If David Eddings had watched me today

It was dark and early, but that did nothing to dim Adam's elation. It was cold, but the fire in his heart could not be quenched. Adam had finished his novitiate study of the human mind, and after what he considered to be an excessively long period of examination, he had been accepted to one of the finest academies in the land. There he would learn the skills he would need to stem the flow of the not-so- secret Zemoch invasion.

He would need to travel more than 70 leagues this day to arrive at the designated spot. There he would serve the God of masonry for three full days, erecting various structures, of such curious and advanced design, that they could only come from the Gods. He had been obliged to leave his sweet Lisa, but not even this could dampen his spirit; for she loved him, and would be there when he returned.

He was intrigued by this chariot that had been provided for him by Preston, one of the younger Gods of masonry. It had small devices around the rein sphere. These devices told him that he would span nearly 25 leagues every hour. Though Adam saw the world whizzing by him at great speed he still had trouble believing that such a velocity was possible.

To his right slept a young Cherek warrior, his companion in today's sacrifice. He held the same fascination that all Chereks had for his newly acquired facial hair and he wore it with pride. Normally Adam would have done the same, but in preparation for his rapidly approaching training, during which facial hair was forbidden, he was well shaved.

Adam began to be disturbed. Despite his elation at his good fortune to be so favored by his nation, his wife and the Masonic God he currently served, it was still early, and with no friendly conversation from his young Cherek companion, he began to feel drowsy. He had taken long trips in carriages and chariots before. But this one was different. The wheels were not the wooden constructions that he was used to, conveying immediately to the backside of the driver the presence of each and every pebble and rut of the road. They were made of some curious concoction that resembled pitch but was tougher, yet soft enough to deaden the pounding of the road. The seat was of leather but so obviously filled with vast amounts of goose down as to be soft yet firm.

It was then that he discovered another wonderful yet terrifying feature of this strange chariot. Upon massaging certain oddly marked spots to the right of the reining circle, the many captive spirits would magically serenade him, their songs seemingly coming from nowhere and yet from all around him. These spirits had strange names, like Metalica, Evanescence, and Shinedown, but they provided exciting melodies with strong pulsating rhythmic tones, like musical lightning, that served to keep Adam awake and alert. In time he found that they repeated certain refrains and he was able to sing along.

He was not alone on this road. Many of these strange chariots roamed the grand causeway as well. One driver in particular felt the need to lower her velocity to a speed below 7 leagues per hour when the signs by the side of the road clearly indicated that 15 was a perfectly safe and respectable speed. As destiny would have it, these signs were also accompanied by signs prohibiting the passing of such individuals. Adam gritted his teeth, and growled a curse to Gee-em the God of little old ladies in Cadillacs.

He looked out the portal of the speeding chariot, and beheld deep, well vegetated canyons. Surely there would be some "Rebels" in those small valleys that needed to be hunted down, but that was another activity, and a totally different genre, and it was not to interfere with his sacrifice to the younger gods of Masonry this day.

And so, singing energetically along with the imprisoned souls of this, the strangest of chariots, Adam safely completed his journey of 70 leagues in less than 3 hours. He exited the chariot, firmly donned his protective gauntlets and armored helm to began this week’s sacrifice.

My relation to the daring one

I am the little brother of one Daring Young Mom. Though the subject matter of our blogs may not reflect the shared upbringing, it is still true. I was wondering how I could prove my kinship to the discerning blogoshpere audience. Then it hit me. I have photographic proof!! No; not family pictures. We share a very strange power. These are three examples of my use of this power within the last month.
















Ha!! Tike that Baymbridge Scholahs!!! I dare you all to refute my claim!!! ......oh and if there are any "Baymbridge Scholahs" who read this blog, lemme know.

1 Year Later

Well. 11 months ago, I filled out my first application to the United States Border Patrol. Then I took a test covering Spanish and logical reasoning. I did well. I took and passed the physical and the physical fitness test. I received a tentative offer of employment. I hit a few snags with regards to some minor past injuries and my tentative offer was rescinded. I spent a few months and a bit of money convincing them that these past injuries were not a problem, and my tentative offer was re-extended. I then spent quite a few months waiting for the government to determine that I was suitable for the position and had not lied on any part of my application.

I just received my first confirmation that it is finished. I received my 60-day letter today. This letter tells me that my application process is finally finished and my previously received tentative offer of employment is no longer tentative. The duty stations on the southern border can now review my test grades and other qualifications and will bid on me if they want me. Within the next 60 days I will receive a call letting me know which stations have expressed an interest. I will choose and likely be in the academy in Artesia NM within a week or so after that.

