Don't Panic

[Today is Towel Day, and in honor of that momentous occasion, I'm dusting off an account chronicling the only hitchhiking experience of my life. This post was written for the blog of my old improv troupe, Laugh Out Loud, and was originally published on June 6, 2007. Enjoy!]

And bring a towel. And all that other great hitchhiking advice from Douglas Adams's tremendous book and the highly underrated 2005 movie version (which featured the tremendous Zooey Deschanel) that I didn't think I would ever need...but I was wrong.

A few of us had quite an adventure recently. We got hired to do a show in the thriving metropolis of Afton, Wyoming, at the all-night graduation party of the Star Valley High (not to be confused with Sweet Valley High) Braves. The biggest drama on the trip up was Erica trying to figure out how to make a relationship work with her new, hot, would-be boyfriend, an MMA fighter (he's conveniently referred to by us, Erica included, as "Mark Fighter") who was leaving in a few days to start chiropractic school in Iowa. The show was a lot of fun, the kids were great (America's future is secure in the hands of these recent graduates, including the ones who almost didn't get to graduate after turning the halls of the school into a giant slip-and-slide), and they gave us some excellent chocolate milk from the Shumway Dairy.

It turns out I love parenthetical statements. (But really, who doesn't?)

The parents running the party arranged for us to spend the night with a family who lived in the outskirts of Smoot, Wyoming (population 193). I didn't realize a place that size had outskirts. As I got out of Fred's car, my finger somehow got smashed as Fred was putting up his power windows. If I was a worrier by nature, I would've hoped that was the worst car-related mishap we'd have on this trip; but I'm not, so I mainly just focused on how much my finger hurt.

After a great breakfast the next morning, we set off for home. We made it about 10 miles before Fred pulled off the road because the car wasn't working right. KC assured us, based on his travel experiences to and from Jackson Hole last summer, that the problem was altitude-related and if we waited a few minutes the car would work fine again.

KC lied.

After doing what tinkering we could, and getting what advice we could from a few kind souls who stopped to offer assistance, we finally decided the car probably wasn't going anywhere. The car that stopped didn't have room for any of us, but they said they'd send a tow truck our way when they got back to Afton (oh yeah, none of us could get cell service where we were stranded).

Meanwhile, Erica was getting antsy, because she had a flight to catch that afternoon so she could go home to Connecticut for Memorial Day weekend. She decided to hitchhike (when we play the game Story in our shows, we try to avoid having the characters "decide" things and try to have them just do things. I'm not being a very good story-teller here). I decided (dang, not again!) to go with her, for a few reasons: we figured it'd be safer for two of us to hitchhike than just Erica alone; I too was tired of standing on the side of the road; and I have an unbelievably awesome family (worthy of several blog posts of their own), and I knew that if we could get part of the way back, like to Evanston or something, someone in my family would come and get us and bring us back the rest of the way.

For the first time in my life, I stood on the side of a highway and stuck out my thumb. It seemed like much longer, but after about 15 minutes a truck driver stopped. He was on his way to Logan and offered to take us along. KC took some pictures of this meeting; he said he took them in case he never saw us again.

(I don't remember it being windy that day, but it must have been gusting--look how much my t-shirt is puffing out!)

Any fears for our safety were quickly laid to rest. The trucker, Jeff Mitchell, was an incredibly nice guy--that's why he stopped, and we're so grateful to him for his help. He's from Hinckley, Utah, which is just outside of Delta (Utah's answer to Smoot and Afton, Wyoming, respectively), so he's close enough to come to an LOL show some time (we invited him to do so, and I hope he accepts, so we can give him the ovation he deserves).

The next few hours were relatively uneventful, except for a few times that we had to stop because cows were being herded across the road. I think I saw Billy Crystal. Within a few miles, I got some bars on my phone and called my mom. She and my sister Julie cancelled a hike they had been planning for a while, and started driving north to meet us. Jeff decided dropping us off in Tremonton would be most convenient for all involved. We ended up getting let off at a truck stop where, almost 2 years ago, I had been forced to pull off the road while driving to Boise to do a show. My sister's car was there, parked right next to the stain left by my puddle of transmission fluid. Seriously. It was kind of eerie.

It was about 12:45 at this point, and Erica's flight left at 4:45. Good thing Julie was driving and not Mom. My sis was amazing: darting in and out of traffic, getting up above 90 mph when possible (uh, LOL does not condone any violation of traffic laws), but even with her her superb driving, we didn't drop Erica off at her apartment in Provo until 3:00. She still had one last mad dash ahead of her, but thankfully Mark Fighter got her to her flight on time.

