Adrian Thompson is, in my estimation, the best writer in our fiction class, coming in two slots above me. I was disappointed by his absence on the day that my first story was workshopped, but he sent me a message via Canvas, the website that USU uses for various stuff. Because I had not been in school for a year and a half prior to this semester, I forgot all about checking for Canvas messages and didn't notice it until about a week ago. I want to reproduce his message in its entirety here because it made me smile so hard.

"Hello Chris, since I sadly could not make it to class today I am sending my comments on your story over this email. Hopefully they will assist you with revision.

What works well: 

--I honestly love this story. The first sentence is masterful in my opinion, perfectly setting up the amazing setting and interesting characters. The allusions to space-related things throughout (the Jetsons, Ernie's moon song) are just amazing and work really well to create a specific tone and mood for the surface of the moon itself. 

--Jane and Chantelle's characters are examined well through what they enjoy (for Chantelle, pointing out Jane's abnormalities and for Jane, "living the experience," and we get some great interiority from Jane through all her instances similar to "but she saw no reason to tell her" or "she couldn't care less." The image of Chantelle's bright green eyes hidden behind blood-red bangs is just phenomenal. Figurative language works very well when it occurs, especially when it connects us to character, such as the "dead human skull Jane had seen once" and her beautiful meta-descriptions of earth.

--By far the strongest aspect of the story, however, is the dialogue and interaction between the characters. Every single line from each of them chastising the other is just drop-dead funny, and their familiar relationship of bully and victim is made fresh and new through the specific, unique things they say to one another. The LEVELS which each go to to in terms of criticism are just astounding, from inventing "lunar wolves" to snapping directly back at every chastisement each offers the other with a perfect response. And, oh my God, the PUNS--even down to the friggin title! So awesome. Their extended interaction is honestly so interesting that it carries the whole story by itself.

What needs improvement:

--I didn't get that they were on the moon, and not an alien planet, until page four. Mention it immediately to help the audience withhold one specific image of the setting throughout.

--In terms of worldbuilding, some things you use are working very well, like subtle mentions of slang like "stragging," "Philistines," and "space spit," all of which I just adore, and the fact that some channels on the moon's radio waves play music. Other mentions of things such as Jane's birth on Mars or descriptions of the system-wide space travel program that got them out there in the first place, however, work less well since they are mentioned briefly and without connection to the plot. Other descriptive phrases feel much too, er, "on the nose" and expected in terms of the genre, such as "the last person in the galaxy" or "like a disabled ship in a meteor storm." Just watch for moments like these which feel too basic, like something the reader him/herself would think to use given the setting, and focus on your interesting invented phrases and obscure, quirky references.

--Even though the character interaction is strong enough to carry the story in general, I do think that the narrative should be more condensed in terms of plot. While each conversation is golden in its own right, you should probably pick out the best ones and move quicker so that you have room to elaborate on other areas--such as a more lengthy description of the tussle that rips Chantelle's suit. Interaction w/ teachers and the other bullies at the end also felt sudden since we had not seen them before, so maybe switch back and forth from the main action to flashbacks that reveal Jane's relationship with all of them at the start of the trip to better establish tension throughout.

--I find it interesting that BOTH girls are unlikable/not entirely innocent in different ways, instead of just acting as an evil bully and innocent victim, but in Jane's case--as the main character--I think these aspects of her could see further exploration. She seems to feel NO guilt whatsoever to BREAKING Chantelle's space suit, but why? Would it serve the story better for her to find that she does, even though Chantelle remains so cruel to her? Take things a step farther based on what the audience knows about them by the end to expand upon each of their characters.

--The ending is great in terms of subverting expectations at first (I LOVE the fact that Jane makes a bomb instead of just giving her oxygen to Chantelle, as one may expect, but Chantelle's later reaction feels a bit wanting. For Jane to save her life and Chantelle to do NOTHING to change her attitude towards her felt jarring--she doesn't need to run over and hug her as her new best friend, but even a small mention to her cronies of "hey, maybe lets let her off the hook for today" or something like that would work great. Jane ends her character arc in a good place regardless, but for Chantelle to do NOTHING felt disappointing, as if the whole plot of the story did not accomplish anything between them. 

--The mention of the nanobots feels somewhat like a cop-out--as if the characters were never in any real danger if recuperation occurs so quickly and painlessly. 

Like I said, Christopher, AMAZING story, and I am truly saddened by the fact I could not take part in the discussion of the first sci-fi story I've seen in Charles' class during the past three years.

