Thursday, June 24, 2010

Moroni is a Bad Ass, Part I

I have never read through the war chapters of the Book of Mormon with much enthusiasm. It isn't bad to look for "the lesson" and "principles" in the scriptures. That is what we have them for. But I think that in my diligent search for those things I missed the dramatic parts of stories and the actual history that is written there.

I am currently insatiably interested, for the first time ever. Particularly Alma 43-64. And it is really neat to see how Helaman's narrative shows how interested and impressed he was too. These men are MEN of God with lives that hold stories that are worthy of their names.

Alma 44
In case you need the Recap:
Moroni is leading his people in battle against the bad Lamanites. The Lamanites find themselves at the Mercy of Moroni; He gives them a chance to swear an oath of peace or die. The Lamanites refuse but try to weasel out with "hey just take our weapons and let us go, no BFD ya know". YEAH RIGHT. Moroni is no such fool. He is righteous, he is brave, he is smart.
Moroni is a BAD-ASS.

Alma 44:10
"And now when Zerahemnah had made an end of speaking these words, Moroni returned the sword and the weapons of war, which he had received, unto Zerahemnah, saying: Behold, we will end the conflict."

This is now one of my new favorite lines in all of scripture-dom. I can't believe that I have been reading over this so many times without seeing how great the drama is. How wonderfully epic a story.

In case you don't know the rest, the Lamanites fight some more and end up getting owned by Moroni's army and making the peace oath anyways.

More about Moroni to come, because he deserves it and I can't help it.

You may think you aren't interested, but:

The longest tennis match in history finished today.
Isner beat Mahut in the tie-breaker at 70-68.
Total playing time: 11 hours, 5 minutes.
Aces: Isner had 112 and Mahut had 103.
They be from crazy town, frills.
I'm amazed.

I guess I should be posting about my own life, but this stuff is more interesting to me. For all y'all who think I am MORE interesting, it will interest you to know that I am in Hawaii with my family. I go to the beach everyday, snorkel with fish and turtles, get tan, sometimes sleep in my bathing suit, read a lot, don't wear make-up, and get lots of bug bites, get to be wonderfully warm and never cold.

And sand in my bed. I'm in love.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

If you can't write right, at least try.

I hope that I am not the only one who flops with their first attempts at creative writing. This is an attempt I made a couple years ago at a short story, and at maybe being funny. This isn't even how my humor works in real life, which is why it sounds forced. Yes, I learned my lesson. Please pretend to ignore the many cliches, both in sentence choice and in the story itself.
You've been warned:

Birthday Fun

Jack stood outside hesitating to ring the doorbell. A birthday party. Why do all occasions call for a party? Christmas party, New Years party, beach party, Happy Halloween party, my-kid-got-an-A party, I-bought-a-new-dog party. And now, a birthday party: the king of all parties. Dr. Lillard told him that going to at least three parties a month would help cure him. Cure. Serious business if there ever was any.
It was now month seven. Jack really impressed Dr. Lillard when he attended four parties two months ago. However, his written tests indicated little change His medication stayed the same. And he went to parties. Depression needed forcing out with company.

Jack checked the invitation and read the name Elizabeth Clark. She was the wife of his boss’s assistant. He read it over five times to commit it to his memory. The sound of hip hop music inside made him want to run back to his car. He rang the doorbell.
Chris, a younger man from Jack’s office, opened the door. “Come on in,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Jack. “Where I should put the gift?” It was a book that he grabbed from a shelf at Barnes and Nobles. A teenage sales associate said it was getting really popular. Jack figured that that was appropriate.
Chris showed Jake to a small side room and then left. Jack set the wrapped book
down next to the other gifts, box shaped and wrapped in one of the four choices of wrapping paper from Barnes and Nobles.

Jack pulled out a piece of crinkled paper from his inside jacket pocket. It was doctor’s orders to not leave a party until he checked off at least three things.
The list read: Learn four new names; shake hands with five new people; bring a good gift if appropriate; meet the host; ask a person of the opposite sex if you can get her a fresh drink; tell a joke/ make someone laugh; make a business connection.
Refolding the list, he put it back in his pocket. One down, two to go.
He rehearsed the joke about the three blue ducks. Someone would find it funny, or at least laugh at it.

Now to find Mrs. Clark. It wasn’t too difficult. She was wearing a gaudy, pink, feather boa to let everyone know that it was her birthday. She was turning 48. For goodness sakes, didn’t she know that? Did she really think it was a secret? And always talking to Chris and his friends; Chris had so many friends.
Jack stood near the edge of the circle, trying to say hello and how do you do to the men around him. The cigar smoke burned his eyes. Young people shouldn’t be smoking cigars. At the end of Chris’ apparently hilarious punch line and the laughter, Jack asserted himself.
“Good evening Elizabeth.”
“Why hello Mr. …”
“Oh - Welcome to the party, Jack.” Then she turned back to Chris before he could
say another word. Oh? Oh! For twelve years Jack had worked at the firm, working his way up. They were all the same, with white smiles and hair that they could still part. Guys like Chris come straight out of college and sit in the office just one door over, shaking his hand and trying to show him how to do things. What did they know? How to pick a good suit, that’s all. And computers.

Jack sneezed as he was leaving the crowd. That damned feather boa - where on earth do you even find a thing like that? One of the men was carelessly holding his cigar too close to it. Too close? It could work. Jack looked around. No one was looking at him as usual, and this time he was especially grateful. His list jabbed him once more. That was the sign. Jack gently grabbed the end of the furry snake and placed one feather near the smoke. A second later it began to glow.
Jack moved to the other side of the room, smiling. A real smile. It was much easier than telling that joke about the three ducks. He watched as the men near her cried aloud, and one doused her with a nearby ice bucket. The flames went out. Jack laughed out loud for the first time in seven months.

Jack checked his list: Meet the host, check; bring a gift, check; tell a joke/ make someone laugh, check. Jack couldn’t wait to tell Dr. Lillard that his treatment was finally taking effect.

Bah-dum ching. (canned laughter here).