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.”

(source)

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.

STAY HERE!!!

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

Wow.

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.

Bonjour!

Hello from France!

Mrs. Sixline and I are having a wonderful time. We really miss home but it is really nice to see people and this beautiful country.

Hope to see everyone soon.

europe

I'll be in Ireland and France for the next two weeks.

See ya.

wow i'm sensitive.

I hate the words 'get over it.'

It's not only because I'm a Sally, but also because it seems unfair. I hate being teased for the same mixture of reasoning. Not only do I get all Nancy boy and wanna cry because you're making fun of me, but deep down I feel like "Hey, man, I don't make fun of you. I don't tease you. I don't tell you to get over it. Back off."

It's true, though. I'm sure I tease people far more than I'm aware, but I definitely don't tell people to get over it. I feel like when people are having a hard time (mad, tired, upset, exasperated, frustrated, angry, exhausted, sleepy, hungry, impatient, livid or any combination thereof) they just need their space. You don't need to tell them to get in a good mood, or to get over it. Just give them their space and they'll come around. If they need a day to get over it, then let them get over it. The subtle difference is that you need to remember that there are times when YOU need to get over it. It doesn't feel good being told to get over it, so remember that when you want to tell someone else to do so.

Despite what you might be thinking, no this is not intended as a shot at you. I'm writing this because even though I feel that way, I should remember to be patient and understanding when someone does tell me to get over it. Granted, it doesn't seem very fair (from my perspective) but I am in complete control of the situation. I'm not just talking about the way I react, but if I exert some discipline I can keep situations that elicit a 'get over it' to a minimum.

I can't think of a way to finish this post. It seems jumbled; sorry. I guess in the end I just wanted to vent a little bit, but with the resolve to change the circumstances that create the desire to vent.

Yeah.

they said no.

I had a job interview the other week. It went extremely well. Normally I come away from evaluations of any sort feeling that I've done worse than I really have. This interview was certainly not the case. I came away feeling very certain, and very sure of myself.

In the end, they said no. I'm sure it was just timing. They even asked when I'd be available, and I said "December." They ominously said "We're looking for someone who can fulfill an immediate need." Respectfully I inquired as to the illogical nature of bringing me down for an interview when it's very plain (in big bold letters on my resume no less) that I will not be available until the fall. Quite naturally, they assumed I'd be interested in a co-op or internship. I respectfully declined any invitation to work over the summer due to the pressing (dire) need of my thesis.

I'm not sure how to come out with this one. I felt that I was led to this job opportunity, so I assumed I'd get it. Assumed. Well, the story isn't over yet. (For the record, for those of you who believe in God, am I the only one who wonders when the Almighty is inspiring me and when it's my own whims I'm following? Fine line to follow, and half the time I'm not even sure where it is...)

new niece

My niece was born! :D This is a late post, I know, but I never really knew if my sister and her husband were cool with me posting until now. This is the website they decided to host instead of sending attachments everywhere.

Joylyn Eve Meyer

I never do these.

I never do these, so it feels weird. At any rate, here it goes.

Three things I’m afraid of:

1. Losing Mrs. Sixline
2. Never having kids
3. Russel Crowe's facial hair

Three People Who Make Me Laugh:

1. Homer Simpson (Simpsons)
2. Jerry Seinfeld
3. Dr. John Dorian (Scrubs)

Three Things I Love:

1. Marine aquariums
2. Star Trek
3. Orioles Baseball

Three Things I Hate:

1. When the O's lose
2. Fighting with Mrs. Sixline
3. Making mistakes

Three Things I Don’t Understand:

1. People
2. People who tell you what to do
3. Why other people don't think the way I do

Three Things On My Desk:

1. Computer
2. Books
3. Note from Mrs. Sixline

Three Things I’m Doing Right Now:

1. Watching baseball
2. Sitting on couch
3. Keeping quiet

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:

1. I won't die.
2. See point 1.
3. See point 1.

Three Things I Can Do:

1. Type extremely fast. I finished before you read, more than likely.
2. Make extremely hasty judgments that are more or less accurate.
3. Sometimes I can lift the seat.

