Already December

So, it's already December.

Forget Christmas cheer.. Finals are here.

I was fortunate to have only one final. But three semester projects. One of the projects was the large report on AT/RT, and part of the project was presenting the paper to a small group of members of the class.

So I threw together a slideshow and arrived at Dr. Housman's meeting room on the fifth floor in E18 today at 2:05.

Dr. Housman hadn't brought his dog. On some days, the dog accompanies him to class. Sometimes the dog falls asleep, and Dr. Houseman hurries through the slides, "Even the dog is falling asleep!" Or the dog will howl, signaling impatience, and class is let out early.. Crazy stuff like that. And the dog is a walking example of at least three types of cancers.

But the dog wasn't there today.

The presentations began at 2:15. we were already behind. Nate got up and talked for a significant time about melanomas. While he is a very nice person in general, he had grossly overestimated our interest in the signaling pathways implicated in melanoma.



At one point in the presentation, he brought up the BRAF V600E mutation. Dr. Housman had fallen asleep, but woke up at this point. After glancing at the slides, Dr. Housman made an insightful comment, as only a brilliant sleeping professor can do:

"Did you know that you are standing in the very spot where the PhD student who made that discovery had his bench? Yes, I think right there. This room used to be split by a wall, and his bench would have been right there."

Crazy.

My presentation went off without a hitch, and I tried to keep it to the 15-minute time limit. Dr. Housman only interrupted once, asking whether the SWI/SNF complex slides histones to reveal genes or promoters... I don't think anyone knows the answer to that question, so I didn't feel bad saying "I don't know."

But, isn't that cool? Some of the groundbreaking melanoma research that is still being talked about today was done in the conference room where we presented our semester projects.

I thought it was cool.

Speaking of cool, it's already December. Somerville reports a current temperature of 27F degrees. I'm joining the campaign committee promoting global warming.

Peculiar Day

I'm having one of those days that I'm glad will probably never happen again. I'm supposed to be writing a 10-15 page paper on AT/RT for Monday, but I'm going to take a few minutes to document this before I forget all of the details..

It started out ok.

Last night, I texted Justin, and he offered to give me a ride to clean the church this morning at 9. Sometime while I was sleeping last night, I remembered that he was in charge of cleaning the church this week, because everyone else was going to be gone. That meant that he was probably going to need to be at the church before 9:00 to open it up. Which meant that my 8:50 alarm was probably going to be too late. Somehow, I woke up at 8:30, and was awake to hear his text message come in asking me if I was ready. I replied "almost" and pulled on some pants and a sweatshirt. I grabbed a watermelon jolly rancher as I went out the door, and spit out pieces of the wrapper that I couldn't get off the jolly rancher as I stood and waited for him to pick me up.

After cleaning the church, a girl named Stephanie invited me to go see the new Harry Potter movie. So I headed over to the Boston Common in my pants and sweatshirt to watch HP7. In the car was an older man who I will refer to as Jeffrey, because I forgot his real name.. but it might have been Jeffrey. Anyway, when we rolled up to the theater, it turned out that the girl who invited me needed guys to help Jeffrey out of the car into his wheelchair and into the theater. I felt needed.

While sitting in the theater, I realized that the last two movies I have seen in theater are the Michael Jackson movie, and Avitar. Both of which were 2009 movies. Granted, I was in Germany and things come out a little later there than in America, but it had been a long time since I had been to a movie theater.

And an even longer time since I had watched or read Harry Potter. I think the last time I tried to read Harry Potter was in 11th grade, when I was trying to read Harry Potter for reading pages. We had to read 1000 pages per term, but I was informed that Harry Potter wasn't real literature, so I couldn't count it for my reading pages. So I turned to real literature like Emma and Wuthering Heights which cured me of any recreational reading desires I had.

And I think I watched the middle half of a Harry Potter movie while I was waiting for something somewhere... not sure about that.

Anyway, about 30 minutes into HP7, I had deduced that the pale guy without the nose was Voldemort. After that things made a lot more sense. However, because of my unfamiliarity with the Dobby chararacter, I wasn't crying as I left the theater.

I helped Jeffrey back into the car, and then we drove to drop him off. On the way home, he rolled down the windows and kept making jokes about having to throw up. I wasn't sure whether to believe him or not.

While we were in the car, Sarah, a girl in the car somehow started talking about how her roommate had been asked out to the upcoming Boston area singles' dance. Evidently, the guy had knocked on her door at the very late hour of 10pm. She was alone at home, and didn't think it was necessary to answer the door at that hour. And then three guys started texting her, telling her to answer the door. It was really creepy. She didn't know any of the numbers, but one of them was an 801 number.. Finally, she went downstairs and found that they had left a pie on the doorstep with a cute poem. At first she thought it was for her, but then she was relieved to discover that it was for her roommate. Sarah has a boyfriend. That would have been awkward. Anyway, she searched through the whole pie, but couldn't find the name.. but she put it into tupperware containers and it is in the fridge right now. What a peculiar story.




It was especially peculiar because my friend Justin and I were the guys who were sitting outside for 45 minutes in the cold across the street hidden in the bushes, trying to get someone to take the pie into the house before the dogs or homeless men got to it... I still haven't heard back from the girl because she's out of town until Sunday, so this is still a secret.



Anyway, we dropped off everyone from the car except for this girl, Jeffrey, and I. The car window was down, and we were talking about how there are tunnels that run from Arsenal park to certain houses for bomb shelter and for transporting stuff... they were built before WWI. All the sudden, Jeffrey asked that we pull over. Stephanie pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant. Before she had come to a complete stop, Jeffrey was opening up the doors and.. puking.

I never know exactly what to do in these situations. So I offered to run into the restaurant to get napkins... I came out to a large pile of puke... we wiped it off the car door handle and off of his sleeve, and when he was feeling better, I threw the napkins away. I haven't dealt with puke since I stopped volunteering at the ER at UVRMC. Crazy.

As we drove the rest of the way to his house, he explained to us that he had CMV. It makes him feel sick and throw up a lot. I added it to the list of diseases I don't ever want.

We made it to his house, and I helped him out of the car into his house... carefully grabbing his arm, not where he had puked on it.

He was a funny old man, but had somehow foiled my plan to ask this Stephanie girl if she wanted to go grab lunch.. I was pretty famished, having only eaten a watermelon jolly rancher earlier this morning.

However, the drive back to Inman Square where I live was long, and by the time we arrived, we both had appetites again. So we stopped at All American Sandwich. Which is good, but not that good. Let's just say the reviews were better than the food.

We had a good time, and a good talk.

When I arrived home, I needed to use the restroom. But I heard this dripping noise in the ceiling.

I pushed up on the ceiling tiles, and all the sudden, a bunch of liquid spilled down behind me. I let out something that was half-way between a "woah" and yell, and ran upstairs to inform our neighbors that they had sprung a leak. They said they would call our landlord.



I came back down, and put a bucket under the leak, and mopped up the spilled liquid. The liquid appeared to have a yellow hue. I hoped it was cleaning liquid that had spilled.. The girl from upstairs came down (as I was using the restroom, holding the bucket above my head for protection) and informed me that the landlord hadn't answered his phone. I asked her if cleaning liquid had spilled. She said their toilet was clogged...

So, I'm sitting here, postponing my AT/RT paper, as yellow liquid drips into a bucket in the bathroom..

I've come in contact with way too many bodily fluids today. I guess I'll have to be wary of blood and saliva in my evening activities if I get my paper done.

I'm just glad days like this happen only very rarely.

What does this mean?

So, I'd like to start this post out with a happy picture:



This is a notice from the merciful city of Boston, notifying me that they have forgiven me my parking ticket.

Folks, I don't even have a car.

I had rented a zip car to go pick up a dresser, and because it's Boston, there were no parking spaces in front of the house. So I parked across the street. It was a heavy dresser, and when we had carried it down to the street, I ran and got the car from across the street and backed it up onto the curb between two cars.. there was just enough space. And the dresser barely fit in the back. I ran upstairs to get a AC system that the Craigslist user was also giving away, and when I came back down, a cop was driving away with a smirk the size of a heavy dresser on his face.