The academy will be nearly 5 months long. I am so excited and nervous to get the call!

I appreciate all the help and encouragement that you all have given me and glad to have this blog so that I can share the news with you all really fast. Love you guys.

Why me? Wednesday - speechless

I find myself in a spot of trouble on this, my second "why me? Wednesday."

I started this regular posting feature in the certainty that I would be able to find something each Wednesday to post about that warranted a rant.... On this day I find myself surrounded by a myriad of pleasant occurrences that don't allow me to find anything to whine about.

I spent this weekend doing the things I love doing most with the people I love the most.

I hunted rabbits with Mike.

I stayed with my sister and her husband in their awesome new house. Guys, I talked to my boss and he told me how to go about the little repair we want to do. Later in august I will come down to do it.

I took my final final of my bachelors degree. I am done. My sister and her husband lent me their hog so I could get there....



















K...So they did lend me the hog, but it made me look more like a circus bear than a hell's angel.

It was soo sweet! I got together with an old mission companion and taught him to use his new pistol. He is the greatest guy. He saved me. He taught me how to be a missionary. He taught me how to be happy when things are tough. He taught me to love to teach. It looks like it payed off in a strange way, because he walked into the range with terrible mechanics, barely able to hit a 2 foot target at 5 yards, and after two hours he left with the confident ability to put most of a 15 round magazine within the ten ring at twice that distance. I shared my sport and I helped an old friend be better able to defend his new family. A win.

I got to spend lots of time with me sweetie. I got to spend a lot of time with 3 of my sisters. I get to see the other one and her husband within the month.

I have a great job. I even got to branch out and got to lay most of the stone on a new pillar like the ones described here.


I can't, for the life of me, find anything I feel upset enough about to rant about. This brings up an interesting idea. Could it be, that because I decided to be angry on Wednesday, I found things to be happy about instead. Maybe I should plan to be mad every day... But I need something to whine about.......OOOH!!...

I am so mad that I can't find anything to be mad about!!!! GRRRRR!!!!

If Tom Clancy had watched me on Friday

Adam stepped from his armored transport into the blinding morning sun. He had traveled more than 13 hours to reach the site of today’s raid. Sleep had been hard to come by of late. He shifted his sidearm as he stretched his legs after the long journey. After so many years, his pistol had become a natural extension of his hip. It no longer seemed heavy. In fact on the rare occasion that he went unarmed there seemed to be an uncomfortable void where his good friend normally rode in the Milt Sparks holster inside his waist band.

Adam agreed with the late General Patton that the primary purpose of a pistol should be to allow a soldier to fight his way back to his rifle. With this in mind, though it required no fighting whatsoever, Adam made his way to the rear of the vehicle, and standing next to Michael, opened the weaponry compartment of the armored vehicle to retrieve his heavy weapons. This would be a punitive expedition. They knew they would need their long guns to inflict the most damage on the rebels that infested this barren stretch of wilderness.

Michael was Adam's mentor. He was Adam's senior, but only slightly. The deference that Adam showed him stemmed not from age difference, but from Michaels more lengthy training in such expeditions. He had first shown Adam the evil of their quarry. He had taught him of their reckless and uncaring use of biological weapons that damaged the local populace's food supply. These rebels had to be stopped.

Together they chose their weapons. They both chose the superior firepower of the twelve-gauge shotgun in lieu of the smaller rifles that they had brought along. Adam used a pump-action, preferring the deliberate movement it required to chamber a new round and the stability that this action gave his follow-up shots. Michael was trying a newly restored semi-automatic model that his father had used for years.

“That old thing is gonna jam on you. What are you gonna do if they try to take us in a rush?” Adam jibed.

“You know they always run. And it won’t jam. It was good enough to protect the local populace years ago and it is good enough today,” he responded.

Adam grunted. They finished loading their weapons and rechecked the bags and belts containing their spare ammo. They had seen the signs of extensive rebel activity in the area as they approached. Now to find them.

It was a slow morning. The sun rose inexorably into the sky. They wore only T-shirts and were already beginning to sweat. This fact promised a long and hot day.

They caught sight of the day’s first rebel quickly entering one of the region’s many small canyons. He ran quickly. Obviously they had been unsuccessful in their pursuit of stealth. They had been seen, and their prey was escaping. They had to move fast. Stealth was of no moment. Adam being the younger and more eager of the two, ran quickly into the gully after the rebel, while Michael stayed high to provide cover fire. It was an assumption of roles that they had taken so many times, that it was an automatic reaction. As always their training kicked in and took over as adrenaline triggered muscle-memory and previously-mastered tactical forms. The outcome was inevitable. The first kill of the day was shared by the stalwart hunters. The converging cones of destruction emanating from the two weapons made determination of responsibility impossible. Thus the kill was shared on the day’s score card. They always kept score.

