2012: 10 reasons the world will/ will not end

Continuing with the theme of the last post, I am pleased to present:



Five reasons the world WILL end this year

5.  The ever-increasing possibility of a Mormon in the Oval Office.
4.  The geese that I saw flying south for the winter this morning were heading north.
3.  I have yet to see a rainbow this year.
2.  I just washed my car.
1.  I haven't seen the movie 2012, but I think its predictions are binding.


Five reasons the world WILL NOT end this year

5.  The Earth's destruction is trailing in the polls.
4.  Whew! The geese are heading south again.
3.  Dr. Doofenshmurts has created a rainbowinator.
2.  The Smurfs 2 is scheduled for a 2013 release.
1.  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are still Ponyboys of the Applebee's.



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Marie (uh) Calendars

Hi.  Happy new year, etc.

I've been thinking about the musical The Sound of Music this morning.  What if the main character's name was actually Marie?  And, what if the song How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria? was punctuated as follows?:

"How do you solve a problem like Marie?  Uh..."  As if the singer of the song was taking a moment to think about it.  "...How do you find the word that means Marie? Uh... flibidigibit, uh... will-of-a-wisp, uh...clown?"

Speaking of the name Marie, I miss the Marie Calendars restaurants that closed down last year.

Speaking of calendars and years, does everyone know that according to the Mayans, this year is the last of the years?  When they were building the Mayan calender they stopped on December 21, 2012.  The only reason that I can think of for a calendar to stop so abruptly is, you know, the end of days.  That is the only reason.  There is no other explanation.  None.

I imagine the manager of the calendar makers coming into the meeting where the design squad was finishing up the blueprints for the new Mayan calendar.  It may have gone a little something like this:

Manager:  Hey!  Nice work, guys...and Xochi.  I'll just take this and show it to the Mayan CEO and get his approval on our work.

Designer:  Our work?

Manager: Yes, correct.  Hey wait!  Why does it stop here?

Designer: Um. We figured that sometime between now and a thousand years from now or so we could design a new one that would take over when this one ends.

Manager:  Hmm.  Well, we'll see what the Senior Leaders say.  Why December 21, 2012?  Why not just finish out the year?  It's like, you know, just adding ten days.

Designer:  What is this December you speak of?

Manager:  You know, the last month of the year.

Designer:  Well, we ended it on the shortest day of the year, which seems like a good day for ending things calendar-wise.  It's the first day of winter and all.  [looking at other designers]  We're in the Norther Hemisphere, right?  [they nod] Yeah, I stand by what I just said.  So, anyway, you want us to end the calendar ten days after that?

Manager: Yeah, duh.  Doesn't everyone do it that way?

Designer: Why would they?  It seems really random?

Manager:  [passive aggressively] Oh, I guess you're right.  It is random.  Kind of like scheduling the end of days for the 21st of December, 2012.  It's like, pick a day, any day.

Designer:  You realize that this calendar holds no special power, right?  Just because it ends doesn't mean that there will be no more days.

Manager:  Ah, and there is the rub.  Without a way to measure them, there can be no days.  When days on the calendar end, it will literally be the end of days.

Designer: ...for this calendar, I guess.

Manager: And, if the calendar has no more days, then who am I to have more days?

Designer: Well, you'll be long dead.

Manager:  What?  Why?  Why would you make a calendar that has power to end days and make it outlive me?  Are you gunning for my job?

Scene


Happy last New Year.  May the impending apocalypse be kind to you and yours, and best wishes for the upcoming end of days!







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Christmas Story 5

Another Christmas story:

“Let’s sing the tooth one again!”

“I hate the tooth song,” Tommy had lost his two front teeth just in time for Christmas and his three-year-old sister, Maggie, insisted on constant recitation of the song.  Tommy didn’t mind the song itself so much, it was what the song implied.  “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth?”  That most certainly was not all he wanted, in fact he would do without his two front teeth for the rest of his life if it meant that his Christmas letter to Santa would be answered.

