huh.

I'm going to be a father.

Last Tuesday, we went and saw Mrs. Sixline's doctor. After a few forms and a little bit of waiting in the brand new Mother's wing of the local hospital, we were admitted back. Before we knew it, some gel had been sprayed on Mrs. Sixline's tummy and a black and white real-time image of my child was on the screen. I'm the proud parent of a lima bean. Of course, in the past week I'm sure it's a little bigger now. But at 9 weeks, the baby's rapid heartbeat was audible and the outline was visible. Its little nubby arms and legs were flailing about. Of course, I use the words 'arms' and 'legs,' but they were really just small appendages without joints or digits.

Now, I suspect you're wondering about how I felt in all this. And I don't really know how. Just typing this up feels so mechanical. Any description of feeling feels contrived and shallow. I've started and stopped this post more than a few times. I even tried removing the expressions I'm prone to use in an effort to sound more genuine. To checklist the emotions, yes, I am excited. Yes, I am looking forward to being a father. I suppose it doesn't feel real-- though it did feel real enough after the ultrasound.

But part of me hasn't let go of the bitterness that comes with infertility. Several of my very good friends are still waiting to be expecting, and with one case, the odds are very much stacked against them. I don't want to feel excited. I don't want to bounce off the walls. I just want to be content and I am quietly eager to be a father.

And there's also this nagging feeling that people don't appreciate it when you glory in your successes, but I'm not writing this to seek permission to be happy, so don't say "Well gosh, of course you're allowed to be happy." That will earn you a punch in the nose.

February 22, or thereabouts, and barring any unforeseen difficulties, we should be welcoming a child into the world.

skepticism and belief

Some things I'm very skeptical of. Others I buy in hook line and sinker.

Example of gullibility:

~phone rings - it's Mrs. Sixline~
Me: Hey hon, what's up?
Her: You will not believe this! They're all sold out of Batman tickets!
Me: What?!
Her: Yeah! They're sold out until Monday!
Me: NO WAY!
Her: HEHEHEHEHE! I got youuuuu!

Example of skepticism:

I don't really have a concrete example. I know I don't buy into religious or political stuff very easy. When people make a claim, I always want a source-- not so much to piece together the facts for verification, but mainly to figure out motivation. I think everyone's just out to get me on their side when it comes to politics. When it comes to religious matters, I tend to be most skeptical of LDS 'faith promoting rumors.' I have a really hard time at Institute-- mainly because I just can't accept something so quickly and so easily. What's really hilarious is that I tend to give negative criticism more of a free pass than faith promoting stories.

I don't think a religious guy can be categorically placed in the 'skeptics' bin. I especially don't feel they're birds of my feather; when I thumb through the atheist section at Border's I can never even come to agree with the thrust of their argument let alone sit through the details supporting it. The main thing, though, is that I refuse to accept a cosmic existence where good and evil go unrewarded and unpunished. I refuse to believe the final mark on the Jew's life in Auschwitz was a corrupt scheme of evil men systematically murdering others on the sole basis of religious persuasion. I refuse to believe that there will be no justice served to those who perpetrate the most horrible of crimes. And, the empty imminence of an aheistic view-- the stark void of Divine help and Providence -- is just too unfair. Is there no help for the widow's son? Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no end to suffering? An end of existence certainly meets the criteria, but what good is it when one cannot enjoy the peace that comes from a fruitful existence? I just don't buy it.

But, I don't want to be fooled, either. No... I don't want to be fooled. I don't want heroes, I don't want stories, I don't want a faith promoting history. I want the truth. People are people and they're going to shock and surprise you. They're not going to live clear cut good or bad lives. They're going to look out for themselves; they're not perfect.

So why is it that the Church mainly shows the good parts of our stories in lessons, manuals, and Church sponsored events? Because it's their job to help you with your faith, repentance, baptismal covenants, and endeavours in seeking the Holy Ghost, that's why. It's not their job to make sure you know what Brigham Young said about black folks, or how many women Joseph Smith was married to. It's their job to make sure you have faith and exercise it unto repentance. "How come you never told me?" some say. I say "How come you never asked?" The answers don't matter until the questions are asked.

torture

Gitmo, Guantanamo, whatever you want to call it.

