The Utah Jazz are Going All the Way

Every year I write a blog predicting that the Utah Jazz will win the NBA championship and every year I am disappointed.  One might say “Isaac, every single year you predict that the Jazz are going all the way and every year you are wrong.  Why would you put yourself in a position to suffer even more public humiliation?” 

That is a good question.  And I must admit that oftentimes I feel like a naïve and overly trusting person in an abusive relationship.  If the Utah Jazz were my spouse we would have an annual conversation that goes something like this.

Utah Jazz: Isaac I know I’ve been bad to you in the past, but if you give me just one more chance I know things will be different.

Isaac:  But Jazz, you’ve told me the same thing year after year. You said you would put the family first!  You said you would take me and the kids to the championship.  I even believed you last year when you started off the season with a seven game winning streak. But in the end all you did was end up playing the lottery.  How can the kids and I ever trust you again?

Utah Jazz:  Well I’m different now, I’ve changed.  I spent a lot of time over the summer practicing and I got some new young guys that have a lot of promise.  If you’ll just give me one more chance you won’t be disappointed.

Isaac:  Promise?

Utah Jazz: Promise.

 (Utah Jazz and Isaac share a teary-eyed embrace)

But I honestly do believe the Utah Jazz have all the potential in the world but I think in order to succeed in Utah they need to learn a couple of things.

I went and watched the Jazz have their pre-season scrimmage.  Before they started playing they brought the team out on the court and asked each player a question or two.  Judging by the players responses I'm pretty sure none of them took speech class when they were in school.  It was nothing but a bunch of incoherent jive. 

"So Paul Milsap, what are you looking forward to in this season?"

"Ayknow jusa wanna gidutder n dowudado."

“Jeremy Evans, how many alley-oops do you plan on dunking this year?”

“Wessi, whenim upinda ai owlimdone is jus takincur abusiness.”

As each player answered another question the white, working class Utah crowd grew more and more frustrated. 

“Derrick Favors, what part of your game did you work on over the break.”

“Aughsujhghcdssgdagfbgjbaskteball.”

After several of these players had answered I overheard a very Utah looking man say to another “Well golly Hyrum, I cannot understand a word these brethren are saying!”

Perhaps when an NBA player gets drafted or traded to Utah they should put them through some sort of mini-course to teach them how to communicate with the locals.  They could learn phrases such as

“Thanks again for the cheesy potatoes Sister Steed.  They filled me right up!”

And

“I didn’t know I was speeding officer!  Honest to goodness!”

And in winter they’ll need to know

“Hey moron with the California license plate!  It’s freakin’ Utah!  It snows here!  If you can’t handle it then you should’ve stayed the heck in California!”

But anyway, I am just so grateful that the NBA is back and I am glad that the year the Jazz will win the championship is finally here.  What?  Why are looking at me like that?  You just watch they’re going to do it.  Things will be different you’ll see.  They promised.

Culturally Relevant blog about Twilight

In a last ditch effort for this blog to be somewhat culturally relevant I decided to hop on the bandwagon and write a post about Twilight. Now I have never read nor seen any of the Twilight books or movies but I thought to myself “Why not report on something I know nothing about?  Cable news does it every day!”  HEYO!

I never read any of the Harry Potter books either.  And I am glad I never did because every time I was leaving the theater after seeing a new Potter flick I would overhear nothing but a bunch of whiney know-it all’s complaining that the movie wasn’t as good as the book.  I don’t get these people.  If you are going to be disappointed by the movie because it doesn’t live up to the book then you probably shouldn’t read the book!  Movies tickets are expensive nowadays and you don’t want to cheapen the theatrical experience by frittering away your time reading.  At least that’s what my mother taught me.

It seems like the only reason they even write books is to advertise for the movie that’s going to come out about the book.  Take for example, say, The Bible.  I’d bet you anything that had The Bible not been written “The Passion of The Christ” and “The Ten Commandments” would have bombed worse than the 4^th Indiana Jones movie.  (Which coincidentally was not based off of a book.)

I wonder if this formula applies to other aspects of life.  If basing a movie off a book is the key to having a successful movie then maybe basing a job application off of a book would mean getting the job?  Perhaps you could submit your job application as a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book. 

