Landfall . . .

So, as the story of my life continues in an awkwardly adequate way, I find myself back to my roots in the uncharacteristically icy world of Kennewick, WA (okay, that "uncharacteristically" bit was total crap). Why am I here? Well, in short, the past comes back to haunt us, and certain of my failures make me more a slave to authority figures than what I ought to be at this age. But, immaturity aside, it's good to be back home.

What struck me first was the cold. Yes, it's winter. Yes, I live in a cold place (Idaho Falls sunk down to the negative twenties the other night). But when you're on your way to anywhere but Idaho Falls, ID, you inexplicably expect it to bring warmth. Let me be the first to tell you all the truth about that idea - it is a lie. No truth to it at all. It may seem tough to grasp this concept (believe me, it threw me for a loop), but "south" in "elevation," for some reason unbeknownst to me, does not translate into "south" in "direction." What a cruel world we live in.

On a happier note, it is the Christmas season, and the Christmas season is a season I enjoy seasonally, as I could not live without my 100 + pairs of socks that will never - let me emphasize never - be kept in matching couples, and will therefore remain suitable to wear only in winter, when that wonderful Earth of ours is tilted in such a way as to produce as little light as possible. But, seasonally speaking, it is that time of year; the other seasons are dead and gone, and only one more remains before we see the New Year that all those love songs talk about.

In fact, seasonally speaking, I've often wondered why the birth of our Lord and Savior should be inconspicuously moved to late December. I think I have an answer, for the curious of the public. If you were a person in authority who handles such things as holidays, and you knew someone had been born to save you from sin and you wanted to celebrate the fact, why would you do so midyear? I mean, everyone claps, everyone gets jolly and sings a song, and then what happens? The year goes on.

December is the perfect set up. Right after we celebrate, what happens? The year ends.

It adds such a sense of finality. Without Christmas in December, would the year even renew? Would life go on? No one knows, as its never been done modernly. Therefore, we can assume it doesn't.

I like that setup. I can imagine St. Nick does, as well. Sure, the North Pole doesn't thaw out in Summer (my smirk to Mr. Al Gore), but the rest of the world does. And I can't imagine Reindeer enjoy pulling a sled over the raggedy weed-lands of Eastern Idaho (and Eastern WA) without a nice blanket of snow to grace their tread. Asphalt and dirty magazines in Las Vegas is a different story.

But, I digress. My task originally was to say "welcome home" to myself, and "Merry Christmas," "Happy Honica," "Quintessential Kwanzaa," and "Happy Winter Holidays" to the rest of ya'. So, now that that's done, I can go eat a cupcake.

Ten For Twilight

The recent outbreak of what I like to call, the "Twilight Syndrome," has left many Americans (male and female) helpless against the onslaught of cheap romance and cheaper plot advancement. To "help where I can" is a philosophy I live by, and, therefore, I've assembled this rather hodge-podge list of reasons why you should NOT involve yourself at all with any of the Twilight saga (i.e., books 1-17, movies 1 - a promised 17). I hope this comes in handy. Well, never mind. I know it will come in handy. Let's try this: I hope you have a good memory, because I'm only going over this list once. Here we go:

1. Just Feel Good About Yourself, Man! (applicable to men only) - Good and healthy self esteem demands your abstinence in regards to all things that could hinder it. Two solid hours of 100-year-old vampires with perfect bodies, faces, personalities, and the uncanny ability to snare beautiful (for our purposes, at least) teenage women - even as they admit their overpowering desire to drink their blood - isn't exactly a recipe for a very fulfilling romantic life.

2. Don't Exponentially Decrease Your Options, Ladies! (applicable to women only) - Reason # 1 involved staying away from any situation that may subject you to two solid hours of . . . let me read through that again . . . ah, here it is: "100-year-old vampires with perfect bodies, faces, personalities, and the uncanny ability to snare beautiful (for our purposes, at least) teenage women." While that may prove a disastrous session of irrecoverable time for the male members of its audience, the effect it has on the female population is (gasp!) even worse. None of us men (according to many sufferers of "Twilight Syndrome") come anywhere near the irresistible nature of Edward Cullen. Since the said character is just that - a character - I feel the need to let our female readers know that, search as they might, they won't find Edward Cullen at the Grand Teton Mall.

3. Incredible Agility, Shimmering Skin, Mind-Reading, Pale Comple - WAIT! MIND READING??! - As most of us know, Edward Cullen is a master at reading minds. Now. Let's add a few other factors together: one 100-year-old vampire + 100 years of forced celibacy + MIND CONTROL. Geeze. That does sound like an irresistible character. What? Michael, are you saying he's brainwashed Bella? No, I'm not. I'm saying there's loads of circumstantial evidence, is all.

4. Save Yourself From Confusion! (applicable to men only) - I'm sure I'm not the only guy who wakes up daily with a prayer of thanks for the fact that he is not a vampire. I mean, where in all the history of the undead has there been sufficient reason not to? At least, in regards to the dating world, of which I used to be a vital member. Now, for reasons completely unforeseeable, the fact that I'm not a vampire is counted as a social handicap. I'm thinking about applying for a parking space at the mall.

5. Don't Cripple Your Chances Of Surviving A Vampire Attack! - We've all know since we were little children that a future vampire attack is unavoidable. It's going to happen, whether we like it or not. I can see it now - a cold, moonless night, reeking with the living dead, blood puddles on the sidewalk, emergency broadcast systems activated on the radio, families torn from one another, friends and loved ones lying dead in the middle of the road . . . and the hysterical shrieks of delight and belated fantasy-fulfillment from the BYUI campus.

