life as understood

This past weekend, I went golfing with two of my best friends, Steve and Blaine, and Steve's random cousin Bobby, at Homestead Resort at Midway, just outside Park City, Utah. It was a beautiful day. The golf was good, the company great, and the scenery fantastic. For a time, I was able to completely forsake the troubles of the modern life. Unfortunately, though, it doesn't take much to snap one back to reality. Yesterday, on the way back to Logan, I told a girl about the trip, when she burst out saying "Of course you went golfing. You're from Idaho!"

In these troubled times of ever-straining relations, I wasn't sure how to react. I didn't believe my ears, or didn't want to. As an Idahoan living in Utah, I'm quite accustomed to this sort of profiling, but there never seems to be a fitting response. I think I mumbled something like "what?", and so the girl elaborated, telling me that absolutely everyone in Idaho golfs. She expressed surprise that I, having lived there for eighteen years, was completely unaware of such a defining characteristic of my own state.

It became apparent that she was basing this claim entirely off of the experience of her dad, who lives in Utah and does not golf, and her dad's three brothers, who live in Idaho and do. I wasn't offended by the unorthodox generalization itself, as I do indeed enjoy a good round of 9 or 18 now and then, but I got to wondering--is this how hurtful interstate stereotypes begin?

Having lived my entire pre-college life in Idaho before choosing to study abroad in Utah, I've seen both sides pretty thoroughly. I love both states and would be proud to make either my permanent home (except in either Pocatello or Provo, but that's a post for another day). I've traveled extensively in both states, and have friends in all different corners. I even married a naturalized Utahn and couldn't be prouder. And I'm well aware that many well-intentioned hands cross the border in each direction, and yet, I can't ignore the immature, inaccurate profiling that abounds, replacing mutual camaraderie with misunderstanding, hatred, and wanton acts of terror that threaten to tear our great states apart.

What I propose is to alleviate the hurt feelings, to sop up the bitter tears by exposing some of the interstate stereotypes and addressing each one openly and honestly. Hopefully by doing so, we'll come closer to a truth that both parties can agree on.

Stereotype: All Utahns are Mormons-- This is simply not true. It's actually just barely over 50%, and Salt Lake City itself considerably less. Not that the prevalence is a bad thing, anyway. Besides, SLC is a great city with a thriving, secular nightlife and considerable diversity. You're thinking of Utah County, for which the stereotype is completely accurate.

Stereotype: Idaho is just a northward extension of Utah-- This is one of the most offensive attacks of Utahns, aimed at diminishing Idaho's unique identity and replacing it with their own. In reality, Idaho is very different. Our stores are open on Sundays, and our schools and cities actually pay attention to the arts.

Stereotype: All Idahoans golf-- This is ridiculous.

Stereotype: All Idahoans eat a lot of potatoes-- This is pretty much true, actually. But hey, wouldn't you? They're delicious.

Stereotype: Utahns are bad drivers-- This is mostly true, but folks from Jefferson County, Idaho take the cake. If you see a 1J license plate coming your way, duck. No one is safe. This may be a stereotype as well, but in the interest of safety, it's a good one to hold on to, just in case. And no, not all Utahns are bad drivers. Many just don't understand 4-way stops. Mostly, the stereotype comes from the Utah Highway Patrol's extremely lenient policies on I-15. One can exceed the speed limit by 15mph and cross over as many double lines as one wants. As of yet, no one has ever been pulled over.

Stereotype: Idaho is flat-- This is a common misconception of Utahns who have never left I-15 or I-84 when traveling in Idaho. Yes, those interstates pass through mostly flat land. It's easier to drive that way. This is the Snake River Plain, and it's the only plain in the entire state. Utah is no more mountainous, but has simply done an impossibly better job than Idaho at actually situating major cities right close to the mountains. In Idaho, they're a little farther away, and it takes an effort to get there. Also, speaking of traveling on I-84 in Idaho, sorry about the smell between Boise and the Magic Valley. We're not sure what that is either.

Stereotype: Utahns love Jell-O, especially of the green variety-- In four years here, I've seen it only a couple of times, and never green. The most recent issue of Salt Lake Magazine recently named it the #1 "Locavore" food of Utah, though, whatever that means. But I have to assume based on my own experience that this is a myth that no longer has support.

Stereotype: All Idahoans are hicks-- This is by far the most heinous and underlying stereotype of Idaho by Utahns. I currently live in Logan, Utah, and whenever people ask me where I'm from, and I answer "Idaho Falls, Idaho," what usually follows is some sort of jejune reference to a life in the boonies. This is especially odd, seeing as how Idaho Falls is considerably larger and more cosmopolitan than Logan. The metro area is at least double the size. And yet, the generalization persists.

