Oh gosh, I can't wait until next Tuesday.
Greetings to one and all. Hello, hello. Guess what, I should have had ten guest bloggers again this week. I'm rushing to get through this Issue because I've got a seminary lesson to plan and I haven't had much free time to sit down and blog this week. It might be rough, but whatever, I don't care. One bad Issue in 207 tries isn't that bad. Topics to be discussed today: Seminary so far, the highly un-anticipated return of "The District," summer vacation for the Jazz, and a fond farewell to a good friend of the Newsletter. On we go!
I'm coming down the home stretch of my seminary teaching experience. I've learned a lot during the past week and a half. Teaching seminary is much, much harder than I thought it would be. The kids are in the Old Testament this year, so it's some heavy material, which makes things hard, and I'm also teaching a first period class, so I'm dealing with a bunch of sleepy heads. In all my years of teaching lessons in church, this is, hands down, the quietest class I've ever been a part of. I had a nightmare one night about the next day's lesson going horribly and, after all was said and done, I'm not sure which was worse - the nightmare or reality. It's hard when you try to base your lessons, the questions you're going to ask, and the allegedly-fun activities on participation from the class. If I've learned one thing in these last few days, it's that you're only as funny as your audience thinks you are. Needless to say, I haven't been very funny lately. It's been tough. I told my friend, Eileen, this morning that I think I got the class that least suits my teaching style - and it's been very difficult for me. On the mission, they tell you not to be afraid of silence. If you ask somebody a question and they don't answer it right away, give them time to think about it and they'll speak eventually. Works great. Well... Worked great, I should say. I don't think these kids are afraid of silence at all! I bet I could ask a question and wait for two minutes before anyone even said a word. It's rough. I'm telling you. There are a few really awesome kids in the class, though. There's one little superstar named Mady that saves the day time and time again with her awesome answers. There's a quiet kid in the front that I've come to love named Michael and he's had some great participation lately. Then there are the self-proclaimed "Diablos." They're little rascals every single day. They're great kids, but they don't pay too much attention to what I'm trying to teach. There is a girl named Bailee who is on the dance team who hadn't paid much attention or participated much in class until I wore my new, purple argyle socks to class. She liked the purple argyle. This reaction prompted me to go out and get a new pair of argyle socks. (At that point, ANY reaction was a good reaction, I figured.) The kids liked the new, black/blue/gray argyle, as well. The next day I wore normal black socks and got Booed for it. Then I went out and bought some green argyle socks. I've had the kids try to guess what color socks I'm wearing these past few days. Unfortunately, they've figured out that my socks always match my tie... but it's still fun for them to guess anyway. I've enjoyed teaching and I'm grateful for the opportunity I've been given to do so. I've been surprised at how awesome some of the stuff I've been teaching in Ezekiel and Daniel is. There are a lot of things in those books that are relevant to today's youth and it has been nice to see the light bulb go on with a few of them every once in a while. I'll be evaluated on Friday by the good brother who taught my Tuesday institute class up at the U and at that point I guess we'll see what happens. I suppose he'll either tell me I'm awesome or tell me that I'm not awesome, based largely on feedback given by the students (which worries me a little bit). I think I've done a good job teaching and I think that with almost any other class in the world, things could have been really, really awesome, but I guess we'll see how things go.
Speaking of people who don't like to participate, I published some poll questions on Facebook today to allow you, my adoring public, to choose which direction the next episode of "The District: Season Two" would go. There only ended up being three votes: one was me, the other was my brother, Cody, who I forced to vote, and the other was my sister, Amy, who probably saw that Cody had voted. Whatever. Nobody likes "The District" - I gathered that from the first episode. Who cares? If you don't like it, don't read it.
Today is the big day. My brother is getting married. I'm getting ready for the festivities by donning my finest suit. Craig T. is slicking his hair in front of the mirror. Donny is... Well, the last I saw him, he was doing karaoke in the lobby for an audience of five or six people. He was looking good, too, though. Donny is in fine spirits today. Austin's impending matrimony has been tough on Craig T. and me. We're losing a good friend. Donny has had to console us a few different times this week already. There's a knock on the door. It's my youngest brother, Cody. He tells us that our van is about to leave the hotel we've been staying at and head to the wedding. We acknowledge him, take a few deep breaths, and head out to the parking lot.
[Roll the opening credits]
[Slow motion montage of Austin and Lex celebrating in front of flash bulbs. Crossfade to a shot at the wedding reception later that night.]
