Fuzzy Math

I have to say that I am not terribly encouraged. I am an electrical engineer and have been employed in such a profession for the last 15 years. 11 of those years I spent in "industry" and the last 4 I have spent employed with the government.

My first impression early on in my career was that most government engineers were employed by the government because they couldn't find a "real" job. I thought that most of them were so unskilled that they were not capable of holding a job in the "real world". So they were on a sort of government welfare because they would probably not be able to be employed if they had to make it in industry.

After my 11 years in industry, I discovered that there could, in fact, be some engineers in government that are there by personal choice. True, the pay is not as good in the government, and that would lead most engineers to say that they were "dumb for taking" a job that doesn't pay so well. Well, after spending 11 years dealing with the corporate greed structure of industry, I became so thoroughly disgusted with the deal I wanted to go somewhere they didn't judge me by the amount of money they could make off my efforts while shafting me.

Examples? For one job, I did a project that saved my customer $2 million over about 6 months. Sure, it was a team of about 5 or 6 people, but I was integral to the team. What was my reward? I was laid off within a month.

Another example - me and one other engineer were given the challenge of testing a rechargeable battery that was used in a proposed product our company was trying to prepare for deployment. They tried to get the manufacturer to test out charging the battery and running it down multiple times to see how long the batteries would survive. The manufacturer claimed it wasn't possible. Our company challenged our group to make it happen.

Well, we did it. We made a circuit card that had a recharge circuit on it and another that had to be developed from scratch to simulate the load of running the battery. The hardest part was the simulator circuit. That's the part I did. It worked great. We did what the manufacturer said was not possible and were able to do some vital testing on a product before it's release. My reward? A $250 bonus. My management got $25,000 bonuses the same year because of the work we did.

I later found that we were running around 1,700 test computers, basically illegally because they did not have proper licensing for the operating systems they were using. Taking the challenge I identified a bunch of equipment that was really old and sold it on eBay. Using that money, we bought licenses for the test computers. So, at no cost to the company, I was able to get rid of old equipment and use the money to buy licensing and prevent a major legal issue for my company. I figured out that I saved the company almost $250,000 directly on what it would have cost them to buy the licenses outright. What was my reward for that? Absolutely nothing. Not even a thank you.

So, I may not be paid a lot for what I do for the government, but I am making a difference. And they appreciate me for doing it. And I am not worried about losing my job, even in the bad economy we are in. And I am not making someone else filthy rich for what I am doing.

But I will acknowledge the bar is not set very high.

For example (and I am sorry for the seriousness of the post to this point. It gets better, I promise), I am working on a contract right now and I have found that the whole government process of contracting is interesting to say the least. I have found that the best way to compare this to something in the 'real world' is that it is akin to herding cats. A lot of cats. And some of those cats really aren't that bright to begin with.

I recently was in a meeting discussing a contract that I had done a rather extensive technical evaluation on. We were talking to the contracting officer to explain what we came up with. We had asked the vendors to send out past performance questionnaires where the vendors were supposed to be ranked by their other customers. The questions rated them from 1-20 (1 being the best, 2o the worst) on 8 different questions.

Two of the vendors had three questionnaires come back and the 3rd only had two. So, we added up the scores from each questionnaire, then divided by the number of questionnaires to come up with a score. I know, you are probably thinking, it's an average score, right?

This concept COMPLETELY defeated this contracting officer. Now, I understand that not everyone is math inclined, particularly as much as I am. I did minor in Math (a source of shame in some regards) and engineering really is a lot of math anyhow. I also understand that there are those that shun math as much as possible. But an average? Is that really so foreign? My kids in elementary school understand averages.

This contracting officer had to have us go to a legal council to explain what we had done. He went in there saying, "Now, we took the scores and added them up. But this one company didn't get as many responses, so we had to divide them by the number of answers they got..." and then the legal council interrupted him and say, "yeah, you took an average. I got that." That floored the guy.

I think he was convinced we were going to shock the lawyer with our totally crazy "math thing" we were trying to pull.

I honestly wonder that if it weren't for the opportunity to do contracting, if this guy would be homeless. My supervisor told me he figured his wife had to dress him every morning.

At one time, I thought that there weren't any really 'dumb' people in the world; that everyone had something to contribute. I am not so sure anymore.

