How to do Las Vegas

How to do Las Vegas, according to David's Holla Atchya! Blog:
Go with a high roller. Do whatever you can to find one, then stick to him as if he was your last chance for a leg transplant. If he is Japanese, all the better. If you replace the preceeding "He" with "She," you are really doing Las Vegas right. If she's into couture you can just skip all the rest of my suggestions.

Stay at the Penthouse on the thirtieth floor of the Mirage. That's really the only way to stay. While there, put on the Mirage robe for no reason, make the TV come out of the chiffonier repeatedly, and get an aerial view of the Mirage Volcano.

Just say 'NO' to the Lady of the Night who asks you for your name. She approached me with, "Sweet! You have a BYU shirt on. I go there to! What's your name?" I just told her "NO!" and ran off to the safety of my penthouse.

Only stay one night at the Penthouse. Any more and you will watch your morals go down the drain like acid on a piece of soggy, white bread. It'll eat right through you.

Africa and "Going Rogue"

 One of my favorite websites is The Onion. The Onion is a comical news site that is well known for humorous headlines that generally don't make any sense. I would love to one day write for The Onion. Below are some of the news headlines I thought up, in the spirit of comedy. Let me know if you think they are good. If you are just befuddled, go to their website to get an idea of what's going on here.

World News: "African Union Calls for a Return to Pangea."
Morgan Tsvangiri, the Prime Minister of Zimbabwe, called on world leaders this week to return to the days of Pangea, citing 'all would benefit, and especially Africa.' Frustrated with his country's 1,000% inflation rate and history of corruption, Tsvangiri recalled the ancient days when Africa was nestled safely in the Gulf of Mexico, comfortable under America's wing. 'Those are the days we wish for our future!' he hailed. Other members of the African Union were less excited about the idea. Mwai Kibaki of Namibia scolded Tsvangiri, claiming, 'First we give the United States their President, and now you want to just roll over like a hyena and give ourselves up to them? Never! We are an independent continent!' This news is certianly causing a stir in America as well. Political analyst Benjamin Stott of the Washington D.C. thinktank, "Think Tank," says Africa would have a difficult time making its way across the Atlantic Ocean: 'I don't know how they would move that large of a landmass across an ocean. Call me a nay-sayer, but I just don't think it can be done.' Tsvangiri says his plans have not been formalized yet, but internet leaks point to him harnessing whale power and using 'very, very strong cords.'

The Great Library Debate

It's high time I had a guest post! I suggested having them long ago and then nothing happened... until now. I have a good friend, Aldous Maximus, who wrote a provocative post that I really enjoyed. With his permission I have posted it below:
I went to the library this week and was once again reminded and entirely split over the magnificent question that entreats me every time I need a book- Should I look for the book myself, or should I ask the librarian for help?
At surface level it appears to be a cursory query, but with necessary explication its truth is unraveled like the tootsie roll at the center of a tootsie pop. To preface, let me say I don't like the idea of relying on others to do things I am fully capable of doing myself. I am selling myself short when I have an opportunity to learn something valuable and instead I just have someone else do it for me. I have come to Earth to learn and experience, something that will be entirely lost if I let others do all the learning for me. There's some strange reason why I feel it's part of my democratic responsibility as a competent American to know how the Dewey Decimal system works and to be able to find my own sources in the library. Knowledge is power, and the acquisition of knowledge is the acquisition of power, be it for righteous or wicked loyalties. Finding information in the library is an ability to acquire intelligence. If I can't figure out how the library works how will I ever be able to become a contributing member of society? Does that sound far fetched? Hardly! I can certainly contribute without ever setting foot in a library, but imagine how much more I can benefit my fellow men and women when I am equipped with an arsenal of self-discovered knowledge that is personally meaningful to me!
Those are my arguments for finding a book myself in the library. Now for the rebuttal.

The Babysitters Club Never Had Any Guys

Yesterday I babysat a cute little girl, and it made for an interesting afternoon. It would have been much less interesting if she had been of babysitting age, and not 18. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be giving her a ride to basketball practice or dating her? Naw, that's a lie. But I did babysit a cute little girl and she was under two years of age. I felt like a Dad, and it made me realize how unprepared I am for children. A diaper bag? What's that? Why are there graham crackers in the diaper bag? Are they edible? Are they associated with the diaper? What is this strange top on the bottle? Am I supposed to take it off when I give the baby the bottle? It reminds me of an experiment I did with beakers in high school chemistry. How the heck to you work these full body seat belts in the stroller? Are we going to be 'strolling' along or going Mach 3 here? Can babies jump out of their strollers? Do I have to worry about seagulls eating her graham crackers? These, and many more, were the questions impregnating my mind over the course of my ten minute babysitting job while the mother went to the restroom.

