Life Speed Limit: 60 MPH (miniutes per hour)

I was driving down Center Street in Provo the other day when I noticed two things: the speed limit was 15 MPH and a sign said that downtown Provo was "Historic." I guess Provo itself is about 160 years old, so we can call it historic. Downtown just looks like it's from the 70's so I'm not sure that qualifies, but whatever. The biggest parallel I saw between downtown provo and history was the slow speed. Almost no one goes 15 mph anywhere, unless it's construction or something. Back in the good ole' days, strolling took the place of speeding.
I have a hard time strolling. I'm getting better at it. I used to be really good at it. My mom would tell me to hurry up because she felt like she was walking by herself when we went places. I went on my mission and forgot how to walk slow. I'm getting better at it.
Before my mission, there was a day when I went with a friend to Savers to get him a couch for his apartment. I had something to do, or somewhere to be, and so I was kind of ancy. I remember very clearly how he sat on the couch he was thinking about and said, "relax Moon, you gotta reap it." I guess that what the younger generation does instead of smelling roses.
When you really think about it, people who are always in a hurry are just reving their metaphorical engines. Life happens at a fixed speed. C.S. Lewis said, "The future is something that everyone reaches at 60 minutes per hour, no matter who he is, no matter what he does." Just chillax. Go with the flow of traffic. If you try to go faster, you'll probably experience road rage or get impatient.

Comfort Food

What's with girls and comfort food?

I realize that such a question might be initially offensive and sexist, but then you start thinking about it and you realize that it's generally true. Girls grant great power to food. My only-boyhood, as well as other experiences with girls, has instructed me on the fact that ice cream and chocolate have the ability to make everything ok. President Obama should have allocated stimulus money to the production of chocolate ice cream. Besides those two universals, girls usually have a favorite dish that can have the same effect, such as mashed potatoes or certain salads. I guess I don't have much to comment on this phenomenon. I just know that it exists, and that I don't know how or why it works for them.

I do have something to say however about health. I have come to the conclusion that if America is obese or unhealthy, it's not only because we lack self-control and are lazy. It's partly because we're inconsiderate despite efforts to be kind and because we don't want to offend.

We give each other a ridiculous amount of junk food. Just the other day, my boss got mint brownies for each of us employees in celebration of a birthday. These brownies were a supplement to the cookies she constantly has for us to munch on. I didn't want a brownie. So I tried to walk out without one. I wasn't fast enough. She asked, "don't you want a brownie." I couldn't say no because she had gotten one specifically for me (without asking if I wanted one). So I took it, and thought about how I could get rid of it. I would think it was wierd if someone gave me a mysterious brownie, and I couldn't justify throwing it away, so I ate it and am now more unhealthy than I previously was. Stuff like that happens all the time.

The past two times I have gone out to eat with my family, my extremely healthy mother ended up eating cheese fries the first time and a shake the second time, all against her will.

When people are down we think, "I'll make them some cookies." We should think "If I hated them, I would make them cookies, because then they would be unhealthy and more prone to health problems. Since I don't hate them and I want to help them, I'll take them a fruit salad, or a healthy dinner, or something like that." We never think that. We give junk food to each other everytime we want to be nice. It's not nice. So, if you've read this post and you give me junk food, I'll just assume that you hate me. Perhaps, if you think I can at least get comfort from you chocolate inconsideration, remember that I'm a boy. I won't.

Grand

Last weekend I went to visit my Sister, Brother-in-law and niece. I had a great time.
While I was there, my brother-in-law told me that I might as well not even worry about having kids, since there is almost no hope of having kids that are as cute as his little girl.
My Grandpa Thomas sends me (and all of his other grandkids who have moved out) a quote each month. This months was something like "it is a great pleasure in life to do something people tell you you can't do." It's by some guy.
I went to Jordan's house the other day and started playing his piano, and I fell in love with it. It's a baby grand and it's a nice wood color, and sounds awesome.
Considering all of the foregoing, I resolved that things I want to have when I grow up are a baby that's grand, a grandbaby, and a baby grand.

Jordan

I've kind of strayed from my people commentaries, but I think everyone was just wondering when this post would happen. There is certainly something to be said of my friend and roommate Jordan.
My experience with Jordan can be traced back to high school. The extent of our relationship there was that we went to the same one, and knew who each other were. However, Jordan was too busy being smart, and I was too busy goofing off for our paths to cross much more.
By some wierd something, Jordan and I ended up in the same MTC district. We went to different missions, but were in the same district learning russian. Well, let me qualify that. I was learning, Jordan was having it infused into his brain without putting any effort into it. His companion had already taken russian in school and was far enough ahead that they sent him to a state side mission until the rest of us were ready to leave the MTC. The result was that Jordan was put into a threesome with me and my companion. Our relationship took shape at that point. It took the shape of banter and spite. These were not tools of contention as one might think. They were tools of survival. If you've never been in the MTC for 12 weeks you don't quite understand how the MTC makes your brain weird. Our teacher thought we hated each other, when, in reality, we were just going insane. It should be noted that my attempts to serve him went completely unappreciated (typed with my tongue in my cheek).
Jordan sent me a letter once when we were in the mission field in an attempt to keep in touch. I responded...18 months later. I was busy.
After our missions we made contact once or twice before we decided to be roommates in Provo. I have no idea how Jordan, an extremely red personality puts up with my blueness. He hates blues. Somehow we get along. Luckily, neither of us care enough to be upset about much.
Jordan's latest goal is to become bigger than I am. We all know that will never happen. Sorry Jordan. I've tried to explain it to him, but he starts mixing laughter and words like, "you're so stupid" and "I hate you." I even told him to look in his dictionary where the word huge includes in its definition the words, "see Shawn." Denial is a hard thing for him to overcome. Especially when all of his working out and fat shakes, and blah and blah and blah just don't seem to get him as big as me.
There's much more I could say, and many stories I could relate, but this is a good enough overview for now.