So that's it. He's gone now. He's no longer ours. He's hers. I suppose that's all good and well, but it's just weird. He'd been there ever since our days at the District. And now he's gone. Weird. At least these cookies are nice. Craig T., Donny, and I have camped out in front of the refreshment table at the wedding reception. Craig T. cracks a joke. Donny and I chuckle softly as we survey the happy crowd of relatives and close friends. Everyone seems to be enjoying the night. It's a happy occasion. The cookies and cake have made me parched, though. I could really go for a drink. I'm always a fan of those stake center drinking fountains. But it's a special night. I'll go for some red punch. Just hope I don't spill it on my new suit. As I fill one of those short little plastic cups with the cool beverage, I give a slight nod to an older gentleman next to me. He's sipping the punch as well. Seems to be having a good time. That's nice. I don't know who he is. Must be some distant family friend or something. But, suddenly, his smile is frozen. His eyes widen in a look of terror. He starts to cough up some of the punch. That's not a good sound. He grasps for his throat, dropping his cup to the ground. (A bit of the red liquid splashes onto my spats!) The man falls backward and his body collapses onto the table with the punch bowl. A female screams. The table is overturned. And there it is. Donny, crouched down at the moment on the other side of the toppled table, rises back up with the incriminating evidence. Somebody had spiked the punch. With a can of Whoop Grass.
Another Whoop Grass victim. This is the same thing we'd recently seen at the dollar theater. Consumption of the deadly gasoline derivative known as Whoop Grass has proven fatal in the past and it seems to have reared its ugly head again tonight during the most untimely of opportunities. After some brief investigation, Craig T. comes across the curious concept that this cultural hall has concealed cameras in the corners of the court. After further interrogation of a local ward member that just so happened to be at the reception, we find that there is a secret security room hidden in the steeple of the church. In less than ten minutes, we've been led to the tip top of the chapel. A quick bolt-clipping later, we've uncovered the mysterious room, which is small and lined with small TV monitors. "Roll back the tape," commands my friend, Craig T. The ward member scrubs through footage from earlier that hour. We see the masses flood into the reception. Guests sign the little book for visitors and guests. They drop presents off at the big, round table. They line up throughout the entire hour to greet the bride, groom, and the proud parents. There I am with my two friends, lounging about by the snacks. We spend most of the time shown on the monitors snacking and and dancing. We look even more foolish than I think any of us had internally felt. I try not to spend too much energy focusing on how to improve my dancing for the next wedding in my family (Amy's, most likely), and I try to look at anyone in the vicinity of the punch bowl. Donny complains for a moment that his eyes are having to strain to focus on the screens. The ward member continues to scroll through the tapes. Suddenly, Craig T. shouts, "WAIT! THERE! Right THERE!!" It startles me. The ward member jumps, too. "Back," Craig insists. "Back a little further. Look closely at the tablecloth. Right... THERE! STOP!" I squint my eyes and re-examine the screen. And, you know what? He's right. There's a foot sticking out from underneath the long tablecloth. It looks like a big, red shoe with yellow laces. Then, if you look closely, you can see a face making its way out from under the table. The ward member pauses the screen and zooms in on the face. The man (or at least I assume it's a man) appears to be wearing a large, curly wig. The face is painted white with place around the eyes and he appears to have smothered himself in lipstick. The video resumes and we watch the costumed figure slink his way out the exit - with two apparently-emptied cans of Whoop Grass in hand. The one, recurring thought that keeps coming to mind is this: Who let that clown in??
[To be continued...]
Someone once sang, "Turn out the liiiiiiiiiiiiights, the party's oooooover." Such is life for the Utah Jazz as of last night. I went down with the ship as my beloved basketball team bit the big one against the San Antonio Spurs. Tony Parker and his team (or, as I like to call them, Frenchie and the Floppers) swept the Jazz in four consecutive games, sending us home for the summer. It was a fun ride while it lasted, but all good things must come to an end. Can I just say something? (Of course I can - it's my blog.) I hate the Spurs. I hate hate hate them. They're dang good, I'll admit, but I absolutely cannot stand those guys. Never have, never will. This isn't at (and won't get to) the extent that I hate the Lakers or Michael Jordan, but there is nothing good about the Spurs. Nothing. Let me discuss some of the reasons why I hate them so much: They tanked their season to get Tim Duncan in the draft. The Jazz have struggled to beat them in the past 10 years or so and I hate losing, dang it. None of their players have a personality - for instance, Tim Duncan just looks like a giant dope. As Austin so eloquently put the other night on Twitter, Tim Duncan is always hitting people in the head and we wish we could have a chance to hit him in the head. They whine about every single call that doesn't go their way - even after beating us by 30 points! They flop more than any team I've ever seen in my life. Tony Parker killed the Jazz in this series, but he still cheated on Eva Longoria. And he's still French. Their uniforms are ugly. They are ugly. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that they are the ugliest time in the entire NBA right now, bar none. I could go on and on about how much I hate the Spurs, but I'll stop there. Basically, when you get trounced as bad as the Jazz did in this series, there are two things you can do: cry yourself to sleep or mock the opposing players. I choose the latter. In fact, I slept rather well last night. I can now go into my long basketball hibernation as I attempt to ignore the remainder of the NBA playoffs. Good job, Jazz. Better luck next year.
