huh. how 'bout that.

To be honest, I found myself not answering most questions because I felt they were too polemical. I guess I'm just a fence sitter. The advice tells me I should stop voting for both. Maybe I'll vote for Bloomberg or Nader if they run.

You Are 28% Democrat

You're a bit Democrat, and probably more liberal than you realize.
If you're still voting Republican, maybe it's time that you stop.

You Are 36% Republican

You're a bit Republican, and probably more conservative than you realize.
If you're still voting Democrat, maybe it's time that you stop.


Paris, anyone?

I've started applying for jobs in France. The majority of them are in the Ile-de-France area-- better known as Paris. Paris is a rather expensive city to live in, as I've heard. But hey-- this is only just dropping the line in the water to see what bites. To be completely honest, I doubt this has much more than a 25% chance of happening.

So what am I doing? I'm throwing a ticker-tape parade for all engineering companies on Monster France where the ticker-tape is my resumé. As all of you know, Monster is a great way to look for a job, regardless of background and experience. Since I have no real target place to move to, anything with key words that so much as sound like they match my description get a hot and ready resumé. Mrs. Sixline and I are very excited at the prospect of living there. I doubt it'd be permanent, but maybe a few years. What a wild ride, eh?


britney spears vs. ella fitzgerald

I had an argument with the class today in History of Jazz. (On a side note, why is it that these arguments always end up me vs. the class? Are my opinions that different from everyone else?)

We started out by talking about Pat Boone. He was a '50s star that would take more 'worldly' songs (like how Elvis was seen as so risqué) and then cover them in a slower, less glamorous tone. He made a lot of money doing this and the Jazz professor said that he was, in a word, 'crappy.'

I began to argue. You can't say that music is 'crappy.' You can't. You can hate it until you're blue in the face, but you can't say it's 'crappy.' I don't care that you have PhD in musicology. 10000 flies feasting on fecal matter is the perfect analogy. To you, it's crap. To them, it's dinner. I don't care if it is fecal matter. I don't care if it's literally 'crappy.' If you are going to try and set up qualitative standards for music, and set them arranged in order of priority, you will fail. People like what they like, and everyone knows that. To say that something is definitely crappy doesn't communicate nearly the same idea as 'For these reasons I prefer Ella Fitzgerald over Britney Spears.'

Alas, I was not able to communicate my idea. Why oh WHY is having a loud voice and the innate ability to interrupt people a necessity for public argument? I'm grinding my teeth I'm so incensed right now.

Get over it.


i don't want to hear it.

I can't stand getting advice. Even when I ask for it. How weird is that? I just want people to commiserate with me. No one does though. Strangely enough, no one likes to hear someone else complain. (Novel concept.) This leaves me feeling even more frustrated and upset than before.

So, what do I do about it? I don't know, but I definitely don't want you to tell me.


immigration reforms

I'm torn on this.

On one hand, I read comments such as this:

Nineth Castillo, a 26-year-old waitress from Guatemala who joined the Atlanta march, said she has lived in the United States for 11 years “without a scrap of paper.”

Asked whether she was afraid to parade her undocumented status in front of a massive police presence, she laughed and said: “Why? They kick us out, we’re coming back tomorrow.”


On the other hand, I remember this:

19 For behold, are we not all abeggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?

(Mosiah 4:19)

My ancestors were immigrants. America should let people into the country-- I don't think anyone is going to dispute that. But here's why I'm confused: for every thought I have on either side of the issue I have several counter thoughts. Examples:

It should be easy for immigrants from poor countries to come here and obtain some kind of permit where they can live as citizens; pay taxes and earn money. But then what about terrorism? Shouldn't we protect our borders and make sure we don't get attacked? What about voting rights, do we let them do that?

I also won't pretend that seeing marches of protest to the enforcement of laws pertaining to illegal immigrants doesn't incense me. And why do so many of you protesters insist on waving the flag of your nation of origin? I don't get it.

This is a complex issue with many deep emotions and racial tensions. I hope it gets sorted out and soon.


random mess

-Don't feel like working. I mean, I do, but, I'm kind of afraid of it. What if I don't know how? I'm nearing the edge of the realm of things I know how to do and being pushed to think on the spot frightens me. Maybe instead of blogging I should get back to it. (Hey, the project's synthesizing. Back off.)