Am I worried that he may read this and figure out it was him? I would say the odds are significantly less than average. (Can we do that?)

Food Wars Round 2

To continue a train of thought that Kathryn started (it's all her fault, after all), I have to enlighten you a bit on the history here. This is all in regards to the yams comment raised in her recent post, but it may take a while to get there from here. I have to go way back to the days of yore, to Farmington Elementary School.

I recall a time when we had hard shell tacos for school lunch. At the time, I was not what I would call overly fond of hard shell tacos, but they were something I didn't reject outright. It's unfortunate that I didn't at that point because I recall eating these hard shell tacos for lunch. Approximately 6-8 hours later, I recall a significant worship session in which I spent a lot of type praying to the porcelain god. I was barfing so heartily, I was certain that I could feel my shoelaces coming up. I spent the next 12 hours wondering if I was going to die, and the next 12 hours sure hoping that I would die.

Sometimes it is hard to tell if some specific item is what may or may have not caused food poisoning, particularly something in the context of school lunch. However, my older sister had a similar experience, and I think my younger brother did too. Needless to say, the one common thread between all of us was school lunch and those hard shell tacos.

Now I look at the makeup of a hard shell tacos. You got a shell, usually made out of some sort of corn substance, likely the same stuff they make regular corn chips out of, only shaped more conducive to holding a load of stuff. The stuff on the inside is some sort of meat, usually ground beef, seasoned with some sort of spice that make it taste 'taco-y' (is that really a word?), then your various gambit of items such as lettuce, cheese, maybe some olives, and/or salsa. Simple right?

Only, now I can't actually bring myself to eat this configuration of items without having a desire to wretch. Of course, as time passed from the original episode, the desire to hurl has lessened, but I still cannot bring myself to eat a hard shell taco. I can eat the same stuff all covered on tortilla chips. I can even eat (and like) the whole thing in a soft shell taco configuration and not even mind. But I just can't bring myself to chomp into a hard shell taco. I acknowledge it is all in my head. There is no reason to believe that I would get the same reaction to a hard shell taco now. Not any more than any other food. But I can't do it. It is simple. Hard shell tacos gross me out.

Now we get to the yams part of the story. If you get my family together, particular those of us that were old enough to remember being afflicted with my Grandma Clark's cooking, you can quickly find out the source of the consternation of several of my family in regards to particular foods. Amongst those fond memories of nasty food and related food-borne illnesses lies the problem I have had with yams.

I think it best to recall you to the way my Grandma Clark used to cook. I loved my Grandma and I hope that you understand that before I start talking about her cooking. She was a wonderful person, but she definitely was not a cook. I think she felt like the whole cooking business was a supreme inconvenience and thus was more apt to try and make shortcuts in the interest of keeping out of the kitchen. I am not aware that she knew that there was a function on the oven that allowed it to be turned on to a different setting from 'as hot as it gets'. It was either the hottest setting or it was off. Simply put.

My Grandma Clark also had this idea that the best way to cook was to make something big and then eat it over several days, thus eliminating the need to cook everyday. So, she would make a pot of something on the stove, they would eat, and leave the pot on the stove. The next time anyone was hungry, they would just turn the stove on and voilà! Dinner is ready. It's amazing that my dad was able to survive this. The best I can figure is the whole family could have taken on anything they could have got by drinking the water in Mexico without even feeling slightly sick. Sadly, having a mother that was aware of food-borne illnesses, our constitutions were not quite up to the snuff of those that were.

Some people who get married have a problem when it comes to cooking. There is always the guy saying something to the effect that if only his wife's cooking was somewhat near as good as his mom's cooking, then the food would actually be edible. This was never, NEVER a complaint I heard from my father's lips. One could conclude that my mom was a spectacularly good cook (which she really was - she could make food taste good no matter what....well, she never got spinach down too well, but how could you? Oh, yeah. Then there was that period of cooked cereal we went through. Maybe we won't go there. Bleck, I hated them lumps)

We did the one year at the Clark grandparents house for Thanksgiving and the next year at the Peterson grandparents house. I recall spending the Peterson years in absolute bliss because my Grandma Peterson was (and is) THE master at cooking. Peterson reunions were culinary masterpieces. I think it was ingrained in the blood of the Peterson side to just cook awesome. Mom definitely got her talent passed down.

