...and we're back.

I have learned that the universe likes to balance itself out, but why must my life be affected by this cosmic equation?
The last week or so has been fan-freakin' tastic. (seriously, i hope that didn't come off as sarcastic)
I am back to school and work, things are going great with both. I managed to get over myself and begin to bring important people back into my life (better to talk to a friend than mourn over a lover). I am beginning to realize what I want to do with my life, as soon as the she-devil that is college gives my life back to me. I even got to shoot the football game from the sidelines last Saturday -- which was awesome, by the way.
But it seems that in all things, my life included, what goes up, must come down.
It brings me great sorrow to tell you all that Sweet Caroline, after more than two years of faithful service, has met with an untimely, lemon-limey, demise. My 12", titanium beauty has drowned in an explosion of thirst-quenching death.
I cannot afford a new computer right now...

Pursuit of Truth

The following was my editorial viewpoint that ran in today's (9/11) newspaper:


It has been five years to the day since the horrific tragedy of 9/11. Five years since thousands of innocent lives were lost in one of the most brutal attacks in American history. This millennium was ushered in by destruction and bloodshed, more than likely setting a pattern for the decades to come.

Many people ask how such an atrocity could have ever happened. How could the most powerful nation in the world be brought to its knees by a handful of men armed with box cutters?

This question is a good one if not asked rhetorically. This query could, if pursued aggressively, provide answers and comfort to a whole country of mourners.

Unfortunately, asking these questions or casting doubt on the government's official report has not only been discouraged, but is often seen as unpatriotic or even treasonous.

In his book, "Democracy in America," French thinker and politician Alexis de Tocqueville said, "In America the majority raises formidable barriers around the liberty of opinion; within these barriers an author may write what he pleases, but woe to him if he goes beyond them."

The truth of this profound statement was evidenced last week when BYU physics professor Steven Jones was placed on paid leave because the administration was "concerned about the increasingly speculative and accusatory nature" of Professor Jones' claims. Jones first began sharing his theories last fall when he released his paper "Why Indeed Did the World Trade Center Buildings Collapse?"

I do not buy into every idea Jones presents, but, regardless of whether his claims are right or wrong, he has been punished for expressing his opinion - an opinion that was reached based on scientific research in his field of expertise.

I was pleased to see that I was not alone in applauding a little conflict and freedom of expression. In his September 8 letter to the editor, Eric Rasmussen expressed his gratitude to hear a dissenting voice at BYU. Even though Rasmussen immediately dismissed Jones as a "quack" without defining or backing up that accusation, and even though the university is most definitely not "staying the heck out of [Jones'] way" anymore, I am glad that alternative voices can at least be heard, if not heeded.

I have discussed and debated the events of 9/11 with dozens of people, many of who hold strong opinions contrary to my own. This opposition does not bother me, I agree wholeheartedly with Voltaire in that "I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

What I most definitely do not agree with are people who have the nerve to tell me that my opinion is wrong when they have not done any research on the matter. I have yet to meet more than a handful of people who have actually read the 9/11 Commission Report, much less the publications standing in opposition to that report.

I came to this university to gain knowledge and understanding. I am forever indebted to many wonderful professors who have shown me the importance of discovering truth for myself; I hope that I never let them down.

I encourage everyone to shake off his or her complacency and seek the truth. Examine both sides of this and every story to reach your own educated and informed conclusions. Questioning the government is not unpatriotic. The reality is that by blindly following our leaders and accepting what they spoon-feed us to be absolute certainty, we are rejecting the philosophies of freedom and truth upon which this great country was founded.

Apathy will only lead our country farther from the vision that was so eagerly fought for by our Founding Fathers.

Day 6: The difference between buttcrack Bill and a hole in the ground.

After enjoying another leisurely morning, we loaded up the car and drove to the Lehman Caves Visitor’s Center, where we met our injured hiker who had been spending a few days with relatives out in Ely.

We grabbed another fabulous lunch at the café and checked in for our cave tour appointment.

Absolom Lehman, a local miner and rancher, discovered Lehman Caves in 1885. The cave system was set aside as a national monument in 1922. In 1986, the monument was expanded to include 77,000 acres and was redesignated as Great Basin National Park.

