Useful Entropy

So I Read 76 Books This Year - That Doesn't Mean I'm Obsessive and Other Lies

2011-01-03T21:38:00.000-08:00

It is pretty popular to do a "best of" list on your blog when you start a new year. I made a conscious decision at the beginning of 2010 to watch fewer movies and to read more. I set what I thought to be a lofty goal of reading 52 books in 52 weeks and started to keep track of the books as I read them. I also tried to through in a few books I hadn't read before and even a few that would be considered, "classic" or "important" books. My blog post halfway through the year:
http://jakeomatador.blogspot.com/2010/06/ive-got-problems-curse-of-minor-ocd.html

I not only read 52 books this year, I read 76. Granted some of them were short, but just as many of them were very long. Most of them were audio books. I commute 2 hours a day so reading this way is pretty easy. I had someone tell me recently that listening to audio books wasn't the same as reading them. That is stupid. I only listen to unabridged audio books, never the crappy abridged versions. I have exactly the same feeling of understanding and completion when I listen to an audio book as when I read it myself sometimes more depending on who is reading it.

The list below are the books I read in 2010 in the order I read them. If there is an * at the end of the author's name, it means I had already read this book before. Those books that I highlighted are books that I think of as "classic" or "important" books.

1) Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell – Suzanna Clarke

2) The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History – Jonathan Franzen

3) The Dharma Bums – Jack Kerouc

4) 20th Century Ghosts – Joe Hill - Audio

5) Genius – Jesse Kellerman

6) Evidence – Jonathan Kellerman

7) Bones – Jonathan Kellerman

8) Empire – Orson Scott Card

9) Hidden Empire – Orson Scott Card

10) Under the Dome – Stephen King

11) Fiddlers - McBain

12) Black Dogs – Ian McEwan

13) Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

13) The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde

14) Light in August – William Faulkner

15) Heart-Shaped Box – Joe Hill

16) The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath

17) Night Shift – Stephen King*

18) Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole

19) Complete Tales and Poems - Edgar Allan Poe

20) Anansi Boys – Neil Gaiman

21) A Midsummer Night’s Dream – William Shakespeare

22) Siddhartha – Herman Hesse*

23) An Arsonist’s Guide to Writers’ Homes in New England – Brock Clarke

24) The Trial – Franz Kafka

25) The Colorado Kid – Stephen King*

26) A Brief History of Time – Stephen Hawking

27) The Regulators – Stephen King (Writing as Richard Bachman)*

28) The Art of War – Sun Tzu

29) Common Sense – Thomas Paine

30) Blood Meridian – Cormac McCarthy

31) The Nightmare Factory – Thomas Ligotti

32) Hound of the Baskervilles – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

33) The Stranger – Alber Camus

34) The Final Solution – Michael Chabon

35) Puddin Head Wilson – Mark Twain

36) Short Stories of Saki – H.H. Munro

37) The Age of Fable Part 1 – Thomas Bullfinch

38) Turn of the Screw – Henry James

39) Ender’s Game – Orson Scott Card*

40) Abraham Lincoln – A Presidential Life – James McPherson

41) The Complete Short Stories of Ambrose Bierce – Ambrose Bierce

42) The Tommyknockers – Stephen King*

43) Night Crew – John Sandford

44) The Hanged Man’s Song – John Sandford

45) Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass – Lewis Carroll

46) The Breathing Method – Stephen King*

47) King Solomon’s Mines – H. Rider Haggard

48) The Age of Fable Part 2 – Thomas Bullfinch

49) The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian – Sherman Alexie

50) Billy Budd – Herman Melville

51) The Body – Stephen King*

52) Dark of the Moon – John Sandford

53) The Westing Game – Ellen Raskin*

54) Horns – Joe Hill

55) Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream – Hunter S. Thompson*

56) Four Past Midnight – Stephen King*

57) Heat Lightning – John Sandford

58) The Unnamed – Joshua Ferris

59) 20^th Century Ghosts – Joe Hill*

60) Fragile Things – Neil Gaiman*

61) Dead Watch – John Sandford

62) The Wonderful Wizard of Oz – Frank Baum

63) The Red Badge of Courage – Stephen Crane*

64) Xenocide – Orson Scott Card*

65) The Shining – Stephen King*

66) Heart Shaped Box – Joe Hill*

67) Horns – Joe Hill*

68) Silas Marner – George Eliot

69) The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver*

70) The Gingerbread Girl – Stephen King*

71) Stationary Bike – Stephen King*

72) Full Dark, No Stars – Stephen King

73) Works of H.P. Lovecraft – H.P. Lovecraft

74) Children of the Mind – Orson Scott Card

75) The Island of Dr. Moreau - H.G. Wells*
76) No Country For Old Men - Cormac McCarthy

If you are interested in book reviews, I reviewed many of these books through my Goodreads account, which were then posted to Facebook. Somehow when I linked my Goodreads account to Facebook, it set up a second account and my posts were scattered over 2 accounts. I got so frustrated that I stopped reviewing them altogether. I don't think this was a Goodreads problem, I really like Goodreads. I think this was a Facebook problem. If you would like to "friend" me on Goodreads, look me up. If you want to read a couple of my book reviews found elsewhere on this blog, here are a few:

Light in August, Picture of Dorian Grey, Black Dogs Reviews:
http://jakeomatador.blogspot.com/2010/04/light-in-august-black-dogs-picture-of.html

Top 10 Lists

Let me break down my top 10 favorite books from 2010. These are books that stayed with me long after I read them - books that resonated. These were books that I read that made me happy to be a reader:

The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver

Blood Meridian – Cormac McCarthy

Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole

Light in August – William Faulkner

The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell – Suzanna Clarke

Puddin Head Wilson – Mark Twain

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian – Sherman Alexie

Xenocide - Orson Scott Card

The Westing Game – Ellen Raskin

As you can see all but Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell were books I consider to be "classic" or "important" books. I have committed to myself to read a number of these each year.

That being said, 10 of the best guilty pleasure books I read this year were:

Full Dark, No Stars – Stephen King

Xenocide – Orson Scott Card (maybe a little to thought-provoking to be categorized as a guilty pleasure

Empire – Orson Scott Card

The Gingerbread Girl – Stephen King

The Body – Stephen King

Horns – Joe Hill

Heart Shaped Box – Joe Hill

Genius – Jesse Kellerman

Heat Lightning – John Sandford

Anansi Boys – Neil Gaiman

A few books I wouldn't read again because they bored or annoyed me:

The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde

The Art of War – Sun Tzu

Silas Marner – George Eliot

Billy Budd – Herman Melville

Special mention goes to Stephen King's boy Joe Hill. I read his 2 new novels and short story collection 2x this year as well as his Locke and Key graphic novels. He doesn't write like his dad exactly. The content is similar, ghosts, demons and the like, but the style is very different. He is like a glam-rocker version of his pops, but I'm hoping to see great things from him in the future.

Along with the books I read above, I'm a voracious comic reader (graphic novels is what I call them to make them sound more impressive). The best graphic novels I read this year in no particular order are:

The Escapists - Brian K. Vaughan
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol 1 - Alan Moore
Wanted - Mark Millar
Kick Ass - Mark Millar
Locke and Key Vol. 1, 2, and 3 - Joe Hill

So what does the 2011 hold for my obsessive hobbies? I already know I won't be reading as much. I have a list of books I'm going to pick at and they do include some of the high-brow stuff. I'm sure I will read the annual submissions from John Sandford and Jonathan Kellerman. I would like to read the Dragon Tattoo series and the Hunger Games series. Other than that I'm not going to worry about it. I've never had a hard time reading. I would like to write a short story or two, but I really don't feel like I'm very good at it. It is hard. I think I'm going to get back into video games and beat a few games this year. I really don't know... I've never had a hard time finding obsessions.

A Year In Facebook Status Updates

2010-12-18T19:14:00.000-08:00

My OCD knows no bounds. I saw that a few friends had used an application to post "a year" of their Facebook status updates on Facebook. I rarely try the applications because they always seem to come with a catch, be it spam, a virus, or just ongoing, annoying requests, but I tried it. Unfortunately the app would only let me pick 10 or 15 status updates to post. I almost did it, then the OCD demon who controls me said I had to find a way to post all of them.

As I read through them I realized how uncreative I am. Anything that isn't a song lyric is probably a movie quote. Anything that isn't one of those two things is probably me saying I have a cold. It was still sort of fun to read them again and it is probably the closest thing I will ever get to a daily journal or diary.

Tumblr Satisfies my ADHD/OCD reposting fetish - but isn't set up to Blog

2010-11-09T15:28:00.000-08:00

I'll probably be back on here for my book and movie reviews at least. I dig Tumblr but it is the junk food of the blogging world. Quick, mostly meaningless posts, with a majority of them being photos. I still like it for what it is, and I think I have successfully stopped pissing off my facebook friends with my nightly posting spree, but I do like having a personal blog for my writing and media reviews.

Defecting from Blogger to Tumblr

2010-09-28T19:27:00.000-07:00

I'm going to make a trial run with Tumblr and look at possibly doing away with my Blogger blog. Why? Have you ever tried to post things through blogger? Every time I mess with text, like the short stories I have written, formatting is a nightmare. I can't tell you how many time I have had to cut all the text, paste it into Word and remove the formatting so I could put it back in. Then there is posting photos and video. Sure you can do it, but it isn't very user friendly. So far Tumblr seems quick and easy and can keep up with me. Which brings me to my last reason - I have an OCD -level habit of posting multiple crap, things that I find to be funny or interesting, all at once within minutes of each other on Facebook. I'm sure that many of my friends have found that annoying and hid or deleted me long ago. Now I can put all that crap on my blog and only those who are interested will check it out.

If you are one of those folks, here is the link below. I plan on trying it out for a few weeks.

http://jakeyestacado.tumblr.com/

My Talented Family

2010-08-15T19:01:00.000-07:00

I have a talented family and I figure there is no better place to show off than on my personal blog.

Sol had to make a blog for his Communications merit badge. He chose to do the obligatory 3 entries on his favorite video game, Elderscrolls 4 Oblivion, a roll playing game. I thought it was kind of cute so I'm posting it for the Grandparents even though I promised him I wouldn't. I do things sometimes.
http://newsheothheadstone.blogspot.com/

Also Ian has been doing a lot of sketching lately and his pictures actually look like what he wants them to look like (I'm always amazed by this). He takes after his momma who has been painting quite a bit lately. Here is an Eagle he sketched (not traced, I asked).

And then there is my talented wife Jana. She sings, she plays multiple instruments, and now she paints. (She has other amazing talents too, but I can't talk about those.) Here are some of her paintings.

She painted this one for her sister Gaylene

This one for her Brother Kurt

This one for our niece Maison's room

This one just because.

This one for our nephew Xandy's room

This one for her Dad.

And this is her latest she did for her sister Erika. (My favorite so far.)

I could post photos of the art Sam has done with a permanent marker on our walls and the art Oli has done on himself with a permanent marker, but I don't really want to encourage that.

Condensed Classics for Children - Reason #124,543 Why I Love My Mom

2010-07-04T21:40:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about classic literature today and how I seem to be drawn quite easily to writers between roughly the 1880's and 1940's. I'm not saying that is all I like to read (I hate seeing people read only one author or genre) or that everything written in that time was good by any means, but lately, since I have really put forth an effort to read a highly regarded classic every 3rd book or so, I have a discovered a real affinity for the writing of this period of time. It never ceases to surprise me how the themes and characters of many of these books seem so contemporary. I think that it must be that my imagination of what seems like "a long time ago" must reflect a less complex society or something. I guess I forget that there is "no new thing under the sun." What I'm trying to say in a round-about way is that I have found the old crap to be as good as the new crap in my literary wanderings, sometimes better.

I think that the only reason I feel, and have always felt a desire to read these classics is thanks to my Mom. My mom played school with me when I was little, teaching me to read at a very young age. (This age gets younger and younger as she brags about it over the years. It started at 4 then went to 3. I think her most recent memory of it had me reading Shakespeare at 13 months :) She took me to the library and bought me countless books over the years.

The way she introduced classic literature to me was by participating in a book club back around the time I was in 1st to 3rd grades. This book club sent us pocket versions of classic novels abridged and simplified for kids. I have been looking all over the web tonight for these things, but haven't been able to find them - maybe someone who reads this might know what I'm talking about. I can see them very vividly in my mind though, as I spent hours reading and re-reading them. They were about 5" by 5" paperback books with a colorful cover and light-grey pages inside. There was a black-and-white illustration on every other page with a small descriptive legend taken from the text below each illustration and the facing page was the continuing abridgment of the classic story. I don't remember how many I had, or which ones exactly, but I remember Oliver Twist, Last of the Mohicans, Moby Dick, one with all the stories from Poe, and many more. There had to be 20 or 30 books. I remember knowing at the time that these weren't the real books but simplified versions of the books, and even then some of them were boring beyond belief to me. The funny thing is I still read them all several times. I don't know if it was the illustrations that kept me going, or that I was just hard up for entertainment, or maybe it was my burgeoning OCD already making me finish any series I begin, but I spent hours with those things.

They must have been poorly made little books because I don't remember what ultimately happened to them. Still, they did their job very well. Ever since, when I have seen the titles of these books it has sparked a flash of memory and I have been drawn to them, sometimes not even knowing why. Whenever I pick up the actual book and read it, I am always surprised because they are familiar to me, like a dream that I can barely remember, which makes the reading extremely satisfying. With each of these I re-discover, I feel like I have found a missing piece of a puzzle.

I can't help but think that my Mom was inspired to get these books for me back then, never knowing that small act would give me such fulfilling experiences so much later in my life. Moms can be influential that way I guess. I thank God every day for the parents He gave me.