​Adrian

"A space hero. Like a regular hero, but in space."
--Favorite line

Returning home with a bag of laundry last Saturday, I was walking by the church on the boulevard when a vehicle pulled up near me and the passenger tossed a burning cigarette butt at my feet. I stood behind the vehicle and positioned my phone to take a picture of the license plate, but before I could, both of the guys inside got out. One stayed in the shadows while the other walked over to me. He had a shaved head, a tank top, and tattoos all down his muscular arms - in other words, he was yet another example of the fact that most stereotypes exist because they're true. "You got a problem?" he sputtered. "You got something to say?" He threw in a few swear words. I guess I was supposed to be intimidated. But I'm never afraid to die, and this night I was in such a dark place that my normal aversion to most physical pain was gone and I didn't care if he broke all my limbs. I had just spent stake conference hiding from my ex-crush, but this jackass with the maturity of a twelve year old did not instill me with one iota of fear.

"You dropped something," I said, pointing at it. I resumed taking the picture. Realizing that he had failed to intimidate me, he swore a few more times and went back to his buddy. I sent the picture to the police, and I don't know if they can actually do anything about it but it gave me a certain satisfaction.

​I deeply regret that I didn't just pick the thing up and toss it back in at them. Dear smokers: if you want to poison yourself, that's fine with me, Darwin approves, but keep it away from me and dispose of your cigarette butts like an adult.

We had Star Wars day recently. Bracelets referred to it as "such a revered reminder of our fandom" and that was when I knew her conversion was complete. I'm so proud of her. Anyway, this John Williams masterpiece that in 1997 replaced the cute but lackluster "Yub Nub" pretty well encapsulates how I feel about this hellish semester being over, not counting the first 37 seconds because there is absolutely nothing bittersweet about it.

Over a year ago now, I was in a poetry writing group in a poetry writing class with three people that I opted to give blog pseudonyms of Glasses, Redhead, and Bracelets. The first two were never mentioned again as far as I can remember, though Bracelets became a regular character here. But now she's long since disappeared off the face of the earth for most intents and purposes, while Glasses and Redhead are still around. I kind of regret giving them these pseudonyms because they sound kind of dumb. Redhead's pseudonym doesn't even make sense now that her hair is no longer dyed an unnatural shade of red. Lesson learned. Glasses, Bracelets and I are all LDS. Glasses is a culturally unorthodox Mormon who hates society, speaks his mind and swears a lot, so we get along just great. Bracelets is a "good" Mormon minus everything that's wrong with Utah. Redhead is an ex-Mormon. She left because she never felt any sort of spiritual confirmation and allegedly was bullied in Young Women's, but that part can't be true because all Mormon females are perfect angels who can do no wrong.

I never thought I would be very friendly with Redhead after she said blog writing seems kind of egotistical, but that's behind us, I guess. She has low self-esteem and anxiety and drinks to get away from it. I have another friend whose life drove her to heroin (she's clean now, thank God), so next to that drinking seems like a positively healthy solution. One time I contacted her to tell her that she should read my blog, and found her experiencing a severe hangover. We talked a bit and I said something to the effect of, "I'm always here for you." And she was like, "Want to go get food?" And I had to be like, "Crap, I'm in Idaho." I felt so guilty, even though I was there for my great-grandfather's funeral.

She mentioned recently that she never invites me to hang out with her and her friends because they're always drinking and she doesn't want me to be uncomfortable. I said I didn't care. The only drunk person I've spent a meaningful amount of time around was my friend Ashwin, and being in that state just exacerbated his sweet and friendly persona, so I actually liked it, as awful as that is. Anyway, she invited me to watch a movie with them, but I wasn't able to go. She thought I had bailed on her and I could tell she was mad even though she said she wasn't. A couple weeks later she invited me to "beer and board games", and she said she could pick me up but she wouldn't be able to take me home but one of her other Mormon friends probably could, and if not I could sleep on her couch. As innocent as I am, it took me a while to figure out why she couldn't take me and why a Mormon would have to do it. I gave her the address and she went to the wrong side of the street and we didn't see each other, so she thought I had bailed on her again and she sent me about fifteen angry messages.

We got that straightened out and during the car ride she said she was just feeling super stressed because a guy she liked was coming and she hadn't had time to clean yet. I said she seemed happier than in class, and she said that was just because of the anxiety attack making her talk fast. We arrived and she asked if I could carry some stuff. I said sure because I'm just that nice. The back seat was full of stuff so I assumed it would be some of that. Instead, she popped the trunk and brought out a bag of limes and a case of beer for me to carry. As I followed her up the stairs to the apartment, I almost wished someone from church would see me and think that I was being bad. Then I could reap the benefits of society's warped admiration of vice without actually doing any of it. Alcohol holds no temptation for me because I know that if I ever touched a drop I would drink myself to death.