I've thought long and hard on where exactly this comes from, and I've reached a couple of conclusions. First of all, the bulk of Utah's sprawling urban area is far closer to the disputed border than are Idaho's. Also, whenever Utahns have relatives in Idaho, they're often in tiny little towns in the middle of nowhere. The populace in Idaho's larger cities often share more in common with Washington and Oregon than Utah.

The final reason, though, is that I believe that hicks in Utah, of which there are many, take on a very different appearance than do hicks in any other state. Small-towners and farmers in Utah usually are well-educated, don't drink or smoke, and often keep a more cosmopolitan appearance than hicks in other states. This of course, is largely due to the prevalence of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, previously noted as the Mormon church. Due to the influence of the church, discerning between urban and rural folk in Utah is much harder than in other states. Utah, therefore, simply has fewer traditional hicks than anywhere else around. I argue that Idaho has no higher of a hick ratio than any other state, but since it's the closest representation of "the outside world" to Utah, it receives the brunt of the criticism.

In conclusion, I hope this has been an enlightening conversation for the good people on both sides of the border, and a step toward brotherhood. I am proud of my state. Utahns may label me with "Pridaho," but I'll never claim that my state is superior to Utah or any other. That's what Texans are for. I apologize for any fellow Idahoans of mine who may have insensitively fought back against Utah oppression with even more criticism of their own. And I do recognize and appreciate Utahns for not making fun of the name of our state in other ways, which is, admittedly, too easy. We only seek, as surely you do, to be understood and regarded as equals. And when the time comes, we'll work together to divide up Wyoming equally between us. Because come on, how much longer can they last?

Thank you for your time.

I just read one of the best articles I've read in a long time. Of course, as is human nature, I loved it because I agreed with it. It said precisely what I've been wanting to say literally for years, though I lacked the audience.

I found this article, of course, on ESPN.com. For those who don't know me personally, you wouldn't know that I grew up breathing basketball to the point that had my skin turned orange and bumpy, I would have considered it a miracle. You wouldn't know that I stayed up nights studying obscure statistics from the NBA's distant past, that a hoop and literally dozens of Utah Jazz posters adorned my room, or that one of the greatest gifts I ever received was a small-but-real electronic scoreboard. Such was life in hometown, NBA. I even spent weeks devising an intricate dice game that would simulate real scoring patterns and box scores, complete with individual stat ratings on slips of paper for every single NBA player, which ratings I was able to assign based on my own knowledge as an 11-year-old. I kept the game and slips of paper in an old Nilla Wafer box, upon which I drew lines so the cookies looked like little basketballs.

Very few people that know me personally even know that. In junior high, when I stopped growing earlier than everyone else, so did my lofty roundball aspirations. I switched my attention to tennis and got good, but that was also when girls, school, and normal life materialized as well. My devotion to the Association took on a different form, but never waned.

As a quasi-adult, I've been forced to scale my NBA love back considerably. Honestly, I've become a little ashamed of it. But it's not because I've changed so much as that it has. What used to be a democratic league where John Paxson could take the final shot and where the Jazz's old-fashioned teamwork was lauded, has given way to an NBA that calls "ratings fouls" and refuses to acknowledge the skills of anyone not named LeBron or Kobe. If the Rockets beat the Lakers, the question isn't "how did the Rockets outhustle?" but "why wasn't Kobe hitting his open shots? Maybe he was poisoned." That may be a little farfetched, but only a little. In an attempt to hyper-focus on recognizable superstars that non-sports fans can relate to, thereby increasing TV ratings and product sales, the NBA has lost the devotion of its true fans.

Not that the hyper-focus or the superstar treatment are brand new. For in-depth accounts of the bonus calls (and no-calls) Michael Jordan constantly received at the hands of referees, read Sam Smith's revealing book The Jordan Rules. Nobody has been deified like he, but to what purpose? Let his already-stellar stats speak for themselves. If there happens to be someone else who, heaven forbid, plays as well as the superstar, give him the credit he deserves. Isn't the success story of everyman a ratings-grabber as well?

The article is Bill Simmons's "Blowing the Whistle on the NBA's Flaws," a.k.a. "Searching for Danny Biasone." By the way, I did know who he was. And now I'm seriously considering taking Simmons's advice tracking the whistles (and analyst comments) in tonight's Game 5 matchup between Cleveland and Orlando.