The Cinnamon Girl - A Short Story by Jake Conrad

2010-06-30T23:53:00.001-07:00

The Cinnamon Girl

A Short Story

by Jake Conrad

Dec 25, 1994
Mery Chrismas!!! My Mom and Daddy give me this jornal for Chrismas. It is red and prity and Im gona rite in it ever day!!! I got a Lion King sleeping bag from Santa to!!! I got a ech o skech from Santa to!!! I got a calidiscope for Santa to!!! I got a Bambi movie from my Daddy!!! I love you Daddy!!! I got super spray chalk from Nana!!! But Mom says it has to be for outside use only!!! But the snow has to melt or I cant use it rite now!!! Last nite was fun we watched the Grinch cartoon and the little dogy was so funny and we ate yummy food and cookies and talked about baby Jesus our Saveyor who come to earth. I love Chrismas!!! I love my red jornal!!! Im gona rite in it every day!!!

Sept 21, 1995
I had a lesson today in church about jornals and how we got to rite in them every day and that it is good to do that. Even thow it says in gold on the front of my jornal that my name is NICOLE CATHERINE WATTERSON I want my name on the inside of my jornal to say NICOLE CINNAMON WATTERSON. My Daddys favorite foods has cinnamon in them like cinnamon rolls and cinnamon bears and cinnamon toast and he calls me his little cinnamon bear even thow I'm NOT so little anymore. My mom put me in time out in my room and I'm as mad as he_ _ (the hot place). My Sunday school teacher Sister Jensen said it is bad to almost say bad words but not as bad as saying bad words. My friend Katie in primary says Im lucky because I dont have any brothers or sisters to yell at me or to have to share with or who pull my ponytail and make me cry. I thawt so to until today. After church Mom said I dumped out all her Prell shampoo and she just bought it and it cost alot and dont I know that Daddys not working rite now and money dont grow on trees??? Well I said I did NOT do that and maybe she left the lid off her own self and maybe it just eggsploded or sumpthing. Cause I DIDNT do it! She said that SHE didnt do it and she knows Daddy didn't do it and since we dont have a cat anymore now that Mr Wiggles got smashed flat as a flatjack (SAD) and there is nobody else in this house but you young lady. I got mad and I yelled and she yelled and Im here in my room now and I HATE her rite now. Im GLAD her Prell got spilled but it really wasnt me and I dont even care if all her dumb hair falls out and Im GLAD she is going to start working at night cause Daddy would have beleeved me if he was home. Daddy always beleeves me.

Sept 22, 1995
This jornal is fun because no one can read it but me and I can rite crazy things like blah blah blah blah and no one ever says, Stop that Young Lady or anything. I can draw a picture here like this picture of a clown car or just whatever. I can tell what Im scared of witch is the dark sometimes. I can rite absolutly anything! Good night!

Sept 24, 1995
I am soooo tired but I had the funnest night with Daddy! He was looking sad and just sitting in his chair watching dumb old football and I asked him that since mom was at work could we have a Daddy dawter date like we did in the summer. At first he told me dates cost money but I told him we could just go for a drive or eat just like one McDonalds hamberger. He laffed and said OK and he took me SWIMMING at the reck center! We swam and played and he gave me a sholder ride even thow I'm getting very big and we got so hungry after that I ate 2 McDonalds hambergers (my favorite axept the pickles that I gave to Daddy) and he ate a Big Mac and 2 cheese bergers. When we got home I was so cold Daddy said my lips were blue. Daddy asked me if I wanted to take a shower with him like I used to when I was little. He must have forgot that mom said last year now that Im too big to take baths with mom or showers with Daddy. So then I took a Bubble bath by myself and Daddy read to me while I was in the bath and he read me my Junie B Jones book about a yuky bluky fruit cake and it was really funny because Daddy always does the voices when he reads to me. After the bath I was all pruny and so tired and Daddy wanted to put lotion on me even thow I hardly ever spill all the lotion anymore when I do it. And he got the lotion out but then our doorbell got broke rite then! And it went DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG and Daddy said a bad word and I told him he was NOT supposed to say bad words and he had to get his tool box and fix the door bell. Axept he didn't fix it he just made it so it didn't work at all any more. So I got tired and got into my jamys and got into bed and then I got out and got my jornal to rite in it because I told Sister Jensen it was my goal.

Oct 3, 1995
I'm so sad tonight. When I got home from school mom was getting ready to go to her new job and Daddy was already in bed! Mom had to go and she was mad Daddy did that and said that going to bed wont fix our money problem and that he was supost to call Bishop Madsen back because he wanted Daddy to go work at the wellfair cannery some time and that I should tell him. I was mad at mom cause its not Daddys falt that he is sick or sumpthing and went to bed and its not Daddys falt that his job got redoosed and that he cant find a job. I knew just what to do with Daddy in bed so I tried to be quiet and I ate my favorite dinner that is just pieces of cheese and potato chips that I squeeze dots of Katchup on. I went to be real quiet and go in Daddys room but his door was locked and so I just went and watched Nickalodian and now its bed time and mom will be home very late so Im just saying my prayers and going to bed.

Oct 13, 1995
I had a very bad dream last night. In my dream it was in a hallway that was a hospital hallway and it was kind of dark and at the end was a door and I knew that I had to look through the little window in that door but I didnt want to but I did. I saw my Daddy in the hospital bed and he had tubes and a thing on his face and he looked real sick and real bad and I got real scared. I could see he wasnt by hisself in the room cause a woman that had long red hair and scary eyes and a white white face and she was drest like a nurse. That nurse opened the door cause she saw I was looking in the window and she had a scary face like a mask and her eyes were like mask holes and she said im sorry Cinnamon but your Daddy is not well and I have to take him away. I told that nurse she was rong that Daddy was just sad sometimes and not sick and that she was totaly rong. She just stared at me with her gross white face and black eyes then she shut the hospital room door and locked me out so I couldnt see Daddy. I knocked on the little window and Daddy saw me and I saw he was tied to the bed somehow and he tried to get off but couldnt and he yelled Cinnamon!!! Help me!!!" I tried to do sumpthing and I tried to open that door but the nob wouldnt move a bit and then the nurse just shut the curtain around her and around Daddy and then I coudnt see nothing. Just then I woke up and it was dark still and I got so scared. I ran into Daddys room and he moved over and let me lay by him and held me tite. The next day witch is today I kind of forgot all the dream and everything but then I opened my closet to get me a shirt I wanted to wear and I saw sumpthing funny witch was 3 white flowers that were so pretty just laying on my floor of my closet. So they looked eggactly like the flowers mom plants in the back yard witch are carnashuns, only it didnt look like they got pulled up or were old or anything. I knew 2 things rite then that I did not put those flowers in the closet and that if mom saw that I would be in dutch so I put it in this shoe box that I hide all my good tresure in under my bed but when I got up from the bed I looked in the closet again and it was still open and it was sumpthing awful strange. There was no shoes and roller skates and toys and stuff on the closet floor. All that stuff was on the closet floor but it was stakt up neetly on the sides of the closet floor and not all over the closet floor that I am pretty much famus for a messy closet floor and then I thoght it was wierd because those flowers were just in the middle of that floor all by thereselfs and then I remebered my scary dream and I got scared again. I was gona go tell Daddy about it but I got worried that he was gona think that I had that dream cause I was mad at him or sumpthing and he is already sad lots and so I didnt want to make him more sad. Also I new that Mom wouldnt have beleeved me at all anyways and I didnt want to get in dutch over the flowers and I wasnt reely that scarred about the flowers just that bad dreem.

Oct 16, 1995
I went to church today with mom but Daddy stayed home. He didn't say why but I guess hes sick but when I asked mom she said keep yourself to yourself Nicole. I sat one chair away from her at church cause she isn't very nice to me or to Daddy.

Oct. 17, 1995 (Yey bring on Halloween!!!)
I went to school and stuff and a boy there (gross) named Daniel gave me a note that was for an other boy (gross again) named Jose and in it it said Do You Like Me??? and then a box for YES and and a box for NO. Well I told my BFF which is best friend forever you know Abby about it and she got mad and said that she liked Jose and that I knew she thawt he was hot. I said duh Abby dont worry about it Abby cause Jose is totally not someone I like and all and I dont even like boys as much as her anyways. Plus I didnt say anthing about this to Abby but Jose is short and always brags that he has a mustash witch he kind of does but whatever. Well then Abby wasn't mad but I had to respond so I checkt the NO and underlined it like 5 times with my red marker so he would know I was serius. I just dont understand why Abby likes boys cause they are wierd and gross and always push each other. I guess if I had to say I like any boy (AS A FRIEND!!!) it would be Jenner because we are in reading circle and he is always nice and quiet and doesnt ever tease people who acidently mix up the words GAZED and GRAZED when they are reading a farm story even when other kids laugh. He also has brown hair like mine and that is sumpthing about it too. But I dont like him exept as a friend anyways

Oct 18, 1995
I had a dream again with that red haired lady but this time she was nice and not scary. I was laying down and watching Scooby Doo because Daddy had to make a quick trip into town witch is just fine because I'm already 9 and can babysit myself pretty much. He said he was going to get me a present and when I said we dont have money for presents he said this is secret money and a secret present. So I was layin on the floor watching TV and musst have fell to sleep because I started to dream. The dream hapined at our church and it was durring primary and I was the only one in the primary class like sometimes happens in the sumertime and Sister Parker came in and said Cinnamon, your teacher Sister Jensen is sick today so you have a new teacher and then the red haired lady came in. I think she was the same lady exep her face was nice and pretty and she had green eyes not an old dead face with black eyes but her hair red thow. She said hello Cinnamon and said her name was Emma and she had a speshul lesson for me today. At first I was scarred because I remembered her in my dream at the hospital. But it cant be the same lady because Emma was very nice and very pretty she sat close in front of me. She talked about Jesus and stuff and how Jesus never wanted bad things to happen to children for he loved all the little children. She said that sometimes people are sick and they hurt children and that Jesus said it was better for a mills stone to drownd them in the ocean then to hurt a child. I asked what a mills stone was and she said it was a big rock. I asked Emma if she was a nurse durring the week and she said she used to be a nurse and now she is a ajent and a helper. I asked if she had kids and she said she had kids but they grew up. I thawt that was funny because she wasn't a granma or anything but I didn't say nothing because that would be rude. She asked me what I would do if someone was going to try to hurt a child that I knew like a cousin or a friend. I said I would call the police or tell my dad. She asked what should happen to that bad person and I said that if Jesus said they should be drownd, then they should be drownd. When I woke up I remembered my hole dream and since Daddy wasn't home, I just got out my jornal.

Oct 25, 1995
I have VERY exiting news!!! Daddy says I cant tell anyone, but he didnt say I cant rite it in my jornal so I will!!! He says he thinks I can be a model someday!!! The secret surprise he got me was a speshul cameral that Daddy bought for me and him for me to practice being a model. We have to be careful because Daddy told me that Mom wouldnt like me borowwing her make up to practis even thow it is just a little bit and she has lots so thats why its secret. Daddy has already taken lots of pictures of me and I get to pick my own outfits. He helps me to pose for the pictures and he knows about modeling because he read a library book about it. We took pictures with my dresses and my swiming suit just like Miss America on TV and we laffed and laffed. Daddy even asked me to take a picture of him witch was so funny because he pretended to be Mr. Universe and stuff. He is crazy and so fun. I know Mom wouldnt have fun like that with me. Sometimes I wish she was always at work. Daddy says I am so beautiful and I have high cheek bones and perfect hair and skin for modeling. He says models make lots of money and only have to take pictures for a few hours for their job, and that is just easy and fun.

Oct 28, 1995
I don't think I want to be a model after all. Daddy told me more about how sometimes models dont get to pick there own outfits and still just have to wear what there boss tells them. He showed me an outfit that he said he bought for me, but when I went into the bathroom to put it on, it was very hard to put on, and I didn't know how and he came in to show me how to put it on, but I didn't like it AT ALL so I said I didnt want to wear it and Daddy got mad and said he paid good money for that outfit. Money we didnt have. So we took some pictures but I started to cry and Daddy got very serius and told me to change my close and then he went into his room and didnt come out. I feel so sad rite now because I dont want to be a model even thogh at first it was lots of fun. I just went and nocked on Daddys door to say goodnight but he just said goodnight and didnt open the door.

Oct 30, 1995
I just woke up and it is still dark but the red haired lady in my dream told me I had to rite down my dreem imeeditly after I woke up. She said that this would be the last dream she would visit me in and that I needed to rite it down. In my dreem we were just in my bedroom and she came in the door and sat on the bed and played with my hair witch I liked because she was soft and nice. She said that she was at our home to help our family and needed to do sumpthing that was hard to do but nesasary. She asked if I would let her help us. I said yes and told her I wanted her to help my Daddy because he has been all quiet and sad again and not talking to me. She said that is the reason she has been in my dreams and that she can help. She says that because she used to be a nurse she knows Daddy is sick and that if I let her she can save him before he gets any worse. She said that very soon she would go to him and would help him if I gave her permishon. I told her yes please help him.

November 1st, 1995
I don't have much time. The mother will be home any minute. The father took the child trick-or-treating throughout the neighborhood and both seemed to be in good spirits. The child gorged herself on sweets and then, amazingly, even with all that sugar in her system, fell asleep on her bed cover. I had been watching from inside the father's bedroom. I sat in my customary place at the foot his bed and watched him wander the room, Polaroids in hand. I saw the signs I have seen many times before and knew it would be tonight. I went to the child and even though she was sleeping sweetly in her kitten outfit, surrounded by candy wrappers, it still registered when I again asked for her permission to enter. She turned toward me, eyes still closed, sighed and said, "Yes".

