How Ironic

Someone once gave me a thank you note for something. I casually placed that note on a piece of furniture at the side of my bed. I kept it there for a couple of years but from time to time it would fall on the floor. As I had grown to appreciate that note more and more over time, I recently moved the note to a safer place, and now I can find it nowhere. NOTE: I first realized the note was missing on February 27, and February 28 was likely one of those days I made a vain effort to find it. I wrote this on March 15, 2006.

Skiing Memories

On this date I spoke to someone who works a day or two a ski season for a Utah ski area, and in return receives a ski pass for herself and a companion that she uses on many Saturday’s. We went skiing many times as I grew up in Colorado. We were rarely, if ever, able to go get free ski passes. My father was able, however, to get free ski gear for us. The Eskimo Ski Shop in Englewood had donated their obsolete ski equipment to the scout troop for our LDS ward. This gear included wood skis, cable bindings, and leather, lace-up boots. At some point the scout troop decided this gear should be thrown into the trash, but my father thought otherwise. For the next few years this gear became our gear, which led to many a misadventure. My younger brother Doug became an excellent skier. He made great efforts that included reading a library book or two on skiing. After reading one such book, he confided to me that he aspired to become a “novice” skier, which he understood to be someone who could ski all the way down the mountain without falling. Doug also would carefully wax these old skis in an attempt to exact any possible improvement in their performance. My father, my brothers, and I would frequently ski at the Keystone resort. Doug and I often skied together, though he was the much better skier. After a run on a trail with numerous moguls, we got on the ski lift, lowered the foot rest, placed our skis on the foot rest, and the tip of Doug’s right ski fell off. Doug skied the rest of the day on those skis, with no apparent drop-off in performance. NOTE: Members of my vast readership may have noticed that I fell behind in my blog entries a few weeks back, and that I have been attempting to retroactively post entries for those days. A colleague pointed out that a “web log” suggests currency, that the entries should reflect impressions I have on the date the entry is posted.. His point is well-taken, so I have persisted in my effort to make the belated entries, but have also posted a note explaining the actual date of writing as well as the date of the experiences that lead to those impressions. This entry is the best illustration of his point, as I report an experience I had on February 27, but it was only on March 15, 2006 that I reflected more on that day, which triggered some of the memories I shared in this entry. I am continuing my efforts to get current.

Like What?

Each month each family of the LDS Church is supposed to receive a visit from “home teachers,” a pair lay priesthood holders assigned to look after the welfare of one or more families. Each visit lasts about 30 minutes or so, and includes a lesson and prayer, as well as some chitchat. The chitchat part of home teaching results in some interesting moments. As I grew up in Colorado, we had a home teacher who had a tendency to share the most woeful tales of injury or suffering experienced by others, yet his accounts would be punctuated with laughter. One day, for example, he chortled as he told us of his wife injuring her knee when she fell down some steps in their home. We found this behavior to be fascinating. On one visit my younger brother Doug probed into the psyche of this man by appearing, poker-faced, with a neck brace which Doug had fashioned out of towel - - the “neck brace” Doug wore was perceived as real, and elicited laughter from our home teacher. Today I received a visit from a new pair of home teachers. One is a young man of 21 who just returned from his mission. In telling me about his various social activities, his narrative was sprinkled liberally with the word “like,” as in expressions such as “like that was really cool” or “like, what were we supposed to do?” At one point he said that he and a friend of his are “dating like girls.” Like, I think that “like” should have been placed one word to the left. NOTE: This entry relates to an experience I had on February 26, but was written on March 15.

The Alpine Hillbillies

Alpine, Utah is home to some well-to-do-families, and is also home to members of a blue grass band I heard tonight. NOTE: This entry relates to an experience I had on February 25, and was written on March 15, 2006.