“The tooth song. The tooth song!”

“Maggie,” Tommy knelt next to his younger sister in a gesture of reason and compromise, “what if Santa hears me singing that song?  What would happen then?”

“You’ll get your teeth.”

“Two things could happen, either I will get my teeth, which I am going to get anyway, when they grow in.  Or, Santa will hear me asking for my teeth and know that I really don’t want them, and I will be branded a liar, and what are liars?”

“Bad boys.”

“And what do bad boys get?”

“Coal.”

“Do you really want me to sing that song?”

“Yes.  The tooth song!  The tooth song!”

Tommy realized that there was no reasoning with a three-year-old, so he began to sing, “all I want for Christmas is. . .” 

He imagined waking up Christmas morning walking to his stocking and finding a pair of teeth with a card.  “I don’t exactly understand why you would want these, but here they are.  Signed, Santa.” 

Tommy had written a letter to Santa a few weeks earlier that had asked for a bicycle.  The letter was fairly nondescript, because he didn’t want to seem greedy, after all Santa hardly ever brings what you really want.  Last year he asked for a live monkey, and got Lincoln Logs.  The Lincoln Logs were great but he really wanted the monkey.  Tommy figured he must have acted too interested in the monkey, making Santa nervous that he would do something to it, like the Johnson’s do to their cat.  He kept his letter very simple. 

Dear Santa,  “dear” sounded too girlish to Tommy, so he crossed it out.  Then, he realized Santa could still read the “dear,” so he scribbled it out completely.  When he finished there was large scribble followed by, “Santa, I want a bike.  Or maybe…” Tommy realized that any “maybe” could end up as his gift so he scribbled that out too.  He finished, “Sincerely, Tommy Davenport.” 

After at least three thousand singings of “All I want for Christmas…” Christmas Eve finally came.  Tommy lay, not sleeping, in his bed.  A boy needs a bike, he thought, I need one.  Yeah, Santa gets it.  He'll bring me one. 

He rolled over and somehow went to sleep.  He dreamed of riding up and down the streets, trips to the swimming pool, jumps, and motorcycle noises.  He could feel the wind in his face, and the freedom of the road.  Like a young Jack Kerouac he explored and theorized all because of his brand-new bike.  As he laid there dreaming of pedaling, his leg jerked and he awoke with a start. 

Santa must have come. 

He crept out of bed and down the hall into the living room.  Nope, no Santa, but there was a glowing light, his mom and dad always left the tree on through the night of Christmas Eve, but there was another light glowing that Tommy had never noticed before.  He crept closer, it was the nativity set that mom had gotten from Grandma just before she died.  He could almost hear Grandma’s voice she would always sing to him. 

The glowing light that had drawn him there was the glitter on the roof of the nativity stable.  It reflected light from the star on the tree.  Tommy examined each individual figure of the nativity.  The wise men held gifts, the angel seemed to float above the stable he had a strange look on his face as if he were singing, the shepherds had lambs, and the animals bowed.  Joseph looked strong and kind.  Mary reminded Tommy of his own mother.  The shepherds, the wise men, the angel, all of the pieces looked toward the manger.  Tommy followed their gazes, and looked down at the little porcelain baby Jesus. 

Then it hit him.  He asked out loud, “Why did you all come?  Why do you care about a little baby?”  He looked more closely at the little baby Jesus.  “It’s a baby.”

Tommy went back to his bedroom, and got back into bed, soon he was again sleeping.  This time he dreamt of angels, and shepherds and wise men.  He went with the shepherds to a stable.  He stood over a manger and gazed down at a baby.  Why?  Why had he come? 

Then he saw the baby as a man, doing things and laughing with the little kids around him.  Tommy watched him help people and talk to them, he saw him make people happy. 

Then, Tommy saw the baby as a man, carrying a piece of wood.  “Where are you going?” he asked.  The man smiled and walked up a hill. 