The rest of the morning passed much the same way. They would scare a young rebel from his place of concealment and have to work hard and fast to contain him. The score card did not remain even for long. The younger man quickly showed his mentor that his teachings had not been ill-received, and pulled ahead in their little competition. It was before noon when water and ammunition were running low, and the growing heat of the day began to take it’s toll on the warriors. They returned to the armored vehicle and began the journey home.

They had not traveled far, when Michael stopped the transport with a sharp intake of breath.

“What?!,” Adam exclaimed.

“There…in the bushes,” he gestured.

Adam’s young eyes did not see what his teacher had seen at first but with time began to make out the form of a rebel in the bushes, poised and ready to attack their vehicle. General Patton’s advice on the proper use of a pistol flashed through his mind, but he knew there was no time to seek his long gun. The rebel could launch his attack at any second.

Adam rolled from the door of the car and came up in a half-crouch with his pistol ready; his sights already acquiring the target. As soon as he found his mark his ever-ready trigger finger moved confidently to its favorite place. The precision ground grooves of his skeletonized aluminum match-grade trigger bit smartly into the pad of his finger. But it was a comfortable, welcome and familiar pain; soon to be accompanied by the sharp blow to his hand and wrists as he executed the perfect final shot of the day, saving himself and his mentor from certain destruction……

I hope you all enjoyed this. I had almost as much fun writing this story as I did hunting the rabbits that were its inspiration. Please replace the word rebel with the word rabbit and remove any references to any mortal peril to Mike and I. This will give you a clearer picture of what happened on Friday, the first day of my vacation. The final score was Adam:15, Mike:5, Rabbits:0

As a side note to anyone who is disturbed by this practice of hunting rabbits.

Jack Rabbits in the Utah desert carry bovine malaria and many other diseases. This makes them dangerous to ranchers’ livelihood and makes them unsafe to eat. This fact inspired my refferences to biological weapons. Hunting them, therefore, is a public service to local ranchers and helps one keep in practice for the regulated Cotton-Tailed rabbit hunt that occurs in the winter. I can attest to the fact that coyotes eliminate all carcasses that are left behind by these practice hunts within 24 hours.

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Dead blog already?!

Sorry about the brief hiatus of posting. Over the weekend I went to Utah to visit family and to take my final final for my psychology degree. I could have answered every question wrong and still received a "B" in the class so it was not stressful. There was much fun had by all and I love my family. I have been driving, hunting, shooting, watching movies and occasionally sleeping since last Thursday. Thus I have not posted. Forgive me. I will post about my many weekend adventures throughout this week.

Later

The rich, the famous, and Adam all live in hotels.

I have posted a little about my current job. I have however neglected to mention the wonderful perks that go along with my concrete boogers and sore knees. Three nights a week I get to stay in a luxurious hotel...FOR FREE!!

I can tell you do not believe me.

Good thing I have PHOTOGRAPHIC PROOF!

There is air conditioning.There is a helpful staff on hand 24 hours a day!!There is a spectacular continental breakfast...FREE. (yes those are waffle irons!!)
There is a window on the top floor where my cell phone works and I can call my sweetie. Just me and her...The occasional passing hotel guest... And the flies...Which apparently come here to die.
There is FREE ice which I can use to miraculously heal my knees and shoulders.
But most importantly, (Lisa should stop reading now to stave off waves of jealousy) there is the pool. It comes complete with hot tub, and 90 foot slide. The fat guy in the hot tub is only an occasional feature.
How could I, a humble hod-carrier rate such treatment? Apparently I must carry my imaginary hod very well....Or my boss just rules...It's a close call, but I think I know the answer.

Why me? Wednesday - The begingings of ranting regularity

Well it's Wednesday and you know what that means...no wait...You don't. This is the first Wednesday of its kind, for this is the first "Why me? Wednesday" on Adam's blog.

I have noticed two very fun traditions on popular blogs that I have read. The first is the ever-entertaining rant of a frustrated blogger and the second is a theme post that happens on a regular basis. I have, in my own conniving way, concocted a plan to utilize both at the same time. I shall, unless the world changes drastically, find something to be frustrated or annoyed at and make it the topic of a post each Wednesday.

This week I have a personal issue to share/rant.

Concrete predictably expands and contracts in varying temperatures.

