Lil G...My One and Only

Just in case you were wondering, there is another blog out there, one I fear I will keep up with more than mine own. Lil' G is my stuffed mini-giraffe who I received at the Denton TX 2008 EFY session from my beloved Juda. Ever since then, he's been calm and reserved. However, this summer he's been getting himself into more and more crazy adventures. At first he was stolen from me and forced to travel with some he would consider strangers, but after seeing his blog I know he was having a ton of fun.

Now that we are reunited, I will continue to follow him around and see what he gets himself into. Oh the places we'll go!

That's What I Thought...Let Me Speak with an Adult.

That's what a miffed, and somewhat over-protective, mother told me a few weeks ago in Denton. After a lengthy phone conversation about what does and does not constitute vandalism, she proceeded to inquire about my age. More specifically, she asked:

"Are you a boy or a man?"

Confused as to what bearing this had on our conversation, I replied "I'm one of the coordinators at this session."

"You didn't answer my question. How old are you?"

"Ma'am, I am twenty eight years old."

"That's what I thought...let me speak with an adult."

Ahh...the joys of being a coordinator. Someone remind me...why do I submit myself to this? Despite what this sweet sister implied, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I have a good paying job at a Fortune 100 company, and an overall contributing member of adult society. Right...? Anyway, a more complete blog about my final summer of EFY will shortly follow after everything is said and done, but just had to get this off my not-yet-matured chest.

The Worst Day...Ever

Who would've thought I could get so dramatic? That's yet something else that might surprise some people...beneath this adorable, fluffy, composed, may I even suggest dignified, exterior is a fully-animated bundle of emotions that, every once in a while, breaks the surface. Such was the case yesterday, June 9, 2009.

EFY starts this week...meaning the counselors show up for training on Saturday. Somehow I got roped back into dealing with this mess. Please do not get me wrong, I love working with the youth, and in the last couple of years I have noticed how much I love to work with the YSAs who work as our counselors. Last year (one of the many times I vowed it would be my last summer), I truly loved serving and working side by side with our amazing staff. That being said, all the drama and stress that happens inbetween efy sessions and each summer sometimes is alomst more that I can bear. The simple act of interviewing an excellent candidate and moving them through to hiring seems takes it toll on me. As of yesterday, we still had nearly a dozen applicants in limbo, each having no idea if their application was in process, if they were working efy next week, or what they should be preparing. We couldn't even contact them to find their intentions in case they weren't cleared...so I was facing a worst-case scenario of having a session only half-staffed. The frustration boiled over once one was cleared and I called him only to find out Monday he booked a flight for Florida thinking he wasn't working...if only we would have told him a day earlier...

I called my partner, Nina, to vent. She is so good, but even still I was upset, anxious, and nervous. I had to leave work...just couldn't stand staring at my cubicle walls and emails I don't care about. Half way home, my light comes on saying I am low on oil...I just changed my oil nigh unto three weeks ago! Ugh...I needed some soothing influence, something that will calm my mind and my soul. Some Abide With Me Tis Eventide at the piano should do the trick. I sat down and once I started struggling through and butchering this beautiful hymn, I remembered, 'hey, harvey...you don't play the piano' which only made me feel even more miserable.

'Ah, it's a beautiful day. I should go out back and water my bushes,' I thought to myself. So out the back door I go, only to feel a draft downstairs. No, my fly wasn't down, it was broken! 'Oh jeez, how fracken long has that been like that???' I screamed to my empty house. I angrily changed my clothes because apparently it would look ridiculous for me to wear a button down dress shirt with the gym shorts I was then wearing and stomped out back. I pulled the hose from its little spindle, attached it to the faucet and turned on the water full-blast. It turns out after a year of faithful service, that dastardly hose decided today would be the day it would break, causing a huge leak right at the faucet and spraying me. Since it was in the mid-90's, one might think this would be enjoyable. However this just aggravated me even more until the soothing started with watering my bushes and trees and flowers. I stood there, somewhat wet, with the nozzle set on shower watching as life-giving water fed the thirsty soil. It then hit me that everything in my yard is still lush, blooming, and green. I began to take great pride knowing that I had weeded, planted, and kept everything alive. Yes, my yard was filled with living things...things like the ticked-off-for-no-reason bee that then landed on shoulder and then freakn stung me. AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! If that wasn't enough, I dropped the hose and began to run belting out exclamations of yips and yelps to an amused neighbor playing with his dog.

