Crisis? Really?

All we have heard since November 2008 is the worsening state of the country's economy. All we have heard for the past two weeks is how the passage of the stimulus spendulous package was critical for the survival of the country, essential to stem the coming catastrophe, and likely the only thing to keep Satan's gateway from Hell from opening and allowing a demonic possession of the entire Earth. Something akin to Gozer crawling out of a New York refrigerator and ultimately causing a marshmallow explosion of epic proportions.

O.K. Maybe the last was a bit of hyperbole.

Maybe.

But now what are we hearing?

From Reuters today:

President Barack Obama's aides warned Americans on Sunday not to expect instant miracles from the $787 billion economic stimulus bill he will sign this week, but said it would help eventually.

I'm sorry, Mr. President, but did you not just spend two weeks telling us that our utter destruction was emminent if this bill did not pass? Telling us of the catastrophe that was certain, unless the bill was passed and boost economic growth?

Now you and your staff is telling us that the catastrophe has not, in fact, been averted? That the economic crisis is still getting worse even though the bill passed?

My guess? My guess is that the Republicans who voted against this bill are being set up for the fall. I will predict that if when this economic boost fails, Mr. President and the Democrats will point fingers and say, "It would have worked if it had been bigger, with more money involved, but the eee-vil Republicans would not let us pass anything bigger and better." (Aside: That's right, I said "Eee-vil. As in the froo-its of the De-veel." Gotta love the Axe Murderer.)

So back to the seemingly still-looming economic Armageddon. I'm going to guess that the Prez, in all reality, does NOT believe it will have much of an effect: something on the scale of a speed-bump in front of a runaway tractor-trailer rig in a steep mountain canyon.

Why do I say this? Take a look at this:

After pushing Congress for weeks to hurry up and pass the massive $787 billion stimulus bill, President Obama promptly took off for a three-day holiday getaway.
. . . .
The president plans to spend the Presidents' Day weekend in the Windy City, and is not expected to sign the bill until Tuesday, when he travels to Denver to discuss his economic plan.

I'm sorry, WHAT?!?

HERE'S the story in full if you're interested.

Remember how frantic the Prez and the Dems were to pass this bill last week? The orgiastic furor almost violated the laws of physics. 1,071 pages of text went largely unread because of the looming catastrophe.

And as soon as it's passed, he flits off to Chicago.

Excuse me, Mr. President. This is your job now, y'know?

Oh wait; I forgot. Out of approximately 144 working days in the Senate, he was absent a tremendous percentage of the time. I believe that at one time, the estimate was 80% missed votes.

"So?" I hear you say? So.... He's just working the hours he's used to working, apparently.

You see, it seems the Commander in Chief has not yet figured out that this is a working federal position, not a federally-funded vacation. In office less than a full month and he has already taken a holiday. Man. I remember back when President Bush II took work home to his ranch and actually worked on vacation. Remember the outrage and screaming that took place? I think the echo can still be heard in some corners of Crawford.

But here? "Awww.... Look at the cute couple there. Oh! Isn't that...?"

Yep. That's the Prez and Mrs. Fashion-plate, Michelle Onassis Obama carrying that stylish doggie bag. (Aside: Wait! "Doggie bag"? Did I miss the adoption of the First Canine? Did I actually miss that story? [Yawn] Oh yes, that's right. I DON'T CARE! )

As much as I detest Nancy Pelosi, at least she had the dignity to finish her work (albeit overly-rushed) before she headed off on her vacation. Maybe her tickets were non-refundable.

Or else she did not have her own 747 at her beck and call.

Oh wait! I have it now.... As a sitting President, he must get President's Day off!
Somehow I have missed reading that part of Article II.

Constructive Thoughts: The Elders

Dear Elders Fowler and Marsh:

Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of seeing my old missionary apartment again. I apologize for imposing last night and dropping in like I did. Especially as I was dragging four or five friends along for the ride. I will say, to your credit, you acquitted yourselves well: You took the visit in stride, your apartment was clean, you were gracious hosts, and you behaved quite appropriately in front of my non-member friend who accompanied me. When I awoke this morning, my first thoughts were of you two good Elders and my need to thank you.