Three Things I Can’t Do:

1. Lift the seat.
2. Be bossy.
3. Stop from snickering when someone says 'duty.'

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:

1. Opera
2. The Missionaries
3. Baseball on the radio

Three Things You Should Never Listen To:

1. Your parents (what do they know?)
2. Philosophies of men mixed with the Gospel
3. Emo

Three Things I’d Like To Learn:

1. Arabic
2. Economics
3. Chemistry (as applied to Marine aquariums)

Three Favorite Foods:

1. Mrs. Sixline's sandwiches
2. Hamburgers
3. Paint

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:

1. Sesame Street
2. Star Trek The Next Generation
3. Baseball

Three Things I Regret:

1. Quitting little league
2. Never standing up to Eric
3. Somewhere I lost my confidence in the mistakes and roller coasters of being a teenager. I've always regretted that.

Three People I’m Tagging:

1. Peter
2. Chance
3. Bryan

a poet's hunger

I admire poets. Poets are artists, musicians, writers, and, well, poets. My engineer's brain rarely lets me be expressive. Things need to fit, they need to balance. Poetry isn't usually like that, though, right?

I can't draw something for the sake of drawing. I can't write for the sake of expression. I can only barely get myself to just take pictures for the fun of it. When I draw, I usually draw cubes or other polyhedrons instead of drawing how I feel. When I write, I want everything to flow properly and make logical sense rather than channel feelings. When I do photography, I usually spend more time trying to center the image and make sure settings are right rather than capture an object's essence.

I don't know. I'm not trying to say writers don't write correctly, or that artists don't ever draw geometric shapes, or that photographers aren't concerned with the settings of their cameras. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I haven't been able to create art for me. Aren't the best artists just doing what they love? Everything I've done I've always compared with what should have been done. Can I verify correctness? Is the math right? Is everything square?

Art isn't like this. I wish I were more of an artist. I have the hunger of a poet, but not the soul. That's ok, though, because I like being an engineer.

news and notes

I was very proud of myself last week. It was a good post. It was well thought out and came from deep down. I wish more posts could be like that. Sadly, I can't bring myself to be that poignant every time.

I certainly need to make sure I care about what I post about, and that it flows. My thoughts by nature are very random, and they're often written down in the order that they crop up. This results in many drafts that never make it to the next step of being published. That's ok. I'd rather publish only the best of what I write, which in turn means I only publish what I care about.

In the world of news, I'm expecting a call from a company I interviewed with two weeks ago. The interview went well, and I have reason to be hopeful for a second visit with them. Mrs. Sixline and I are doing well, getting ready for our trip. In case I forgot to post, we're going to France the 14th through the 30th of May. We'll be visiting some very good friends and families of people I served with. I hope I remember names and faces well enough.

Now you're up to date.

on minorities and gender

All right, I'll admit it. I'm prejudiced.

It's not what you think. I don't think myself above women, black people, latinos, immigrants, arabs, homosexuals, or the Dutch. (The Dutch one was as close call, though.)

My problem is my perception. I've had a relatively easy life. I naturally assume that others have had an equally difficult/equally easy life as well. It's hard for me to think that people are denied any kind of amenity in life based on their social status. I think two things when faced with a story of someone being put down because of society's perspective on them: First, I think "Come on. When I'm denied a job/college entrance/promotion/whatever, I can usually think of a few good reasons why they're right as well as a few good reasons why they're wrong. I can give them the benefit of the doubt, why can't you?" Secondly, I think "I wouldn't treat them that way, and I can't think of instances where I've been treated that way. I think they're just saying it to rattle the cage and make some noise so that they can mentally overcome whatever legitimate shortcoming they do have."

My old perception was wrong. But, I don't think the issue can be so easily simplified-- in one direction or in any other. I have become convinced, primarily from getting older and partaking directly or indirectly in others' experiences, that there are those out there who are disparaged for reasons abhorrent to the majority of people out there. However, I think that it happens more than I'm prone to admit. The difference now with me is that I've let go of whatever guilty feelings I had that motivated me to identify with potential bigotry and deny its existence altogether. No white man wants to feel the weight of society's sins on his shoulders. And it's hard not to because whatatever European and American ancestors I have, I'm sure that many of them were directly or indirectly involved in the root causes of many of our social ills of today, be it slavery, anti-suffrage, anti-immigration, or anti whatever.

But not me. At least not knowingly. Whatever sins I have committed, I need to and will repent of them.

I think there is worthy fuel for the fire, so to speak. I think that minority and gender causes are true and noble. However, I cannot agree with many tactics nor the gamut of reasoning for the causes.