Why did I get out of bed on June 9, 2009?

June 10, 2009 proved much better. We were able to process the majority of the counselors; I actually checked my oil level, and my car is mistaken...it has plenty of oil; I was able to fix my zipper on my favorite pair of slacks; the hose simply required a snap back into place and it was once again properly sealed; and the sting wasn't anything too terrible. In fact, it's pretty much gone already.

Thus endeth the worst day ever.

Lauren...Lauren Uminski?

So I started to write this on a message that included all my family on Facebook, but the thing was a) it was a thread my little brother started advertising his online mini-series about Utahnian floozies so it wasn't even germane, b) it's an interesting enough story i thought a few people might like reading it, and c) maybe you can even help...

k this has NOTHING to do with this thread, but i figured since the entire family was on it anyway, might as well use it instead of creating my own...so i was working in the temple last week in the baptistry, and this girl who is helping hand out towels is like 'uminski...are you related to...' and while she was saying that, i was trying to anticipate which of my siblings she knows, but then she blurts out 'lauren' and im totally shocked...i must have made a face cause she apparently thought she offended me, but i was like:
'lauren? lauren uminski? spelled u-m-i-n-s-k-i?'
'yep, i knew her from school (byu or byu-i, i can't remember)'
'so she's a member?'
'yeah'
'lauren? i have three sisters, elizabeth, kati, and margie, and it wasn't one of them?'
(keep in mind that just down a few steps from where we're having this conversation, saving ordinances for the deceased are being performed with the priesthood of God)
'no....no it was lauren' now she had the offended look
'wow, as far as i knew, we were the only uminski's in the church. my parents joined, and there's hardly any of us in the country, let alone the church'
'that's what i figured'
'wow, lauren uminski?'

i wanted to find out more about this lauren, who she was, what was her geneology, when did her uminski line come across the great waters, when did they join the church, is she single, how closely related exactly are we (it would make things pretty simple with the whole last name changing over process thing), what was her major, what are her ambitions, life goals, dreams...but then i remembered...right...saving ordinances going on just a few feet away...so i decided that wasn't the place.

alas, i never did get to restart that conversation, so if anyone knows of any other uminski's in the Church, please do share for now I'm genuinely intrigued...not that i wasn't on saturday...but...you know...whatever

God Bless America...seriously, we need all the help we can get

I'm worried...And I know I cannot be the only one out here worried about the state of our Union, but what I am worried about are the elitist idiots driving this crazy train thinking this is what the majority of America wants. The ones who feel like its a 'patriotic duty' to pay more taxes but for some reason have trouble paying any taxes at all. The ones who love to throw down the race card but look the other way or chuckle when their friends pray to God on behalf of the entire country that 'brown can stick around and white embrace what's right.' The ones who feel the need for regulation to ensure 'fair and balanced' commentary because voices like Limbaugh, O'Rilley, Beck, and Hannity are spewing what they deem as hate and bigotry. In other words, one of the few free and open means of popular expression may well be cornered and beaten by bullies who even in triumph cannot tolerate any criticism and opposition. The ones who believe the state can raise families better than parents, control the economy better than the free market, and give away health care like candy at a parade. The ones who have stressed the need to free the upper echelons of government of lobbyists, yet every time I turn around another one is placed in positions of authority.