We were the first ones there, and the guy she likes showed up a few minutes later. With the gift of foreknowledge I paid attention to her interactions with him to see what sort of indications she gave of her interest. Result: nothing, zilch, nada. Afterward she asked me what I thought of him, but my opinion is totally neutral. The most I can say is that, other than being human, he didn't give me any reason to hate him during our brief time together. She said I was no help and I asked why she needs my opinion anyway and then she stopped responding to me. But going back to that night, we played several rounds of Jenga and then we played this game called "Aggravation" which was particularly aggravating for her because the other five people there chose to gang up on her. It was probably about halfway over by twelve thirty when my ride and I left. Throughout the night, of course, Redhead and the other two non-Mormons drank beer with limes, and she gradually started to smile more and laugh more and just generally seemed relaxed and happy.

​Until the next morning, I'm sure. Sigh.

This new weekly blog features Mormon scholar Patrick Mason and ex-Mormon podcaster John Dehlin engaging in a dialogue to build bridges of understanding and avoid the polemics and propaganda of the internet era. I have said before that John Dehlin is a coward and a hypocrite, and I still think that, but whether he's sincere in this endeavor or not, the result has been most enjoyable so far. It's a really important task with the potential to do a lot of good or a lot of damage depending on whether or not Patrick Mason screws it up. And so far, he's not screwing it up. Some people think he's conceded too much already, but I'm biased since I agree with him on those points. Yes, people of other faiths have legitimate visions and revelations. Get over it.

Today and tomorrow are General Conference, of course. I'll probably write about it next week if I feel like it.

In our class, Redhead wrote a poem called "Every Day" that was about regret and depression and self-loathing. And as awful as that is, I found it kind of funny because it reminded me of two almost identically titled songs that are both super cheerful and about love.

Here's how I was originally going to open this post:

Long-time readers may have noticed that this post is coming a day earlier than usual. Really long-time readers may have noticed that back in the day there was, in fact, no set schedule, and that such a schedule was necessitated by my increased busy-ness shortly after last semester started. This subversion of the schedule has in turn been necessitated by me working from ten to six tomorrow and not being able to access a computer after that hour. Normally I won't have to work on Saturdays but I had to miss some hours for my finals and I'm supposed to make them up. So I'll be calling verbally abusive normal people instead of passive aggressive businesspeople, but that will be compensated for by getting to work on a different project for a while. This current project is basically the hardest and worst one because no one wants to cooperate, and I made the mistake of performing too well for a new guy and getting left on it. When more people were put on it, part of me thought "You poor souls" but another part of me thought "Yay, now I'm less alone in my misery!"

But there's no need to open this post like that anymore because that shift isn't currently busy enough for me to do anything, so I got the day off and it still counts as having made up my missed shift. I'm not sure if that means I'm still getting paid, but I'm so happy I don't even care. Now here is how I was going to continue this post:

The environment definitely takes some getting used to, as it's far more structured than my old job, where sometimes even the boss would stop me just to chat about casual stuff for fifteen minutes. I didn't even have a set schedule, and just came in whenever I wanted and worked for however long I wanted. It was quite chill. This company bills other companies by the hour, so it has very strict rules, for example, about how many breaks one can take, and when, and for how long, and the secretary has to be notified about them. I think once I'm acclimated to that, and move on to a better project, things will be better. I may also get transferred to a different position because I can type ninety plus words a minute. I usually don't, with this blog or with my novel or anything, because my brain doesn't even work that fast. But this would just be copying what other people say. Fingers crossed.

Last week I compared job searching to dating, which was not meant as a compliment to either of them, but I ought to have mentioned in fairness that there are at least a few key differences. For example, in job searching it is usually illegal to discriminate based on disabilities. For that reason I considered listing autism on my resume, in case it prompted potential employers to worry about being sued if they rejected me for not having interpersonal skills. Fortunately that wasn't necessary this time. In dating, by contrast, people make no attempt to hide their discrimination against disabled people, especially blind people. I hear it all the time; some girl says "I hate blind dates" and all the other girls agree with her. This job is also similar to dating, actually, not just in vague terms of rejection and futility but in many of the actual words used. "I'm not interested." "I'm too busy." "Take me off your list." And so on. The difference is that in the job we're supposed to persist whenever possible and it isn't considered harassment. Not by us, anyway.

