Statistics

Caity and I have sadly moved away from the nation's capital. We loved our time in DC and very well may return in the future, but for now we are settled in central Virginia. Charlottesville, to be exact, the home Thomas Jefferson's University of Virginia. Since we're so close to UVA, I decided, What the heck, I might as well just apply for a Master's Degree!? So I did, and I was accepted, and now I'm studying statistics. It sure beats commuting back to DC to continue working! It's with a heavy heart that I left teaching 7th grade math at Gunston Middle School. It was a great ride, but now it's over (although Gunston still creeps up in my dreams from time to time).
My first six weeks studying Statistics have been... mathy. Very mathy. Lots of math has been happening all over the place, like a 2-year old trying to eat mashed maths. Who know statistics had so much math? Also, it's been tough. Turns out graduate school is a little more challenging than I originally thought. The first two weeks I felt like I was in a Russian III class because I couldn't really understand anything that was happening. Now, luckily, I've gotten used to much of the vocabulary and my background knowledge is starting to contribute. Also, I've learned that graduate school is pretty much hard for everyone. Nearly every classmate I speak with feels just as confused about the same things as me.
I think I like it. I'm not totally sure about that, but I think I do. I like the lifestyle of being a student, that much I know. Being able to study when I want, where I want, for as long as I want- now that is nice. Having only a few commitments each day and then having the rest up to myself, that is wonderful. As far as the content goes, some of my classes are interesting, and some not so much. I'm taking a computing class on SAS and R, and I find that fascinating. It's very applicable, and very informative. I'm also taking a class on Linear Regression, and shesh, I never knew there was so much to learn about a simple formula (Y = mx + b). The entire class is based on that one formula. I will really know it inside and out by the time Christmas rolls around. Then I'm taking a class on the theory of probability. It's difficult, and involves a lot of math proofs, but all in all I find it interesting. It goes over the very foundations and basic principles of probability, which is neat to learn about. My fourth and final class is on multivariate statistics. It's basically a class all about matrices. If you've ever taken linear algebra, it's pretty much an extension of that. So far it's not too exciting, but the professor says the first half of the course is usually less enjoyable for the students, and then when they get to apply the principles to real life scenarios in the second half they like it much more. I hope he's right.
I was hoping that this program would help me decide what I want to do with my life. (I mean, I'm almost 30...) Unfortunately it has not so far. But, I'm only six weeks into a 2 year program. I believe things will become more clearer as time goes on.
Caity got a job as a technician at an opthomolgy office here in Charlottesville, and has been impressing the opthomologist since day 1. She is really good at supporting me through school too. She's just the best. We like our new life here, and you should come visit. The Blue Mountains are at our doorstep and Thomas Jefferson beckons!

NYC 2014!

This Thanksgiving Weekend Caity and I decided to take a little trip to The Big Apple. There's a lot to write about, but alas, time and patience only allow for so much. Instead I'll just write about this super hip dining establishment we went to called L'ybane. You must be in New York when your restaurant of choice begins with and L and a Y separated only by an apostrophe. L'ybane was selected because of its close proximity to the theater we would be attending afterward, and by its specialty in Mediterranean cuisine (my favorite) and hipsterness (our new favorite, apparently).
As is true with all NYC restaurants, the facade was not much to boast about; we hardly even noticed the restaurant when we walked by. Once inside we almost turned around because the majority of what we saw was wine, and we were in more of a food mood. But, we  decided to give it a shot anyway. Our table was a tiny little table in the back with an interesting property: Its occupants (us) were closer to our table neighbors than we were to each other. Indeed I had my ruler safely nestled in my sock and I pulled it out to get a more exact reading. Here's what I found:

• Distance from Caity to me (the length of the table): 24 inches, or 2 feet.
• Distance from me to the stranger sitting at the table next to me: 8 inches, or 3/4 of a foot.

They lady to my left was a little bemused as to why I was asking her to hold still so that I could put a ruler flush with her elbow. She was again perturbed when I had to ask her to keep it down so that I could hear my tablemate to the front (Caity) as she recounted to me the story of Jonah and the Belly of the Whale, which seemed appropriate since we were in a Mediterranean restaurant. Luckily our dinner guests did not stay much longer after we sat down, perhaps because we started picking at their food after it appeared they were finished (apparently they weren't). We assumed since we were basically sharing a table with them we ought to eat Family Style. They did not share this sentiment. When they did get up to pay, however, they did something really interesting. The man pulled out a clump of tin foil from his coat pocket and proceeded to unwrap it. What was it going to be? Leftovers from last night's dinner? A space helmet? A giant Hershey's kiss? As you'd have it, he pulled out a wad of bills. He had a whole bunch of 20s all wadded up in his tin foil. It was hundreds of dollars, but apparently not enough for the meal because his wife then pulled out her own wad of bills and contributed two 20s to the cause. At this Caity and I grew a little nervous. What if L'ybane only accepted cash wrapped in tin foil? Would they laugh at us if we tried to pay with bills kept in a leather wallet? Would they refuse to serve us because of our more traditional practices? We decided to ask our waiter, and luckily she informed us that any kind of money was acceptable- US dollars, Canadian dollars, Lebanese pounds, or even Indian rupees.

There was another couple seated at a table behind us that also helped make the experience one that I will not soon forget. The couple consisted of a gentleman with U-shaped baldness and a ponytail of white hair falling down his neck. His date was a younger woman who did not seem to fit in quite right. Then, another couple showed up who were obviously friends with the man. The new man had brought along a foldup chair/cane with him, because you never know when you'll be seated at a restaurant in NYC and there just won't be enough seats at the table. Never mind overcrowdedness with you tablemates a mere 8 inches away! The woman was also a hoot. It looked like she was trading World of Warcraft cards, but then Caity used her insanely good eyes to see that they were actually VIP passes. So... then I didn't think they were quite as weird as originally thought.

Anyway, we enjoyed the restaurant and felt like we got an authentic NYC experience. I have no idea what we ate or how to pronounce it, or if it was a meat, a vegetable, or a wine, but it was delicious. Next time you're up on eighth avenue, be sure to check it out! L'ybane!

Time Constraints

I had a lazy Sunday today and decided to check up on my blog. I was shocked to see that I haven't posted in over three months!? I checked and I'm still paying a monthly bill to my automatic blog writer so I'm now quite disappointed in him and yes, a lawsuit will be headed your way Mr. Ibrahimer of Sudan. I'm going to need that $10,000 back, plus interest! Anyway, I can sympathize with Mr. Ibrahimer because, well, sometimes life gets in the way of blog writing. For him it may be piracy; for me it's marriage, teaching, running, sawing, hopscotching, book binding, and table cloth sewing. There are just so many things that compete for my time and even though I see blog composing as fairly worthwhile, I can rarely justify its position above journal writing or talking on the phone with my family. Blog posting just keeps getting pushed aside for more appropriate tasks until you wake up one day and realize that you're paying a non-English speaker $10,000 a month to also not update your blog. I can't say this is necessarily a turning point because my busyness has not subsided, but perhaps it will act as a reminder that I am still alive and you can take down the "Missing" posters of my face that I've been seeing around the local library.
One hobby that's been keeping me occupied is running. I signed up for another half-marathon this year and I'll be competing in the Richmond (VA) half on November 15. That gives me about two weeks. Luckily, I didn't just start preparing. I started yesterday. Just kidding! In fact, I started running on September 15, two days after taking the GRE. In two months I've seen myself improve dramatically and I think I'm going to be well prepared for race day. That is, of course, if my replacement legs come in by then. You see, during the first week of training my legs got pretty tired and I realized that they were never going to keep it up for two months. Because of this I responded to an internet request made by an email acquaintance of mine, Prince Juhara of Senegal. Prince Juhara originally mistakenly emailed me- thinking I was a dear friend of his- asking for some money to get out of a sticky situation he was in. I replied and told him that I was regrettably not the friend he thought I was, but since he had 'prince' for a title I was immediately intrigued. Turns out he didn't have the email address of the friend in question, so I jumped up his friend list with just a few friendly emails and before I knew it he was enlisting my help!  I cannot express the honor I felt when he told me I was considered among his top 6 friends and that he had turned to me when he was in a pickle. I sent him the $8,000 he requested, but only with the guarantee of something in return. I'm no dumb investor. In return for the cash he promised to send me some prosthetic legs that he guaranteed would help me run 'faster than Usain Bolt.' What a great guy, that Prince Juhara. Once I learned that those were coming I pretty much just stopped training and dedicated my time to stalking the post office instead. They still haven't arrived but I'm feeling pretty confident in my new found best friend. Stay posted for the race results (not on my blog, but on the Richmond Half Marathon website).
Also, married life continues to be blissful. I'm loving it.

