Archive for December, 2008
Posted by Ryan
December 1, 2008
Justin and I spent the day today moving into the new apartment. I like it a lot. It was recently renovated and is very nice. It was originally intended to be sold as a condo, but for some reason or another it’s now an apartment.
To do the move Justin rented a truck from Zipcar and we then loaded all his stuff and what little I brought (boxes full of my stuff are in-transit) and, then, spent a long time in traffic.
It wasn’t that bad, but it was pretty stressful trying to get to the new place, unloading everything, then to IKEA to buy my loft bed frame, mattress, desk, chair, and bookshelf, along with silverware and other random kitchen and house stuff. Then, we had to get back to the apartment, unload everything, and drop the truck off at its parking spot before our time ran out (which costs a lot more money). We had to extend the rental 2-3 times, and still went over the allotted time (couldn’t extend again due to another person who had it scheduled). Traffic is terrible here, but we’ve established that before.
I know some of you are wondering what this apartment looks like. Never fear, I’ll take pictures when everything has been setup. That may be a few days. Right now, everything is a mess. I’m sitting next to the door to the apartment in my newly assembled chair from IKEA. I’m sitting by the door because that’s where I assembled the chair. From here I can see a fantastic mess. I like it, a lot. The chair, that is, not the mess.
Posted by Ryan
December 2, 2008
Yesterday, after dropping the zipcar truck off at its parking spot, we wandered around looking for food and garbage, but not for the same purpose. The food was to eat, the garbage was for a bag of broken glass I was carrying around. Because that’s a totally normal thing to do at night, in the city, or anywhere else for that matter.
As it turns out, a bag of broken glass would be a really good weapon.
Rewind an hour to an hour and a half before that and you’d see me, holding a dish drying rack with two boxes of glasses on top of it, walking up to the apartment building on the sidewalk. You’d also see me get my keys out of my pocket and attempt to open the first door. You’d see me finally get it open, walk inside towards the second door, and then, drop a box of glasses. Remarkably, IKEA packs the glasses in the boxes very nicely, and only one of them broke into a few big pieces and several thousand smaller ones.
After unloading everything, we swept up the broken glass and put it in a plastic bag. We were in a hurry to get the truck back, and, not seeing a garbage can around anywhere, carried the bag of glass around figuring we’d find a garbage can later.
Okay. Fast forward back to the hunt for food and garbage after dropping the truck off. Somehow, I managed to hit my hand with the bag as I was changing hands or something. I felt something sharp on the middle finger of my left hand. I looked, and beheld much blood. That’s odd, I thought, as I stared at it. It didn’t hurt at all. The cut is 3/4ths of an inch long? Maybe an inch? I had 3 bandaids in my pocket, which didn’t really help. While Justin found a store on his iPhone, in the which I could purchase better bandages, I bled all over the place. Not really, of course, but it sounds more exciting that way.
The moral of this story is, if you find yourself carrying a bag of broken glass, keep it away from your flesh, as well as the flesh of others (unless it’s an angry mob). And probably clothing, too. Unless you don’t like the clothing, or want clothes with holes in it. Since clothing with holes seems to be the fashion I bet you could put the broken glass in the dryer with your clothing and viola! Expensive clothing without the expense.
My finger is fine. I’ve got a butterfly bandage and a bigger bandage over the top of that. No more profuse bleeding.
Posted by Ryan
December 3, 2008
If my bed were Pinocchio, which it’s not, it wouldn’t yell out “I’m a real bed!” because, well, it’s not a real bed. It’s trying to be, and, I suppose in a very simple sense, it really is, but there are a few critical problems that one notices with a simple glance–a glance much like that which you’d give an uninteresting book in a dull library and not at all like the glance you’d give an oil tanker in your living room.
The first and only, and therefore most significant thing you’d notice, is this: my mattress is on the floor. That’s because, as is natural and right, gravity is keeping it there instead of letting it float around aimlessly. Also, I don’t have a bed frame. Well, I do, but it’s in a box. And it’s the wrong bed frame. I could set it up, rendering my bed situation into a better bed situation, but that’s not really what it would do. It’d make the bed situation worse, because then I’d have the wrong bed frame set up, in my room of all places. Which is not what I want, which is why it’s not set up.
So this weekend I am taking the very large box back to where it came from. I will return with what will probably be a bigger box, hopefully with the right bed frame enclosed in its interior.
Have I talked about my chair at all? I like my chair a lot. I’m sitting on it, as is pretty standard for a chair, and not anything like a standard for, say, a large venomous snake.
In case you were curious, my feet are on my mattress. It makes a nice, warm foot rest.
Posted by Ryan
December 4, 2008
It’s not that the number 100 changes how big it is depending on where it’s at—it obviously doesn’t. It’s constant. 100 is 100. This is a fairly well-established fact. The perceived size of 100, however, is directly proportional to the effort involved. 100 steps to the bakery? Depends how hungry you are. 100 steps to the lavatory? How badly do you need to get there? 100 steps from your loved one in a movie or TV show, with happy music playing all around? You’re likely to get shot so you probably want to remember to mind your surroundings instead of running at top speed towards each other, ignoring the deadly monster you were just fighting. Sure, running towards each other with arms open and silly grins makes for a more exciting/sad show, but I highly suggest you proceed with caution. Then, when you’ve conquered the evil aliens or whatever you can re-create the moment on some lonely beach with a stereo and a cardboard cutout of the evil monster.