The Dallas Roberts Academy

Well, that eventful time of each semester has come. It approaches gradually, like a trickling leak in your ceiling that you pay no heed to until its expulsive power crashes onto the crown of your head while you are washing spaghetti sauce off your nicest china. Do you know what eventful time I am speaking of? Getting a haircut!
Since the Bon Lose It School of Comedians went out of business and the last Paul Mitchell employee refused to use a buzzer even though I asked her to (I think she was scared of power tools), it became my task to find a new hair school for my grooming. Lucky for me, I live in Provo, Utah where the ratio of hair schools to bad moustaches is directly proportional. [Sidenote: The British spelling of 'moustaches' is undeniably under used, understand?] It didn't take long to find the digits for the Dallas Roberts Academy.

Some Significant Conversations of Late

Conversations that accomplish things occur all over the world, even on a daily basis. They just usually don't involve George W. Bush. (Ohhh, low blow! Why the hatred David? I actually do like him, and respect him wholly. But he could work on his eloquence. Seriously though, who couldn't work on that?) This week I had a few exchanges that were definitely noteworthy. I made of a note of it, and now I am transposing that note to a blog post.
While standing with my headphones in, rocking out to Celion Dion, a stranger (of the male persuasion), asked me to take my earbuds out. Upon acquiescing his request, he said to me, "Dude, I just have to tell you that your sideburns are awesome! I mean seriously, those things are sweet! Keep them strong!" Seeing as it happened at 7:30am, my entire day was improved. Thank you stranger. My sideburns have been likened to moss overgrowth on an otherwise healthy tree. (It was I that made that likening.) I am in need of a noggin mowing.
While walking home from Church, a friend (of the female persuasion) asked me what was going down this week. I told her I was looking forward to seeing an independent film at Sundance on Tuesday, to which she replied: "So... are you a nerd?" -'Yes, I am. I am studying math, what do you expect?' (Said with dignity and optimism.) No one has ever asked me straight up like that if I am a nerd. They have told me I am, but never asked such a question.
The third conversation of importance was between me and my MP3 player. It went something like this:
Me- "You sure do have some great music on you!"
MP3- "Thanks. You know, your're not too bad of a singer either!"
"Oh, stop flattering me! I'm nearly tone deaf."
"Well, thats probably becuase you always have me in your ears. I make people go deaf; it's a special talent of mine."
"Yes, MP3 player, I love you, but you do sometimes hurt my ears. I think I need some space. Should I lend you to someone else?"
"No, that won't be necessary. I'll just run out of batteries."
I think I listen to too much music; It's affecting not only my hearing, but also my psychological well being. I need a little break. Maybe now when you say Hi to me on campus I'll say Holla back (because I can actually hear you say Hi).

Candy is Fun

Yep, they really are fun. It says so right there on the fun little package. In fact, I asseverate they provided the most enjoyment of my entire day! When you lick one of those palatable treats and think the chocolate is sufficient, you are blown-away in a spectacular manner by the deliciousness of the peanut inside. (Even if you are allergic to nuts you are entirely overcome!) Such an astounding treat, and only the size of a Bonsai tree seed! Regardless of the amount of skulduggery you may witness at the vending machine when purchasing a little package, be rest assured that if you select a Peanut M&M's Funsize pack you are guaranteed to be lifted up- like Josh Groban. I cannot stand by that promise if it is not a Peanut Funsize pack.
Each candy treat has a little message printed on it. So far all I have gotten are "M's" so I'm thinking the cryptographic message might be "Mmmmmmm." A great way to describe how I feel when I open up a Peanut M&M Funsize pack!

Math and Rap Music: An Abelian Group of Order Two

Mathematics has taken over the rap game. Consider the evidence: (If you don't get any of these jokes it's because you do not belong to the highly specialized niche consisting of math nerds who listen to rap music. We are a very special and extremely finite group.)
T.I. is without a doubt a reference to the ever famous Triangle Inequality. The Triangle Inequality is not "Dead and Gone," it's just "Living It's Life."
Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas is dyslexic, and what he meant by "The i p's" (think about that one) was "The Pi's" a clear reference to the most significant irrational number unknown to mankind. Sure we know over 1,000,000 digits of Pi, but the fact that we don't know all the digits was an issue Will.i.am was bringing to national attention. If only he weren't dyslexic more people would have understood. "I Gotta Feeling" his song, "Meet Me Halfway" is a subtle reference to the fact that there is no halfway point with the decimal expansion of pi. "Boom Boom Pow" is Fergie's best way of describing how good it feels to sedulously solve a toilsome matrix analysis problem.