Intellectual Property Summit Report

I attended a mid-winter seminar for intellectual property (IP) attorneys in Utah. The event was held at the Salt Lake City Marriott. I arrived a little early for the 8 am breakfast featuring a speaker on women in the legal profession. Before going to breakfast I staked out my claim to a key piece of property - - a back row seat on the aisle. I left a binder of seminar materials on the table in front of the seat, and I placed an envelope bearing my name on top of the notebook. I came back from breakfast and from doing some work in the hotel lobby. I was temporarily taken aback when I observed there was a competing claim to my seat! My notebook was still there, the envelope was now missing, and a heavy red sweater with a distinctive design was draped over the back of the chair. I had clearly been there first, but that sweater was an impressive marker. Was I up to the challenge? I was! I stood my ground, waiting for the interloper to appear. Some colleagues joined me, however, and I abandoned my claim to the back row seat to join them on another row. The issue was now moot. Throughout the day numerous presentations were given by some very sharp people. There was a panel that discussed "war stories." Not all of them were good storytellers, but two were. My favorite was from an attorney was was arguing a patent case before the Federal Circuit Court in Washington, D.C. A judge challenged him, asking how his client's patent could possibly be infringed by the defendant's product. The attorney explained the patent, and described the nature of the infringement. The judge replied: "Those are just lawyer arguments!" Now how does a lawyer respond to that? Perhaps the most impressive presenter of the day was a woman from a distant city, a young partner who spoke with great eloquence and credibility. During part of the presentation, in which she expressed a clever and aggressive approach to a thorny scenario, one of my colleagues enthusiastically exlaimed that she "rocks!" In a subsequent presentation a panel of four federal judges shared their views on patent cases, and took questions. From the back a woman rose to ask a question - - our earlier presenter was still in attendance. It occurred to me that she appeared to be seated in the back row, toward the aisle. At the conclusion of the meetings, I observed her walking down the hall, a now-familiar red sweater draped over her arm. NOTE: This entry relates to experiences from February 24, but was entered on March 15, 2006.

Wallet Woes

A friend saw my wallet tonight, was alarmed by its thickness, and on the spot gave me a wallet purchased as a gift for someone else. I tried to reject the gift, but was rebuffed. I was given the wallet along with some words of counsel, apparently taken from "The Prince" by Machiavelli. In English, the advice would be rendered "Divide and Conquer." NOTE: While this entry relates to an experience of April 23, I made this entry on March 14, 2006.

Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned on Television

Tonight I chanced upon Monty Python's "Philosophers' Football Match, in which Greek philosophers take on German philosophers." Here is part of the play-by-play: Archimedes out to Socrates, Socrates back to Archimedes, Archimedes out to Heraclitus, he beats Hegel. Heraclitus a little flick, here he comes on the far post, Socrates is there, Socrates heads it in! Socrates has scored! The Greeks are going mad, the Greeks are going mad. Socrates scores, got a beautiful cross from Archimedes. The Germans are disputing it. Hegel is arguing that the reality is merely an a priori adjunct of non-naturalistic ethics, Kant via the categorical imperative is holding that ontologically it exists only in the imagination, and Marx is claiming it was offside. (See www.canada.com/victoriatimescolonist/news/arts/story.html?id=3c023345-7c6c-4fd6-bf48-c5975acc0dff. Also, transcripts of the entire play-by-play and the actual video can be found on the Internet with a Google search. FYI - - KUED, the University of Utah's television station, has been airing installments of Monty Python's Personal Best. Installments 5 and 6 will air on Wednesday, March 15. The Philosopher's Football Match was from the Eric Idle instalment.) NOTE: This entry reflects experiences from February 22, 2006, but was entered on March 13 and 14, 2006)