So my boss decided that we should have a push up contest at work. The goal is to work up to be able to do 100 push ups at a time. Yes, 100 push ups all at once. Well, not really all at once, but rather in fairly quick succession, one after the other.
Two days ago we did an exhaustion test to see how many push ups we were capable of doing at one time. The purpose of this was, naturally, to humiliate the weak. No, not really. The purpose was to place each person into a workout plan designed for their level of strength/weakness. I was able to do 17 push ups before collapsing on the floor, completely wasted. While that may be a slight exaggeration (the part about being completely wasted, not the 17 push ups), the fact remains the same that 100 seems like an awful lot.
We do push ups every other day. So yesterday I reveled in keeping my hands where they belong: not on the floor doing push ups, but rather stuffing myself with food.
Actually, I didn’t actually eat much yesterday. But this morning I had a smoothie from Jamba Juice. It was amazing. And then I did 45 push ups. The 45 were spread out over 5 sets, but still. 100 is still a big number.
Posted by Ryan
December 5, 2008
Low, rumbling noises usually signal a few things. A few of these few things would be: a hungry stomach (or, rather a hungry person whose stomach is reminding them of said hunger), a train, or perhaps a giant who is so big that his stomach apparently never stops rumbling (or is it the footsteps that make the rumbling noise when they approach?).
In my case, I’m pretty certain that I’m not hearing giants, and while I do occasionally hear my stomach rumble, most often the noise is from a train.
If you were standing in my room right now you might ask me to turn the light on. That’s because my light is off. I’m posting this from my iPhone, in the dark, ready to go to bed. So I’d say no, and leave the light off. Having the light off is better for looking out the window, which is what I think you’d want to do if you were here. Why? Because you’d see train tracks. Well, not exactly. You’d see the elevated railway, but not the physical tracks themselves. But you get the point.
So every few minutes I hear a low, rumbling noise in the distance. As it gets closer, it gets louder, as noises have a tendency to do. At night, when I’m laying in my bed, waiting to fall asleep, you might think the trains would keep me awake. On the contrary, I find that the noise helps me fall asle…
Posted by Ryan
December 6, 2008
According to the weather app on my phone, it’s currently snowing in the great outdoors. I actually noticed this by looking out the window before I looked at my phone.
I suppose it’s always snowing somewhere in the great outdoors. It just so happens that it’s snowing in the part of the great outdoors that is viewable from my window.
It’s not snowing much—a light snow is what it’s called. Most snow is light, compared to steel cube of roughly the same size. Some snow is lighter other snow, though. For example, the snow in Northern Utah, specifically in the Salt Lake City area, is especially light and fluffy. It makes for amazing skiing. But that’s not what I meant by “a light snow,” which you probably knew.
When I was young I remember really liking the book Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. I just looked and it turns out it was published the same year I was born. Cool.
So today was cloudy. I also ate meatballs today. They were on top of pasta, smothered in marinara sauce with a slice of garlic bread and a small salad. I also bought a cookie, and my bed frame. And desk. And an ice cream cone, and a hot dog. Oh, and a cinnamon roll. And a bunch of groceries. Oh! And rope. The rope was for taking the old bed frame back. That was an adventure. So if you’ve been following this blog at all you know that I went to IKEA today. I also did 50 push ups in a total of 5 sets, which is 5 more than 2 days ago.
And now I’m going to go dream of raining meatballs, because they taste really good (though I admit I’ve never tried the rain variety).
Posted by Ryan
December 7, 2008
One writer said: “Again Christmas, abiding point of return. Set apart by its mystery, mood and magic, the season seems, in a way to stand outside time. All that is dear, that is lasting, renews its hold on us: we are home again.”
President David O. McKay (1873–1970) declared: “True happiness comes only by making others happy—the practical application of the Savior’s doctrine of losing one’s life to gain it. In short, the Christmas spirit is the Christ spirit, that makes our hearts glow in brotherly love and friendship and prompts us to kind deeds of service.
“It is the spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ, obedience to which will bring ‘peace on earth,’ because it means—good will toward all men.”
Giving, not getting, brings to full bloom the Christmas spirit. Enemies are forgiven, friends remembered, and God obeyed. The spirit of Christmas illuminates the picture window of the soul, and we look out upon the world’s busy life and become more interested in people than things. To catch the real meaning of the “spirit of Christmas,” we need only drop the last syllable, and it becomes the “Spirit of Christ.”
– The Best Christmas Ever, Thomas S. Monson
Isn’t this time of year wonderful?
Posted by Ryan
December 8, 2008
I originally published this on 2008/12/8. I removed it from my archives later because I was afraid it sounded like I was making fun of him, which I wasn’t*. After re-reading this and laughing at myself I decided to make some modifications and re-publish. 2009/12/9
I, like just about every other 26 year old straight male in the world, don’t dream about David Archuleta. I would have liked to have had it stay that way, but what we get and what we want are not always the same, however unfortunate it may be.