I'm afraid I may have opened a can of worms with public revelation of my unglamorous sports obsession. I may feel tempted to write about it much more now. But deep down, it's who I am. Life imitates sports just as it does art. And sports, just like politics, is in desperate need of intelligent conversation and pragmatic solutions in order to preserve the pure spirit of healthy competition that reminds us why we dream and keeps us from taking our anger out elsewhere. The NBA is where I grew up. I don't have all the answers, but forgive my audacity if I attempt some solutions from time to time. Something needs to be said, and I might as well put my otherwise-useless wealth of knowledge to use. After all, it's my home.

I'm halfway through Stephen King's On Writing right now, which we were going to read in a class last semester, but never got around to. Fine. It's spectacularly well written and fun to read. I've never read a Stephen King book before, as horror is not my genre, but maybe it'd be worth it. Say what you will, he knows what he's doing.

King suggests, as most serious writers do, a daily quota. He himself writes no less than 2000 words per day, which translates to about ten pages or so. Others write for two or four hours per day. I need to do this. Since graduation, I've written very little, and yet, I claim to have aspirations. I also engender constant fears that I don't love writing as much as they say I'm supposed to, which is of course nebulous and unmeasurable.

But alas, the Bible tells us "if ye do my will, ye shall know of the doctrine." That is to say, don't criticize the advice until you've tried it. Therefore, I hereby pledge myself to a goal.

There, that sounds good. Wait, what? Numbers? No. It's enough that I set a goal. Numerical goals sound like the part of my Mormon mission I had trouble with. It sounds so restrictive. What if I do the deep-down wrong thing because I'm too focused on a quota, like my initial impression of the cop who pulled me over on I-15 yesterday for going 4mph over the limit? Generally speaking, I tend to worry far more about potential exceptions to rules than the rules themselves. What if we were speeding to the hospital? You'd be sorry then!

We weren't, though.

So I started thinking. The cop who pulled me over was actually a very nice guy, and did absolutely no harm. He simply suggested that it's not wise to pass an Idaho state trooper when in excess of the speed limit, no matter by how much. Not a terrible suggestion--one I shouldn't have needed, but still, he didn't ticket me, and I then drove slower and safer for the rest of the trip. I realized only a little later down the road, after my heart slowed to a healthy pace, that this particular cop who had so vexed me actually performed his duties of serving and protecting with great aplomb.

So maybe there is a way to enforce meaningful numerical goals to yield a result. If there was no speed limit, it'd be much harder to discern between safe and unsafe drivers. And even if there are exceptions, such instances are rare, at least when compared to the good that the law accomplishes. I hereby pledge myself to a numerical goal. I will dedicate at least one continuous hour per day simply on my creative writing projects. This isn't much, but it's more than I've done since graduation, and besides, unlike Stephen King, I'm not getting paid for this.

There are indeed a couple May 31 deadlines for journals I'd like to hit with my essay "Wartime," though I haven't worked on it in almost a month. It's pretty close. Besides, I just need to get something out. I also received a tip on a possible solicited article for Salt Lake magazine, so I have things to do. Now, if only the French Open wasn't on...

I know what you're thinking: there's been titular fiddling? Well, yes, but it's not as fun as it sounds.

Avid readers know by now that I've been on the market for a new and better title for this here blog for at least five posts now. The previous one, an excellent quote on writing, but far from anything resembling a title, overstayed its brief welcome. It almost seemed somehow too presumptuous, in addition to it not really being a title.

And so the hunt commenced anew. I wanted something that would convey my aspiration to become an expert on a wide variety of topics, while expressing humble realization of my current standing in that battle. Also, I wanted something that would remain entirely left of the couch (not a figure of speech).

So this is what it's come to. The Wannasseur, or wannabe connoisseur, seemed slightly more sophisticated than The Prospexpert, which also might be a prescription medication. Besides, it's an appropriate mix of suave and slang. So anyway, here's the thing. I need to know if this is a solid title or something that we'll all look back and laugh about six months from now. Be honest. Perhaps even more importantly, though, I'm continuing to take suggestions on completely new titles as well. This one hasn't been properly thought out yet. So there it is.

So, in a sweetly direct transition from the previous posting, I was listening on Friday to a couple of podcast lectures my friend Paul recommended to me. They spoke of responsible media, especially in regards to Russia and Eastern Europe. Paul's a good friend. He knows what I like. The lectures (actually more like panels) were enlightening and quite enjoyable, more than justifying my time spend playing the Wii. There's just one minor detail that necessitates a response from yours truly.