Then, Tommy dreamed about people all over the place, praying and singing and smiling because of what the baby had done as a man.  Tommy smelled Christmas cakes and turkey dedicated to the memory of the baby.  He saw people giving presents to each other.  And then he saw himself on a bike. 

Boing!

            He was awake.  Out of bed, and into the living room, there it was a brand new bike, just what he wanted.  Maggie had some girl stuff.  His mom and dad looked on smiling. 

Tommy stopped admiring his bike just long enough to glance at the nativity.  He had begun to understand why they came.  “Mom, Dad, people love each other don’t they?”

“Some people do.”

“Jesus loves us, he gave us Christmas.”

“Among other things,” said Dad,

“Yep.  Hey!  Where are my front teeth?”

Christmas Story 4

Last year, in December, I wrote this:  

For about ten years, starting in 1994, I wrote an annual Christmas Story. The first two were written while I was a missionary. I'd send them home to be read on Christmas Eve and in that way I would participate in the family's Christmas festifities. The only rule (self-imposed) was that the story had to revisit the nativity in one way or another. These are not the best writings ever written, but they are heartfelt. I will post several of them over the next few days.

I posted three last year; I'll post a few more this year.

Christmas 1997

Mary squinted to see her husband.  Although they were married, she felt as if she didn’t know Joseph as well as a wife should.  Their marriage had been arranged by the master and he was only interested in the next generation of slaves. 

Mary had heard that other masters encouraged love and voluntary marriages.  But not Master Johnson, he was all business. 

Mary was very lucky to have gotten Joseph.  He was strong and handsome.  He had a quick wit and didn’t mind laughing, but his quiet, reflective side was his most attractive quality. 

The day they jumped the broom, Joseph took her to the tiny shack they would share with another family. He said, “I won’t never harm you.  You is my wife, legal as any man anywhere.”  

She believed him.

Joseph looked up from his spatula; he had been tarring the roof.  For some reason the master had given him some precious free time to work on the tiny shack.  It was rare to have a day off, especially in such fine weather.  November had been unusually warm and the cotton crop was still being baled and exported. 

Surely, there was much to do, but Joseph didn’t question.  Joseph saw Mary peeking around the corner of the tiny shack.  She was so beautiful to him even seven months pregnant. 

“Joseph, the master wants us up to the house.”

When the two arrived at the plantation house a man they had never seen before was standing on the steps, his voice was soft as he announced, “Thomas F. Johnson has died, in his will he has freed the persons of color in his possession.” 

Twenty-five slaves stood there.  No noise.  No one breathed.  They couldn’t.  Freedom in their lifetime was merely a dream, but now it was a reality.  Joseph pulled Mary close, “we leavin’ here.”

Philadelphia was so far away, especially in winter.  Mary could never walk that far.  She never asked where he got the donkey.  It would hurt him if she accused him of stealing; perhaps he traded for it.  Whatever the case she was grateful for its warm body beneath her. 

The journey was truly difficult. Joseph’s feet, ears, and nose were sore—probably frostbitten.  Mary had been jarred and thrown by the plodding donkey; she was completely weak when they arrived in Philadelphia. 

“We gots to find a stable so’s I can sell this beast to get some money for a roof.” 

Joseph looked up; in the distance there was pole with a lamp blazing from its top.  Joseph felt compelled to follow the light. 

From a side ally Mary could hear singing.  “Listen Joseph, they’re singing about the baby Jesus.  You sing to me Joseph.”  Joseph’s deep baritone filled the streets. 

“In Bethlehem a child is born/ Oh angel come and blow your horn/ the Christ Child he/ the Christ Child he.”

            Just below the street lamp Joseph found a stable.  Night had fallen on the city and the stable seemed deserted.  He knocked on the door, no answer.  He knocked more loudly, still no answer.  Joseph tried the handle.  The door swung open.  He peered into the dark building, just horses and straw. 

“Joseph!” Mary cried, “the baby.”