Married Life- One Month In

Married life continues to be wonderful. One issue that has been interesting, however, is the non-verbal communicado. Take, for example the note I came home to the other day. It was on our super ghetto breadbox, which was housing some delicious lemon poppy-seed bread that the cookander-in-chief made. The note said "Do not lift unless you can kill it."

That's all. Nothing else. The way I see it, that note could be interpreted two different ways:

1. In a metaphorical sense, Caity is sick of me nibbling on the bread, destroying its beautiful shape and refusing to cut off pieces when I eat it. The note could be subtly telling me that if I'm going to eat one piece, I'd better eat the entire thing. To 'kill it' if you will. If that is the case, then it is definitely indicative of a much deeper issue. Clearly, Caity takes issue with my inability to finish what I start. She probably sits at home all day wondering if I'm ever going to repair the fridge so we don't have to eat out of ice chests anymore, or if I'm ever going to finish what I started with taking the trash ALL the way out and not just to the back door for the coyotes to finish. If that is the case, the note is a sign of a much, much deeper issue in our young marriage. A part of me feels like I should take about it with her, and a part of me says "Keep everything to yourself in your wedded life."
2. In a literal sense, she could be implying that there's something menacing under or in the breadbox.  Something that must be killed. What could it be? Whatever it was was so terrifying that she didn't even have time to warn me of it's nature, just that it's life needed to cease. A ghost? A snake? A cricket? A feral wolf? 

Well, eventually I decided that as Caity wasn't going to be home for a few hours and whatever was under or in that breadbox was nibbling at my food, so it was time to take action. I Googled "What hides in a breadbox?" but all the results were Pinterest links to children's games involving hiding paper dolls in breadboxes. I tried to resist, but since I was alone at my computer after dark I ended up giving in and looking at kids' Pinterest ideas for an hour. There are some REALLY cute pinwheel ideas that fit perfectly in a breadbox. But then, then, that's when I buckled down. I got the fire extinguisher in one hand and a baseball bat in the other and approached the kitchen. It was dark. I opted against turning the light on because I've found that wielding a baseball bat is way more fun in the dark. I approached the breadbox, ready to either completely annihilate a fire-breathing dragon or entirely eat the rest of the nibbled bread. I opened the lid. Nothing. I lifted the box up. A baby cricket was there, trapped underneath the box. I killed him. I'm pretty sure that's what the note was about. It was not the sign of a deeper communication issue. It was not a feral wolf. It was just a cricket, which Caity hates more than death. Problem solved. The problem of the cricked, anyway. The problem of the non-verbal communication still remains.

PS- As always, the vast majority of this is hyperbole. We don't have any communication issues and no one gave me that wedding advice in the second paragraph. We're doing juuuuust great. :)

Married Life- Three Weeks In

Well, The Lovely Mrs. Holla Atchya and I were wed three weeks ago in a blissful ceremony atop Belmont's highest hill. Everything went perfectly and as it was supposed to. We really wouldn't have changed a dang thing. If you want to see a preview of the pictures to come, you can check out this Facebook link.
They say that marriage is an adjustment, and even more so for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons) who don't co-habitat before marriage. Now that I've been married for the entirety of my adult, married life, I can say the adjustment hasn't been too bad. It could be that Caity and I spent ample amounts of time together before we wed- doing virtually everything together except going to bed- or the fact that we're both pretty easygoing, un-phased people, but the adjustment has hardly been one at all. I can honestly say that the only differences to married life have been fantastic ones! Granted we have a little bit of a unique life right now- neither of us are working or looking very hard for work. It's hard NOT to enjoy life when you're newlywed and enjoying a two month Summer break. I have learned a few things about marriage though, and I'd like to share them for posterity's sake:

• Pick your side of the bed wisely, for it will not change. Many a married couple can attest to this fact. I sleep on the right side of our bed. I'm not sure how it even started; I'm not sure if it was by assignment, lottery, default, process of elimination, or choice, but I am forever destined to the right side of the bed. One night while Caity was brushing her teeth I sneaked under the covers on the left side of the bed, and almost immediately thereafter a thunderstorm rolled in and caught our indoor fern on fire. There is no plausible explanation how the lightening could have caught the plant in our living room on fire except that I experimented with the other side of the bed. Never again.
• You won't sleep as well for the first few months of your marriage because it's a big change sharing a bed with someone. This one has turned out to be absolutely true. In order to cut on some costs of furnishing a new house, we made the decision that we wouldn't get a new bed. It's just so expensive buying a frame and mattress and bed spread and sheets and the like. Instead, we've just been sharing the twin bed that my previous roommate left when he moved out. We trucked it over to the new house and have been sleeping on it together. When I slept on it by myself my toes- 6 feet and 2 inches away from the headboard- hung over the edge. Now, with two of us, my right arm, toes, and bellybutton all hang off the edge on any given night. It's impossible to tell anything from your spouse's body language while you're going to bed because it's the same sort of crammed, fetal position every night. So yes, that little factoid is true- you definitely don't sleep as well after marriage.
• Marriage matures you. This bit of advice is also true. Since being married I've sold my motorcycle (true, actually), wised up on my sodium intake, and become a much more budgeted chopper. I used to cut celery and carrots completely sporadically, but since getting married and settling down a little I now realize the importance of keeping my ten fingers intact and chop with much greater awareness. I've grown-up a little in the area of cleanliness, too. No one wants a messy spouse. I've started by dusting the entire house. That sort of backfired on me when I dusted Caity's 10,000 piece puzzle, which she had already split up into 150 different groupings by color. My duster mixed them all together, which apparently she didn't like. Another cleaning goal I've had has been to always vacuum the living room carpet after I've walked on it. Caity thinks this is excessive, but I just keep telling her that marriage has matured me and I need to stop being a sloppy bachelor. She was particularly upset with me when I vacuumed after she laid out all her pearls on the living room floor to string them. I thought they were just old, perfectly round seashells that got left over when we emptied the beachbag on her ball gown! By the time she came back in the living room after getting a sip of lemonade I had already emptied the vacuum bag down the disposal (I find that much more sanitary than throwing it in the icky trash can) and turned it on. Needless to say she has NOT been pleased with my maturation process.

Yep, marriage has been great. It's had its few surprises, but with three weeks under my belt it's already had a profoundly positive affect on my life. I'd highly recommend it to anyone!

The Gym

For the past three months I have decided I want to be in the best physical shape of my life. After much deliberation I have decided that shape is an octagon. They're simple, easy to draw, and have the same number of sides as my favorite number. Frankly I'm having a hard time thinking of any reason I wouldn't want to be octagonal. But, God had a different plan for me, so here I am in a human shape.  

I have three beach vacations including a honeymoon this Summer and I want to look my best. Another reason for my sudden gym habits is that I got a gym membership. I have noticed a direct, very strong positive correlation between having a gym membership and visiting a gym. I don't know if this could be considered ironic or not, but when I didn't have a membership I went exactly zero times.