That's A Stretch

A few years ago my back was so sore and stiff I would struggle to bend over to tie my shoes, but that would not stop me from playing soccer. I went to my doctor, whose initial suggestion, based solely on my physical condition since he had never seen me play, was that I should stop playing soccer. In July of 2005 I went for a 5 mile run comprised of running 4 laps around the apartments where I was living. As the apartments are situated on the side of a hill, this course, surprisingly, included a significant amount hill running - - both uphill and downhill. After about 1 mile my right hip began to hurt a great deal, but I persisted. This January my third or fourth attempt to recover from that day failed - - in each attempt I rested the hip many days until there was no pain, built up my running speed over a period of several weeks, but would ultimately re-injure the hip. I finally went to the doctor, whose diagnosis (of me) was tendonitis or bursitis in my right hip. He prescribed anti-inflammatories. In both of these situations my doctor also wrote a prescription for physical therapy. In both cases I was treated with ultrasound, electric stimulation, and stretching exercises. In the case of my back, it turned out that my problems resulted from very tight lower back muscles that kept the “SI Joint” from functioning properly, although my "CV Joints" remained unaffected. Stretching exercises would have prevented the problem, and now stretching exercises have prevented a recurrence. I’m in the middle of treatment for my hip, but so far so good. It turns out that the problem, not uncommon among runners (as well as those who run), is that the “IT Band” running from the hip area to the knee gets too tight, rubs against a bursa sac, and the rubbing results in bursitis. Stretching exercises are proving to be key to my recovery. So, all of this could have been averted had I never played soccer and never gone running, or had I stretched properly. Good thing I did neither, or what could I have written about today? NOTE: This entry relates to experiences of February 21, 2006, but was actually entered on March 13 and March 14, 2006,

I'll Take That As A Compliment?

On this Monday night I attended a Church dinner, an informal event in which individuals posed as servers and presented those of us who were "dining" with menus, then served food that bore no rational relationship with the name for the food that appeared in the menu. Some people got to dessert before I did, many of them received ice cream, but not one name on the menu suggested ice cream to me. I was a little late getting to dessert because I was shouldering more than my fair share of the conversation. As I write of my conduct at this dinner, I recall an exchange with a Sunday School teacher I had when I was about 14; he was a surgeon and cancer specialist who I respected a great deal. The exchange went something like this: Sunday School Teacher: Hey Detroit, be quiet and pay attention. Greg Jones: Detroit? Sunday School Teacher: Yes Detroit, because Detroit is the Motor City, and you are the Motor Mouth. This recollection triggers another memory, a memory of an experience I had when I was about 10 or 11. During our first Little League football practice of the season Coach Hansen was instructing the team about a drill we were going to do, at the same time I was excitedly chatting with a teammate, and then an exchange ensued. Well, I can't actually call it an "exchange." It went something like this: Coach Hansen: Jonesy, shut your mouth or I'm going to shove this ball down your throat. Now another memory has surfaced. During the first semester of my sophomore year in high school I was having a great time in honors history. We would joke around in class so much, and I always seemed to have the most clever things to say about (and during) the teacher's lectures. This triggered a reaction from the teacher. Like my experience with Coach Hansen, that reaction could not really be called an "exchange" either. In fact, it did not really involve my teacher speaking any words to me. I'm not sure how I received the message, but suffice it to say, I was not invited back to honors history for winter semester. Well, this brings me back to the dinner of Monday, February 20, 2006. I had regaled all at my table with humorous and entertaining anecdotes, so humorous and entertaining that I found myself enjoying them a great deal. Towards the end of my amazing performance, an acquaintance across the table from me, a woman from Korea, with deliberate English offered an observation that went something like this: Korean Woman: You are verbose . . . loquacious . . . eloquent . . . talkative . . . in a good way. NOTE: This entry relates to experiences that took place on February 20, but was posted on March 11.

High Plains Soccer

I was talking to some South American friends today. I'll pass on some sage advice for those of you who are not Bolivians and who may possibly find yourselves playing a World Cup qualifying match in Bolivia for your country's national soccer team. If you play in La Paz, the match will be played at about 12,500 feet above sea level (keep in mind that athletes complain about oxygen deprivation when playing games in Denver, where the altitude is a mere 5,280 feet). Soccer teams accustomed to playing at much lower altitudes have apparently discovered two effective tactics for dealing the altitude of La Paz. One tactic is to arrive in Bolivia one or two weeks before the match to allow the players to adjust to the altitude. The other approach is to arrive in Bolivia a few hours before the match, in which case the players seem to be unaffected by the altitude. NOTE: This entry relates to experiences that took place on February 19, but was posted on March 9.