But, to coin a phrase, I digress.

I recall spending the Clark Thanksgivings longing for the Peterson Thanksgivings. Granted, my Mom would make something to bring, so we wouldn't have to particularly starve those years. But occasionally, it was hard to identify exactly what Mom had brought and what was provided by the local kitchen.

One of my Grandma's "masterpieces" was the yams. I spent a good portion of my early years wondering how she could possibly make something that was that nasty. By the time my little brother Andy happened along, I was old enough to help out with him and Mom relied on me to do just that. It may mortify Andy for me to bring up the fact that I used to change his diapers (sorry about that Andy), but I recall some deposits Andy left in those diapers that appeared to be FAR more edible than those yams.

They were usually cooked way beyond their time, were sort of a liquid, poo-consistency goo, all spiced up with who knows what (maybe dirt, or something like that), and covered in marshmallows all melted and mixed into this conglomeration of seriously nasty yuck. It smelled like crap, and I don't mean crap in the "it smells nasty" sense, but actually like crap.

I think I was guilted at one point into actually tasting this death brew by my Mom. I think she felt bad when we all went to Grandma's house for Thanksgiving and we would all gag over Grandma's dishes and horde Mom's. It wasn't long after that Mom may have clued in that it was more of a survival instinct, but for the time she actually made me put that yuck in my mouth and eat it. The resulting food borne reaction may have helped her decide not to do that again.

Now I ask you honestly. Look at this picture. Kathryn used this as an argument for her really liking yams. Does this or does this not look exactly like a big pile of cat-sick? I will say her 'real' yams look better than these. Just looking at that picture gives the urge to dry-heave. She keeps raving over her yams, as do many in the extended family. I am sure that they are accurate in their assessment. But I cannot get past the urge to yack every time I even think about yams. I love Kathryn and she is an incredible cook. I just can't do the yams. Sorry, honey. I don't eat hard shell tacos either. It's not a reflection on your cooking. It's more of a reflection of conditioning. I can't stop it. It just is what it is.

By the way, Miracle Whip is nasty. I don't have a conditioned response that taught me that. It's just that it tastes yucky. Mayo rocks!

The Sheriff

In one of Kathryn’s comments to my little brother Andy’s blog, I have been known to get on the literary bandwagon once in a while. Andy mentioned writing some humorous emails to coworkers that got passed around a bit and in reference to that, Kathryn mentioned I got into one as well. Well, here it is.

To set this up, I started working at my current employment about 4 years ago. In the first year I worked there, I was exposed to a gentleman that was, let’s say for conversational purposes, somewhat of an enigma. In order for the real humor of this to make sense, you have to understand some of his finer points.

Now, I am not one to bad mouth the military. I did my time in the Air National Guard (8 years) so I hail from the same background. However, one of the shortfalls of the military is this idea that somehow, the military experience supersedes what anyone else does in the ‘real world’. This guy, let’s call him ‘Bob’ (names changed to protect the guilty), was a prior military guy.

His opinion was that everything he learned in the military was everything he needed to know from a technical standpoint. He considered the need for some silly piece of paper that said he had a degree to be beneath him. He could talk the technical jargon well enough and had many in his chain of command convinced he was an expert in the test equipment field.

The problem was that I also knew the technical jargon and as such, I knew he sounded like a fool. He knew all the buzzwords, but didn’t know what it meant. He could silver tongue it well enough to fool people that were not technical, but those of us who were, we knew he was full of manure.

I think he got off on the idea that people would come to him for business. It gave him a heady sense of power. At the time, he felt like he had control of the purse strings and could make multi-million dollar contractual decisions and he threw his weight around with vendors like he was the one they had to impress. The fact was, he never had that authority because he was not an engineer. And I think he resented engineers for that. After all, who needs a degree to do this stuff? He could talk the talk. He could throw his weight around. He could make people jump and it made him feel important. Even though he had no idea what he was talking about.

He was also the king of the euphemisms. Most of them were just annoying. He would be talking about some vendor he thought was not giving us a good enough deal and he would say, “Let’s sharpen our pencils and poke them in the eye”, or, “If they won’t cooperate, we can cap them in the forehead, bury them on the flight line, and march on.”