I'm tired...I'm tired of the seemingly endless charade of our leaders helping their friends or their pocketbooks or their mortgages at the expense of the American people. I'm tired of receiving disappointed looks when I say anything against the Anointed One and the shocked looks when I have the audacity of calling him a Marxist. I'm tired of going the same way Europe has despite we have case after case after case that proves social democracy does not work. It only leads to high taxes, economic stagnation, weakened international power, inflation, and mediocrity. I'm tired of so many treading the Constitution under their feet all in the name of progressive ideology. I'm tired of hearing that this can all be fixed if we simply give away our national sovereignty, spend our way into oblivion, and ramp up political correctness.

I'm lucky...I'm lucky I work for the world's largest defense contractor. We make and sell the tools that nations around the world use to protect and maintain freedom. Does it make me a monster when I see Israeli F-16s--that were built 200 yards from my cubicle--taking out another terrorist cell and beam with just a little bit of pride? I'm lucky I live in the greatest state in the Union. A state where the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is still upheld and reverenced. A state where a housewife knocks out a burglar with a big ole candle while her husband shoots him with his own gun to protect their kids asleep in their rooms. A state that actually applauds instead of condemns them. A state that believes I know how to spend my money better than it does. A state that exclaims "Come and take it!" to anyone trying to deprive us of our rights and liberties. I'm lucky I have the faith I do. A faith that expects I contribute my time and talents. A faith that expects sacrifice. A faith that expects self-dependence. A faith that provides strength, stability, and security and is as much personal as it is communal.

I'm optimistic...In a time where we are always looking for the easy way out, we should be looking back. If John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and Geroge Washington took the easy way out we would be singing God Save the Queen instead of My Country Tis of Thee. Even though we are entering uncharted waters in many ways, as the video below illustrates, I still believe the American spirit is alive and with a bit of pain and effort and sacrifice we will pick ourselves up and remain the standard of freedom.

I Blame Canada...mostly

As I pulled into my hotel in Charlotte Monday night, snow flakes were already starting to fall. It helped soothe the frustration I had towards myself for not checking the Spurs schedule. I’m walking down the terminal and at one of those sports bar things, they are showing highlights. Of course I see Tony Parker and I am immediately drawn in only to see “Hey, that was this afternoon. Hey, that was in Charlotte. Hey, I AM in Charlotte!” I mean, what was the chance that the one time they play in Charlotte all season was the very day I am in town? Not only that, but this is the Bobcats we’re talking about here…I could’ve totally gotten like a $5 ticket then moseyed on down to the front row. But seeing the snow made me happy and excited. I figured I would get into the hotel, pull up my email, and they folks who I was meeting with would have sent me something saying “FYI, we’re getting snow here, so let’s work something out” Well…that would’ve been fine if I could get through the Lockheed firewall. Luckily I am amazing and foresaw this possibility and printed out my contact’s information before I left the office earlier. Since it was around 11 pm, I figured I would just call in the morning to see if things were still good. About six hours and five inches of snow later, we connected and decided we would squeeze the meeting in on Wednesday before I flew out.

This left me with all day Tuesday to sit and watch the Inauguration circus. My TV was dripping from all the media drooling over their newly appointed Savior of the Universe. Seriously, I had to get a towel. Luckily, TNT was showing Cool Runnings, so I was spared much of the parade nonsense. Although I am a bit disappointed I missed Ted Kennedy’s exit. Anyway, by the time I left Charlotte, it was a brisk 25 degrees. When I touched down at DFW, it was dang near balmy at 72. I rode home with my top down. Then Friday, put the top down again, went to get gas, return my Blockbuster rental that I never watched, and buy the book I’m currently reading, making a semi loop around Fort Worth. By the time I was on my way home I had the heater cranked up, seat warmers on, and was still shivering. Within like a couple hours the temperature dropped from near 80 to around 40. From that point, the rest of the weekend was miserable. To top it all off, I thought I has left my phone in North Carolina (but it turns out it was just in the bottom of my laptop bag), so I had to go knock on my neighbor’s door in my weakened and vulnerable state and ask if I could use their phone to call in sick for my Temple shift.

