Behind the Curtain

I saw one of those Native American whistle blowers on the Subway the other day:

Not to be confused with a whistleblower:

Turns out that "whistle" is actually called a "Pan Flute" according to my omniscient wife.

So as I was walking through the Grand Central subway station, I saw this Native American guy "playing" his pan flute and using a microphone to amplify the sound. He was accompanied by background music from a speaker next to him. There was a break in his "playing" as the background music continued and he turned to talk to someone next to him and before he could resume "playing," the pan flute's sound came through the recording above the background music. He looked up and quickly stopped the iPod.

HE DOESN'T PLAY THE PAN FLUTE!

He's an Indian Milli Vanilli. He holds the flute, pretends to play, and collects tips.

Here's a tip: Learn how to play the pan flute.

I'm the whistleblower.

Subway Games

New York is a busy place and its inhabitants are busy people. Instead of wasting time during their commute, they stay busy. What are they doing? Playing this game:

Every. Single. Person.

If it's not this exact game, it's some version of it. This is how all NYC commuters pass the time. Homeless people, children, parents, businessmen and businesswomen - everyone.

A New Olympic Event

Wife and I have been watching the Winter Olympics a lot lately, which has been a complicated process considering we don't have cable and TV antennae don't work well in a city of high buildings.

Olympic athletes are as diverse as their sports. Some Olympic events demand a life time of training in order for a participant to compete at the highest levels. Skiers and ice skaters in the Olympics have practiced for decades to hone their skills. Other events don't seem to require the same dedication. The skeleton and luge, for instance, seem to be events that anyone off the street could compete in. In the words of the great Jerry Seinfeld:

"The luge is the only Olympic event where you could have people competing in it against their will, and it would look exactly the same. Take people off the street, 'Hey, hey, hey, what is this?! I don't wanna be in the luge!' Once you put that helmet on them, 'You're in the luge, buddy!' 'aaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAAA...aaaAAAAA...' World record. Didn't even wanna do it. I'd like to see that next Olympics, the Involuntary Luge."

Furthermore, it doesn't seem like any special training goes into preparing for the luge. You just need to be a reasonably fit person that likes sledding and looks good in Lycra. 

Speaking of the sledding events, the skeleton is basically the luge where the person rolls over and goes backwards down the hill, right? Luge is feet forward, chest up. Skeleton is head forward, chest down. What about the other options?

I propose the following two new Olympic events:

Corpse - The "athlete" lies on the sled, chest up, head forward, and pulls himself down the hill by clawing at the sides of the track.

Sleep - The "athlete" lies on the sled, chest down, feet forward and someone pushes him down the hill.

Sleepy Sprints

Now that we have two kids sleeping in the same room, we're justifiably scared to death that one of them will awake in the night crying, and that he will in turn wake up his brother. So at the first feeble cry of either child, one of us (usually me) runs into the bedroom as fast as possible to calm the storm in its infancy. I don't know if you've ever gone from dead asleep to running full speed in less than a second, but after a while it messes with you. 

Super Bowl Child Naming Rights

As you may or may not remember, my wife has a slight problem with the Super Bowl, so I usually find somewhere else to watch it. Last year my super bowl viewing plans fell through and at the last minute I was forced to strike a deal with the devil. My wife was pregnant with our second child at the time, and I traded her the baby's naming rights for the opportunity to watch the game guilt-free in my own home. She had a name that she really liked, and though I wasn't crazy about it, I hadn't been able to think of anything better.

So that's the story I get to tell when anyone asks how baby #2 got his name. It was well worth it - last year's Super Bowl was a great game.

A Christmas Miracle

We traveled to Utah for an extended Christmas break and while there, our youngest son slept in a Pack 'n Play in a closet. As young children are wont to do, he sometimes wakes up in the night screaming for parental assistance and we play the "stick-the-pacifier-in-his-mouth-as-quickly-as-possible" game. If we get the pacifier in promptly, he will sometimes fall back asleep.

The difficulty of this game is compounded when the child is sleeping in a dark closet and any illumination at all will convert a weary babe to a wary brat. So we're leaning over this Pack 'n Play in an unlit walk-in, rummaging through the blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows (that we DON'T let him sleep with (supposedly that's dangerous) but older brother thinks he needs so he puts them in when we're not looking) in hopes that somehow our seeking fingers will brush against the hard plastic of the only accessory on earth that will soothe the infernal beast. This often takes some time and on occasion we've given up entirely when we can tell by the pitch of his cry, that he has passed the point of no return.