“It was a dark time for Pizza Hut.  Their delivery boy had recently fallen victim to college graduation and was forced by his new wife, against his will, to get ‘real job.’  Pizzas were stacking up around the store by the hundreds because there was nobody to deliver them to the hungry citizens of Gotham City.  What is a Pizza Hut Manager to do in such perilous times?

Hire Isaac Thomas as the new delivery boy (turn to page 53)

Hope and pray for some other form of miracle (turn to page 79)

(page 53)  Isaac Thomas courageously steps into his new position as delivery boy, relieving thousands of Gotham City’s hungriest occupants from suffering the slow and agonizingly painful death of starvation.  Innocent lives are spared and even more important Pizza Hut is saved.  The mayor awards the key to the city to the Pizza Hut Manager for his wise decision of hiring Isaac Thomas.  Pizza Hut is forever indebted to Isaac’s selfless service.

(page 79)  Due to no pizza’s being delivered, innocent lives are lost as the city’s pizza supply continues to go undelivered.  Pizza Hut’s convenient location on Harrison Blvd becomes so full of pizzas that its management and staff are suffocated and burned by the pile-up of cooked pizzas.  The remains of the Pizza Hut are discovered by archaeologists two thousand years later.  Historians liken the findings unto the findings of the destroyed ancient city of Pompeii.  The only remnant of people found is the outline of a store manager trying to protect a small child from being burned by the explosion of melted cheese.”

So yea, that’s my blog about Twilight.

Paradisiacal Lost

According to the online profiles of all of the girls I’ve stalked, girls like a guy who is smart. As a corollary to this ascertainment it became manifest that it was absolutely compulsory for I to demonstrate my high phrenic character to my mulieribus colleagues. But how?

When I first came to college I thought that simply being a student at an institution of higher learning would give off the impression that I was intelligent. But I began to think otherwise my first semester when my roommate Henry tried to cook Ramen noodles in a toaster.

Realizing that simply being in college wasn’t enough, I needed to find another way to pass myself off as an erudite scholar. In order to win the heart of a young lady I decided that I needed to go to the library and for the first time do something other than check my Facebook. I needed to check out a book. Determined to prove I was smart I decided I would only use traditional means to locate my book of choice. I looked up a book up in the catalog and tried using the Dewey Decimal System to find it. I searched for about an hour until I finally came to the conclusion that I had absolutely no idea how to use the Dewey Decimal System. I ended up just Googling “How to use the Dewey Decimal System.”

With the aid of a search engine I finally found the perfect book to impress the ladies. I checked out John Milton’s classic poem “Paradise Lost.” I can’t imagine any girl not wanting to cuddle up with me on a cold fall day and listen to me read some old English poetry in a fake British accent. Now I only needed to find the girl.

There is a certain spot on campus where I’ve noticed girls tend to hang out quite a bit. I figured this would be a perfect place to perch and act like I was reading while I awaited the approach of the girl who would want to discuss literature with a knowledgeable young gent like me. And as luck would have it it wasn’t long at all until a lovely young lady walked up to me and said “What are you doing in the girl’s locker room?” “Oh hello.” I responded. “I was just committing to memory some of my favorite passages from John Milton’s classic poem ‘Paradise Lost.’ I bet your pretty impressed that I’ve read it so many times that I’m now starting to memorize it.” “I’m going to get campus police.” She responded. It was when she said this that I started to get the feeling that she wasn’t going to want to cuddle. Her loss anyway. If she can’t appreciate a well-read guy like me then she doesn’t deserve to hear me read poetry in a British accent. And for her sake I really hope it’s true that it’s better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven. (See how I am applying what I read? I snuck that reference right in there!)

Well I guess if trying to pass myself off as a scholar won’t work perhaps I need to try some other means to pick up girls. Perhaps I could start cooking Campbell’s Soup in the dryer. It seemed to work for Henry.

Mitt Romney Tries to Eat Rick Perry

The Elegance of Collegiate Dinning

They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.  So by that definition I must be the most insane person in the world when it comes to dinner time. 