While I had friends with me, I am sorry that my wife could not join me on this trip. She has joined me frequently in the past; I am waiting for the day when I can bring my entire family along. That day will have to wait, though. I am only human and can only do so much with these trips at the present time.

It was nice to see my old area and my old apartment again. I have a lot of fond memories for that apartment and that city, as it was my second area on the island. Obviously, as you know, much has changed with the apartment, however, and I have forgotten much about the area. Time was, I could re-walk the streets of that city--each city in which I served--with my eyes closed and never miss a beat. Now? I'm afraid that the passage of time is stealing my memories.

I never thought I would say that.

I thought that my experiences and feelings were indelibly locked in my mind. They're slipping away, however, along with my vocabulary--many of the words and phrases I used on a daily, hourly basis are gone, unreachable through the barrier of time.

Enjoy the time you spend on your mission, in the Lord's service. One thing is clear to me now: you cannot go back to this time, no matter how great your want or need to do so. I remember in my own experience that there were many Elders who returned to the island to try and teach again, or to recapture the happiness and spirit that they felt while on their mission. They all failed; some of them failed miserably. I am not able to visit ofen; it is such a long way to go on such short notice, and for such a short time. Normally, my visits are preceded by a long bout of high stress. While I am there, I can forget all that stress, eat good food, talk and think in a marvelous second language, and immerse myself in my memories. The visits give me a mental and emotional vacation from my real world. I can almost feel the years melting away, the layers of my mind peeling back to return me to places and friends that I have lost.

But it is not the same.

Work hard and keep your focus. That is the best counsel I could possibly give from this far removed, both in space and in time. Work hard and keep your focus. The one is easy if you do the other; they are inextricably linked. I have only one regret about my mission. I can admit this now, although it has taken a very, very long time to be able to express this thought to someone else.

I was given poor advice by a well-meaning older brother who thought he was looking out for his kid brother. Because of the depth of the love and respect I had for him I disregarded the repeated counsel of two mission presidents (one in the Missionary Training Center ("MTC") and one on island) and listened to my brother instead. I can even admit to a bit of hero-worship coming into play in this regard. My brother could do no wrong, and I am afraid that I crowed his advice from the rooftops to all who would listen. I can only pray that I did not lead any other person astray by my transmission of the bad advice. What was this advice? I was told that the mission experience was, first and foremost, for me, for my growth, for my learning. Everything else--conversions, numbers, etc.--was purely secondary.

Wrong. The work is not secondary. Sharing the Gospel is not secondary. Your growth as a missionary, as a person, as a man (or woman, in the case of the Sister Missionaries), as a Child of God: THAT is all secondary. It comes as the work progresses, as you share the love, the spirit, the knowledge that the Gospel brings. Ultimately you enjoy growth and learning that cannot find its equal in any other field of endeavor.

I think this is what my well-meaning brother probably meant. Unfortunately, he did not put it in these terms and I may have wasted a good portion of the short two years alloted to me to preach and teach.

At least, I hope this is what my brother meant. The alternatives are too ugly to consider.

Obey the mission rules and the Commandments. I know this should go without saying, but I watched too many Elders stretch, bend, and yes, even break the rules and (sadly) the Commandments. I broke a few rules of my own, although they were easy to justify. At the time, that is. Looking back, it is not as easy as it once was to rationalize them away. Certainly, these things distract from the service of the Lord, even the little things. Watch yourselves and watch over one another. Do those things that are expected of you and you will be better missionaries and better men for it.

Elders, I hope my letter finds you both well, although I am not sure whether my letter will find you still companions. I have no way of knowing if you even have counterparts in the real world. To me, however, for last night--or a portion of last night--you were both extremely real to me. Elder Marsh: the quiet one with the full head of tall, curly hair, who was from London but had worked Stateside before receiving his mission call. Elder Fowler: the senior companion who did all the talking, yet who managed to talk very little about himself. Thank you for the lessons brought to mind by our brief chance meeting. Thank you for the short piece of your missions that you shared with me, a man twice your age.