I understand how someone could not know this. I am even willing to accept that someone working in construction might not know this. I am skeptical that a job foreman can afford to be ignorant to this fundamental physical truth. But I simply refuse to accept the fact that a foreman would ignore the advice of a mason on site and insist that cultured stone veneer be extended to the concrete pad below. But this is apparently what happened three years ago to ruin my week. I am currently working in Big Sky, Montana on a group of condos, installing cultured stone on the fireplaces, exterior wall and pillar bases like this one.

I have decided not to name persons in my rants who are not already public figures, so in this case we will call the week-ruiner.....Richard.

To make an already long post shorter. He would not construct the neat little wood spacer that you see in the picture and insisted that we lay stone all the way to the concrete slab. Three years of expansion and contraction later we have some significant damage...Like this.
When a post like this is cleaned up so replacement stone can be installed it looks something like this. This one took me about 40 minutes to clean off.
All the posts that had been badly designed now fall to me. I get the distinct pleasure of removing the bottom course so the wood spacer can be inserted. All the damaged rock must also be removed. This takes between 30 and 80 minutes per pillar. Then I looked up and saw this.
There are 46 columns in this complex to be repaired. And if that were not enough, about half of the slabs have been re-poured and the cement now covers up to 1.5 inches of the stone which still has to be removed. This is the most difficult thing I have done in my whole life. It requires the stone to be pulverize on the wall without dislodging the stone above it or damaging the concrete.
So my first "Why me? Wednesday" is my third straight 10 hour day of this great fun. Thanks...Richard...Thanks a lot.

p.s. I still love my job and my employer/Father-in-law. Richard just ain't my favorite person this week.

A splendid actress playing a highly driven and slightly insensitive woman wears prada.

Cody. This one is for you. This will be my first movie review.

I had the pleasure of going out with my wife and her sister to a movie last week. We saw a film entitled, "The Devil Wears Prada." I saw the trailers online and was excited to see Meryl Streep be truly mean and nasty. In this I was not disappointed.

Anne Hathaway plays a recent college graduate living in New York who is unable to find a job in her chosen field, which is writing. She finds a job almost by accident working for a tough and demanding Meryl Streep who is the editor in chief of "Runway" fashion magazine. Though it is not a writing position she feels correctly that it will open doors for her in the pursuit of her career.

On the subject of the technical aspects of film-making I am pretty rusty. I have forgotten most of my freshman year film class curriculum. I know that a movie will use light and angles and color to affect my mood and manipulate me into certain emotions. I choose to almost totally ignore this phenomenon unless it becomes painfully obvious to me that I am being deliberately manipulated. That did not seem to be the case in this film.

I loved the two female leads in this film. I adored Meryl in her role. The cold way in which she always dismissed her underlings says it all. She would look at her intimidated young victim with absolute disdain, having just given 37 impossible instructions, without allowing any time to take adequate notes, and say "that's all," in the loftiest of tones. It was priceless. I could just envision Meryl Streep sitting in a darkened room studying old television game show clips looking for inspiration. What she said was, "That's all." What she meant was, "You ARE the weakest link! GOODBYE!!"

Anne Hathaway also did a wonderful job. She was believable, although type cast in her role that involved being sweet yet terribly bewildered and unprepared for her new responsibility ala "Ella Enchanted," and "The Princess Diaries;" Though "The Devil Wears Prada" was undeniably more serious in nature.

My only real complaints have to do with the writing and story line. It seems to me that someone was very bitter following a period of employment within the fashion industry, and went on to write a book vilifying those who are dedicated to it. They seem to have been partially successful in hurting the industry.

The writer appears to give the role of moral compass to a boyfriend who lives with the main character, and works in a restaurant. His occupation is relevant because his underpaid job seemed to establish his superior morality in their relationship. This boyfriend is always there to criticize and belittle his girlfriend for "selling out," to the evil fashion industry, and not caring enough for him and their friends of yore, though he is unwilling to show his devotion by giving the girl a ring. grrr.

My impression of the situation was that, Anne's character was using a great opportunity to work in a difficult environment and get closer to her goal of becoming a writer, and Meryl's character was very typical of successful business women. She got where she was by working hard and being superior to those around her. Anne was doing what she needed to in order to advance her career.

Sadly, a woman like that is usually regarded as a bee with an itch about her, while the same qualities in a man are hailed as heroic, bold and strong. Though there is one small line in the film acknowledging this phenomenon, it is delivered by Anne while "falling to the dark side," and is therefore devoid of moral weight. The rest of the film propagates this unfair duality.