I Don't Mean to be Sketchy

Yesterday while perambulating home from school in the crepuscular evening, I had a semi-unfortunate exigency happen. (If you don't know all those words, don't fret, neither do I. Just playing, I know them.) I was walking perhaps 30 feet behind a female with a hood on. I have a significnatly bigger stride than her ("One small step for a woman, one leap for a man" -Buzz Aldred or something. Was that offense? Sorry). I was gaining ground on her, and she could tell because my pesky shadow was accosting her- unabridged, and much to my dismay but not my disposal. I started to speed up in an effort to pass her, but then so did she. She never glanced back, but just kept her head straight forward. And then, I kid you not, she glanced back at me with one terrified eye (she had two eyes, but only one was terrified) then increased to a run. I felt terrible. *I started to run after her to let her know I was harmless, but then she just started screaming. Naturally I started screaming too, which didn't seem to help. She tripped, and when I approached her to assist in her prostrated state she kicked me in the face, like a mule! Then she ran off and I found $20 on the ground. Everything before the * was true, everything after it was fradulent. Maybe I will make the Police Beat this week.

Chronicling the Human Class

Describing people is a very difficult thing, a hardship comparable only to catching a monkey with merely a lobster cage.  But, like the monkey dilemma, it is possible. The reason I find it hard to elucidate homo sapians is that physically, there is nothing else to relate them to and the variety is eclectic; and in terms of all other aspects composing a man or woman, the characteristics are generally painfully inaccurate. Consider the following arguments:
If I were to describe a new friend I just met at the annual Pokemon Symposium, held in Jakarta, and I said she was a blonde with black highlights, had a large, curved smile and a twinkle in her eye you might envision a nice girl with a banana split for a head. It's perfectly reasonable to associate the blond hair with black highlights to vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce, the large, curved smile to a banana, and the twinkle in her eye to an M&M. That would certainly be the first thing to come to my mind if someone described their sister that way. What if I described my girlfriend as having a "Face like a model, body shaped like a bottle." Would you think to yourself that I must be unlucky to be dating a girl with such a skinny neck? Would you in turn think that I was referring to a spray-bottle, and thus implying that I'm dating a woman who spits on me? Would you assume I was dating a camel? Would you wonder what kind of model? A hand model? Eyebrow model? Toy train model? I think you see the fallacies with these descriptions.

Gym, Jim, Gym, Jym

I love to go to the gym. I don't love the gym (it is articifially lighted, smells bad, is often crowded, and reminds me slightly of a 1920s cotton factory, what with all the machinery), but I do love the feeling of working out and getting fit. I can deal with the bad things inherent to working out, and recently I had some experiences that brought my emotions to all spanning degrees. I was perturbed, pleased, and relieved at the sights I saw. First, I witnessed a young woman doing crunches... while talking on the phone. She had the cellie in one ear while rocking her bod. That didn't annoy me, although I was tempted to call her and see her handle a 3-way call while crunching! Ah Ha! Then I was going to accidently trip in front of her and see if she would reach out to catch me or just carry on with her 'convo.' I also debated releasing a snake in the gym to see how good at multi-tasking she really was, but I didn't have one with me. The next instance was the one that perturbed me. A couple brought their dog to the gym! No, just kidding, but they did bring the baby. They were sitting there doing lat pulldowns while their 8 month old sat in her little seat beside them, getting swotted on (I may or may not have made that word up. It means, 'To have sweat dripped on you').

Doing Time in the Lab

Something amazing happened today. Not the type of amazing you feel when you start to grow hair on your chin (if you are male), but the type of excitement you feel when you order a hamburger, forgetting to request 'No Mayo,' and the server only adds a little dallup of the white nastiness, as if she had read your mind. Yes, that type of amazing. Here's how it all went down:
I was studying in the front of the computer lab just minding my own business, headphones implanted in my cranium, gluteus maximus situated comfortably in the red velvet chair. At four o'clock sharp, with my senses distracted and my mind focused, abruptly the lights dimmed to closure and the door behind me shut defiantly. Of course my first thought was a 12 year old Swedish vampire girl, and I gave a little yelp. My second thought was a seductress, and I gave a little yelp. My third thought was a tennis player, but that did not elicit a yelp, just an inner chuckle. Turns out, they were all wrong. The lab 'technician' had come to close the lab, and apparently not noticing me, she shut the lights and locked the door.  In a strange mathematical captivity, I excogitated my options.