Oh yes, Elders, one more thing--a side note, really: enjoy your hair while you have it and your waistlines while you don't have them.

The Gospel is true, Elders. The Book of Mormon is the Word of God, sent to us in this modern dispensation by a loving Heavenly Father as a roadmap to show us the way to return to Him and to live in His presence someday; in His presence with oue families, forever, if we just follow the Commandments we have received. This book was translated by a modern Prophet, who held all the Gospel and Priesthood keys held by Prophets of old. Those keys are held today by another Prophet. What a marvelous thing it is to say: We have a Prophet of the Lord among us, a man such as Moses, Abraham, or Isaiah--a man such as the world knew of old--among us today, sharing the will of God with us, guiding us, teaching us, calling the world to repent and come unto Christ. And most importantly, Jesus is The Christ; He is my Redeemer and Savior, my elder brother.

It is true, Elders.

Believe it and Live it.

I have a testimony of these things, Elders. I share this testimony with you, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Wildlife

This has to be--truly--some of the most incredible footage I have ever seen! It even puts television nature programs to shame.

Take eight minutes or so and give it a look! You won't be sorry!



Hat tip to the Hedgehog for this one.

(Aside: Incidentally, this attack apparently took place at Kruger Park, which I had the pleasure of visiting several years ago. Absolutely beautiful place and spectacular wildlife (although I did not see anything as amazing as this, to be sure). I would strongly recommend the trip for anyone.)

There's a message here for us and our youth, I believe. Several of them even. There are a lot of lions out there, and a few crocodiles. Our youth need to be protected from both, but if they're taken by one, we cannot--must not--give up hope. Sometimes we can save them ourselves. Other times, it takes the whole family. Occasionally we need to get our ecclesiastical leaders involved, who may stop by with seemingly one-half the Ward to help out. But rescue is possible.

Even more important is that our children see this video. They need to understand that rescue is possible. Even when they're pulled at in two directions by lions and crocodiles, rescue is still possible. They just need to keep fighting, keep breathing, and keep hope and faith alive.

The Horde is going to see this just as soon as I get home from the office.

Back from vacation!

I'm back from vacation and suddenly realized that I still need to finish my lecture on Liberty. While I'm working on that and a vacation report, take some time and check out this video.

Chances are you've seen it (or an earlier version) if you've been around the Internet the past few months. It's odd, and possibly a little bit annoying.
It won't stick in your head like Numa Numa and it won't have you laughing out loud.

....but something about it.... Just. Feels. Good.

Enjoy.


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Brief Vacation

Oops.

So much for notifying my readers of my vacation.

There was supposed to be a message that popped up last Saturday warning that I had left for vacation for Memorial Day and not to expect a post until Wednesday.

Yeah. Didn't happen.

I'm not even sure where the post went. Maybe it was only a dream.

Hold on, though. I should have my Constructive Thoughts entry for this past Sunday posted by tomorrow. Perhaps even a bonus entry!

Whoot! It's like a box of Cracker Jack!

(Honestly? I'm not sure quite how it's like a box of Cracker Jack...it just came out that way and I liked the sound of it.)

Strangers on a Train, Pt. 4

I am so very glad I found my blog-notes from my vacation. I had completely forgotten about the T'ai Chi Ch'uan incident until I re-read my notes. Unlike my other "train" stories, this one is not jarringly odd, per se. It's not really "laugh-making." Certainly, it is in another realm from my other entries.

It was on the last day of my vacation stay in Salt Lake City. I had traveled via the Trax train/transit line up to the University of Utah to visit a friend and to wander around the campus bookstore.