When he came to me and began the careful, exploratory caresses and touches that would push him to do it, I kept very still. He whispered, "My Cinnamon Bear. My Cinnamon Bear." over and over. Only after he had ignored my pleas in her tender voice of "No Daddy No", was I forced to act. I broke from his grip and ran through the parent's room and into their walk-in shower. He followed and entered the shower, blocking the door, driving me into the porcelain corner, and turning on the warm water. He knelt before me fully clothed under the water and began to kiss me. I did not resist this time. I put my arms around his neck tightly. His eyes were closed when my sharp little teeth easily found the external jugular which was pulsing with his excitement. He was too stunned to do more than stagger around on his knees, and the combination of the water and my fierce grip helped him to bleed out quickly. It was over in less than two minutes, but the the rest of it took me until dawn. By the time the sun arose, I had strained nearly every muscle in the dear little body for he was a large man and not easily moved. Digging with tools that were much too large and unwieldy for the little hands was challenging, but I made sure to dig at least four good feet into the garden soil. As for the mess, the shower made it possible to do everything with very little cleaning and I only had to sacrifice a few towels, some plastic from the garage, and of course, the child's kitten outfit, all of which went into the hole with him.

This diary will be placed under the mother's bed. It will be found soon enough. I have learned over time that this is necessary. I have inserted the irrefutable photos into the pages of the diary as further proof. I know the mother will suspect something when she finds her husband missing and her child completely exhausted, muscles strained. I know in my heart that she has suspected something for a while. If only the mother knew the horrid punishment in store for those of who us suspect harm to little ones, yet do nothing. Perhaps it isn't too late for her.

As soon as I hear the mother walk in the door, I regrettably must leave this sweet form even now so full of life. The child will remember nothing of this night, her innocence still intact. I profess this to be no small consolation for the bitter business I find myself in.

If only I could save them all.

I've Got Problems - The Curse of Minor OCD

2010-06-06T20:28:00.000-07:00

So I made two big New Year's resolutions in January 2010, 3, if you count my quickly abandoned decision to lose 50 lbs. The other two were much more serious and were linked to each other. Prior to January 2010, I have been a big movie watcher. When I say a big movie watcher, I don't mean a couple-of-movies on the week-end movie watcher, I mean literally a movie-a-day movie watcher. How did I manage this you might ask? Well, I'm not going to go into too many details but I will say that the custom stereo I installed in my car when I purchased it in 2007 can play a variety of "media"... As the individual in charge of safety for Burton Lumber that is all I will say without further incriminating myself. I will say, however, that I have always utilized my 2 hours a day spent in my car commuting from Saratoga Springs to Salt Lake in one way or another. More important than a fancy car stereo, the real driving force that caused me to watch a movie a day is the streak of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that truly has been passed down from my mother and her family to yours truly and manifests itself in a variety of interesting ways. Now I'm not saying I'm diagnosable. What I have is nothing like real OCD that is often debilitating. What exists in me is more of an under-the surface habitual mania that strongly encourages me to turn my interests into obsessions that usually last 6 months or so.

Examples of this OCD streak? Reading all 21 of John Sandford's "Prey" Books over the course of 6 months. During this time I was in 3 different books at the same time reading one in audio format on my commute, one at work on my lunch, and one at home. Somehow I managed to keep the good guys, bad guys, and everything else straight the entire time. Another time as a prank I resolved to catch up to a friend's XBOX achievement level. If you don't know what this means, all the better for you. Anyway, I lied and told him my XBOX had the 3 flashing lights of death which normally means a month without my XBOX as it would need to be repaired. Instead I secretly unplugged my XBOX from Live and in 3 weeks earned 10,000 gamerpoints to catch me up to him. (I also gained 20 lbs during that time and probably lost 5 years off my life, but that probably goes without saying) As far as this movie-a-day deal goes you have to at least try to appreciate what has to go into such an obsession. I have used Netflix forever and at one time was getting 5 movies at a time from them. Then I learned you could rent up to 10 movies from the city library at a time, and you could reserve them ahead of time online. That tore it. I would gallop through the entire work of prolific directors in days. I would wipe out whole sub-genres in a month. I would role play the 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon over and over and over through my rentals. I devoured Sundance Films like popcorn shrimp and even eliminated TV shows with 5 or 6 seasons in a single bound. In short, I watched a hell of a lot of movies.

So fast forward to January of 2010. I had recently completed my 31 days of horror by watching a different horror movie every day in October and had started to feel like I had seen it all. In some ways I felt like there was "no new movie under the sun" and that I had seen it all, every variation of every genre. I know that isn't the case, but that is how I felt. Worse than this, I felt numb from all the movies I had watched, because while I had been somewhat discerning, I justified watching even the most base content through various excuses. I passed up being desensitized to violence and language long ago and continued to fool myself into thinking it had no effect on me. I came to this realization as well as the understanding that Sol was turning 12 and has always been interested in everything I'm interested in. I had already let him watch The Matrix, and I knew I would start to introduce him to other movies a little at a time.

Some may think this is fine and the natural order of things, but the problem with all of this is that besides being a big movie watcher, I'm also a Mormon and a believer. This makes life difficult in a lot of ways. Being a Christian already brings with it a laundry list of guilt, but being a card-carrying Mormon takes that to the Nth degree. As Church leaders have warned members to not watch movies that are unwholesome and have specifically warned of R-rated movies, I've been ill at ease with my obsession for some time now.

On my birthday I turned 35 and was feeling old and used up and like I needed to make some kind of life change. I decided to quit watching R-Rated movies. Now, I'm famous for quitting things. I have quit drinking caffeine soda (another Mormon no-no that I have yet to give up) like 25 times, so those who know me just rolled their eyes when I said I was a PG-13er or less from now on. A friend from work who knows how much I love movies just rubbed his hands together like Renfield and said, "You'll be back." Another friend who I used to go see horror movies at the theater with quite a bit just laughed at me, and my poor wife who always supports me in all my craziness and loves me unconditionally and doesn't judge me, didn't say too much, probably knowing about my history of backsliding. Not a very supportive start, but it was always about me and never about anyone else.

I had wanted to start reading more anyway and to start reading some classic books to open my mind a bit, but the siren song of the movies was always stronger. Once I stopped watching R-Rated movies, I found myself with a whole lot of time on my hands. I'll just be honest, there aren't many new non R-rated movies I'm interested in... at least not to where I would want to watch on a day, so my new resolution to read a book a week was easy. Now catching us up to the present... I'm 6 months dry from the R-rated movie bottle but now I have a new problem... My reading habit.

I started keeping track of the books I read to see if I could read 52 over the course of the year. Well, I'm not even through half of the year yet, and I've read 41 books. Once again my Micro-OCD is in effect, and I can't stop. So far this is what I've read:

1) Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell – Suzanna Clarke

2) The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History – Jonathan Franzen

3) The Dharma Bums – Jack Kerouc

4) 20th Century Ghosts – Joe Hill

5) Genius – Jesse Kellerman

6) Evidence – Jonathan Kellerman

7) Bones – Jonathan Kellerman

8) Empire – Orson Scott Card

9) Hidden Empire – Orson Scott Card

10) Under the Dome – Stephen King

11) Fiddlers - Ed McBain

12) Black Dogs – Ian McEwan

13) The Picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde

14) Light in August – William Faulkner

15) Heart-Shaped Box – Joe Hill

16) The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath

17) Night Shift – Stephen King

18) Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole

19) Complete Tales and Poems - Edgar Allan Poe

20) Anansi Boys – Neil Gaiman

21) A Midsummer Night’s Dream – William Shakespeare

22) Siddhartha – Herman Hesse

23) An Arsonist’s Guide to Writers’ Homes in New England – Brock Clarke

24) The Trial – Franz Kafka

25) The Colorado Kid – Stephen King

26) A Brief History of Time – Stephen Hawking

27) The Regulators – Stephen King (Writing as Richard Bachman)

28) The Art of War – Sun Tzu

29) Common Sense – Thomas Paine

30) Blood Meridian – Cormac McCarthy

31) The Nightmare Factory – Thomas Ligotti

32) Hound of the Baskervilles – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

33) The Stranger – Alber Camus

34) The Final Solution – Michael Chabon

35) Puddin Head Wilson – Mark Twain

36) Short Stories of Saki – H.H. Munro

37) The Age of Fable – Thomas Bullfinch

38) Turn of the Screw – Henry James

39) Ender’s Game – Orson Scott Card

40) Abraham Lincoln – A Presidential Life – James McPherson

41) The Complete Short Stories of Ambrose Bierce – Ambrose Bierce

Well that's great you say, but I can't help but wonder if I haven't switched the green monkey on my back for a blue monkey... A little bit of "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss." if you will. Now with the discovery of free books I can download in MP3 format from the library, it isn't uncommon for me to finish a book and start another 2 seconds later. Am I just a junkie constantly on the lookout for a new tray of junk? I sometimes wonder if these obsessions will ever end so I can just sit still for a while. It just seems against my nature to do so. I always have to be doing 3 or 4 things at once. Even when I try to do nothing, I look down and I'm doing something. I have wondered for years if I will be one of those people that die young, and that somehow I know this and am making up for future lost time. I kind of hope not, at least for Jana's sake, but at night, when I'm trying to go to bed at a decent time, and something inside says, "just finish that book, it's just a few more pages" I really wonder.

On the bright side, I have to admit that I have felt a huge change since I began this little experiment. I have always loved to read and in spite of watching so many movies, I normally managed a couple of books a month. Lately though, I have found a new fire in my soul for reading and reading good books. Of course as you see from my list I still have a few servings of cotton candy scattered through my literary buffet, but I have read many good books that I hadn't read before. A long dormant desire to learn has been awaken inside me and my mind is buzzing with ideas and comparisons and parallels at all times. It is wild and fun and I'm not through yet.

At least I'll leave a beautiful corpse.

Light in August, Black Dogs, The Picture of Dorian Gray - Three books with nothing in common except that I read them in the last 2 weeks

2010-04-04T19:07:00.001-07:00

I've really been reading a lot lately. Since my last post I have read a very American novel by William Faulkner with strong Christian overtones called Light in August written in 1932 and 2 English novels, one written fairly recently in 1992, "Black Dogs" by Ian McEwan, and The Picture of Dorian Gray in 1890 by Oscar Wilde.

Light in August - I tried to read 2 books by Faulkner when I was young and didn't get beyond a chapter or two before giving up. I think it was mostly because of the combination of the language being southern and old-fashioned to me that I gave up. Listening to this book on CD helped immensely with this as the reader had a great southern accent and even interjected interesting voices and pauses that made the dialog and internal monologues flow in a way that gave the book a play-like quality. The interesting way the story was told with no regard for a timeline (I knew Tarantino didn't come up with that on his own :) made me have to guess the point of the story and even who the main characters were as people flowed in and back out of the spotlight. The main character turns out to be and orphan boy, half black and half white named Joe Christmas. When the story begins you find out he has likely committed a terrible crime, and with what little you know of him, you easily hate him. When the story takes a sharp turn and begins describing a pitiful orphan, it took me a while to realize that this was also Joe Christmas, when he was younger. As the novel progresses and you realize you are learning about Joe's humble and pitiable beginnings, Faulkner turns your initial hate for the man on its head. I never really grew any empathy for Christmas through the course of the book, but plenty of sympathy. With this very troubled character, Faulkner examines race, religion, and even the confusing relationships of men and women. Although he has a JC name, Joe Christmas' issues are very different from Jim Casey's from the Grapes of Wrath with the largest of these differences being that Joe is a victim. Never at any time do you feel that Joe had even a small chance to escape his fate. Even when he does act, it is just in response to having been acted for so many years. I'm sure there are tons of symbolism and themes I missed through my reading. To be honest I always have vague notions of these things as I read the book, but I can never disguise my "Eureka" reaction when they are spelled out for me by Cliff in his Notes or by a well-meaning professor. I kind of thought I would reach an age, like before I turned 35, when this stuff would magically come to me, but alas, it hasn't. I do know that there were tons of Christian references and themes in the book and lots of ideas on racism and prejudice in general. From the prejudice of the women-folk directed towards Lena, the unwed, pregant young woman searching for her baby-daddy, to the turmoil JC feels towards himself for not being able to find his place in either the white community or the black community. I think that I connected less with Reverend Hightower. His story, although also tragic, still seemed disconnected to me from the rest of the novel. He is also a doomed character, but seems to choose his doom much more than the others. One thing I found interested was a constant "deus ex machina" as the characters were led to their fates one step at a time, by what seemed to be instinct or a higher force. When Joe walks through the darkened house, when McEachern is lead directly to Joe at the dance, and when Byron Bunch is led to Lucas. This constantly gives the characters a fated or doomed feel to them and was not done by accident.

The best I can say is that this is a book that you should read. The writing is just incredible and has a style I know now I've seen imitated but never duplicated.

The few quotes I found online don't really do the writing justice, but I will add them below anyway. One drawback to the book on CD thing is that it is not easy to underline favorite lines. Here are a few I did like:

There is a price for being good the same as for being bad; a cost to pay. And it’s the good men that can't deny the bill when it comes around. . . . The bad men can deny it; that’s why dont anybody expect them to pay on sight or any other time. . . . Maybe it takes longer to pay for being good than for being bad.

Man knows so little about his fellows. In his eyes all men or women act upon what he believes would motivate him if he were mad enough to do what that other man or woman is doing.

Like the cat, he also seemed to see in the darkness as he moved as unerringly toward the food which he wanted as if he knew where it would be; that, or were being manipulated by an agent which did know. He ate something from an invisible dish, with invisible fingers: invisible food. He did not care what it would be. He did not know that he had even wondered or tasted until his jaw stopped suddenly in mid-chewing and thinking fled for twentyfive years back down the street, past all the imperceptible corners of bitter defeats and more bitter victories, and five miles even beyond a corner where he used to wait in the terrible early time of love, for someone whose name he had forgot.