There are a lot of ways to work out. There are a lot of ways to work in too. They are not the same, however. When I Googled 'Work-in' the following picture showed up. That is very different from what I have been doing for the past three months. Working out requires similar apparel, but different in one key area: color. My suit has been red, not white. Entirely different. I have no idea what those people are doing in their white suits and I'm questioning if they really are working in or not. But back to working out. The gym is full of interesting characters. There's David, who works out in a wife beater. Everyone wonders why he doesn't just put a dang shirt on. Then there's Daved, who only wants to use a machine while someone is currently using it. He always says weird things like "Hey, is that a 50lb dumbell in your left hand there? Yea, I didn't see it over on the rack. You aren't using it are you? Thanks" as he rips it out of your clenched hand mid repetition.

By far the weirdest guy at the gym is Davad. Even the way he spells his name is whack. Davad seems like a nice guy except that he's always watching cartoons on the television. It's definitely not normal for a man of 28 or however old he is. One time I even asked him, "Excuse me sir, do you mind if I put the baseball game on?" and he told me as soon as "Pony Adventure Time with Nelly" was over we could. I was appeased at this until I learned that it was a "Pony Adventure Time with Nelly" marathon without commercial breaks. For a full hour I had to endure watching animated Nelly braid a horse tail using chop sticks. 

One of the more friendly regulars at the gym is Dave. Dave's a good guy, but he doesn't stop talking. On Monday he came up to me and asked how my weekend was. I told him it was good. He then launched into a 45 minute speech about how he tried to host a barbecue on Saturday but he was out of catsup so he asked his neighbor for some but his neighbor thought he said 'catnip' and brought some of the latter to the barbecue. By telling me this story he effectively launched himself into a one-sided debate about wet and dry cat food, neither of which I have any interest in, even when I'm not working out. Every time I tried to leave to use a machine he would follow me and ask questions like "Do you prefer tuna in oil or tuna in water for a hypoallergenic cat?"

And then there's Devid. Devid is the grunter. Seriously, if you thought the Williams sisters were bad, you should hear Devid. He doesn't even need to be doing anything strenuous to grunt. He grunts while he gets a drink of water, which usually results in "Say it don't spray it" situation. Devid grunts when he walks into the gym. He grunts when he says "Hi" to me. He grunts when he writes his lifting numbers down. And he grunts when he looks up at the clock. Devid also likes to workout by lifting large boulders and throwing them. Devid is a caveman. 

And finally there's Dived. I think his name might actually be David, but he's British and when he says his name it sounds like Dived. Dived is a fun guy to have at the gym, except that I don't think he knows the difference between a weightlifting gym and a basketball gym. Dived brings his basketball to the weightlifting gym every day and dribbles it around. Several people have asked him to please stop but he says "This is America right? Free country! I think I'm allowed to play basketball in a gym!" He slam dunks on the pull up bar, even while others are using it. He posts up against the weight rack, even though it never tries to block his shot. His worst offense, however, is when he tries to call out captains to make teams. I can't even tell you how many times I've had to tell him that I'm in there to lift weights, not play basketball. Crazy Brit.

Same Sex Marriage

It's time to have another serious blog post. They only come around about once every five years, or every 40 posts. But I've been feeling compelled of late to voice my opinion instead of standing idly by. The topic is same sex marriage. I've dabbled in this discussion in the past, and I'm often left wondering how to better present myself and my opinions. Hopefully a thoughtful blog post that's only read by approximately my mother and my two sisters will suffice.
It's quite apparent that the American media has decided that they are pro gay marriage- which is understandable, they're allowed their opinions- except for how they paint the opposition. In our society it is assumed and believed that if you are anti gay marriage than you are intolerant, a bigot, and homophobic. It saddens me that this is how all opponents of gay marriage are seen through the media's portrayal. If a prominent American voices their opinion against gay marriage they could lose their job (as did the CEO of Mozilla Firefox, Brendan Eich) and they most certainly will be seen as intolerant. I don't believe that is the case. I consider myself an opponent of gay marriage while still being an accepting, loving individual. I remember clearly a high school assembly on tolerance where a classmate of mine said "It seems pretty stupid to use 'gay' as an insult. I mean, just the other day I heard someone say 'This test tube is so gay; it doesn't work at all' and I thought to myself, 'that's a weird way to describe the test tube. I'm pretty sure it doesn't have any sexual feelings whatsoever!'" That one story, told over a decade ago, still rings true in my ears and ever since I have vowed never to use 'gay' as an insult and I've kept to it. I have tremendous respect for many gay people. In fact, unbeknownst to me at the time I moved in, I live in a gay neighborhood. Two of my immediate neighbors are gay couples, and the house two doors down is two gay men. I don't agree with their lifestyles, but I also don't hate on them in the least because of it. Many of my friends from high school are gay, and some of my former classmates at BYU are gay (WHAT?!).  I grew up in Massachusetts. My fiancee is from California. We're not exactly strangers to friendly, loving, good people who also happen to be gay. I love these people and want no harm or malice towards them. I welcome their friendship and service to our communities, while still disagreeing with their lifestyle. Perhaps the same could be said of a cheating husband. I wouldn't agree with his actions in the least, but that doesn't mean I hate him or will deny his friendship or hand of service if offered.
So why am I opposed to gay marriage? It would be difficult for me to put forth a scholarly, persuasive argument filled with facts and evidence, so I'm not going to try. Instead, I'll just tell you what I do know. As a  member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints I believe in a living, modern-day Prophet who has the same authority and calling as did Noah, Abraham, Moses, Peter, and all the other Prophets in the Book of Mormon and the Bible. The Prophet today is named Thomas S. Monson. Before him the Prophet's name was Gordon B. Hinckley, who died in 2008. In 1995, many years before gay marriage was a prominent issue in the US, President Hinckley declared through revelation from God that 'Marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God.' I believe the Prophet's counsel and wisdom that marriage should be only between a man and a woman. I believe that the first married couple on Earth were Adam and Eve. I believe that God only wants marriage to be between a man and a woman. I believe that He commands all of us to love one another and be tolerant, and reserve marriage to be between a man and a woman. Noah probably couldn't give a very factual argument as to why he was building a boat during dry weather, but he did so anyway with the faith that following God would lead to happiness. I may not be able to offer a factual argument against gay marriage, but I believe it's what the Prophet has commanded us and I believe it is the path to happiness. I have NEVER been let down by following the Prophet. He's not perfect, I recognize that, but his counsel comes from God and will not lead us astray. President Monson and President Hinckley both taught tolerance and love, and taught that God's will is for marriage to be reserved strictly between a man and a woman. I agree with this.

Wedding Planning.

Wedding Planning. It's an amazing thing. It's sort of like planning for a bar mitzvah, but for Jews and non-Jews alike, and you're not 13. The basic ideas- such as Stars of David, kippahs, cakes, and family- are pretty much exact parallels across the two different types of parties. I am blessed to be betrothed to a truly incredible planner and organizer, so she's taken the reins in pretty much all things wedding planning. She's by far done the majority of the planning but she runs things by me and I give them a יאָ or קיין. Here's what I've gleaned from two months of conversations about weddings:

• They're not actually at all like bar mitzvahs. This was a surprise to me. At all the bar mitzvahs I've been to there's been some lengthy Yiddish recitations. I guess that doesn't happen at Mormon weddings. When Caity told me that I was like, "וואָס עמעס!"
• Planning a wedding requires a lot of emails and internet searches. I don't know how they did it before the Internet. Maybe people just didn't get married before the Internet? I can't think of a single wedding I ever went to before its inception, and as such I'm forced to conclude that they just didn't happen before the mid 90s. Sure I've seen pictures of weddings in the 80s and earlier, but that's all they are- pictures. I've never seen a wedding invite from the 80s or catering from the 70s- clearly demonstrating the improbability that weddings as party events actually happened previous to the world wide web.
• There are a lot of similarities between the bride's experience and the groom's experience in the planning process. Allow me to shed light on one or two of these:

1. The bride has 3-4 fittings for her dress. The groom has 0-1 fittings for his suit.
2. ...

I guess I can only think of one difference. It must be the exact same experience for bride and groom.
Thus far I've been super impressed with Caity's planning. She's taken total control of the planning, and not in a Bridezilla sort of way. We still have three months before the wedding and we've already done the following:

• Signed a lease on an apartment (true)
• Got her wedding dress and my wedding suit (true)
• Ordered the invitations (true)
• Scheduled a visit with the cater, baker, florist, and interior decorator (true, true, true, false)
• Started retirement funds for our future children (false)

Caity and I have decided to take some less traditional wedding moves as well. I'm planning on taking her last name and she's going to take my last name. We feel that that's an appropriate compromise. That way we'll both be giving a little bit of ourselves to one another. We've also decided that she will get a dog. It will have to go to work with her and she'll have to take it out and entirely take care of it so that I don't even know it exists, but I've agreed to buy its food as part of the sacrifices that must happen with marriages. Yes, we definitely feel prepared for the selflessness of marriage.

