meters close to the church in East Cambridge--meters which are free after 6:00 p.m. as opposed to the rest of Cambridge, where the hours have recently been extended to 8:00 p.m.--and make a quick jaunt over to Central Square, from where I can also take the Red Line. As for my friends in Brighton, these days a 20-minute drive doesn't seem so long.
Interestingly enough, one of the primary factors in my decision to move into Medford was that it would be closer to work. Indeed, since it is right by I-93, it would be just a 30-minute drive up to Tewksbury. In Brighton, I was currently driving 40-45 minutes, so of course Medford was the better deal. Ironically, just a week after deciding to move to Medford, I was transferred to the Raytheon facility in Sudbury, about 20 miles west of Boston, and more importantly, 20 miles southwest of Medford. Who knew? Technically I did, but they had been talking about sending me to Sudbury for months, and it just wasn't happening. I suppose, however, that it was a good thing I hadn't decided to move to Andover, a town right next to Tewksbury, like I had briefly considered while still in the Back Bay. It just goes to show that things rarely go as planned, at least not perfectly.
Just to be clear, Sudbury is geographically closer to Medford than Tewksbury is, as it is to Brighton as well. But no matter where in the greater Boston area you're coming from, you can count on a peaceful, leisurely 40 mph drive down Rt. 20 during the last nine miles of your commute. This is because the closest freeways are I-95--which runs north-south and has an exit onto Rt. 20 in Weston, still nine miles east of Sudbury--and I-90, which is three miles south of Rt. 20 by the time you get that far west. Therefore, your commute will always be however long it takes to get to Weston, plus 15-20 minutes depending on traffic. Medford is a good 10 or 11 miles from Weston, so I wasn't counting on making it there in 10 minutes.
I spent six weeks driving from Brighton to Sudbury, and that drive wasn't ideal. True, Rt. 20 goes right through Brighton, but the stretch that runs through Watertown and Newton can be kind of tumultuous. Mind you, you're still in Greater Boston, so you're subject to crazy intersections of the worst kind. Besides the place in Newtown where they randomly placed a stoplight for pedestrians (no intersection, just a crosswalk accompanied by a stoplight), there were at least two crooked intersections--you know, intersections where the road on the right doesn't align with the road on the left. We had one back in Logan, and the remedy was simple: Make it a four-way stop. Here in Boston, the solution was to add two separate stoplights. You can imagine the traffic congestion that tends to cause, especially since once you're through one stoplight, you're already facing another. Translation: A 40-minute commute. I suppose it could have been worse. Once you get to Weston, the traffic coming into Boston is much, much worse. The traffic is almost always bumper-to-bumper. The opposite is true at the end of the day. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Medford has proven to be different. Despite adding five miles to my commute, if I leave no later than 7:00, I can get to I-95 within 10-15 minutes, after which it takes me just five minutes or so to get to the Weston exit. Translation: I can easily make it to work within 30-35 minutes! For once, GoogleMap got it right and my GPS can take a hike. And I should point out that included in my transfer was a switch in positions. I am no longer writing, but editing. This has since broadened my exposure to the different projects Raytheon is working on, as I perform quality reviews on manuals from several different programs. Both my former Team Lead and my former Supervisor felt this would be a nice fit for me, and it has. At first there was some confusion determining process when it comes to quality reviews, but that has since been cleared up, and I feel like I have been doing this job for years.
So why am I telling you all this? Probably because in retrospect I feel like my decision to move to Medford was inspired. One might attach simple logic to the equation, as the rent is cheaper, the parking is easier, and at the time, the commute to work was shorter. But why do logic and inspiration have to be mutually exclusive? I feel God doesn't expect us to make inspired decisions that are illogical. Sometimes the logic just takes a while to present itself. I should point out that I left Lexington last year for the same considerations that I disregarded when I moved to Medford. I wanted to be closer to a T, I wanted to be closer to my friends, I wanted to be closer to Boston. Those all seemed like logical considerations at the time, and yet they led me into a very illogical situation in the Back Bay. Logic on its own seems to have failed me in the past from time to time.
Besides, I ended up getting transferred, and things have still worked out in better ways than logic could have conjured up. My previous concerns seem so petty and unimportant, and I feel happier--perhaps because I am starting to focus on the more important things in the eternal perspective and less on those temporal things that have often left me feeling empty and disappointed. Medford life is much calmer than the Back Bay anyway--so calm that when I went out to my vehicle this morning and found that someone had broken my sideview mirror (just the glass), I felt very little frustration. Of course that means I'm going to start parking in our driveway--rather than on the side of the busy street in front of our house, but that's probably why I'm calm. Frustration arises when bad things happen that we don't feel we can control, and in the Back Bay I didn't feel in control of very much at all. It was a last-second choice after the deal in Somerville fell through, and it was a choice I didn't feel good about. But I felt good about Medford, and I feel that because I acted on those feelings, I have more control, more choices. Honestly, God gives us what we can handle, and I can handle what I have been given.
My Stepbrother
I also want to talk about something else that happened this summer: My stepbrother was deployed to Iraq.