Aside: Campus bookstores, if you were not aware, are some of the best sources of strange books, and odds-and-ends that you will ever find. For example, I enjoy the feel of a nice wooden pencil on a piece of paper. The trouble is sharpening them--I hate the cheap plastic sharpeners that abound in office supply stores. I adore, however, a very fine and reasonably priced pencil sharpener that a friend introduced to me in law school: a glass bottle topped by an excellent metal sharpener. The problem? I have only ever found them in random campus bookstores. Art supplies, too, are fascinating in quantity, style, and relative rarity in these stores.

As I was saying, I was taking the train up to the University campus. As we pulled up to one of the stations, I looked down at the platform to see an elderly Chinese woman performing T'ai Chi.

As you may have seen, T'ai Chi is most commonly seen in this country in the larger cities in city parks, early in the morning. I first saw it when I lived in China, and saw it everywhere and everywhen. Done properly, it is an elegant form of martial arts. I would sit for extended periods of time just watching the old men practice and perform. I say practice and perform because it is both: most of the elderly men would tell me that the form is never perfect and must always be honed and sharpened.

But I have never seen it practiced on a train platform--until now. It was always in city parks, or in courtyards, or any generally open walking space. Somewhere with at least a little nature nearby.

But on a train platform?

She made no move toward the train. I am not even sure she noticed the train was present, she was that quiet and absorbed in the motions. There was no flinching or blinking at the tumult around her, no sign that she was even aware of any of us.

It was odd. Jarring, even. One little girl nearby said, "Mommy--that woman looks like a statue!" and her sister chimed in, "Yeah, a statue with socks on her hands, too!"

It was odd.

Yet, at the same time, it was poetic and beautiful.

Here was a woman in a bustling city (granted, Salt Lake ain't New York, but still....) a woman in a bustling city, with noise and a smoky hot haze all around her. And through all that, she was at peace. She knew who she was and cared not a whit where she was or who saw her. She was calm and completely at one with her surroundings, even though her surroundings seemed to be against her.

It was absolutely amazing. I sat stunned for the thirty seconds or so it took for the train to empty and re-fill at this station. All I could do was watch this woman. I was sorry when the train pulled away. I craned my neck to watch her as long as I could, even for a few extra seconds. I was moved, and thought my eyes teared up a bit.

It was odd.

I wonder even now if it would have had the same effect if she was standing in a park, or surrounded by other people in a grove of trees. Even on an open courtyard. I do not believe it would have had the same impact.

Alone, on a train platform, practicing T'ai Chi, with socks on her hands.

It was odd.

But yet, not.

Strangers on a Train, Pt. 3

[Ahem.]

We were, I believe, discussing the public transit system in Salt Lake called Trax. I quickly learned that it was a fairly efficient way to get from my lodging in the middle of the valley to either Sandy City or to Salt Lake City, where shopping, food, fun--are all available. It was cheap entertainment as well.

One of my Salt Lake colleagues explained to me that the closer to "downtown" Salt Lake one gets, the crazier the people become. From my previous posts, that much is obvious. Apparently, though, frequent riders on Trax become somewhat jaded to their surroundings.

Case in point: I had taken a train down to Sandy City to do some shopping and decided to ride all the way in to Salt Lake to browse through their so-called Gateway Mall. This is a fairly new "mall"--really an oversized strip mall, if you ask me--an "open-air pedestrian mall" that has taken over several city blocks in the heart of the city. High-end shops abound, as do the snobs and freaks.

Aside: And really--how smart is an open-air mall in a place that reaches 100+ degrees in the summer and the 'teens (or below) with heavy snows in the winter. C'mon.... SOMEONE just was not thinking.

So, I've just gotten on the train and found a seat near the end of the car. There are a good number of other riders around me. After about five minutes, my eyes fall upon the "Handicap" sign. You know the type, pleading with riders to "please be considerate" and "reserve these seats" for those who need them the most.

It even took me a few minutes and I have only been on the train a handful of times. After these few minutes, I noticed a piece of regular white paper taped immediately below the "Handicap" sign. I managed to fumble a picture.