Flying!

Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

-Leonardo da Vinci 

Oh dear. Someone please intercede before I become one of those people. You know, the ones who start their blogs with quotes and then have pictures of dolphins, wildflowers, and cute, dressed up babies on them.  I already do the dolphins and costumed babies thing, but once I start posting pics of wildflowers all will be lost. Knowing me, the quote above may not even be at all relevant to anything. But it is! See the great influence my engagement has had on me in the short time-span of three weeks?

This is me and the backside of Tal's head.

For Christmas Caity got me an introductory flight lesson at the Gaithersburg, MD airport and we cashed it in yesterday. The Gaithersburg Airport is by far one of the busiest airports in Gaithersburg (Pop: 60,000) and the central hub for such airlines as "Gaithersburg Airport Flight School" and "Gaithersburg Airport Flight Academy." Being a Saturday, it was packed. Commuters, pilots, students pilots, and athletes returning from Sochi were all up in that terminal. The baggage check easily had 2 people waiting impatiently. No one had the heart to tell them they'd be waiting indefinitely  there is no baggage service in Gaithersburg. In addition to those two crowding the place up, the security lines were ridiculous. At one point my instructor took me straight out to the airfield and took two tries- yep, TWO tries- to remember the padlock combo to get us on the runway. But finally we made it out to the runway with our instructor, Tal. Tal is not tall, but he is Israli so he's got that going for him. After the combo-lock mishap I was a little reticent about flying a plane with him as my copilot, but seeing as he'd logged over 10,000x more flight hours than me, I decided I ought to give him a chance, and I followed him out on the runway. We almost got run over by a plane. Then we almost got hit by a car that was driving on the runway. Then we nearly got clipped by a motorcyclist using the runway as  a drag strip. Then a bicyclist ran over my foot, all in the 30 feet from the gate to the Piper. Apparently the Gaithersburg Airport has been short on cash recently so they started renting out their runways. The only problem is they are still being used as runways, and there's no control tower so it pretty much felt like I was back in Thailand trying to navigate the streets of Bangkok on my beach cruiser: utter chaos. I realize that is not the scene being portrayed in the photo above, but that just so happened to be an uncharacteristically calm moment.

This was the Piper Archer I flew.

Once at the Piper Archer (180 hp) I was amazed at how small it was. It's a one door vehicle so you have to enter single file, and climb over the wing to do so. Caity sat in the back and Tal and I were in the front. It would be too generous to say we were in the cockpit because the cockpit, cabin, first class, and business class were all the same. I would have been really mad if I'd bought a first class ticket and then seen my seat. In addition to we three, there was a fourth, rather bulky man in the back next to Caity. He went un-acknowledged the entire time, but when we entered the plan Tal gave me a look as if to say, "We should be safe this trip; we've been randomly selected to have an undercover air marshal on board." I immediately felt better about our safety, knowing that we three would be safe with this armed man. It was awkward not being able to talk about it, but I guess that's the point of being in disguise.

Getting ready for takeoff. 

The takeoff went very smoothly: we only hit one motorcyclist (there were at least six in our path so I was immediately impressed with Tal's ability to only strike one). Once in the air it was breathtaking. Tal did some flying and then I took complete control of the airplane and did some flying. I worked the yolk, pushed the pedals, spoke in the headset, turned the plane, emptied the trash in the plane, served a tray dinner to Caity and the air marshal, and pretty much did everything else you do in a plane. IT WAS SO AMAZING! I loved it! I loved being up in the air at 2,500 ft. turning the plane, climbing, and descending. Tal let us feel a negative G and dropped us like a hot potato. It was incredible being weightless up in the sky. You can get a similar feeling on a roller-coaster  but even then you're still attached to the ground. Here we were just floating! It's amazing that when you're up in the air all the perspectives change. I really couldn't tell how fast we were going, or if we were climbing or falling. I couldn't tell the difference between 1,000 feet or 2,000 feet. Turns out all those instruments in the cockpit are real. Until Saturday I always thought they were just for show! Yes, I think flying could be a great hobby. I just need a little more time and a little more cash. I'm going to start by following Tal's example- I've already applied for Israeli citizenship. It worked for him and put him on a trajectory to be a pilot, so I'm going to start there too.
I am so grateful for Caity for this ingenious, creative, perfect Christmas gift. It was so clever of her to think of it and I LOVED it. I would highly recommend flying to anyone doesn't get motion sickness and who has lots of cash lying around.

Here I am actually flying the plane; Tal was preparing the mid-flight meal so he gave me complete control.

Caity, looking beautiful as ever, holding down the back seat.

A large lake we flew over. I tried to land on it but the air marshal interceded just in time to prevent me. I thought our plane had skis on it, but apparently it didn't.

Engagement!

This last weekend something happened that only occurs once in a lifetime. You know those types of things, like being born or having your house burned down by a pack of angry chimpanzees. (That actually happened to me twice, but I've come to understand that for most people it only happens once in a lifetime, statistically). Perhaps my faithful readers have noticed that I haven't updated in a long time, and will make a connection between my absence and the special occurrence of this weekend. If you were able to see the connection- I commend you. And yes, I'm here to set the record straight: I have been in absentia from Holla Atchya! for a few months because I was preparing for... my MathCounts competition on Saturday!
I have switched my coaching allegiances from baseball to Mathematics, and I had to take my team of 8 mathletes to the regional competition. There's a lot to prepare for, frankly; not just anyone can successfully lead their math team to 71st place (out of 80). It takes a real leader to watch his/her apprentices do math problems for 7 straight hours without interfering. There are pencils to sharpen, black eraser junk to wipe off, calculator batteries to be checked, sweat bands to be replaced, and scratch paper to be distributed. All of this was under my supervision, and it took months to make sure everything went without a hitch. So thank you for your patience and I'm sorry I was missing in action there for a hot minute.
Of course I'm kidding. Sort of. I did go to a math competition on Saturday, but that wasn't the once in a lifetime opportunity that was awarded to me. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm only 27 and I've already been to three MathCounts competitions. At this rate it's more like a 25 times in a lifetime opportunity. Still special if you ask me, though.
No, the big news from Saturday was that I was engaged! I mean, I've watched reality television before, but Saturday was the first time in recent memory that it actually engaged me. Who knew that the Home and Garden Network could be so thrilling? I was hooked!
Of course the real news is that through the Home and Garden Network engagement, I myself entered into an engagement, but this time with a beautiful woman and a diamond ring. That may be confusing to some of you; allow me to clarify. I used the diamond ring to get engaged to the woman- I didn't get engaged to a ring using a woman. I only engaged with the ring for about twenty-four hours before it started burning in my pocket and I had to give it to the woman whose been burning in my heart for 8 months and counting. Now I'll be engaged to this incredible woman- Caity Jones- for a few months and then we'll stop being engaged and start being merry. People say an engagement is a difficult time, and based on my 24 hours with the ring in my pocket I would have to agree; it burned through six of my pants' pockets. Luckily, Caity and I have decided not to wait until we marry and have our own Mary to be merry. Okay, weird choice of words; perhaps too much alliteration. Let's try again: "We're not going to wait, we're going to be gay now!" Dangit, that's not much better. One more time: "We're not going to wait; we're going to be absolutely, hands down, deeply in love and eternally happy RIGHT NOW." We already are! Of course marriage will be better, but we are SO HAPPY with where we stand today.
Everyone wants to hear the engagement story, so here goes: I invited Caity to go downtown to the National Mall to walk around the monuments with me on Saturday night (after my MathCounts competition). I was pretty nervous. We admired the Lincoln Memorial for about 5 minutes, then I suggested we go to the other side and look over the river. It was a beautiful night and I couldn't wait any longer, so I got down on one knee, told her I loved her and that she made me very, very happy, then asked her to marry me. She said "Yes!" Then she said it many more times. Then she hugged me. There was no one around except Cupid. One little thing I was impressed with was that she was more excited about me and the question than the ring. I mean, she loves the ring, don't me wrong, but she is so dedicated to me and our love that it means WAY more to her than a ring. She puts love ahead of materialism any day. We fell in love in DC, and we got engaged under the approving eyes of Honest Abe.
Yep, it feels great to be engaged to the one I love. It's a little surreal, and a lot bit AWESOME.
I'M GETTING MARRIED! (in June 2014).