6. Help Out Those Publishers! - As a member of an obscure (and for our purposes, unnamed) amateur writing site, its clear to see that the Twilight Saga has started a new genre of literature - "Fantasy Monsters Who Are Misunderstood And Who Are So Friek'n Hot And How To Date Them." While this may not matter much to me or you, one is compelled to think of those poor people at Houghton Mifflin. How many letters must they write per day explaining that, slightly varied character names and vampire-traits aside, plagiarism prevents any action on their part to get your lacking novel of love and monster's blood published.

7. Are We Lending A Hand To Murderers? - Every time you read Twilight or watch the associated movies, yes, you are. Michael, that's crazy talk, it isn't true! Real quick, imagine you're a vampire. You're hungry. Girls just aren't as easy to snatch anymore! All of this "Amber Alert" nonsense and school-time seminars about stalkers. You're out of luck. Starving, but unable to die. Then you see a billboard for Twilight. "What? All I have to do is wear Ambercrombie & Fitch or Hollister and comb my hair?" Point made.

8. I'm Almost Done With This List! - That one was for me.

9. Free Your Mind! - In most cases of "Twilight Syndrome," the host is often unable to rouse any desire to do anything that isn't related to Twilight. Relationships are related to Twilight. A funny moment is "just like that part in Twilight!" An attractive man or women walking down the street is "almost as hot as Bella/Edward!" My friends, this is not the way to live life. Own yourselves! Or, if you have a helpless need to compare your life to that of a fictional character, do it with Michael Scott.

10. You've Had Ten, Now Here's Ten More!! - For our last reason, I've decided to compose another list - a list of ten things that are more worthwhile than Twilight. I hope this comes in handy:

1. Watching grass grow

2. Painting your 1986 Volkswagon Beetle

3. Playing Tic Tac Toe with yourself

4. Beating a broken drum

5.Braiding your dog's hair and giving him/her a nickname based on his/her appearance

6. Going to the movies with Michael (applicable to women only)

7. Watching Fight Club

8. Going to Alcoholics Anonymous and asking for phone numbers

9. Writing your epitaph

10. Reading a blog

Well, I hope this has helped. I know that I alone cannot cure the ills of society, but - what the heck? I gave it a shot.

This Is Review . . . .

I was once asked a very serious and brutally honest question:

"Do you ever think?"

Now. We have a lot to start with here. I could, for instance, site the fact that the human brain is constantly at work and it is, quite honestly, impossible not to think. But that, if I may make so bold a claim, is not my style. Nor am I in the habit of speaking in, however limited by inexperience it may be, a scientific way. So. Answer number one incites a verdict of: FAIL.

Next on my imaginary list of ways to answer this question brings us to a very vital question - how do I define the word "think?" Or, perhaps more to the point, how does the unnamed owner of the mentioned question? If we're talking strictly passive analysis, like:

First Self: "I'm hungry."

Second Self: "Do something about it."

First Self: "But I'm tired, too."

Second Self: "What does that have to do with anything?"

First Self: "I'm in bed, and I'm tired. And the kitchen is dark and I'll probably stub my toe."

Second Self: "Are you saying you don't have the guts?"

First Self: "Well, that's a ridiculous question. That's completely irrelevent."

Second Self: "Wow. You're right."

First Self: "I know.

Second Self: "Man, you're a genius."

First Self: "Tell me something I don't know."

Second Self: "Impossible!"

Then I'd have to answer, "Yes. In fact, I think a great deal of the time." But, if we're talking about a deeper kind of . . . . . pondering, like:

First Self: "This novel paints a perfect picture of Middle-Industrial America!"

Second Self: "I agree completely. And the character of the wheat grower - sheer genius!"

First Self: "I second that motion completely."

Second Self: "I can't believe they market this book to children!"

First Self: "I think it's the title."

Second Self: "Farmer Fran's Adventure?"

First Self: "Don't you think its rather . . . 'children's bookish?'"

Second Self: "And you call yourself a literate."

Then I'd have to say . . . well, yes. I do think. But I haven't been in the habit of cataloging my infrequent plunges into deeper mental waters. So, no evidence would be in play. Therefore. Method number 2 incites a verdict of . . . .FAIL.

My third method involves seeking for and using real life examples of "thinkers," a term I use to label "people who think," which of course is a Latin derivative of name, "Glenn Beck." But, quite honestly, finding "thinkers" on televised stations like CNN and Fox News is an exercise in futility, at least when thinking for you is based on a "one" through "five minute" per thought process. Those guys just talk so fast.

But, I digress. Back to brass tacks. "Thinkers." Well, I could point to you, my less than obsessed (and maybe flat-out nonexistent) readers. How long did you spend combing through online catalogs of brilliant minds before you arrived belatedly at mine? For what purpose did you start your quest? A pursuit of higher knowledge, comic relief, mental stimulus? If we use any of these definitions of what I like to call, "'prelude to thought' thoughts," then we are in fact no closer to deriving any answer at all.

But, if we analyze your method of choosing what vague and outlying blog to read . . . . we may get somewhere. Amidst such names as "Family Review," "My Life's Review," Friendly Review," and "A Life Well Lived," you have chosen the very un-praiseworthy "This Is Review." I mean, come on. The title doesn't even make sense. Does the author intend to define "review?" Or is he so self-absorbed that he believes anything he writes and attaches his name to is instantly worth reviewing? Or maybe he is under the delusion that every small occurrence in his less than noteworthy life is automatically a review of the human situation and all that goes along with it . . . Boy, would I like to get my hands around this bloke's neck.

But, back to "thinkers." If you, my loyal readers, are truly "thinkers," and you chose to read a blog so narcissistically titled, "This Is Review," (a decision you will regret for the rest of your natural lives) then method 3 of deriving an answer for that unnerving question with which I opened this post is, invariably and absolutely: FAIL.

I am NOT looking forward to my mid-sleep hunger.