I should mention that it was just my older sister and I that lived with our mother and stepfather growing up. Our two older stepbrothers lived with their mother in Sandy and visited us regularly on weekends. They would often go on family trips with us and even joined us a few times for Christmas and Thanksgiving in Idaho. They also appeared with us in family pictures. They were truly part of the family, though it took me a long time to internalize that fact. For the longest time as a kid, when people would ask me how many siblings I had, I would answer that I had one older sister.
That changed somewhere down the road, probably when my oldest niece was born. By that time, both of my stepbrothers were out on their own and still visited us on a regular basis. Shortly after Tacy was born, Trevor visited us at our house in South Jordan and said, "I came to see my niece." Now I don't think that was the only reason he had come, but the fact that he said that really struck a chord in my 16-year-old self. She truly was his niece. Despite living several miles away from us while growing up, he and Kevin had truly established themselves as integral parts of our family. I can still recall those times in the car when the radio would be playing oldies and we would all start clapping and swaying in our seats to the Four Seasons. We would often talk about creating a family group like the Jackson 5. I remember how, when they came to visit on weekends, my bedroom would usually be the social scene, and we would record talk shows on my tape recorder with Trevor as the host. Then there were the times when I would "help" Trevor mow the monstrous double-lawn in our backyard. This consisted of me standing right in front of the lawnmower with my tiny hands (tinier than they are today) weakly gripping the handle, while he would stand behind me with his much stronger arms on either side of me firmly gripping the handle and do the actual mowing. I eventually inherited that job.
Just now, as I write this, I particularly remember when Rochelle and I were fighting over who got to sit in the back seat of our minivan as we were preparing to go to dinner. For some reason, the back seat of that vehicle was coveted much more than the middle seat, probably because the seats felt just like the front seat--molded to complement your backside and therefore somewhat more comfortable than the middle seat. Anyway, Trevor rose to my defense and lectured Rochelle about being fair and letting me have a turn. Mind you, he's 5 1/2 years older than I and 3 1/2 years older than she, so he spoke with unspoken authority, and he was using it to defend the youngest, and at the time the most defenseless, member of our family--me! That is what family is.
And yet, once I got into high school, college, the mission, and then college again, my stepbrothers and I drifted apart a bit. Sure we still saw each other frequently, but we were doing our own thing. It wasn't until I was in graduate school that we began communicating beyond a superficial level. This was because Trevor had since married Denise, with whom I eventually bonded over our love for the Denver Broncos and anybody that played the Raiders. She also isn't bad at word games like Scrabble and Quiddler. This resulted in me getting to know Trevor again as well, and we soon bonded over the TV show "Scrubs." In fact, shortly after leaving for Boston, I added him as a friend on Facebook, and when he accepted, I posted on his Wall and teased him with a variation of a Scrubs quote that he totally got. He posted back and conceded that he was impressed with my quip--that never happened before! He was so impressed that he even shared it with Denise, who subsequently continued with the line following that quote. "Wow!" I thought, "My stepbrother likes me!"
But all that doesn't quite amount to the sense of admiration I unexpectedly felt when Trevor was deployed back in July. Honestly, I didn't think it would affect me that much. True, I was raised around patriots--including a grandfather who fought as a marine in WWII, several uncles who served in Vietnam, and a stepfather who recently retired from the Utah National Guard--so I understand what it means to serve your country. One of the reasons I wanted to work for a defense contractor is because, due to my medical record, it is the closest I will ever get to serving in the military. But I did not expect to look at Trevor any differently. It was as if a light bulb had suddenly turned on in my head, and I realized, "This is huge! This is my oldest sibling, and he is leaving his family to defend the freedom of complete strangers!" You don't have to be religious to know that such a sacrifice is a defining characteristic of charity and pure love.
So with that said, I am proud to call him my stepbrother. I know I said on Facebook recently that I might drop the 'step' and call him my brother, but that may take time. Old habits die hard, I guess. But whatever I call him, he is in fact a part of my family and life that I truly respect and appreciate...even if I did call him Shirley in my last post on his Wall.
I should mention that it was just my older sister and I that lived with our mother and stepfather growing up. Our two older stepbrothers lived with their mother in Sandy and visited us regularly on weekends. They would often go on family trips with us and even joined us a few times for Christmas and Thanksgiving in Idaho. They also appeared with us in family pictures. They were truly part of the family, though it took me a long time to internalize that fact. For the longest time as a kid, when people would ask me how many siblings I had, I would answer that I had one older sister.
That changed somewhere down the road, probably when my oldest niece was born. By that time, both of my stepbrothers were out on their own and still visited us on a regular basis. Shortly after Tacy was born, Trevor visited us at our house in South Jordan and said, "I came to see my niece." Now I don't think that was the only reason he had come, but the fact that he said that really struck a chord in my 16-year-old self. She truly was his niece. Despite living several miles away from us while growing up, he and Kevin had truly established themselves as integral parts of our family. I can still recall those times in the car when the radio would be playing oldies and we would all start clapping and swaying in our seats to the Four Seasons. We would often talk about creating a family group like the Jackson 5. I remember how, when they came to visit on weekends, my bedroom would usually be the social scene, and we would record talk shows on my tape recorder with Trevor as the host. Then there were the times when I would "help" Trevor mow the monstrous double-lawn in our backyard. This consisted of me standing right in front of the lawnmower with my tiny hands (tinier than they are today) weakly gripping the handle, while he would stand behind me with his much stronger arms on either side of me firmly gripping the handle and do the actual mowing. I eventually inherited that job.