Black Dogs - A novel set as a memoir of a man's father and mother-in-law. The main points of this short novel are the contrasting beliefs of science vs. faith and a look at how the fall of the Berlin Wall affected those who once saw Communism as an answer to our social problems. The mother-in-law's account of a supernatural intervention when she was attacked by 2 enormous, black dogs supports the faithful belief in things not seen, and the pragmatic, scientific father-in-law, who also happened to be a socialist and support communist beliefs represented the other side of the argument. With the exception of the account of the dog attack and narrator's fight with a man abusing his young son in a restaurant, I found little to peak my mind. Here is a case of good writing with what feels like nowhere to go. I would encourage you to read "Atonement", also written by McEwan, before trying this one.

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Gad I'm sick of British writers right now, and Dorian Gray was the vain, priggish, simpering nail in the coffin for me. I have never enjoyed the formal aristocratic educated lords and ladies with their inner turmoil centered normally around their boredom because they don't freaking do anything. The idea of going to a formal luncheon to gossip about lord whoever and lady whatever makes me want to throw myself off a bridge. Maybe that is because I just read Faulkner, whose characters are the salt of the earth. Maybe because I'm not a 14 year old girl. Either way I'm done with the Brits for a while and Dorian Gray, although sometimes quite a funny and accurate social commentary on turn-of-the-century England, was still just a bunch of English mincing dandies trying to look beautiful, and bored out of their minds because they don't know what an honest day's work looks like. Ugg. I kind of want to take Dorian Gray and have him get the series of whuppins Joe Christmas gets from his step father when he is forced to memorize Bible passages just to see what happens. I'm sure there was more to the story about youth and the duel personalities of man (Jekyll and Hyde) but I was too busy getting irritated by the general pansiness crybabyness of the characters to care.

Many Mansions - A short story by Jake Conrad

2009-11-18T15:57:00.000-08:00

I wrote this a few years ago and had it posted here for awhile. After the positive feedback from my most recent attempt, I'm posting this again. After looking at it again I think it seems a little preachy for my taste.

Many Mansions

A short story by Jake Conrad

The most interesting part of the Final Judgment, in Larry Zabriske’s opinion, was the absence of a line, a waiting room, or the necessity to take a number. After working for the Department of Motor Vehicles for 36 years and 4 months watching countless automatons with glazed eyes shuffling up and down cordoned aisles, Larry was expecting a line. Larry figured the line would be somehow more efficient than terrestrial lines, more perfect in some way, but he definitely expected it to be long.

When Larry went through the light at the end of the tunnel and found himself in a tastefully white-carpeted room resembling a small amphitheater, instead of a long perfect line leading to an enormous, pearl-encrusted fence, he began feeling uneasy. When he saw that the room was about half-filled with people, posed as if they were expecting him, the unease became anxiety. Say what you will about DMV lines, Larry thought, but at least they give you time to prepare.

Larry was both tickled and offended that the room he had just entered reminded him of a game show set. Janice, Larry’s wife of 38 years, had been a big “25,000 Pyramid” fan in the 80’s, and an even bigger fan of that “Millionaire” show hosted by Regis Philbin. Larry never liked that show much. He told Janice it was because he thought Reggie, “Regis” she would remind him, was a bit too smug for someone who had the answers written on the back of a card. In reality it had more to do with Janice’s interest in “snuggling” as she called it, which seemed to coincidentally fall on the nights the Gameshow Network played 2 hour “Millionaire” double features. Two chairs sat in the center of a rising circle of stepped seating and large video displays hung down from the ceiling at Larry’s north, south, east and west. Another wave of recognition mix with a bit of abhorrence at the blasphemy of it all hit Larry. This was certainly not the way Miss Donavan taught him the afterlife would be like. Where were the angels with their feathery wings and floating golden halos? Where was St. Peter? Almost the instant that Larry thought of his old Sunday school teacher, he recognized her to be the woman sitting two rows up in the small audience. She was not the hunched, sour woman in her 50’s that he remembered, but looked to be somewhere in her late 20’s. As he scanned the crowd he saw his mother and father near the front. They looked like Larry’s parents, but they looked more vibrant and full of health. They looked like they looked in their wedding photos. Scanning the room Larry saw Coach Atkins, Sergeant Qualls and his cousin Daniella also looking to be in their late 20’s or early 30’s. All were smiling and looking at Larry.

A man whose skin was too dark to for him to be either Chuck Woolery or Regis Philbin sat in one of the two chairs at the bottom of the amphitheater. The man was dressed in a gray suit, which stood out dramatically against the white room around him. He came to his feet, smiled and motioned with a sweeping gesture for Larry to sit in the chair by his side. “Welcome Larry”, said the man in the charcoal suit. Larry came forward on stiff legs and sat in the curved chair. “Yes. You have entered the afterlife Mr. Zabriske. I am your assigned Conciliator, Stanley Morse, and I will be handling your reassignment hearing.” Larry looked at Morse very closely, and after short pause said, “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.” Morse smiled, “You and I have never met Mr. Zabriske. I was a defense attorney in Detroit until a Volkswagen bus hit me in 1993. It is the fact that we have never met, and not my law degree that makes me eligible to be your Conciliator.” Morse gave him a conspirator’s wink and said, “It is a bit like jury duty for some of us assigned to the Radiance.” Morse smiled and made another sweeping gesture around the room. “However, you should recognize everyone else here.” Morse pointed to the back of the room at began naming off names Larry hadn’t spoken in many years. “Charlie Medina, Cheryl Jackson, Sandy Gleeson, Jennifer Pope…” Each name Morse listed prompted a spectator to stand for a moment before taking their seat again. Larry was surprised to feel tears sting his eyes as his baby brother James Zabriske’s name was announced and a man Larry he had never seen before stood. Little Jimmy had left the world after 2 years, taken by pneumonia. James, a man who resembled Larry’s grandfather in old pictures gave a small wave and sat down.

Morse sat beside Larry and pulled a small, rectangular object from the inside his suit jacket. Again Larry had a surreal moment as Morse pointed what looked like a white remote control at the ceiling and pressed a button. Two things happened at once. All the video displays that encircled the wall at the top of the amphitheater changed from a dark screen to a light blue screen. At the same time, a triangle-shaped section of the floor between Larry and Morse’s chairs separated itself and rose to table height between the two men forming a small table. Morse reached into a compartment on his side of the table, and removed an ivory mechanical object. It was only after the article was placed on the small pedestal between them, that Larry saw that it was a balance scale. Again Morse reached below Larry’s line of sight and withdrew two clear containers that he placed on either side of the scale. The scale tipped and swayed for a moment before coming into alignment.

“I began reviewing your case about the time you started having chest pains, so I’m somewhat up to speed, Larry,” Morse said. “Wait a minute.” Larry said “What about God and Jesus and Heaven and Hell…” Morse stopped Larry short with a puzzled look. “Larry, what did you think all this is all about?” Morse said as he swept the audience in one fluid motion. “This is the Judgment you learned about in Sunday school. This is it. This is the moment you cash your chips, pay your debts and see if you will be found wanting. The next hour will determine your future for eternity. The commandments, the holy script… it was all real.” Larry swallowed sideways and then looked out to his mother, who was giving him a comforting smile.

“Larry Darnell Zabriske, in the name of the Radiance I begin this Judgment, Morse began. “Let the witnesses here today see this one man, naked before all judgment.” Morse touched something on the remote control in his hand and suddenly the monitors began to grow steadily brighter. Their brilliance grew slowly at first but in a matter of seconds Larry had to shield his eyes as the whitest of white lights filled the room. Only he seemed unable to look into the light. “We acknowledge the Radiance’s presence in this judgment,” Morse said, and appeared to be smiling as he said it, although Larry would never have been able to see it. The light retracted swiftly, leaving the room just as it was before. “The judgment is simple and perfect,” Morse said looking now into Larry’s eyes. “First of all, we will review your life’s sins.” Morse touched the remote once again, and what had to be the most vivid video feed Larry had ever seen began to play. “Larry, you are a sinner like us all. You are guilty of many minor sins. For each sin, I will place a black tile onto the left side of the scale. For each good deed, I will place a white tile on the left side of the scale. When your life’s works have been fully, you will then be judged. Your first sin came in the form of a conscious act of theft of a pack of fruit gum from your aunt Tacee’s purse.” The video feed showed a first person perspective of small hands reaching into a maroon, vinyl purse. Morse dropped a black chit the size and color of a domino into the cup on the left side of the scale. The sound it made was strangely loud and piercing and the scale swayed slowly before settling. “The second sin came when you lied to your father about how his prized eagle clock was broken.” The video changed to small hands tossing a basketball into the air and catching it. Larry felt his face flush and could not bear to look into his father’s eyes. He simply watched the ball bounce rogue off the side of the old china hutch and slam his father’s ceramic eagle clock into the wall, like he knew it would. Another sharp click as a black chit fell onto the scale. This continued for what seemed to Larry as a long time. He was mortified when Morse spoke of his frequent self-abuse as a teenager, yet relieved that all his countless fumblings only cost him one black chit. As the inquisition went on, Larry began to feel less shame at his acts and a sense that with each sharp click of tile against tile he lost these sins forever. He began to look at his audience. He saw not harsh, knowing looks, but understanding, sympathy and love. He stole a glance at his mother and father and saw such a look of love in their faces that he found some hope. And why shouldn’t he have hope? He had never murdered. He had never raped or molested. Hell, he had never even fornicated with anyone except Janice, and he didn’t even think it was fornication if you were married. He never cheated at cards or on his taxes. He never drank more than a beer or two a week (always on Saturday watching a game). When the sins had been exposed and listed, including a few that were quite shameful, like the time he French-kissed his younger sister’s best friend to the time when he flipped off the old lady who had cut him off in traffic (which had only been 6 days before his death), Larry looked at the scale, which was now sitting with the side full of black tiles nearly touching the table, and the empty side nearly a foot and a half higher. “Now,” Morse said with a smile, “we come to the more enjoyable part. What will follow, Larry are descriptions of your good deeds.”

Larry wiped at his brow and sat up a little straighter in his chair. He was relieved to be on to the positive aspects of his life. Morse started with Larry’s church attendance. Larry was a bit dismayed that all the hours spent in his church, from the time he was a boy, to the Sunday before his death only counted for one white chit. He looked up at Morse in surprise, but was still too abashed to say anything outright. Morse then went on to list the time he participated in the scout food drive, the time he shared a wedge of his bologna and cheese sandwich with the Laotian kid, Kim, who had told him he was hungry. Each was worth one chit. Then they were on to the donations that he and Janice had made to their parish, and to the firestation each Christmas. And the time he encouraged Janice to go back to school (which was partly so he could bowl more than once a week, but also because she just seemed so bored in their forties when they had pretty much given up on having children). And just like that, Morse was done with the good deeds. Now Larry had recovered enough from having his sins displayed to stammer out an argument. “Wait a minute here. I should have more than that”, Larry said. Morse looked at Larry for what felt like a long time and said with finality, “No Larry, that’s all there is.” “Wait”, Larry said in a cracked voice. “I never murdered! I never stole! I never… you know, with another woman!” Morse put his dark hand on Larry’s sweating mitts. “That is true Larry”, he said in a kind, but somewhat sad tone. “But, you see, you don’t get credit for not doing bad things, you only get credit for doing good deeds.” Larry looked at the scale, which wasn’t even close to being balanced, and said nothing. There was nothing to say. He looked out to his audience. Larry’s mother was looking at her hands. Larry’s father was slowly shaking his head. “Larry, this judgement is officially over and has been accepted as just. Do you agree that your judgment has been accurate and fair?” Tears began to roll down Larry’s face. He nodded. “Larry Zabriske, you have the equivalent of 2 hours to spend with those in attendance before you are reassigned”, Morse said in a clear, loud voice. “Wait”, Larry said quietly, “Am I going to heaven or to hell?” “Heaven and hell aren’t the only choices Larry. You see, the Radiance is a big place and many of us earn the opportunity to travel. Based on your judgment, and your prior experience, your new assignment will be in sector 7G, the department in charge of renewing travel licenses…”

Conviction

2009-11-14T21:23:00.000-08:00

So this story began as an homage to Rio de Janeiro, where I served my mission. I love Rio. I love the Brazilian culture and Brazilian people. I really had all the makings of an upbeat, LDS short story. But I probably wouldn't have pulled that off, so I wrote an odd story because I'm an odd person. If you read it, I hope you like it. Whether you like it or not I would love some help with a title for it and any feedback you could give me.

Um Abraco,

Jake

Conviction

Steven opened his rust-flecked screen door with a bang and squinted into the bright noonday sun. Two young men, one portly, with a sun-reddened, baby face, the other tall with bushy, black eyebrows, took a synchronized half step backwards to avoid the door from swiping their shins. “Good morning Sir,” said the cherubic youth, wearing a dark brown suit and yellow tie. “We are representatives of Jesus Christ and we have a very special message for you.”

Steven knew three things before the sales pitch continued – first, that the sweating, young man addressing him was new at his job, second that the two were most likely famished, and third, that even though it was an extremely bad idea, Steven would be inviting them into his home for lunch and discussion. Although it had been over fifteen years since Steven himself had been an LDS missionary, he could recognize the telltale darting eyes of a newbie a mile a way, even if he hadn’t seen the Elder’s snug, new suit and polished shoes. Steven knew that over the next 20 months of walking and riding bikes in Nevada, Elder Morse, as indicated by the small black plastic tag engraved with white lettering clipped to his lapel, would gradually loose his pudgy stomach and toughen up like a trail-worn cowboy. By contrast, Elder Leap, undoubtedly the senior companion, wore a sun-faded jacket that was opened exposing a toothpaste-spotted tie that stopped about an inch short of a pair of tan Dockers that definitely weren't purchased the same day as the boy’s blue suit coat. Leap’s weathered Doc Martins looked like they had recently been given new soles and new laces that almost, but didn't quite match the shoe.