But I appealed it, and Boston has forgiven me.

And if you are very observant, there's a little prelude of what's to come at the top right of that picture..

---------------

So, do you ever have times in your life when you wish you had a voice recorder on you? I think these times in my life have been becoming more frequent as the result of two experiences I have had here in Boston:

1. Meeting a girl named Coleen in the ward here, who is a sound engineer.. um I'm actually not exactly sure what she does, but somehow, it has something to do with carrying a voice recorder around. I accidentally stalked her on her website (I admitted this to her afterward, so I don't feel so guilty now), and thought it was cool that she carried a voice recorder around.


2. Hearing This American Life's October 9 podcast Right to Remain Silent which told the story of a police officer who at times even had two voice recorders going on at the same time.

But today, I had one of those experiences. I'll try to recreate the experience in writing:


You can hear idling cars and the chirp of a crossing signal as I walk home from school today. The autumn leaves crunch under my feet and scrape along the sidewalk as they are blown around in little mini-tornadoes. You can hear other people walking, though the crackle of leaves from their footsteps is muffled, as are their conversations. You catch bits and pieces of distorted dialog, like words flung randomly through the autumn air by the wind.

A homeless man sighs on a bench, as he realizes he needs 30 more cents to buy a can of cheep beer.

And then the light changes. Car horns blare, and then the rush of full-throttle car engines fade in and out, in and out, as they rush by.

And then I narrate the story for myself.
I pass Rosie's Bakery every day on the way home from school. In Germany, I was a sucker for bakeries. But here, I haven't gotten into it. Perhaps it's because they don't have Bienenstich here. Or because somehow dollars seem more "real" than euros, so I feel guilty exchanging dollars to satisfy my gastronomical passions.

A hinge creaks, and the long string of little shells clank against the glass of the door as a I push it open.

The car noises fade as the door slowly shuts, while two steps on a bare wooden floor are heard.

And then another door opens, with another string of little jingling shells. (Of course there are two doors. It's Boston, and all businesses, shops, and even houses have two doors to keep out the cold.)

The muttering of two menopausal women can be heard.

And then I narrate again.

Inside, the shop smells like a bakery should. Like cookies and coffee and cake. Two menopausal women are waiting for their coffee as I walk up to the counter and look at a meager selection of American pastries. There are cupcakes and donuts and muffins and bagels and scones. But the scones are eastern-style. More like a flat cake than the deep-fried dough that I call a "scone". Of course, here in the west, they call my scones "fried dough".

More muttering, and some footsteps.

The ladies grab their coffee, and head toward the cream and sugar station, leaving me alone and exposed - embarrassed that despite the small selection of pastries I still haven't been able to pick out anything that has my name on it. I haven't even managed to find the "50% off after 5:00" section, which would have helped me narrow down my choices.

A podgy female voice asks, "What can I get you?"

"What's that?.. no, the other one.."

"That's a blueberry tart."

"Mmm. Looks good. I just have a few dollars burning a hole in my pocket. What is your favorite thing?"

"Our most popular item is this brownie, called an orgasm."

A plastic sliding door slides shut on a pastry display case. Footsteps are heard. The smooth gliding of plexiglass against metal signals the opening of another case.

"Wow. That looks good."

"It's really good."

"Can I get one orgasm please."

You can almost hear my inner glee at stumbling upon an orgasm. In edible form. And at having made a very witty request.

And if you listen closer, you can hear the forced smile of the buxom woman, who was hearing this joke for the ninth time today.

Baking paper crinkles as she picks up the brownie and puts it into a plastic container. The container is closed - snap, snap - and placed on the glass counter top with a quiet thud.

"That will be three dollars."

A cash register dings, the drawer slides open, the metal arm that keeps the bills in place snaps up, snaps down, and the drawer slides closed with a clank.

"Thanks."

"Have a good day."

"Thanks. You too."

Footsteps across the wood floor. Two doors open and close, shells tinkling. As the second opens, traffic noise is heard again.

I couldn't put off trying it any longer. I opened it up and tried my first orgasm.

The cold air was starting to harden the whole brownie, especially the frosting.

I bit into it, and savored the sweetness.

It was rich, with little bits of chocolate, and covered by a generous sugar coat.

But, honestly, it wasn't that good. I had eaten brownies like these before.

My orgasm tasted like a BYU Creamery brownie.

What does this mean?

Chill'ns Hospital

My final project for my Genetics class is a multiple (like 12-15 I think) page paper on a genetic disease. We are each supposed to meet with a physician in one of the area hospitals and see a couple of their patients with them, then write our report on the disease and the genetic background.

I'm working with a neuro-oncologist. Brain tumors.

So I show up at the Children's Hospital Boston and am immediately lost. I walk over to the information desk, and ask for the neurology department.

"Yeah.. dat's in Hunnuwuh 3."

"Excuse me?"

"Hunnuwuh 3."

I had absolutely no idea what a "hunnuwuh" was.

"One more time?"

"Jus' folle' de signs towards de hat!"

Embarrassed, I looked around, and saw a sign with arrows pointing toward different buildings. One of them was labeled with a hat and was named Hunnewell. I took off after the hat, and found an elevator to the third floor.

When I got out, I saw a large sign that said "Urology" and had a bad feeling. Sheepishly I asked if Neurology was around somewhere. The registration staff informed me that Neurology was in Fegan 11. So I followed the fish to Fegan. Of course, at Fegan 11, they informed me that my advising advisor saw patients there, but was now in his office across the street.

I finally found my advisor in the unmarked building across the street and we had a good talk. We eventually settled on a topic that I think will be really fun. But that's fodder for another blog.

After the talk, I made a quick pit stop at the bathrooms and was pleased to see that the Children's hospital had installed water-conserving bathrooms.. a concept that has been around in Europe for a long time.



Two thoughts crossed my mind when I saw this diagram:

1) This would be a hard problem to implement from a mechanical point of view. In order to investigate, I wikipedia'd it, and ended up at the wikipedia landing pad of William Elvis Sloan who was the original inventor of the Flushometer back in 1906. The Sloan company still makes variations of the Flushometer today. After visiting their website, I found many variants, including the model I saw at the Children's Hospital. I guess it's called the uppercut. I'm wondering what the product naming committee was thinking.. "The new UPPERCUT product line will leave our competitors flushed!" While on the website, I was also attracted to the Sloan SOLIS® Exposed Solar-Powered Dual-Flush Water Closet Flushometers, which tout a light-harvesting solar cell and automatic selection of high or low flow based on how long the user remains in the sensor range. I think this would be a great Christmas gift. And no one in my family has them yet. Order me 17 of them!

2) Would I flush up or down for diarrhea?

Sleeping

So, I never really had problems sleeping in class in high school. I think it started while I was at BYU. I'm looking for a scapegoat. Because it hasn't gotten any better here at MIT.

I was in my medical informatics class, and this guy was droning on about something for the longest time. Unfortunately, I can't remember what he was droning on about, because, well...



Yeah. I was trying my hardest to stay awake, and was even trying to jiggle my legs, and take notes in order to pay attention, or to appear like I was coherent. But it didn't work.

I was abruptly brought into a state of elevated alertness by an unexpected series of events which I can't exactly piece together. I am pleased to report that none of these events included my face slamming down on my desk and getting a bloody nose.

So I'm trying to figure out a cause for my increased academic sleepiness.

High school was free (besides fees for orchestra tours, volleyball club, club T-shirts, and school lunch), BYU was cheap, and MIT is expensive. I propose that academic sleepiness is directly correlated with cost of education.

PGHS was 7 minutes from my parents' residence. BYU was 15 minutes. MIT is 4 hours (with the plane). Sleepiness is correlated with the distance from my parents house.

