Technically Speaking

According to the test I took at tickle.com, the Star Wars personality I am most like is Yoda. Here is the excerpt from my “results” (which surprise me a lot, since I my weapon of choice was a blaster in stead of a light saber (hey, with a blaster, you can shoot from a distance)):

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Paul, you’re Yoda!

You are wise beyond your years — a sage for the ages, the master’s master. That’s why your Star Wars type is Yoda. Sure, you might not look too much like the little green Jedi Master, but you have a quiet contemplative way about you that commands respect.

People trust you, especially your friends who are constantly coming to you for advice and sometimes predictions. While you may not be able to tell them who’s going to win the big game, you do possess the rare ability to see the big picture. You never lose sight of the fact that we’re all part of a greater whole. It keeps you grounded and balanced, and it’s the perfect cover for a mischievous sense of humor that always catches others off-guard. This mix of wisdom and impish delight promises to bring you long life…another thousand years or so anyway.

Classic Star Wars Test

I think I could write a weekly column on “better living by doing it yourself,” in which I could explain how often I try to do things myself only for them to go horribly wrong. This is one such example.

We’ll call it “The Botched Haircut.”

You’re groaning already, aren’t you! You already know that this is going to be a painful story. Well, any story involving a bad haircut is a painful story, but this one is especially so because at (almost) age 27, I haven’t yet learned that I shouldn’t try to cut my own hair.

This is something I should have learned at about age eight, when while visiting my grandparents in Canada, I decided to try to cut my own hair. Only problem was I used pinking shears (you know, the kind of scissors that instead of having a straight edge, have a zipper-like cut). This type of scissors is apparently more useful on felt than on hair.

Well, in my oh-so-wise 27-year-old mind, I decided this morning that I would try to shorten the hair at the top on the front of my head. (This hair is commonly referred to as “bangs”, but as a male, I vehemently deny having “bangs.” As of today that is even a true statement.) Well, I combed down the hair, and went at it with my scissors. Shorter is better, I naively thought to myself, so I decided to cut of a lot. This is when I made the Mistake. Okay, not really. I made the Mistake when I picked up the scissors. But I digress.

So I butchered the front of my hair. It looked like my hair had insulted a weed whacker, and the weed whacker retaliated. The weed whacker apparently won.

Christina walked in when I started to panic. Containing her laughter (mostly), she offered to “fix it.” Which she did. At least as best as could be done, given the circumstances. So now I have really short bangs. (There! I admitted it! I have bangs!)

And I’m grounding myself from regular scissors, in addition to pinking shears.

Hmmm… Wonder how I’d do with a weed whacker…

Chalk it up to “Better Living by Doing It Youself!”

Close your eyes. Now, think about a beautiful place. (Are your eyes still closed? (How did you know what to think about?) Ok. You are allowed to look as long as you are only reading the directions… ) How would you describe this beautiful place? Are there tall trees? A beach? A waterfall? Ok. Still thinking of that place? Good. Now, name a state where your “dream place” might be.

Chances are, you didn’t say “Nevada.”

Now, without meaning offense to our Nevadian readers (of which, there are approximatley 0), I spent the better part of Saturday driving through Nevada on I-80. As you are driving through Nevada into California, it is amazing how when Nevada ends and California begins how there is a sharp contrast of terrain. While you are in Nevada, there is a lot of sand and brown; it is quite obvisouly a dessert. Then you get to Reno, and approach the Sierra Nevada mountains. You cross the border into California, and all of a sudden there are tall trees, green bushes, mountains; the contrast is amazing. You leave the desert and move into a mountain forrest.

It’s like the people who chose the border between California and Nevada were in California, and walked west to where the trees ended and said, “Ok. That’s enough. We’ll just stop right here.”

Which is why, when you think of pretty scenery, you don’t often think of Nevada. Especially along I-80.

Well, today at 7:00 AM I left for California. I’ll be back with pictures to upload to my picture site on Wednesday. See you then!! Have a great weekend!!!

In a seemingly random event this morning, I ran into my old scoutmaster while waiting for the TRAX train. It seemed even more random because I had been thinking about him earlier this morning while I was getting ready for work!

Brent (or Brother Fillmore as we called him back then) was my deacons quorum advisor/scout leader, and was a major force behind helping me get my Eagle award. He left his job at Sears and went to work as a seminary teacher, teaching first at Granger High, and then at Cottonwood High (my high school). In fact, I had Brother Fillmore for my seminary teacher during my senior year. Brent later took a job with CES that took him to Virginia. That is where I lost track of him.

Brent is a man that I admire greatly. He is a person of whom I have a lot of respect. Over the last couple of years I’ve wondered how he is doing, and what is going on in his life. But I didn’t know how to get a hold of him, so I just kept wondering.

However, todaywhile I was on the platform at the TRAX station (at about 8:33), I saw a man calling the UTA hotline because the train that was supposed to come at 8:19 never arrived, and the train that was supposed to come at 8:34 hadn’t come by 8:40. The man looked at me, and recognized me. When I heard his voice, I recognized him. It was Brent! He’s back with his family in Utah, and he is still working for CES. We talked the whole way into town, and we traded contact information.

So that is my cool story of the day. I’m excited to be back in contact with the Fillmores! Yay for late TRAX trains*! Bet you never thought you’d hear me say that!

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* If the 8:19 train had come, Brent would have ridden that train, and I would have caught the 8:34 train (that, incidentally, arrived at 8:41).