Thanksgiving Spare Time

You may be wondering why there's been such an explosion on my blog recently. I've been maintaining a steady diet of one post a month until this week. There is one inexplicable reason: I remembered my password. Just kidding, my girlfriend is out of town for Thanksgiving. With Caity cruising through Europe for 9 days I've had to come up with my own ideas to avoiding extreme boredom. Normally this would be easy, but normally I live with 6 other guys who keep me company. This week we six were narrowed down to two. It felt like Survivor. Who could drive the other one out first in order to truly rule the house? Some of the tactics employed were:

• Him turning the heat down to near freezing temperatures. Ha! Can't get me! I just stole his covers and put them on my bed. He stole them off another of our roommate's bed though, so pretty much we just evened out on that one.
• I took control of the remote! I enjoy watching hockey, but I'm the only person in my house who does so. But these were dire times. He came in and sat down to watch the Bruins game with me. To further deter him I put on an episode of Battlestar Gallactica. Still he stayed. Finally I pulled out the big guns: America's Funniest Home Videos. I get more enjoyment out of that show than anyone I know. Six hours later, we were both still on the couch watching. Turns out we were pretty bored, and neither of us was willing to give in and move out for the week.
• He hosted Thanksgiving dinner at our house with his whole family. Ah! This was his most effective strategy. How could I just hang out and be myself while his whole family was spread out across the house? My one counterattack was blasting 80's music at full volume from my room. Many of his family members commented on it, but still they stayed. And stayed. Eventually I gave in and left. He only won that battle because he brought in reinforcements.  Roommate: 1 Me: 0
• To counteract his dirty move I decided to play hardball too. I stole all the shower curtains in the house and took off all the bathroom door handles. Ha! I kept them in my room under close supervision; when it was time for my shower I put the door handle back on and hung the shower curtain again. The whole process ended up taking about four times as long as my actual shower. I felt like I'd won at first, but after three days of my shower taking 1.5 hours each time I began do doubt my victory a little bit. Plus, he just stopped showering which- if I'm being honest- ended up annoying me more than it did him. Dangit. Roommate: 2 Me: 0
• Our last effort to kick the other person out of the house in order to maintain sole possession was... a vote. We decided all these games were silly, and as responsible adults we ought to try something less barbaric than forcing each other to watch America's Funniest Home Videos for six straight hours. A vote seemed like the most civil thing to do. We agreed that whoever lost had to pack up and leave until the Saturday after Thanksgiving, thus relinquishing all power of the house to the remaining roommate.

The results of the vote were shocking. We ended up tying, 1 to 1. Neither of us saw that coming. This was a huge wrench in the plan, and neither of us really knew what to do. We hadn't thought that far ahead, but we knew the games had to end. Finally my roommate got an idea: Bring in a third person to break the tie. He suggested his fiance. She likes me good enough, so I agreed. Well, that ended up being my downfall because she voted for my roommate. I can admit defeat, so I conceded the house to him with a firm handshake. Luckily the vote happened on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, so I just had to leave for one hour. I had to go to the grocery store anyway so things worked out in the end.

Run of Dye 2013!

Earlier this month Caity and I ran a 5k along with our friend Liz and my sister Emily. We all had different reasons for running, and we were all satisfied with the result and can't stop talking about how much fun it was! The 5k we chose was the Run or Dye 5k. The theme of this fun run is colored chalk. I figured since I'm a teacher and just can't get enough chalk in my life I ought to think of ways to include it in my weekends as well. But seriously, this was a bizarre race. I think we treated it a little more seriously than we should have. 

First off, there was no clock. No one kept time and no one cared. I was hoping for a chip in my shoe for an accurate reading, or better yet a surgically implanted time keeper in my forearm, but they couldn't even provide a simple analog wall clock. Secondly, many of the runners were in costume. There were men in tutus, women with crazy wigs, and Superman. Several people were pushing strollers along, and even more people walked the entire time. At each mile interval there was a chalk station where volunteers pelted chalk at you. most of it was crushed and in powder form, but every once in awhile you'd get a whole stick that stung like a bee when it encroached upon your sweaty flesh. They were the friendliest assaulters I've ever encountered. All of them were volunteers. I think the organizers went to their local Middle School and said "Who wants to throw chalk at people on Saturday?" It's any middle schooler's dream come true. At the chalk stations there was so much powder buildup under our feet that you felt like you were in a Chernobyl-esque-flour-plant-disaster aftermath. It was like the King Arthur Flour Plant was bombed by the Benjamin Moore corporation and the result was some very sticky and colorful chalk... everywhere.

One of the assaulters really had it would for me and squirted an entire dressing bottle of green chalk down my shirt. Direct hit. It took three showers to get all off, which means I looked like Kermit for the next week. In addition to the bizarre chalk obsession, the route of the race was downright strange. The race was held at RFK Stadium in DC, which I thought would be pretty awesome. However... the route left some to be desired. We ran around the fattest part of the parking lot, down an access road, then turned around and finished back in the parking lot where we started. The stadium was incidental to the parking lot. We never went into the stadium, or got any closer than a hidden access road that went under a sketchy bridge. Even at 10:00am there were drug dealers hanging out under there, asking us if we needed any 'street chalk.' I will say, however, that the wildlife was stunning. I saw at least two pigeons and a whole colony of ants. The ants were happy that their colony was finally getting some colored walls.

 This was Caity's first 5k and I am very proud of her. She trained for it, then killed it. It's not easy running while people are throwing chalk in your eyes, but we somehow persevered. Caity's family was impressed that she ran that far in a situation where she wasn't being chased by a rabid dog.

There were times when I wasn't sure if we were doing a 'fun run' or if we were being covertly taught how to make homemade play-doh. I will say these races have quite the following though. This one had thousands of participants, some of them runners and some of them Halloween leftovers. All in all we were all glad we did it and we had a great time! Yay for fitness!

Walking to School

Last February I moved out of my aunt and uncle's house into a house of my own.* I had many reasons for wanting to move, one of which was to be closer to my work. The ten minute commute I had was just unbearable. On days when I hit the traffic lights wrong it could take up to 12 minutes, and this was just unacceptable. My rule is if you can't drive where you need to go in one song's length then you needn't go there at all. It usually means I get half way to the grocery store before I have to pull over and walk the rest of the way. It's pretty annoying, but rules are rules. Anyway, my new house is within walking distance to my work. And my Church. And my girlfriend. And more than half way to my grocery store. I'm so close to my work in fact, that I walk to school everyday. 