It's time for this week's guest blogger. Tonight I've asked my dear brother, Austin, to bid a fond farewell to bachelorhood. He's put together some thoughts about life in general and they will shortly follow. I'd quickly like to express my heartfelt thanks to Austin for his continued support of the blog throughout the years and for him allowing me to use him as a topic and a guest Time and Time again. We'll surely hear from him again in the future, but it will be in a much different capacity than in Issues past. Happy trails to you for now, my brother. Enjoy the married life. Let me know what it's like, I guess. We'll be seeing you around. Maybe. Take it away, Junior:
I was recently asked by the one we all know as “A-Town” to contribute to this sophisticated and legendary blog. I struggle to encounter the proper words which could describe the emotions I feel, knowing that such a privilege, nay, an honor has been bestowed upon me. It took me all of 5 minutes to realize that such an effort is futile.
For approximately 22 7/12 of the 22 11/12 years I’ve existed on this earth, I have belonged to an elite fraternity and have held the esteemed title of “Bachelor”. Being a bachelor can be a beautiful, yet frustrating thing. No commitment, guys night out whenever you want, no one to hold you back from running to Beto’s at midnight and getting that California burrito which you’ve been craving for the last 3 days. Frustration can kick in, as we humans have a longing to be with someone who genuinely cares about and loves us, wants us to succeed, yet one who belongs to the brotherhood of “The Bachelor” doesn’t have. My bachelorhood ended 3 months ago when I proposed to @snorlex622.
These last three months have been quite the journey for me as I’ve come to know more about my fiancée, her family, my family, and myself. I’ve truly enjoyed my time as an engaged man, and I’m looking forward to Thursday which is the day I wed. Being a bachelor was good, but I’m positive that being married will be that much better for me. I’m really excited.
When I’m married my appearances in SotT are sure to be more limited than before, as A-Town and I will no longer be roommates. It’s been quite a run. Since the founding of this glorious Tuesday novelty, I’ve only been out-mentioned by: 1- The Boo Box, 2- Junior Mounties, 3- That’s PMU, 4- Fantasy Football, and 5- The University of Utah. I’ve been mentioned more than any other human being, and even more than Facebook, the Utah Jazz, and yes, even dating. I’m truly proud to have been spoken of so often by the man who has been dropping Tuesday dimes since mid 2005. I would like to leave some parting wisdom to the masses before I part ways with bachelorhood.
It never ceases to amaze at how the human being is never satisfied. It’s always too hot in the summer, and too cold in the winter. We never have enough money. We don’t have enough time to do the things we would like. Playstation 2 and Xbox weren’t good enough. Black and white TV didn’t last particularly long either.
While it may sometimes be better for the human race to search for these advances, it’s not always a bad thing to just enjoy the ride. Enjoy what we have. There is a particular passage which was written some millennia ago by a man named Paul. Paul wrote a letter to a group of people in the land of Phillipi which said the following, “Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.”
This man Paul suffered a lot in his life. He was unjustly thrown in prison, beaten, and eventually put to death for doing something that was right. During his struggles, he suggests that we learn to be content as he was. Even if you like winter, it’s ok to enjoy the summer. Playstation 2 wasn’t really that bad. There are worse things in life than being a bachelor. It’s possible to love the life that you live… unless you cheer for the Spurs.
–Austin Christensen
Gonna miss you, buddy.
Let's put this one mercifully to rest with a quick Shoutout of the Week and then I've seriously got to go start planning my lesson for tomorrow. I recently met a very Loyal Subscriber named Whitney Wilson this week. She's been an online acquaintance for a little over a year at this point and has faithfully followed "Signs of the Times" each week. I just found out that she can chronologically name all of my siblings in order from oldest to youngest. That's quite impressive. Anyway, Whitney, I'm sure this Shoutout is long past due, but here you are! Bask in its glory! Have a lovely week and keep on reading!
That's about it for this week, kiddos. Geez. The stress. The stress!! I have no time to myself these past few days. Its a marvelous work and a wonder that I even blogged at all this week. So... if it sucked, sorry. If not, then, well, it's a miracle. You can't win 'em all. But I'm dedicated to this baby and I had to blog. But now it's on to more pressing issues. We're talking Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego in the A-M, as they say, and I've got to come up with something so creative that even the least-willing participant will feel compelled to take part. It's tough, my friends. It really is. Take it easy. Next week will be better. I'll have my entire Tuesday back, at long last. It's been months. Adios.
Until next Time,
Move It! Sell It! And Leave the Door Open!
Aaron
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