He also overemphasized his influence with upper management. He kept saying he had some General’s ear and would go have a discussion with him if he wasn’t getting his way. Flight Chiefs, Squadron Directors, no one was big enough or bad enough to withstand his fury or line of influence. “There’s a new Sheriff in town” he would always say implying he was the guy and they had to make him happy or there would be trouble.

One of his so called pet ideas was establishing a test system using PXI architecture. For those who are not technically inclined, the PXI is a PCI (Peripheral Computer Interface) driven architecture. So, PXI stands for PCI eXtended Interface; thus, PXI. This Bob guy felt like it was his destiny to come up with this great PXI standard for all test equipment in the shops. Except, it was envisioned years prior by my supervisor (an engineer, no less) and was something I picked up on and as one of my main projects. So, in other words, this guy was trying to horn in on my work.

I have been working test equipment for close to 14 years now. I think I know a thing or two about it. Having some bozo horn in on an area he had no clue how it really worked, trying to muscle his way around through intimidation and general bloviating didn’t sit well with me (or anyone else in the engineering department). After months of this frustration (he was like talking to a 3 year old. No matter what I said, he only heard what he wanted to hear and didn’t pay attention to logic). I finally had enough. Out of sheer frustration and annoyance, I sat down and wrote ‘The Sheriff’, a spinoff of Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Raven’

To get some of the references, I have to do some simple clarification beyond what I have already said. The project I had been assigned involved a 9-bay PXI chassis. We only needed 7 bays, but this guy was fuming and foaming that it had to be an 18-bay chassis. Why? Only his far superior intelect could reason it out.

He also gathered parts lists from this company we used to develop the tester – CACI, and found that he could go out and buy all the parts for around $43k, while CACI was charging us around $65k for each tester. We tried fruitlessly to point out that someone had to assemble and test it (his response was “it only takes someone with a 3rd grade education and a screwdriver”), but this fell on deaf (or ignorant) ears.

Having said that, here is:


The Sheriff

Once upon a midnight dreary,
While I pondered weak and weary,
At my computer monitor reading a volume of designing lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping,
Suddenly there came a yapping,
As of some one not gently yakking,
Blustering at my cubicle door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `yakking at my cubicle door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember
That it was some unruly member,
Speaking in such solid timbre
Who had recently come through our door.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;
Vainly I had sought to borrow
Some excuse to help me follow - follow some path to an open door -
Where I could escape this buxom fellow at my cubicle door.


Alas I felt and was uncertain
Of my escape it was not certain
It thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating
Of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating
Entrance at my cubicle door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my cubicle door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger;
Hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `your loudness, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping,
And so loudly you came yapping,
And so noisily came yakking,
Blustering at my cubicle door,
That I that overheard you'
Here I opened wide the door; -
A new sheriff there, and nothing more.

"The PXI chassis is the solution,
Why you feel inclined to chasten,
Doubting that this is the way to go forevermore
This simple rule must go unbroken,
To make my plan to be no token,
I want 18 bays and I'm not jokin'
To make the standard work forevermore

Or I'll sharpen up my steely pencil,
Carving out my special stencil
And your eye will be nothing more."

"With those parts lists I have a feeling
(They were paid for, it's not stealing!)
I could buy directly from any choice of store
And with a child's simple learning
And a small screwdriver turning
You would be quickly churning
Complex test equipment on the floor
And be rid of CACI forevermore!"



"Now if you still are disagreeing
Very soon you will be seeing
The power of the sheriff in ways you can't ignore
You know what I will soon be doing
The General's ear I will be chewing
Squadron Chiefs and others to them I will implore
To bypass engineering evermore"



Back into my cubicle turning,
All my soul within me burning,
Wondering about solutions that didn't seem to work so well before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely there is something for exception;
That may mitigate this deception,
Allowing other options to explore -
There must be ways around it that are so simple to explore; -
To limit my designs no more!'

Alas, my mind it gave a shutter
Feeling soft and cold like butter,
While in there stepped the stately sheriff like the saintly days of yore.
Trying now to convince me;
That the way he said it should be;
Lest he should stop and cap me and bury me under the floor -
Stood barking out the words from my cubicle door -
"PXI standard forevermore".