Chick Flick Phenomenon

I visited with some friends after a party, and we began talking about Chick Flicks we like. This was not too remarkable for them, as they are "chicks." I impressed them quite a bit, however, by listing favorites such as "Kate and Leopold," "Notting Hill," "Anne of Green Gables," "Jerry Maguire," "Sleepless in Seattle," and "You've Got Mail." I had to confess that my amazing sensitivity has its limits. "Sleepless in Seattle" featured several clips from "An Affair to Remember," a movie starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. I taped the movie when it showed up on AMC's movie channel a few years back. I took out the tape, sat down to watch it, and grew increasingly restless - - nothing was happening, I mean nothing! I finally couldn't take it anymore, and turned off the TV. I'd met my match . . . NOTE: This entry relates to experiences that took place on February 18, but was posted on March 9.

No One Under 31 Admitted

On each of the first four Friday's of each month the LDS Church in Utah County holds a dance for single adults, age 31 and over (at times way over). I don't attend these "rhythmic ceremonial rituals" much, but tonight I had an assignment to help set up chairs and to assist with the all-important matter of refreshments. On those occasions when I have attended the dances, I have observed with interest a sign emphasizing that the dance is only for those 31 and over. Is there a concern that those under 31 have some burning desire to join in the fun and crash the dance? Would those selling the $4 tickets at the door actually "card" someone who appeared to be "under-age?" Tonight I had the opportunity to attend the pre-dance meeting where people were briefed on their assignments, and I learned that the "only 31 and over" policy is not actually enforced. So what is the purpose of the sign? The intended message is essentially this: Caveat Emptor. NOTE: This entry relates to experiences that took place on February 17, but was posted on March 9.

One Fin

Tonight I ate a quick dinner at food court of the Provo mall. I had some Chinese food from Panda Express, which is serviceable as a fast food version of Chinese food for Americans on the go, but which unbelievably has been recognized as Provo's best Chinese restaurant. I topped of this meal with a hot fudge sundae off of McDonald's one dollar menu. The entire cost of the meal was about $5.50 or so. I was reminded of a dinner group I belonged to while I was in school. There were anywhere from 6 to 9 people in this group at any one time. Each week each of us would put money into the pot, those who were to cook meals that week would then submit their shopping lists, those who were assigned to buy groceries would go shopping and stash what they could in the girls' apartment and the remainder in the guys' apartments, and this took care of dinner for Monday through Friday, perhaps even Saturday. The amount of money we each put in the pot each week was $5. NOTE: This entry relates to experiences that took place on February 16, but was posted on March 7.