My mom and dad didn't want me to date anyone seriously in high school. Although my parents wanted me to get married, they didn't want me to get married to just any girl right off my mission at BYU. Now at MIT, they would be happy if I married any girl at all capable of producing viable grandchildren.

High school was a three year deal (9th grade was in Jr. High). BYU was 4. MIT is a projected 6 1/2 year experience.

That's all I can see. So, in considering places to continue post-graduate education, I should avoid the 19-year-long program in China with a $150,000/semester out-of-country tuition, and where all students are pressured into entering polygamist relationships.

Science

This blog is about science.

Science is a big part of my life. But it's not just because I'm a nerd.

Science is a big part of everybody's lives. Whether they think so or not. We call the people who think science isn't a part of their lives "politicians". These politicians try to propagate their disbelief in science by decreasing government spending on research and increasing senate salaries.

However, science is important, even in the lives of politicians.

In order to help people discover science in their lives, I have constructed an analysis of the scientific method with applications to everyday life.

Any good science starts out with a good hypothesis. This can be in the form of a question like they teach you in elementary school. It can also be in sentence form. Real science happens when hypotheses are in sentence form, and begin with the words "Wouldn't it be cool if...".

For example,

Wouldn't it be cool if we could fly? (=>Airplanes)

Wouldn't it be cool if we could change the DNA of sick people and make them healthy? (=>Gene therapy)

Wouldn't it be cool if we could create a tomato sauce that wouldn't stain your white shirt? (=>???)

And then you do experiments until you disprove your hypothesis.

Like today, I thought "Wouldn't it be cool if I could run two wash cycles (a white and color wash at $1.50 each on the washer downstairs) and then stuff all the clothes into the dryer (1 dry cycle at $1.50) and have the clothes come out dry, thereby saving $1.50 per cycle of clothes?

And then I tried it out. Unfortunately, this was one of those hypotheses of the class Hypotheses that lead to disappointment. In my case, the disappointment was a bunch of damp clothes with possible coloring in some of my whites.



But even the great Edison had experience with Hypotheses that lead to disappointment which I think may have been why he lost hearing in one ear. And in his pictures, his clothes appear to be a little off-white.

And the last part of science is to let everyone know about it.

And that's why I'm going to let you in on a little secret:

"Wouldn't it be cool if women were impressed at the stamina and moral discipline it takes to become a Rock Band Expert?" is a Hypothesis that leads to disappointment.

The Best Combover Ever

So I'm sitting in my genetics class, listening to a lecture on thalassemia, a disease caused by low hemoglobin production.

This guy is talking about a patient he met in the 60's and has studied, so he's got to be pretty aged.

He has kindof curly hair, but only around the crown of his head. And he's attempting a combover. Unfortunately because of the curly hair, he can only cover about 20% of his bald spot with a curly tuft of hair.

It's pretty cool.

Genetics

This morning I had genetics.



Today we covered neurodegenerative diseases and their genetic causes. Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, fontotemporal dementia, and some prion diseases... you know. And then we studied genetic anticipation, where the disease progresses each generation, as in Huntington's, myotonic dystrophy, and fragile x syndrome.

For the last part of our class (after 2.5 hours of lecture) a lady was invited to speak to us. She was a carrier for fragile x syndrome, and had a son and a daughter with fragile x syndrome. She was a previous medical student, and in her medical training in 1991 hadn't even heard of fragile x syndrome. When her son was born, they thought he was pretty normal, but he walked at a late age, and didn't start talking until later. Finally, after running genetic tests three times, they found that he had fragile x syndrome, the result of too many CGG repeats on the X chromosome.

The lady showed us pictures of her son, and explained the symptoms. She said that males with fragile x have large ears, long faces, and large foreheads. Her son likes to push things around, like push toys, lawn mowers, and snow shovels. He gets excited about social interactions, but gets nervous when he is actually in them. He sometimes throws a fit if he has to stand in line for a long time, or is somewhere he doesn't want to be. He needs help learning, and needs extra attention.

And then I was thinking... what kind of kid was I? What kind of (I don't think I'm completely an adult, but I'm probably not adolescent..) pre-adult am I? Do I have a genetic syndrome? Was I restless as a kid? Can I attribute my dislike of carrots to a genetic cause?

Almost in tears, the lady went on to explain how she and her son - whose name was "Anders" which is the German word for "different" - were looking for solutions, and hoping for medical advances.

It was a great feeling. I was sitting in a room with a bunch of future doctors and PhD candidates interested in medical advances. In the future, one of us might be involved with the solution to the problems caused by fragile x. And this woman knew that. It was an exhilarating feeling.

And then I came home. And although my genetics homework due on Tuesday is still as beasty as it was before class, it somehow just got a little more worthwhile.

Flight

I had a rather remarkable flight home this weekend.

My grandparents were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, so it was important to them to have all of the grandchildren around. So my uncle and his family flew in from Indianapolis. And my other uncle flew in from Arkansas. My brother flew in from Austin. And I flew in from Boston. Ironically, my sister had a UVU volleyball game, and missed the luncheon, pictures, and most of the reception, although she was only 20 minutes away.

I arrived at the Logan International Airport at 5:55am after catching the first Silver Line bus to the Airport, which happened after I caught the first Red-Line subway of the morning, which happened after I walked 20 minutes through the dark streets of Cambridge to the subway stop because the buses here weren't running yet.

I got onto the 6:30 flight to SLC, and sat in my window seat. Tired, I dozed off, and only barely noticed that another young man sat down in the aisle seat. I caught a glimpse of two very tan legs, and heard "Oh hey guys!" as clouds of tanning lotion scent wafted obtrusively into my personal smell space.

And there she was. The Hoochie.



She rustled around as she prepared her purse, book, ipod, and other personal items for the flight. After takeoff, she pulled her book out of the seat-back pocket in front of her. I caught a glimpse of the title. "The Ethical Slut" as she opened the book and laid it on her bare thighs.

I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, and reasoned that people could probably be slutty in their choice of ethics. Perhaps this book spoke out against those who - for example - were passionate vegans, then suddenly started eating meat again and became avid, aggressive Apple supporters. I could understand an author who spoke out against following fad ethics.

But she didn't take my benefit of the doubt.

I read the subtitle of the book: "A Guide to Infinite Sexual Possibilities." I confirmed the fact that it was a real book after looking it up on Wikipedia. Although the cover looked more like this.

She read the opening page, turned the page, read for about 10 minutes, then with an exhausted sigh folded the corner of the page over, and put the book away. Groggily, I decided not to start a conversation with her, and fell into a restless slumber until we arrived in Salt Lake.

And then she got off the plane, on her way to her connecting flight to Las Vegas.

I hope her layover was long enough to get some reading in.

The Worst Thing Ever

So my time in Boston has been pretty pleasant.

And things are generally getting better. For example, when I moved in, I moved into an empty room with baby-blue walls. My roommate left me this cubby-hole thing, about four feet tall and two feet wide, with eight square-foot openings. And I found a lamp on the street. The lamp does have Ikea-syndrome, and doesn't exactly stand straight. And I just found a bed for free on craigslist. Super. So I have three furnitures in my room.

Today, I just got my Harvard ID, so I was down with my graduate group in Harvard Square..

SIDESTORY: So, my group of 20 future PhD students walk into the Harvard building and ask to be admitted into the elevators so we can go to the ID office. The two "bouncers" in front of the elevators deny us entrance, and request to see each one of our ids. The kid in charge of us says there should be a list, and that we are registered to come at this time. The bouncers tell us that he suspects that we might be trying to "pull something" and makes us individually register. After about 10 minutes of standing in line, someone runs a list down, and we can finally go in. The bouncer awards our group leader one point. When we arrive at the id office, a lady tells us that our appointment was for 5:00, not 4:50, and requests that we go back down to the lobby or at least to the stairwell. We don't dare go down to the stairwell. It was pretty crazy. But at least now I can go into the library and other secret Harvard places.