Then this sheriff stood beguiling
My sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
`Though you seem so bold and brazen,
Thou,' I said, `can seem so raving.
Claiming answers to be so blazing.
Perplexing me to the very core -
How can you seem to play this game and seem like you are so sure?'
Quoth the sheriff, `PXI more.'

Startled at this simple token
By this rule so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what he utters is suggestion and no more,
For in my past I have had to master
Projects that were a big disaster
Burdened by the tasks of restrictions to the score
And remembering the sorrow that such restrictions bore

But the sheriff still beguiling
All my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of him to my cubicle door;
Then, upon the seat so sinking,
I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking
What this ominous sheriff of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous sheriff of yore
Meant in croaking `PXI more.'

This I sat engaged in guessing,
But no syllable expressing
To the man whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining,
With my head at ease reclining
On the soft chair back lining
That the monitor-light gloated o'er,
He shall press, ah, PXI more?

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! –
Prophet still, if sheriff or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted,
On this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there an exception? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the sheriff, `PXI more.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! –
Prophet still, if sheriff or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden
If, within the concept maiden,
From whence you get your feigned direction for engineering to explore?
Why must I follow this standard forevermore?'
Quoth the sheriff, `PXI more.'

`Be that word our sign of parting,
Sheriff or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no direction as a token
Of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! –
Quit directing my job from that door!
Take thy direction from out my heart,
And take thy form from my cubicle door!'
Quoth the sheriff, `PXI more.'

And the sheriff, never flitting,
Still is sitting, still is sitting
Bugging me about this standard from within my cubicle door
And his eyes have all the seeming
Of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the monitor-light o'er him streaming
Throws his shadow on the floor;
And my designs from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

The First Kiss - the rest of the story

Ok, Kathryn tells me I have the 'rest of the story'. So here goes.

The story she tells to this point about the Hershey's kisses is true. I do have to say, however, that the chemistry was boiling pretty well between the two of us before then. I remember a journal entry I made saying about how there was something about her (Kathryn) that I just couldn't get over.

To back up a bit, the summer prior to the time I met Kathryn, I had met someone at a singles ward in Kaysville that I had been dating in the summer. Other posts may reflect this most interesting of relationships. To sum it up, it was very much a summer fling that faded significantly as I went back to USU and she went back to Weber State.

In fact, about 2 or 3 weeks after I met Kathryn this other person dumped me on a weekend I had come home for my National Guard weekend. If I was being honest with myself, I knew it was coming; long distance things just never really work anyhow, plus the relationship was not really a good one anyhow.

But it still messed me up. I felt pretty devistated by it. Probably the most significant feeling I had was that now I would never see her or talk to her again. I felt like I had girls that were friends, but whenever I tried to get the relationship more serious, it would end up really messy. Plus, it had a really negative impact on my grades. That quarter was the worst of my college career. I decided then and there that I wasn't going to bother with this getting serious thing until I had my degree. My degree was just too big of a deal to mess up.

But then I went down to First Night in SLC with Kathryn and a few of her friends and a few of my friends. Once again, other posts will detail that night, but it was a definate turning point in my feeling and relationship with Kathryn. All dispite my best laid plans to not get involved until after I graduated.

By the time Valentines day came along and the incident mentioned by Kathryn, there were some serious misgivings on my ability to hold to my committment. I was still struggling with the idea that if I had tried to get more serious with Kathryn, she would just end up hating me like all the other girls I had made an attempt with. I felt like Kathryn was a really good friend and I didn't want to mess that up. But I also was starting to recognize that she was the person I had been looking for all my life.

We started hanging out more and more, and even sort of branched off and did things just with the two of us. I remember going to play racquetball with her, Sharon, and Phil. Afterwards, just she and I were sitting in the Student Center and kind of chatting. I really wanted to make a move and just hold her hand or something, but I couldn't get the courage up.

Around the first of that next March, I made a resolution. I decided I was going to step out and risk it. I didn't know how I would do it, but I was going to let her know 100% for sure I was thinking about something serious with her and that there would be no doubt. I wanted to coordinate it with my March Guard drills. That way, I could step away from it for a few days and think about it clearly, let her think about it clearly, and if somehow everything was OK when I got back, I would know there was something to it.