Refreshments

As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, there are certain basic aspects of the Church culture that become second nature after one has been a member for some period of time. Here are some examples. 1. We open and close each meeting with a prayer. 2. In our prayers, we should express gratitude for our blessings. 3. In our prayers, we should avoid vain repetitions - - we should mean what we say, not just utter meaningless phrases. We don't always achieve this, but this is something for which we should strive. 4. At meetings that have a social component, it is generally expected that some sort of treat will be served at the end. The official word for such treats is "refreshments." 5. When we express gratitude in our prayers, one of the things for which we should express thanks is food. 6. Generally speaking, refreshments qualify as food. 7. It is generally understood that when "sisters" bring refreshments, the refreshments will be delicious. 8. It is generally understood that when "brethren" bring refreshments, one should not expect the refreshments to be delicious. 9. In our prayers we should also ask for blessings. 10. In asking a blessing on food, people often ask that the food will "nourish and strengthen us." 11. Even when refreshments are delicious, or perhaps even moreso when they are delicious, refreshments by their nature could not necessarily be expected to "nourish or strengthen" anyone. As one considers these particular points of LDS culture, one might see that from time to time they will naturally come into conflict with each other. Take for example, elements 3, 8, 10, and 11. On the evening of Wednesday, February 15, I attended a "Combined Activity" of young men and young women ranging in age from 12 to 17. The young men had been assigned to bring the refreshments. At the conclusion of the meeting a young man name Sam, who is about 16- or 17-years-old, was called on to give the closing prayer. He happens to be the Bishop's son, the Bishop being the head of the local ward or congregation, though the Bishop was not in attendance. Sam came to a point in his prayer in which he said "Please bless the refreshments . . . " He paused in thought for some time, and then continued " . . . that they will be good." The youth were more than a little amused by Sam's predicament. We went out into the hall to "enjoy" refreshments comprised primarily of a single large plastic container of Red Vines licorice. NOTE: This entry relates to experiences that took place on February 15, but was posted on March 7.

Travel Ethics

Several years ago I went on a few business trips with a colleague - - I'll call him John Doe. When checking into a hotel he would say “Hi, I’m John Doe, and I’d like the IBM rate.” My colleague did not work for IBM, but it would not be unreasonable for the hotel desk clerk to infer that John Doe was an IBM employee, and the hotel would charge him the very low rates that IBM has negotiated for its business travelers. My colleague’s practice seemed a tad deceptive, and I asked him about it. His response: “It’s not dishonest. My name is John Doe, and I do want the IBM rate.” Today I flew from Boston to Salt Lake City. I was standing in line at the airport in Boston, waiting to go through security. A member of the security staff approached the lines of passengers asking “Anyone going to JFK?” People who responded “Yes” were allowed to go to the front of the line. I realized that I could accurately respond “Yes” as well . . .

Books

I returned to the Harvard Coop tonight. I have nothing to report, other than that there are still an awful lot of books in there. A colleague from work suggested there is something wrong when a book sitting on your shelf at home does not look as appealing as a book sitting on the shelf in a place like the Harvard Coop.

Vindication

My mind turned to my blog entry of February 5 as I read the following account of Oliver G. Snow, son of President Lorenzo Snow. “When in Oberlin, the following ludicrous circumstance occurred, which I will relate, though at my own expense. I was introduced to one of my father’s former college associates, by name Mrs. Bacon. Having formed a habit of associating an unfamiliar name which I wished to remember, with something familiar, I very naturally associated the lady’s name Bacon with hog; thinking that in the event of forgetting Bacon, it being so closely connected with hog, I could easily recollect it. But after spending a very pleasant evening in her house, on rising to take leave, I said, `I wish you good evening, Mrs. Ham.’ Although I realized my mistake the instant it was uttered, I made no apology, thinking `the apology might be worse than the offence,’ but concluded my plan was not so reliable as I supposed.” (Eliza R. Snow, Biography of Lorenzo Snow, p. 329-30)

Two Minute Drill

I went to an activity tonight. About 50 pairs of chairs were set up in a gym. Each woman took a seat, and each man took a seat across from a woman. An announcer told everyone that they had 2 minutes to visit, sounded an alarm after 2 minutes, the men shifted to the seat to their right, then the whole process repeated itself another 15 times or so. Everyone had received a slip of paper with sample questions. The idea apparently comes from a movie. The net of the activity was that I ran into a guy I knew growing up, and that a Ph D candidate in psychiatry recommended Victor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning” as the best one book to read for an introduction to psychiatry.

Walk the Line

I paid about $7.50 to see “Walk the Line” tonight.

The Cost of Freedom

You may have seen advertisements in Time or other magazines that trumpet the virtues of lamisil. The ads depict a hideous toe nail that has been infected with fungus, and the fungi are depicted as bright yellow, delighted, and devil-like devourers. Lamisil is a prescription medicine that is administered as pills. Apparently insurance companies regard toe fungus as a cosmetic issue, and don’t pay for a lamisil prescription except in extraordinary cases where the fungus presents significant health risks. Absent insurance coverage, a lamisil prescription costs $500. Fungus-free or $500?