Each panel, headed by Europeans, mostly Brits, featured one American. I should have remembered their names, but I don't. In one of the panels, the American was the clear-cut expert and star of the whole thing. But here's what bothered me. Each time one of the Americans sort of introduced himself and began speaking, he prefaced his words with something along the lines of "Well, I'm just a stupid American, but..."

Is that really what it's come to? Has our recent history completely necessitated that we demean ourselves before we speak in order to be taken seriously? Both of these Americans on these panels were absolute experts in their fields. Both of them were open-minded, sensitive, moral, and abjectly diplomatic in their speech. Everything each of them said was absolutely appropriate and progressive, regardless of personal politics.

So why did they feel the need to preface their words and demean themselves? Humility is a wonderful idea. Don't get me wrong. Opening with "Well, I'm a superior American" would have been far, far worse, and no truer. But these are international professionals speaking on this panel, and probably mostly professionals listening to it as well. Not a whole lot of jobless kids playing Wii. But even if for some reason the Americans were at a disadvantage in this field, they could have said, "Well, I'm obviously a little more geographically removed from the situation, but..." Anything!

I just hope that this "admission" of stupidity hasn't become standard protocol for dealing within international organizations. Surely most European experts aren't so narrow as to believe that the "ugly American" theory pervades every single aspect of our population. We need to make sure we don't end up fulfilling the stupidity that's coming to be expected of us. If we claim equality and nothing more, we'll deal with our foreign counterparts as brothers. If we claim stupidity, our arrogance and single-mindedness will be justified. Others will begin to see us that way, and worse, we'll begin to see ourselves that way.

There are a number of things that make this country great. Just because it's time to stop focusing on the fact that we're #1 doesn't mean we need to stop focusing on the factors and advantages that brought us there. We have some incredible resources here, and we need to showcase them around the world with the attitude of "Here's what we bring to the table. How can we help?" That's neither stupidity nor arrogance if it's done right.

Just because we're not superior doesn't mean we're inferior. Let's stop trying to compensate for wrongs by swinging the pendulum way too far to the other side. That tactic doesn't lead to eventual moderation and equality. It leads to polarization and dischord.

We have a responsibility to serve others, not because we're superior, but because it's the right thing to do.

Whoo. Back to the Wii.

Over the past five days or so, I've applied for about a dozen writing jobs online, many of them fake. Craigslist, the too-obvious source of many of the postings, says "watch out for scams" and offers a few tips for keeping safe. The primary one is to beware any sort of work-from-home deals. Too bad I'm a writer.

Some of the jobs have been excellently legitimate, however, and I'm excited to hear back from them. I've also applied to a number of online postings from different sites, and a few local administrative assistant positions as well.

High-voiced boy: "Doesn't that mean secretary?"

Me: "Heh heh heh. Now where did you learn words like that?"

I figure I'll move on to more desperate attempts like restaurant positions once all of these fall through, if in fact such is the case. Not that I frown upon serving at Chili's, as in fact I've served before and very much enjoyed it. Besides, here in Logan, that's about the best money you can make. No, it's not that. It's that at this point nearly two weeks after graduation, I'm still clinging to the hope that having a degree will be worth something. Not that I went to school to become a receptionist, but at least some of my skills can be utilized there, and wearing professional garb would make me feel better about the time and money spent on my degree.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying my reading/putzing around time, the likes of which I've never had. I need to start studying Russian an hour a day or so and get back to my writing and start submitting things to journals, contests, etc., but all in good time. For now, I think I'll turn on an informative podcast or TED lecture and bust out the Wii. Life is good.

So, it's over. I graduated last Saturday in a nice ceremony with a boutonniere and a senator. On the same day, I turned in my last paper, a perpetually-unfinished personal essay about a number of things I learned here at the university. It's tentatively entitled "Wartime," and can now be found, at least in part, on the collected works blog. A couple of hours after graduation, we took off for the coast. The day after graduation, Sarah and I celebrated our first anniversary, and a few days later, I turned 24.

We returned home to Logan last night, and nearly immediately, I found I had nothing to do. The feeling persists today. I can't recall a single time when I've ever had literally nothing to do. Ever. By the way, the task of not taking myself too seriously is becoming progressively easier.

Needless to say, I'm not sure what to do with this freedom. Over the past few days, I read The Sound and the Fury as well as a bunch of letters and criticism surrounding it. (If I could, I'd just read all summer long.) I anticipate being a far better writer and student of literature now that I don't have school to worry about. If I play this right, I could conceivably become smarter. As far as procuring an income, however, I'll let you know when I figure something out. Bah! Money.