Odd. I was not aware that this was a big problem. A random inconvenience, perhaps, but not a wide-scale public health risk. I have to admit my guilt: I laughed. Snorted, really.

I had to be careful, because I did not want to call attention to the sign. Instead, I immediately determined to perform a social experiment. I wanted to see how the other riders reacted to the sign.

Not a flinch. Not a smile.

For almost one-half hour I rode that train and watched person after person get on and get off. For that entire trip--as far as I could tell--I was the only person to notice the sign. All the others were too engrossed in their books, their electronic devices, or the passing scenery.

No neighbor-nudging. Not even a head-shake.

Are the public transit riders in Utah that sheep-like? "Just climb aboard and wait to be dipped and shorn. Just don't break wind and all y'all'll be fine."

Well...I'm not a sheep. I reacted, with a good snort of laughter. Every time I thought about it, in fact, I snorted.

THAT got a reaction from the other riders.

...I think they thought I was crazy.

Strangers on a Train, Pt. 2

OK. You've been waiting with bated breath, I'm sure, for more gory details of my trip to Salt Lake. And believe me, I have details--all of which should help to paint the whole picture. The panorama, if you will.

As reported last time, I survived my train ride with the newly-nominated State Representative, Mr. Long-Haired, Tree-Hugging, Pot-Smoker. After watching my friend handle an enjoyable slew of random Law and Motion hearings it was time to head back to the so-called Trax train for a return to my lodging.

Little did I know what was in store.

Obviously, as you wait for the Trax train at the stop, it is fairly easy to see the train as it comes down the street. After all, this thing is large, boxy, and colorful (if white with a red stripe can be considered colorful), moving fairly rapidly down the center of the street.

ASIDE: Of course, apparently all of this does not matter, as people still manage to "not see" the train. A Utah friend sent me this link earlier this week, courtesy of one of the Salt Lake newspapers, the Deseret Morning News: "An ACE hardware truck is wedged against a TRAX train after being struck by the train while making a left turn in Salt Lake City at about 9:45 a.m. Monday. No injuries were reported."

Whoops.

The Salt Lake Tribune had the best lines about the story though.... First, from a passenger: "'We knew there was a semi there but we didn't think he was dumb enough to turn.'"

Guess what? He was.

And from the driver himself, "said he knew the train was there but it was sitting still when he decided to make a slow, left turn toward the Ace store on 400 South.... 'It was stopped when I went by [it]....It caught up.'"

Classic.

Think his CDL will be in jeopardy?

End ASIDE

Anyway.... For most people NOT delivering hardward and sprinkler supplies, it is fairly easy to see when the train is coming. However, as I stood there, I watched a man in a leather trenchcoat race the train down the street just to cross right in front of the train at mid-block--which, according to all the signage at the stop, is inappropriate conduct.

According to all common sense, it's just plain stupid.

Kinda like driving your semi into a train. Again, I digress.

Leather coat, flapping in the breeze. What a sight.

But he wasn't alone.

He had a lady friend running right in front of him, both of them carrying backpacks. Mid-50s, probably, the both of them.

They both boarded the back of the train right after I did, and sat just a row away from me. The only way to describe these two is with the phrase: Jack Sprat and his wife. He was slender; she was not. He sat on one row, she sat on another directly behind him. I sat on a seat that faced the middle aisle of the train and they sat on the first two rows facing the rear of the train.

Now, I must preface this next part by telling you this was a full train car. FULL. Packed to the hilt. Close quarters.

Upon sitting down and gasping for air, his first action was to reach inside his coat, pull out a pouch of chewing tobacco, and proceed to pack his cheek about as full of tobacco as the train was with riders. It was truly a vile sight.

In the words of the immortal Ron Popeil: "But wait. That's not all!"

This now-sweaty man (it was a warm day and he had exerted himself for at least a full city block while wearing a heavy leather trenchcoat) then said something to his lady friend, who rummaged around in her bag, then reached over the seat and handed him, to my horror, a roll-on liquid deodorant.