Winter Camping

I have recently been called to serve as the assistant scoutmaster for the troop in my LDS ward in Utah. These young men are 12 or 13 years old. On the coming Friday and Saturday they will sleep in lodges at Maple Dell, a scout camp outside of Payson, Utah, and will also cross-country ski. I will not be joining them on this camp, but it appears that monthly campouts will be a part of my life for some time to come. I do not have many memories of the winter outings I went on as a scout. I recall one or two when we slept in a cabin or condo, and then went skiing the next day. Those trips were a treat since during a winter outdoor camp the most mundane of activities become major ordeals. Some harsh realities manifest themselves. Pitching a tent in the dark during a snow storm is no fun. Cleaning cooking gear in sub-freezing temperatures is no fun. Answering nature’s call in the middle of a mid-February night in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains is no fun. I’m not sure why, but other than in connection with scouting, I have never been on winter campout.

Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls with Icing, 12 oz

You can buy Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls at amazon.com. The kind that come in a cardboad tube with metal pieces at each end, and that you bake yourself. Really. Also, you can find answers to the following life-and-death questions at www.pillsbury.com/View/faq/pillsburysweetrolls.asp: 1. How long can I store unopened cans of Pillsbury® Grands!® Sweet Rolls? 2. Where should I store unopened cans of Sweet Rolls? 3. Can I bake some of the rolls now and save some to bake later? 4. Can I freeze the unbaked dough? 5. Can I freeze baked Sweet Rolls? 6. Can I microwave the unbaked dough? 7. Can I bake the Sweet Rolls in a toaster oven? 8. What is the best type of pan to use for baking Sweet Rolls? 9. What if I cannot find my favorite Pillsbury® Sweet Rolls product? To the untrained eye, the list of questions may seem comprehensive. Consider, however, the following hypothetical question: "What should I do if I am a bachelor, prepare a can of Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls, bite into one of them, and it seems that the bottom of the roll is extraordinarily hard?" Now consider the following answer to that question: "As you are a bachelor, you may doubt your cooking skills, among other things. Those doubts may lead you to believe that you have burned the rolls, and should just bite down harder on the roll to eat it. Cast those doubts aside, and stop for a second to inspect the roll. You may find that one of the metal end pieces of the tube packaging has stuck to the roll. If this is the case, separate the metal piece from the roll, discard the metal piece, and then proceed to eat the roll."

Medicine Men

One day in July 2005 I set out on a 5-mile run that included several hills. I completed the run in spite of steadily increasing pain in the area of my outer right hip and upper thigh. I had never experienced pain there before, but I was not going to let that stop me. Several months later I'm still living with the consequences of that glorious, gutsy, and regrettably moronic feat. Saturday I had my third setback after another effort to gradually build up my running on a treadmill over a period of several weeks - - so it's back to square one for me! And, for the first time, I went to the doctor. His diagnosis was tendinitis or bursitis. He prescribed rest and anti-inflammatory medication. Later in the day I went to the pharmacy. I handed them my prescription. "That will be 15 to 20 minutes," I was told. During the next 20 minutes I observed about 3 people pick up their prescriptions. I was also able to thumb through two runner's magazines (looking for clues as to how people who injure themselves can rehabilitate from their injuries), one Men's Health workout guide, and a car collector's magazine that included photo shoots of undiscovered collectible cars wasting away behind people's homes in rural locations. I had exhausted the magazines that were of any remote interest, looked over the display of best selling books (who is Nora Roberts, and what in the world is she writing about in all those books?), perused the store shelves for novel items such as a nifty black eye patch that might lend me a more a distinguished look, and confirmed that this pharmacy followed the standard practice of placing their most sensitive merchandise in plain view at the front counter, clearly as a courtesy to parents who will enjoy fielding questions from their inquisitive elementary school children. After all of this, I instinctively began the "I'm waiting for my prescription" shuffle, standing in place but moving my feet from side to side, combined with intervals in which I moved about within a small circular area. After having thus performed, albeit unwittingly, an essential element of this ritual in which I had been engaged, a pharmacist sprang to action, asked my name, pointed to another pharmacist standing at a shelf, and identified that pharmacist as the one working on my prescription. Within minutes they had called my name. The head pharmacist told me they had chosen to fulfill the prescription with a generic drug, that my co-pay would be $5, that I was to take 2 pills a day, should take the pills with food, and could have one re-fill - - my doctor had told me most of these things when he wrote the prescription. I later looked in the bottle. Sure enough, there were 60 pills in there. 60 pills that most certainly had not been manufactured at the pharmacy during the 20 minute wait. They had moved 60 pills from one container into another. 20 minutes. I knew what I had been doing, and I didn't necessarily suspect that the pharmacists had been dogging it, but I couldn't begin to imagine what they had been doing during those 20 minutes. But it was not for me to ask, and with the ceremony complete and my concoction in hand, I went on my way.