-Ratatouille, Harry Potter movie and book, Transformers, and a wide variety of other decent films should make this summer kinda fun. We've already barbecued like 6 times, we should be camping in south eastern Idaho, and if we hit a few minor league ball games this summer should be rad. Oh, wait. Good friends are leaving. Jerks. We don't need you anyway. (At least I don't have to help them load up the truck.)

-I'm thinking about moving my blog over to Wordpress. Most all of the readers I have are either friends I know out there in the real world, or they're just search engines that will end up finding my site anyway. I'm not sure why I want to move... I might even rename the blog. How d'ya like them apples?

-I like listening to French radio on the internet. The only downside is a wide variety of my dreams are now a little too Français. No, it's not that I'm dreaming in that language, it's just that my brain is firmly wired to associate France with mission. Last night I remember laughing at my companion because he was so new and I'm serving my second mission and I get to go home and see my wife. I was even street contacting. It's a bit of a throwback to former days. Thinking back on my mission... there's a whole can of worms I can open up on that, so suffice it to say the dreams make me very... very... *pauses* disquieted.


Happy Anniversary

Yesterday was our anniversary. Mrs. Sixline and I have been married for 4 years now. (As she always says "It feels like longer!")

I'm lucky to have her.



In Paris we stayed at a hotel a few streets over from my friend. I served in her branch back during my mission, and her family was just awesome. Anyway, she was the one who took us on all the right metro lines and helped us just plain get around. I'm sure I could have managed, but I think it's better to have someone who knows the city with you. I was very thankful for her company and her help. It was fun having her around.

Anyway, we left her apartment after breakfast and made for the metro station. When we were buying our tickets for the day we heard the train pull into the station a flight of stairs below us. Metro trains don't stay in the station for very long, and accordingly we rushed through the ticket gate (you have to put your ticket into a machine before the gate unlocks) and raced down the stairs. When we got to the landing I heard the signature alarm that meant the doors would soon close and if you weren't on, then too bad. When those doors come down they come down HARD, too. You can't hold them open like you can the elevator. In fact, there's a warning on the window of the door: "Please be careful. The elevator doors will close and pinch hard if you try to block them." So I make for the nearest door quick as I can and my friend runs six feet over to a less crowded door. Mrs. Sixline wasn't sure who to follow and hesitated for moment before following my friend. I just kinda pushed my way onto the train not really worrying about who I stepped on. I turned around to make sure Mrs. Sixline got on behind me and didn't see her. I frantically turned to see the doors close right in front of her with my French friend on the train and Mrs. Sixline standing and watching as we rode away with a look of bewilderment on her face. Since she made for a door away from me, I pushed my way to my own door and saw her as I went by. I yelled "STAY HERE!!!" and motioned wildly for her not to move. My friend just cracked up.

It's no insult to Mrs. Sixline's abilities, I just was worried that someone would try to do something to her. Sometimes people aren't very nice to Americans (it's surprising I know!) and I was afraid some punk kid would try to hit on her or start screaming at her for being American. Obviously none of this happened, but I was afraid nonetheless.

Anyway, I got off at the next stop, went up the stairs and around to the other side, and took the next train over to the previous stop. When the train I got off of whisked away, I could see across to the other side and Mrs. Sixline was just giggling like a schoolgirl. When I went up and over to the other side it was clear that I was the one who freaked out the most.

We had a heck of a time in Paris. Paris rocks.


notre retour


I forgot how much I missed France. I have a zillion things I could discuss, but the fact that I'm here blogging means I'm not working-- a thing which is normally good to do when one is at the office. :)

Mrs. Sixline and I had a heckuva time. We're already hoping to go back, but the hole our credit card burned in our pocket is going to take some time to heal. (Oh well. Totally worth it.) As soon as I have time, probably around the weekend, I'll be uploading the 1000 some odd pictures to my picasaweb account.

And next time I'll post about how I accidentally left Mrs. Sixline at the metro station.