So Erica's story had a happy ending (except the part about her dream guy moving thousands of miles away). But my day wasn't over yet. We had an LOL show that night, and Fred and KC were supposed to be in it! Allan and I kept trying to call them all day to check their status, but their phones didn't have service until late afternoon when they were on their way back (again, thanks to the kindness and sacrifice of some great people. I don't know all the details of what happened after I got in Jeff's truck, including any details about these other photos taken by KC, so hopefully one of them will blog about it soon).

They raced to the Tanner Building as quickly as they could, arriving after I had already started warming up the crowd. They came in and did the show without warming up at all, and it was one of the best, most energetic shows I've ever been a part of (except for Faster Faster, where we cheated and tried to redo the cow milking competition scene we did the night before in Wyoming because it killed, but in Provo it fell kind of flat. That's what we get for trying to script improv--we won't be cheating like that in our shows any more).

So much thanks again to everyone who helped us out in our excellent adventure to Wyoming and back. And thanks to anyone who actually read this entire, terminally-long post. You're just as benevolent as they are.

A pack of lies

This week in Sunday School we get to learn about Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah, who traveled around actively seeking to destroy the church and lead its members astray, before a dramatic encounter with an angel and their subsequent conversion to the truth. It's a great story, which everyone should study. This will help.

Thinking about Alma and his cohorts led me to recollect about the times when I've been part of a group that actively attempted to mislead. I actually started on this path when I was in kindergarten. I would walk the three-ish blocks to and from school with the same kids. Mr. Bell was the kind, old crossing guard, and one day he asked me my name. For some reason I told him it was Charlie, and that's what he called me for the rest of the year, when he retired.

I was even worse when I got to school. At recess, my friends Bryant and Clint would chase down kids (most of whom probably didn't realize they were being chased) and hold them until I caught up (I've always been very slow). Once I arrived, I'd chant the following nonsense at our captive: "We don't care, we don't swear, we don't wear no underwear." It was an absolutely ridiculous thing to say, and at least on-third of it was patently false. But that's how we entertained ourselves on the asphalt playgrounds of Viewmont Elementary.

As I got older, I moved away from blatant lies, but I still sometimes joined a crowd that encouraged some of our friends to do things they would later regret. In 9th grade, it rained a lot on the day of the Dutch oven cook-off (probably the biggest annual event at Riverview Jr. High--the late, great sportscaster Doug Miller was the guest judge that year). By the end of the day, some big, muddy puddles had formed on the field next to the cooking tents, and a bunch of us convinced Abbie Oliver and Brandy Butterfield to battle for the middle school mud wrestling championship. I don't recall who won the match, but in a way, we were all losers.

Two years later, while watching the 4A state baseball championship game, my friends and I realized our valiant comeback against Provo High was likely to fall short (I could write a few thousand words on Murray High's late '90s rivalry with Provo. I hated them so much!). To avoid dwelling on the negative, we pressured our pals Jadee and Jeff (not me, another Jeff) to go streakin' through the grass beyond the outfield wall at what is now Spring Mobile Ballpark. We needled them over the course of several innings, and we finally got them to do it by promising large sums of money--something like $20 each from 15-20 of us.

They left our bleacher section, and then we didn't see them for a while. We figured they had chickened out. But then, in the final inning, two 17-year-olds wearing nothing but sneakers darted across the grass. I don't think they ever got paid.

As a missionary, I finally found a small chance for redemption. An Elder Olson in my mission had a penchant for telling tall tales. I took his place in my first area, where I quickly learned that he had convinced many of the local members that he had been in a small plane crash in Alaska and survived Scott O'Grady-style in the wilderness for several days. The story was completely made up.

Several months later, I moved to a new city, and one day the other Elders in my apartment were listening to a cassette tape. "This is Sting," one of them said. "He once dated a Mormon and later made an album of Primary songs." The tape was a copy, so there was no printing on it, no liner notes.

But I had heard the album before, and knew they were mistaken. I informed them that it was Brett Raymond, who I guess kinda sounds like Sting maybe a little bit if you're trying to convince yourself that it's Gordon Sumner.
 

"Who told you it was Sting?" I asked. "Elder Olson," came the reply. Figures...