Anyway, after we got our ids, they took us to this Vietnamese restaurant in The Garage at Harvard Square. I think it was called Le's or something. At any rate, I was somehow convinced to order a xl-portion of Phở. In the future, I'll refer to Phở as "Fu". Anyway, I order this xl poriton of Fu, but right after I had ordered, the girl who had recommended it was like "Did you see what it had in it? Tripe and Tendons!" Thanks for telling me too late. Confidently, I assured her that I had eaten many crazy things. And that if the Vietnamese can eat it, I could probably eat it too.



I was wrong. They brought out this bowl about the size of my head. There was no way it was going to fit in my stomach. I started in on it bravely, and was able to manage eating the Fu noodles. But then I caught some tripe in my noodles, and it tasted like I was eating a cross between farm and octopus. Gross. And the tendon tasted exactly like I expected it to.. like a part of a cow you should throw away.

So, after a valiant effort, I picked up a chipstick and a napkin and fashioned a flag of surrender.

Bleh. This was the worst thing that has happened to me in Boston.

I only have on word to say:

Fu.

Hello Boston

This weekend has been a killer one.

I somehow wound up with great roommates, who have taken me under their wing ever since I arrived here on the Greyhound on Friday.

On Friday night, we went out to at with Mike and Ted at Inman Square. As we walked back to our house, I picked up my third piece of furniture for my room; a black Ikea lamp. It works, too. I added it to the cubby-box-thing and my blow-up mattress in my room, eager for more sidewalk steals.

We then walked along the North End of Boston, meeting up with some friends at the Hatch Shell where they had just finished a free movie viewing. We sauntered down to get ice cream at JP Licks.

On Saturday, Ted and I went to the Beach. I didn't even know Boston had a beach. It does. And it wasn't too bad. I suppose that there are only a few days of the year on which people use the beach, but Saturday was beautiful.

After the beach, we got some dinner at a grass-fed hamburger joint at Harvard Square. I wasn't impressed. Mostly because they were so expensive. I would like to think they should have been cheaper because grass is free, and farmers have to buy alfalfa.

At 7:30, we met about 15 other members of the ward and headed to an Italian festival which was dubbed the "Feast of all Feasts" by National Geographic. It was crazy. People packed the small streets lined with vendors. A couple people in our group got pizza, but I opted for something new: A $6 ball or rice, peas, and hamburger covered in corn bread and deep-fried. I'm not sure what it was called, but it was pretty good. Although I could have probably eaten about 5 of them.

Then it was time for the official Boston Baptism. A group of my new friends headed to Walden Pond. As we hiked along, we could hear the train coming in the distance. As it passed, we could see the commuter train and its reflection through the trees on the opposite side of the lake. It reminded some members of the group of the Polar Express. It was pretty cool. The lake was nice, and not too cold.

According to Boston Tradition, for the full Walden Pond experience, you are supposed to go to sleep without showering. This produces what is called "Walden Skin" and is somehow desirable. I discovered that it made my sleeping bag smell like lake. I'll have to get sheets for my blow-up mattress sometime this week.

And today was church. A girl we met at the beach yesterday told me that this was "Super-cute Sunday" -- a day on which all of the girls attempt to look as cute as possible for the influx of new ward members on the two weeks before Labor Day. Church was fun. I met another girl in my HST program, and talked with her for a while.

My EQP is convinced that God is a Physicist. He told me that in his research at MIT, he takes time out during the day to go to the bathroom where he can be alone, to pray and ask God for solutions to his problems. This has helped him academically and spiritually.

It's been a good two days in Boston. And I'm looking forward to another 4-6 years of them.

Orientation starts tomorrow, and I see lots of free food on the schedule, so I'm actually pretty excited about it.

Road Trip

The rearview mirror is pure black, framed by the windshield through which I can see as the headlights illuminate.. more South Dakota. The driving is easy. It’s just straight ahead. No turns and no traffic. In fact, I seldom see other cars. The moon is full, and illuminates white water towers, washing them in a pale blue light, and transforming them into small moons which seem to illuminate the wheat fields below them in the same pale blue light.

It’s been a long night. Amalia drove earlier today, so she wouldn’t have to drive at night. On Monday she drove the last driving shift and was a little stressed about at the possibility of deer running out into the road. She drove very cautiously, and slower than I would have. The next morning, she admitted that her depth perception in the dark wasn’t very good. So I drove the remainder of the nights.

Amalia forgot the guitars that we were supposed to be carrying to our friends in New York City, so she was a little late picking me up. I stuffed my one bag into the car, and shut the door. We heard a deflating noise, which was unexpected.. which of the boxes or items were deflating? I investigated, and found that the sunscreen in our food bag had been squished and had sprayed all over our food and had dribbled down onto my sleeping bag and a box that had been packed in the car. Oops. Hopefully this would be the last leak.



We started out our trip by heading north on I-15. Our first stop was in Idaho Falls. For gas. And for some Wendys.. for me – she doesn’t eat meat. We headed into Yellowstone by around four that afternoon and saw the mud pots and watched Old Faithful go off. Some Germans were standing next to us, but I didn’t have the courage to speak German to them.

And then we tried to drive as far as we could eastward before we stopped for the night. We stopped at a Walmart in a small city in Wyoming. I got some chicken tenders, and Amalia got a large cup of noodle salad. She wanted to save it for the next day, so we got some dry ice. The dry ice was even free! We went out to the car and spent the next 15 minutes trying to blow smoke rings. I discovered that the secret was not to breathe out of the lungs, but to force a small amount of air out through rounded lips in a quick burst. We had a fun time. I noticed that she wasn’t very eager to start the engine and to continue the trip. I looked at her, and said, “You know, I’ve always wanted to make out with a girl with dry ice.” “That’s gross!” she said. I was slightly embarrassed until she said, “Just kidding.. but what are you implying by that?” She smiled teasingly. I smiled back, and as I moved my head toward hers, I said, “Oh, I don’t know.” She moved her head in, and we both experienced making out with dry ice. We both decided that it was way better than normal.

Actually, that is what I should have done. I only realized that afterwards. So, we sat in the car for what felt to me like a long time. And then we took off at a slower pace, winding our way through the rockies. About midnight, we stopped at a state park camping site. As we were packing up, we had seen a tent in the back of the car, stuffed into a lamp shade we had been packing. Thank you Suzie and husband!

We unpacked the tent by the headlights, and had to look at the instructions to get it right. It was definitely a two-person tent. I’m not sure my mom would have approved me sleeping in a tent that small with a girl. And I’m not sure what God would have thought about the situation if I would have made out with her in the Walmart parking lot. So it was probably better for my mom and God that we hadn’t made out with the dry ice. But was it better for me? :)



The night was a very cold one. The tent didn’t have a tarp bottom, but had the same wall fabric on the floor. I had brought a blow-up air mattress, but it would have covered about 2/3 of the tent floor, so we would have had to either both sleep on the mattress, or one person would get very little space. So I left my air mattress in the car. I slept on the cold ground with only my sleeping bag and the thin tent bottom between me and mother nature. It was cold! I tried to sleep on my side because if I slept on my front or back, too much of my body would be touching the cold ground. So I tried to sleep on my side. But then my appendages kept falling asleep. It was a long night.

During the restless night, I dreamed that we woke up and everything was wet from dew and rain. When I got up, everything was wet. But probably due to condensation.

I headed to the campground bathroom, a “plumps-klo” – named after the sound one might hear in such a bathroom. I didn’t lock the door because I didn’t see anyone else around and I just had to pee quickly and didn’t want to get germies on my hands from touching the door with anything besides my sandal. I was interrupted by a man who I had overseen. After excusing himself, he stepped back outside. I finished quickly and came out to see him waiting. I avoided eye contact, but he struck up a conversation. He said that after he had gotten up, he jumped into his car to get warm, where the thermometer had read 28 degrees. He had also talked with someone else, who had also said that their car thermometer had read 28 degrees. No wonder it was so cold. It was good that I had brought a jacket. Unfortunately, my one pair of jeans were in my large bag, packed with the rest of the payload in the back of the Jeep Cherokee.