It's wrong. We're holding people without due process of the law. We're holding people on some really shaky and highly circumstantial evidence. Torture is wrong. It's ineffective. It needs to stop.

hold to the rod

I ride in a van to work. It's easy on the wallet, as we share the gas. It's also easy on me, because the commute to work is about 45 minutes one way. I can nap, read, or talk. I've already been through 3 books in the past 5 months.

And this is where the post gets difficult. How to say it, and how to say it and have the meaning carry over. There are times when I desperately want someone to see something exactly how I do, so that I can comfort myself in being understood. It's tough not being a good writer. It's also tough being a heart-on-your-sleeve kinda guy... Makes me feel like a wuss.

Yesterday I had a long conversation with a French/Swiss guy who happens to be in my van. He's a nice guy, and we've talked before. Yesterday I got the full story on why he is no longer a believing member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It's hard enough hearing someone tell me why Joseph Smith's polyandry, blacks and the Priesthood, and other common concerns have driven them from partaking in the blessings of the Gospel, but two things particularly stung yesterday.

First, I hate it when French folks turn away from the Gospel. It hurts a million times more than any regular other Joe. It hurts, and it hurts bad.

Secondly, I'm starting to see myself in a lot of these exit stories. People become disaffected and quit because they can't find the answers they're looking for. They complain that the Church doesn't tell people about the more obscure details of the history of the Church or of the lives of early Church leaders. One side of me says "Well, why should they? Do you or don't you have faith that Joseph Smith saw God?" We have a tendency to dismiss the things we do know because of details that suggest that it's all a falsehood. I can't blame people for feeling the immense and deep frustration they feel. And sometimes... though I'm afraid to admit it... It feels as though I'm bound for the same fate. That is not a friendly feeling.

And so I hold to the rod, trodding slowly onward until that day when I get to the tree of life. Where else am I going to go? To atheism? Hardly. There are too many things have convinced me of God's existence. To Islam, Judaisim, Hinduism, or another non-Christian religion? No... not possible. Too many things have convinced me humanity needs a Savior. To Catholicism, Protestantism, or Evangelicalism? I would still have concerns and worries with them, though a different set. So where shall I go? The answer is: nowhere. I will stay where I am, confident that all will make sense at some point in time.

i'm not that important.

And I'm OK with it. Sometimes the jealousy bug bites and I wish I had more clout-- at work, through the fanhood of the blog (I think of extremely popular blogs and discussion forums), or even around the 'hood.

But why, do you ask, are you not that important, Mr. Sixline? You're so eloquent, interesting, zippy, intelligent, cogent, and regal. Well, the thing, dear friends, is this: there are a lot of voices out there. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I ventured into Borders today-- something I very much enjoy. I wanted to find a book, seeing as how I just finished Uncle Tom's Cabin. But shucks, folks, there's a ton of info out there! A thousand voices with a thousand tales, and how is one to sort who is important and who is not?

I'm not sure. But when I see the loud tumult, the clamoring for an audience, and the croaking desire to feel important, I find it easier to be at peace with the fact that I'm not that important.

PS - I am important, it would seem, to a computer somewhere in the Middle East. According to my little visitor's map, there are three sites somewhere near Riyadh or Medina in Saudi Arabia that are constantly visiting this blog. Are you search bots? Are you servers and hosts, or what's going on there? Say something. You guys account for like 90% of the hits here.

ugh

I never update.

We're still alive, and we're still kicking. Life is OK, though I feel like throttling my advisor, myself, and my thesis. Why didn't I just stick around and get it finished?

Shucks.

I'm also really tired of going down south to see family every weekend. Sometimes I just want to enjoy MY house-- is this too much to ask?

I suppose it is.

Before and after

Mrs. Sixline and I celebrated our 5 year wedding anniversary! Hooray! She hasn't poisoned or left me yet. (Yet...)

So we were walking around DI and found this gorgeous and non particle board crafted piece of furniture. We spent our Saturday sanding, painting, and replacing hardware. I'll have to get some close ups of the hardware, but for now, let these pics suffice.