What A Flake!

At the Lincoln Day Dinner on Saturday evening, elected officials were serving hors d'oeuvres at the pre-dinner reception. Some of these treats had a light, flakey crust. I found them to be delicious. At one point during the reception I shared a clearly entertaining and humorous anecdote with two couples with whom I was visiting - - I know for a fact that this tale was a comedic hit because I found myself laughing uproariously. Somewhat to my dismay, during the course of my enjoyment, I perceived that a small particle of flakey crust had been propelled from the vicinity of my mouth in the general direction of one of the women, and I watched helplessly as the particle embedded itself on the left lapel of her suit coat. Disaster! Or was it? Could it be? Yes, no one else had seen the flakey projectile. But now the dilemma. Burdened with this knowledge, what was my duty? Should I confess my mishap to those present, then make some awkward attempt to remove the particle, thereby drawing unwelcome attention to my "victim," not knowing whether I could successfully remove all traces of the particle or not? Or, would a higher good be served were I to remain silent, counting on the odds that no one would detect the hors d'oeuvre fragment during the course of the evening, and not risk transforming the status quo of "no harm, no foul" into a full-blown scandal in which neither victim nor perpetrator would come out ahead?

Leftovers

Saturday evening I attended the Lincoln Day Dinner, a Republican Party fundraiser held at the ballroom of Utah Valley State College in Orem, Utah. There was much hobnobbing. I mingled with the crowd. At one point I engaged a state legislator in a discussion about some proposed legislation, and at one point asked him if here were a Democrat - - he was take aback just a bit, and I must confess that I apparently forgot where I was for a moment. I later shook hands with Senator Hatch. The post-dinner entertainment included a speech by Senator Bennett in which he extolled the newfound comic brilliance of Senator Hatch, which was to be shared with us several weeks after it was first served up back in Washington. His abilities came to the forefront at meeting of the Alfalfa Club. Senator Bennett gave us some background on the club, and here is a helpful entry from www.wikipedia.com: "The Alfalfa Club is an exclusive Washington, D.C. social organization, founded in 1913. The Club exists only to hold an annual banquet honoring the birthday of Civil War General Robert E. Lee. The club's membership, which numbers about 200, is composed primarily of American politicians and influential members of the United States business community, and has included several Presidents of the United States. Each member is permitted to bring two guests to the annual $185-a-plate dinner, held each year in January . . . One of the evening's activities includes the playful nomination of a presidential candidate by the Club's leadership. The candidate is then required to make a speech." This year's presidential "nominee" was Senator Hatch. In response to the introduction by Senator Bennett, Senator Hatch rose and began his account. He said he had prepared several jokes to share in his "acceptance speech," and that just after typing the last joke into his computer the phone rang. Vice President Dick Cheney was on the other end, and he informed Senator Hatch that he did not appreciate the last joke the Senator had just finished typing. Cheney then helpfully offered to share lists of Hatch's prescriptions, video rentals, and library loans for the preceding twelve months.