Just now, as I write this, I particularly remember when Rochelle and I were fighting over who got to sit in the back seat of our minivan as we were preparing to go to dinner. For some reason, the back seat of that vehicle was coveted much more than the middle seat, probably because the seats felt just like the front seat--molded to complement your backside and therefore somewhat more comfortable than the middle seat. Anyway, Trevor rose to my defense and lectured Rochelle about being fair and letting me have a turn. Mind you, he's 5 1/2 years older than I and 3 1/2 years older than she, so he spoke with unspoken authority, and he was using it to defend the youngest, and at the time the most defenseless, member of our family--me! That is what family is.
And yet, once I got into high school, college, the mission, and then college again, my stepbrothers and I drifted apart a bit. Sure we still saw each other frequently, but we were doing our own thing. It wasn't until I was in graduate school that we began communicating beyond a superficial level. This was because Trevor had since married Denise, with whom I eventually bonded over our love for the Denver Broncos and anybody that played the Raiders. She also isn't bad at word games like Scrabble and Quiddler. This resulted in me getting to know Trevor again as well, and we soon bonded over the TV show "Scrubs." In fact, shortly after leaving for Boston, I added him as a friend on Facebook, and when he accepted, I posted on his Wall and teased him with a variation of a Scrubs quote that he totally got. He posted back and conceded that he was impressed with my quip--that never happened before! He was so impressed that he even shared it with Denise, who subsequently continued with the line following that quote. "Wow!" I thought, "My stepbrother likes me!"
But all that doesn't quite amount to the sense of admiration I unexpectedly felt when Trevor was deployed back in July. Honestly, I didn't think it would affect me that much. True, I was raised around patriots--including a grandfather who fought as a marine in WWII, several uncles who served in Vietnam, and a stepfather who recently retired from the Utah National Guard--so I understand what it means to serve your country. One of the reasons I wanted to work for a defense contractor is because, due to my medical record, it is the closest I will ever get to serving in the military. But I did not expect to look at Trevor any differently. It was as if a light bulb had suddenly turned on in my head, and I realized, "This is huge! This is my oldest sibling, and he is leaving his family to defend the freedom of complete strangers!" You don't have to be religious to know that such a sacrifice is a defining characteristic of charity and pure love.
So with that said, I am proud to call him my stepbrother. I know I said on Facebook recently that I might drop the 'step' and call him my brother, but that may take time. Old habits die hard, I guess. But whatever I call him, he is in fact a part of my family and life that I truly respect and appreciate...even if I did call him Shirley in my last post on his Wall.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
New York
So after another busy week at work, I decided to broaden my horizons and spend my Friday off in New York. I actually booked the trip one week earlier, setting my departure date for 11:59 pm Thursday night, and my return date for 3:15 pm Friday afternoon. While many of my friends were a bit perplexed that I would go there for just one day and then return early so I could attend all of the weekend activities, they also thought it was pretty cool that I would be so random and adventurous. Nothing else to do on my day off, right?
The bus ride was okay for...well, a bus ride. I was even able to sleep a bit. The bus dropped us off at 4:15 am at a stop about three blocks east of New York's Penn Station. As I began walking towards Penn Station, Madison Square Garden quickly showed itself, thus giving me a greater understanding of just how close together everything important really is in the Big Apple. I would eventually find places farther apart throughout the day, but it still gave me comfort knowing that I would have plenty of tourist activities during my short stay. I also began to feel right at home (my Boston home) when a panhandler approached me at Penn Station, claiming he was a diabetic and needed $10 to get something at the McDonald's stand on the corner. That was the most money I had ever given a panhandler, and I knew he probably wasn't diabetic if he was going to get something at McDonald's, but I was already apprehensive about New York's reputation for muggers without adding the 4:30 am ambiance. As I moseyed into the station, I began wondering what I had gotten myself into. Hundreds of people from all walks of life lined the station walls, keeled over their luggage in the most uncomfortable sleeping positions, while most of those awake were either arguing with their cell phones or arguing with themselves. Mohawks and enormous afros must have added six inches to the the average height of the people there. I wonder if I'm that scary looking in the morning. Even before the Subway signs warned me to watch for pickpockets, I was already clutching the outside of my jacket pocket that carried my cell phone.
The trip was great--well worth the bus fare and the shin splints I would acquire by the end of the day. I spent a couple of hours reading in the Subway--waiting for my line to open up for the day. I then ventured to Central Park. On the way, as the subway whisked through the stop at 59th Street, I was reminded of Simon and Garfunkel's 59th Street Bridge Song, a lyric quite complementary to the ever-frazzled disposition of which I have been trying particularly hard to dispose--part of the reason I had come on this adventure. Actually, just about everything I saw in New York got me thinking about everything, and I wish I had more creative words at my disposal to describe it. I ended up cruising through Times Square for a while before hitting Central Park. Times Square literally puts Boston's Newbury Street to shame. Everything is there, not just your high-priced retailers and exotic outdoor restaurants. Times Square has those too, but so much more for anyone to enjoy.