We headed off, down through the mountains, and to the nearest gas station so we could brush our teeth. I waited in the car for a minute, and then Amalia came out and made the following announcement: “I just had my period, so we might have to stop at gas stations more frequently.” I didn’t know quite what to say to her. I didn’t have any older sisters, and hadn’t ever talked with girls about that, so I didn’t really have any idea what that meant. I was worried that telling her that might elicit an educational lecture on female-specific ailments, so I opted for a “Don’t worry, that will be all right.” And let the thing be.

Our tour took us next through the charming state of South Dakota. Somewhere in the car ride, we had discussed veganism and vegetarianism. Amalia told me that she usually encourages people to try it out for a week. She said that most of them never make it. Partly to impress her, and partly to avoid eating meat around her, I told her that I wouldn’t eat any meat for the rest of the trip. So when we stopped in Deadwood, South Dakota, we got sandwiches. Without meat. I splurged and got a raspberry and white chocolate scone. It was really good. I had heard about a monument to Crazy Horse, and an oddity called “Carhenge” which was basically a tribute to Stonehenge in gray-painted cars stacked on their ends in a circle. They were supposedly within a short drive of Mount Rushmore. We followed a map to Crazy Horse’s Monument. We neared a small hill, and saw toll houses at the top of the ridge. As we topped the ridge, we realized saw a head that had been carved out of the rock. Nothing more. Some of the rock had been blasted away, but in the last 40 years, very little work had been done on the monument. Perhaps they were running out of funding. They expected $10/per person, or $27/car. What a ripoff. So we stopped, took pictures, got in the car again, then headed toward Mount Rushmore. Mount Rushmore was disappointingly little after seeing the large face carved in the rock at Crazy Horse. Whatever. But it was good to be there.




As we were taking pictures of us with the famous faces in the background, a guy came up to me and told me that I needed to go whip a guy into shape who was wearing a UofU shirt. I guess he had seen the logo on my BYU Barbershop free tshirt. We started talking, and he told us they were making the cross-country trip for the second time. The first time they had driven out from Provo to Washington as a young couple. Now they were revisiting the sites with their kids. “Someday you can do this with your kids, too.

And then I started driving across the lonely South Dakota plains. Where I could enjoy the eerie water towers all by myself.
Amalia was in the passenger seat, catching some z’s. I was listening to a mix of favorite songs from my ipod. I wasn’t really tired, but figured we should stop for the night, so I pulled into a KOA in Suix Falls. I remember asking some questions like “Would this be ok?” and “Do you want me to put up the tent?” to which she responded “I don’t care! It doesn’t matter!” I briefly considered throwing in the towel on the dating issue. She apologized later, citing lack of sleep, or her female problems as the source of her outburst. After she got a shower, she was a lot more pleasant.

The next day, Wednesday, was filled to the brim with uneventful driving, only broken by a brief stop at a Wisconsin cheese factory. And I skinned my left big toe doing a cartwheel in front of the town We stopped at a national park in Indiana, but because we were too late, we had to camp in a picnic area, but it was free.



And finally, on Thursday, we made our way into Brooklyn, New York. For some reason, the directions we were given were inaccurate, so we ended up driving around for a while, then finally using the GPS system on my phone to get us to their house. The phone took us right through the middle of Manhattan. Amalia got a little scared, but I thought it was a rush. The back of the jeep was filled to the brim, except for a space the size of a shoebox, through which I could see a little behind me. So I had to drive with only my side mirrors. For most of the crazy trip, I would look for a free space, signal, then start to pull over slowly. If none of the Friday-night taxies honked, I would assume it was safe and finish pulling over into the lane. What an experience. Noone got hurt, and the jeep made it through unscathed.

We had a great visit with our friends in Brooklyn. They had been married for a year and a half, and had a little daughter. They didn’t seem too concerned by the sunscreen stain that decorated one of the corners of one of their boxes.. phew.

Friday morning, we got up and unloaded the jeep, and then I left on a bus to Boston.

And now I’m here.

Hello Boston.

Hey.. the Ball is White Too

I love playing volleyball.

Tonight Sean and I met up to go play some volleyball down in Orem. He described the event as being a bunch of Polys who meet and play ball once a week. And when we arrived at the church near Center in Orem, I should not have been surprised to see Polys. Sean was still in the bathroom, and I walked into the gym. I scanned the faces of the players, and saw a bunch of large, grinning and sweaty Polynesians playing volleyball on two courts.

In a moment of racial timidness, I walked out and decided to get a drink while waiting for Sean. When he came out of the bathroom, we walked in together.

We were definitely the only pale-skinned individuals in the room. Man. I wished I were tanner. But my escapades in Huntington Beach less than a week ago hadn't made my skin dark enough to blend in.

The games were fun, and I got a few good hits and serves and dives. But I still was probably as good as one of the younger Poly girls.

My favorite were the guys in 7X tshirts who weighed about 7 times as much as I do, who could still contribute to their team... granted their sphere of influence extended only about a foot beyond their girth.

I think the highlight of the evening came during the last game. The setter got a good pass, and set the ball high in my direction. I began my approach, and some guy on my team yelled "Hit it white boy!" but with a Samoan accent. As I hung in the air and prepared to swing, I heard the others on the court start big Polynesian chuckles, and I knew the pressure was on. The blockers blocking me were shorter or squattier than I was, but they weren't making it easier. I swung with a strong cross-court hit. The ball deflected off the fingers of one of the blockers and careened toward one of the opposing players who was unable to control a pass off her upper arm, and the ball flew out.

I was lucky. Most of the time I get nervous, the big hits end up in the net. This time it went over. Point us.

I landed with a big grin and got fives from all of my Poly team members. The rest of the evening was fun, and although I still wasn't as good as some of the Poly girls, some of my new friends gave me some good sets and I had a blast.

Dentist

I went to the dentist today.

I always like going to the dentist.

I woke up at 7:30 at my brother's apartment in Provo and was disappointed to discover that although it was easy to steal shower sauce and a towel from unsuspecting room mates, it was not so easy to come across some kind of edible breakfast substance. Evidently, this apartment housed a chronic breakfast cereal. All privately-purchased breakfast cereals were forced to go into hiding. After the visit to the dentist, my brother took me to his closet where he offered me three sorts of cereal (including the new Raisin Bran Crunch, which reminds me of the illegitimate offspring of a fling between Raisin Bran and Corn Flakes at a Western Family reunion).

However, at 7:45, I couldn't find any breakfast, so I stuffed a couple of wheat thins into my mouth and took off on my brother's bike for Dr. Vogel's.

I arrived at the office, and asked to brush my teeth. Conveniently, they had a little bathroom where I could perform an oral 'cram' for the impending examination.

"Kendell, we appreciate your business, and we hope that we can be there when you need us, fulfilling all of your dental needs."

The pre-examination interview began with a heartfelt commitment.

Then the dentist turned to smalltalk and proudly exclaimed, "My name is German" when he found that I was just in Germany.

I read on his white coat, "Dr. Rodgers?"

Bashfully, he called his assistant to get him his real coat. I guess he had put the coat of the other dentist on. At this point, our relationship of trust began to waver. And I began referring to myself by my real name, "Axel."

When prompted to elaborate on my dental history, I explained that I had always had pretty good teeth. I had probably two cavities filled before my mission, then came back without cavities. However, ever since the financial crisis, I have been having a lot of cavities.

I let him draw his own conclusions about my dental health status.

He then informed me that three things play a role in good dental health.

"The first one is proper dental hygiene, which involves brushing and flossing your teeth, and stuff like that. The second is diet. Well, actually, maybe these aren't ordered in order of importance."

"Really?"

"Yeah. A lot of cavities are caused by our diet, specifically Western foods. Did you know that in Ethiopia, they don't have any cavities at all because they eat a different diet than we do? They may have gum disease, but no cavities."

"Or they have no cavities because they don't eat at all."