What will happen is around 9:30 (yes I eat dinner at 9:30 or later.  College: Where your lifetime of obesity begins) my body will notify me that it is hungry.  I will head to the pantry and notice that the only thing I have is a jar of peanut butter and an empty bag of “Apple Dapples.”  I will then open the fridge only to find several empty bottles of my roommate’s fruit juice.  After failing there I will go to the cupboards and see that I have several jars of Ragu tomato sauce and boxes of spaghetti sticks.  I will think “I guess I could make spaghetti.”  But then I will remember that I don’t have any pots to cook the spaghetti in.  Disappointed I will head back to my room.

But then about 15 minutes later my body will be like “Hello! You still didn’t eat anything!”  And I will be like “But body, there wasn’t any food, I checked!”  And body will be like “Yea, but that was 15 minutes ago, just imagine how much food could be there now!”  And me, thinking with the same rational mind-set of a second grade boy who is trying to get a girl to like him by throwing rocks at her, head back to the kitchen to see what I can find. 

After repeating this cycle for about an hour I eventually find myself dipping uncooked spaghetti sticks into Ragu sauce.

It’s no secret that college students skip a lot of meals and when they do eat it’s mainly crap.  But there has always been something that has bugged me.  Occasionally there will be a nice established adult who will be concerned about the health and nutrition of a college student they know.  They will decide that they want to help us out by buying us some food.  But what do they buy every single time? RAMEN! RAMEN FREAKIN’ NOODLES!  “Wow, why thank you Mrs. Jenkins for giving me the one type of food I can actually afford.  That was so nice of you.  And an entire box full of it too, wow.  What is that like three dollars’ worth of food?  How graciously generous of you to supply me with enough sodium to inflict me and my posterity with Type 2 Diabetes.”

I honestly don’t know what they’re thinking when they get that for us.  “Oh look here at the bottom of the shelf! It’s Ramen Noodles, Isaac loves Ramen Noodles!  He eats them all the time!”  I EAT THEM BECAUSE I HAVE TO NOT BECAUSE I WANT TO!

Luckily for me this year there are some girls who live down the hall who enjoy cooking.  I kept an eye on them for the first several days until I kind of got a feel for their schedule.  That way I can “happen to be walking by” about the time they are starting to eat.  “Wow!  I just happened to be passing by and I noticed that something smelled absolutely delicious in here!  What is that?  Tortellini no way!  And it looks almost as good as the girls who made it!” (Followed by a huge sincere smile)  Two minutes later I walk into my room eating a plateful of tortellini.  “Where in the world do you keep getting all of this food?”  My roommate asks.  In full maturity I respond “Your mom” and then ignore him.

But I think I am kind of starting to like one of the girls of whom I get dinner from.  I’m not exactly sure how to get her to like me back.  Maybe I’ll just throw some rocks at her.

The Greatest Victory of Isaac's Life

I was reading the school newspaper and I saw a little notice that said the newspaper was having a 90’s trivia contest that day in its office.  Considering myself an expert on all things 90’s I made my way up to the newspaper’s office to enter.  I entered and walked up to the 30 something year old secretary who was pre-occupied with a copy of ’17 Magazine’.  After waiting for a moment I said “Excuse me, I’m here to enter the trivia contest.”  “You’re here for what?”  The secretary responded.  “The trivia contest. I read in your paper that you were having one.”  “Nancy!”  She screams to somebody hiding in a back office.  “You know anything about a trivia contest?”  “No!”  Nancy yells back.  “Ask Tom!”  The secretary turns to a boy about 8 feet away who was staring at a computer screen with a look on his face like he wanted nothing more than to die.  The conversation that ensued was so golden I have to put it in script format in order to catch it in its full glory.

Secretary:  (Yelling at the same volume she yelled at Nancy) Tom!  (She pauses and for some unknown reason waits for a response)  Tom!  (She yells again as if he didn’t hear her the first time.)

Tom: What? (He mumbles without even glancing away from the computer.) 

Secretary:  Know anything about a trivia contest?

Tom:  I hung it on the wall behind your desk.

Secretary:  What do you mean? 

Tom:  The question for the trivia contest is written on the paper that is hanging on the wall behind your desk.

Secretary:  So what do I do with it? 

Tom:  You ask him the question.

Secretary:  Which one? 