Hypothetically, Steven could assume that the boys were hungry. In Steven's experience, 19 to 21 year old young men are always hungry – usually for food, but also for knowledge, competition, and the bodies of young women. Steven guessed that it was more than general youthful hunger, however, as the two on his doorstep were knocking doors well within the lunch hour. Steven remembered that he had gone without food for two reasons while on his mission: he and his companion denied themselves of food and water when they were seriously in need of spiritual guidance and when they were out of money for the month. Since it was July 27th the boys probably had been short-sighted in their budgeting and were hard up for cash. If asked, the two may say they were fasting so that the Lord would guide them to His elect, but it was likely they were killing two birds with one stone.

Steven decided he wanted to see how the green missionary would do in a contact-situation, and decided to play along. He said, “I have seen people like you around before… aren’t you Jehovah’s Witnesses?” Elder Morse swallowed with an audible gulp, gave a sideways glance to his senior companion then turned his attention to the area around Steven's pantlegs and stammered quickly, “We are similar to other sects you may have had visit you, but we represent the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. We have devoted two years of our lives to this work – would you have a minute to spare to hear about our Heavenly Father's plan for you and your family?” Steven allowed his eyes to drift to the left to which he hoped would make the young man feel like he was loosing Steven’s attention. It worked, because Morse quickly blurted, “We aren’t paid to do this work. I thought you would want to know that.” Steven smiled and looked at Leap, who came to his companion’s rescue. “Have you had Mormon missionaries in your home before?” Steven paused for a few seconds, stepped back a few feet, motioned the boys to come in and said, “Come on in Elders.”

Steven’s front room was dim, but neat and organized. His furniture was a mixture of Swedish shelving and overstuffed sofas. He liked to keep his house cool in the Nevada heat and the low light gave the room a cave-like feel. The only real sign that Steven ever occupied the room was a large, ornate ashtray in the middle of the coffee table. Steven watched, amused, as Elder Morse glanced at the ashtray for several seconds, then at Steven, then looked away hurriedly. Steven turned on a brass lamp and motioned for the two missionaries to take a seat at one of the couches.

After the boys were seated on the large, green corduroy sofa, Steven began, “I’m actually a member of your church…at least I was many years ago. I suppose that my name is still on the Church’s records.” Elder Morse smiled, but his eyebrows rose in unmistakable surprise. Elder Leap only nodded for Steven to continue. Steven said, “I know that it is a little disappointing for you to discover a failed member of your church… it must make you feel like you are taking a step backwards… but I actually had a reason for letting you in. I just made a big pot of chili, and I thought you boys might like some…that is if you aren’t fasting today.” Steven was looking at Leap when he said it and was unsurprised that the senior companion began shaking his head slowly. Elder Morse, however, spurted, “Thanks! That sounds great.” Leap shot his companion a dark look, but rather than giving them time to reach an agreement, Steven jumped to his feet and headed into the kitchen. After positioning TV trays in front of the two young men and filling the trays with large brimming bowls of black bean and steak chili, plates of buttered sourdough rolls and glass tumblers containing cream soda on ice, Steven sat on the adjoining sofa and popped the top of a Coors Light. Elder Leap, still wearing a pained expression over their broken fast, asked Steven if they could please bless the food. Steven smiled and said, “Sure… whatever.”

After the blessing over the food (given curtly by Elder Leap) the two began poking at their chili. They started tentatively at first, but when Steven told them there was “plenty more where that came from” they dug in. After a few minutes of spoons clicking against bowls, Elder Morse, with a mouthful of steak asked, “So, how long have you been a member of the Church?” The room grew silent enough to hear the pnematic wheeze of the air conditioner as it kicked back on. “Well,” he started, “I was born into the Mormon Church. I’m actually a fourth generation Mormon and I was born in Salt Lake. Its funny, I've had missionaries knock on my door before, but this is the first time I have spoken to Mormon missionaries in over 21 years. Normally I look out the window and just ignore them. In fact, the last time I spoke to an Elder, I was on my own mission in Brazil.” Steven didn't bother waiting for the boys to question him. He knew from the puzzled looks on their faces that they would be a captive audience to his tale, even when their mouths weren't chewing.

My mission had all the heat of Nevada, but in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, you have the added bonus of humidity. No contest between wet heat and dry heat. From the second I got off the airplane at the Santos Dumont airport, I started sweating, and really never stopped. In fact, I didn't ever towel off in the mornings when I showered before leaving our apartment... I just put on my clothes wet. I figured I would be wet in a few minutes anyway, and at least it was clean water I was wet with, and not sweat. Normally, the only relief from sweating was the daily rainstorm that rolled around after lunch and seemed to be made up of drops the size of your thumb. And that was in the dry season! In the rainy season the locals always asked us if we were made of sugar, because if we were, the rain falling practically all day, every day for months would surely be the end of us. The fact that we didn't have cars and bikes like you guys in the states normally do didn't help. Of course in Rio, there were so many people everywhere, it made a lot more sense walking because it was easier to get the word out. People made contact with you whether you wanted it or not. There are quite a few differences between Americans and Brazilians, but the most noticeable has to be the difference in the "personal bubble". In the USA, if someone you know, like a friend, comes up to talk to you, they usually leave three feet or so between you when they talk to you. Brazilians, on the other hand, give you a good two feet max, and that's when you first meet them.

Anyway, my first area was outside the city of Rio in a quaint, almost European-like town called Itatiaia. From the cobblestone streets, to the architecture, to the green hillsides that surrounded it, the little town really wasn't how I had imagined Rio, especially after horror stories about the crime and poverty I had heard in the Mission Training Center in Provo. My trainer and companion was a short, squat Brazilian from the Amazon a few years older than me. He was dark brown, had a lazy eye, and his name was Elder Pereira. Pereira was a quiet guy who talked very slow and walked very fast. He pushed me to memorize the discussions, a requisite for becoming a senior companion, and since there weren't any other Americans anywhere around me, I learned to understand Portuguese very quickly. As the days and weeks went by I understood more about my companion. He had become a missionary exactly 1 year and one month from being baptized a member of the church. His father had come to his baptism only so he could see for himself that his oldest son was really going to leave the Baptist church against his wishes, and then when he did, to disown him. Pereira lived with LDS friends for the year before his mission, doing his best to absorb everything he could read about the church. He informed me that when he returned home he had a plan to become an electrician. When I inquired about his bad eye, he told me a story about something that happened when he was 4 years old. I couldn't really understand it, but it had something to do with getting really sick.

It was only after I had been in Brazil for about 3 months that people were just beginning to understand my Portuguese. Prior to this time, it was common for me to finish reading a whole page from the discussion material and look up, sweating and exonly to have someone say, "I didn't understand anything this guy said." We were teaching a few people around the city and things were going pretty well. One day we were told about a family by the name of Cardoso who were related by marriage to a church member named Valdir, and who lived a few miles out of town in an area everyone called Contorno. They had come to the church once with their relatives for a baby blessing or something and were interested in having the missionaries teach them.

The first time we went out to the Cardoso house, Valdir came with us. We took a bus I had never been on before, and after 3 or 4 turns hit a very narrow road that wove its way up a small valley. After nearly 45 minutes, Valdir motioned for us to stand and then pulled the bus cord, buzzing the driver to stop. We dismounted the bus onto an orange dirt road, which was really little more than two side-by-side trails through the trees. We followed Valdir up the road which entered a thick green forest. After about 10 minutes of walking we came to a fork in the road. On the left, the road became a muddy, mucky version of the path we were on. On the right, the road narrowed even further and seemed to get choked out by vegetation altogether after a few hundred yards. Of course Valdir pointed us up the muddy path, and a few minutes later we came to his sister Maria's white, brick house surrounded by chicken coops. After a nice first discussion sitting on overturned 5-gallon buckets on the front porch, the Joao Cardoso asked us to stay for a dinner of pan-fried beef steak, black beans, collard greens cooked in bacon grease, and extremely sweet mango juice. They told us they would be happy to come to church on Sunday, and Elder Pereira scheduled a time to come back the following week. I have to say that the whole way down the trail and even the 40 minutes we waited for the bus, I was feeling very happy and excited about my mission and this adventure I was having in another country. I was feeling even a little cocky that my Portuguese was understood as well as it had been during the meeting with the Cardosos. When the bus finally arrived it was nearly dark. I sat near the window and as the bus started down the road, I looked to my left, back up the hill we had come down, and saw a light shining through the trees. I could tell it wasn't the Cardoso home and asked Valdir if he knew who lived there. Valdir, who was already settling in to nap on the bus ride back to the station looked out to where I was pointing, turned back to me and just shook his head. "No. No Elder." was all I could understand but he then he leaned over to my companion and started speaking to him quitely and pointing at the light. I reminded myself to ask Pereira about it later that night, but after a few minutes of being rocked back and forth, I fell asleep and forgot about it.

I remembered the following week when Elder Pereira and I headed up to the Cardoso home, so I pointed down the unkempt trail leading to the right at the fork in the road and said in my thick American accent, "What did Valdir say about that place?" Pereira didn't slow his pace at all and just said, "E' um lugar mal," which means, "It is a bad place." I stopped and after about 5 or 6 steps Elder Pereira stopped and turned around. I told him he had to explain more to me. He said, "It is a place of Macumba, an evil place." In the month or two before my mission I had read everything I could find about Rio and Brazil in general and I remembered something about Macumba being a religion that was a mixture of African voodoo and Catholism. I remembered back to something that happened my 3rd week in Brasil with Elder Pereira. We had been walking up one of the cobblestone sidewalks, heading to a lunch appointment when we came across what looked to be a full dinner that had been laid in the middle of the sidewalk. Pereira sidestepped quickly off the curb into the street to avoid the oddly placed meal as if were a sleeping homeless person, but I just walked up to it and stared at it, trying to figure out what it was. A red cloth had been laid down like a placemat and on it sat a large plate of food. There was a chicken breast, beans, rice and some kind of leafy green. There was a cup of what looked like red wine and a cigar sitting to the side of the plate. Elder Pereira came back to me and at first looked like he was going to try to explain the plate of food to me, but then seemed to change his mind, suspecting that I wouldn't understand anything with 3 weeks of Portuguese, and just said to me, "Nao toca, e' Macumba" or "Don't touch, it's Macumba."

I thought about asking the Cardosos about it, maybe working it into part of the conversation, but the second discussion is when we usually invite people to prepare to be baptized and I was a little nervous when it fell on me to ask them, it so I forgot to bring it up. After the discussion and another one of Maria Cardoso's enormous lunches I was flying high. Not only had the Cardosos gone to church the past Sunday, but the man of the house, Joao Cardoso, actually interrupted me before I was able to ask them to be baptized, and asked ME what they needed to do to join our church. As we tromped down the trail after the discussion in the early afternoon heat, I felt so good I started to sing, "Unchained Melody" loudly, remembering Pereira had told me it was his favorite American song. I was just getting to "...and time, goes by, so slowly..." when suddenly I started to feel what I can only describe as complete dread. The strange thing was that it came on all at once. I went from feeling euphorically happy to feeling incredibly bad in just a few seconds. First I felt chilled, like we had walked into a cold pocket, then I had the sensation that someone was watching us. The way I stopped singing probably sounded like I was a radio with a volume dial being turned down. About 20 feet ahead, the fork in the road was visible. I was suddenly sure about two things right then: A woman was standing in the trees on the very fringe of my peripheral vision, and that if I turned my head to look at her something horrible would happen to us. This was a feeling, but it was so clear to me that it was almost like someone had spoken it in my mind. I couldn't really make out details other than I could tell it was a woman. She seemed to be either a black woman, or a woman standing in shadows. The feeling of being watched was real, although I don’t know why I felt so terrified of her. Mind you, I was 19 years old and after 4 years of high school rugby was in pretty good shape, and not many people intimidated me. I remember thinking that we needed to pretend we didn't see the woman, even though I was somehow sure that she knew we had seen her. From the time I stopped singing to the time we walked past the woman probably only one minute passed, but even right now I can remember the dread I felt. It was nothing less than a feeling of impending doom. I wasn't even sure at that point if Pereira had noticed the woman or felt it too, but when I could stand the feeling no longer, I looked at him and said, "Vamos, Elder." and I started jogging. The minute I could see he was jogging with me, I picked up my pace. We ran down the trail, black bags filled with Book of Mormons swinging at our side, crossed the road, and sat on a big rock panting, and staring up the trail. We didn’t say a word to each other until the bus trundled up to us a few minutes later and we entered it.

Steven sat up and looked at the boys' TV trays, stood up, grabbed both bowls and left the room. He returned with two more heaping servings of the chili with another piece of thickly buttered bread perched atop each bowl. Setting the bowls down in front of the boys, he crossed the room, sat down again, and took a small pull from his beer. "Wait a minute," said Morse. "Do you do you think that was a ghost, or a bad spirit or something?" "No, it was just a woman." Steven said. Leap asked, "Did you see the woman again?" "I did, as a matter of fact." Steven said.

