A Look In Your Eyes

Looking into your eyes melts my resolve like,
a glistening piece of Spam.
Spam the reject of all...... Hero of none.
Those pieces of cow-
pig, dog, horse, maybe even rat.
smashed, bashed, thrice diced, liquefied, and congealed.
That pinkish, chunky cube, and the way it resists leaving the can.
You can't say no to Spam.
The slurping of victory as Gravity prevails- and the Spam slips from that tiny, tin can. Gravity always prevails.
Fried Spam, Boiled Spam, Oven Roasted Spam, Honey-Glazed Spam, Curried Spam, Pickled Spam, and just plain old Spam from the can.
Yes, Spam...
Hero of none, rejected by more than some.
Nothing like a nice, big, juicy piece of Spam

Light The Way

I close my eyes. Close your eyes too.
I can see it again.
Someone this close is not supposed to be like that.
Trust? How?
Tau lotu, you can pray too. It might help.
Light my sky, like mana fetu'u. Light it like it should be.
Maybe this is why. Every damn time.
I close my eyes, hoping to see a way.
fie'ilo. fie'ilo. fie'ilo.
Close your eyes, help me find the way.

Living Death

The title of James Joyce's story, "The Dead"(DiYanni,584-610) seems misleading. There are no gruesome murders, or any morbid images. But the truth in this story is more grotesque than any horror story scenario could possibly be. The is a story about the living dead. No not zombies. Joyce's story explores the death of imagination, dreaming, and zeal for living, caused by societies bondage.

As an individual ages their imagination grows old and dies. For most people their imagination dies before their bodies. This is seen in Joyce's story through Gabriel's aunts. As one said in her toast at the dinner party, "A new generation is growing up in our midst, a generation actuated by new ideas and new principles. It is serious and enthusiastic for these new ideas and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected, is, I believe, in the main sincere. But we are living in a skeptical and, if I may use the phrase, a thought tormented age. "(599). Ideas are always changing. The tendency is to assume an idea that is not yours is wrong. The beauty of the imagination is that it constantly grows and explores. But as we become immersed in society and its rules, our imagination is put in a box. In that box imagination shrinks and dies, like a wrinkly old woman.

We do not kill our own dreams; they are killed by the people we are surrounded by. It is their ideas of right and wrong, possible and impossible that make or break us. When a person dreams they become excited. This excitement permeates their life. So much of life is about your attitude. If you believe, anything is possible. But society layers us with unbelief. This embitters believers. Bitterness slowly poisons dreams until they die. The caretakers daughter epitomizes this form of death. This excerpt portrays her bitterness, "-Tell me, Liley, he said in a friendly tone, do you still go to school? -No, sir, she answered. I'm done schooling this year and more. -O, then, said Gabriel gaily, I suppose we'll be going to your wedding one of these fine days with your young man, eh? The girl glanced back at him over her shoulder and said with great bitterness: -The men that is now is only all palaver and what they can get out of you." (585). Circumstances have embittered her towards life. This bitterness, this skepticism, has murdered her dreams.
Death is generally a very sad, depressing topic. So everything that seems light and full of life would be the antagonist of death. The setting of this story is a dinner party. These parties are supposed to be full of light, laughing, and happiness. This particular dinner party is none of those. There is an underlying tension rippling from the beginning when the caretakers daughter shows in the guests. Gabriel emits a sense of anger and frustration towards life, throughout the party. Mr. Browne seems to be trying to drown his regrets with alcohol. The one lady leaves early because Gabriel offends her. The actual dinner is dry and formal. The toasting leaves a feeling of melancholy. "The coffin, said Mary Jane, is to remind them of their last end."(598). This is not a party. This is a funeral.
Decomposing bodies make great fertilizer. But what does decomposing spirit make? When the spirit slowly decomposes, it emits a sense of hopelessness, a sense of stagnation. The grass on the other side is always greener. This concept seems to be the same with people. It is always easier to say that somebody else has it made. With this thought comes stagnation. Focus turns from what we can change, to what is wrong. "He would fail them just as he had failed the girl in the pantry. He had taken up a wrong tone. His whole speech was a mistake from first to last, an utter failure."(586). This starts a downward spiral. The lower you spiral the closer you come to spiritual death. The only cure for this wallowing mess of a stagnant spirit is to find hope.
The death of hope, is the death of all. Nearing the end of the story Gabriel has a brief glimpse at this hope. He believes that he could have true love with his wife. For a moment he is rejuvenated and excited. At this point Joyce introduces Michael Furey. The story of Michael Furey emphasizes the fact that Gabriel is alive but he doesn't live. Furey was truly the only person in this story to live. He loved and acted upon that love. Regrets are made by inaction. Michael Furey died, but he died living life. He died without regrets. Gabriel and the others are alive, but when it comes to actually living life, they are dead. "His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."(610).

Like the characters in this story we are bound by society. Day by day we are growing more and more dependent upon societies boundaries. But if we live too much by society we will not be living at all. Joyce shows us this danger. Life is meant to live, and sometimes we just need to make our own rules. The key to living is understanding society, but abiding by your inner self.

Work Cited

Joyce, James. “The Dead”. Literature reading fiction, poetry, and drama. Robert DiYanni McGraw Hill 2007. 584-610. Print

Ambitious Living

There are two ways to dream. One way is while you sleep. The other is a way of designating a wishful life goal. Both forms of dreaming supplement hope and rejuvenate the spirit and body. In Theodore Roethke's poem, "The Waking" (DiYanni 838) he explores the intertwining nature of these connotations of dreaming. Using metaphors, syntax, and diction, Roethke successfully simulates the experience of a dream.

Dreams are rarely clear and concise; more often they are foggy, unclear images, with brief moments of clarity. With the use of diction like “wake to sleep,” “those close beside me,” and “This shaking keeps me steady”(1,7,16) Roethke intertwines the two forms of dreaming. The effectiveness of these phrases is apparent. By using words and phrases that have multiple connotations it befuddles the reader, but also gives brief moments of clarity. This is important to the overall metaphor of the poem.

There are two words that really direct the purpose of the poem: waking and going. These words are transition words. With waking you are becoming aware, or growing in awareness. Going indicates that you are moving towards something. Clearly waking indicates the growing awareness of a goal and going indicates traveling upon the path towards that goal. These words are used over and over again. Almost as if the author keeps reiterating that dreams never stay the same; they are always in constant movement.

“Of those so close beside me, Which are you?”(7). The part of this line that catches my attention is the question, "Which are you?"(7). This clearly refers to another individual. To this point the voice of the poem is a soliloquy. This line is implemented for two purposes. When we dream we often fleet about: image to image. Rarely ever is there a conjunction between images. This line represents that jump. The other signifying factor in the line is the dependence of a goal on the world. As human beings we seek social acceptance. Usually our goals start out very personal and intimate. Eventually as they grow into a substantial entity, we can't keep them intimate. They bubble forth. This is when we seek the acceptance and support of those around us. It seems like every time somebody speaks of their goals, people respond in one of two ways: Face reality, you will never accomplish that. Or, that's so great, go get them, you can do anything. The question "Which are you?"(7) is asking whether the individual suddenly being addressed, as well as the audience, is a pessimist or optimist.

Death's metaphor awaits.“Great nature has another thing to do To me and you;” (13-14).This stanza reminds me that death is lurking. It is a natural part of life. It is an essential part of nature. “so take the lively air, And, lovely, learn by going where to go.”(15-16). Death is coming, it is the Great Nature's (13) plan for us. Live life while we have it. Don't wait to pursue your dreams. Go. Go now and live life. That is the purpose of this stanza. I heard once that all great poems either have the subject of death, or of love and life. Most of this poem is about life. In this one stanza the focus shifts. The shift is a warning. Dreams are meant for living. If we stagnate and don't dream we aren't really living. The author seems to say, death is on the way, so live your life ambitiously.