Tom:  The one that’s written on the paper. 

Secretary:  Which paper?

Tom:  The one hanging on the wall behind your desk.

If I was Tom I would never glance away from the computer either.

To make a long story short, the question was “What year did the Soviet Union fall?”  I know a ton about the 90’s but I didn’t know this one.  So I took an educated guess and said 1991, which turned out to be correct.  There are a lot of other things I could tell you a lot about 1991.  It was the year that Nirvana’s “Nevermind” came out and ended the reign of Michael Jackson and the rest of 80’s pop from the top of the music charts.  It was the year Bill Clinton launched his presidential campaign.  And it was also the year my crap-in-pants ratio started to decline (although I must note it did not stop completely until Clinton’s re-election.)

But the best part of all of this is for my lucky guess I ended up winning a free iPod touch!  I know right?  I was expecting some Laffy Taffy or something.  Those suckers gave me a freakin’ iPod touch!  The new kind too!  It was amazing.  When I tell people I won the iPod I feel as if I sound like those wall comments that you get on facebook when your friend’s profiles have been hacked.

“Hey bud! How’vya been!  Just wanted to let you know I just received a brand new iPod touch absolutely free!  I saw the offer and I thought ‘what could it hurt?’ But it actually worked!  I think they’re only giving out a limited amount so you better hurry and get yours! Just click here http://thisisobviouslynotyourfiendfromthirdgradeimeanseriouslywhotalkstotheirfriendslikethishowstupiddotheythinkweare?//

Due to my parents being a weird cross-breed between Mormon and Amish I was never exposed to the latest technological advances growing up. So holding this iPod for the first time was a revelatory experience.  When I held it in my hands I said to myself the same two things a new father says the first time he holds his child.  “This is a miracle.”  And  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

 My roommates told me that the first few days I had it I sounded exactly like a senior citizen would if they were using it. They said they overheard me saying things like “Well I’ll be! This son of gun has internet access.” “Golly!  Whad’ya know? You can download an entire book onto this thing!”

After I had had the iPod a few days I was telling my friend about it and he asked if he could see it.  I handed it to him and he scrolled through it for a few seconds and then looked up at me and said “You don’t have any songs on here.”  I responded “Does it do that?”

The Lion and Witch in Isaac's Wardrobe

I am not sure I’m ready to get married, but I could really use a stylist.  I was picking out an outfit for a job interview a couple of weeks ago and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out which shirts matched which pants.  I kept wondering “does my blue shirt clash with my blue jeans or does it compliment them? Is it possible to clash with blue jeans?  Is it possible to compliment them?  Brett Favre looks good in blue jeans. Maybe I should tell them at the interview that I played in the NFL?”

Until recently all of my life I’ve felt that how I dressed didn’t really matter.  I remember my junior year in high school my mom gave me 50 bucks to go back to school shopping.  She told me I should use the money to go pick out a new outfit. “Mom,” I said “I’m a boy in high school, I don’t wear outfits, I wear t-shirts.”  I ended up just pocketing the money and never going shopping.

But now that I think of it, the boys in high school that did wear outfits got significantly more attention from the ladies.  I think there was a Taylor Swift song about that. How did it go? “He wears outfits I wear t-shirts. He’s always matching and I look like a homeless street preacher.  Dreamin’ bout the day when you wake up and find that the outfit guy was gay the whole time…”  Something like that.

Both in high school and now in college I’ve served on student councils that put on the activities.  And both then and now whenever we have a meeting to plan a dance we first pick out the date, hire a D.J, and reserve the room.  After that is done all of the guys are always “Well, meeting adjourned.”  But the girls are always “Wait! We haven’t decided the most important part!”  What in the world could be more important than hiring the D.J. and reserving the ballroom? We wonder.  “Hello!”  They say as they look at us as if we all have a brain the size of a pea.  “We need to pick a theme so we know how to decorate and know what to wear!”  Girls pick out their outfits based on the theme?  I don’t care whether it’s a 50’s sock hop or an 80’s neon dance or hill-billy hootin’ n’ hollerin’ hay ride I am going to wear the exact same thing to every dance.  I will wear blue jeans with that one shirt that I have that’s nice enough to look like I dressed up a little but cheap enough that if it gets kind of sweaty while I am jumping around it’s not a big deal.  And as far as decorations go we will have dollar store balloons which will be blown up by the person on the committee with the least experience.  Unless that person happens to be me, in which case there will be no decorations.