I talked with my brother when I got home, and we decided it could also be caused by a relatively stable, crisis-free economy which is in a perpetual state of poverty. Well, actually, Wikipedia reports that Ethiopia has one of the fastest growing world economies. Just wait till they have an economic crisis, and then you'll see a huge jump in cavities.

After Dr. Vogel tried to pull the wool over my eyes by concealing his identity and wearing the wrong name on his coat, I didn't believe his Ethiopia story. I just ran a google search, and came up with several studies on the Ethiopian dental status. This one reports that several regions have naturally-occurring high-fluoride water (12 ppm in Wonji.. in 1994, 1 ppm was recommended as an absolute maximum for water fluoridation) and in areas like Wonji, all 13-14-year-old children have dental fluorosis. Which is bad. Incidentally, the soccer team in Wonji is called the "Wonji Sugar". This report found that of the sample, 51% of the subjects had decayed teeth. That's a lot.

So, no, Dr. Vogel, people in Ethiopia have cavities too. So it won't help if Mom makes us wat atop injera every night.

Dr. Vogel didn't mention what the third unordered important part of good dental hygiene was. I suspected that it had something to do with trusting your dentist even in times of financial crises.

I mentioned to Dr. Vogel that even though I flossed every day, the hygienist always succeeds in making me bleed when she pokes my gums. I asked him if he could tell me if I was doing something wrong. He told me that my hygienist would help me. I was led to the dental hygienist's room. Before pulling aside the black curtain that covered the entrance, Dr. Vogel called out to the hygienist, and I heard a thump as if someone had been hanging on the ceiling and had jumped to the floor. The curtain was drawn back revealing a dark room and a rather pasty-looking dental hygienist who seemed to look hungrily at my gums, licking her lips then quickly withdrawing her tongue back into her mouth, between two rather alarmingly long canines.

The dentist pushed me into the room, then shuffled off.

I was brought to the chair, which was already declined and seemed to be fastened to the top of what appeared to be an alter of sorts.

I broke the silence, explaining that my gums never bled at home, and that maybe she could give me some advice on how to floss better. At the mention of blood, the hygienist's eyes seemed to dance a little.

She informed me that she would rather perform a "gum examination" first, and asked me if I had had one before.

"Is that where you poke my gums with a sharp object and then tell me that I need to floss more?"

"Yeah, it sounds like you have had one before."

"Yes. Could you help me with my flossing?"

"No, let me poke you first.. I mean let me perform the examination, then I will help you with your flossing." (She actually really did say that.)

I lost about three quarts of blood during the gum examination, which the hygienist carefully sucked off "for later."

In the end, it turned out that it isn't a flossing issue at all. It was a vampire issue. Actually, they informed me that I was a "mouth breather" and that causes gum disease. When I called the hygienist a "blood sucker" she grew livid and said I could go home.

But I didn't have any cavities. That was good.

Perhaps it has to do with the fact that we are pulling out of the financial crisis.

Utah

I've been home since Tuesday night. I guess that puts me at four full days home.

And I love it.

I guess I didn't really realize how many things I love here. True, the mountains may be browner than the Alps, but they are still beautiful.

Tonight, I went to a play put on at the Scera shell, an outdoor amphitheater with the Rockies as a backdrop, and enough little kids running around on the hills marked "no rolling down hill" to make the German Minster for Family Affairs and the Preservation of the Race jealous.

I went with my family to see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" which was performed by a large cast of community volunteers starring a friend from my Freshman ward who was also Jordan's mission companion. I went around back to meet him after the play, and found my room mate from Sophomore and Junior years, who was there with his wife and two kids. Then another kid from Freshman year rolled up with his wife and newborn kid. They gave me a hard time about being married, and I told them that in Germany I was considered an "alter Wurst" -- an old sausage. I figured "sausage" was a better translation than the colloquial "wiener".)

But despite the pressure to get married and have kids, I still love this place.

I love the wide roads and the grid-system streets.

I love right-hand turns on red.

I love Cafe Rio. And Costa Vida. And Maria Bonita's by Maceys in Orem.

I love root beer. And ice cream that gets crystally as it sits in a root beer float.

I love the way the houses are spread out, spaced by beautiful lawns.

I love the dollar theater.

I love the radio stations that play one genre of music so you'd never hear Michael Jackson then Abba and Aerosmith.

I love the BYU Creamery and their banana splits.

I love being with my family, my friends, and my friends' families.

I love Maceys, where you meet two or three friends from high school every time you go there.

Man, it's good to be home.

Marriage Pictures

Browsing facebook posts, I ran across a link to an article in the Meridian Magazine about a new temple display in the Salt Lake temple visitors center.

The recent lack of Mormon culture influences like the Daily Universe or living in Utah has caused me to become a little rusty on which online magazines are pro-church, anti-church or church-sponsored. However, a recent article advertised on the Meridian page entitled "The Twilight Obsession and Its Effect on Marriages" was evidence that the site was pro-Mormons-who-have-strong-opinions-about-Mormon-culture.

Out of curiosity (and boredom), I skimmed the article and was slightly amused by the description of the author, including the picture of the author and her husband in which her husband appears to be making fun of her keep-those-eyes-wide-open picture face. Interested (and still bored) I clicked to her website and was greeted by another eyes-wide-open picture and a title that made me chuckle - Author, Intimacy Educator, Relationship Consultant. And the post-name abbreviation CFLE. Combatant of Fictitious Love Expectations. Curator of French Lotion Exhibit. Closure Failure of Lids of Eyes.



The author's to-date most important contribution to Mormon culture appears to be a "groundbreaking book on sexual intimacy and marital oneness." Sounds exciting. Wikipedia asserts that she has also been a Young Women President and is an American citizen. Check and Check.

"Your book has changed my life. I now have a very fulfilling intimate relationship, and my husband is the happiest man in the Valley!"

I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Although I'm sure the entire content of the page could provide hours of entertainment for marriage cynics like myself, I found special enjoyment in scrolling through 27 pages of Couples Photos.

Prompted by a request to "build a community of couples from all around the world who are willing to stand in support of strengthening marriages intimately" 332 couples have taken part in what appears to be a testimony to the credo that even funny-looking people can get married. In German, "Jeder Topf findet seinen Deckel."

My boredom washed away as I browsed through page after page of Utah Valley couples. Each blushing bride or grimacing grandma looked convinced that after reading the author's book she too was convinced that her man was the happiest man in the Valley. Each man looked as if he secretly wished they could have used the money spent on the book for fishing gear instead.

And then I came across a page that made me glad Jordan has gone back to America leaving me alone in the apartment. When I saw the picture of a friend from back home and his wife, I could no longer stifle a gleeful chuckle. Because I was alone, I kept laughing for several minutes. I'm still trying to figure out how rude it would be to tease him about it. I'm sure he doesn't know about it...

Hanf

A radiant heater in the apartment upstairs has sprung a leak, and because the Weimanns aren't home, I went up with the plumber to look at it. I was rather disappointed when he asked if I was from America... I hoped my accent wasn't so bad. Maybe Herr Weimann told him I would meet him, and that I was from America.

After looking at the joint where the water was coming from, he was like "I need to run to the construction store to get some "hanf". I was like "What's hanf?" Incredulously, he looked at me and said "You don't know what hanf is?" Sorry dude. My plumbing supplies vocabulary isn't that big.

Downstairs, I looked it up on the internet. It's hemp.

Hemp is applied to plumbing joints in Europe, especially for the radiant heaters. I asked the plumber what the difference was between hemp and teflon plumbers tape. He told me that with hemp you can unscrew the joint a little and it will still be good. Once the joint has been tightened with plumbers tape, it cannot be unscrewed at all or it will leak. Because the joint attaching the pipe to the radiant heater has to be angled correctly, it may have to be unscrewed a little bit to get the angle right.

So, I was a little offended at his apparent disappointment in my plumbing vocabulary. But at least I know more about America than he does. He asked me where I come from in America. I told him Utah.

"Is that where the Indians come from?"

"Yeah, there were Indians there. Actually, the state was named after the Ute Indians that lived there."