We talked it over the next few days. Elder Pereira told me that he felt something similar to the dark feeling I felt, but that he had seen no woman standing in the trees. He said that he felt bad inside as we walked near the fork in the road, so when I started running, he decided to run too. I specifically remember him saying that that he had felt "scared the way a child feels scared." We talked about going back to the Cardosos. They were at a point right now that we needed to visit them regularly. They needed to hear four more discussions before they could be baptized. Pereira suggested that we ask them to come to the church in town to hear the discussions, but we knew they couldn't afford the bus fare to do that once a week, and go to church on Sunday too. We discussed teaching them after church on Sunday, but after 3 hours of meetings their kids would be hungry and restless. I suggested that we call the Mission President and see what he thought, but Pereira thought we should call our Zone Leaders, Elder Taylor and Elder Block. We visited a few members we hadn't seen in church until about 9:30 that night and when we figured Taylor and Block would be home for the night, we bought some pay phone tokens and called them. Elder Pereira proceeded to tell one of the ZL's the story, although his account was so short I felt there was no way to do justice to how strange the experience had been. After listening for a while, saying, "Ta bom." and hanging up, Pereira told me that they were coming to meet us at our apartment first thing the next morning.

We had just sat down to eat our breakfast when they arrived. Taylor was an enormous Idaho farm kid with a flattop, a nose sunburn, and hands like oven mitts. Block, the senior companion was from Salt Lake me. All I really knew of Block was that he liked telling people that he was related on his mother's side to Ezra Taft Benson, who was the President of the Church at the time. Taylor was big, but seemed to be shy and most comfortable looking and listening. When he spoke, his "lingua Portuguesa" didn't sound like he was three months from reaching the end of his two year mission, in fact it sounded a little worse than mine. The two walked into our tiny, two room rental and while Taylor investigated the papaya and french bread set out for our breakfast, Block came over to me and started questioning me rapid-fire in English. Pereira, who couldn't speak more than 5 or 6 English words looked uncomfortable. Block said, "OK, Elder Crenshaw, what's the deal. Your comp said you guys thought someone wanted to hurt you when you were leaving an investigator's house?" I told him my story the best I could, but I started to get irritated as Block seemed to lose interest quickly. "So you saw a woman and felt a bad spirit?" Block asked. "Well here's the deal, we have a busy day scheduled so we need to do a split. I think Elder Taylor and your companion should go back to our area and visit the families we have scheduled there, and you and I can go talk to this woman. I've had some experience with this kind of thing."

I could tell Elder Pereira wasn't happy with this resolution and seemed to almost be irritated with me, like I had somehow orchestrated him out of the picture. He said nothing to me as Elder Taylor polished off our french bread, and we left for the bus station. All I got out of him was a muffled, "Tchau" when he and Taylor split up with us at the bus station entrance. I would probably have said more if I knew that was to be the last time I ever spoke to my softspoken companion.

On 45 minute bus ride over, I was forced to hear Elder Block gloat about how he had become a senior companion in only 2 months because he was able to speak the language so proficiently. He also talked about the full ride scholarship he had to BYU, and of course, his favorite topic of how his mother's 2nd cousin was Ezra Taft Benson's niece or something. When I couldn't stand it anymore I asked, "So you get together with him much?" He pulled out a photo of a group of people and pointed to a man in the middle who looked kind of like President Benson, then to a woman holding a baby and said, "And that is me, right next to him." He must have figured I wasn't impressed, which I wasn't, and we didn't talk the rest of the bouncy bus ride.

We got off the bus around 11am and walked to the fork in the road. As we approached it, it struck me once again how the trail on the right seemed to get more and more narrow, choked by vegetation to the point of disappearing. I suggested to Block that we go up to the Cardoso house first and ask them what they knew about their neighbors, but he wouldn't hear it. He actually reminded me that he was senior companion, not to mention Zone Leader, and he would be making the decisions. I knew he was upset that I hadn't been impressed by his family tree and I kind of kicked myself then and there for not being a little more political. He started up the path and I followed. After 2 or 3 minutes it did seem like the path had ended into a wall of green, but we pushed through a little further and found the trail again. When i realized noting was going to intercede or redirect us, I began to feel a heavy, sick feeling in my stomach.

We continued on for about 15 minutes through the thick forest. The taller trees blocked the sunlight, and the shorter trees soaked us with their damp leaves. When we emerged into a muddy clearing I was hot, sweaty and itchy. The clearing was the sort of rural sprawl I had grown accustom to outside the city. It lead up to a pink house, the one I had seen from the road, that on closer inspection looked like it was built using a haphazard assortment of plywood and brick and painted over with some kind of pink paint that had run down the walls and into the dirt. To the left there was a squat barn with a pig pen in the front. Broken children's toys and refuse littered every square inch of the muddy clearing. Black chickens roamed and pecked through the yard freely. There was a gnarled black root of a woman in a wooden rocking chair on the porch in front of the pink house. I tried to give my best doubtful look to Elder Block with the hopes we could get out of there, but he avoided my glance and started to pick his way towards the house.

The woman made no indication that she had seen us, even when we mounted the first of the porch steps. Elder Block secured his bag between his knees leaving his hands free to clap a greeting, which is customary instead of knocking on the door in Brazil. The old woman did not look up, but after a few minutes a tall, skinny boy I put at maybe 14 or 15 in a pair of ratty shorts came out of the front door. He didn't seemed very surprised to see us and asked us what we wanted. Block asked if the "Man of the house" was in. The kid rolled his white eyes and laughed and said, "Man of the house, that's ME." Block then asked the kid if his mother was home. Without taking his eyes off of us the kid tilted his head back a bit and shouted for his mom. At first we heard no sound coming from the inside of the house, then a soft scraping as a woman emerged from the shadows inside the house. The woman, who looked to be in her 40's, was wearing a flowing, white skirt, a dark colored halter-top and sandals. Her straight, black hair framed her dark face and accentuated her large, white eyes. At once I felt an anxiety begin to creep into me. I knew that this was the same woman who had been watching me. I felt the same animosity seem to surround her like a cloud, and when she looked at me I could not meet her gaze for more than a few seconds. Elder Block must not have sensed anything, because he introduced us without hesitation and asked the woman her name.

The woman pursed her lips and said that she was Dona Judith and she "knew very well who WE were." Block seemed unphased by the statement. He told Dona Judith nonchalantly that we were teaching a family up the road, the Cardosos, and asked if she knew them. She said, "Claro" or of course. She laughed a light titter which made me break out in goose bumps and staring out from the hair that hung around her face, she held open the door and motioned for us to come into her home saying, "Entra."

Block walked right in, but I stood there for a moment. I looked from the young man sitting on the porch, who gave me a smirk, to the old woman in the rocking chair who stared out into the jungle, then back to the large white eyes of Judith. She said nothing, neither changed her expression, but I still felt like Hansel on the candy-house porch. I felt trapped, but I couldn't see myself bolting down the porch steps, as much as I wanted to. For one thing, mission rules dictate that you stay with your companion always, for another, I was a little afraid of what Block would do if I up and ditched him.

The room we were led into did nothing to soothe my anxiety. The furniture consisted of 3 wooden chairs and 2 benches made from planks stretched across stacks of orange brick. The floor was uneven cement. A TV that looked older than I was cast a green-tinted glare on the room. The green-tinted actress in the soap opera on the TV was crying and being soothed by a green-tinted shirtless man with a mustache. Shelves which lined all 4 walls of the room held statues and small paintings of saints. I was familiar with seeing Catholic saints in people's homes. While paintings were the most common, I had entered a few homes with small shrine-like tables dedicated to statues of the Virgin Mary. Because the room was dim I assumed at first that this was more of the same, but there were so many of them compared to what I had seen, and all of them had a small white candle placed before them. Some of the candles had been burned and the wax had run and made small grey icicles before dripping down to the floor. Block had already taken a seat in one of the wooden chairs and I sat next to him. Dona Judith called for the boy, who's name was Tiago, and directed him to bring the old woman in and join us. We waited as Tiago slowly led the stooped woman inside the home and across from us into the remaining chair before joining Judith on the bench. I remember wanting to tell Elder Block that I wasn't feeling good and that I wanted to leave, but every time I started to do so, I felt Judith's stare from across the room and I could not make myself speak because of it.

Besides the dim lighting and the idols, some carven and crude and some elaborately painted and dressing cloth, the room had a smell to it that while not overpowering, was strong enough to give me the beginnings of a headache. I smelled farm smells, low and pungent below everything, but above it, food, the onion and bean smell I had become accustom to. Mingled with this was the scent of unwashed bodies which became stronger when Tiago brought in the old woman. An odor of illness wafted behind the old woman as she shuffled by, and looking down I saw that one of her feet was wrapped in old gauze, and a yellow patch of seepage could be seen near the ankle. The smell that bothered me the most in the house was an earthy, burnt smell, like dust cooking on a space-heater.

I kept trying to get Block's attention as Tiago and the old woman were taking a seat, but I was dismayed to see that his normally aggressive, engaged demeanor was gone. It was as if entering the house had stunned or shocked him in someway. He just kept staring at Judith with a blank look on his face. Normally I was the reserved one of any companionship, mostly because I the language was still pretty tough for me. Still, I tried to step up and take an active roll at this point if for no other reason than to get us out of there as quickly as possible. I asked Tiago if he played soccer. Tiago looked at Dona Judith and said nothing. I asked the old woman her name. She looked back at me with black glittering eye deep set in her wrinkled face but said nothing. Finally, in almost exasperation, I asked Dona Judith if we could give them a message about Jesus Christ and a Plan Our Heavenly Father has for her and her family. It was at this point that Dona Judith stood up very quickly and walked to the shelf nearest to her. She reached into the folds of her skirt and produced a box of wooden matches. Without a word she began lighting candle after candle, making her way around the room. I remember turning to Elder Block and saying, "We have to leave right now." He continued to watch Dona Judith make her way around the room and made no sign of hearing me. I grabbed his arm nearest to me with both hands and said, "Elder. Elder!" but he continued to ignore me expressionless. I stood up in a panic and looked at the doorway that would lead me back to the porch. I took 2 steps towards the exit when I heard a voice say in English, "Steven, you cannot leave." I looked back and Judith was standing in the middle of the room and smiling an enormous smile, her teeth and white eyes glinting in the candlelight. Elder Block stood up and walked as if sleepwalking to Judith's side, where he knelt down and placed his forehead on the cement floor at her feet. To my left the old woman began to speak low and so rapidly that I could not understand it. I turned to her and was shocked to see she was now on her feet and standing on the seat of her wooden chair, hunched over like a vulture. How she got there, and so quickly, I do not know. Tiago stood up and reached with his long arms to the shelf behind him. When he turned around with a long, thin knife in his hand I began to scream and step toward the door. Judith said again, in English without a trace of an accent, "Steven, you cannot leave." "Why are you doing this?" I asked in a panicked, high-pitched voice. She smiled again and said, "Because you are are innocent, because you are weak."

I still held my leather valise which contained my scriptures, 3 Book of Mormons, several pamphlets and a bus schedule. I threw the bag at Tiago, but threw it too hard and high and it hit the shelf behind him. Three candles went out as the bag struck them and the little statues behind them causing the whole mess to crash to the floor. I looked once more toward Elder Block who was still prostrate at Judith's feet. I no longer felt worried about what he would do to me if I left him. From the little I could see on his face in the greenish glow of the TV, Elder Block had already left, however temporarily, I didn't know.

I crashed out the door and fell down the porch steps into the mud and muck. I scrambled to my feet in time to hear Dona Judith screech and to catch a glimpse of Tiago's long brown legs and arms as he flashed out of the house after me. I sprinted through the wreck of a yard, scattering chickens as I ran and hurtled into the forest looking desperately for the trail. I heard Tiago, all grunts and footfalls only a few yards behind me and abandoned all thought of finding the trail. I ran desperately, jumping over rotted logs, zig-zagging around trees, but not so desperately that I ran wild. I had the idea that I was heading the right way generally so I focused all my effort on not slamming into a tree. Tiago, who was lank and lean with a runner's body, and who undoubtedly knew this forest much better than I did, kept up with me and even began to gain. I started to imagine the feel of his knife piercing my side, and the painful stitch I was developing from running only reinforced this thought. I finally was able to calm my mind enough to realize that I needed to face Tiago before just that sort of thing happened. When I looked over my shoulder expecting to see him bearing down on me, there was no one there. I stopped and looked all around me in panic. I looked back the way I came and saw nothing. I bent over and put my hands on my knees and tried to slow my ragged breathing so I could listen for sounds of movement I heard nothing. Once again I looked back the way I came. Judith stood about 20 yards away like a statue, glaring at me, her face a mask of hate. I felt paralyzed by the dread of her presence. It wasn't until I looked lower and saw her stained, white skirt and dripping hands that my paralysis broke. I ran from her. This time my running was in no way calculated or careful. I slammed my hip into a large boulder. I caught my foot in a gnarled root and just kept my balance enough to sprawl through a thorny bush. I ran until I finally emerged scratched and bleeding near the road and kept running down the middle of the road towards town.

"That is pretty much the story," Stephen said after a long pause. The two missionaries were glassy-eyed, hypnotized by the heavy lunch and Stephen's tale. At some point Morse had picked up a yellow throw pillow off the couch and had set it in his lap. He was likely oblivious to the fact that he was now hugging it with both arms and resting his chin on it. Leap was sitting forward with a pained look on his face, as if he had just pulled a muscle in his back. "I ran down the road until an old truck came up behind me," Stephen continued. "I tried to explain what happened to the driver but my Portuguese had pretty much left the building at that point. The man must have understood something because he dropped me off at the bus station in town, looking very relieved to part ways with this dirty, wild-eyed gringo. I called the mission president's house from the bus station then sat under the bank of phones with my head against the wall for a long, long time." "What happened to Elder Block?" asked Elder Leap. "I have no idea," Stephen replied.