So to bring this entry full circle, whenever I am asked what I look for in a girl I simply say that my only criteria is that she has to be able to match/accessorize men’s clothing.  I know other people will look for things like compatibility, shared beliefs and attractiveness.  Not me.  In fact I take this so seriously that when I go to pick up a date I usually bring an assortment of men’s clothing with me so I can judge her skills.  “Before we hop in the car I was just wondering if I could get your opinion about how this tie matches this suit jacket.” 

“Why is your trunk full of old clothes?  And why is there a homeless street preacher sitting in the back seat?” 

“Don’t worry about it, just answer the question.”

Allegory of Agony: How Isaac Got Ripped

I had been going to the weight room in my dorms a few evenings a week for about a month.  I was trying to get back into the shape I was in when I was playing high school sports.  I was preparing to do the bench press when I heard a “psst” noise from across the room.  I looked around trying to find the source.  I saw a dark shady looking fellow with bulging biceps motion for me to go talk to him.  Trying not to draw any attention to us I crept over to where he was sitting.  “You trying to work on your chest?”  He asked in a hushed voice.  “Yeah” I responded.  “I figured I’d just do some reps on the bench press.”  “No man, if you’re looking to a ripped chest you need to try some of these.”  He motioned to a nearby machine.  “What are they?”  I asked.  “They’re called ‘fly’s,’ the whole football team is doing ‘em.”  “Really?”  “Yeah.”  “How do they work?”  “I’ll show you.”  He did a few fly’s on the big fly machine and then handed the handles to me and said “Go ahead, give it a shot.”  I hesitated. “I don’t know man, I’ve heard about weightlifting machines like this.  They say that they…”  “Do you want to get ripped or not?”  He interrupted.  I gave in and did a few reps.  I liked the way it felt.  I warm burning sensation shot through body.  I could almost hear the tear of the individual muscle strands cry out as they snapped under the newfound strain.  I did more and more reps.  I lifted until I couldn’t lift anymore.

Tired I headed up to my room and collapsed on my bed.

In the early morning I awoke for class.  As I reached for the alarm clock my arm and body cried out agony.  “What the heck happened last night?”  I thought.  “Oh yeah, fly’s.”  I couldn’t concentrate in class.  My professor’s voices were as the muffled sounds of people talking on the poolside when you are under water.  All I could think of was my aching body.  “I knew not to try that stupid machine!”  I cursed myself “I’m never lifting weights again.”

After my day on campus was over I was walking back to dorm and passed by the weight room.  Several hours had passed and I was feeling a little better.  As I walked past I paused and looked in the window.  “I shouldn’t.”  I said.  I looked at my watch, back at the weight room and thought “I guess I could head in there for a few minutes.”

He was there again.  He spotted me and said “I knew you’d be back, everybody comes back.”  “Just once more man.”  I said.  “Then I’m done.”  He introduced me to another machine.  I felt that same burning sensation in my body.  I liked it.

The next morning was the same, sore, dazed, and full of regret.  “I’m never doing that again” I promised myself.  But by the time that evening came there I was, torturing my body in the weight room.  And then it happened again the next day, and the next.  Soon I was using the same machines but the burning sensation was weaker than it had been.  I started using more machines and more methods to get that feeling back.  I could never get enough.  My grades were plummeting.  I soon stopped going to class altogether so I could spend more time in the weight room.

My friends pulled me aside and told me they were worried about me, they hadn’t been seeing me around anymore.  “I’m fine.” I promised them “I’ve just been really busy with schoolwork.”  They said they knew I had pulled out of my classes.  “I didn’t drop out!  I just changed my schedule that’s all.  Don’t worry about it.”  “Isaac” they said “Your muscles are exploding out of control. We know you have a problem, let us help you, we love you!”  “If you loved me you’d just let me live my life the way I want!”  I snapped back at them.

But they were right, despite my bitter jealousy and anger I knew in my heart they were right.  I couldn’t quit lifting, I couldn’t quit working out.  My body longed for the break of the sweat and the burn of the flesh.  My muscles could never be big enough, never.