This Might Just Save Your Life

Here is a little gem you'll want to remember just in case . . . Longtime readers of The Greg Jones Blog will recall an entry recounting an experience of some of my ancestors who encountered a whale when they crossed the Atlantic ocean (By the way, I recently read a Spanish translation of a lesson on Noah's Ark in which the ark was compared in size to an oceanliner. According to the translation, the Spanish word for oceanliner is "transatlantico" - - that seems a bit unfair to the Pacific ocean, the Mediterranean sea, and various other aggrieved large bodies of water). A whale was pushing up against the side of their boat, so the captain instructed all to stand on the opposite side of the boat, and the whale departed after they dumped potatoes in its mouth. A few weeks back the world turned its attention to a whale that found itself trapped in the Thames river. A January 25, 2006 article in the Wall Street Journal commented on the episode, and included the following passage: ". . . whales are naturally inquisitive. Jonathan Swift recorded the proverb, `to throw a tub to the whale.' This was nautical custom to distract the bottlenoses from nudging the ship, by giving them something other to capsize."

Help!

Some of you may have not seen the comments posted by Hans on the January 28 entry. In his most recent comment, reproduced below, he raises issues that may be beyond my capabilities to address. I'd encourage you to share your insights by posting relevant comments. Remember that to my understanding Hans is a Dane living in Copenhagen and working in his father's print shop. If you can help foster international understanding, you may serve to better this world we live in. Re: Republic? (Anonymous) 2006-02-02 04:06 pm UTC (link) Danke for your reply Greg. You ask me how I think Republicans have all the babes in party, and I tell you. Republican Party is conservative party of people who were popular in school, like cheerleaders, footballers, and smart chess players. These popular kids will later gets lots of money in jobs and not like paying big taxes, so they like Republicans. Democrats were school kids with funny names like Sylvester and Ramone that got mad at popular kids and so they go to university to make protests and burn bras. This is not pretty. Also, babe girls with seeing problems like to marry rich Repulican footballers, so they wear contact lenzes, but Democrat girls just wear glasses, they don't care. That's what I think. Hans

The Sierra Nevada Mountains

My entry of January 31, 2006 was prompted by my reading of Lorenzo Snow's coach ride from Utah to California, which included passing over the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The dangers I imagined during my rides over Independence Pass were apparently all too real in the Sierra Nevada's. The account appears below. "The most exciting and dangerous portion of our overland route is yet before us, which we encountered in passing over the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Many portions of the road were covered with snow and ice, and ran a long way close beside fearful ravines, hundreds of feet in depth. One sitting in the coach, by inclining the head a little one side, could gaze down into the vast depths below, conscious that the wheels of the vehicle were often within a few inches of the terrible gulf; consequently, the slipping of the wheels, the least blunder of a horse, or a strap or buckle giving way, or the least carelessness of the driver, would plunge the whole outfit over the rocky crags into the abyss below. The danger was increased by the ice and snow, and the sudden, abrupt turns in the road. When we approached very slippery places, where the road frequently was barely of a sufficient width for the coach to pass between the high sharp rocks on one side and the frightful chasm on the other, the driver, in guarding against catastrophes, would put his two spans on their utmost speed. "Hour after hour, as we thus moved on, particular points in the road were pointed out to us, where coaches had whirled down precipices, and every occupant had been killed. These nerve-stirring recitals caused us more seriously to realize the gravity of our situation and our dependence on God for the preservation of our lives; and we truly felt grateful for our deliverance, and breathing more freely, felt our pulses restored to their normal state as we dismounted from the coach at the western base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains." (Eliza R. Snow, Biography of Lorenzo Snow, p.275)