There in the stable on that cold winter’s night, Joseph and Mary brought forth their first child, right next to the manger.  Joseph held Emmanuel as Mary drifted off to sleep.  It was Christmas.

Counting On One's Hands

My four-year-old daughter, Kitty (names have been changed), made an amazing discovery last week.  The discovery came as she inspected her right hand.

"Dad, I only have five fingers!"

Holding up her right hand, she counted in order to verify, "one, two, three, four, five.  I only have five fingers!" 

She seemed concerned, panicked even, as if all of the work she needed to do could not possibly be done with only five fingers.  

Not satisfied, she counted again.  This time starting with her left hand, "one, two, three, four, five," moving back to the right hand she continued, "six, seven, eight, nine, twelve."

"Dad!  I have twelve fingers!"  This was even more concerning to her than when she only had five.  

She turned to six-year-old Mimi, "I have twelve fingers!"

"Count them again," Mimi calmly counseled.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.  Oh, okay."

Catastrophe averted.

Savior of the World

I have been blessed to be a part of the LDS Church's production of Savior of the World several times now. This year Buffy, Ike, and Mimi are also in the show. We perform three times per week at the LDS Conference Center Theater.

The first act portrays the Christmas story starting with Zacharias and Elizabeth and ending at the stable with a lovely manger scene.

The second act picks up at Jesus' tomb as the stone is rolled into place. The show was designed to combine Christmas and Easter.

This year I play Thomas--the apostle. His story is one that I relate to, it's also quite touching. You'll remember that Thomas was the only member of the twelve (with the notable exception of Judas) to miss out on the initial upper room experience where Jesus appeared to and ate with the apostles.

In this production, Thomas is distraught that he cannot be a witness, having missed his opportunity to see. Peter teaches him that seeing is not enough, and that some who saw Jesus were among those who condemned him to the cross. In spiritual matters what we feel, genuinely, makes us more of a witness than what we see. Eventually Thomas does see the Savior, but only after he has fastened himself to hope without making demands.

The following video was made a few days ago and features the other cast (the one that Buffy, Ike, Mimi, and I are not in). But, what these cast members say and feel certainly applies to us. If you'd like to see the show go to lds.org/events. Tickets may be gone, but stand-by tickets are available every night. Our cast performs Wednesday nights, Friday nights, and Saturday matinees until New Year's Eve.

Um...

This post is past due.  I like to post at least twice per month; at this rate, I might not meet my goal for November.  The problem is that I have nothing that I care to talk about.  Nothing at all.  So, I guess I am posting just to post right now.

So... uh...

...how's things?

Snowed the other day.   Not sure what that'll mean for getting the Christmas lights up.

...yup...

Have you noticed how I have three "followers" on this blog?  One of them is me.  That's kind of funny.  The other two are from the same family and are just being nice.

...I guess...heh...

Ike (age 8) taught me two "manly dance moves" yesterday.  The first was that thing that Russian dancers do, where they fold their arms and kick out.  The other involved swinging your left arm stiffly in front while jump-sliding backwards.  I had to admit that he was right--they were manly moves.

...so...you know...

VoiceMale did a performance at the state prison last week...

...I don't want to say it...

...we had a captive audience.

Actually, it was a great experience.  It really seemed to help lift the inmates' spirits.  I know they're all in there for a reason, but we met some good men and had a great time with them.

...mmm hmmm...

Looking forward to Thanksgiving.  I like being with my family--it's my family's year. 

...yep...

My friend from college is in Sister Act on Broadway and will perform on the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade. 

...So that's cool.... 

...We called him Elvis (that's not his name).  He got me my first collegiate acting role.  A musical called The Hired Man.  I played 3 characters: Pennington, the Vicar, and the foreman.  The foreman  wore wool pants that chaffed the heck out of my knee pits. I can still feel it 17 years later.

...17 is one of those forgotten numbers, right between milestones 16 and 18.  Poor 17, she just wanted to dance. 

...This post just got a little weird.

So...yeah...

...bye.