Barely Legal

As another school year is upon us I am back to the dorms for another go around with the American youth.  College has been a weird experience for me so far.  This will be my fourth semester in four years.  I know Dad, I’m going really slow, just give me a little while I’m getting there.

But is seems no matter how long I’ve been here or how much I try to progress, every single semester I am surrounded by nothing but 18 year olds.  At 22 ½ I should be feeling young and gleeful about my youth, but since I am basically the only person with a car whenever I’m playing chauffer I feel like I am a mother taking the neighborhood kids to soccer practice.  I spend most of the drive shouting things like “Put your seatbelts on!”  “Don’t touch the radio!”  “Roll up your window and put your whole body into the car!” “I swear I will never give you a ride again if one drop from you juice box spills onto my seat!”

Dating is tough when you are four or five years older than everybody you associate with.  I went on a date with an 18 year old and part of the conversation went as such.   She asked me what I was afraid of.  After thinking for a moment I said “I’m afraid of the government either getting too much or too little power.  If it had too much we could lose a lot of the freedoms that we enjoy, and if it had too little it could lead to a lot of anarchy and vigilantism.”  After I made this statement I got this awkward vibe from her that sent the clear message that this was not the kind of answer she was looking for, so I added “I’m also afraid of heights.”  “Oh” she said “I’m afraid of bees.”

The thing about 18 year olds is they have yet to learn to go without the luxuries that you have while living with your parents.  For example this summer I roomed with a kid named Joe who was straight out of high school.  Him and I a couple of other guys who lived in the apartment had been given some hot dogs.  We decided to capitalize on the opportunity by having a barbeque.  While shopping for supplies we passed through the bread aisle and Joe tossed a couple of bags of hot dog buns into our cart.  The rest of us were like “Joe what the heck are these for?”  Confused, Joe replied “The hot-dogs.” Angrily and somehow in unison we all yelled “Joe!  Do you know how much these cost?”  “It says 2.50.”  “Exactly Joe! What do you think we’re made of money? Go back and grab the 88 cent loaf of white bread.”  Joe, still confused said “For hot dogs?”  Even more frustrated we replied  “Yes Joe! You take the slice of bread, you put the hot dog in the bread, you fold it and you eat it. And for heaven’s sake don’t you dare come back with any ketchup.  We have plenty of Wendy’s packets left in the fridge.”

Joe also tried to wash his clothes with dish detergent instead of the liquid hand soap the rest of us used.  Crazy kid got bubbles everywhere.

Every day I spent with Joe was like watching a newborn lamb wobble through the dew-laden field of life. Here is a word for word conversation I had with Joe one night in the kitchen.

Joe:  Whose ‘Shake Well’ is this?

Isaac:  What?

Joe:  In the fridge, the carton that says ‘Shake Well’ on it.

Isaac:  That’s orange juice, ‘Shake Well’ is the instruction.

Joe:  Oh, well can I have some?

Isaac:  Not anymore.

Brett Favre Returns From Retirement: Signs With Utah Jazz

Michelle or not Michelle

When I get my mind set on doing something I can't think about anything else until I have accomplished what I've set out to accomplish. For example the other day after a Sunday night service at the church I had it pre-set in my mind that immediately after the service I needed to go to the university library and print off some papers that I needed for my first class Monday morning. After the service I went to grab my coat from the coat rack when a very attractive girl struck up a conversation with me. I was nice and polite and we bantered back and forth for a minute or two. But the whole time I was thinking “I've gotta get to the library and print off my papers.” After a short conversation I told her I had to go do something and she asked for my name. In return I asked for her name and she said it was Michelle. I said I hoped to see her around again sometime and headed for the library.
 
It was about the moment when the first paper popped out of the printer that I realized I had made a huge mistake. Here was this friendly and attractive girl who was obviously interested in me who I had just blown off to go and print off a few papers. I could have talked to her longer and just gotten up earlier in the morning and printed off my papers before class, or I could've at least asked for her phone number. But no, printing off three papers for botany took precedence above all else. I ran back to the church to see if she was still there. The church was locked and nobody was inside.
 