I suppose this is as much for me as for anyone else. I've been pondering for days upon how to write this, so as to show utmost respect on this measly site for a man who has meant so much to so many. My beloved grandfather, Dr. T. H. Carr passed away in Idaho Falls on Friday at about 5:00. Until I went off to college, we lived just down the street from each other for my entire life, and I spent time there with him almost every week at some point. He's had a grab bag of various health problems for about the past 20 years or so, but he really took a turn for the worse this last summer at around Father's Day, when Sarah and I were too far away. He was an incredibly selfless man who sacrificed his time making others whole as a surgeon for many decades. As a retiree, he remained in constant pursuit of knowledge, having been engaged in learning about science, current events, sports, and all of the finer things. He cared about his family above all, claiming the theory of heterosis, which is that each generation improves upon the one previous. In speaking of this, he set the bar rather high for those of us left behind, as he himself lived a model life. I will continue to value his opinion as a man of great balance and integrity. I know he was proud of the man I've become to this point, the girl I've chosen for a wife, and my plans for the future. His pride helps to justify my own decisions.

Any attempt at documenting memories, personal sacrifices he made for me, or examples of insights he instilled within me, opening my mind to a world where people are and can be intrinsically good, is in vain. There's simply too much. I wish he could have seen me graduate from college (he missed it by a week), as I've reveled in his level reactions and advice to each of my short life's milestones thus far. I received a card in the mail yesterday, postmarked the day he died but before they had any idea, congratulating me on my achievement, signed with love from Grandma and Grandpa. That, it appears, will have to do. Fortunately, I have a lifetime worth of assurance that doing what Grandpa would have done will be a pretty safe mantra to follow. And I know he's still there, fidgeting around in his chair, waiting, and being proud.

I've been working to try to hook up with some of my writer friends from here at the university whom I'm likely never to see again, with the intent of continuing to read each others' work and see if anyone gets grown-up jobs. If you are one of those people, I welcome you to my lame blog, which by the way, needs a new, less-cliche title--something probably without my name, and without the word "muse" in any form. John's is "Open the Vein," which grossed me out at first, but then the nice quote on the top explained it, validating its coolness far beyond my initial suspicion. I need something like that. Generally speaking, my titles are trite and unimpressive, despite my sometimes-embarrassing regard for good ones, like "Everything that Rises Must Converge" and "Men Without Hats." So be on the lookout for that. If you can't tell, I'm pretty much just writing now in the hopes of getting myself into the habit of writing here much more frequently, and less rantingly. Don't worry, I'll see to it that quality doesn't take a hit. We're all about quality here.

In about a week and a half, I will have a college degree with honors and a decent number of academic accolades. Of course, this greatly saddens me, as it appears that this development will greatly proclude the likelihood of me getting a job. The problem, of course, is that I will have a degree in English.

Taken from my department's mission statement, the goal of an English degree is more or less the following: "By studying how individuals in specific historical, cultural, and rhetorical circumstances present their ideas to others through the medium of language, our students learn how to present their own ideas persuasively. They learn to raise key questions, gather relevant information, reach well-reasoned conclusions, weigh alternative systems of thought, and communicate effectively with others."

Notice there's nothing in there about "preparing our students to be high school English teachers," as is the common pigeon-holing misconception. To me, an English education is the single most important education a person can receive, for reasons both idealistic and yes, even practical. In a survey of various employers from a few years back, effective communication skills were cited as being the single most important attribute for employees to possess. In fact, I don't want this to come out wrong, but I'm pretty confident that most of my fellow English majors are even more qualified to run a business than most business majors I've met. Of course, this begs the question:

Why can't I find a job?

My friend Will, also a next-week English graduate with honors, works at a furniture warehouse, where he is forced to handle a bunch of the store's official correspondence and other items that elude the competence of those around him. He doesn't get paid for this, though. He gets paid for selling furniture, which job he is ironically more qualified for even than his superiors. Perhaps the problem is that the skills we've learned are valuable for all fields, but not one specifically. After all, who wants an employee that could veritably excel at jobs other than their own?

I feel like I have learned a great deal throughout the course of my college education, and I remain extremely proud of my English degree. It will indeed prove immeasurably useful in my life, and I don't, nor will I ever regret it for a second. I've loved it.

They say "you can do anything with an English degree," but they don't offer a single specific suggestion. I now have one year before grad school, and I am in desperate need of suggestions. Or just jobs. Would anyone be willing to part with either?