It started out as a normal Sunday. Then, suddenly and without warning a girl said something about David Archuleta. I guess it really wasn’t without warning; it’s pretty common for girls to ask me about him, probably because I look like a short, young Latino and have an amazing voice? Or not. Maybe it’s that I grew up in Murray, Utah, which is where he’s from.
Nothing, actually, made Sunday abnormal at all. I just thought it sounded more suspenseful to say “it started out normal…”. You see, I’m practicing to be an scary book writer. So far so good, eh?
Of course, if I was really trying to be a writer of scary books I wouldn’t call myself a “scary book writer” because that doesn’t sound, well, terribly frightening.
Once or twice, when I was young, I had a sleep-over at a friend’s house. Well, I had a lot of sleep-overs, but the “once or twice” I’m referring to was with a friend who had a bunk bed. Even then, I probably had a lot more sleep-overs with him than just once or twice. What I’m trying to say is that I remember his bunk bed.
I don’t really remember, but it’s entirely possible that I thought the bunk bed was cool.
Then, once or twice (or whatever) on scout camps when we slept in cabins, I realized that the desirability of the top or bottom bunk on a bunk bed was directly proportional to the season and the quality of the heating/cooling in the cabin (which is usually pretty bad for the types of cabins which scouts stay in).
So last night, high up on my loft bed, I apparently fell asleep. I say apparently because it took me a long time to fall asleep. So long that by the time I actually woke up I was uncertain that I had ever fallen asleep. I did know one thing, however, and that was that I had had a weird dream.
In the dream I was in another state attending the high school graduation of a cousin. The graduation was in a huge, awkward gym. I’m not entirely sure how gyms can be awkward, unless it was a gym where people work out. Because those gyms are always awkward. Where else on earth can you find people dressed in weird clothing, lifting heavy objects for the sole purpose of destroying their ability to walk up stairs or drink orange juice properly the next day?
Also in this gymnasium were enemies. I’m not sure what kind, but I’m pretty sure they were bad enemies, because enemies are usually bad. It’s possible I added the enemies to the dream after I awoke, similar to removing the face of an ex-girlfriend from a photo in photoshop, except the reverse because I added instead of removed. This could have happened in an attempt to create some sort of real memory which I could associate with the dream, and thus remember it better (though it’s clear I don’t remember it at all).
So in my dream I remember being somewhat confused, as you probably are now. Then, suddenly and without warning, someone magically changed a big sign they were holding up to read, “David Archuleta.” It also said, helpfully, “to the left” with a handy arrow pointing to him.
While I can no longer say that I’ve never dreamed of the American idol from Murray, I will say this much: if it becomes a common occurrence I will buy a gym membership. The reason for this is, naturally, so that I can work out and destroy my ability to ascend the ladder of my loft bed, rendering it impossible to sleep on my bed. This means I will not sleep very often, which means when I slept I would be really tired, which would mean I would dream less because I don’t dream much when I’m really, really tired.
* I have nothing against David Archuleta or his family. I know his parents and have met him as well. They’re all excellent people. I just thought it was funny to have dreamed about him.
Posted by Ryan
December 20, 2008
Upon reading the title of this post you may think to yourself, “self, I think he must have meant ‘Lost World – Jurassic Park’.” If you thought that, I’ve been wondering, is it a book I should read? It’s been on my list for a while now.
Books are awesome. Especially books wherein the story takes place in a different world, or in an alternative or modified version of our own world. It’s as if the books came from those other worlds. They are a gateway to a different reality—often a more desirable one than our own. Separating myself from this world and learning of another allows me to accept things I might not otherwise accept (which can be good and bad), and hopefully use those things to improve my life.
When I moved to New York I packed up the stuff I could bring with me, which wasn’t much, and then boxed up the rest and shipped it to New York. I got most of it last week. Today I got another box, full of books. Earlier this week I got a letter from the U.S. Postal Service stating, “an empty wrapper with your address was found in the mail and it is believed to have been separated from a parcel during handling.” They even tapped the address label to the paper so I could see it.
I can fill out a description sheet and mail it back and they’ll try to find my stuff. I waited until today for the other box full of books to come so I could get a better grasp on what I lost. While I still have both my English and Spanish versions of The Chronicles of Narnia, I lost all my other C.S. Lewis books, which I am very bummed about (I mark up and write a lot in the margins of my books). I also lost my Malcolm Gladwell books, Gordon B. Hinckley’s biography as well as some of his books. 13 is the total number I cannot account for. I’m sure I’ll remember more later.
Oh, I also lost a few movies on DVD. I used to be the proud owner of 6 movies. That number has now been reduced to 1. Pride cometh before a fall, they say.
One funny thing. I packed the books and DVDs in these two boxes and used my socks to keep them from sloshing around. I kept expecting the boxes to come so I didn’t go out and buy socks. It’s been rough. I like socks.
So, in a lost and found, under a machine at a post office, on the side of the road, or perhaps in some happy postal worker’s living room, lay my books. Lost worlds.