A very friendly ranger led us on a 90-minute tour through the massive caverns, the beauty of which easily rivals that of Timpanogos Cave. The stalactites and stalagmites formed huge fangs which seemed to guard the great rooms and small, underground lakes of crystal clear water.

As we were led out of the damp cold of the caves back to the dry heat of the Nevada desert, I felt a twang of sadness, knowing that my time in this amazing place was coming to an end.

But I will be back, and a whole world of discovery will be waiting for me.

Day 5: Mmmm, cheeseburger....

For the first time on this extraordinary journey, I slept late into the morning and had a big, leisurely breakfast. We were planning a day hike up an adjacent canyon, but I chose to head downstream, hoping to find a nice place to explore, read and nap the afternoon away.

I was surprised to find an established campground, complete with picnic tables, not five minutes down the trail. I was even more surprised to find my own car another five minutes beyond that! Unable to resist the temptation, I drove to town seeking real food – I can only take so much of my homemade, dehydrated, refried beans, no matter how tasty they are.

I drove into the tiny town of Baker and immediately met some fascinating people. Two rather hairy and unkempt, but very friendly men who were 6 weeks into cycling across the entire country were a table and conversation with me. They were heading to Burning Man, a music festival in the middle of the Nevada desert, before heading on to their finish line in San Francisco. Their stories were made all the more enjoyable with a fantastic burger at the charming Lectrolux Café, home to the world’s best brownie (seriously, go try it).

I made it back to camp about the same time as the others and confessed all to them. We moved camp down to the campground and spent our last night with a bit more luxury.

Day 4: Welcome, Welcome, Sabbath Morning!

We broke camp at sunrise and hit the trail in good spirits, knowing that the hardest day of our trip was behind us. After another hour of route-finding through the forest, we were happy to finally find another trail.

We arrived at Wheeler Peak Campground at 10 a.m., where we refilled our water and made use of the fantastic facilities – okay, it was only an outhouse, but it had been four days!

Relaxed and refreshed, we set out for the day’s destination, the intimidating Wheeler Peak. A few hours later, we dropped our heavy packs on the ridgeline and began the final mile – and 2,000 vertical feet! – to the summit. That is, for all you non-hikers, ridiculously steep. In comparison, the trail up Mount Timpanogos is less than 500 vertical feet/mile, making Wheeler Peak four times as steep!

We enjoyed a quick lunch while enjoying the endless view from the summit, which, at 13,063 feet, was the highest my two feet had ever taken me.

The descent was easier (duh!), and we collected our packs before once more leaving established trails behind. We topped Bald Mountain late in the afternoon and, after hitting the geocache at the summit, dropped over 3,000 feet into the valley below.

As we stumbled clumsily through one of the most beautiful forests I have ever seen, we were taunted by the scat and tracks of deer, elk, bear and even mountain lion, while the animals that left them eluded us completely.

We made camp near the stream at sunset after 11 miles and as many hours over this incredible landscape.

Day 3: ...and I thought yesterday was rough.

Ugh. Yes, ugh. today was hard, really hard, but at the same time, it was a feast for my taste for adventure.

One member of our party headed back down to civilization because of an injured ankle. Good choice, with that injury, she may not have made it through the day of bushwhacking and boulder hopping.

We left our injured comrade and the trail after an easy two miles and headed cross-country to the north side of the park. The next 4 miles took nearly nine hours of struggling through thick undergrowth and traversing treacherous boulder fields just waiting to prey on the unsuspecting ankle.

By sunset, I was too tired to appreciate the solitary beauty. We found a rocky knoll, pitched our tents and went to bed, too tired to even boil water for dinner.

Day 2: Sometimes you gotta go through hell to get to heaven.

I woke again at 5:30 a.m., the temperature was still hovering around freezing and I was certainly not getting any warmer in my tent, so I decided to get up and get moving. I had a breakfast of squished poptarts and water, and we were back on the trail by 7:30, knowing we had a long day ahead of us.



We hiked up to the pass which had been looming above us since the previous evening (elev. 11,100 feet), then down about a mile and a half to Baker Lake, where we set up camp before heading off for the day. At 10 a.m., we headed back up the pass and began our day hike south along the ridge, hitting two 11,700+ ft peaks on the way. We were too tired to continue up to the shorter Mount Washington, but our primary destination had been reached.