I realize the origin of this front was somewhere up in Canada, so I put the blame for my congestion and sneezing and general deplorable station squarely on her shoulders. Well, fine…we all know Okalahoma’s primary role in the galaxy is to stand as a buffer against these kinds of things, so in fairness they really dropped the ball. So let me do the calculations….do the weights and factors….carry the 3….and it turns out my sickness this weekend can be blamed 74% on Canada, 19% on Oklahoma, 4.5% on the other plain states, and 2.5% on Al Gore. Seriously, shouldn’t Florida be underwater and Alberta growing wheat already? Instead we’re now set for an over-exaggerated Texas ice storm. In a time where it is popular to place blame on any and everything that can and will go wrong, someone needs to pay. So when my neighbor lets me know how much the long distance call to Dallas was, I will send it along with my Walgreen’s receipt to Ottawa and they can decide how to split the check.

The Tortilla Soup Quest

It's been over a month since my last post...and quite frankly I'm not surprised it has taken me more than 30 days to write my second entry. In fact, I should have called it out in my previous post so it would make it seem like a) I had no intention to get back to it in the near future and b) all my loyal readers wouldn't get their underthings in a bunch. In all honesty, I just didn't know what to write about. But at least I'm better than George RR Martin and his apparent total disregard to his readers. I mean, how stinking long does it take to put out the next book that was supposedly already half done like 3 years ago...anyway, that's for another post at another time.

I was out to lunch with some peeps this past week and we went to Saltgrass. After thinking about it, we really should have gone somewhere else because I seriously had the best steak of my life not 18 hours earlier down in the Fort Worth Stockyards and I should have known anything would have paled in comparison to the ecstasy I experienced that night. I mean, the thing was soooo good it's almost as if they carved it off the cow itself just moments before searing it. Which considering that we were in the Stockyards, probably wasn't far off.

Anyway, we went to Saltgrass and had an average steak (I wasn't paying for it, so what did I care?), and the all-important question came when I placed my order..."would you like soup or salad with that?" What I usually do is ask "what are your soups today?" knowing full well that I am so not a soup guy and will most likely go with the salad, but I guess I feel that I am being polite by inquiring after their soup selection. My waiter surprised me when he said they were serving tortilla soup, something I had not expected from a steakhouse, so I was like, well now I have to try it. I don't know what it is, but for some reason I have this compulsion to try tortilla soup wherever I go and make a mental evaluation based on previous taste trials. Similar to one friend that has to try and compare calamari, and another who's first order at a new place is always the chicken enchiladas.


So I've tried tortilla soups from a number of different establishments all across the country, (well, at least Texas, California, and Nevada anyway) and I can say that Saltgrass ranks towards the bottom. In fact, let's just be honest, it's dead last as far as I am concerned. First of all, it was kinda creamy, and I am such a fan of broth-based tortilla soup, but it wasn't all the way creamy...more like curddy, if that's a word. And the chicken was tiny cut up processed chunks of something or-nother, and then to top it all off, they threw flippn CORN in it!!! Ewwwwwwww! Why do people feel like that have to ruin perfectly good food items by thinking they are 'spicing things up' and adding CORN to stuff?? Why not throw some nasty peas in there as well? While you're at it, my rice and my mashed taters and my steak look a little dull, I think you know what to do....

So just in case you are wondering, the best tortilla soup I've had is at the Alamo Cafe in San Antonio. Taco Cabana's isn't half-bad either for the price and convenience. If anyone has any recommendations, please let me know, I'm always open to finding a succulent bowl of tortilla soup. I'm headed up to Charlotte, NC tomorrow, but I don't have high hopes of finding anything promising. I believe Bowling for Soup spoke true doctrine when they said in their rock anthem entitled Ohio (Come Back to Texas), "Besides the Mexican food sucks north of here anyway."