There were a few highlights though -

Having donuts in the break room on Thursday and commiserating with a couple coworkers. One offered this philosophy for dealing with the current project: "I just try not to complain even though it sucks beyond belief."

The coworker who, when next to me, occasionally comments to me between calls, and I just smile back because I'm afraid of getting in trouble.

When Jill [pseudonym] muttered a barrage of profanity as soon as she got off the phone.

The Walt Disney receptionist who told me to "Have a magical day!"

The State Farm receptionist who was so absurdly friendly that I regret not getting her name and telling her supervisor she deserves a raise.

When Jill happily sang "I can't wait to go on vacation" as soon as she got off the phone.

The female receptionist named Tyler. From 1993 to 2015 I never met a female named Tyler, and now in the first half of 2016 I've met two. I thought the first one just had "creative" parents.

I realized that if I made a paradigm shift and pretended it was my job to annoy people, I would become satisfied when they were rude to me instead of feeling sad. It worked.

When Jill flipped out as soon as she got off the phone: "People act like I'm stalking them when I ask for their name for verification. I'm not gonna keep calling you. I'm not gonna come to your house. I'm not gonna take you for a long walk on the beach."

​On the one survey that I completed one day, the lady said she needed to get back to work and I was doing my best to hurry along. So as soon as we completed the last question I was about to tell her we had completed the last question, but before I could she said with palpable happiness, "Now ask us how many years we've been in business." And I asked, "How many years have you been in business?" And she said, "Thirty-seven years!" And I said, sincerely, "Wow, congratulations, I hope you remain in business for many years to come!" And she said, "My daughter and my granddaughter work here with me." And then I had to steer us back on course and tell her the survey was over, but wow, that was a great human connection.

"Thank you for calling Answers in Genesis and the Creation Museum." Ohmygosh, it was like meeting my favorite comedian.

When Jill took the Lord's name in vain while she was still on the phone, because a very close thunderclap startled her.

USU graduation was today and, for the first time in my five years here, I bothered to go because Bracelets was graduating. I wanted to see her for possibly the last time ever, but the occasion was pretty much ruined by the presence of her serial adulterer father. I met a guy once who I knew abused his wife and daughter, and my fantasies about rearranging his face with a crowbar ran into some cognitive dissonance when he turned out to be charming, witty, likable, and outwardly spiritual even. This time was not like that. The moment I looked at this man I felt that he was just a piece of scum through and through. The whole thing was just awkward, and I felt like the whole rest of the family was uncomfortable too and I felt really bad that Bracelets had this kind of a damper on her special day on top of all the other life-ruining crap from him. And I don't know what else to say about that but I just wanted to bring it up because it's weighing on my mind.

Also at graduation, I noticed this girl who looked vaguely familiar and I was trying to figure out who she was, and when they announced her name I remembered that she made me a True Aggie my first week of college. I just showed up to True Aggie Night, now knowing anyone, and she was like "Did you go to Such-and-Such High School?" and I was like "No. Want to kiss me?" and she was like "Sure." What a strange, out of character fluke that was for my life. I was really curious whether she remembered me but I didn't know if her husband would appreciate me bringing it up.

So, poetry has never really been my thing, and I'm actually less skilled than I used to be because I can no longer rhyme without supreme effort, but I've dabbled in it a bit and I took a class on it last semester and I threw this "masterpiece" together in about two minutes after it was inspired by real-life events. Through the magic of double standards, this poem is charming if its subject likes me and creepy if she doesn't. In other words, it's creepy. But I'm not gonna keep calling her. I'm not gonna come to her house. I'm not gonna take her for a long walk on the beach.

That dress she's wearing now, that floor-length blue dress with the pink roses –

That's the dress she was wearing when I first saw her.

That's the dress she was wearing when I thought, "Wow, she’s beautiful."

That's the dress she was wearing when her eyes caught mine like tractor beams and refused to let go.

That's the dress she was wearing when she revealed herself to be one of the most interesting people I've ever talked to.

That's the dress she was wearing when I couldn't believe something was going well for a change, and figured I should quit while I was ahead.

That's the dress she was wearing when she said "Got to go" and left me to think about her all night.

Now she's wearing it again.

"That’s a very pretty dress," I say.

"Thanks," she says, beaming. "I like your tie."