That said, I liked the film overall. It was fun. The acting was spectacular. It allowed me to re-examine my views of the world. I did not feel on the exact same moral page as the writers, but that is nothing new.

Worth a rental fee.

Hods and mocking noses

In my inaugural post I made mention of my current occupation. I am a Hod- Carrier. A hod is a scoop device used long long ago to deliver masonry mortar to masons in the pursuing of their office. This tool has since fallen into obscurity and disuse. This does not prevent all masons from referring to their non-glorified go-fers as hod-carriers, regardless of whether or not they have ever seen a hod in their life. I have not ever seen one, but I apparently carry one on a regular basis nonetheless.

The chief duty of a Hod-carrier is to supply a mason with mortar (hereafter referred to as mud), brick, block, cultured stone, real stone, tools, tools, more tools, working and supply surfaces, scaffolding, a ready scapegoat, and a partridge in a pear tree. In return a hod carrier receives good pay, an increase in bicep size from a flabby 12 inches to a firm 16, and a nose that continually mocks him day in and day out.

Lemme splain. The most important duty of a hod-carrier is the providing of mud to the masons he is caring for. I am not a complete moron, but it took me nearly a month to understand what consistency my masons wanted their mud to be. There are a variety of tasks and applications that require mud. Brick, block, stucco coatings, and cultured stone all require different consistencies. Different masons prefer different consistencies within all of these applications, and ambient temperature changes affect how soon the mud will begin to firm up and become the wrong consistency. The result is the near impossibility of creating properly viscous and adhesive, yet manipulable (it's a word now) mud for each mason and application. My nose however seems to have no trouble with mixing the huge amount of mortar mix I inhale each day with precisely appropriate amounts of mucus to create rock hard and nearly inextricable cement creations within my nasal passages each day. Where did it learn to do that? Thus my nose mocks me, and I have no answer to its smugness. Suggestions would be appreciated.

Not another _____ post

Hello blogging world! I have finally succumbed to enticing examples of my sisters and parents. I have decided to start a blog. Then I was faced with a significant dilemma. What would I name said blog. I decided that the name of my blog should reflect who I am and what is most important to me. But I am so many things.

Without further ado, I will relieve the fears of my parents and sisters that the title of my blog involves edited swearing. It does not. I have been participating in the Blog world as a spectator for five years now and have noticed that most blogs try to marry themselves to one topic. Sometimes they are successful and sometimes they are not. Either way, it seems obvious to me that the chosen topic of the blog does not wholly identify or define the blogger.

As I said, I am many different things

I have a family that I love very much. My sweet wife and I are very excited to expand our little family (no. Not an announcement), and hopefully do nearly as wonderful a job with it as our parents did. But this is not another family blog.

I love this country and what it stands for and what it will accomplish, but this is not another Patriotic blog.

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I served a full-time mission for the church. I have a strong testimony of the truthfulness of the teachings of the church and of my Savior's love for me. But this is not another Mormon, Christian, or Missionary blog.

I speak fluent Spanish, having served the above-mentioned mission in Argentina, but this is not a Spanish as a Second Language, or Latin-American Facts blog.

I feel very strongly about many political issues, but this is not another Political blog.

I am in the final stages of the application process for the United States Border Patrol, and I anticipate a long and honorable career in federal law enforcement, but this is not another Border Patrol, Law Enforcement, or Immigration blog.

I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology and plan on a masters in something more specifically law enforcement related, but this is not another Psychology, or Higher Education blog.

I enjoy firearms. I enjoy hunting and target shooting. I gain an enormous amount of satisfaction from nailing a target and teaching others to do the same. I legally carry a concealed weapon, hoping sincerely to never need it, but valuing the safety of my family and those around me as worthy of the inconvenience and added accountability. But this is not another Gun, Self-Defense, or Packing blog.

I think I can be funny sometimes, but this is not another Humor blog.

I love computers. I built the computer I am typing on, but this is not another technology, hardware or software blog.

I am currently working for a mason as a Hod-carrier. It is an extremely physically hard and dirty job, but this is not another Hard Work Builds Character, or Masonry blog.

The list goes on and on, but I will spare your eyes and your exasperated sighs (did I mention I could rhyme?). I have so many things that are important to me, and have started this blog in dedication to all of them and to none of them. It is quite possible that some, all, or none of the above-mentioned aspects of who I am will be the topic of posts on this blog. I reserve the right to post what I will and will try to do so with regularity. I hope that my family, current friends, friends that I will make through this blog, and someday my children will know me better because of it.

My name is Adam and this is not another ______ blog.