Before:



After:



We really should have left the original hardware on the 'before' picture. I had already removed it when I remembered to snap the photo, and was too lazy to put it back on. The hardware was spendy... About $40 for everything. Plus $80 for the original piece... The local DI gets a little spendy sometimes. But hey-- like I said: No particle board. There's a thick cardboard cutout that serves as the back for it, but that seems to just keep the torsional movement limited. The drawers, panels, doors, and everything else are made of what appears to be pine. It's solid and heavy as sin. We loved the final product! Enjoy.

on importance and self-respect

In a pensive moment the other day I pondered the idea of self-respect and for the first time viewed my personality and regular modus operandi in an honest and critical manner. I've been self critical before. Most folks see themselves in the mirror and criticize themselves, for starters. The meandering paths that branch off the main road of self doubt, pity, and negativity are too many to be numbered. I am no different, and I have expended great energies in lambasting and debasing myself in hopes of... of... well, I never quite figured out what I get out of that.

This time, it was a bit different. Respect. It means different things to different people in different walks of life. What did it mean to me? I'm not sure I'm able to really articulate it, but it felt like-- for redundancy's sake-- pure and simple respect. The best I can come up with is as lack of shame when viewing myself. Do you ever read old journal entires, or think of times when you were younger and tried to be a self-respecting mature person? If you're like me, you cringe at those thoughts. I hate reading my old journal entires. They're pathetic. Just once I'd like to see myself in a positive light. Just once.

I'm not naive enough to think that just because I have that desire I will immediately see the results. The law of the harvest is harmonious with Mother Earth's.

But I did make a connection between self-respect and the feeling of being important. I was in a beautiful canyon near the Uintah mountains. I wish I had descriptive powers, I would relate to you a metaphorical scene, one in which the terrain was the human soul, the mountains were the pillars of morals and principles, and the snow coursing down the crags and collecting into violent churning rapids cleansed the soul and brought new life. There was so much water... Everything was melting and any ditch that dipped below the general surface of the ground was filled with it. It was transcendant-- enough to put anyone in an existential mood least of all me.

I was with Mrs. Sixline's side of the family. For all mine and their faults, we sometimes get caught up in the competitiveness of it all. Particularly in temporal matters and who is the furthest down the road of success. A new 5th wheel had been purchased, and Mrs. Sixline and I caught up with some of the camping family and had a little barbecue. I had time to sit and reflect on how I can very much be a different person around different people. I temper some character traits and accentuate others. It reeks of frailty and a lack of self-respect-- fear of being one's true self despite one's surrounding. The key there, of course, is not to be obtuse and difficult and let the world go to hell, but rather to choose one's character model such that one would not be ashamed of one's self irrespective of one's surroundings. As I have not yet reached such a pinnacle of self-acceptance and respect, I am left to be tossed about until such a time as I may put to port and begin the trek up that mountain.

But I digress. Sort of.

I linked, in my mind, the idea of importance, self-respect, and confidence. For the sake of explanation, this microcosm that is the in-laws largely represents how I feel around other folks. At work, in public, at social gatherings, etc... I am at a very alarming loss, at times, of how to conduct myself. Of how to be persuasive. Of formulate cogent thought. Of how to think. Put simply, I feel stupid. Embarrassingly stupid. Not quick enough, not bright enough, not smart enough, not thorough enough, not enough.

To fix this, it dawned on me, I have to begin to throw out the silly notion that others will give me that self-respect. Looking to what others think of you and relying on those positive reviews is short sighted and temporary. Respecting yourself as a child of God will instill a sense of purpose, which will give way to feelings of importance.

multiply and replenish

It's a commandment, and I am thus far unable to fulfill it.

Is it strength in the Gospel to have an understanding of all things? I don't think so. I think I just feel weak because I'm given to pose my questions aloud and seek answers. One of those heart on your sleeve kinda guys.

Anyway. Mother's Day sucks around here but I'm glad for those who are able to celebrate it.

Thanks for the ideas, HGTV.