No joke.

I could even tell it was a "strong enough for a man, but made for a woman"-type, based on the garish pastel purple color of the wrapper.

"But wait. There's more."

In full view of everyone on our end of the train, this man proceeds to unbutton his top three buttons and then apply the deodorant -- LIBERALLY -- to each armpit.

Oh, the humanity!

Now don't get me wrong: I have nothing against good hygiene. It's extremely considerate to others to apply such solutions to your body.

It's that, normally, such applications are part of one's private ablutions.

In private.

PRIVATE being the key words here.

From looking around at the other shocked and horrified faces, I was not alone in my perspective.

[Ahem.]

I think I'll save the rest of the story until later.

You've all suffered enough.

Strangers on a Train, Pt. 1

O.K. As promised, some details and stories from my vacation. I think that I am now prepared to actually put some of my experiences into print.

I think.

I'm not responsible, however, for what--if any--effect they may have on you, my readers.

For some of my vacation, I traveled over to Salt Lake City to visit some friends. While there, I took the opportunity to visit Utah's Bankruptcy Court with my friend Janci from J Saga. To get there, I had to take Salt Lake's version of mass transit, what they call "Trax."

And oh, the sights you see!

Salt Lake, I think, would prefer you didn't know that they have their own share of crazies roaming the streets. Nothing like I've seen in bigger cities like Denver, Los Angeles, or Boston. Also nothing like you would see in Reno. (But then, where could you ever really see the kinds of things you see in Reno? Not even in Las Vegas, methinks.)

The first encounter was a man who jumped aboard the train at the last moment and chose to sit directly in front of me. This was a man in his mid-50s, scraggly grey hair, and what may have been the biggest backpack I have ever seen, complete with sleeping bag and what may have been a tent--there was a cinch bag holding what looked like tent poles.

Upon boarding the train, he threw himself dow on the seat facing mine, opened his phone, and immediately began talking.

I mean immediately.

I'm not even sure he was actually on the phone because I didn't see him even push a button before he began talking. His end of the conversation went something like this:

"Heidi! What?! They did what?! [Expletives deleted] I haven't even been up to the capitol--I just came out of the hills!
[PAUSE]
OK
[PAUSE]
The GOVERNOR nominated me?!
[PAUSE]
OK. I'll call the Governor then and see what's goin' on.
[PAUSE}
Uh-huh. OK."

The man then looked at his phone and said--remember this is all at a volume loud enough for people on the other end of the train car to hear him (I know this because I sneaked a look and saw them shaking their heads)--he looked at his phone and said "Governor--Home or office."

No joke.

He then put his phone to his ear and immediately began talking again.

Let me just interject a thought here, for those of you who believe he really was talking on the phone: I was completely unaware that phone technology had advanced to the stage where the phone could decide which of two phone numbers to call for you. But I digress.

"Beverly! [Expletives deleted] I'm a [Expletives] State Representative!
[PAUSE]
Yep!
[PAUSE]
Your husband nominated me!
[PAUSE]
I'm gonna be a representative. What? No, I'm on a Trax train.
[PAUSE]
Yeah, your husband--the Governor--nominated me! Me! A long-haired, tree-hugging, pot-smoker.
[PAUSE]
Yeah, in fact I'm still smoking my pot."

Unfortunately, that's when I had to get off the train.

Dang it all!

I would have LOVED to hear the remainder of that conversation. At least, his side of it. Who knows what else was said? I wonder if the Governor eventually got on the line as well?

Now...a quick search on the internet provided me with the fact that Utah's Governor is in fact married to a "Mary Kaye" rather than a "Beverly." Further evidence that this man may not have actually been talking to a real person? I don't know.... I'll leave that up to you, gentle reader.

All I know is I watched and heard it happen. And Heaven help teh Utah Legislature if it's somehow true.

He really called himself a "long-haired, tree-hugging, pot-smoker." While I was able to (barely) control myself, I heard at least one snicker on the train.

That says it all, my friend.

That says it all.