I didn't realize that Times Square is basically a long strip stretching from the southern border of Central Park to beyond 40th Street. I guess the New Year's Eve celebrations have had me assuming it was an actual square--a really big one, no less. My favorite part of Times Square was the Hershey's Company, where I went and bought Reese's-flavored Whoppers. Even though I'm not a big fan of Whoppers, it was peanut butter! And I had to get some sort of souvenir besides the digital camera I bought. I also encountered an Elvis impersonator, a no idling sign that threatened a $2000 fine, the building where they film the Late Show, and a branch of New York's finest right in the middle of the Square.
I later took the literary walk through Central Park, which also surprised me. I didn't realize Central Park actually had tourist attractions of historical value. I saw statues of Columbus, Shakespeare, and Sir Walter Scott, among others. And I saw a random black wizard with a long white beard near the playground giving a tour to some high school students. He had with him a sign that said Blackwolf, who I later learned was a character from the 1977 movie Wizards, a post-apocalyptic science fiction/fantasy about two opposing wizards who represent the battle between magic and technology. I just thought seeing a wizard in Central Park was really cool.
After brief visits to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Natural History--both of which cost money just for the tours, so I didn't get to do much more than admire the Greek and Roman sculptures as well as Theodore Roosevelt's statement on Manhood--I ended my stay with a tour of Ground Zero. I knew my stepfather would be disappointed if I left New York without visiting the place, and since I was on my mission when it all happened, I still know very few of the details. The tour was given by two people who had loved ones that had died during the attack. Most of the tour, however, featured the logistics of the World Trade Center, such as the fact that David Rockefeller paid for it to be built to revitalize a city that was deteriorating in morale and economic prosperity. I also learned that the entire Liberty Island could fit into the site where the towers once stood, and that when the towers were hit, they took 10-12 seconds to fall, tumbling to the ground almost like a pancake. Part of the tour took place in the memorial that is currently under construction. As I gazed out the large windows from the third or fourth floor of the memorial, I saw the construction site that I assumed was the actual towers being rebuilt, when in fact it was part of the memorial itself. I felt kind of sheepish after finding out otherwise on my own.
Either way, the fact is that I somehow did not save the picture I took of the site, which saddens me. Oh well, I'm over it. That was the gist of my trip, and I won't bore you with the bus ride home. I did feel more cultured and experienced after going to New York, and I can't wait to go back there with friends so I can be in the pictures that I take--you can't be in too many pictures if you refuse to take your hand off your camera. Maybe whomever I go with will convince me to relax in that respect.
The bus ride was okay for...well, a bus ride. I was even able to sleep a bit. The bus dropped us off at 4:15 am at a stop about three blocks east of New York's Penn Station. As I began walking towards Penn Station, Madison Square Garden quickly showed itself, thus giving me a greater understanding of just how close together everything important really is in the Big Apple. I would eventually find places farther apart throughout the day, but it still gave me comfort knowing that I would have plenty of tourist activities during my short stay. I also began to feel right at home (my Boston home) when a panhandler approached me at Penn Station, claiming he was a diabetic and needed $10 to get something at the McDonald's stand on the corner. That was the most money I had ever given a panhandler, and I knew he probably wasn't diabetic if he was going to get something at McDonald's, but I was already apprehensive about New York's reputation for muggers without adding the 4:30 am ambiance. As I moseyed into the station, I began wondering what I had gotten myself into. Hundreds of people from all walks of life lined the station walls, keeled over their luggage in the most uncomfortable sleeping positions, while most of those awake were either arguing with their cell phones or arguing with themselves. Mohawks and enormous afros must have added six inches to the the average height of the people there. I wonder if I'm that scary looking in the morning. Even before the Subway signs warned me to watch for pickpockets, I was already clutching the outside of my jacket pocket that carried my cell phone.
The trip was great--well worth the bus fare and the shin splints I would acquire by the end of the day. I spent a couple of hours reading in the Subway--waiting for my line to open up for the day. I then ventured to Central Park. On the way, as the subway whisked through the stop at 59th Street, I was reminded of Simon and Garfunkel's 59th Street Bridge Song, a lyric quite complementary to the ever-frazzled disposition of which I have been trying particularly hard to dispose--part of the reason I had come on this adventure. Actually, just about everything I saw in New York got me thinking about everything, and I wish I had more creative words at my disposal to describe it. I ended up cruising through Times Square for a while before hitting Central Park. Times Square literally puts Boston's Newbury Street to shame. Everything is there, not just your high-priced retailers and exotic outdoor restaurants. Times Square has those too, but so much more for anyone to enjoy.
I didn't realize that Times Square is basically a long strip stretching from the southern border of Central Park to beyond 40th Street. I guess the New Year's Eve celebrations have had me assuming it was an actual square--a really big one, no less. My favorite part of Times Square was the Hershey's Company, where I went and bought Reese's-flavored Whoppers. Even though I'm not a big fan of Whoppers, it was peanut butter! And I had to get some sort of souvenir besides the digital camera I bought. I also encountered an Elvis impersonator, a no idling sign that threatened a $2000 fine, the building where they film the Late Show, and a branch of New York's finest right in the middle of the Square. 