The first line in the last stanza is interesting. How can shaking keep someone steady? (16). My spirit is a wanderer. Complacency is my enemy. If life stagnates I get physically sick. The shaking, or change, in my life keeps me steady, keeps me healthy, keeps me interested. In many ways the whole purpose of a goal or a dream is to find change. By using the line "This shaking keeps me steady." Roethke is saying that the purpose of life is to have experiences. Throughout life we have experiences. Some are good some are bad. No matter how hard we try we will never be free from the consequences. But these consequences are the teaching principles in life. Without them there would be no growth. In order to achieve our goals, our dreams, we have to shake it up. We “learn by going where to go” (15).

“We think by feeling.” (4). This is true. Physically and metaphysically. The basic human has five senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. These senses help us evaluate and learn from our surroundings. Without one of the five the way we evaluate life would drastically change. How do you feel? A common question. Let me think about it. A common answer. When I think about how I feel I close my eyes and focus. Somewhere deep inside of me the answer resides. I'm trying to pull it to the surface. A tingle in my toes, warmth from my bosom, an ache in my chest. Consider the entity that makes up you. Close your eyes, focus, and listen. Listen to the quivering molecules, listen to the humming of your spirit. This is you. “I hear my being dance from ear to ear.” (5). When we are happy and satisfied with life, our being dances a vibrant tune; a dance that eclipses our whole entity. When we dream we unleash our subconscious, we unleash ourselves. As I concentrate I align these feelings and to come to a conclusion; I am happy when I have a dream.

Roethke is a magician. Using everyday words he creates a piece of art that intertwines and explores an intense, complicated subject. Why is it important to dream and set goals? Because we learn from the adventure. "I learn by going where I have to go" (19). Without dreams, life is an empty shell. The metaphors, diction, and analogies Roethke uses truly delve into the depths of the human spirit. I congratulate him on an exquisite piece. And I find myself dreaming.

Citations:

Roethke, Theodore. "The Waking". Literature reading fiction, poetry, and drama. Robert DiYanni McGraw Hill 2007. 838-839. Print

Knocking With The Wind

The way they connect, leaves me breathless. Together they form a thought, or an idea. This idea flickers across my conscious: whispering to my blood. To take a step, just one step, would set me on a path. Towards what? Oblivion is obviously staying here. So that step that started with a whisper, created from a thought, leads somewhere I must go. The cliche would be to say, "I must find myself". In a sense this is false; I know who I am. Why does this whisper speak to my desire? I need this to satisfy my curiosity. I might bend, maybe even break. Maybe, hopefully I will stand tall with a spark of spirit in my eye. I need this, not to find myself: to define myself. All of this started with one simple thought; instigated by intertwining, smoothly justifying, obnoxiously satisfying: words.

Breathless, but to No Avail

A few months ago I had a night that left me breathless. It started out like most Friday nights: met Taylor, went to campus to find girls, failed, went to a free concert. So there we are just the two of us at a free concert. At that moment I had no idea what type of a night it would become. I had no idea that by the end of the night I would have 4 exciting moments. Moments that stole my breath, and left my feet dangling somewhere above my head.

Moment 1:
She was on stage. Like usual I joked about talking to her and getting a number. Eventually she finished singing and stepped down to mingle with the crowd. This was my chance, she was walking right by me. As she passed within a foot of my personage I stood like a stone sculpture. Missed my chance. My gut was tied into a square knot. Sometimes I wish I would just forget all the other guys around and make a move. But I was chicken. So I stood around waiting for the next band. Meanwhile my self confidence was slowing molding. Looking to my left I saw her about fifty feet away. I couldn't take it. "I"m doing it" I told Taylor. I walked over and introduced myself.
"Hi you were great tonight" I said awkwardly.
"Thanks, what was your name?" she replied.
"My name is Zac. Do you think I could get your number" I asked. Making an awkward situation more awkward.
"Ya, do you have a pen?" she asked.
"No, but...."
"Here's my bands business card, There's a number on there".
"Thanks" I said, and walked away.
Yep thats story 1. Awkward, and hardly successful. At least I wasn't completely shut down.

Moment 2:
We were still at the concert. I was experiencing that exultation that follows putting yourself on the line. Its kind of a giddy exultation. The current band announced that the next song would be a great song to hold someones hand during. Taylor stuck his hand out to a girl, but she rudely ignored it. I rudely laughed. Then I saw a good looking brunette just a few feet away. Letting my giddiness get the better of me I said, "Watch this". I shouldered my way through this girls friends and got her attention. I stuck out my hand and said, "The band said we should hold hands". Surprisingly she consented. For a whole song I held this girls hand.

Moment 3:
Isn't much of a story. I thought I saw Rachel. You know the Rachel that danced with fire in her eyes (see earlier post). But she disappeared before I could make sure, or get her number.

Moment 4:
So the night was waning. The concert ended, we went looking for a party, didn't find one. Went to visit a friend, she wasn't home. Eventually we settled on getting drinks at Spark (a restaurant lounge). It didn't take long before we noticed the singing Rachel was there with her friends. I weighed the options. Before I had made a fool of myself. I'd been ultra awkward. But this was my chance to make up for it. I could send her a drink, but that was cliche. I could take her a pen, but then I risked repeating my earlier mistakes. With advice from Taylor I made a decision. I borrowed a pen from our waiter, and wrote the on the back of her bands business card, Rachel # ?. Then I had the waiter take it over to her. As he pointed me out to her I waved. She sent her number over with a friend. Apparently she was too embarrassed to face me. In retrospect I should've know that as a bad sign. She never answered when I called.

A Man Am I?

I am just like him, or her. But I'm not. A shell, a hollow house. My spirit roars its indignation. Am I a lesser man? A man am I? From the earth I've grown, but my wings don't unfold. I am not a bird, but a man. But a man. I try, upwards I climb, enduring the indignation of the wind. It whispers you are lesser, a lesser man. A man who changed the plan. I read poems, peace, war, sorrow, more. I am a man, an incredibly misunderstood, never given a chance kind of man. a man who changed the plan, and a man who is incredibly sick of this societies gelatinous spam. "Just go" they say. But they don't pray my way. I can't go, I am not alone, but it seams so. "Just go" I frown, wrinkling my broken crown. A ringing sound penetrates leaving me writhing on the ground. One chance. One name. One chance. To get to know me. For the man I am, and the man I became, not the man that I was. "Just go."

Fish Talk: An Extended Holiday

Unfortunately this segment of my blog failed to garnish the support I had hoped for. This will most likely be the last Fish Talk posting.

The world today can become a chaotic vortex of swirling emotions, events, and people. It is important to cope with this chaos. A medley of strategies abound. I find fishing to be an excellent strategy.

There is a sense of alignment when I fish. Crisp mountain air prickles my flesh. Gurgling streams ease my mind. I step from the bank into the icy water, submerging my feet and my soul. Nothing compares to an ice bath. The methodical stroking of my line through the air. Flick the wrist, swish and flick. Speak? Why would I? Nature does the speaking for me.

Fishing is more than sport. It's more than a coping strategy for life. Fishing is about the memories, the peace, the experience. Fishing is living.

The Social Butterfly

Butterflies flutter about. Conversing, what about? It doesn't matter, they just talk and talk, chat, chat, blah, blah. Their beautiful colors intertwine and combine. Their patterns are neat and unique. Grace lifts their wings, their wings swirl the air, carrying them on currents of delicious care.