Walking to work is one of the most underappreciated blessings of life. According to The Atlantic, less than 3% of Americans walk to work. I've also heard that only 2% of Americans are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and less than 2% of Americans grew up without a TV, so... I'm pretty much one of a kind. But back to walking. Here's what I love about walking to school:

• It wakes me up. Seriously, moving around for 15 minutes before starting the work day is ideal. I've gone running before work in the past, but that just gets me tired because I have to get up early and then I'm tired after my run. With a 15 minute walk I don't have to shower after, I only have to get up 10 minutes earlier, and I arrive at work with my blood flowing. 
• It provides great thinking. I get 15 minutes before work and 15 minutes after work to just ponder. What do I think about during the only 30 minutes of my 'alone' time a day? Well, it differs by the day. On Mondays and Fridays I weigh the pros and cons of earbuds verses over-the-ears headphones, mostly. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I usually try to solve the Border/Immigration problem. On Wednesday my mind is always dominated by the intricacies of keys. I just don't get how the ridges line up so uniquely in the keyhole? Beats me.
• Your feet never let you down. Okay, that's not literally true. (Every time I sit down my feet let me down. But then they pick me back up!) When I go outside to walk to work I don't have to scrape the ice off the windshield, wait for the car to warm up, siphon gas from my roommate's car in order to get mine started, or pick a radio station. I just walk outside... and then keep walking all the way to work. My feet always start in the morning- no matter how cold it is, they're always registered and never get tickets, they don't require gas, and I never forget where I left them.
• "But David, it's so cold in the morning! Wouldn't you rather get in your warm car and be at work 2 minutes later rather than walk for 14 minutes in 30F temperatures?" No. Remember how I said I was one of a kind? Cars are a huge convenience and a huge hassle. Feet are reliable.
• I'm a believer in little things. Skip that one extra cookie and it will make a difference. Smile at one extra person and it will make a difference. My commute to work is only 0.9 miles. The economical and environmental impact on not driving those 1.8 miles a day are pretty minimal. But I believe in little things. If everyone in America drove 1.8 miles less a day we would see a huge difference in our pollution. If every  American walked 1.8 miles instead of driving 1.8 miles a day we would see significantly less obesity in America. I believe that that 'through small and simple things are great things brought to pass' (Alma 37:6)

Yep, don't expect me to stop walking to school anytime soon. Also, my feet have been likened to Hobbit feet, which may explain why I love walking so much.

*Six other people also claim my house to be theirs, but whatever.

New York City 2013!

A few weekends ago I had a three-day weekend at school; the extra day being a result of Veteran's Day. How to celebrate, how to celebrate.... How about a two day mini-vacation to New York City! I figured a two day celebration would be the best way to celebrate the three day weekend.
Caity (real name has not been changed. We're over that) and I took the 7:00am bus from DC to NYC. Since you're all wondering, it was the Peter Pan bus. I was hoping for some flying action, but that idea never took off. It was comfy, convenient, and cool, but definitely not colorful. We agreed that was okay.
Upon arriving at 10:45am and being unable to check into the hotel and with our only obligation of the day being at 3:30pm, we immediately wished we had taken the 11:00am bus. Then we would have gotten to sleep in and not missed a dang thing. I thought NYC was the city that never sleeps, but it turns out 11:00am on a Saturday is a perfect time to sleep. Oh well.

Upon arriving the first order of business was to delve into the culinary uniqueness of NYC via the aqueduct of... Chevy's Mexican Chain Train. Actually it's just called Chevy's. I tried to get the most NY dish I could so I went for the San Antonia quesadilla. It was delicious. After that we went for a walk, as all New Yorkers do. We walked and we walked. We walked from midtown to downtown, narrowly avoiding westtown. By the time we arrived at our destination- a little cafe where Caity's brother and his wife were dining- we had logged 4.23 miles. This figure was confirmed by Caity's sextant, which she had conveniently brought along. I thought she might leave it at the hotel, but she insisted on knowing our exact latitude at all times so I lugged it along. It proved crucial to our survival, as you shall see later.
Meeting Caity's brother was splendid. I enjoyed seeing how much alike he is with Caity, and meeting his wife who was lovely. When dudes meet each other it can (and always is) awkward, but when you throw a female in the mix it's not so bad. We hopped on the subway back uptown for hot chocolate at an Italian cafe called 'Eataly.' Ohhhhh man it was hard hiding my excitement for that pun, but I wanted to leave a good impression on Caity's brother so I refrained. We spent the rest of the afternoon together, heading to the 9/11 Memorial. It was really reverent and enjoyable.
After that we took the subway back uptown to Times Square, where we made a reservation at Carmine's. Carmine's is a NY staple for Italian food. I was told it was a staple in Times Square, but I was surprised to learn that they actually use staples in their cooking. That's how they keep the pasta together- staples. They are even brash enough to just use regular, inedible staples. As I munched on pasta manicotti alfredo penne gelato rigatoni it felt like my insides were being assaulted by a staple gun. Their dessert menu includes a staple remover. Not bad though, not bad. After that we ventured to 30 Rockefeller Plaza. From there we went in the general direction of... skytown? We went to the top, basically. From the Top of the Rock we could see the whole city- The Statue of Liberty, The Empire State Building, The Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, the park in the center, and further to the east, Madrid.
After the Top of the Rock we walked back to the hotel via Central Park. It was not as friendly as it appears in the movie Enchanted. It was poorly lit and the dog walkers with 'Peterson Family Reunion 2013' matching sweatshirts were super sketchy so I made sure to stand between them and Caity, with my grip firmly on the sextant in case... I needed to relay our coordinates to the mounted equestrian officers that roam the park like they wish they at least got a Segway. Our stroll that evening was short.
Sunday morning was delightful. We met Caity's brother and his wife in Central Park (it was light by this point) and we walked leisurely further uptown to Lenny's- a famous sub shop. I got the corned beef and pastrami- a Jewish New York staple without the stomach surgery. Delectable on all accounts.
That afternoon the other couple had to go home, so we said 'Good-bye, it was nice to meet you. See you at Christmas' and Caity and I headed easttown. Our goal was Madrid. There we were, two young lovers walking hand in hand through Central Park. It was pretty spectacular, actually. We saw a couple get engaged directly in front of us (honest to goodness their friend/photographer had to ask us to move because we were in between him and the couple). We golf clapped when she said yes. We saw street performers performing in the street, dog walkers walking dogs, pizza deliverymen delivering pizza, and everything else you come to expect when you're expecting everything, including rain. As the rain fell on the Park that is neither uptown or downtown or midtown- merely Central- we headed to FAO Schwartz. We binged on candy and took pictures with large Lego structures. We then walked back to our bus, stopping at Angelo's pizza on Broadway. It was Angelic, in a masculine sort of way. The bus ride home was fine. Still no flying though.

The whole weekend was just downright awesome. I loved being with Caity, I loved meeting her brother and sister-in-law, and I loved our open agenda. We just went by what we wanted to do and avoided the hustle and bustle that is usually associated with NYC. I'll definitely be back. And if not... at least I can say I will because it's so close.