I had no real plan to say anything or what I was going to do. We did something that Friday night; I think we were watching movies at my apartment. After it was all said and done, she went to go home, so I walked her to her car.

When she was going to leave, and I don't know what came over me to do it, I just took her and kissed her for the first time. I think she was really floored. I don't think she expected it. It was definately a step. She got in her car and drove off and I went back to my apartment and then went home for the weekend.

Needless to say, when I got back, I felt good about things. Of course, I was worried that maybe Kathryn was freaked out and would tell me to take a hike. But that didn't happen. We talked about it afterwards, and that is when we both knew that things not only were right, but were going to get even more serious.

Now, I could tell you exactly what happened to Kathryn after she left my apartment that night. I only know because she told me later. Maybe she could tell it better? It's a good story. Hints? Let's see, there was something about a hubcap? Can you elaborate Kathryn?

Scouts, Teasing, & Spam

Last night was Scout night. It was pretty interesting, to say the least. It just amazes me. I think every youth leader hopes to have something impact the lives of a young person in a positive way. Try as we may, it never seems to work out if you plan it. But sometimes accidents occur and you make a difference. Or at least you hope you do.

I had planned to talk to the Scouts about the upcoming summer camp scheduled for later this year. The leaders’ guide has just been released so I wanted to get them filled in with all the information that they needed to have a good camp. So, of course, no one listened and I spent most of the night effectively talking to the wall while the boys goofed around.

I did notice that one of the boys in particular was poking fun at one of the leaders sitting in the back. The leader seemed to be pretty good natured about it and shrugged it off, but it kind of stuck in my craw. I guess that I am a bit sensitive to the whole concept of making fun of someone since it was something that happened so much to me, so I got a whim and launched into a discussion about teasing and making fun.

Don’t get me wrong; I am as apt to tease someone as anyone else in the world. In fact, that is one of my specialties. And maybe I wasn’t as good at recognizing the difference between teasing and making fun when I was younger, but being on the side of the ‘being made fun of’ more often than not, I am quite sensitive now to it.

We got into how making fun of someone was hurtful and how some of those things can really damage people. I told them that any time you poke fun at someone because of a physical quality it was making fun and was hurtful. Even if the person could shrug it off, there was somewhere deep down where that person would feel like there was something wrong with them that they couldn’t change because it was who they were.

I told them that I got made fun of because I had red hair. Their response really kind of floored me, though. They said they thought red hair was really cool and they were envious of anyone who had red hair. Boy, times sure change! My generation was brutal to me because of my red hair. This generation thinks it’s cool! Or, at least this group of kids did. But I digress.
There was one kid who was definitely not taking any of this serious. He kept cracking ‘yo momma’ jokes. I told him that some people would be inclined to do serious bodily harm to someone if they cracked jokes about their mothers. Even that seemed to not penetrate his lack of seriousness.

I started to tell them the story of the Columbine kids that shot their high school up because they were bullied. I told them that it wasn’t one person and it wasn’t one incident. But it was accumulated over years that built up to the point where those two boys were so angry, they bombed their school and shot and killed 13 of their schoolmates, and then themselves. I was trying to get them serious and all this kid could ask was if it was shotguns or pistols (surely that’s beside the point, isn’t it?).

One of the other leaders came in late and added his input to the conversation. He had lived not far from Columbine High School prior to that incident and knew a good portion of the people affected by that terrible day. He told what an impact it had on their lives and what a different place that area is now. I thought it was good input.

Then, just as we were about to finish up, this kid that wasn’t serious rattled some word or phrase off in Spanish and this leader just perked right up. He asked the kid if he knew what that phrase meant. Of course, the kid had no idea. The leader seemed a bit agitated and told him that what he had just said in Spanish was one of the most vile and despicable things a person could say and that in some parts of the world (like Central America where he had served his mission), if you said something like what that kid had said, would likely get you shot right on the spot.

The leader’s tone was pretty strong and although I don’t think he was really angry with the kid, he was definitely offended by what the kid had said in Spanish. I tell you, that kid was suddenly very serious. I asked him if he knew what the word meant or had any idea it was so offensive and he said, basically, that he didn’t know. I told him that was the point I was trying to make that you have to be careful what you say and respect people’s feelings or you could seriously hurt them or create a situation that may not turn out very good.

