I don't shop much, so I may have been the only person in the Target store on Tuesday that was surprised to see aisles of Halloween merchandise already out. I checked the date: September 18th. Halloween, which I consider only a minor holiday, is over a month away, and the retailers are already reaching out with their claws of commerce. Does anyone really buy Halloween candy in September? No wonder the stuff the kids bring home so often tastes like tree bark. Are people really picking out their costumes, getting ready to carve their pumpkins and buying decorations for their house?
Having recovered from my surprise, I completely forgot about Halloween until this afternoon, when I was in Costco, and nearly fell over when I heard a familiar tune--Jingle Bells. I turned around and what to my wondering eyes should appear but an entire aisle devoted to Christmas products, complete with trees, decorations and Santa Claus. I would not have been more surprised if he had come down my home chimney.
This is way too early, and clearly Santa needs a calendar. I can thing of no better way to lose the Christmas spirit than to bludgeon it to death with over-exposure. If I worked at Costco and had to start listening to Christmas carols in September I would hate Christmas by Halloween. I would become Jewish, or Muslim, or Hindu. I would abdicate my vegetarianism so that I could eat reindeer. And I'd rip the masks off of every Santa Claus I'd see.
Is there any rational person who is buying Christmas stuff now? Used to be I could comfortably delay any feelings of guilt until Christmas Eve, something I learned from my dad. Now, in the middle of September, I feel selfish and remiss for gazing longingly at the plasma TV's instead of picking out Christmas gifts.
Welcome to the holiday season, and the winter/spring/summer/fall of my discontent.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Grumpy
I flew home from Dallas late last night. I was in a bad mood, mostly because I lost a contact lens in the airport and had checked my bag where I kept my spares. So everything was out of focus, making it hard to see or read.
And then it seemed like everything got worse. The guy in my row was coughing and wheezing--plus he was slovenly. And he acted like he owned the middle seat and the floor in front of it. Just rude and selfish. When we exited the airplane, some people had a hard time grasping the concept of taking turns and going by rows. What, first-time travelers? Then my pet peeve--everyone crowded around the baggage claim carousel, blocking the view of the few of us polite enough to step away. Don't people realize that it would be best for everyone if we just took a few steps back? These people really annoyed me--all of them!
In fact, I realized that I had become quite unhappy and somewhat stressed. I was looking at people as objects, and seeing how they were obstructing my path to comfort and satisfaction. I was in a misanthropic mood, and it was getting worse.
Eventually, I put in a new contact, got in my car, turned on the radio and started to feel better. I reflected on the frustration I was feeling, and realized it was mostly self-imposed. I guess that grumpy is as grumpy does. If you're looking for something to criticize, there's no shortage of material in this world. On the other hand, there's plenty of sunshine on the bright side, if you bother to look over there.
And then it seemed like everything got worse. The guy in my row was coughing and wheezing--plus he was slovenly. And he acted like he owned the middle seat and the floor in front of it. Just rude and selfish. When we exited the airplane, some people had a hard time grasping the concept of taking turns and going by rows. What, first-time travelers? Then my pet peeve--everyone crowded around the baggage claim carousel, blocking the view of the few of us polite enough to step away. Don't people realize that it would be best for everyone if we just took a few steps back? These people really annoyed me--all of them!
In fact, I realized that I had become quite unhappy and somewhat stressed. I was looking at people as objects, and seeing how they were obstructing my path to comfort and satisfaction. I was in a misanthropic mood, and it was getting worse.
Eventually, I put in a new contact, got in my car, turned on the radio and started to feel better. I reflected on the frustration I was feeling, and realized it was mostly self-imposed. I guess that grumpy is as grumpy does. If you're looking for something to criticize, there's no shortage of material in this world. On the other hand, there's plenty of sunshine on the bright side, if you bother to look over there.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
A Weekend in Bluff
Last night I drove home from Bluff, where I spent three days taking an American Canyoneering Association course from a local outfitter. Our group of six guys from Utah, California and New Mexico learned and practiced techniques for anchoring, belaying, pothole escapes and ascending in a few short canyons near Bluff.
Bluff is a small town in the southeast corner of the state, near the Four Corners area. It is on the San Juan River, across from a Navajo Indian reservation. About 250 people live there year-round, and the economy is dominated by ranching and tourism from the San Juan and Four Corners. It has a funky southwest Americana culture. Everyone knows everyone. We met at a little coffee shop that featured some very tasteful local art, lots of trendy chai and green tea drinks and serves a mean bowl of oatmeal. Down the highway there's the local cafe, which has been there for years, with a linoleum floor and hand-painted sign. I met the owner, a skinny 60-ish lady in blue jeans, whose lipstick extended a little too far about her face. Born and raised in Bluff, she makes her money serving lunch to a few locals and when the tourist buses stop for gas and ice cream.