"I think my company buys machinery from Utah... Wait, actually, it's from Indiana. Yes, that's the name. Indiana."

I guess they are kindof the same. Indiana and Utah. At least they are in the same country.

Raping and Pillaging

Thailand has a long and proud history of producing beautiful and industrious women.


Arkansas has a long and proud history of purchasing beautiful and industrious Thai women on the international bride market.


Jamaica has a long and proud history of producing powerful runners.


And the Brits have a long and proud history of raping and pillaging.


From the early iron age, the Vikings and Celts roamed the northern European seas, raping and pillaging those whose villages lay in their path.

Although the war and marriage conquests of Henry VIII were atrocious, the unbiased observer will note that he was only following his raping and pillaging instincts that were in his blood.

So I guess I should have expected the Rape and Pillage Tax #2 when I got off the airplane at London Stansted and was expected to cough up 10 pounds to get me into the city.

I had unfortunately missed the Rape and Pillage Tax #1 levied by the airport currency exchange who used a $1 = 50 pence exchange rate with a 20 percent commission to support the building of their extravagant new company longship.

And you could only pay in pounds to pay for transportation to get home from the airport. Rape and Pillage Tax #1 was unavoidable.



One of our friends from the plane told us he was planning on sleeping at the airport. Perhaps he had participated in a Rape-And-Pillage-Self-Defense course offered by an institution of travel instruction in the civilized world.

When we finally arrived in London, we were worried about additional raping and pillaging as we were forced to walk to our hostel because the 'tube' shut down at around midnight. I followed Jordan as we walked with our backpacks to the hostel. I believe we arrived at the hostel about 3 hours later, walking through some very interesting neighborhoods. At one point on our walk to the hostel, we even saw fresh drops of blood on the sidewalk, with drops heading off down the road where we were headed. As I think about it now, it seems very alarming, but I think we were too tired to care too much.

When we arrived at the hostel, they initially told us that they didn't have any more room. After some gentle persuasion, they finally conceded that they did have room in a 4-bed dorm with one guy sleeping in it. Happily, we headed up to bed. As I lay in my bed, I could feel the springs in the mattress, and counted them in my head to help me fall asleep. It wasn't as effective as counting sheep for two reasons: first, they weren't as fluffy as sheep, and second, there were only about 8 or 9 of them, so it didn't take very long to count them all.

A little after we had turned off the light, our dorm-mate walked in. I was mostly asleep, but was awakened as the dorm-mate's quiet breathing turned into the rumble of an approaching aircraft. It seemed that he had two sleeping breathing patterns. The first was the "I'm going to die" breathing pattern where he would get so much phlegm in his throat and the snore would hang for a few seconds, while I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't give up the ghost right there. The second breathing pattern was the "You're going to die" breathing pattern, which was so invasive and distressing that I feared for my own life. However, I am still alive to tell about it. That's good.

I distinctly remember lying in the 7-spring bed, listening to snoring roommates, and promising myself that after I go home, I am never going to do this again. I hope next time I come to Europe, I have enough money to sleep in a quiet room with a nice bed. (with my luck, I'll have to go back on my word because I'll end up with a wife who snores like a Mac truck)

It seemed as if everywhere we went, we were asked to empty our pockets and sign away the lives of our unborn children. We tried not to think about the exchange rate as we paid 2 pounds for water, or 14 pounds for a cheap dinner.

We saw Wicked, the musical, for the student discount of 25 pounds, which Jordan thought was a good deal.

When I told some old mission buddies from Great Britain that I was coming to London for a couple of days, they tried to warn me, telling me to be prepared to give both arms and both legs for housing. However, despite the fact that London is known both nationally and internationally as a modern UNESCO rape-and-pillage site, the city was teeming with tourists. I especially liked the comparison between the weekends and the weekdays. On the weekends, the tourists came out and it was customary to pass on the right side. People went up the stairs on the right side, and people sidestepped oncoming pedestrian traffic to the right. However, on Monday, in the non-tourist zones, people passed on the left. Interesting.

The next pillaging came when we tried to exchange euros for pounds. We tried to wait until we were in the middle of the city before we exchanged money. Unfortunately, we should have picked out a better place. The place we saw was right off of Trafalgar Square, so we thought it would have pretty good rates. They gave us .76 pounds/euro. That's a pillage and a half if I've ever seen one. The current rate is .87 pounds/euro.

So we were careful on our food expenses. We found that there were some good deals at M&S. One night after dropping a friend off at Charing Cross, we found some sandwiches for a pound. Although they probably didn't weigh a pound, that's about how much they looked like they were worth. It was the end of the evening, and they had marked them down from 2.50 pounds to 1 pound. What a steal. Jordan and I promptly purchased and ate three of them.

Another time, we were walking through an open-air market and found a stand selling pies. They had a couple of big pies that looked like they could satisfy manly hunger, so we got three of them. There were three different flavors, so we got one of each. I can't remember exactly what the flavors were, but they could describe different types of roadkill of the fauna native to the London countryside. I think one was "wild boar", another was "grouse hen" and the third was some kind of cow-like animal. Probably "sun-dried yak". We consumed almost two of the pies in one sitting, but were not impressed. We decided to save the rest for the next day, Sunday. You can only consume so much of roadkill pies in one sitting.



Sunday we got to church and tried to network our way into a housing situation, but with no success. It was stake conference in the Hyde Park stake, so we got to sit in on that. One of the speakers mentioned that the stake consisted of 75% first-generation members. That was amazing to me. They also had members from over 100 countries. Crazy. The second counselor was from the USA, and filled his talk with slightly-modified cliché Mormon sayings like "lay your sins at the savior's footprints." It made Jordan and me smile.

After church, we walked to the Albert memorial and sat in the sun and watched people go by. We eventually pulled out the mysterymeat pies from the previous day and tried to eat them. I started munching on a piece of the yak pie. It was gross. No, it was disgusting. The meat was diced into small chunks about the size and texture of crushed ice, and held together by a tasteless clear gelatin (I hope it wasn't fat..) and spices. It had a rather bland peppery taste, I was only motivated to eat it because Jordan seemed to be eating his. And I was so hungry. After about 15 minutes of trying to convince myself that British people eat food like this every day and are still living, I finally gave up. Repulsed, I told Jordan I was done. A few seconds later, he put his back into the bag, too. We were both just eating it because the other one was eating it.

We tried not to let the pie spoil the afternoon. It was beautiful. It wasn't too cold, the sun was out, and it seemed as if all of London was celebrating the good weather by taking a walk outside. It was a great day to sit on the steps in front of the Albert memorial and look out at the Royal Albert Hall and the people walking, jogging, rollerblading, or biking by. Good times.



To top off the trip, we headed to the temples in London and Preston. For this, we rented a car using "easycar" part of the "easygroup" which owns "easyjet". Driving was ok once you got used to it.. although shifting and right-hand turns were a little tricky. We navigated around the congestion zone in central London and headed south to the temple. Unfortunately, we were confused about the term "bank holiday" and ended up trying to go to the London temple on Monday when it was closed. Instead, we headed to the Windsor castle with a friend named Monty who we scouted out in front of the Westminster Abby who was wearing a BYU hat. Monty was from San Diego area, and drove like he was from there. He camped out in the fast lane, going 10mph over. Perhaps he thought the far right lane was still the slow lane, or maybe he thought he was preventing speeding, but he wouldn't even move for fast cars who would tailgate him..

Windsor castle was definitely the best-preserved castle I've seen in my life. That's probably because there's still royalty living there. The rest of the castles have been impressive, but not kept up.



Of course, we had to pay the Rape and Pillage Tax #178 at Windsor castle for parking, then the Rape and Pillage Tax #179 to get in. After the student discount, it cost 15 pounds.

Even after the raping and pillaging, I am still planning on going back to London, and hope to be able to see several things I missed: the speaker's corner in Hyde Park, the escalators at the Angel tube station, and I missed Darwin's grave in Westminster Abby. We went to an organ concert in the abby, but the ushers shooed us all out before I could look at gravestones. I did see Newton's, but missed Darwin, who is buried in the front-left of the nave.