I think Satan will foment whatever environment he can to counteract the principles of the Gospel. Many women have become falsely convinced that all men are their enemies, that motherhood is cowardly, small and unfulfilling. Sadly, it's an easy fight for Satan. How many men demean their wives? How many men are threatened by a change in the status quo? How many marriages are devoid of the pursuit of perfection through knowledge, spirituality, and mutual respect? In the same vein goes the fight for many minorities. I can't imagine how easy it is for Satan to convince a young black man to hate white men because he was the victim of racial hate speech, racist jokes, or racial slurs. The natural reaction to be angry and frustrated is a breeding ground for a returned hatred, rebelliousness, and vengeance. These feelings don't let the Spirit in. They don't bring us closer to God. They create enemies both when they're present in the guilty party and in the victim.

It is a sad truth that there are a great many social injustices in the world, in America, today. I believe that there are far more than I imagined in my sheltered upbringing. I have since changed my views to be more-- dare I say it-- liberal. But I remain convinced that rancor is not the solution. Angry fighting will not get us as far as forgiveness, courage, prayer, and faith. Not only is Satan poisoning us with bitterness but he turns men against women. Women are men's greatest allies, and men are women's greatest allies. He perpetuates negative stereotypes on both sides of the race fence so long as we remain committed to our hurt and anger. If a black man was the recipient of harsh denigration at the hands of a white man, here is his greatest opportunity to be Christlike and forgive if for nothing other than the sake of forgiving a fellow child of God.

In the meantime, those guilty of disgusting sins of pride and hate deserve themselves and whatever apt punishment our society can mete out upon them. If our society could only embrace the Gospel, those responsible for spreading their ill fated ideas would be rooted out and no one would listen. Our families would share positive stories and we could sow love, friendship, and healing.

It is my opinion that forgiveness is the best way to fight these injustices. Forgiveness is a core concept of the teachings of Christ, and best implemented by faith in His redeeming power. Our social ills can be cured by His teachings, and it is my hope and prayer that they will be.

fuzzy logic

When I was younger, I never had a problem remembering little things about other people's schedules. It was very easy for me to know when all sorts of social gatherings were on the horizon. Now, I can't remember these small things to save my life. What happened? My poor wife has to tell me several times about something in the upcoming future before it sticks. I don't remember to plan visits to see my family. I don't remember to call anyone. I forget to email people to keep in touch. Is this normal? It's put a slight strain on the marriage, Mrs. Sixline wants (as would anyone) her husband to pay attention to her. The more important something is the more you pay attention to it.

I guess my problem is I'm too wrapped up in school, research, and Church callings. I just feel like so much is asked of me, and I can only stretch myself around two or three pegs at a time. It's not fair to Mrs. Sixline, she deserves far more of my attention and my desire to do things for her. I'm not talking about taking her to Anniversary Inn or dropping hundreds of dollars at her favorite department stores, I'm talking about forcing myself to think of her and her agendas more often. I bet it doesn't look so good for me when all I can think of Saturday night is watching a ball game and playing my computer. It's selfish of me to think my life is so difficult and demanding the only way I can unwind is through focusing entirely on things that please me. Quite the ruse, isn't it? The real way to unwind is through service and love. That'll refill your weary soul far easier and quicker than selfish actions.

Taking stock of oneself is always a difficult task. I think General Conference brought this line of thinking around. I've been feeling like my head has been in the clouds for awhile now. I hope that making sure I do pay attention to others (beginning obviously with Mrs. Sixline) maybe I can slowly become aware of the world around me. If I become aware of the world around me, I can have more opportunities to serve others. If I serve more, I'm confident I won't feel so tired and out of gas.

Here's to hitting several birds with one stone.

bien dans sa peau

'Good in one's skin.'

It's a French expression describing when things are good. (Incidentally, many people accurately used it to describe feelings of the Spirit, evidencing to me (at least) that God is alive and well and working among the children of men.)

I'm not bien dans ma peau when my house is a mess. Is that weird? If we pull the sheets off the bed to do laundry (which has been known to happen) and we don't immediately replace them with the backup set, very often this leads to going to bed at the end of the day too tired to put the sheet on. So we very lazily lay a blanket down to sleep on and go to sleep. I feel like white trash. I never get a good night's sleep that way.