I sat in class. Not making a sound. Class was far from profound. Make connections they said, ask a question, make a statement. Class improves when you participate. So I did. I made a comment, maybe two. Now I'm alone in a corner, in a room. A room full of twenty other students. I dare to say, Silence was preferred. Silence was acceptable. Now these social butterflies, flutter about, but they dare not land by my side. I might make a comment, a comment which they cannot justify.

Blah, blah blah. Blah. Blah.
Speak. Talk. Sound. Silence is preferred.
preferred not acceptable.

Expectations did not meet, was that the turning point? I fight to remain apart, yet I am afraid to separate.

Paper Cranes

In Japan the crane is a mystical creature of legend. It also plays a central role in the recent animation “Kung Fu Panda”. It is said that if a person folds one thousand paper cranes they will be granted a wish. The paper crane can also signify peace. In my life the paper crane means so much more.

My Grandpa Al has made paper cranes for as long as I can remember. They are intricately folded pieces of paper. When discussing his paper birds he often points out that the wings of his birds flap: apparently other paper birds don't have flapping wings. After folding the bird he calls someone over and gives it to them. Everywhere we go he gives away these paper birds. Packets of pre-folded birds fill his pockets. It has become an art of efficiency. These paper birds epitomize my grandpa. He is an intricately folded man: a man of charity, courage and integrity. He is always willing to give of himself. Another amazing attribute is his unique sense of humor. I'm pretty sure he spends hours thinking of witty jokes. Many of his jokes are told time and again; but just when you think you've heard them all he'll surprise you. One day while holding a ruler he called me over. Pointing at the one inch mark on the ruler he said, “be careful when you give someone an inch.” He paused, eyes twinkling, then said, “because then they'll want to rule ya.” Classic grandpa.

One day I decided to learn how to make a paper crane. I took one of my grandpa's birds. Fold by fold I unraveled the bird; then I put it back together. I did this until I learned how to make a bird. One day I decided to be clever. While visiting my grandparents I sat down in front of my him and made a bird. He sat and watched as I folded a small piece of paper into a small white bird. When I finished I handed it to him. Slightly confused he said, “I know a faster way.” He whipped out a packet of his pre-folded birds, separated one from the flock, and handed it to me. At the time I didn't understand. I thought he would be pleased with me. I thought I would be funny, I wasn't. Looking back now, I know that for my Grandpa folding paper cranes is not a joke. Instead it is a way for him to interact and spread joy. So many times I've seen him call over a little child, give them a bird, and watch the expression of happiness spread across their faces.

I haven't always appreciated my grandpa. I put up with his unique quirks instead of embracing them. It wasn't until recently that I've learned to appreciate my Grandpa Al. He has done so much for so many. He taught me how to fold a paper crane. No, he never sat me down and said this is how you do it. His example was enough. His example is enough. Today I can still fold a square piece of paper into a paper crane. The ability to do so is much more than origami to me. It is a connection to my grandpa; my birds wings flap too.

Spiders, Dangling from my Nose

Today I had a spider crawl out of my nose. A warning, maybe. Are the cobwebs falling? Or are they growing? Why worry? It was only a small spider; minuscule in the world of humans. I was walking when it escaped the confines of my hairy nostril. It dangled from a small web, an invisible web. I thought it was a gooey green thing; I was wrong. I smashed that spider. Making it a gooey green thing once and for all.

The Eagle has fallen, The Raven sings

Excitement permeated. What will I do? How will I ask. So positive; this will be a blast.
A lump begins to-but I choke it down.
No.
"Zac" I say. " Believe. Between you and me, please. believe."
Fortitude.
Scrolling, locating, dialing. beep, boop, beep, beep, boop, boop, beep, boop, beep, bop. Stop. Is it ringing?
yes.
once, twice. "Please hold," is that right? What is this? My stomach heaves, the elevator music leaves. "You've reached the phone of," my mind shuts off. Is this an eternal clock? The speaking stops.
A permeating existential thought.
"This is Zac, I guess I'll try back."
Confusion.
What just happend? Once again or Not yet to begin?

Frivolous Exploration:

Why Dost Thou Tormentest Me?

My guts tumble and roil about. They tie themselves in a knot. Not an ordinary square knot, nor the fantastic figure 8 knot. This is a ridiculously complex knot. In fact you couldn't call it one knot. No, this is a knot upon knot upon knot, type of knot. For simplicities sake let us call this a rats nest knot. My guts tie themselves into this huge rats nest knot. Along with the knot comes a queesy green feeling. Almost as if the rat that made a knot of my stomach decided to interweave rotting garbage between the strands of gut. A chunk of dripping diaper, a diabolic smelling sandwich, a gangrene cat. Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me. My eyes glaze, my tongue becomes a thick slab of meat stuck between my teeth. This is a crime. I try not to dwell, but my gut continues to swell. Heave, "OH NO!", Heave, "NOT NOW!", Heave.

My leg vibrates, Nay, it grates. From my pocket I pull my little telephone. 1 text it reads. Here we go. All the pain, the waiting, the nausea, the end is here, one way or the other the verdict will be known.
"Hey" it began. "I can't today". My rising gut fell. "But maybe another day". okay.

Fish Talk: Vocabulary

Fishing, like any activity has a specific vocabulary. And like any activity if you don't know or understand the vocabulary you end up sounding like an idiot. For example when you catch a big fish you would say something like, "She's a beauty". You wouldn't say something like, "This fish that I have caught is really big". A sentence like that and fisherman for miles around would know that you are a greenie. This is a list of commonly used fishing terms and the appropriate response.

"She's a beauty/she's a beaut"- when a fish is large and worth keeping.
Response: "yep, She's a keeper".

"Any luck?"- addressed to another fisherman when you first arrive at a fishing hole, or you pass another fisherman currently fishing.
Response: "A few hits, nothin much" or "A few small ones". Humility is key. It is considered impolite to brag to a stranger about the gigantic fish that you just caught.

"What's your secret?"*- When you are having no luck and you are desperate enough to ask the guy next to you what he has been catching all the fish with.
Response: You give a ten minute lecture on the proper speed to reel in your line, how to cast, and how to select the right lure.*

These are only a few of the phrases that are common when fishing. A few more vocabulary terms that are appropriate to add to your fishing repertoire are:

like magic
broke my line
she was a biggun
little guy
catch and release
keeper
monster
whopper
sardine
minnow


Typically creativity is a plus when fishing. But as you get creative with your vocabulary you might confuse your fellow fisherman. Simplicity works magic with the fish, and communication between your fellow fishermen.

*(Refer to previous Fish Talk posts)

school assignment

This is a school assignment.

In class we have been talking about chronos and kairos. These are two different kinds of time. Chronos is chronological time. Kairos is emotional time.

For class I am writing a paper on good sportsmanship at BYU. Over the last few decades, ever since the last national championship, BYU has faded from the national spot light. But in the last 4 years or so, since Bronco Mendenhall became the head coach, there has been an incease of attention from the nation. The football team has had 3 consecutive seasons with ten or more wins. BYU football has renewed its traditions of being a annual competitor. This recognition brings a lot of attention to the university. Now is the perfect time to address sportsmanship at athletic events. This also represents the chronological timeline behind my reasoning.

After last season the Oklahoma sooners invited BYU to play them in the first game of the 2009 stadium. Most of the nation thought that the #3 Sooners would destroy BYU. On a fateful day in September BYU shocked the nation. Suddenly BYU is once again in the national spot light. There has been some discussion about the possibility of BYU playing in the national championship game if they go undefeated. Over the last few years, BYU football has been building up to this point. As this season moves foreward with the nations eyes on our University, we need to remember to show them the power, grace, and positive qualities taught here at BYU. We need to show them that we can be the best fans, coaches, and players in the nation. But we need to do it in a sportsmanlike manner. This is the kairos of my argument.