I later took the literary walk through Central Park, which also surprised me. I didn't realize Central Park actually had tourist attractions of historical value. I saw statues of Columbus, Shakespeare, and Sir Walter Scott, among others. And I saw a random black wizard with a long white beard near the playground giving a tour to some high school students. He had with him a sign that said Blackwolf, who I later learned was a character from the 1977 movie Wizards, a post-apocalyptic science fiction/fantasy about two opposing wizards who represent the battle between magic and technology. I just thought seeing a wizard in Central Park was really cool.
After brief visits to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Natural History--both of which cost money just for the tours, so I didn't get to do much more than admire the Greek and Roman sculptures as well as Theodore Roosevelt's statement on Manhood--I ended my stay with a tour of Ground Zero. I knew my stepfather would be disappointed if I left New York without visiting the place, and since I was on my mission when it all happened, I still know very few of the details. The tour was given by two people who had loved ones that had died during the attack. Most of the tour, however, featured the logistics of the World Trade Center, such as the fact that David Rockefeller paid for it to be built to revitalize a city that was deteriorating in morale and economic prosperity. I also learned that the entire Liberty Island could fit into the site where the towers once stood, and that when the towers were hit, they took 10-12 seconds to fall, tumbling to the ground almost like a pancake. Part of the tour took place in the memorial that is currently under construction. As I gazed out the large windows from the third or fourth floor of the memorial, I saw the construction site that I assumed was the actual towers being rebuilt, when in fact it was part of the memorial itself. I felt kind of sheepish after finding out otherwise on my own.
Either way, the fact is that I somehow did not save the picture I took of the site, which saddens me. Oh well, I'm over it. That was the gist of my trip, and I won't bore you with the bus ride home. I did feel more cultured and experienced after going to New York, and I can't wait to go back there with friends so I can be in the pictures that I take--you can't be in too many pictures if you refuse to take your hand off your camera. Maybe whomever I go with will convince me to relax in that respect.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Work and the Power of Choice
This has been a pretty good week. Work has been rather busy, as we have deadlines approaching every 1-2 weeks. I should explain what it is I do exactly. Yes, I am a technical writer and I write technical manuals, but what I do is much different, much more intense, and much cooler then writing about microwaves and mattresses--no offense to those who write about microwaves; I am all for anything that teaches you how to cook your burrito without going blind, getting radiation poisoning, or causing an explosion because you never thought to ask whether pots and pans are safe containers. As for those who write about mattresses, I did that for a month, and admit it, you'd rather be counting the screws in the hardwood floor at the Boston Garden.
I write technical manuals for a naval destroyer. There is so much that goes into writing these manuals. There are dozens of systems on the ship, which translates into hundreds of components, which in turn translates into thousands of pages about those components and the systems themselves. These manuals describe everything about the systems and the components, instruct the user on how to install and configure them, and then offer troubleshooting information.
In the 14 months that I have worked for Raytheon, which is in Tewksbury, just 30 miles north of Boston, I have found that the intensity of the job can be traced primarily to one ongoing factor: There are dozens and dozens of people in your department, each of whom have work that depends on the cooperation of people outside the department, even outside the company, who in turn often have priorities and deadlines that don't coincide with those of the project for which you are responsible. The more people you have in that type of situation, the more vital it is to stay on each other's backs, following up on every little task you need them to do and reminding them of every little deadline that needs to be met and why it so important, which can get quite irritating for all parties involved. Even then, deadlines are often missed and/or pushed back, which irritates those with OCD to no end. I should mention my Team Lead is OCD.
Anyway, that's all I can really say about the job, as I deal with a lot of proprietary information. Most of my friends would find the details boring anyway. I can say that I spent this entire week preparing some operational procedures for a Q2 Review. These procedures took so long that I even had to work today, which normally would have been my Friday off. That just means I'll get next Friday off, as well as the next. While I do enjoy my job, this week's task was a little tedious. For the past three months, I have been looking forward to transferring to a position as a technical editor. In this position, I would be performing Q6 Reviews on other people's work, which my Team Lead and my Supervisor both think would be a great fit for me. I was supposed to start last month, but deadlines have been pushed back.
On Monday of this week, my Team Lead told me that because of funding, it could be months before I start my new position. That can be kind of frustrating, but at least that means I have more time to get to know the SMEs involved in the project and gain more in-depth knowledge about these systems. I didn't work much with SMEs last year, as my work was mostly under the direction of my Team Lead, but now my mind is trained well enough to the point that I know what questions I need to ask, and to whom, in any given situation that may arise on the job.
Also this week, I read the book The Giver upon a friend's recommendation. I mention this book because it offered a lot more insight than I previously had about freedom of choice, otherwise known as free agency. Without giving the plot away, I will say that it suggests some very profound implications of living in a society where we are compelled to do good, treat everyone with respect, and shun evil in its entirety, which includes evil deeds, evil thoughts, and exposure to anything that could remotely encourage any actions that are less than ideal. I'll give you a hint on some of those implications: think of the color brown and take note of the emotions you feel while doing so. Also, think of how winter makes you feel. Chances are you probably experience negative emotions, which may or may not have a negative influence on your actions. So just for the sake of caution, what would be the only sure-fire way to avoid those negative emotions altogether? Think about it.