We painted. I don't have before and after pictures. Enjoy!

Thanks, M.

I used to get crushes very easily. While I have two sisters with whom I share a healthy relationship, it was not always so. I didn't grow up with my sisters as my friends. I was just weird that way. I consider it entirely my fault. It's not my intent to explore that part of my life, just to give the background for the following.

In my youth, LDS Stake dances were, to use a technical term, the shiznit. Like most testosterone driven young men who attempt to define themselves through various personalities and characteristic traits during the formative teenage years, I wanted girls to like me. But they didn't. They liked TJ instead. Everyone liked TJ. He was nice, intelligent, outgoing, good looking, charming, and most importantly, understood women-- to the extent a young man can.

I, on the other hand, had good qualities, I'm sure, but I was completely unrefined. I had no concept of a healthy relationship with a woman; I only had my parents' strong and long marriage as my example. I didn't know what it was like to be friends with a girl and this led to me missing the proverbial boat on how to flirt. It didn't help that I was an engineer in disguise; flirting had no immediate goal. Its primary use, a proving ground to see if there's interest, was completely lost on me. Why flirt? Do you like me, yes or no? (Please check one and send back to me.) So when girls were friendly, I immediately mistook their attempts at friendship as a direct signal of their strong interest in me. There were a few exceptions, of course, but by and large this was the rule.

This is best illustrated through a brief recollection of my encounter with a young woman I shall call 'M.' She had long blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and all the other attributes that go along with making a young man attracted to a young woman. Her friend was a reckless flirt, and was quite liberal in flirting with me. For about 2 months her friend had a real interest in me-- calling me on the phone, making sure she talked to me at Church, writing my name in fancy cursive and frilly framed borders on her notebook, and so forth. Like I said, though, it only took 2 months for her to find her new flavor and move on. I wasn't completely smitten over her, so I wasn't too broken up about it. This 'relationship,' however, had an interesting side effect. I was able to make friends with M. During the times her friend would call me, it was not uncommon for for M to chat with her on the phone. I got to know M a little, find out what she was like, and I had no illusions of her interest in me because her friend was the one who liked me.

So I was rather surprised that M continued her friendship with me after her friend decided she liked someone else. (To my deepest content, however, her attention did not turn to TJ. Everyone liked TJ...) She would still talk to me on the phone, although less frequently. She would still dance with me. She would still laugh at my lame jokes and be very pleasant and bright and all the wonderful innate qualities women have that make grey and rainy life bright and vibrant. After a few months the cogs began turning in my head-- lamentably, though, they turned the wrong way. "Surely M likes me. Surely she's interested in me. She talks to me all the time, she dances with me, she calls me. She remembers my name!" That last one might have been reason enough, but it was the extra length of rope with which I quickly hung myself.

At the next Stake dance, I tried to poetically declare my affection for M, convinced she shared it. I picked a slow song, asked her to dance, and during the dance revealed to her my feelings for her. It's strange, in retrospect, to think that I didn't ask her if she liked me. Perhaps I wasn't so convinced she liked me, but rather her interest in me gave me confidence to take a bold step. I suppose it doesn't really matter. I was quite surprised by her response. She took a step back, snapping away from our dance. In the middle of the song she said, with a look of... yes... horror... on her face: "What?! I... I just don't believe you!" and with that she stormed off. I had very little contact with her after that.

I did not understand. At all. I hurt, but you know how teens are... I forgot about her fairly quickly. I hadn't given it much thought until a few days ago.

You see, I think that due to my lack of experience when relating with women outside of a romantic nature, I have been quite unable to imagine why a man and a woman would have any kind of relationship outside of their family-- spouse or sibling. Professional relationships made sense; they were superficial and trite. You got along with women at work because you respected them as a co-worker. There was little camaraderie. If there ever was, I felt guilty. If I found a woman particularly attractive, it was exponentially more difficult to talk to them for fear I'd find them attractive and develop some kind of extra-marital relationship with them. Not that I think the unthinkable would happen, but I'll be honest: that's what I was convinced of.