I asked her what was good and she recommended a root beer float. It was quite tasty, but served in a plastic tumbler like the one my friend's mother used to serve Kool-Aid in when we were kids. (It's possible it was the same glass.) We talked about the town and tourists. A few locals came in and chatted, including an Indian family. Their little three-year-old said he was hungry and she gave him a cup of soft-serve ice cream on the house, which seemed kind of cool to me.
I was there during the annual fair, which is the big event of the year, and includes a rodeo and a pow-wow--to attract both the cowboys and Indians, I suppose. I drove through town on Saturday morning and everyone was getting their chairs set up for the parade, an event that I genuinely regret missing.
I wouldn't want to live in a town like Bluff. I value my privacy too much. But it was a slice of America that made for a great visit.
Bluff is a small town in the southeast corner of the state, near the Four Corners area. It is on the San Juan River, across from a Navajo Indian reservation. About 250 people live there year-round, and the economy is dominated by ranching and tourism from the San Juan and Four Corners. It has a funky southwest Americana culture. Everyone knows everyone. We met at a little coffee shop that featured some very tasteful local art, lots of trendy chai and green tea drinks and serves a mean bowl of oatmeal. Down the highway there's the local cafe, which has been there for years, with a linoleum floor and hand-painted sign. I met the owner, a skinny 60-ish lady in blue jeans, whose lipstick extended a little too far about her face. Born and raised in Bluff, she makes her money serving lunch to a few locals and when the tourist buses stop for gas and ice cream.
I asked her what was good and she recommended a root beer float. It was quite tasty, but served in a plastic tumbler like the one my friend's mother used to serve Kool-Aid in when we were kids. (It's possible it was the same glass.) We talked about the town and tourists. A few locals came in and chatted, including an Indian family. Their little three-year-old said he was hungry and she gave him a cup of soft-serve ice cream on the house, which seemed kind of cool to me.
I was there during the annual fair, which is the big event of the year, and includes a rodeo and a pow-wow--to attract both the cowboys and Indians, I suppose. I drove through town on Saturday morning and everyone was getting their chairs set up for the parade, an event that I genuinely regret missing.
I wouldn't want to live in a town like Bluff. I value my privacy too much. But it was a slice of America that made for a great visit.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Timpanokee
Last weekend Merritt and I climbed Mt. Timpanogos, on the Timpanokee Trail. It was my first time up that side of the mountain. Sunday afternoon we hiked up most of the way, hastily setting up our tent in the meadow when the rain started to more than drizzle. After a well-deserved sandwich in the tent, the rain stopped, so we decided to explore with the little daylight we had left.
It's funny how dropping your packs to hike feels like such freedom after carrying them five miles up the mountain. We ran into another group camping--a father and two of his grown children, just cooking dinner. Merritt had read about some World War II bomber wreckage, and with a little careful looking we found several pieces, that had been scattered surprisingly far apart.
We also encountered a herd of about 18 mountain goats, who walked slowly along the ridge, and stopped to keep what appeared to be a vigil around the engine of the plane, like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey, or perhaps The Gods Must Be Crazy.
We came prepared for a cold night, but the weather was surprisingly pleasant. The night was an oddly enchanting combination of rain, wind and moonlight. We left open the mosquito netting on both sides, which seemed to bring the elements closer, but not penetrating the confines of the tent, which we had set up bomb shelter style, fully staked with tight guy lines. Merritt and I both woke up many times throughout the night, each time pausing to appreciate the elements outside from the comfort of our shelter.
We wanted to get up by five in the morning, but neither one of us had a watch, and our phones couldn't hold their charges through the night. So we were quite literally in the dark about when it was time to leave. Finally, we awoke and saw a few headlamps on the trail and dashed out to hit the summit by sunrise, hiking by moonlight, which was just enough to get by. Turns out we got to the saddle by 5 o'clock, and hour before we wanted, meaning we'd gotten up around 4 a.m. After sitting sheltered from the cold wind, and admiring the view overlooking American Fork, we headed for the summit.
We were far from alone. It appears that seeing the sun rise on Timp is a Labor Day tradition for many BYU students. Once at the 11,700 foot peak, we were joined by a throng of young men and women enjoying a midnight hike the day before classes started. We found a private, quieter spot on the face and watched an unusual sunrise, with red streaks spearing cross-like through the intermittent cloud cover.
Then down the mountain, retracing the eight miles of trail down about 4000 vertical feet, and then into the car and back home in time for lunch. Timpanokee is a gorgeous trail with terrific vistas, pleasant meadows and a lovely little lake. And I'm guessing it is even more glorious in late June when the wildflowers are in bloom, or in a few more weeks when the autumn leaves put on their show. What a beautiful area I am blessed to live in, to have such wonders only an hour away. I delight in her bounties, and cherish each time I can get out to enjoy them.
It's funny how dropping your packs to hike feels like such freedom after carrying them five miles up the mountain. We ran into another group camping--a father and two of his grown children, just cooking dinner. Merritt had read about some World War II bomber wreckage, and with a little careful looking we found several pieces, that had been scattered surprisingly far apart.