It turns out, though, that this particular urban legend may not have originated with Elder Olson--or if it did it didn't stop there. Sting may not have recorded any Primary songs, but one of his classic tunes would make a great soundtrack for this post. And that's no lie.

For mature audiences only

I have stake conference this weekend, which means that if you're NOT having stake conference then you're on your own to find supplemental materials for your Sunday School preparation. However, if you're looking for some church-based jokes and puns, check out this classic post from my old blog, featuring my favorite title that I've ever come up with.

Every six months when stake conference comes around, it gives me a chance to point out how weird it sounds to me when the Saturday night meeting is called the "adult session." It makes it sound like illicit things will be going down, stuff that's not appropriate for the young.

General Conference does not have adults only sessions. In fact, I have memories of teenagers giving short talks in the Priesthood session of conference a few times when I was 12 or 13. Unfortunately, there is no record of this in the archives of those early '90s sessions. Can anyone out there corroborate my memory?

While we're on the subject of leave-the-kids-home Saturday night events...at work my team uses a website called Yammer, which allows us to collaborate while working remotely. We also use it to entertain each other, including the creation of "Kitten Friday," where we all post funny cat pictures and video links. Last week I decided to extend the festivities to "Caturday," and came up with the following:

"Tonight, Saturday Night Live will be hosted by Will Ferrell, with musical guest Usher. Should be a good episode. But I'm more excited for tonight's episode of SNL's sister show, Caturday Nine Lives. Will Feral will host with musical guest Cheshire.

Oh, you haven't heard of Caturday Nine Lives? Well, CNL has been around even longer than SNL. On its debut episode in the '60s, Simon and Garfield-unkel performed a memorable rendition of "Feline Groovy." Since then, they've welcomed all the expand »big names from the world of cats, like Cat Stevens and Cat Deeley. Just like with SNL, looking over the archives of Caturday Nine Lives can be quite humorous: Tawny Kitaen and Kitty Dukakis both hosted multiple times, and the musical acts have included such forgettable bands as Pantera, Glass Tiger, White Lion, and Cat Power.

Many recurring SNL sketches were ripped off from CNL, including Laser Cats, Toonces (the cat who can drive a car!), and of course, "It's Pat," the human version of "It's Cat," in which neighborhood kittens struggle to figure out if a new cat is a tom or a queen. "Coneheads" began on CNL as the comical exploits of cats forced to wear those protective neck cones. Cat Foley was a motivational meower who lived in a van down by the litter. But the most egregious example was the original SNL cast performing their "Cheeseburger, cheeseburger" sketches--such a shabby adaptation of I Can Has Cheezburger.

Commercials like Litter Critters and Eych are original SNL creations. It is believed that the creators of Caturday Nine Lives don't like them, but it's hard to tell for sure because, you know, they're cats."

If you got even half of the above SNL references, let me know--I got a Saturday Night Live board game for my birthday and I want to play it with you! I'm available this Saturday night. You know, after the adult session.

At the Coke of midnight

Every couple of months, my work schedule changes. As the new shift bid, as we call it, approached, I was a little bummed out because I was set to be working late on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. But then my team needed coverage on some graveyard shifts, and I volunteered, getting rid of most of my unwanted evening hours in trade.

Before my first all-nighter, I was nervous. I worked graveyards at my last job before JetBlue, and was let go after my initial 90-day probation period because I was falling short on several performance benchmarks (the only time in my life I've been fired). The reason I fell short--I struggled to stay alert over the course of my shift.

Fortunately, I've had the opposite experience during my first seven overnight shifts. Several reasons for this: the work is simultaneously less strenuous and more interesting than at that other job; I'm only working six hours at a time instead of eight; I can listen to podcasts or SNL reruns to help keep me alert; and I have been able to sleep much better in the daytime than the last time around, thanks mainly to wearing a JetBlue emblazoned mask.

Oh, and one other thing: caffeine. Not a lot, but enough to perk me up when I feel my energy waning. I nursed a 2-liter bottle of off-brand diet cola over my first two weeks of this new shift. Obviously, it was pretty flat for most of that time, but that's okay because I'm not a fan of carbonation. I need to remember to get some more before my next graveyard Monday night.

I've never been much of a Coke fiend, mainly because of my aforementioned aversion to carbonation rather than the stigma it holds in certain circles of Mormonism. But I even feel all right drinking it in that regard, since the Spirit goes to bed at midnight and therefore has no idea what I've been up to.