New School Year

Autumn is a new time for me; a time of beginnings. I'm already starting to wax poetic, and I don't like it. I'll just say I started a new school year- The third of my career. This year I got asked to teach a new class, a Math Strategies class. It's a double dose of math for the students, and they're all weak in math, necessitating this extra math class in lieu of an elective like Art or French. Basically they're not exactly thrilled to be in my class. To make matters even more interesting, it's the last class of the day when everyone is fried and ready to go home. And then, just to make sure the class doesn't get boring, someone decided to make my section the international section for ESL students. Only four of the kids in the class have been in America for more than 2 months. I have a Jordanian who moved here in July, two Iraqis who came to America for the first time in August, a Colombian, an El Salvadorian, a student who is ethnically Eritrean, a Chinawoman, and an Egyptian, just to name a few. The Chinawoman didn't speak a word to me the first two weeks. Only just barely have I gotten her to say "Hi" to me when she walks into class. In May of 2014 these students will take the same state-mandated math test as their American peers, and I will be the one held responsible for their results (no one ever places the blame on the children if they fail...)
Faced with such a monumental task I knew something had to be done. Something different. Something no one has ever tried before. Something so significant it could help a class full of immigrants get caught up with their peers in 9 months. Something so drastic that these math-hating 7th graders would switch gears and ace their end of year test. What, pray tell was my master plan? A joke of the day! I just love jokes.
Everyday at 2:00 o'clock I tell the kids a joke. I don't really have the best jokes to start with, and then throw in that my specialty is puns, which require advanced English knowledge- something these kids don't have. My first two jokes were so bad that the kids didn't even recognize that they were jokes. I told the class they were jokes, and I told the class they were funny and they should laugh, but still some kids carefully wrote them down as class notes. The concept of a joke was entirely above their perception of math class.
Repetition is key for English Language Learners, so I kept doing the joke of the day in hopes that they would catch on. It's been a rough go, but definitely a humorous one. Here's one example:
Me: What does a puppy say when he sits on sandpaper?
(Keep in mind that I act everything out since I'm not sure these kids know what a puppy is, or what sandpaper is. I played the part of a dog and then sandpapered my table.)
Them: Blank stares.
Me: Ruff!
Them: Blank stares. Some writing.
Me: Do you get it? It's a joke? It's funny. You're supposed to laugh.
Them: Blank stares.
Finally one student raised her hand and asked, "Is it funny because sandpaper is rough?"
Me: Yes! That's it! Good job.
Another student: Oh. I thought it was funny because puppies say 'ruff.' I guess I don't get it.
Me: No, that's it! You did get it! It's funny for both reasons! That's why it's funny.
Them: Oh.
I'm not sure if it's the content or the delivery, but the jokes just haven't been working. The students have, however, found it fun to guess the punchline ahead of time. They've become much more animated with the jokes, even if they don't laugh. Here's how another one went:
Me: What's black and white and red all over?
One student: A chess board!
Me: Well, no, those are usually just black and white. No red.
Them: The Iraqi flag! It's red, white, and black!
Me: Okay, that may be true, but remember, this is a joke. It's supposed to be funny.
At this point the students started looking all over the room for something that's black, white, and red. I think they thought we were playing 21 questions. All of their answers were sincere, but not at all close to being funny. I told them it was time for the answer, but they insisted on three more guesses (a chess board, a math textbook, and a candle).
Me: The answer is: A sunburned penguin!
Them: Blank stares.
Me: Do you get it?
Them: But penguins don't get sunburned. They live where it's cold. There's no sun where they live. I don't get it. That's not a joke.
Turns out I get the most enjoyment of anyone with the joke of the day. I'm going to keep it up in hopes that I'm at least teaching these kids some English. Once the English is solidified I'll move onto math.

Boston 2013

My penultimate vacation of the Summer has just concluded. Last week I went to Boston for a family camping trip, but ended up staying nine days. Here's the good and the bad of it:

• My girlfriend came for four days, which was AWESOME!
• I got mono and had to go to the hospital.
• We traveled to beautiful New Hampshire for the camping!
• It rained so hard we never even unpacked our stuff- just turned around and went home after lunch at a diner.
• We got to spend quality time together as a family!
• The majority of that quality time was spent crammed in a minivan with two crying children and me on my deathbed.
• It was so great to be in Massachusetts at my childhood home!
• I had to sleep on a borrowed blow-up bed in the basement office; a room normally inhabited by spiders and storage.

All in all, things evened out and it was a great trip. It started terribly but then things started looking up. The first three days of the trip I was very sick and in pain. I had a sore throat like no other. My lymph nodes were so swollen they covered the majority of the air canal down my throat and were covered in white puss. They protruded on the outside of my throat, which turned out to be a good thing because then I could massage them easier (which felt moderately good). Every time I swallowed it felt like a white-hot dagger was being dragged down my throat. It hurt so much my body refused to swallow naturally. I could only sleep for an hour at a time because my body just refused to swallow. I woke up in the night 7-8 times, sat up, and manually swallowed before going back to sleep for 45 minutes. I couldn't eat, and was losing a pound a day. After three days of not getting any better I finally decided to intervene. I have never once been to the hospital for an illness, but that streak was about to end. So off to the ER I went. I was told my throat looked 'very angry' and was diagnosed with Strep by the RN. Things got really awkward when I thought she had said "Strip!" when actually she said "Strep!" Under most circumstances I never would have stripped down, but at the doctor's office it didn't seem too unreasonable. I had my shirt off and pants unbuttoned by the time she asked me what on Earth I was doing. Even when the Strep test came back negative, the doctor told me he was pretty sure it was a bad case of Strep, and gave me some Vicadin and penicillin and sent me on my way. On the car ride home the same doctor called me to inform me he ran my blood sample through some tests, and it was determined that I did not in fact have Strep- I had.... Mono! So now I have a wicked sore throat and I'm super tired! I took some Vicadin, and it pretty much acts as chloroform on me. As in I have to take a pill while I'm already in bed because I pass out for many hours immediately, no matter where I am. I didn't know this at first, and took the pill in the mall. At the exact time that I passed out my sister noticed I had some frosting on my lip and bent over to wipe it off with a napkin for me. It looked exactly like she was putting a wet cloth over my mouth as I passed out... Two people called the cops and I guess it took a long time to sort out. I don't really know though, I was fast asleep. For the next two days it was a trade off- lose the pain but be incapacitated by sleep, or have the pain but be awake. I usually chose the sleep.

Walden Pond.

By the fifth day of the vacation my girlfriend showed up and I began feeling better. It also meant no bed for me. I was banished to the basement, a full two floors away from the next closest human in the house. I was on a borrowed blow-up bed in the computer tech room. The first night I slept down there I had to kill a spider on my pillow. My pillow, of course, being a coach pillow from Turkey that was quite small and meant more as a decorative piece than a comfort inducer. The floor in the basement is also uneven, making my feet rise above my noggin. But, it was a small sacrifice in order to make sure everyone else got a bed. I did think it was a little rude of my mother to let our dog Gracie have the spare Queen bed though. It's like, C'mon Mom, at least let me share the bed with Gracie. But no, the basement it was for me.

Mount Auburn Cemetery

With Caity, my brother and his wife, and my sister and her two kids all in town, we did a lot of great activities. Friday we went to the aquarium and Walden Pond, Saturday we drove up to Maine for a seafood lunch and walk along the rocky coastline, Sunday we went to Church, took illustrious naps, and went to a spacious and beautiful cemetery, and on Monday we did the Freedom Trail through Boston. They were all delightful.

There's one last thing I haven't mentioned yet- the camping trip. Sort of the whole point of this trip was for my family to gather home for a camping trip (except my sister in LA couldn't come). We have a favorite campsite on the Appalachian trail that we used to go to every year when we were growing up. On Tuesday we loaded up two cars and headed off. It's no small ordeal camping with eight people, two of whom are actually under the age of 3, and five who act like they're under the age of 3. We folded down the backseats of our van and loaded it up like a Hawai'ian haystack. We had two tents, eight camping chairs, enough food to feed eight for 3 meals, an ax, luggage, pillows, sleeping bags, a pack-and play, kiddie backpacks, and my brother's desktop which he refuses to leave the house without. It's like, C'mon Thomas, bring your laptop! But no, he wants the computer aptly named "Big Blue."

Waiting for our boat to the aquarium.

For the entire ride up to New Hampshire (100 miles to Laconia) it rained. At times it poured and at times it drizzled, but it rained the whole way. We ate lunch at a diner, went for a brief hike under canopy of trees, then had a family pow wow. The conclusion was that a wet camping trip is not fun like a dry camping trip. So we turned around and came home. Four hours and 200 miles of driving per car, and not even a campfire to show for it. Aww, the pain. My mother was so fed up with camping when we got home that she threw all our gear away. But like I said earlier, it was awesome being with the family all week.