Consequently, while I have always believed that God allows us to make our own choices so that we can grow and find happiness in making the right ones, I now understand just how meaningful and necessary it is to have those things in our lives that can potentially bring us joy or pain based on our choices. God doesn't just want us to find joy in the fact that we chose good over evil and therefore have learned self-mastery. That is a major part of it, but He also wants us to 1) understand the human tendency for choosing evil in most situations because it seems like the natural thing to do in this imperfect world, and 2) comprehend the true power of choice, and how it enables us to create or destroy things, each other, and even ourselves. Once we learn of the human potential and the astronomical contrast between the consequences of good and the consequences of evil, only then will we find ultimate joy.
Even so, I still have mixed feelings about the book's ending. Oh well, at least it got me thinking again.
I write technical manuals for a naval destroyer. There is so much that goes into writing these manuals. There are dozens of systems on the ship, which translates into hundreds of components, which in turn translates into thousands of pages about those components and the systems themselves. These manuals describe everything about the systems and the components, instruct the user on how to install and configure them, and then offer troubleshooting information.
In the 14 months that I have worked for Raytheon, which is in Tewksbury, just 30 miles north of Boston, I have found that the intensity of the job can be traced primarily to one ongoing factor: There are dozens and dozens of people in your department, each of whom have work that depends on the cooperation of people outside the department, even outside the company, who in turn often have priorities and deadlines that don't coincide with those of the project for which you are responsible. The more people you have in that type of situation, the more vital it is to stay on each other's backs, following up on every little task you need them to do and reminding them of every little deadline that needs to be met and why it so important, which can get quite irritating for all parties involved. Even then, deadlines are often missed and/or pushed back, which irritates those with OCD to no end. I should mention my Team Lead is OCD.
Anyway, that's all I can really say about the job, as I deal with a lot of proprietary information. Most of my friends would find the details boring anyway. I can say that I spent this entire week preparing some operational procedures for a Q2 Review. These procedures took so long that I even had to work today, which normally would have been my Friday off. That just means I'll get next Friday off, as well as the next. While I do enjoy my job, this week's task was a little tedious. For the past three months, I have been looking forward to transferring to a position as a technical editor. In this position, I would be performing Q6 Reviews on other people's work, which my Team Lead and my Supervisor both think would be a great fit for me. I was supposed to start last month, but deadlines have been pushed back.
On Monday of this week, my Team Lead told me that because of funding, it could be months before I start my new position. That can be kind of frustrating, but at least that means I have more time to get to know the SMEs involved in the project and gain more in-depth knowledge about these systems. I didn't work much with SMEs last year, as my work was mostly under the direction of my Team Lead, but now my mind is trained well enough to the point that I know what questions I need to ask, and to whom, in any given situation that may arise on the job.
Also this week, I read the book The Giver upon a friend's recommendation. I mention this book because it offered a lot more insight than I previously had about freedom of choice, otherwise known as free agency. Without giving the plot away, I will say that it suggests some very profound implications of living in a society where we are compelled to do good, treat everyone with respect, and shun evil in its entirety, which includes evil deeds, evil thoughts, and exposure to anything that could remotely encourage any actions that are less than ideal. I'll give you a hint on some of those implications: think of the color brown and take note of the emotions you feel while doing so. Also, think of how winter makes you feel. Chances are you probably experience negative emotions, which may or may not have a negative influence on your actions. So just for the sake of caution, what would be the only sure-fire way to avoid those negative emotions altogether? Think about it.
Consequently, while I have always believed that God allows us to make our own choices so that we can grow and find happiness in making the right ones, I now understand just how meaningful and necessary it is to have those things in our lives that can potentially bring us joy or pain based on our choices. God doesn't just want us to find joy in the fact that we chose good over evil and therefore have learned self-mastery. That is a major part of it, but He also wants us to 1) understand the human tendency for choosing evil in most situations because it seems like the natural thing to do in this imperfect world, and 2) comprehend the true power of choice, and how it enables us to create or destroy things, each other, and even ourselves. Once we learn of the human potential and the astronomical contrast between the consequences of good and the consequences of evil, only then will we find ultimate joy.
Even so, I still have mixed feelings about the book's ending. Oh well, at least it got me thinking again.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
My First Official Post
It is moments like these that compelled me to create this blog. After going to the gas station, the library, and then braving the Boston traffic and dodging the KFC protesters to get myself a twister wrap, I find myself back at home with too much time on my hands. I can't help thinking of all the lazy Saturday afternoons I could have blogged about in the past.
I did try stopping by my friends Jan Marie and Stephanie's place in Brighton, partially because I wanted to practice Stephanie's piano and partially because I figured I wouldn't be able to find a parking spot by where I live, and I usually have to park it for the weekend. Unfortunately, they weren't home, though while knocking on their back door, I heard the sound of a doorbell repeating over and over. I wasn't sure what it was at the time, and I soon let my imagination run wild, thinking about the beginning of one of those horror movies that start out with high-pitched, usually fast-paced orchestra music illustrating the intensity of it all. In retrospect, I wonder if they start out that way because those movies usually take a while with plot development, so the producers want to give a reminder that we are in fact watching a horror movie and therefore should not be surprised when the protagonist (or damsel in distress that is in love with the protagonist or vice versa) unsuspectingly opens the refrigerator and a hairy, gnarled hand gives him/her the mustard.