This week in Sunday School, the chapters we're studying include the story of some Lamanite graveyard shift workers who drank something that did anything but help them to stay awake on the job, allowing the Nephites to escape from bondage. (The unsung hero of this tale? Why, wicked King Noah, who built the winepress.) Read all about it in Mosiah 22:5-13. And then read this to learn about things that are more important than staying awake at night.

On Tatooine, it's always Star Wars Day

...you know, since they have two suns. So there's probably round-the-clock daylight.

In this galaxy, Star Wars Day is May 4th. As in, "May the fourth be with you." (Although the stars themselves apparently once indicated that Star Wars Day should be later in May.) I'm not an avid Star Wars fan. I've only seen Episodes I, II, and III once each, and don't own any version of any of the six movies. I'm not really bothered by all of the tinkering George Lucas has done with the original trilogy. I've never read any of the books or seen any of the cartoons. In fact, the only extra-theatrical Star Wars I've been exposed to is the brutal 1978 holiday special. In case you want to know what I mean by brutal...well, here you go.



That's just one of many extended scenes of subtitle-less Wookiee dialogue. And when you're not getting annoyed by the whining of Chewbacca's family, you get stuff like Bea Arthur singing. The whole special can be found on YouTube, but I don't recommend it. With my affinity for cheesiness, I assumed this special would be right up my alley, but it turns out it's just bad.

The "May the fourth" pun does land right in my wheelhouse, though, and I think that was the original point of this post anyway. On Cinco de Mayo Eve, the Murray Library, employer of my sister, my roommate, and several other people I know, hosted a Star Wars Day event, so I took a date (my friend Amy) to check it out.

They were showing Episode IV on a projector screen in their big conference room, and we watched for a bit before making our way out to the main event: members of the Alpine Garrison in full costume, strewn throughout the library posing for pictures and even signing autographs.

Instead of waiting in line for a snapshot, we made our way to the back corner, where a young Jedi was reading a droid-centric story to a bunch of kids, many of whom were also in costumes (mostly Star Wars characters but also a few superheroes and princesses). A few of them kept interrupting and asking weird questions, and the Jedi (I think he said his name was Tag; not sure if he was supposed to be a specific character or if he made it up) handled them deftly. He reminded me of Justin long's character in Galaxy Quest, and I mean that as a compliment.

By the time the story had ended, the place was pretty packed. Some more recognizable characters had arrived (all villains; it must be more fun to dress up like them), and all had long lines of little kids and grown-up kids waiting to get their pictures taken. I realized this would've been the perfect opportunity to recreate my all-time favorite trolling joke (just watch the first 90 seconds, after that the language gets a little salty), but luckily I'm not a jerk. Instead, we watched some more of the movie, got a few pictures taken, and called it a night. It was definitely my favorite Star Wars Day ever!

When we first got in line, Darth Vader and Boba Fett were posing together. By the time we got to the front, Boba had wandered off, and we were stuck with this motley crew. The guy on the left was the storytelling Jedi. I'm still not sure why a Harry Potter Deatheater was there.

At ease in Zion

If you're at least 20 years old and grew up in the LDS Church, chances are you recognize this picture--my favorite Mormon painting of all time. It used to be included in each generic copy of the Book of Mormon. (Not sure what the proper term is for these copies--on the mission we called them "pros copies" because they were the ones we gave away while proselyting. I'm talking about the free copies from a missionary or by calling a toll-free number you see on a commercial. Of course, it's all moot, since more recent printings no longer contain this painting.)

This is, of course, Arnold Friberg's depiction of Abinadi testifying before the wicked King Noah and his priests. He calls them to repentance, they get angry and try to kill them, and he commands them not to touch him or else--or else the power of God within him would cause them to wither. Abinadi's countenance glows as he continues to deliver his message.

There are so many reasons to love this picture. There's Abinadi, looking regal, super-ripped, and maybe a little deranged. There's Noah and his priests listening intently, even though their soldiers have apparently had their swords shattered by this valiant prophet and are now cowering in fear. There's King Noah himself, decked out in gold and jewels and a flowing robe and pointy elf shoes. And, of course, there's the two leopards. I like to think Noah named them Curelom and Cumom.