As I've matured (yes, it happens slowly. Even the largest of glaciers move-- even if it's a few inches every year) I've come to make friends with women I was not married to. Most, if not all, of these women are very beautiful-- looks, personality, and the other aforementioned pleasantries with which women are gifted.

This has been a little threatening to me. Please-- don't think that I have ludicrous presuppositions of infidelity. But in bitter and embarrassing honesty, I convinced myself through the years that infidelity was the fruit of friendship beyond spouse and sibling. This result was even more imminent in my mind if I found the woman attractive. (I'll bet some of you are laughing by now. I suppose it sounds absurd.)

M taught me a lesson, even though it's taken almost 11 years to finally sink in. I can be friends with women. My paradigm is shifting just slightly. I still find it unwise to be alone with a woman who is not your spouse or sibling. I'm still uncomfortable with women I don't know. I will always find it unwise to seek to cultivate friendships beyond your spouse. The point of marriage is to grow together; she is my primary interest and my primary source of joy, love, and fulfillment. I will not undermine the hard work she has put into me.

But I'm finally realizing that there are Daughters of God that have platonic interest in my friendship inasmuch as our lives cross paths, without any ulterior motives. And it took 26 years...

follow on

So the earlier post stems from an incident at a fish store today. As many of you know, I'm very much into salt water aquaria-- fish and coral. I recently came into a relatively cheap purchase of a 90 gallon tank, complete with an overflow. (That's beyond the scope of this post. Suffice it to say that it helps for coral reef aquarium filtration.)

So I stop by the fish store, curious to know how much a stand and canopy will be. I don't have oodles of cash, so I naturally want to stretch my dollar. This guy had an ego the size of Alaska. His explanations of what he had were really wearing on me. I got the feeling from him that unless you spend an exorbitant amount of money on equipment (namely... HIS equipment...) you were doomed to failure. His tanks wouldn't eventually leak the others would. His stands wouldn't warp due to moisture the way others would. His was great, my ideas stunk.

This drug on for the better part of a half hour. I got tired of listening to it, but I didn't want to be rude. So I politely nodded while half listening to him and trying to interject where I saw fit. After one particular item of disagreement, he said to me "Yeah, well, I know what it's like. I used to be a really poor college kid who made tons of mistakes." Dropping the air of politeness I furrowed my face in a distaste manner and said "What? Is that how you see me?" He didn't even register my disgust and kept going. At this point I was very upset, and very desirous for a pissing contest.

Who is this guy, anyway? Some tiny fish store owner for a relatively obscure western 'bustling' metropolis? Come on... I'm a rocket scientist, beeyotch. I'm an engineer. And then after I triumphantly made him aware of that fact, I'd throw him a gang sign, and he'd cow in front of my obviously superior ability to pee. (Urinating contest, remember?)

But, I had my toy poodle in my arms and dudes aren't normally imposing with a poodle in their arms.

So I left.

the measure of a man

What curries respect from others?

The clothes? The attitude? The learning? The bragging? The money you make? The language you use?

I admit; I want people to think I'm start, strong and confident. I want them to seek my advice and my opinion. I want them to think my reasoning is sound and my logic unbreakable. Obviously life doesn't work this way. No matter how you try and present yourself, there are those who are going to think you're a complete imbecile. Yes, yes, don't worry what others think. Regardless of what some will say, I am not worried what others think. What I am worried about is whether or not they have a point. Is my reasoning sound? Am I sufficiently educated on a subject such that my opinion is valid?

I think my problem is giving others too much credit. A bit of brother in law medicine might be in order; maybe I should start thinking others are idiots. It's just not in my nature.

am i ashamed?

I've noticed a recent trend in the way I approach non-Mormons. I think it's called shame.

I feel reluctant to be so cavalier about sharing my faith. I feel... I feel like I've been bitten one too many times. It feels like... It feels like unless the sharing of the gospel message is solicited, it feels forced down someone's throat. So I don't do it. When I see other members talk to people who aren't members and it's uninvited, I feel sick. I feel embarrassed.

There, I said it. I feel embarrassed.

So there it is. Now what?

islam

I've been reading a book by Daniel C. Peterson concerning ...