But also like those movies, this noise was exactly what it sounded like: a broken doorbell. I guess I dismissed that idea because the back door that I always use doesn't have a doorbell, and I suppose I had forgotten about the front door. By the time I realized this, I was already on my way home and talking to Stephanie on the phone. Fortunately, I did find a parking spot on my street. Hence, I am here.
Anyway, today is really nice. The sun is out and the temperature is 50 degrees. Not the best day to be stuck inside reading, but at least I don't have to worry about traffic. Seriously, the roads are the only thing I don't like about Boston. I do, however, find the endless struggle between driver and pedestrian quite intriguing. As a driver, I sometimes get impatient with the pedestrians who jaywalk or simply take their sweet time crossing the crosswalk without consideration for 1) the driver trying to make a left turn before getting hit by oncoming traffic, or 2) the driver looking to make a right turn at an intersection before the light turns red because the city of Boston places No Turn on Red Light signs at random intersections. I call it random because I often find myself looking for those signs at intersections that would logically need them more than others, but alas they do not. This causes me considerable anxiety, as do those intersections that are kitty corner to each other so when someone makes a left turn they can't tell which stoplight they're supposed to be obeying. My Team Lead at work is no help, as she claims there are hidden cameras at every intersection in Boston. A sister in my ward last year offered some comfort when she said the police have more important things to worry about.
On the other hand, as a frequent pedestrian, I can see how frustrating it is when some drivers are so focused on where they're going that they honk at us in exasperation because somehow we should have known that the light would turn red as we were crossing the crosswalk, thus preventing them from making that right turn. They should rather be mad at the driver in front of them who let several pedestrians cross against the light. I feel no sympathy for those pedestrians, as I think they're simply taking advantage of the state law that drivers must stop for pedestrians. At the same time, I feel even less sympathy for the drivers who let the pedestrians pass, as they should know that said law does not apply to jaywalkers, and the jaywalkers usually know that and are therefore prepared to stop for drivers who assert themselves.
Well, that's my vent about Boston traffic; pretty good for being a whole year's worth. I hope this stuff isn't too emotionally heavy, but at least it's getting me into the habit of writing on this thing. I'm a little appalled at some of my grammar and sentence structure in this post, but I know very few people who will notice, and among them, there are even fewer whose opinions I value, most of whom could care less that I ended a sentence with a preposition. So I won't bother with the editing.
I did try stopping by my friends Jan Marie and Stephanie's place in Brighton, partially because I wanted to practice Stephanie's piano and partially because I figured I wouldn't be able to find a parking spot by where I live, and I usually have to park it for the weekend. Unfortunately, they weren't home, though while knocking on their back door, I heard the sound of a doorbell repeating over and over. I wasn't sure what it was at the time, and I soon let my imagination run wild, thinking about the beginning of one of those horror movies that start out with high-pitched, usually fast-paced orchestra music illustrating the intensity of it all. In retrospect, I wonder if they start out that way because those movies usually take a while with plot development, so the producers want to give a reminder that we are in fact watching a horror movie and therefore should not be surprised when the protagonist (or damsel in distress that is in love with the protagonist or vice versa) unsuspectingly opens the refrigerator and a hairy, gnarled hand gives him/her the mustard.
But also like those movies, this noise was exactly what it sounded like: a broken doorbell. I guess I dismissed that idea because the back door that I always use doesn't have a doorbell, and I suppose I had forgotten about the front door. By the time I realized this, I was already on my way home and talking to Stephanie on the phone. Fortunately, I did find a parking spot on my street. Hence, I am here.
Anyway, today is really nice. The sun is out and the temperature is 50 degrees. Not the best day to be stuck inside reading, but at least I don't have to worry about traffic. Seriously, the roads are the only thing I don't like about Boston. I do, however, find the endless struggle between driver and pedestrian quite intriguing. As a driver, I sometimes get impatient with the pedestrians who jaywalk or simply take their sweet time crossing the crosswalk without consideration for 1) the driver trying to make a left turn before getting hit by oncoming traffic, or 2) the driver looking to make a right turn at an intersection before the light turns red because the city of Boston places No Turn on Red Light signs at random intersections. I call it random because I often find myself looking for those signs at intersections that would logically need them more than others, but alas they do not. This causes me considerable anxiety, as do those intersections that are kitty corner to each other so when someone makes a left turn they can't tell which stoplight they're supposed to be obeying. My Team Lead at work is no help, as she claims there are hidden cameras at every intersection in Boston. A sister in my ward last year offered some comfort when she said the police have more important things to worry about.
On the other hand, as a frequent pedestrian, I can see how frustrating it is when some drivers are so focused on where they're going that they honk at us in exasperation because somehow we should have known that the light would turn red as we were crossing the crosswalk, thus preventing them from making that right turn. They should rather be mad at the driver in front of them who let several pedestrians cross against the light. I feel no sympathy for those pedestrians, as I think they're simply taking advantage of the state law that drivers must stop for pedestrians. At the same time, I feel even less sympathy for the drivers who let the pedestrians pass, as they should know that said law does not apply to jaywalkers, and the jaywalkers usually know that and are therefore prepared to stop for drivers who assert themselves.