As I was wondering whether getting this job was a catastrophic mistake or I just needed to persevere and rise to the challenge, I sought the Lord's will. And the Lord was like, "I have confidence in you to make your own decisions regarding jobs and career paths to do what you want with your life." And I was like, "You have confidence in me? Have you seen me try to do stuff? Maybe you have me confused with Christopher Robert Nicholson. He's married and black and lives in a different part of Utah." Of course that was somewhat facetious but yes, my faith is weak. I believe in God but I often don't believe Him. I feel as though He has made a grave error in judgment by placing this confidence in me.

That's the thing, isn't it, that sometimes God really doesn't care what you do. Another reason why the notion that He has every minute detail of your life planned out is absurd. But the primary reason I wanted His assistance in making this decision was because I don't have foreknowledge. I may be able to evaluate the pros and cons of any particular choice, but there are so many things I can't even guess at. I don't know who I would meet or what experiences I would have at any particular job that could send my life in wildly divergent directions. Apparently that doesn't matter, though, at least in my case. So that's cool, I guess.

I discovered this and liked it. While in the realm of non-sleep, non-wakingness, in between the phone voices in my head, it played occasionally.

From my news feed. Comparing everyone you don't like to Hitler never gets old, does it?

I already have to apologize again. I have been very, very foolish. Last week I said that Bernie is obviously going to be the Democratic nominee, shortly before realizing that in fact Hillary might obviously be the Democratic nominee. I hadn't been paying enough attention to see that coming because I had fallen victim to the echo chamber in which I live. Shame on me. The thing is, between two thirds and three quarters of the people I follow on social media who say anything about politics are all "hashtagfeelthebern this" and "hashtagfeelthebern that". Not only have I never seen even one of them say something positive about Hillary, but some of my die-hard liberal friends are among her most vocal detractors because they want Bernie to win instead. But I know about echo chambers and so I should have known better than to assume this small sample was representative of Americans as a whole, particularly when it's so sharply biased toward the 18-30 year old demographic. So... Hillary. The only candidate that I like less than Trump. Also, to my knowledge, the only candidate under investigation by the FBI. But that's none of my business.

Since all my predictions are failing, here's another. There is absolutely one hundred percent no conceivable way that Mitt Romney will swoop in, having learned from his mistakes the last go-round, and blow Trump out of the proverbial water before winning the general election.

I've been emailing a missionary in England. I didn't expect it to become a weekly thing because after asking about retention rates, reactivation efforts, prospects for the British Pageant to ever happen again, ratio of native to immigrant converts, and the like, it's hard to think of interesting topics that are within missionary guidelines. We started talking about politics and she became very outspoken and I was afraid I had induced her to break a rule, but I think it's all right for missionaries abroad to complain about politics in their native country, just not in the country where they are graciously being allowed as a guest. Maybe I shouldn't have then gone on to ask her what she thinks of socialism. I was curious because I know socialism has been a standard player in British politics for a long time even though it's been a dirty word in the U.S. until approximately last year when everyone was suddenly like "What's wrong with socialism? We like socialism." I hope I don't get her in trouble.

I guess it's prom season for those still in high school. I went to senior prom alone. I wouldn't have gone at all, except that this girl was like "My cousin from another school wants to go so you should take her" so I was like "Okay" but then her cousin had to cancel and I had already rented the stupid tux so yeah. But that's not important anymore. What's important is that I see a lot of kids saying, "I need ideas to ask this girl to prom!" Or, if they're progressive, "I need ideas to ask this guy to prom!" Now I realize that, given what I've just described, I might not seem like the best person to offer advice on this matter, but I have an idea that in all modesty I think is really amazing.

Step 1: Go up to the person.

Step 2: Ask "Will you go to prom with me?"

Step 3: There is no Step 3.

You're welcome.

The other day I was going up the hill to campus with a very specific plan in mind for where I was going to go and what I was going to do when I got there, when someone came up from another angle and intercepted me. A vague twinge of fuzzy familiarity crossed my mind when I saw her, but I paid it no heed. I thought I saw recognition in her eyes as well but, knowing from experience that I don't actually have the capacity to pick up on subtle things like that, I paid that no heed either.And then she said, "You're Bracelets' friend, aren't you?"

And then it dawned on me. "Yes," I said. And you're her jealous, passive-aggressive coworker who doesn't like me. Why aren't you at work and why are you being nice to me?

It wasn't just in my head that she didn't like me. Bracelets said she didn't. It was like this -

Me: Is that why she doesn't like me, because ______?

Bracelets: No, the reason why she doesn't like you is because ______.