On the rocky Maine coastline.

Colonial Williamsburg 2013

My most recent vacation was to Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia this past weekend. I went with my lovely girlfriend, Caity. Read on and you shall hear more about what it was like living in Jamestown in 1607. If, however, you are an easily offended historian with a particular interest in colonial American history, it's best you stop here.
The only thing I can tell  you about Jamestown in 1607 was that it was swampy.
When Caity and I arrived in Jamestown, VA in 2013 we went to the collection of Visitors' Centers provided by the state and the nation. We looked at the different pictures of what was beyond the visitors' centers, and decided we didn't right much care to see where old houses used to sit. Seeing fields and reading plaques about the wood that used to be in the fields sounded fun and all, but we thought a ferry ride would be more intriguing. So we boarded a ferry across the James River and landed in the South. The river is as much of a divider as the Mason-Dixon line. While in Surry County, VA we looked at some peanut farms, then took the ferry back. I still feel very confident we made the right choice in skipping the 400 year old ruins to opt for a smelly ferry and a trip to the South. But, to make sure we appeased our Historian friends, we did go see a movie that night. No wait, what I meant was that we did do a driving tour around Jamestown island where we saw a fox.

Day two of our magical weekend included Colonial Williamsburg. For all my Boston readers, CW is kind of like Sturbridge Village. It's a large settlement meant to look like it did originally in the 1700s and early 1800s. There's a lot of people wearing period clothes doing period things like making shoes, riding horses, churning butter, getting stomach cramps, and whatever else happens on your period. I'm really not an expert on the subject. After three hours of walking the cobblestone streets in the sun, Caity and I turned to each other and almost in unity said to the other one, "This was kind of a strange vacation for us to go on since neither of us are really all that interested in colonial American history."
WHAT? We figure this out now? So we did what we like doing- bought some authentic root beer and drank them under a tree on a lovely bench while discussing why birds don't have arms and why the squirrels weren't in colonial costumes. It made for a delightful afternoon.
Day three of our magnificent vacation was at Busch Gardens. Busch Gardens is an amusement park just outside of Williamsburg. The last amusement park I went to was Knottsberry Farms in CA three years ago, and before that it was probably ten years. I pretty much forgot what an amusement park was. I'm often amused by a lot of different things, but primarily it's puns. I was expecting the park to be filled with clever puns, and was a little disappointed that I didn't see more. On the train ride I made up the majority of the puns because, well, monorails make the best one-liners.

Anyway, Mondays are the best days for amusement parks because most people have to go to work. The same applies for Tuesday-Friday. The longest wait we had in line was 30 minutes and that was so that we could be in the front line of a daring roller coaster: Poppy's Puppies. It was terrifying! The sign out front said you had to be accompanied by an an adult to ride it, so I knew it was going to be mind bending-ly scary. Caity and I were both too scared to be the 'adult', so we recruited another patron to go with us. He was reluctant at first, but when we sweetened the deal with the offer of 100 free business cards he was more inclined to accept. He held my hand and Caity jumped on his back for the entire Poppy's Puppies.
The other highlight of the day at Busch Gardens was the nap we took on a park bench after the Rhine River Cruise. We both enjoy a postprandial sleep, and after a big lunch we both decided that our afternoon would be greatly improved with a nap before the roller coasters. So we sat on a  wood bench by the river and slept. Hundreds of people passed us, many of them sat on us unknowingly, and a few even joined us. Unfortunately those few decided to join us at the same time, and the bench was just not big enough for 8 humans and three dogs all lying down. I didn't sleep much during that interval. But anyway, after the nap Caity and I both felt much better and headed off for more fun. When the park is open 12 consecutive hours you can afford to take nap or two.
It was a really great weekend. I'd highly recommend the historic Jamestown for the foxes, Colonial Williamsburg for the root beer and collector's spoons, and Busch Gardens for the superior wooden sleeping benches.

Johnson Family Reunion 2013

For the Fourth of July weekend my Mom's side of the family all gathered in Fish Haven, Idaho for a family reunion. We do this sort of thing in different locations every three years. It was a sight to behold. All of my late grandparents' posterity were there- 4 children (and 4 spouses), 18 grandchildren (and 10 spouses plus one fiancee), and 18 great-grand children. With 54 related people in attendance, how may houses would you expect us to fill? Just for reference, those 54 people live at 20 different addresses in their normal life. But renting 20 different houses is expensive, even in Fish Haven. I'm not even sure there are 20 houses total in Fish Haven. And it doesn't encourage family togetherness. Even half that number- 10- houses is expensive in Fish Haven. Have you made your guess about how many houses we rented for the weekend yet? I'll give you a hint: It's the lowest number in common between the subsets of the Natural Numbers and the Whole Numbers. Since I know you passed 7th grade math, you know that that answer is one.
Fifty four people ranging in age from 0ish to 60ish all sleeping on beds soft surfaces for three nights. This house was cavernous. Along with the rental key came 24 flashing beacons and walkie talkies for in home use only. There were strings tied tautly from the farthest bedrooms to the kitchen so that cousins could stave off starvation in their isolation and find the food. (Divers exploring watery caves use this same technique to find their boats after their expeditions.) I thought one of my cousins' daughters wasn't at the reunion because I didn't see her the first two days; it was only on the third day that I learned she had been there the whole time, in a different wing of the mansion. The description, "She's my cousin once removed" will never mean the same thing to me again.
The sleeping arrangements in this house were anything but typical. As an unmarried male grandchild, I was pretty far down on the bed assignment totem pole. At the top were the married families with young kids. Some, though not all, of my family members fitting that description got bedrooms with private bathrooms.
The next level of bedroom glory went to the direct children of my grandparents. They organized the reunion, so they got nice rooms- though none of them got a bathroom attached. Farther down the totem pole is the young, married grandchildren. In one room with two beds and a futon, there slept the three newest couples of the family. All of them married, and all three of them sharing a room. At this point we're just about at the bottom of the totem pole. This brings us to the leftover married grandchildren after all the bedrooms were taken. If you thought three married couples sleeping in the same room was low, now imagine a married couple sleeping on a futon in a common area. Ouch. Sorry, Thomas and Mckell. And finally, at a point so low on the familial totem pole that not even a midget would notice we were there, fell the unmarried-but-should-be male cousins. Me and Clayton. Sharing a futon. In the common room. The ten people who had to share the bathroom with us stepped all over our clothes on their way to the shower. It was never intentional, but when you sleep in the common room on a futon there's no place to put your suitcase but on the only available floor space, which coincided nicely with the pathway between two bedrooms and the bathroom.
Let me just say I really got to know my family well over these three days (at least the family in my wing of the house).

One of the tractors that put
boats in the water.

There were some really great activities on this reunion. We made and shot off rockets, tried to put water in a pourous PVC pipe for fun, made newspaper wedding dresses, and rented boats and jet skis on Bear Lake. My favorite of the activities was the boating. The fun thing about Bear Lake is, well, the bears. They are everywhere! On the beach, in the lake, eating your food, and getting into your car. When I got on the boat for the first time I opened up the inadequately named glove compartment looking for a place to put my towel, and therein was a black bear cub. We helped him out of the chamber and got him back to shore near his momma, who was eating my lunch in my beach chair. It's like they think they own the place or something.
One truthfully unique thing about Bear Lake is that there are virtually no docks. When you want to put your boat in the water you attach the trailer to a tractor and drive the tractor directly into the lake until it's deep enough that you can push the buoyant boat off. It was bizarre.
This grossly inaccurate misrepresentation of my glorious family reunion needs to come to a close now. I have not written 1/100 of the proceedings of those wonderful three days, but I think you at least get a sense of what it was like as far as the sleeping arrangements went.

Two more tractors that put boats in the water.

Our rocket launching pad. My rocket exploded on this very site.