Man I have no idea how to talk about it. The name of the book, Abraham Divided, talks about the rift between the Jews and the Muslims. I know, I know, I'm being so overly simplistic and so is the book. But, I feel it's very even handed and... well... It's a good read. Seriously, check it out.

'till we meet...

Goodbye, Grandpa. I am proud to carry the family name, and prouder still to be among your progeny. You will be sorely missed.

lilith fair

The only poignant thing I have to say is too raw to really communicate.

Basically, a friend of mine and I were discussing via email the frustrations we feel as men and women are pitted one against each other. I mused that (like how I worked 'muse' in there? pretty sweet...) Satan started a long time ago convincing us that we weren't equal. Exploiting-- or planting the seed and cultivating-- the male's tendency to dominate, he got most of us cotton-headed ninny monggins to think women were substandard and inferior. That persisted for an extremely long time until women (rightfully) wouldn't hear any more of it and have made lengthy strides towards making sure they weren't brushed aside. Men were shirking the role of husband and instead being unrighteous stewards. That's not how the Lord intended us men to govern. So he had men shirking the idea of marriage...

Of course, now that women are leveling the playing field Satan's got a good lot of them thinking that marriage is absolutely not the way to do it. Sure, equality can be had, he says, but how? Not by investing in one another, not by being good mothers. Mothers are weak and vulnerable. Mean old rotten husbands have been treating those losers like trash since the dawn of time. And guess what? He was successful at making sure that ended up being true.

He's got a lot of people working toward equality between man and woman, but marriage is not the way he wants them to do it.

Sucks.

be my friend!

When I was 12 I decided that killing myself for someone's friendship when that person wasn't even inclined to like me in the first place was not only profanely asinine, it was also obscenely demeaning to myself. Who would I be kidding? They only liked me if I did things they liked. It was retarded. I wasn't going to play a part of that.

So for the most of middle school (some folks call it junior high; it was grades 6-8) I was a total reject. The trend started to buck in high school when you got 'cool points' (or something) for being original, but then we moved from the South to the West and I started over being on the outside again.

I didn't give a rat. Never have, never will.

But that was kids at school. That was a bunch of whining entitled brats who thought they'd feel better about themselves if surrounded by others who wanted their friendship. I'm sure, on a subconscious level of course, that when you are the object of another's desire (even if platonic) the message is sent that you have worth. It's not a bad gig, and I don't hold any particular malice (or do I?) towards those who denied me their friendship.

But I do have a struggle with my mission companions and those I served. I desperately want their friendship. I loved my mission. It meant so much to me; I poured my heart and soul into it. When I came back, I really expected a party of closely knit good friends waiting for me. I should have seen the writing on the wall, though... Most of the Elders I served with had already paired themselves up with BFF's to attend the other blue University in this state. I wasn't going there. (Huge can o' worms there...) As such, I was on the outside. As such, I didn't think anyone really wanted my friendship and ended up hurting a few of the ones who did because I didn't go to any great lengths to contact anyone immediately upon my return. (I apologized for to the ones I hurt, and meant it. I feel they've forgiven me. At least I hope they have.)

But where does that leave me now?

I have tried to contact a few of the people I served with. I was hoping for a more natural friendship, but I suppose the transition from the world of white shirts and ties to flip flops and goatees is a taller hurdle for some than it is for others. I've tried looking up and calling a few of the guys I thought I was close to. If we were to take the litmus test of enthusiasm, I was dead wrong about how close I was to them.

That kind of hurts. I mean, I can't push my expectations of friendship on someone else, and I'm definitely not going to be the gimpy nerdy kid who begs others for their friendship. I'm also not going to have any false pretenses about my likability. I'm somewhat comfortable with the fact that I annoy the poop out of scores of personality types and the people who fit them. It's not easy, because I like it when people like me (who wouldn't?!) and I am a fierce and loyal friend when the fraternity and love is reciprocated. I understand that naturally I'll get along with some better than others as interests and personalities align, but for the most part I make no man my enemy. (FMH, on the other hand...)