But she denied that, and I got trapped walking alongside her and having a conversation, and by "trapped" I don't mean that it was unpleasant, not at all in fact, but simply that it was just kind of happening like a river carrying me away. She kept asking questions about stuff and I kept having even more trouble than usual finding verbs and nouns and putting them together. And I was totally steered away from the place I was going to go and the thing I was going to do when I got there. I didn't really want to break free, actually, but I did have to eventually in order to go do the other thing that I was going to do after that because the other thing wasn't optional. After she had gone I noticed that my armpits were soaked for some reason.

The Adventures of Me in Stats Recitation

I think, "My friend Chloe has an amazing jacket on today."

I say, "I like your jacket."

She says, "Thank you."

I think, "That is not my friend Chloe. That is a total stranger. I am so embarrassed."

Intermission. I so badly want this to be real.

People (e.g. critics of the LDS Church's recent same-sex policy change) who use suicides as clubs to beat their opponents with in furtherance of their agendas disgust me. To go around proclaiming "You horrible piece(s) of scum are making people kill themselves!" is to completely misrepresent the complexity of factors behind any suicide. Furthermore, it is a choice, but one that is more often than not made during a lapse of rationality. How do we know this, you may ask? From the survivors, for one thing, and also because suicides can be and have been drastically reduced by such simple measures as increasing the height of railings on bridges. If people are really determined to go through with it they won't let little things like that stop them, but if they're just having a lapse, the added inconvenience gives them time to come to their senses.

No one "makes" someone kill themselves and no one can be expected to infallibly know how to avoid triggering it. We should be loving toward everyone. We should not bully anyone. But that doesn't mean we control their actions. I tried to jump out a fifth story window once, years ago, during a brief lapse of rationality shortly after finding out that a girl I had known for just a couple days had a boyfriend. Was that the actual reason? Of course not. Was she responsible? Of course not. And the window wouldn't open more than a few inches - probably for exactly that reason - so after struggling with it for a few seconds I came to my senses and gave up, and what had happened seemed so surreal that I hardly gave it another thought. So anyway, people need to stop cheapening and misrepresenting suicides just to make an ideological point.

I love it when an Apostle explains something in terms that a first grader could understand, yet fringe Mormons and the media still insist on putting words in his mouth and feigning righteous indignation over something he didn't say. But let's not talk about that. Let's talk instead about these words from Elder M. Russell Ballard that brought me pure unadulterated joy. Recently he told church educators, "Gone are the days when a student asked an honest question and the teacher responded, 'Don’t worry about it.' Gone are the days when a student raised a sincere concern and a teacher bore his or her testimony as a response intended to avoid the issue. Gone are the days when students were protected from people who attacked the church." (If I may put a word in edgewise, the first two of those items are huge pet peeves of mine and among the most alienating things anyone could do to someone struggling with their faith. Bearing testimony to them does have its place, but doing that in lieu of facts and logic just creates the impression that your faith has to avoid scrutiny to survive.)

"It was only a generation ago that our young people’s access to information about our history, doctrine, and practices was basically limited to materials printed by the Church. Few students came in contact with alternative interpretations. Mostly our young people lived a sheltered life. Our curriculum at that time, though well-meaning, did not prepare students for today, a day when students have instant access to virtually everything about the church from every possible point of view. To name a few such topics that are less known or controversial, I’m talking about polygamy. Of seer stones. Different accounts of the First Vision. The process of translation of the Book of Mormon. Of the Book of Abraham. Gender issues. Race and the priesthood. Or a Heavenly Mother. The efforts to inoculate our young people will often fall to you CES teachers. With those thoughts in mind, find time to think about your opportunities and your responsibilities.

"It is perfectly all right to say, 'I do not know.' However, once that is said, you have the responsibility to find the best answers to the thoughtful questions your students ask. In teaching your students and in responding to their questions, let me warn you not to pass along faith-promoting or unsubstantiated rumors, or outdated understandings and explanations of our doctrine and practices from the past."

Now, in closing, a beautiful German love ballad.

Jake: What's that big round thing?
Josie: Boulder.
Jake: Okay. Tell me what that big round thing is, right now!

I used a flash drive to download a super old (1997) game called "Callahan's Crosstime Saloon" (based on the short story series, of course) to the ancient computer in my house, and I recommend it to everybody (you can download it for free because it's abandonware) because it's hands down one of the most hilarious things I've ever played, seen, or otherwise experienced. If you don't find me funny then you probably don't think much of my sense of humor and that endorsement probably means little to you, but if so, you're wrong. In any case my hope is that you will play the game and then subconsciously associate it with me and think I'm awesome even though I had nothing to do with it. Some of the jokes are brilliant in their own right and others are so stupid they're brilliant. There are a lot of choan (chuckle + groan) inducing puns, witty cultural references, and just random stuff. This part falls into the latter category, yet it resonates with me for some reason.