When we finished up, I looked around the room at 6 boys that had their eyes opened up a little bit. I asked them if they had learned something that night, and most of them emphatically shook their heads, “Yes”. Hopefully it was positive and wakes them up to the reality that what we say can hurt people. Of course, they were trying hard to get the leader to tell them what the word meant, but he wouldn’t say (of course). I can’t blame him. If it was that offensive, I don’t want to know, and those boys shouldn’t know either.

On another unrelated incident (other than it was Scout related), I recently started up a website where I could post information about the troop with a calendar and a forum/billboard format to keep parents and Scouts informed on the internet. I started it up around the first of the year. Well, after about 6 weeks, the spammers found it.

The registration protocol for the website was such that bots cannot register and post their spam. I know there are bots out there that look to do that so these guys don’t have to personally go in and register to post their garbage, but my site isn’t like that. It has one of those random generated images you have to type the number in for and make them match or it won’t let you register. Long story short, someone had to personally go in and register their account.

They posted their garbage on the billboard where I had put information about the winter camp. Now, you tell me. Isn’t there something fundamentally wrong with someone posting advertisements about Viagra and Cialice on a website dedicated to Scouts? These people are sick.
I deleted their posts and removed their usernames. I also made it so I had to approve of any new registered users before they can post anything, so the garbage stopped and I got rid of what was there. Still.

Winter Camp, Cold, and Scout Sunday

So, how often do you blog? I don't know - I guess it's more like whenever you feel like it.

I had my winter camp for the Scouts. I think this may have been one of the least enjoyable camps I have been on in a while. I know that sounds negative, but it was so cold up there. We went up to Liberty, UT at the Stake Camp and stayed under the bowery. I have done that before with the Scouts, but this time for some reason was really cold. I had my cot which is usually quite comfortable, but this time there was some wind, and it kept the air moving underneath the cot. That kept it pretty cold.

I have a nice sleeping bag, but anywhere I made contact with the cot, the cold air kept that area really cold. I switched between lying on one side until it went numb from the cold, then rolled over to warm it back up and let the other side go numb. It made for a really long night.

Then we went over to Pineview to do ice fishing the next morning. They were successful in that there was ice. No fish, but plenty of ice. The ice on Pineview is at least 14 inches thick. I think they say that you can safely drive a semi-truck on ice that is 6 inches thick. Why you would want to drive a semi on a lake, I am not quite sure. Maybe it's one of those stupid human tricks? I don't know.

I guess it could have been worse. I have had worse experiences on Scout camps, but I certainly have had better. At least all the boys seemed to have enjoyed themselves. No real severe complaining, at least.

I guess the crux of my problem was the cold. I really hate the cold. I am definately not a winter person. I think the worst months of the year are January and February. March is getting better because then I can start to see my roses coming out of hybernation. I really like that. Spring is such a great time of year. I guess I have to keep myself positive and realize that there can't be any spring without winter. Sort of like saying you can't appreciate pleasure without knowing pain, I guess.

Anyhow, today was also Scout Sunday. I 'got' to speak in church about Scouting and how it helps prepare young men to be missionaries and fathers. I guess it went well. Everyone said they liked it.

Well, I guess I am done for the night.

Blog thing

Well, Kathryn started her own blog not too long ago. I have (up until now) been hesitant to cave in and add my name to the infinite list of people 'blogging', mostly because I could not even estimate anyone wanting to read my random musings - I barely do! Anyhow, I was reading around on hers and on by little brother Andy's blog and thought, well, maybe I'll succumb. I guess I am just one of those Lemmings.

I picked Glurge-o-rama because I really like the definition of Glurge: Sickeningly sweet stories with a moral, often hiding slightly sinister undertones. First of all, I love the 'Sickeningly sweet' part. One of my favorite lines from Harry Potter is in the description of Deloris Umbridge's little cat plates, picturing cats playing with 'sickening cuteness'. It's the whole opposite spectrum thing in two little words. Plus the 'hiding slightly sinister undertones' is a good bonus. I don't know if everything I will put down here is technically glurge, but who can say? One man's glurge is another man's treasure? I don't know if that really works.

Anyhow, this is my first post, so I guess I won't overdo myself.