A Moment

For a moment.
Maybe two.............
your eyes
caught me, trapped me, entranced me.
Released me.

I can breath.
I'd rather not.
Just one more chance!
One more moment,
caught, trapped, entranced.

Quaking Aspens

The greatest part about being awake at 5am is the serenity. Life seems to take a break. The cool air refreshes. It is so quiet that if you listen carefully you can hear the sky whisper. It whispers of the coming day, of the hot sun, and the billowing clouds. The sky whispers of hopes and dreams yet to come. As day climbs closer and closer, and the morning stars drift farther and farther, I pause and wonder why I don't wake up at 5am more often. Its sad how it takes an extraordinary event in my life for me to wake up and witness such a majestic display. And a little ironic that the extraordinary event is an attempt to take the life of another living creature.

It used to be a large family affair. We'd all get together, brothers, parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Annually this was a time of excitement. To some we may have been attempting to murder innocent creatures. Others would call it bow hunting. For me it was a a bonding experience. Over the years it has dwindled from a larger family gathering to a small intimate family outing. Usually just my dad, brothers and myself. But with dwindling numbers the depth of meaning has only deepened.

On this morning I found myself staring at the breaking dawn with my dad and youngest brother. All the others had moved away. We crossed the stream, stumbled through sagebrush and found our way to the base of a rolling ridge. We climbed up through the quaking aspens to the first of many deer highways crisscrossing the ridge.

"We'll take this trail." My dad said. "And you take the higher trail. Walkie talkies on channel 1. We'll meet at the flat rock."

"Okay."I replied and continued towards the top. Looking down the ridge the trees gaped open, revealing golden rolling hills slowly being illuminated by the rising sun. I took a deep breath and began along the trail.

"Soft" I thought. I need to step softly. Thousands of leaves whispered their secrets. I didn't whisper back, but I wish I had. What was I stalking? Deer, maybe. But mostly a fleeting feeling. Kind of like the feeling of letting go. It was like standing on a cliff edge. Thoughts and fears crowd your mind. Some unknown force pulls you forward. At first you resist, but then the cliff slides from under your feet and you fall. As you fall your mind clears and becomes so light that you begin to float down, spiraling like a feather. That was what I stalked.

A branch snapped off to the right, breaking my contemplations. A beautiful buck, bounded from about ten yards away to thirty-five. It stopped and stared at me for a few minutes. I could see the muscles quivering, eyes sparkling, and nostrils flaring. It was majestic. My heart raced. In my hand I held a weapon of destruction. I could raise my bow, draw back and attempt to end this life. But could I? With a wild snort the buck bounded away.

I sat down. And waited. For my mind to clear? For the buck to come back? For another chance? It doesn't matter. I waited.

After a little while I stood up and went to find my dad and little brother.

Some people may say that my hunt wasn't successful. In some regards they were right. But for about 20 seconds I experienced that elusive feeling that I had been stalking.

Fish Talk: The Lure

There are many ways to fish. You've got bait, flies, lures, artificial bait, etc. etc. My point is that for a successful fishing trip you need to select the right method for the right fish. Now here's the thing, I've only lived 22 years on this beautiful earth, and most of my fishing is in mountain lakes, so my experience is limited. But as far as I can tell trying to catch a fish is like trying to get a date with a girl. You've got to use just the right combination of flash, tastefulness, and edibility. Whether its fish or girls it takes precision, planning, and being able to think on your feet to succeed.

There are a lot of factors that can affect the outcome of your fishing. The biggest and most unpredictable factor is personal taste. You never really know what a fish or a girl will bite on. But for every factor that can't be predicted you have another that if properly identified can lead to success. A few of the most important factors to be identified are: water currents, how the fish are feeding, the weather, and depth.

Basically you have two approaches once you've considered the factors. You can either try and blend in with the natural environment or you can shock and awe with uniqueness. If you decide to stay natural; watch for bugs and insects, and try to emulate those. This works because it plays to the comfort of the fish. But if you want to have your lure stand out try something a little bit flashy. Like a golden spinner. This method catches the light and leaves the fish intrigued. Therefore the fish is likely to strike at the lure. Use these same concepts with girls.

As a disclaimer each and every fish or fishing hole is unique. These are only a few of the methods and factors to choosing the correct form of fishing at any given time. My methods may not be the best for your particular fish.

Fish Talk: Secrets

Secrets:

There is no better feeling than the day you pull up to a crowded lake, everybody turns and watches as you fix up your line. Their looks say, " I haven't caught anything all day. There is no way you're going to". You pick a spot and cast. Wham. You've caught a fish. You can practically hear the other anglers, sitting in their little lawn chairs, ask, "What's his secret?"

Everyone seems to have a secret. Whether its a knot, fishing hole, lure, or way of reeling, its as important to fishing as the fish. What I don't get is how they remain secrets. All too often some guy will tell you his secret to catching the killerwhale of trout. Then you hear him telling the next guy too. Pretty soon the whole lake knows. Is that really a secret?

Anyways, you need a secret. It doesn't mean you have to go tell the whole world. But the day you have a secret is the day that you are a true fisherman. When you first start out I recommend keeping your secrets to yourself. The only thing more embarrassing than telling a guy your secret and it not working for him is when you tell him and then it doesn't work for you.

Through the years I've heard many secrets, and I've had many of my own secrets. Here's one that I'm willing to pass along. One day I was fishing at a reservoir with my dad, uncle and cousin. It just so happened that I started catching fish. I looked to my right. My cousin had his line tangled up and the only thing he caught was himself. My uncle was on my left and hadn't caught much. My dad was nowhere to be seen. My uncle asked, "Zac whats your secret?" At that moment I realized one of the most important fishing secrets. It's all about luck.

Fish Talk (This is a new segment of my blog. Its all about fishing, my experiences, and how to fit in as a fisherman.)

Fishing is great. It can be relaxing, exciting, frustrating, and awe inspiring all in one. But it isn't easy to be a fisherman. Every community has it's do's and don'ts. If you do the do's but not the don'ts you'll fit, but if you do the don'ts and not the do's you won't. These are a few of the do's and don'ts I've noticed for the fishing community.

St. Buds Day*

What's that?
A challenge, a feat!
Be not afraid to say, 'I'll step forth upon this day'.

We may die.

Yet if we live, the few that may, upon this day brothers we'll be made.
For that
I shall be glad to die today.

Scared are ye?
Depart hence!
For upon this day, upon St. Buds day, there is no place for thee.
But if you stay and outlive this day, years from now you'll stand and say 'I was there on St. Buds day'.

Old age forgets.
But you'll tap your brow and manage a bow.
For we happy few, we very few, will not forget
or be forgot among the best of you.


*Inspired by Shakespeare's St. Crispens day speech in Henry V, and the annual scavenger hunt

I'm Captain Hook!

I've realized that life isn't the story I expected it to be. My imagination has always been overactive. When I read a book, see a movie, or hear a story I succumb to the interweaving threads. These threads entwine around my mind until I can't escape. For days after I experience a story I run around imagining myself as the hero. This has seemed much better than facing reality. I've gone throughout my life daydreaming of the day that my destiny as a hero is revealed and I save the world. As I waited for that day I became increasing mean, selfish, disrespectful, and insincere. It's the little steps that lead a hero to their destiny, and my steps have been taking me in the wrong direction. I am the villain that I've always dreamed of stopping. I'd like to apologize for my villainous ways. As life and reality moves along I plan on changing, step by step. I'll be trying to become more considerate, harder working, respectful, loyal, and sincere. Maybe if I can accomplish these goals, one day I'll be the hero I've always dreamed of being.

Pee U, Was That You?

The problem with a blog like mine is that only people I know tend to read it. Therefore the probability of someone reading a story and realizing it is about them, is high. But at the risk of offending someone I write this anyways.