If I were a king, I'd probably be just like Noah and his priests, minus the evil. What I'm saying is that it would be all comfort and luxury, all the time. You've got to respect people who are so into laziness that they built a ledge to sprawl out on while they tell lies to their people (see Mosiah 11:11). If I were a king, I'd sit on my throne all day surrounded by my fancy jungle cats, giving audience to my adoring subjects. I would rarely get up, mainly because I'm the king and I don't have to, but also because it's tough to walk around in those pointy elf shoes. I'd probably get so rotund that it would make portly Noah and the obese Eglon (the wicked Moabite king who was so fat that when he was stabbed in the belly his blubber consumed the cubit-long blade, "and the dirt came out"--see Judg. 3:17-22) seem as buff as Abinadi. But I'm not ever going to be a king, so I'll have to settle for some secondary luxuries: eating a package of cookies, looking at cat pictures online, and getting a massage from my friend Amy. She's great.

The story of Abinadi, covered in this week's Sunday School lesson (this will help you get ready, but hurry, there's not much time left), also includes a scene that always makes me laugh when I read it. After Abinadi's initial round of preaching to the people, they get angry and try to capture him, but he escapes. Two years later, he returns "in disguise, that they knew him not, and began to prophesy among them, saying: Thus has the Lord commanded me, saying--Abinadi, go and prophesy..." (Mosiah 12:1). Um, I don't think you really grasp the concept of a disguise, Abinadi.

I know, I know...the disguise was probably just to get back into the city and have a chance to start preaching again, and he never intended to remain incognito. But it still makes me smile every time. Not as much as having my own leopards and pointy elf shoes would make me smile, but hey, we can't all be wicked kings.

Hoffmann of the Month: May

The "Hoffmann of the Month" for May is animal trainer Martha Hoffman! (That is clearly not Martha pictured above, but it is the cover of her book.)

Martha's website is a little out of date, but she's earned a break--check out her impressive CV. She says she's tested tens of thousands of dogs, a staggering number, to determine their suitability to be trained as service dogs. Most people are probably more familiar with the concept of seeing-eye dogs than hearing ear dogs, but I've seen some videos of these dogs in action and they're just as amazing.

When people ask what I do for a living, I usually tell them I help run the JetBlue Airways Twitter and Facebook accounts. I tell them this because it's true, and because it's the most glamorous part of my job. But it's not the only thing I do. My team also reaches out to customers who are traveling with service or emotional support animals and check if they have any questions and find out what we can do to best assist them while they're traveling. It's helped me to be very grateful that I don't need an animal assistant to perform regular life functions, and it's also left me in awe on more than one occasion when customers describe to me what their animals do for them. I'm very glad there is help available for people who need it, and appreciate people like Martha Hoffman who train these animals.

(This seems like a good time to point out again that the things I write on this blog are my own views and not those of my employer. Though I'm guessing JetBlue's views match up pretty closely with that last paragraph.)

Some other things I like about Ms. Hoffman:

--she started off training hamsters and parrots.

--her name rhymes with Marta Kauffman, co-creator of Friends and other less memorable NBC Thursday comedies.

--speaking of TV...Martha and one of her dogs have been on Letterman! I'm assuming they performed a "stupid pet trick," but don't know for sure.

Congrats on being named May's "Hoffmann of the Month," Martha!

All about peeves

I'm a pretty laid back guy. I don't get too stressed out or bothered by most things. But I'm not perfect. Here are a few things that have annoyed me lately:

--People misspelling the word lightning as "lightening."

--People posting a quote or a picture or a meme or whatever on Facebook, then someone comments with something like "I'm totally stealing this!" At least 99% of the time, the first person already "stole" it from someplace else, so it's not really stealing. In fact, there's a "Share" button right there. Right there! Why does everyone want to steal instead of sharing?

--People who head up to the stand too early to say a prayer in sacrament meeting. This is a three-pronged pet peeve: it bothers me that they are (or assume that the congregation is) so impatient that it would be horrible to have a five- or even 20-second gap between the end of the song and the beginning of the prayer; it annoys me that their hastiness puts the chorister and and accompanist in an awkward position, forced to decide between folding their arms or preventing their books from flopping all over the place; but most of all it drives me crazy how bad so many people are at gauging when to go up.

Most people who try to time it so they arrive at the podium just as the hymn ends do a very poor job of it. How long do they think the walk actually is? Or how short do they think that last verse is? Even if you're bent on stepping up to the mic just as the prayer ends, you probably don't need to start clambering over people in your pew until the last two or three measures of the hymn. You definitely don't need to make your way up front during the third verse of a four-verse hymn.

That's all I can think of for now. If you've ever been guilty of any of these behaviors, I don't dislike you or consider you a bad person. It's just that you do annoying things.

What are some of your pet peeves?