A couple minutes later I ran into this, which in hindsight has become just a little awkward.

I totally forgot to share the story of how, at the end of the semester, I accidentally went on a date with my ex-crush – and she was the one who made it happen, no less. We had studied together before every test in our class, which of course did not constitute dates. My self-appointed guru said, "Study dates aren't really dates." And I thought, I know that. I'm autistic, not stupid. I never used the term 'study date'. That was all you. Anyway, we had met in the library to study before the final as well. She thought we should just go over the practice exam, so I printed it out, and she tried to print it out, but she had forgotten her card. She messed around trying to print it without a card, but to no avail. I thought, I should offer to let her print it on my card. But before I could say anything, she said, "Can I just print it on your card?" I thought, Wow, you have a lot of nerve.
 
That cost me fifty-seven cents. Ergo, I spent money on her. Ergo, it then became a date according to any reasonable person's criteria.

My boss asked me, "Are you doing anything for New Year's?" And I said, "I'm going to the YSA dance." And he said, "Maybe you'll meet a chiquita." And I said, "Yeah, maybe." What I was actually thinking was that yes, I probably would meet a chiquita and it wouldn't even be difficult because in all likelihood, approximately half of the people there would be chiquitas. This assumption proved correct, and I met a few of them, though I was actually more interested in meeting a guy from Vietnam named Lenny who looks eighteen but is a PhD student. Foreigners usually rank above women in my hierarchy of people that I want to meet (though obviously there is overlap between those categories).

I have already outlined my thoughts on church dances at some length. I think I mentioned at the time that I prefer dancing with girls I already know because with strangers, three minutes is just enough time to make introductions and a little pointless small talk and then never see them again. I danced with strangers this time around, though. At one point I asked a girl who had been standing against the wall for at least half an hour. She just stared at me. I thought, Wow, that is so rude. You could at least laugh at me or something. Then she finally said, "What?" I thought, Maybe examine the context here and make an educated guess.

I never expected to hear a song at a church dance about "smokin' funny things" and "drinkin' whiskey out of the bottle", but then, I never expected to hear "Angel is the Centerfold" at a home evening activity either and that happened too. Side note: would it be sacrilegious to do a parody of that called "Angel's Got Those Plates of Gold"? Because I really want to do that. I also have a love-hate relationship with "Shut Up and Dance". Can't help loving the melody, but hate hate hate the lyrics and the blatant double standard they exemplify. If the man was the one saying "Shut up and dance with me" etc., unless his name was Harrison Ford, it would be harassment.

One of my happy memories of 2014 [sic].

I would have loved to continue roleplaying this character, but not much later she divulged that she and her mother were both being verbally and physically abused by her father on at least a weekly basis. After that I couldn't portray this character with any sort of integrity, because if I was really a government agent privy to that information, I would have had him assassinated. Instead I had to just contact an abuse hotline that couldn't do anything about it.

While watching six episodes of "Hogan's Heroes" with my grandfather, a thought kept nagging at me through each and every one. That thought was me wondering whether Colonel Klink is aware of the Holocaust going on. If so, he is not just a lovable dolt who happens to be on the wrong side, but an utter monster who is all the more disturbing for also being a lovable dolt. I couldn't shake that thought. As much as I love Nazi officers being played for laughs*, I can never forget the fact that in real life many or most of them were really, really, really bad people, as opposed to most of the run-of-the-mill soldiers whom I suspect were just regular guys doing their patriotic duty. (Expecting good Germans of that era not to fight for their country because of the way it treated Jews would be like expecting good Americans of that era not to fight for their country because of the way it treated black people.) I wonder where the various commanding officers of POW camps fit into that spectrum.

*Someday my critics will use this statement as fodder against me. They will quote-mine it as "I love Nazi officers."
 
I've only seen a few episodes, so maybe this got addressed at some point. If not, it should have been. The series finale should have shown Klink being shocked and devastated as he learns what the Nazis have been up to, and then cheering up as he realizes he's probably the reason they lost the war.