On short ridgeline on the north-east slope of Mount Washington, over 11,000 feet above sea level lies an ancient grove of bristlecone pines, the biggest collection of such trees in the park.



I once pondered in unbeleif John Steinbeck's account of seeing the redwoods in California, recorded in "Travels with Charley."

"The Redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. They are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time. The vainest, most slap-happy and irreverent of men, in the presence of redwoods, goes under a spell of wonder and respect. Respect -- that's the word. one feels the need to bow to unquestioned sovereigns."

I had always thought that he must be exagerrating for the sake of his literature, but know I know the truth. I have stood on sacred ground. I have trod where no more than dozens venture each year. I have sat in the shadows of these anceint trees and felt their majesty seep into my bones. These magnificent trees were ancient when the redwoods were sprouting. They were anceint when Christ walked the earth, and to be in their presence was to sit as a witness to the history of our world.



At this elevation, the life of a bristlecone pine is not measured in years, decades or even centuries, but in millenia. Prometheus, the oldest specimen ever found, was determined to be 4,950 years old, while many others in the park are between 3,000 and 4,000 years old. The trunks and branches of these strong, gnarled trees are so hard with resin that the wood does not decompose, it erodes, the wind-blown sand and ice making the exposed surfaces perfectly smooth. Even the needles on these wizened trees live for 40 years!

The long, hard hike to reach the grove and the veritable death march back to camp is a very small price to pay for such an experience. There are no trails to this place, and, with luck, there never will be.

Day 1: Over the River and Thru the Woods (yes, in the middle of the Nevada desert)

Finally! A year and a half ago I read a trip report in National Geographic Adventure about the remote beauty of Great Basin National Park. As I read, I knew that I had to get there. Try as we could last year, it just wasn't happening, but this year we finally got there.



Great Basin National Park is the newest, most remote and least visited park in the country. It is an alpine island in the middle of the vast western desert, a 50-mile long mountain range with 13 peaks over 11,000 feet.

Last Thursday, all our hard laid plans came to fruition as five of us headed west for a six-day backpacking trip. The park is only 3 1/2 hours west on Highway 6 through Eureka and Delta (which is a rockin' place), and we hit the trail at around 4:30 pm.



We started from Shoshone Campground (elev. 8,200 ft) and climbed through beautiful aspen forests bordered by fields of sage that I would expect to find in the Nevada desert. We trekked several miles through terrain more beautiful than anything I have seen in my native Wasatch.

We made camp at Johnson Lake (elev. 10,700 feet) just as the sun was setting. It got cold as quickly as it got dark; all we wanted was to have a hot meal and climb into bed. I absolutely froze as the temperature dropped below freezing (in the middle of Nevada in August?), but I managed a few hours of sleep.

The Longest Week of My Life

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones

The hypocritical art connoisseur

Time for my latest rant.

As I was driving home from a great sushi dinner with friends, the conversation turned, as it often does with me, to movies. They were asking me what some great films were, I mentioned that they should see "Good Night, and Good Luck," "Paradise Now" and, perhaps most importantly, "Crash." My friend in the backseat asked what Crash was rated and I told him. He, like many of my other friends, does not watch any film that is rated "R." I respect that, I feel that people should live their lives in accordance with their personal beleifs and I support them in that decision.

A friend of my friends piped up from the backseat, "you should get it from CleanFlicks," she said," it is really good."

This, I cannot support. The audacity of people to think they have the right to take the artistic expression of the director and modify it to suit their own tastes. The best analogy I can think of for this situation is that of putting underwear, or a fig leaf (like in the BYU Art History book), and using it to cover up Michaelangelo's David. It is the exact same thing.

Before continuing I will concede that some directors are not in the business to express themselves artisticly and use inappropriate material in an distasteful manner just to sell movie tickets. I do not patronize these films, whether they are "R" or even "PG-13." I have found that some of the latter offend much more than many or most of the former.

After relating this analogy, the girl in the backseat exclaimed, "I have seen the David, it is so beautiful!"

It took a lot to keep myself from reaching back and smacking her (not literally, I would of course never do that).