So ever since this happened I've been trying to find Michelle. But the problem is I only kind of remember what she looks like. I remember thinking she was attractive, she had light brownish hair and a lighter tone of white skin. But distinct facial characteristics are a blur.
 
So to help narrow down the search I've come up with this game called “Michelle or not Michelle.” The game is as simple as it sounds. Whenever I'm out and about I look at girls and decide whether they're Michelle or not. For most girls it's pretty easy. “Black girl, she's not Michelle. Hispanic, not Michelle. Red head not Michelle. President of the university, definitely not Michelle.”
 
But sometimes there are girls that might be Michelle so I have to stop and really look at them to figure out if they're Michelle. And sometimes I have the problem of having my thoughts become words that are said out loud. Like at Subway a couple of days ago I saw this girl that I thought might be Michelle. I looked her up and down for a moment and then shook my head and said “No” out loud and walked away. At the time this happened I didn't think anything was wrong with what had just transpired, but when I looked back on the experience I realized how terrible it must have been for that girl. Some guy walks up and starts analyzing you from head to toe. You would probably think “This guy is checking me out.” But then that guy shakes his head, says “No” and then walks away. What would you think? She was probably crushed!

So now I'm trying to find the girl from Subway so I can explain what happened and apologize. The only problem is I don't exactly remember what she looks like. So I've come up with this game called “Girl from Subway or not girl from Subway.”

This post was originally written December 2010

The Lack of "Higher" in the term "Higher Education"

When I left high school I was relieved that I would be leaving behind the poorly led and under the desk texting dominated high school classroom discussions. I had visions of participating in in-depth, intellectual classroom conversations about important topics. But as it turns out all of the slobbering dunces that attend high school also need somewhere to go after graduation. And it turns out a good percentage of them chose college.
 
In any given college classroom there will be three types of students. You will have the extremely talkative students who raise their hands every single time the professor proposes a question. You will have the occasional students, who make occasional comments and take occasional notes. Then you will have the students who are asleep. I fall into the “occasional student” spectrum.
 
My English professor began the class by telling us that we were going to be having a class discussion on a paper we were asked to read regarding the relationship between obesity and fast food. He split the class right down the middle and said that the right side of the room would argue one side of the issue and left would argue the other. That idea makes sense since the purpose of said class discussions isn’t necessarily to come to a correct consensus, but rather to learn how to reason, and to present an argument with logic.
Apparently this concept is just too great for some of my classmates to grasp. One girl was so disturbed that she was on the opposite side of the room from her opinion that about 5 minutes into the discussion she actually started shaking and broke down and sobbed “I just can’t do this! This goes against everything I believe!” Seriously? Everything you believe can be summed up in the fast-food obesity debate? Everything? And whatever that “everything” is you believe in it so much that you would actually break down in class because you were required to take 20 minutes to look at a simple argument through a different angle? Seriously?
 
Another thing that destroys most classroom discussions is that most students have no idea when and when not to talk. For future clarification let me introduce to current and future college students the official rule* of when it is okay to talk.
 
“It is okay for you to express your opinions when you have something intelligent to say that has not already been said.”
 
See! There it is! Now does that sound so hard? I had raised my hand to make a comment at the same time another girl did. The professor called on her first and she made the exact point I was going to make. The professor called on me next and I said “She just said what I was going to say.” He responded “Well we’d love to hear from you.” I pause, confused out of my mind. “Um, I think you just went temporarily deaf for the last seven seconds because I just said that what I wanted to say has already been said.” “Hm, I see.”  He says dissapointedly.  A hand shoots up on the other side of the room. “I have something to say!” Says the kid who makes about 47 comments a day. Then he proceeds to say exactly the same thing that the girl who went before me said, which is what I was going to say, but didn’t because of the rule. “That’s a very good point.” Says the professor. “And class, let me take just a minute to remind all of you (“all of you” here meaning “Isaac”) that classroom participation is 10% of your grade. Isaac, now do you have anything you would like to add?” (No response because I’m now asleep)

* Also applies to cable news talk show hosts/guests.