Before my wingman aka K-shizzle departed for the south pacific we had a tradition. I call it the annual birthday double. Kaleb would find a date, I'd find a date, and we'd double. As simple as that. In all actuallity it tended to be more like this. "Zac! I don't want to go on a date". I'd beg. "Do it for me, its my birthday. Kaleb please get a date. For me". He'd relent and get a date. Then my date would bail. But Kaleb would then have a date and I couldn't leave him hanging. So I'd scramble around, get rejected by almost every girl I know, but one. Which is a good thing because I only needed one date. Then just as I would find a replacement date his date would call and tell him that she had the flu and couldn't go. But then I had a date and he couldn't leave me hanging so he'd go through a similar process as mine. Eventually we'd both have dates.

Anyways it was the annual birthday double. We'd gone through the whole process of finding dates and now we were driving up the canyon to go shooting. Have you ever heard that little ditty of a song that goes like this, "Driving down the highway, going 64 when someone let a big and blew me out the door. The wheels started shaking, the engine fell apart, all because of your supersonic fart". Well driving up a beautiful canyon in late Autumn someone let a big one and nearly blew me out the door. Thank goodness for seatbelts. Typically I'd voice my displeasure at the culprit, but seeing as I was on a date I decided to be a little more delicate. I rolled down the windows. Problem solved. The date proceeded and for all acounts it was a success. Until we started back down the canyon. Then someone did it again. I nearly died right there. This was no ordinary fart. I could see the headlines of the newspaper the following day. Four Youth Die In A Car Crash Caused by Lingering Fumes. Lucky for me, and all the other people in the car, including the culprit, I had a brilliant idea that saved our lives. By this time it was too cold to unroll the windows, instead I turned up the heat as high as it would go. Our sense of smell was quickly burned out. Literally.

After the date ended I pulled Kaleb aside. "Was that you?" I asked. "No, I thought it was you" he replied. We looked at eachother and realized, one of our dates had one heck of an upset stomach.

To Ring!

Deep Breaths. In. Out. Deep. With each step I came closer to hurling. Deep Breaths. Pounding, aching, pounding, aching. Air became cement. "Come on!" I screamed. I couldn't stop. I wanted to, but I couldn't. Deep Breaths. Pounding, Aching, Pounding, "AHHHHH!" I roared. Deep Breaths. I couldn't.
At first it was quiet, creeping like a mouse. Braver it grew, becoming a whisper in the wind. Braver still. Still. Still. Then it was too late.
"NOOOOOO!" I cried. Breath! One lung. Then, the other. I had to breath. One final lunge.
It was over, the doorbell rang.
Seconds, minutes, hours. How long? I looked at my watch. Seconds.
The door opened.
"Hi. Let me grab my coat and we can go." she said, smiling pleasantly.
"Okay" I replied.
Victorious.

Stalker Girl

Step back in time with me. This time-traveling adventure is not all that long ago. It is my senior year of high school. 2005-06. Try not to be offended. She wasn't the funniest, best looking, or most charming girl. In fact she kind of freaked me out.
Physical contact generally makes me feel uncomfortable, especially from the opposite sex. I don't know why, but girls seem to use contact as a way of expression more than guys. I guess I just haven't gotten over that kindergarten mentality of cooties. When a girl sits next to me and bumps my leg with hers, I cringe. When she reaches across me, I curl into a defensive ball. Intentional contact makes me flinch, such as: lightly touching my knee with her hand to get my attention. To add my disclaimer; physical contact has its place. I don't mind hugging a family member or close friend. But I would prefer it if most people kept there distance. Maybe this phobia is a key to my being single? Back to my story.
The one thing she did have going for her was a sweet heart. She seemed to smile a lot, and she was very friendly. A little too friendly. Every time she said hello, she would grab my arm. This squeezing of biceps and caressing of flesh, made me queasy.
Survival instincts kicked in. I learned to keep my back to a wall, and my eyes peeled. When I saw her coming towards me I would quickly duck away. But she was an experienced hunter. She would approach from down wind. Then she'd pounce. She would grab my arm, and smile as she said hello.
I was losing sleep. She haunted my dreams. I needed help, so I turned to my brother.
"Kaleb" I said. "I don't know what to do. This girl is practically stalking me. Every time she sees me she comes up grabs my arm and caresses." He laughed and asked "Is her name Megan? (Not really her name, but in case she or a friend reads my blog!)"
"Yes" I replied.
"I can't help you. She does the same thing to me."
I don't know if she was always that way, or if it was just Ostraff boys that received her "special hello". Either way we didn't like it and decided to help each other out. We quickly came up with a warning signal. When either one of us saw her we would signal the other and both duck away.
It worked 90% of the time. The other 10% became a contest between the two of us. One of us would see her, and let the other walk into the trap. While the one with the misfortune of being caught had to put up with the arm caressing, the other one slinked by.
Once again I was able to sleep.
Fast forward to Yesterday. My brother Josh and I are at the movie theatre buying tickets.
"Oh hi, I barely recognize you" the ticket girl says. Trying not to look confused, I looked closer. It was her! The stalker girl from high school.
"Hi" I replied, secretly feeling grateful for the glass that separated us.

Like a Brick

Passsed the spilled coke on the now sticky floor. Through the masses of people socializing in the Halls of Provo High. Beyond the smells of lunch wafting from the school cafeteria. The sound of jingling keys cut through the air, like a hot knife passing through butter.
“Shut up!” yelled Adam Henry. The best way to describe Adam would be like a brick, solid and unbreakable, quite a lot like a Chevrolete. And just like a Chevrolete you could depend on his ego to match his bulk. In reality a Honda or Toyota was more dependable, but that is an argument for another day. Adam was the center of the universe. Life was either about him or it didn't matter.
I looked at his chiseled torso, and bulky arms in disgust. I wasn't in the mood to put up with his crap. I wanted to vomit. How anybody could enjoy a life so self-revolving escaped me.
“Stop, or else,” Adam threatened. I looked down at my jingling keys, at Adam, and then back at my keys, and continued jingling them. If he wanted to make the whole world about him that was his problem, not mine.
Whether the jingling keys bothered him, or my lack of respect did, Adam had enough. He stood up, pushed his way through some freshmen, and walked up to me.
“I said stop.” he said. I looked at his hulking mass and decided I didn't care. I kept jingling my keys.
By this time we had gathered quite a crowd. Sadly most of them wanted to see who Adam's latest victim was. I didn't really want to be a victim, but I was too stubborn to relent to his bullying. The only thing I hated more than being told what to do was when someone tried to bully me into doing it.
With his gorilla-like hand, Adam snatched at my keys. I may have been smaller than him, but I wasn't slower. Flinging my arm to the side I avoided grasping fingers. He lunged again, and again, each time I just moved my hand to the side. Eventually he realized I was too quick, and stopped snatching at the keys. The surrounding crowd began laughing.
If it wasn't for the crowd it probably would've ended there. Adam's pride wouldn't let him lose with this many people watching. Thinking he was finished I turned back towards my friends. With a roar Adam grabbed me from behind.
Tighter and tighter he squeezed. There wasn't much I could do. He had me wrapped in an enormous bear-hug and he was twice my size. But my hands were free and I still had my keys. So I just kept jingling.
“Give me your keys!” Adam yelled in my ear, making them ring like a bell.
“Why don't you take them,” I taunted.
“Ahhh” he roared and hoisted me towards a big black garbage can. Realizing that he intended to dump me into a bucket of soggy sandwiches and other assorted material, I kicked out with my legs. With a stroke of luck, one of my legs sent the garbage can sailing through the crowd. By this time my patience had run out. I had enough.
“Let go of me now” I ordered.
“What if I don't?” he asked.
“Do you really want to find out?” I replied through clenched teeth.
Very slowly Adam relaxed his bear-hug and let me go. I turned and faced him. This whole thing had gone way too far and I wasn't going to let him get away with it.
“Come on, just hit me.” Adam taunted. “Or are you a chicken? Just hit me.”
I was ready to become a sledgehammer that would break this brick. With my fists clenched, and my body tensed to move, a new voice cut through the electrically charged air.
“Zac, we have state track tomorrow.” It was my friend Jared. Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Adam was so annoying. I was sick of him and his self-revolving world. But Jared was right, I had state track, and if I got in a fight I wouldn't be able to race.
In angry silence Adam and I stared at each other. Finally Adam turned and walked away. I know that I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it. As he walked away I gave my keys one last jingle. Adam stopped. I could see the enmity rise from his shoulders. Just then the bell rang and lunch ended.
The crowd quickly dispersed. As I walked passed the spilled coke, I couldn't help smiling.