The mission president and 2 missionaries who worked in the office came to pick me up several hours later. I was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, that I honestly had lost all connection to the Portuguese language. It was as if the language being spoken around me was coming in from very far away and although it sounded familiar, I couldn't make out much of it, and when I tried to speak it, the words simply would not come to me. As the three of them were Brazilian and spoke very little English, the President finally gave up and resolved to put me on a bus with one of the office Elders and gave us instructions to go to his apartment. I assumed the President was going to find Elder Pereira, my companion, and try to make sense of this. The bus ride took 3 hours, and during that time I began to feel sick. For the next 3 days I stayed in a bedroom at the Mission President's apartment. I could hold no food down and developed a fever. I remember lying in a small fold-out cot, sweating and waking over and over from bad dreams. I remember the President waking me up at one point. He seemed mad at me and demanded I tell him what happened. When I didn't even attempt the story he got angry and yelled at me in Portuguese and left. Later an American Elder from Salt Lake who had come to the mission on the same day as I did was sent in to speak to me. He asked several times what happened, and I almost told him, but I knew that if I told, there was a chance that I would have to go back to that house, so I said nothing except, "I want to go home right now Elder. Tell the President that I want to go home right now."

The President drove me to the airport in his car himself two days later. My fever was gone by that point and I had started eating again. We had nothing to say to each other on the ride there. I felt guilty for not saying anything, but I knew that what was done was done. I have to give him credit for putting his arm around me and telling me, "Boa Sorte" which means "Good Luck" as I headed up the to the gate. The plane flew direct for 8 hours to Ft. Worth, Texas where I had a two hour layover. The trip was uneventful except that at some point I fell asleep and dreamed of a pink house in the middle of the forest and I woke up screaming. As I sat in the Dallas Fort Worth Airport reflecting on the events of the prior week, something came over me. I sat in the hard, plastic chairs outside my boarding gate and felt compelled to repeat the the final words Dona Judith said to me over and over in my mind. "Because you are innocent, because you are weak." I repeated this filthy mantra something clicked in my head. I knew right then I couldn't go home. Not because I would be returning home in shame. It had nothing to do with pride. I couldn't return home, because if I did, I would go back to feeling safe and continue being both innocent and weak. I decided I would never again put myself in a position that evil could take notice of me. I took my suitcase into a handicapped bathroom stall and changed into a pair of street clothes. Then I walked out of the airport, leaving my life, my family, my mission and the church behind.

"You mean you've never seen your family since?" asked Morse. "No," said Stephen. Elder Leap leaned forward in his chair and looked solemnly into Stephen's eyes. He hid none of his disdain when he said, "So you are saying you left everything important in your life behind because you were scared?" Stephen stood up and pointed at Leap. "What happened to judge not lest ye be not judged?" he shouted. "You weren't there. You didn't see her eyes. So yes, I left everything. And just to be sure that I'm not falling into the 'innocent' category, I do things. I smoke and drink, not because I like it, although I guess it has become a habit now, but because it is a vice. I subscribe a pornographic web site that sends 2 videos and 5 photos to my email every day. I even steal a candy bar from the Top Stop now and then." The boys rose to their feet and Morse shuffled backward towards the door. Leap started to follow his companion, then turned and said, "Ok, fine, let's say we believe everything you told us. But why did you decide to tell this story to us now? Why?" Stephen walked past the boys and opened the door, letting in the hot, desert breeze. He stared into Elder Morse's round face and large eyes and said, "I had to. You see last night Dona Judith appeared to me in a dream. She told me that you would be coming. She told me to feed you and tell you my story. She told me that if I did this one thing, she would forgive my trespass. She told me to tell the story and then tell "the fat one" that she sees him, that she or someone like her will come for him. Because he is innocent, because he is weak."

Elder Leap grabbed his companion's hand and pulled him out of Stephen's front door, down the sidewalk, and into the street. Stephen watched them go. He continued watching them walk down the street until they turned left on Grove Avenue and he could see them no more. When they were out of sight, Stephen shut his front door, put his hands over his face, and wept for a long time.

This Film Has Been Modified By Hitler To Fit Your TV

2009-07-12T17:29:00.000-07:00

If you hate the "black bars" on the top and bottom of your TV screen when you watch DVDs at home you have to read this article.

Many people get upset each time they watch a "widescreen" movie because:

1) they think that the image has been smashed into a rectangle.

2) they think that the image has been cropped or cut to form a rectangle.

3) they feel ripped off when there are black bars on the top and bottom of the movie they are watching because they aren't using all of their HDTV's real estate.

If you feel this way, my goal is to help you understand why movies, especially movies on DVD are shown in a letterbox or widescreen format, and help you feel good about watching movies like this, in spite of your above grievances. This article will not go into deep geeky detail on this subject, as their are other websites set up for this purpose. I'm writing this the same way I have explained countless times to family and friends who don't understand widescreen and who are always on the lookout for pan-in-scan copies of their favorite movies.

It comes down to this. When you go to the movie theater and watch a movie, what shape is the movie screen? It is a rectangle. When you watch a movie on a regular TV it is more of a square shape. There are only 2 options for playing a rectangular movie on a square TV. You can either shrink the rectangle so it fits on the right and left side of the screen leaving black space above and below the picture (widescreen/letterbox), or you can zoom in on a square-shaped portion of the rectangular screen and focus on most important part of the movie, allowing the rest to be cut out (pan-in-scan).

Neither option is perfect. With widescreen, you get to see the movie the way you would have seen it in the theater, but if you have a small TV (19"), it may be difficult to see everything without sitting right in front of it. With pan-in-scan you are definitely not seeing the movie the way it was shown in the theater, and may be missing part of screen that would add depth and scale to the shot. For example, in one of my Mom's favorite movies, The Sound of Music, you can see the difference from the widescreen theatrical screenshots, and the "This Film Has Been Modified To Fit Your TV" version. I know it is still the same show, but wouldn't you rather see the whole movie? Why let some TV guy with a square cardboard cut-out decide what parts of the movie he thinks looks better for you?

Most people own a TV that is at least 27" or bigger anymore. On a TV this size you can see the movie just fine. If you have a way to block the light in the room it looks even better, like you got an upper bowl seat at the theater. If you get an HDTV, chances are it will be a widescreen tv, and it minimizes the black bars even more.

Most important is that you buy into the fact that if you watch a movie in pan-in-scan, you are missing part of the movie. You may say, "Who cares if I can't see the 25th soldier in the line of soldiers?" I say if you are going to watch a film, watch it the way it was filmed. In new movies like the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, where much of the movie is created by computer, you can't tell me that the filmmakers are happy with a pan-in-scan version of their show that cuts out the epic battles and computer generated landscapes and characters.

If you want to see more examples of what I'm talking about, go to this website:

http://www.widescreen.org/examples.shtml

Click on the links and check them out and tell me you can't see a difference.

By the way, this ongoing battle between people who like widescreen movies and those that don't is officially at an end, as the cutting edge technology of bluray only releases widescreen copies of the movie. It stands to reason that if you want to see a copy of a movie thousands of times sharper than a vhs copy, you may want to see the whole movie. Still, I offer this humble explanation so that people can enjoy the movies they buy and rent a little more without grumbling about the "stupid black bars".

So I'm Pretty Much Best Friends With Him Now...

2009-07-03T20:50:00.000-07:00

I'm suddenly Twitter Star-Struck. I saw a few comments (see red arrows) from Neil Gaiman about his daughter, Maddy on Twitter today and as a father of 4 boys felt a connection to this dad who just happens to be an amazing author. Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors (Stardust, Coraline for those of you who don't recognize him, Sandman, American Gods for those of you who do) So even though I rarely do this, I sent a message through Twitter to Neil (2nd photo, my comment is at the bottom) telling him, "I love your relationship with your daughter. So rare to find famous people who can be good examples. No pressure." I was blown away when he actually answered me saying, "I have three amazing children. They do all the work at being wonderful, and I take the credit. It's easy." I know that I am being silly but I am seriously so amazed that I had a discussion (albeit very short discussion) with a famous person.

I'll never wash this keyboard again...

Viva O Brasil!

2009-06-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

So my nerdy geekiness is hanging out for all to see here, but there is no secret that I love video games and that I love many of the video games moms warn their kids not to play. Call of Duty 4 was graphically amazing and had an intense storyline but the announcement of part 5 got me twiterpated as part of it is set Na Cidade Maravilhosa, Rio de Janeiro! I served my mission in Rio and saw quite a lot of bad elements around the favelas (Brazilian slums). (We were forbidden to enter them) I have also watched quite a few Brazilian films and love "Cidade de Deus" and "Tropa de Elite" - gritty crime movies set in the favelas. I'm stoked that not 1 but 2 games are going to be set there. Apparently the new Max Payne will also take place in a favela in Sao Paulo and he has a Brazilian wife who is captured. I know I'm a geek for loving video games and Brazil, but just let me enjoy this moment.

Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling

2009-06-25T19:40:00.000-07:00

I am about 1/3 the way through this short novel and I am simply loving it. It is the story of a spoiled, rich young man who is rescued from falling overboard an ocean liner by a fishing boat. He wants the boat to take him home right away, but the stern captain puts him to work instead.

This is a boys book filled with high adventure and what Kipling believes turns a boy into a man. I laughed out loud several times during the interactions between Captain Disko Troop and the boy Harvey. The story also made me reminisce about my first year working at the Peppermill Casino when I was 14. To learn to work as a young boy around men is a difficult and life-changing experience. You have to choose how to interact, how to be humble, and how to make a name for yourself.

Very enjoyable book. I should finish it tomorrow, and plan to challenge my boys to read it this summer.

Supernatural

2009-06-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

I recieved Season 1 Disk 1 of Supernatural from Netflix and have really been digging the series. I normally don't watch TV but my cuz Jamison and his wife like it so much I thought I would give it a try. Sure it is a Twilight Zone, X-Files clone, but it is done well and is good for a thrill. The two brothers play well off each other and the acting isn't bad. I also like that they play alot of 80's hard rock as they drive around banishing creatures. I was especially impressed with the special effects. For a first season and for TV they are great. Don't worry, I haven't given up on my reading goals, just pacing myself sargent.

A Swing and a Miss

2009-06-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

As you see from my prior posts I have been trying to read more and watch less movies but I have not quite done as well as I had hoped. I gave up on "Bleak House" after nearly falling asleep on the toilet (not a pleasant experience). I started "Atonement" and started to get into it, but then cleaned out my car before my trip to Mesquite and never put it back into my car. Instead I have averaged a movie a day and nearly finished Stephen King's IT for the umpteenth time. I am not going to give up though! I plan on reserving a few books through the library so I don't have to search around so much and I am going to lower my goal a bit to acount for more movie watching. I am also going to sort my list and read the books I'm most interested in first. I have already added "A Clockwork Orange" and "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" to my library reserve list. I have been excited to read these books so I think it will motivate me to continue working toward my goal.

100 Best Novels Update

2009-06-03T20:03:00.000-07:00

My goal to start down the list of the 100 Best Modern Novels (see prior post http://jakeomatador.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-need-movie-intervention-now.html) got off to a pretty good start over the last 2 weeks as I listened to Joseph Conrad's Nostromo on my commute and started reading Charles Dickens' Bleak House in the bathroom. I have to admit that I have been pretty bored with both books and had to force myself to finish Nostromo. I have never been so drowsy on my commute in 6 years, but after drinking a sip of water every 2 minutes and slapping myself repeatedly I finished it. It is amazing to me that Joseph Conrad learned English in his 20's and yet wrote so many novels. Nostromo is kind of a masculine tale that takes place on an island. I thought of Pirates of the Caribean several times as I listened to it because of it's setting. The main character tries to be honorable but fails. I have only read one other novel by Conrad, Heart of Darkness, and even though Nostromo is more readable, Heart of Darkness spoke to me more.

Bleak House is more difficult. I am only a few pages into it and I don't feel like I will finish it. I read it for 15 minutes and I begin to fall asleep. It is the story of a multi-generational court case involving so many characters I forget who is who and have to go back and re-read. It feels like work reading this book, and I work enough at work.

I also read a book definitely not on the 100 best list, and I have to say I burned through it in days and had a blast with it. It was Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk and it was gross, disturbing and right up my alley. Breaking up Nostromo with it was the only way I didn't crash my car.

I picked up Atonement by Ian McEwen and another one I can't remember right now. I also picked up 2 graphic novels I have already read because I know I'm going to give up on Bleak House.

I need a movie Intervention Now!!!

2009-05-27T21:07:00.000-07:00

So on a whim I decided to see how many Netflix movies I rented over the last 52 months. The answer? 749! This made me try to figure out how many movies I have watched over the last few years. I had to add the 10 movies I have borrowed from the library every 2 weeks for the last 2 years, the 40 movies I have watched Netflix's streaming services since it began and the fact that I have averaged a movie a week in the theater over the last 2 years. This is a 52 month average of 29 movies a month, or a movie a day. It may seem that I sound proud of this, but it is more like I am impressed the way you might be impressed watching that little Chinese dude eat 57 hotdogs by dipping them in water. It is a little sickening... I don't even dare add up the hours. I'm sure I could have build a pyramid or saved the whales by now had I applied the hours to a more worthy cause, but, whatever. Anyway, I have made a vow to myself to read more. About 3 years ago I got interested in Graphic Novels (comic books) and systematically read the highest rated series I was interested in. When I walk into a book store or library, I have read most of the graphic novels on the shelf. I have read every Stephen King book, every John Sanford, every Clive Barker (except Imajica), every Neil Gaiman, every Grisham (except the Bleachers), every Crighton, every Peter Mayle, and many others.