We also encountered a herd of about 18 mountain goats, who walked slowly along the ridge, and stopped to keep what appeared to be a vigil around the engine of the plane, like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey, or perhaps The Gods Must Be Crazy.
We came prepared for a cold night, but the weather was surprisingly pleasant. The night was an oddly enchanting combination of rain, wind and moonlight. We left open the mosquito netting on both sides, which seemed to bring the elements closer, but not penetrating the confines of the tent, which we had set up bomb shelter style, fully staked with tight guy lines. Merritt and I both woke up many times throughout the night, each time pausing to appreciate the elements outside from the comfort of our shelter.
We wanted to get up by five in the morning, but neither one of us had a watch, and our phones couldn't hold their charges through the night. So we were quite literally in the dark about when it was time to leave. Finally, we awoke and saw a few headlamps on the trail and dashed out to hit the summit by sunrise, hiking by moonlight, which was just enough to get by. Turns out we got to the saddle by 5 o'clock, and hour before we wanted, meaning we'd gotten up around 4 a.m. After sitting sheltered from the cold wind, and admiring the view overlooking American Fork, we headed for the summit.
We were far from alone. It appears that seeing the sun rise on Timp is a Labor Day tradition for many BYU students. Once at the 11,700 foot peak, we were joined by a throng of young men and women enjoying a midnight hike the day before classes started. We found a private, quieter spot on the face and watched an unusual sunrise, with red streaks spearing cross-like through the intermittent cloud cover.
Then down the mountain, retracing the eight miles of trail down about 4000 vertical feet, and then into the car and back home in time for lunch. Timpanokee is a gorgeous trail with terrific vistas, pleasant meadows and a lovely little lake. And I'm guessing it is even more glorious in late June when the wildflowers are in bloom, or in a few more weeks when the autumn leaves put on their show. What a beautiful area I am blessed to live in, to have such wonders only an hour away. I delight in her bounties, and cherish each time I can get out to enjoy them.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Latin Night
We had a get-together at the house on Thursday night--friends that Rebecca had met in the Spanish Branch in Park City, and that I have come to know as well, despite my inability to speak Spanish, and their lack of confidence with English. But there were adults and teens, some Spanish-speaking and some bilingual, and a few of us English-only speakers, and somehow a good time was had by all. We sat around the table for what seemed like a couple of hours talking and laughing in Spanish and English, and with a little translating and some body language and a general joie de vivre, we managed to communicate quite well.
I like multi-cultural experiences, and I wish I had more of them. Every time I am able to glimpse the world from the perspective of another country I understand a little better why we can be so different, yet remain so very much the same.
I like multi-cultural experiences, and I wish I had more of them. Every time I am able to glimpse the world from the perspective of another country I understand a little better why we can be so different, yet remain so very much the same.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Blades of Glory
One of our premises for ClearPlay reviews is based on homespun wisdom most of us learned from our mothers: If you don’t have anything good to say about a movie, don’t review it. This gave me pause when considering Blades of Glory, the only big DVD released this week. But for my mother’s sake, I’m going to try to see this glass half-full:
If Dumb and Dumber (a movie I loved) was too cerebral for your tastes, check out Blades of Glory.
If you’re a high school boy, and need new material to impress your friends in the locker room, you might watch Blades of Glory.
If you named your dog Ron Burgundy and your cat Napoleon, after classic Will Ferrell and Jon Heder roles, then you probably have to see Blades of Glory.
If you think movies with sloppy drunks, smelly crotches, toilet-paper licking, jockstrap sniffing, upchucking, and an endless stream of juvenile sex jokes really rock, then you're sure to enjoy Blades of Glory.
If you’re looking for a movie that even with ClearPlay’s best efforts, is still filled with often-stupid and sometimes funny but always disgusting and gross-out humor, then don’t miss Blades of Glory.
To illustrate my point: Sam just read this review on my computer. His reaction? “Hey, that sounds good.”
(Adapted from a ClearPlay review.)
If Dumb and Dumber (a movie I loved) was too cerebral for your tastes, check out Blades of Glory.
If you’re a high school boy, and need new material to impress your friends in the locker room, you might watch Blades of Glory.
If you named your dog Ron Burgundy and your cat Napoleon, after classic Will Ferrell and Jon Heder roles, then you probably have to see Blades of Glory.
If you think movies with sloppy drunks, smelly crotches, toilet-paper licking, jockstrap sniffing, upchucking, and an endless stream of juvenile sex jokes really rock, then you're sure to enjoy Blades of Glory.
If you’re looking for a movie that even with ClearPlay’s best efforts, is still filled with often-stupid and sometimes funny but always disgusting and gross-out humor, then don’t miss Blades of Glory.
To illustrate my point: Sam just read this review on my computer. His reaction? “Hey, that sounds good.”
(Adapted from a ClearPlay review.)
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