A Chance

“Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Why are you calling so late?”
“I was wondering if we could talk?”
“Now? Its 3am.”
“I really need to talk.”
“I guess so. Where are you?”
“Outside.”
“My apartment!?”
“Ya, I really need to talk to you.”
“Uhh, okay I'll be out in a minute.”
“Thank you.”

Why was he here? His chest ached with secrets. The kind of secrets that sculpt the way a person lives life. At first they weren't secrets. Break ups, failures, laughter, moments that were known but not talked about. Eventually people forgot, moved away, or stopped caring. He didn't. Those moments stuck with him. For better or for worse, these were his moments.
He could hear his Grandpa's favorite line repeating over and over again in his head. “Don't open a can of worms until you're ready to fish.” Was he opening that can before he was ready? He should just leave. But he already woke her up. He'd call back, apologize for waking her and walk away. Yes.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked startling him from his thoughts.
“Umm,” He took a, deep breath, let it out and decided he'd go for it.
“I've missed so many chances. I've played it safe. But I'm tired of being alone. Thats why I'm here tonight. We have been friends for some time now. I want you to know that I really have appreciated your friendship. Every time I look at you I see a chance. An opportunity. I don't want to be alone anymore. I'd like to take a chance on you.”
“I don't know what to say. I appreciate that this was hard for you. But I'm not interested.”
“Oh.” His chest hurt.
“Sorry to wake you.”
“I'm sorry, I just......”
“You don't need to explain. Sorry to wake you.” He stood up and walked into the comfort of the night.

Her Name Was Rachel

Her name was Rachel. She had brown hair, and she danced with fire in her eyes.

“Hey come dancing with me tonight,” Taylor said. Taylor was one of my best friends. We had known each other since early elementary school, first or second grade. It had been some time since we'd gone dancing.

“Come on, it will be a blast,” he said.

“I don't know,” I replied. I really didn't feel like going out, let alone going dancing. Lately I hadn't really gone out much to do anything. I had been avoiding social gatherings. For no reason really, I just felt like being aloof.

“Come on. What else are you going to do?” he asked. And that was the problem. I'd been avoiding social gatherings for too long. I didn't have a liable excuse, I couldn't say no.

“I guess so,” I replied.

“Great,” he said. “I'll see you tonight”.

The music was blasting, lights were flashing, and I really didn't feel like dancing. But I was there and I couldn't just abandon Taylor. If I left he would leave too, and that would ruin his night. We had been standing on the outskirts of a mob of people, supposedly dancing. Mostly it was a few girls dancing with a bunch of guys standing around them. It reminded me of Jr. High dances. Taylor looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and waded into the mob. Inside I groaned, but my feet followed Taylor.

Before I go any farther I need to explain how I dance. Typically it starts in my fingers. It is almost like a twitch. A highly contagious twitch. It goes from my fingers into my arms, through my torso, and down through my toes. I call it static. From that moment rarely do my body parts mesh into a fluid motion. My feet will be doing one thing, my arms another. Most people find it intimidating or weird. But they are just jealous. I am a chameleon. I get up in your face and wag my tushy all over the place. In short, I let loose.

At first I had a hard time finding my groove. The music just wasn't working, and I had a hard time letting go. But as the night wore on I started feeling that twitch. Before I knew it I was dancing and having a blast. I guess it was the same for most everyone there, because about he the time I found my groove, other people started to dance too. Nobody was just standing around any more.

I was doing my thing. Weaving in and out of sweaty bodies, busting my moves. Just having a good time. Because of my “eccentric dance style” not many girls can keep up. But she could. I wasn't really paying attention until Taylor shoved me into her. As our eyes met she smiled and busted a move in my face. It was a straight up challenge. I went to work. I'd swerve left, flick right, get low, go high, pull a fireman, then an apple picker, I even threw in the ping-pong player. She stuck with it. Every move I had she had a move to match. Before we could finish our dance off the crowd pushed and shoved and tore us apart.

After that I went back to the usual, dancing as I pleased. But I kept finding myself drawn in her direction. Every time we met, she would bust a move, I would answer. I would bust a move, she would answer. It was a never ending battle. And before a winner was decided the crowd would separate us.

To emphasis the fact that it felt like a Jr. High dance, they played half a dozen slow songs throughout the night. I sat out the first one. By the second one I had already had two dance offs with that girl, and I decided I'd like to dance a slow song with her. But by the time I found her she already had a partner, so I sat that one out too. When the third one came along and she was dancing with some other guy again I decided to take a restroom break. The fourth one was like all the others before it, she was already taken. I decided then that there were a lot of girls that were dancing that needed a partner, so I moved on. I ended up dancing with a girl that was in Graduate school studying manufacturing. I wish I had had windshield wipers on my face, because she showered me in spittle. Learning from my mistake I skipped the slow song.

As the sixth one came on, and the DJ announced that it would be the last song of the night, I knew I had to find that girl. I shoved through the crowd, hoping to find her before some other guy did. I saw her standing to the side, not dancing. Woohoo. I was going to get to dance with her. Just then another guy stepped in front of me and asked her to dance. I dejectedly danced with some other girl.

The lights switched on, the music switched off. Everyone moved towards the exits. As I was exiting I saw her again. Our eyes met and she walked towards me.

“You're a fun dancer,” she said.

“Ya, you're fun too,” I said. “My name is Zac”.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Rachel,” she replied.

“Well have a good night,” I said.

“You too,” she replied. And with that we walked our separate ways.

Thinking back, I wish I had asked for her number. But I didn't. If my life were a movie, I would meet her again. Its not so I probably won't. But I can't help looking for those fire filled eyes.

After a cold blistery week the weather finally cleared out. Maybe that is why thousands of people gathered together on a sage brush strewn hillside. Or maybe it was static electricity sizzling between minds, calling for a mass gathering. For me personally, it was the witch burning. It isn't every day that you get to see a witch burned at the stake. I can only think of a few times in history that such a magnificent event took place, Joan of Ark and the Salem witch trials. (I don't count the movie "The Monty Python and the Holy Grail" because I can't remember if they burned the witch or not). Anyways, I went for the witch. Because of the immense amount of traffic on normally deserted streets, my friends and I parked a mile away and hitched a ride in the back of a Chevy pick-up. As we looked upon the hill, a loud cheer erupted along with a mushroom cloud of swirling colors. We were late, the burning had begun.

Through a dark pink haze I snaked through the crowd. "Where had they gone?" The sticky mass of human flesh surged around me. "Where had they gone?" Frantically I searched the passing, chalk plastered faces for my friends. Somewhere behind me, a body had been torn screaming from the mass and heaved across the top. I saw the poor girl kicking and screaming as she was passed above the crowd. A hand burst from the mass, plucking off one of her shoes. "Give that back!" She screamed. Other hands burst from the crowd, grasping for her remaining shoe. Trying to protect it she began to kick her legs. One of her flailing legs whacked my head. In her attempt to save her shoe, she lost the support of the crowd and was dropped head first onto the ground. I reached down and pulled her up. "Thanks" she mouthed before she was swept away in the writhing mass.