This post was origially written October 2010

The Sea of Booths

The first week of school always offers many opportunities for incoming freshman. Campus tours, social activities, and, at least at Weber State, a campus absolutely littered with booths representing clubs and local businesses anxiously awaiting the opportunity to take away our time and money.
 
The banks that were present all seemed to have the same strategy to rope us in. “Do you guys like free money?” Um, ya. “Well then you need to get a credit card!” Apparently they’re the same thing.
 
The Gay-Straight Alliance had a very well decorated booth. By the looks of their representatives at the booth “Gay-Straight Alliance” is codename for “The Gay Club.” Seriously, I don’t think there is a single straight person in that organization. I think by now most Americans are accepting of gays and want them to feel welcome in society, but still, for me to join the Gay Club would be like me joining “Single Mothers United.” I wish single mothers well, but gathering every Thursday to listen to a bunch of women talk about breast-feeding and complain about men isn’t necassarily my idea of getting “involved.”
 
The Bible Club had a pretty convincing advertising strategy. They had this scholarly looking guy and an unbelievably pretty girl running their booth. “We’re putting on a Bible study, you should come!” I thought, “Ok; learn from the scholar, hit on the girl, sounds good to me.” But much to my amazement when I showed up to the Bible study the scholarly looking guy and the unbelievably pretty girl had morphed into one scholarly looking girl. (“Scholarly” in this case meaning “Unattractive”) It was incredible! (Or as the Bible would say, “it was a miracle!”) Needless to say, I’ve never attended Bible study since.

So did I end up joining any clubs? Nope. But I do have a “free money” card in my wallet, which will come in handy because I don’t have a job.

This post was origianally written August 2010

Money Management

There are two main differences between high school and college. One is that in college there is basically no graffiti carved into the desks, unlike high school where a Mormon boy could expand his sexual vocabulary by reading the comments his peers had written about the student teacher on the desk.
 
The second main difference is in college you never have any money. In high school everybody was really rich. You would buy a teddy bear and a rose just to ask a girl out on a first date. While on a date in college I stormed out of a restaurant because of the price. When my date was chewing me out in the parking lot because she got all embarrassed because "some of her friends were in there and saw that she was on a date with a guy too cheap to buy hamburgers" I was like "Hey, they expect me to pay six dollars for a combo meal! You think money just pumps out of my arms or something?" Well it does. Do to the lack of income I've been donating plasma twice a week for cash.
 
Despite my Scrooge-like thriftiness I always try to keep more money on hand than needed just in case I’m forced into a situation where I have to choose between public humiliation and spending a few extra dollars. Such an occasion occurred earlier this week when I went to the grocery store. Usually when I go to the grocery store I head straight for the Ramen Noodles, left to the cold cereal, down to the milk and then straight on till morning. All of these items are located within the same two aisles so I have a very narrow (pun?) view of what the grocery store has to offer me. But this time I decided to walk down clear to the other side of the store to see what was down there. And when I got there I found a magical garden called the “Produce Section.” It was beautiful. It was like The Garden of Eden, just without the nudes. They had every kind of fruit and vegetable you could possibly imagine, and since I haven't eaten a fruit or vegetable since July I figured I should probably buy something, but since I had never purchased something healthy ever before in my life I didn't know how to choose what to buy. But then I saw this Mexican guy looking through some fruit and I thought to myself, "I'll just buy what this guy buys, because if there's one thing Mexicans know it’s how to pick fruit."
 
So we both ended up buying a ready-made bag of eight apples. I was thinking that this would cost somewhere around 2 or 3 dollars. But when it was scanned and the price popped up it came to a total of 8 FREAKEN DOLLARS! How could apples cost a buck each? Are you kidding me? Throughout my teenage years I would go to an old farmer's house and spend an afternoon picking four or five apple trees. He would pay me 20 dollars to pick a pickup load of apples. I thought it was a good deal at the time, but had I known I could sell them for a dollar each I would’ve just driven off with them and made a fortune.

So the apples cereal and milk came to a total of 14 dollars, which was killer to my debit card which only had 22 dollars on it. And not purchasing the apples was not an option because a girl I knew from school was working the register and I didn't want to be like "Wait! I can't afford apples, put them aside!" Hopefully nothing like that happens again this week or I'll be doomed to debtor's prison.

This post was originally written October 2007