I can't understand people who can accept a nude sculpture or painting as art, yet deem material in quality films to be immoral. How can this difference be rationalized? Where is the line to be drawn? Have you ever seen The Ecstasy of St Theresa? What do these type of people think of this sculpture? I am quite sure that this girl would accept this piece as art, yet continue to reject movies that are much less graphic.

I would love someone to explain this rationale to me.

it's a good idea to do this anyway...

How conservative is too conservative?

Brains are like refrigerators, they only work when they are closed.

"What you talkin' 'bout Willis?"

Yesterday I had the amazing oportunity to meet and chat with Mr. Gary Coleman, who, by the way, is really shorter and smaller than he looks on TV (didn't think that was possible did you?).





I shot the breeze with Clint Howard for a while, I guess with a face like that you have to be very personable, though I am sure having a famous director as an older brother helps too.





Andrew Wilson is just as cool in person as he and his more famous younger brothers are in all their films. Very cool guy.

The Story of My Life

The downside of being better than everyone else is that people tend to assume you're pretentious.

Indifference

It takes 43 muscles to frown and 17 to smile, but it doesn't take any to just sit there with a dumb look on your face.

Brokeback Whinin'

Gary Coleman is much shorter in person, but more on that later.

I was just reading an article on CNN.com that speaks of Brokeback author Annie Proulx's outrage at the Academy for giving the Oscar to "Crash" instead of "Brokeback Mountain."

In a British newspaper, the 70-year-old author of the original Brokeback short story proceeds to rip the Academy a new one by saying declaring them to be ""out of touch not only with the shifting larger culture and the yeasty ferment that is America these days, but also out of touch with their own segregated city."

I have seen both "Crash" and "Brokeback." In my (admittidly limited) opinion, "Crash" was far superior in almost every way. The ensemble cast of the film was simply amazing, bringing the audience through an often intesne spectrum of human emotions. The only point on which I can admit that Brokeback was a superior work is in its cinematography; it is a very beautiful film.

Los Angeles and Academy voters were not 'homophobic' and were certainley not scared to vote for the controversial "Brokeback," they simply viewed the entries and chose the better of the two. Having said that, however, I must say that I was just as surprised as Mr. Nicholson when "Crash" won for best picture, which I think is indicative of the power of clever advertising people, who made sure everybody knew who was going to win.

Annie Proulx is just pissed that she is missing out on the increased royalties that would surely come from a Best Picture win.

Chemistry vs. Compatibility

One of the most memorable exchanges in the wonderful film "Love Actually" plays out as follows.

Daniel: So what's the problem, Sammy-o? Is it just Mum or is it something else? Maybe... school - are you being bullied? Or is it something worse? Can you give me any clues at all?
Sam: You really want to know?
Daniel: I really want to know.
Sam: Even though you won't be able to do anything to help?
Daniel: Even if that's the case, yeah.
Sam: OK. The truth is actually... I'm in love.
Daniel: Sorry?
Sam: I know I should be thinking about Mum all the time, and I am. But the truth is I'm in love and I was before she died, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Daniel: Aren't you a bit young to be in love?
Sam: No.
Daniel: Oh, OK, right. Well, I'm a little relieved.
Sam: Why?
Daniel: Well, you know - I thought it might be something worse.
Sam: [incredulous] Worse than the total agony of being in love?


AMEN.

Why do we constantly submit ourselves to this kind of abuse. You would think people would learn but, as the prophetic song says, "so, for at least until tomorrow, I'll never fall in love again."

Most of us single guys are always searching for that perfect balance of chemistry and compatibility in a woman that can make us happy for more than a few weeks or months.

I have had experiences where this chemistry/compatibility scale is tipped in either direction. I have even, once or twice, been in a relationship where the scale seems to be balanced quite well, but then somehow manage to screw it up.

If the scale is tipped significantly to one side, let's say chemistry, what course should one pursue in the relationship? Should compatibility be sought after? If so, to what extent? What if weeks and months go by and, though the chemistry seems to be unabated, the relationship still lacks a more meaningful connection?

The answer is of course obvious. A relationship cannot be based solely in the physical realm and remain healthy. So, this being the only choice, why is it such a difficult one to make?

To quote the J. Geils Band's infinite wisdom, I hereby declare, "Love Stinks!!!"