Recently, I found a Time Magazine article that listed the 100 best modern novels. I went through and took out the ones I really couldn't read like Pride and Prejudice and checked off the ones I have already read. I now have a goal to pick at this list over the next 5 years. I feel this is a worthy cause and hope to be successful. I picked up Dicken's Bleak House and Joseph Conrad's Nostromo to start. I know I won't stop watching movies cold turkey... I will keep my 2 at a time Netflix. I also have to get a guilty pleasure book every few weeks from the library or I may lose my mind (gots to have my Stephen King now and then.) Wish me luck in this venture. If you would like to participate with me, let me know. I'm not organized enough for a book club, but I would be glad to start a separate blog to discuss the books as we go.

Here is my starting list. I plan on adding or subtracting as I get deeper into it:

	A	B
1	Books	Read
2	1984 by George Orwell	x
3	To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee	x
4	The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger	x
5	The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien	x
6	The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald	x
7	Animal Farm by George Orwell	x
8	The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck	x
9	Lord of the Flies by William Golding	x
10	Brave New World by Aldous Huxley	x
11	Great Expectations by Charles Dickens	x
12	The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain	x
13	Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut	x
14	The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien	x
15	The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis	x
16	Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury	x
17	One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey	x
18	Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck	x
19	Frankenstein by Mary Shelley	x
20	Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card	x
21	Life of Pi by Yann Martel	x
22	On the Road by Jack Kerouac	x
23	The Stand by Stephen King	x
24	Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad	x
25	Dracula by Bram Stoker	x
26	The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway	x
27	The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver	x
28	For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway	x
29	Siddharta by Hermann Hesse	x
30	Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut	x
31	The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown	x
32	A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
33	A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
34	A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
35	A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
36	A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
37	A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
38	Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner
39	Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
40	Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
41	As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
42	Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
43	Atonement by Ian McEwan
44	Beloved by Toni Morrison
45	Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
46	Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
47	Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
48	David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
49	Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes
50	Dune by Frank Herbert
51	East of Eden by John Steinbeck
52	Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk
53	Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
54	His Dark Materials by Phillip Pullman
55	I, Claudius by Robert Graves
56	Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
57	Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
58	Light in August by William Faulkner
59	Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
60	Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61	Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
62	Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden
63	Middlemarch by George Eliot
64	Moby Dick by Herman Melville
65	Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham
66	One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
67	Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov
68	Remembrance of Things Past by Marcel Proust
69	Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
70	The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
71	The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky
72	The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
73	The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
74	The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
75	The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
76	The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
77	The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky
78	The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
79	The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
80	The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
81	The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
82	The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
83	The Stranger by Albert Camus
84	The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
85	The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
86	The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
87	The Trial by Franz Kafka
88	The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
89	To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
90	Ulysses by James Joyce
91	War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
92	Watership Down by Richard Adams
93	Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Got to go read!

TV - The Black Hole of Death

2009-05-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

I don't understand Television any more. I don't exactly know when my love of the tube changed, but at some point in the 90's, I quit watching mainstream TV. If I turn on the television anymore, it is only to watch a random Simpson's episode, a cooking show, or a DIY home improvement show. From what I can tell here are my reasons:

1) I have less time than in the past and so whatever I choose to do can only last an hour or two.

2) We got rid of our TiVo and I'm too lazy to program our DVR or actually plan my life around a show.

3) We seem to be busy every night of the school/work week.

4) The bedtime circus (as I affectionately refer to the act of putting 3 boys to bed) falls right during prime time.

5) Without a TiVo I don't want to invest myself in a series like Lost when I know I will miss at least one episode.

6) I don't understand why I would forfeit watching a movie with normally a higher caliber of acting, special effects and writing to see something that is just interrupted by commercials.

7) Reality TV that I hate more than Hitler has diffused it's way into every channel.

8) I would rather read than watch TV.

9) I feel that watching a movie adds something to my mind, while watching TV subtracts.

10) I am a snob since I bought an HD TV, HD DVD player, and Blu Ray player and only want to watch something clear that sounds beautiful in surround sound.

11) I can control what I and my kids see in a movie by using the web site "kidsinmind.com" but I have no control over what images pop up during commercials or the tv shows themselves.

12) I have an elitest belief that TV is for dumb people and it makes me feel superior. (just threw that one in to see if you were listening.)

13) The purpose of making a movie is for people to spend money on watching the movie and buying the Blu ray where the purpose of TV is to get people to buy other products.

14) A note to all you video game haters... You wag your fingers and call video games destructive and a waste of time, yet have no problem watching reality tv where people marry midgets for money or eat spiders. You watch CSI Miami which is about as gory as it gets. You watch Desperate Housewives and get your jollies. So unless you have burned your tv, thrown away your romance novels, and stopped buying the SI Swimsuit Issue to ogle the painted on bikinis, then you can't cast stones at me playing a little Rockband. It may be a waste of time, but not any more than watching 3 football games in a row.

Red, White, and More Red, a horror comic by Jake Conrad

2009-04-22T15:57:00.000-07:00

This is a 7 page horror comic I wrote a few years ago. I gave it to my neighbor who was interested in illustrating it, but he has been busy and we haven't spoken for a while. This needs some rewrite work but I would love to find someone interested in illustrating it. It is kind of a shallow story, but my first attempt at writing a comic so back off. (Anyone not interested in gore will want to avoid this one.)

Red, White, and More Red

Page 1 consists of just 1 panel

A view out a second-story window. The lighting suggests that the sun is setting. The window sill is visible on all sides of the panel. We are looking out on the rubble that was a small French village after being bombed and war-torn. Broken buildings and houses are visible in the square below. There is a German regimen camped in the square. Triangular tents and bedrolls are bunched toward the center of the square. There are dead soldiers and dead civilians (women and children) in a pile on the right side of the square. The ruins of a small church is smoldering on left side of the square. There are a few solders with rifles who look to be guarding their camp. The rest of the soldiers are smoking, eating and laughing. One holds an American flag like a bull fighter in front of another.

Title: Red, White and More Red

Caption: October 25, 1944 – Jonquille, France

Caption: Just 14 days since troops of the 2nd SS Panzer Division 'Das Reich' massacred more than 600 people in the French town of Oradour-sur-Glane. While the men were shot immediately, the women and children are locked in a barn. The Germans then set the barn ablaze. Those who tried to escape the flames were shot.

Page 2 consists of 2 horizontal panels

Panel 1: As if a camera has been pulled back from the view in panel 1 we see a very young American soldier lying below the window sill. His body is directly under the window and his head is propped up by the wall. We can see just a small part of the view from page 1 above the window sill. He is lying in a small pool of blood which is coming from a wound bandaged by a rag above his knee. He is filthy… mud, blood. His eyes are very white. He is sweating and looks scared. He is holding his pistol over his heart.

Caption: Donald Hampton Wick is not really here. He did not see his platoon massacred. He did not hide in pig filth. He did not hear the screams of the raped, tortured and dying soldiers and villagers.

Caption: Sergeant Sands had screamed “2^nd Panzer”. Then Sergeant Sands had been shot through his right eye. Private Lovell “Lovey” Quincy had been from his hometown. Lovey had told him just two days before that he thought the Oradour-sur-Glane massacre was “bullspit” sent as propaganda. Quincy had been gutted… after he had been shot twice in the head.

Caption: Donny knows they will find him. He holds his unfired gun and waits for a coward’s death.

Panel 2: Close up view of the pile of bodies as the sun sets. The red of the setting sun make the tangle of corpses seem to be covered with blood. The visible blood is black in the fading light.

Caption: The sun sets on the citizens and would-be protectors of Jonquille.

Page 3 consists of 4 panels (It is up to the artist to determine size and shape)

Panel 1: A form is materializing near the church. The glow of the fire from the church shows that it is a thin man with a flat top and what looks like an army knife in his hand. He is walking toward the German soldiers standing around the church. The form is dark. His features are difficult to see, with the exception of his shining, light blue eyes.

Caption: An American soldier appears within minutes of sunset.

Panel 2: We are looking over the shoulder of a German soldier who is firing a pistol point blank at the approaching soldier’s chest.

Caption: The first to see the American is a lookout by the name of Hans Kinske. He smiles when he sees that the fool is armed with a knife. The bullets from his sidearm pepper’s the Dummkopf’s chest…

Panel 3: We are looking from a view maybe 1 foot off the ground behind the American soldier being shot. We can see large, bloody exit wounds through his back. Because of the light from the fire to the right, we are able to see a glimpse of the German soldier’s face through the 6 holes in the American’s chest.

Caption: …and blow large exit wounds out his back.

Panel 4: We are now looking from a view above, but still behind the American soldier. He is now standing right in front of the German and has buried his knife in the side of the German’s head. Behind the two men we see several more German soldiers approaching.

Caption: The first to die doesn’t have time to scream.

Page 4 consists of 4 panels (It is up to the artist to determine size and shape)

Panel 1: A side view showing the American soldier on the left side of the panel, and a group of German soldiers on the right side. The soldiers are firing various guns at the American - machine guns and pistols. We see blood and bits of flesh spraying behind the American soldier as the bullets go through him.

Caption: The approaching soldier never speaks and never slows.

Caption: They only start screaming when they see him smile.

Panel 2: Close up of the American soldier, who we now see is a vampire. He has a dark countenance, but we see blood around his mouth, crooked, sharp teeth, and shining blue eyes (the whole eye is light blue and shines). In the lower corner of the panel we see that he has bitten so far through the throat of a soldier, that the soldier’s head is nearly resting on his back. The soldier’s mouth is open in a scream.

Caption: He only stops killing every few minutes to feed.

Panel 3: Private Wick’s huge, frightened eyes fill the panel.

Caption: At first Donny is frozen. He believes that the first few shots he hears signify that the Krauts have found his hiding place.

Panel 4: View from behind Donny, who is now in an uncomfortable sitting position peering over the window sill. He still holds his pistol in one hand and is holding the window sill with the other. Out the window we see dead solders from the light coming from the burning church. We see some fighting in the square from the light coming from the firing guns.

Caption: The piercing screams shake Donny from his paralysis and he painfully pulls himself to a sitting position where he can see.

Caption: His bleary eyes focus, and he begins to tremble.

Page 5 consists of 2 panels.

Panel 1: In the first panel we see several small scenes where the vampire is killing German soldiers. In one pose he is stabbing one in the back, in another he is holding a severed head above his upturned face and letting the blood drip into his mouth. In another he is getting shot. I’m sure you can think of other scenes.

Caption: Donny can’t look away.

Panel 2: A view from behind the vampire (we see the outline of his head in the bottom right side of the panel. He is looking up at Donny’s window. We see that Donny’s eyes are bulging. His mouth is open in a surprised “O”.

Caption: Suddenly all is quiet. There is nothing alive in the courtyard below. He scans the courtyard only to see two shining eyes burning up at him below.

Page 6 consists of one large panel. We are looking at a darkened doorway on the other side of the room Donny is in. Beyond the door frame it is very dark, but it is possible, if you look closely to see a darker shape of a man in the gloom.

Caption: Donny falls to the floor in an effort to hide, and jars his bad leg. The world turns grey for a minute.

Caption: When he comes to, Donny stays very still, like small mouse in a room full of cats. He listens. His heart thumps. He slowly opens his eyes. He listens and looks, but doesn’t move an inch. He forces himself to breathe slowly and quietly.

Caption: Donny hears a small noise, like a rustle of clothes from the doorway. Time seems to stop. He can’t tell if minutes or hours pass. Strangely, he begins to feel drowsy.

Page 7 consists of 4 panels.

Panel 1 shows the sun rising over the small, ruined French town.

Panel 2 shows a close up of Donny’s sleeping face. His eyes are closed. Tear marks have made tracks through the filth on his face.

Panel 3 shows a side view of from the waist up. He is sitting against the wall, and his eyes are now open.

Caption: Donny opens his eyes as the rising sun enters the room. He is disoriented and so very sore, but what he feels the most is shame. Shame for being a coward. Shame for being afraid to die. Shame for not facing the darkness.

Panel 4 shows a view through Donny’s eyes at his legs and the wooden floor he is sitting on. There is an American flag folded into a triangle on Donny’s left. A first aid kit and a canteen on Donny’s left, and an open gunny sack filled with food at Donny’s feet.

Caption: Donny’s shame begins to fade. He has been protected by a fellow soldier, a brother-in-arms. His mind will return, at times, to his cowardice, but will forever be overshadowed by the memory that he had been protected and forgiven by the damned.

Long Way Down

2009-04-10T22:16:00.000-07:00

Jana and I watched a wonderful documentary that I just have to recommend. It is called Long Way Down and it is a 3 disc dvd documentary.

Here is wikipedia's explanation of it: "Long Way Down is a television series, book and DVD documenting a motorcycle journey undertaken by Ewan McGregor andCharley Boorman, on which they rode south through 18 countries from John o' Groats in Scotland to Cape Agulhas in South Africa via Europe and Africa in 2007. It is a follow-up to the Long Way Round trip of 2004, when the pair rode east from London to New York via Eurasia and North America.

The journey started on 12 May 2007 and finished on 4 August 2007.^[1] They were accompanied by the same key members of the team from Long Way Round, including cameraman and director of photography Claudio Von Planta, producers Russ Malkin andDavid Alexanian, and cameraman Jimmy Simak. In addition they decided to travel constantly with a medic, Dai Jones, security officer Jim Foster and various "fixers"—local guides and interpreters—throughout the journey. They rode the BMW R1200GS Adventure, the successor to the R1150GS Adventure bikes they rode in Long Way Round."

It may sound like the kind of show only a motorcycle nut would enjoy, but these two likeable guys are exploring interesting places and supporting several charities along the way. It filled me with a sense of wanderlust and excitement that I haven't felt in a long time. It does contain strong language (especially when Ewan dumps his bike over and over in the powdery dust of the Sudan) but it is well worth checking out.