Magic

Most people assume magic is a primitive concept with no true foundation. These people are wrong. Magic is all around. When a person writes and then performs a song, that is magic. When an artist creates artwork, that is magic. When an accountant crunches numbers, that is magic. Magic is not confined to an imaginary world. It is all around us. The way butterflies float through the sky on warm days or the way a stream flows over rock, that is magic. When light reflects off of a mirror, that is magic. I believe magic to be those moments in life when time stands still and your spirit is at peace. Its a calm, soothing sensation that clears the mind and eases pain. Magic inspires and it does not have boundaries. Every person has their own source of magic. Sometimes the magic of two people can intertwine, this is when lifelong memories are created. The key to finding magic is letting go of skepticism. when you open your mind and heart your eyes open too.

Story Time

I really enjoy writing stories. I've decided that I want to write for a living. Everyone has stories that are worth hearing. They make up such a large part of our personalities and our lives. I want to write those stories. So if you want a story told, let me know, because I want to write it.

An Ocean of Gold

I have a dream. In this dream I'm walking through a field of wheat. The sun shimmers from above; leaving its reflection on the wheat. Each step I take makes the field sway like an ocean of gold. I stretch out my arms with the my palms of my hands down. They brush along the surface. A cooling sensation creeps from my fingertips all the way up my arm and into my spine. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This must be like heaven. Just then I feel a sharp pain in my left hand. I open my eyes and look. A thin slice runs from one side of the palm to the other. I watch a drop of blood ooze and then fall. Staining the beautiful gold wheat below. Then I wake up.

Idleness

Movement.
My feet need movement.
Soft grass, hard cement, hot asphalt.
The whispering wind between my toes.
Something new with every step;
Like electricity hovering in a cloud.
My feet need movement.
And so does my heart.

The Greatest Game Ever Played: Comeback, Comeback to Me

In the world today there is good, and there is evil. Occasionally the good has to take a stand against evil. Last night I took my stand. I decided to make my stand at Trafalga's miniature golf course. Unsuspecting to the rest of the world, a fight ensued that held their fate in it's hands. Evil scum suckers aka Miles and Elisa decided to surface from their wasteland of doom to reap havoc on the innocent bystanders playing golf that night. To aid them in their terror and destruction they called Kenny the terrible smelling Ogre from G-land and Iva the Snow Queen from the Great North. After I heard of this evil plot I knew I couldn't stand by and watch. I needed to face these despicable foes in a battle to the death. But 4 against 1 was Hopeless. I knew I would need help, so I enlisted a sidekick from the land of Cheese. 4 against 2 has Hope. Together we fought. It was a terrible fight. Gushing, oozing, refuse flowed from their mouths. Darkness swept in, blocking out the light. Just before they vanquished me for good, I saw a beautiful sliver of light. I knew then that no matter what the consequences were, I had to defeat these evil organisms. I grabbed onto Hope and battled back. Blood, guts, sweat, and blood flowed like a river. In the end light prevailed. I sent those scum sucking toads and their allies back to their underworld of waste. Today the sun shines.

I should have said

Sometimes it takes the loss of a loved one to realize how much they meant and how much we should have said while they were here. I am no exception. Today I would like to remember Kaleb Joseph Ostraff. He was my brother, but he was much, much, more than a brother. Kaleb was my best friend. Shortly before he left us, Kaleb and I had the opportunity to talk. While we were talking we happened upon a few choice memories. One of these memories was playing with toy cars in Tonga. We spent hours pushing our cars through the dirt. I could play anything with Kaleb. He made everything more exciting. This last summer Kaleb and I had the opportunity to travel the United Kingdom together. We had yum yums in York, and we ate haggis in Scotland. In Bath we wrote poetry, and in London we explored the back alleys. I can honestly say I couldn't ask for a better travelling companion. Along with some great memories Kaleb left me with a great example. He has always been a good example to me. It is assumed that the older brother is the one to set an example. It wasn't that way with us. During one of our trips to Tonga my parents told me to go take a bath. I really didn't want to. The bath water was cold and I hated taking baths. I argued with my parents and was throwing a fit. Then Kaleb stood up, grabbed a towel, threw it over his shoulder and said, "Come on Zac, I'll Teach you how to be a man." To close I would like to say what I should have said to Kaleb.

You are the best brother I could ask for. As you know I didn't start talking until I was three. I'm pretty sure I started talking then because I had you to talk to. You've always been there for me. We have had some wonderful adventures. We have also had some pretty awful adventures. But I couldn't think of anyone else that I would rather have a bum adventure with. You are one of the few people that could and would laugh at my jokes. Your example gives me strength. Because of you I've realized I have to believe in Hope. I love you. I will always keep your spirit close to my heart. Remember its all about the Whakapapa. Last but not least, don't get into a strangers car to pet their dog or to try their crystal raspberries.

Hopefully I can live my life in a way that honors Kalebs example and life. I love my brother and always will.

Pajama Parta!!!!!!

Hidden Drugs

Lately, well ever since elementary school, I have heard that you should never eat weird candy. Whether it was offered by a stranger or if it was found in a random corner I was told to not eat it. "Zac", they said, "If you eat that candy something very bad will happen".

Today during Sunday school, Kaleb aka K-shizzle, Jenny aka J-sista found a box of mints. Deciding that they wanted the mints they took them and ate some of them. I tried to tell them that strange candy found in a strange room in the "Depths of Hell" isn't good to eat. They wouldn't listen. Over and over they tried to make me try one. "Everybody is doing it" they said. Well I refused. I wouldn't succumb. But they continued to eat them. I warned them again and again that they shouldn't eat them, but it was too late, they were addicted. Finally I convinced Jenny to hand me the box of mints. I knew I couldn't let them continue to eat the mints, but I didn't know what to do. That's when I decided I needed to sacrifice myself for my brother and sister. Before they could stop me I consumed somewhere between 20-40 mints. Not more than 5 minutes later I was looking at the mint box, when I saw it. The mints had an expiration date that read Nov. 5 2006. Needless to say I have a hard time remembering what ensued after the consumption. But I do say by sacrificing my taste buds and smell for the next two weeks, I saved the lives of my siblings.

Island Caretaker

Tonight I had a friend inform me of an amazing job. In Australia there is a job opening to become a caretaker of an island. The position lasts for six months and the salary is about $100,000. I think I could do that. Along the same lines I was wondering if I would survive on a deserted island. When I say deserted I mean an island lacking in humans. I decided I probably could. And if I could take ten items I would take: 1 machete, 1 wool blanket, 1 tarp, 1 rope, 1 spool of 10Lb fishing string, 1 pair of chacos, and 4 rolls of duct tape. I'm pretty sure I could survive off of that. One of these days I'll need to give it a try.

Fall Love Signs

Today I happened upon a gem. I was at Allens grocery store checking out, when I saw it. It was a little book called Fall Love Signs. I felt an overwhelming urge to spend the dollar to get help with my love life. This is what it said about me.

"Scorpio's smoldering sensuality is a magnet for many, and few can resist your sign's intensity. However, only those who know you well discover your somewhat hidden side, a sensitivity that reaches the depths of your Pluto-ruled soul". So far it is all true.
"This passionate planet is one of ultimate devotion, but it also can spark possessiveness and jealousy. With Neptune guiding your love life through Pisces, you're a sentimental romantic who remembers every milestone from a first kiss to an anniversary".
This next part is my favorite.
" You also know instinctively how to charm a date and effortlessly choose just the right setting for romance". I'd really like to meet that part of myself.