Likewise with sleeping in. If I'm not up and doing something productive by 9, I feel like the day is wasted. I feel lazy and indolent. I feel like white trash.

Likewise with showering in the morning. This dry western air drys my body out, so if I shower in the morning, then my regular body oils (yeah I said body oil) don't return to normal when I go to school. I just feel dry and icky all day.

The biggest problem is when my house is messy. This might be borderline OCD, but... Whatever. I LOVE a borderline bare room, vacuum lines on the floor, clean bathroom and nothing blocking my path from the bed to the can for quick and easy access at 2AM. I feel good when there's no scum buildup on water surfaces. I love seing an empty sink. I am absolutely bien dans ma peau when the front room is sparkling and I can sit and stare at my tank.

I am a neat freak. What can I say?

Pictures

I have a bunch of pictures online from Picasaweb.

Last Friday was the last day of Spring Break, and my neck of the woods has experienced unseasonable warmth. As such, I blew the day off and walked around the Quad on campus taking as many pictures as my nubby little fingers could handle. My camera's quite fun to play with, and since I had recently purchased a mini-tripod (that's right folks: the dollar store carries tripods) I decided to put my time to good use. It took me roughly two hours in celestial weather (between 70F-75F with a wonderfully gentle breeze) to produce 94 images. Some of these images were horrible, and some were fantastic. Sometimes when you try really hard you fail really hard. In my attempt to impress people, I was trying to get funny angles. I imagine I made more than a few people laugh as I laid on the concrete, or otherwise twisted myself into funny positions to get a decent snapshot. I was trying to be artsy. My brother in law kind of laughed at the pictures and said 'Yeah, I used to try to take really nice pictures too.' as if it were a phase I was going through, or as if I was fooling myself; fancying that I was some great photographer.

But you know something? I don't care. It felt really good. It felt fulfilling. I get walled up the drudgery of the grind. Normally, relaxing involves me on the couch watching Star Trek or sports. This kind of relaxing involved walking quite a bit in the open air and beautiful sun of an early Spring day. I wasn't trying to be Ben Crowder, Ansel Adams, or anyone else. I did it for me. I made art for me; to express what I was feeling that day.

It felt great.

News and Notes

Food news:
I was watching the Food Network a few days ago and saw this special on garlic. They had a restaurant from San Francisco highlighted which served garlic in everything they served. Well, I guess some of the drinks didn't have garlic. But the ice cream did. As they were showing some of the entrées and other dishes, they actually told you the recipes for the dish they were highlighting. One dish was a garlic and parsley bread dip. Chop parsley and garlic into fine bits and add olive oil, salt, and vinegar as desired. I got hungry for it yesterday as we were shopping and I bought some garlic and parsley. We had (obviously) the other stuff back at home.

So I started chopping garlic and parsley and added it to a bowl. I then poured in the olive oil, some vinegar (white) and some salt. I mixed it up and dipped some California sourdough bread into it. I was rather pleased with my concoction and proceeded to consume mass quantities of bread and dip, largely forgetting that dinner was on schedule to be consumed in the next half hour. Mrs. Sixline had prepared some shredded beef for the better part of two days to go into some fine burritos. She hates it (duh) when I munch and crunch not waiting for dinner because she puts so much effort into making wickedly awesome food. As such, I assured her I'd eat at least one burrito. (Did I mention I went through half a bag of Gardetto's rye bread chips before the garlic and bread dip?)

Then Mrs. Sixline does a number on me and prepares a warm fresh baked cookie smothered with chocolate ice cream. Who can resist that? So I chow down on that.

By this time, the garlic bread is starting to produce gas that results in garlic tasting burps. So I swallow chocolate chip + chocolate ice cream, and revel in the taste for a few moments when all of a sudden garlic comes rumbling up. I manage to get the dessert in my stomach before the burp surfaces and my mouth is filled with garlic again. It was a rather disorienting experience going back and forth between garlic and chocolate, but I didn't stop.

I can only conjecture that Garlic swooped in, planted roots and setup shop in Stomachland when Shredded Beef Burrito landed troops and began the assault. By the time they sat down for peace talks, Shredded Beef Burrito called in troop reinforcements (because both chocolate and burritos are brown) and Garlic began sending for help (the burps.)

I obliged them and went to bed, dreaming of very strange tales which shall be blogged about soon after.