I realize this is long-winded, but it's been a long time coming. I have mixed feelings of anger and pain when I think of my mission, as well as the deluge of joy and love. It's hard to categorize; I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I miss the friendship and wish that I could have carried that with me back home. It's a real shame I missed that boat.

(As an end note, there is one Elder I never served with directly but went on exchanges with that has kept very good contact with me and I can't even begin to describe my gratitude for that. He is an upstanding man and priesthood holder; he has my utmost respect and loyalty. I thank him.)

Bad movies and bad TV

I'm not a film critic. I've been told that white folks such as myself prefer to refer to movies as films, and they take things like the Oscars very seriously. I'm not such a person.

I've talked about TV before. I've said how unless it involves my current favorite comedy, a ball and scoreboard, or Captain Picard (Kirk, Janeway, Sisko, and Archer are suitable substitutes), I just don't watch.

And I just can't.

I think reality TV is retarded. I think the producers' attempt to take normal people who are prone to two things-- exceedingly good looks and/or outrageous behavior-- and pit them together in scantily clad ambitious competitions subtly conducting contrived social experiments with sexy/explosive results is reprehensible. It's not entertainment to me. It's boring. It's high school behavior lauded, applauded, and backed by lucrative marketing deals in your living room.

I think epic and blockbuster movies are largely forgettable. Some movies are just so boring and predictable with rigid acting, toxic dialog (toxic because the unnatural conversation and communication makes me sick to the pit of my stomach) and lethargic plot lines. Take Fantastic Four. It was terrible. TERRIBLE. They tried to special effects/Jessica Alba their way into a profitable box office endeavor. It was shameful that the junk passed for a movie. (Don't get me started on movies that try to score cheap laughs off some catch phrase some stupid kid utters. "Radical, dude!" is not good comedy. It's just not. Stop doing this, Adam Sandler. Every one of your movies involves an old person or a young person saying something foul, uncouth, and laced with sexual reference. Stop it!!!)

As I type this, I feel so dang guilty. My poor family loves a lot of the type of movie and TV show I find to be of such low caliber. I don't want to personally insult anyone for their choice in TV or "film." So I'm going to pull a 180 and say you like what you like and that's all there's to it.

Whew! What an update!

Mrs. Sixline and I moved. We're about 10 miles up the road from where we were, bought a home that is way too big for us (waiting on kids and aren't moving for at least 15 years), and I have since started my job at ATK.

AND, to top it all off, we've been spending roughly $100 per day trying to get crap we need. In fact, we decided to finance a washer and dryer through Lowe's (got 10% off that way) I just got done hooking everything up. I was pretty proud of myself; normally I'm not very handy. But, with an intrepid indomitable spirit, I read the instructions of how to hook up my gas dryer, followed them, hooked it up, went to Lowe's to build a make-shift drain (I just wanted to bring a pipe up from the drain near the floor so that it would be easier for the washer hose to reach), and started a load. Well, Mrs. Sixline did. I suppose it's her right, she picked out a front loading washer and dryer from Whirlpool and I guess they're pretty. ~shrugs~ She's liking it.

I need to make sure I'm up for when I start the gas dryer. I hope that this isn't my last post ever... Don't want to blow us both to kingdom come. Anyway.

We're in our house, it's slowly being un-packed and finished (the builder's driving me a bit nuts, but I suppose most contractors are tough to deal with), and we're very much enjoying life. Once my thesis is completely defended and school is a done deal, we are going to enjoy life that much more.

On a side note, I think it's important to really enjoy life now. I mean, sure, work is going to suck sometimes (in fact, the Ares 1-X project is beating the brains out of a few guys at work) but I think most everyone has tough times at work. I really want to make sure I'm happy now. Can you imagine the crushing blow it would deal to my spirit if I wasn't happy? No, seriously. For the past 5 years I've been running a marathon-- go to school, study, take a test, get a good grade, get a degree, get a job, get money, buy a house, be happy. After all that grueling work if I'm not happy my head might explode. I will be happy. So there. Nyah.

On another side note, how come no one commented on the last entry? I thought it was pretty cool. Oh well.