"When you're ready to settle down, you commit heart and soul to the one you love with all the affection of Venus-ruled Taurus, your partnership sign, sensible and sensual. For you, love truly is for a lifetime. fall brings many opportunities to meet people and launch a romantic liaison, especially during the second solar period when three planets are in your sign".

Well it is quite an interesting forecast if you ask me. Mostly the part about knowing how to charm and date effortlessly. I would have to say I can see the perfect moments, but it is completely different acting on them. Anyways, that is my love forecast for last fall (the downfall of buying at Allens, most things are expired).

Change

I've found that my life is full of growth spurts. Most of the time nothing happens. Occasionally, for a short period of time, a lot happens. I can feel it coming. The feeling is similar to a brewing storm. Some innate unexplainable force tells you of the approaching static forces. Maybe it is a slight tingle in the toe, or a simple thought that pierces deep. Either way I can feel it coming. It all started on December 27, 2008. That was the day I was to return home from the Sydney Australia South mission. Well that was the day I would have returned home. Instead I never really left. Ever since that day there has been a kind of static energy forming. It is as if I have been walking on thick carpet wearing wool socks. The pressure is building and I can feel change in the air. First, many close friends found significant others. I found myself spending more and more time alone. Just when I felt like it would be unbearable, I was invited by a professor to go to France. I accepted, but now I have to study and work harder in school than I have ever done. In a few months many of my closest friends return from their missions. I feel like the last two years were mostly stagnant. Ever since that fateful day in December my life has charged forward, bringing change with it. It isn't bad, in fact it feels relieving. Yet I still find myself scared that I will be swept away and lost. I've realized that I can't fight it, even if it is scary. I just have to try and surf the wave until it crashes on the beach.In the words of my father, "the stars are aligning".

Semitruck From Hell

The other day I was driving on the freeway towards Salt Lake City Utah. I was minding my own business, singing along to the killers song "All these things I've done", when I had an eerie feeling creep from the tips of my toes, all the way past my nose. Looking in the my rear view mirror I saw him. The semi was flying up from behind. Unfortunately I had nowhere to move. Within seconds the semi was tailgating me like a fly stuck to a wall.
"Get off my Butt", I yelled out loud. Unfortunately the trucker couldn't hear me over the roar of his engine. He continued to tailgate me. Eventually a spot in the lane next me opened up. I decided to move over so this jerk of a trucker could pass. For some strange reason (maybe he was blind, it would explain a lot) the semi didn't move past. Instead he merged into my lane again, to continue his favorite past time, tailgating innocent drivers. Biting back my anger I decided to wait it out. It couldn't continue forever right? Wrong. After a few more minutes of getting tailgated, I decided to change back to my original lane. Being the trucker from Hell, he decided to change lanes as well. There was no escaping his grasp. If I sped up, he sped up. If I slowed down, he slowed down. If I moved over, he moved over. I knew my death was imminent. My short life, that had so much more that needed to be accomplished, started to replay itself. Just before I rolled over and died, a bump in the road shook me from my comatose state. I had to live! I had way too much I still had to accomplish in life. With that thought, I decided to try and let him pass again. As I moved over the truck began to speed up. I did it. Relief swept through my body. When he pulled alongside of me I yelled, "good riddance you jerk". To my horror the trucker must have heard me. His forward velocity stalled. He was now blocking the lane next to me. That is when I realized his plan. It is my belief that when he saw that I might escape his wrath, he used his radio to call in back up. He blocked the lane to my left, and another semi blocked the lane in front of me. I was boxed in. I could only imagine the look of triumph on this devil truckers face. It must have been so smug. I think it was the smugness on his face (I may have imagined it, but it seemed real enough) that got to me. I was not going to give up. I would escape and I'd shove it in his face when I did it. First I sped up. Both he and his compatriot sped up with me. The bait was set, any minute now he would try and end it all. Checking to make sure the traffic behind was far enough away, I hit the breaks. If I had hit the breaks a second slower I never would have made it. Right as I hit my breaks the devil trucker merged over. He would have crushed my car, and my life. Fortunately he barely missed running me off the road. Looking at the back of his truck I noticed a little sticker. The sticker said, "I believe in safety first". Before the trucker could react to my brilliant escape, I switched lanes and accelerated past him and his compatriot.

Broken

For the last couple of years I have hidden away. I built a fortress of impenetrable walls, and hid inside. These walls gave me safety from a lot of things; at first they were a protection from disappointment. I started to build them the day I returned home from my mission. To this day I can remember the look of disappointment on the faces of my family when they picked me up from the MTC. The walls were a way for me to forget all the expectations that I had failed. They provided a way for me to move onwards in life. To a degree they worked. I was able to move on in many ways. As the years passed on, I've realized the walls protected from the pain, but they stopped me from progressing as far as I wanted in life. I found that I couldn't have an intimate relationship with anybody. My walls barred the path of unwanted disappointment. But in order to have a meaningful relationship, you need to be open with the other person and risk disappointment. I realized I had built myself a prison of loneliness. With the help of some of my closest friends I realized that I needed to break down my walls and try to face my fear. I needed to risk the pain and discomfort of being disappointed and the fear of disappointing others. If I didn't risk it, I would end up alone for the rest of my life. As easy as it may sound, my walls were not easy to bulldoze. Eventually, with the encouragement of my friends and family I escaped from prison. I broke my walls down enough that I could start caring again. It was quite amazing. It was the feeling of being in a dark, dank house for hours, and then opening the front door to a bright and beautiful day. Hope became my ally and I embraced it. In the end hope betrayed me. There was a girl of course (all good stories have a girl), and for a while I had the hope that I might actually have some sort of relationship with her. That hope was like a bubbly bouncing light that made every moment of my life better. But in the end I found out she didn't feel the same way as I did. To make it worse I know the guy she liked. He was a close friend of mine. In fact he is the closest friend I've ever had. I love him like a brother, which makes it that much harder to bear. I'm now stuck, my hope has been shattered by my brother. He didn't mean to hurt me, I know he didn't, but he did, and now I'm afraid that once again I'll hide and build a new wall.
I know not what to do. But I've found writing often helps me cope. so I wrote this post, not to offend or sway anyone to action, and definitely not to make anyone feel bad. I wrote this post so that the few people that read it and myself, know the cause of my frustrations and sadness. All I ask is that you bear with me as I fight to keep my walls from rebuilding.

Death and/or Glory

Since High School I have had the privilege of knowing some of the finest, and best friends a lad could have. Many people look at my friends and myself and believe us to be eccentric, crazy, and sometimes immature. My response to those people is, AMEN!. That would describe us. All that is needed are a few more definitions. Such as: Ultra-competitive, creative, strange, and belligerent. One of our self given names was, and is, the Provo Pirates. In the book Seafaring Lore & Legend by Peter D. Jeans, a definition of pirate is given: The Latin pirata is from the Greek peirates, peirao, attempt, assault- thus pirate, synonym for vice, cruelty and plunder, one who marauds and pillages. This would best describe us when we play games together, or when we compete. As a group or crew, we have had many wonderful adventures. Too many to really go into detail about.

Throughout these adventures my friends have taught me a lot. Foremost in my mind is that you never wave the white flag. Surrender is out of the question. Time and time again I find myself applying this lesson to my life. When I'm torn down from above, set upon by fiery monkeys, and beaten with a stick, I remember this line from a song by Dido, "I will go down with this ship. And I won't put my hands up and surrender. There will be no white flag above my door".

My rambunctious friends, that are often thought of as crazy, strange, and sometimes downright dangerous, taught me one of the most important lessons of my life. I will not surrender, I will go down with my ship, fighting to the very end.