The things I'll remember from the London trip are:

1) Look Right, Look Left! I almost died because I looked left first. These warnings are painted all over the place at pedestrian crossings to keep them aware of drivers driving on the left side of the road.

2) Just because something has exotic ingredients doesn't mean it will taste good. If food tastes funny, throw it away. Life is too short to eat bad/British food.

3) Watch out for the Vikings and the Celts.. they're still out to rape and pillage!

Dublin

I hope I’m not solely to blame for the volcanic activity that has grounded European flights for almost a week now. I was just joking in my last post when I hinted that my sin might be so grievous as to warrant death by airplane crash as a punishment.

At any rate, our one-day layover in Dublin last Thursday has been extended to a week-long stay, with no hope for escape. We were originally slated to fly out on Thursday the 15th, but arrived at the airport at 6:00 to learn that flights to Edinburgh had been cancelled due to adverse weather conditions. Nervously, we told the people at the Ryanair information desk that we needed to get home by Saturday for a flight to Athens. She helped us book a flight straight to Berlin, leaving at 9:15. We got through security, and rushed to the gate. At 9:00, people lined up to begin boarding, which should have begun at 8:50. At 9:10, people were still standing, and we were told that the flight to Berlin had been canceled. So close.
We then booked flights for Friday, which were canceled later that night. Flights were booked on Monday the 18th, but those were cancelled. After two more rebookings, our current flights are for the 22nd. Unfortunately, we learned that those were canceled last night over the radio.

I keep seeing the same people here. At the airport, we met three backpackers. They looked about 18-20 years old. Due to the uncertain expressions on their faces but familiarity with camping paraphernalia, I pegged them as being from the Pacific Northwest. They were in line with us on the morning of the 15th, when the flights were first canceled. They were also there two days later, when we tried to rebook our flights. And yesterday, I saw them in the city, aimlessly walking with their backpacks along the Liffey.
We split a Taxi with a young couple from England to get our early flights on the 15th. They also couldn’t get out. We saw them again in front of our hotel.
I also have seen a couple of familiar faces walking around the city.
The city tourist busses are now empty. Everyone here has seen Dublin. Including us.
Yesterday, we took a day trip out to Kilkenny, where we were unimpressed with another castle and charming small town.
On the way, I began reading Dracula by Bram Stoker. I figured it would be a good way to spend my time. And it would kindof close the circle of our European adventures. The first trip we took was to Romania, where we visited Dracula’s castle in Bran. And now, we’re stuck in the birthplace of Bram Stoker. As I drove in the bus through the Irish countryside, I imagined what he must have been seeing as he wrote his novel.

Well, we'll see how long it takes for us to get out. But as for now, I'm trapped. Me and Jonathan Harker.

I'm Prebooking two Lifetimes in Pergatory

-Hi, this is Elder Christiensen of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!

-Hi. This is Kendell from the ward in Lankwitz. I'm a student here, and today I ate lunch with a kid who goes to my university. We were talking about the church and he said he met with the missionaries in Marzahn about a year ago for a couple of months. I challenged him to go back to church, and he says he's coming. He wants to meet with you after church this Sunday.

-That's great! What's his name?

-Karl. Karl-Heinz Schreiber.

-Great! we'll look for him.

The Sisters put me up to it. They explained that they would be teaching a lesson on Area Books at Zone Conference, and they wanted to spice things up and really drive the point home.

I'm on pretty good terms with the Sisters, mostly because the missionaries in our ward are the APs, and they don't need splits for most of their work. We rarely see them. However, I've been to a couple of really good appointments as a joint teach for the Sisters, and we have a good relationship.

-Hi, this is Elder Samuels of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!

-Hallo, zees is Lothar, ees Elder Charles zere?

-No, he actually doesn't live here any more. Can I help you?

-I uzzed to meet wees Elder Charles until I moved to Yazkakistan. While I was living in Yazkakistan, I realized zat ze Book of Mormon ees true. I am just moving home, and want to learn more about ze church. Can I meet wees you on Sunday at Church?

-Of course! That would be great.

-See you on Sunday!

As a preparation for their zone conference lesson, the Sisters told me they were going to have members call the missionaries and pretend to be old investigators who should be in their area book. According to the Sisters, when they look in their area book and can't find information about the caller, they will realize how important it is to keep a good area book. Their lesson the next day on area books would be a hit.

Their lesson was today, Thursday. On Wednesday evening, I was called and given the numbers of six sets of Elders to call... There are eight sets of Elders in the zone, but the APs and the Elders at the institute know my voice and have my number. Evidently the Sisters hadn't found anyone else to help them out. So I called all six sets of Elders.

They called me during the Bayern-Manchester soccer game on Wednesday at 10:15 to confirm that they had all been called. I told them that I had called all of them, except for the Elders in Brandenburg. I thought it was too late to call them. "Well, I don't think it's too late. Just give them a call really quick."

So I called Brandenburg.

-Kirche Jesu Christi der Heiligen der Letzten Tage, hier ist Elder Märki!

-Hi, this is Kendell. I met a kid at school today who says he met with you for about 6 months. He hasn't been to church, but he told me he'd come this week. You should meet with him. I don't have his contact information, but his name is Arvid Stanke. He should be in your area book.

-Wait... wait... that was too fast. What you say?


Elder Märki sounded like he was from Switzerland. I explained the story one more time in German for him. Disappointed, he said that they weren't going to be at church on Sunday. They take care of two small branches, Brandenburg and Leest (commonly known even to members as the heckhole area of the mission), and that they weren't going to be in Brandenburg that week. However, he informed me that he would make sure that a member looked out for him.

Instead of ending the conversation quickly, he seemed to want to chat. At 10:30. He asked what I was doing here, where I was from, how long I had been speaking German, and how Lankwitz was. I chatted for a little while, but had to end the phone call because I knew it was late for him, and Bayern had just scored a goal, bringing the score to 3-2 Manchester (even though Bayern was trailing in points, they had somehow advanced to the semi-finals of the champions league as a result of the goal.. don't ask me how that works).

Tonight at Institute, I was surprised that the Sisters didn't approach me to thank me for my help. I mean it wasn't easy to compromise my honesty for an object lesson, and to do it six times in different ways so that the Elders wouldn't suspect anything during the evening phone calls.

So I sat down by them and asked them how their lesson went this morning. They said it went really well, and thanked me for my help.

"But we have some bad news for you."

My heart dropped.

"This morning, the Elders from Brandenburg gave the opening spiritual thought. A greenie who can hardly speak German is serving there with a Swiss companion, and they're working really hard but not seeing a lot of success. For their spiritual thought, they shared a scripture that promised success after much persistence and recounted a miracle referral from a member from another city. We couldn't bear to break their hearts, so we didn't tell them."

I usually try not to be upset with the Sisters. Even when they drag me out of bed at 6 to get to an early appointment that ends up falling through, or when they make fun of me because I can't remember details from my mission, I try to take it in stride. However, at this point, I wasn't sure how to feel. I mean, I had given these Elders my phone number and told them my name as a point of reference.

They tried to console me by telling me that they had already talked to the Mission President, and he thought their idea was good. President told them just not to tell the Brandenburg Elders that it was an object lesson yet.

Trying to console me, one Sister said, "But we didn't tell President it was you."

Thanks.

Anyway, I'm not sure what to do now.

I've considered trying to call all six sets of Elders up and to tell them it was a late April Fools joke.

Jordan says I should call them up and tell them that it was just a reminder that "things like this can happen" but that it was actually just a practice.

Whatever the case, I'm in deep doo doo.

My only reconciliation comes in the fact that I'm flying to London tomorrow night and turning off my cell phone while I'm there to avoid roaming charges.

If my plane crashes, tell the Elders that I'm on the other side, trying my hardest to make up for my blunder before the final judgement.