Well, that's my vent about Boston traffic; pretty good for being a whole year's worth. I hope this stuff isn't too emotionally heavy, but at least it's getting me into the habit of writing on this thing. I'm a little appalled at some of my grammar and sentence structure in this post, but I know very few people who will notice, and among them, there are even fewer whose opinions I value, most of whom could care less that I ended a sentence with a preposition. So I won't bother with the editing.
Let the Blogging Begin!
Procrastination is an interesting concept. I say interesting because while it predictably can cause severe disruptions in our lives, even to the extent of defeating our desires and ambitions, thus leaving us with regret that only disappears once we have achieved those ambitions through the deliberate method of not procrastinating, it can also catch us between a rock and a hard place as we try to decide whether the priorities which we procrastinated doing are more or less important than our current priorities.
Wait, that sounded way too convoluted...and so does convoluted. I simply mean that when we procrastinate, we often find ourselves having to choose between what we wanted in the past and what we currently want and which hasn't been procrastinated yet. Usually, if we're still dwelling on the past, it is something we view as having long-term consequences and therefore needing attention, but as human beings we are also impatient to achieve our present ambitions...especially if we made a specific resolve to stop procrastinating.
For example, I just spent the last 90 minutes creating this blog that I've been procrastinating for over a year. At the same time, my plan was to be out the door by noon and spend my Saturday catching up on my reading list that I have been neglecting ever since graduate school turned me off to the idea of reading for recreation. While that goal is the result of more procrastination, I refer to it as an immediate priority because the books I want to read can be read in a matter of days or perhaps weeks. Among other things, I plan on checking out The Giver, which I hear can be read in the time it has taken me to create this blog.
This blog, however, is something I should have started a long time ago, and because I didn't, it is an ongoing process that will not be accomplished in a Saturday afternoon. I really just want to use this to post random thoughts and describe my experiences here in Boston, while I will leave the venting for my journal if I ever get around to it. Ironically, I spent a lot of time on the logistics of creating this thing, including my profile. I eventually deleted most of the About Me information because honestly, who wants to hear a play-by-play of my growing up years, my brushes with life-threatening illnesses, and how I feel about the God-fearing people of Minnesota? Those were all fine to discuss in the past, but you probably want to know what I'm doing now. I'm still not satisfied with the background and layout of this blog, but if I stop soon and get ready now, I can still be out the door by noon. Therefore, I'll leave it to my readers to tell me whether it needs improvement. Hey, it can't be much worse than the Facebook layout.
I'm not exactly sure what my theme is going to be. I guess I'll do what I already said and simply share random thoughts and my experiences here in Boston. I told someone last night I was thinking of redoing all the tourist attractions I did last year just so I can remember everything to write in here, but that doesn't sound very practical. Perhaps an effective way to remember the last year will be to share current experiences and somehow correlate them with the past. I'm usually pretty good at making those transitions, so we'll see. I do promise that my next post will be more interesting than this one, largely because now that I have created this thing, I'll have it in the back of my mind anytime I am deciding whether to go out and live it up or stay in and play Scrabble on my computer.
Wait, that sounded way too convoluted...and so does convoluted. I simply mean that when we procrastinate, we often find ourselves having to choose between what we wanted in the past and what we currently want and which hasn't been procrastinated yet. Usually, if we're still dwelling on the past, it is something we view as having long-term consequences and therefore needing attention, but as human beings we are also impatient to achieve our present ambitions...especially if we made a specific resolve to stop procrastinating.
For example, I just spent the last 90 minutes creating this blog that I've been procrastinating for over a year. At the same time, my plan was to be out the door by noon and spend my Saturday catching up on my reading list that I have been neglecting ever since graduate school turned me off to the idea of reading for recreation. While that goal is the result of more procrastination, I refer to it as an immediate priority because the books I want to read can be read in a matter of days or perhaps weeks. Among other things, I plan on checking out The Giver, which I hear can be read in the time it has taken me to create this blog.
This blog, however, is something I should have started a long time ago, and because I didn't, it is an ongoing process that will not be accomplished in a Saturday afternoon. I really just want to use this to post random thoughts and describe my experiences here in Boston, while I will leave the venting for my journal if I ever get around to it. Ironically, I spent a lot of time on the logistics of creating this thing, including my profile. I eventually deleted most of the About Me information because honestly, who wants to hear a play-by-play of my growing up years, my brushes with life-threatening illnesses, and how I feel about the God-fearing people of Minnesota? Those were all fine to discuss in the past, but you probably want to know what I'm doing now. I'm still not satisfied with the background and layout of this blog, but if I stop soon and get ready now, I can still be out the door by noon. Therefore, I'll leave it to my readers to tell me whether it needs improvement. Hey, it can't be much worse than the Facebook layout.
I'm not exactly sure what my theme is going to be. I guess I'll do what I already said and simply share random thoughts and my experiences here in Boston. I told someone last night I was thinking of redoing all the tourist attractions I did last year just so I can remember everything to write in here, but that doesn't sound very practical. Perhaps an effective way to remember the last year will be to share current experiences and somehow correlate them with the past. I'm usually pretty good at making those transitions, so we'll see. I do promise that my next post will be more interesting than this one, largely because now that I have created this thing, I'll have it in the back of my mind anytime I am deciding whether to go out and live it up or stay in and play Scrabble on my computer.
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