Long ago, probably in 2001, I was visiting my grandparents when I found a little book called “How to Draw Cartoons”. I didn't realize it was probably referring to cartoons as in comics, not as in animation (though granted, the principles of the actual drawing part are largely the same), and ambitions of making an animated cartoon formed in my mind. I recruited everyone – grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents, sister – to help me draw pictures for it, which in hindsight was probably kind of annoying. I started working out the plot as we were going along and I figured we'd get around to the hard part of drawing all the in-between pictures to animate it later. The main characters were a guy named Chris with pink hair and his baby camel, Baby Camel. There was also a human baby named Rumpelstiltskin, a tentacled alien named Bob, and the Triangle Man, who was a man made out of triangles. The antagonists were a guy named Pershon with a goatee and his army of aliens called Megaducks.
 
When the time came for me to go home, I had the option of either taking all the pictures or leaving them there. Of course I wanted to take the pictures, but in an admirable moment of empathy, I realized that if I were them* I would want to keep the pictures too, so I let them. And then the next time I came back no one knew where they were, and that remains the case to this day.
 
*This is known as the subjunctive tense. For more information, visit Irregular Webcomic!
 
I reason that they're still just lost in the house somewhere, because no one would throw away something so precious, right? During this last visit for Christmas, I conducted my most thorough search yet, opening every box in the basement that I could get my hands on (but of course being a good boy and putting everything back where I found it). I knew that all of my loyal fans would love to see these pictures if I scanned them and put them on my website. Needless to say, I didn't find them. Instead I found this dubious but intriguing urban legend, and transcribed it and uploaded it to my website and shared it in a couple of Facebook groups asking (quote) "Does anyone know anything about this story?" (close quote). See if you can guess what day that was.

And oh, my little map at the bottom of the screen looks so much more beautiful now. Go ahead and look at it. I'll wait.
 
I mean, wow. I couldn't have anticipated that in a million years. I've posted and shared plenty of other stuff that should be of interest to an LDS audience, and gotten decent responses, but nothing like this. That's even considering the Mormons who refused to read it because they were put off by its title, "Is the Book of Mormon a Fraud" (the title that came with it when I found it; if I had chosen that title, there would be a grammatically necessary question mark at the end of it), though that didn't always stop them from telling me to doubt my doubts and stop posting "anti crap". Now, I stated from the very beginning that I couldn't vouch for its veracity and that I was looking for information about it. I thought it seemed too good to be true, but true or false, I was surprised that I had never heard of it before, and it had to come from somewhere, so I was investigating. And I did hope that there would turn out to be at least some truth in it.
 
This is the healthy skepticism I try to have. I treat things like this with suspicion, but don't dismiss them altogether until I've looked into them. I was validated even though the story turned out to be false, because although one of my initial misgivings was that Google turned up no record of the protagonist's existence, it turns out that he did in fact exist. It's just that he seems to have been a liar or a really bad exaggerator. Oh well. My grandparents' basement also had a box of books they were getting rid of, and they asked me if I wanted to take any. I looked through them and realized that any one of them could potentially change my life forever, but I simply don't have time to read them all and find out. What a shame. They did give me "Accomplishing the Impossible" by Russell M. Nelson, and that looks to be an interesting read.

"And because those daft and dewy-eyed dopes
Keep building up impossible hopes
Impossible
Things are happening every day!"

I wrote Bracelets a poem for Christmas. She said it got her choked up. I was happy to hear that. I love making women cry.* I really wish now that I had chosen a better nickname for her than "Bracelets" because I'm tired of it. I probably could have just used her real name and no one would have known who she was, and if they did it wouldn't have mattered because I've never said anything embarrassing about her, but it's a bit late for that now.

*Someday my critics will quote-mine this statement as "I love making women cry."

Speaking of women, if you remember a couple weeks ago when I said in a very tongue-in-cheek manner "Sometimes I wink at married women online, too" and then showed a screencap of a conversation in which a married woman was discussing something she would have done for me between Christmas and New Year's, then you've probably spent more than a few sleepless nights since then wondering what that thing was. Well, she finished it as promised, so here it is, though it will be meaningless to most of you. She remains uncredited because she doesn't want her name showing up on the internet.

I was very glad to unexpectedly receive this message. Statistics tell me very little about what impact my site is actually having on anyone, so it was good to hear this, as opposed to something like "My entire family has left the Church because of you."

I had been planning to showcase "Only Time Will Tell" by Mike Oldfield, but then yesterday I heard this on the Daily Beatle Break and it got stuck in my head for quite some time, so Mike will just have to wait. I guess only time will tell if he does get featured, nyuk nyuk.

To whom it may concern (aka probably nobody): my current highest Pinball score, as of yesterday, is 6,253,750.