As it happened, we stayed up far too late Christmas Eve playing Santa and watching The Santa Clause (one of the great Christmas movies), and upon retiring to bed and drifting off to sleep, we heard it. The cry. I stumbled into his closet and with all the faith I could muster, plunged my right hand into the cloud of coverings, and behold, there was the comforting feel of freedom. I had grasped the pacifier on my first try. It was a Christmas miracle. I inserted the rubber nipple in his mouth and returned to my wife, my hope restored.

What's that you say? Bring an extra pacifier with us when we go in to assist him?

Where's the fun in that?

Naked Jews Singing?

I was at the TKTS booth in Brooklyn the other day and as I waited in line, I looked at the ticket offerings. Two lines caught my eye: "Old Jews Telling Jokes" and "Naked Boys Singing."

Thankfully they are different shows.

A Hostage Situation

As parents we try to teach our children (yes, there are two now) good habits and behavior. We try to get them on regular eating/feeding schedules and limit television time. We dissuade them from sleeping in our bed and encourage them to self-soothe and fall asleep on their own (within reason).

All that goes out the window when our kids wake up in the middle of the night screaming. At that point they are terrorists, holding our night's sleep hostage, and we are willing to give them anything to get it back. All those good habits we've spent months instilling in them go out the window.

Hungry? Sure. We'll feed you anything. You want to fall asleep on my lap in front of infomercials at 2 AM? No problem - as long as you get back to sleep. You want to sleep in mommy and daddy's room? Sure - Assume the position:

LDS Church Mandates Women Pray in Meetings

In a shocking setback for the nearly 8 million women of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the leadership of The Church announced today that female church leaders will be required to offer opening and closing prayers at the faith’s semi-annual General Conference meetings, held each year in April and October. Addressing the historic change in policy, President Henry B. Eyring noted, “It has been a longstanding tradition in our church to exempt sisters from the mandate that all church officers pray in general conference. We did this out of our love and respect for their divine role as daughters of God.” 

Elder W. Craig Zwick, a member of The Church’s “First Quorum of the Seventy,” explained the excessive burdens those face who are called to pray. “First, they ask you to pray several months in advance, so by the time General Conference comes around, you’ve most likely forgotten. If you’re lucky enough to remember, and you’ve been assigned to give the closing prayer, you find yourself unable to participate in the time-honored tradition of falling asleep in those big red chairs as soon as the lights go down. Instead you only get to sleep until the intermediate hymn, your second half nap non-existent. Finally, it’s ridiculously nerve-wracking not to know how long you need to pray until you stand at the podium. Between songs, testimonies, and talks of variable length, and a TV cut-off time of 12:00 PM, you can be asked to pray for anywhere from seven seconds to seven minutes, and you won’t know how long until you see the clock on the podium. Have you ever tried to pray for exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds? And it’s not like you can open your eyes to glance at the clock mid-prayer with millions of children watching to catch you peeking.”

He continued, visibly annoyed, “And why is it that I’ve been asked to pray 17 times in 18 years? It’s like someone suggests they make assignments alphabetically but shake things up by starting at the end. Every. Single. Time.”

Linda K. Burton, Relief Society General President, who has been slated to offer the invocation at this April’s opening session, spoke of the change. “Evidently this change was brought about because hundreds of oppressed sisters wrote letters to church leadership decrying what they considered an injustice: the fact that our male counterparts take the bullet for us and offer prayers in General Conference. The careless actions of these unthinking women have now had a detrimental effect on the Relief Society as a whole. Fortunately, they were very thorough in their correspondence, providing their telephone numbers, addresses, blog URL’s, and Pinterest user names in  their letters. We know where they live.” She smirked, “I hear there’s a church-wide shortage of nursery leaders....”

Religious

I think New York City is more religious than Utah.

I used to think that Jews outnumbered the other religious groups, but today made me think otherwise. Today is Ash Wednesday, and man were there a lot of ashed foreheads on the subway this evening. New York City is a religiously diverse place. Between, yarmulkes, ash, Harikrishnas, and Jehovah's Witnesses on the subway I feel like religion is more prevalent here than it ever was in Utah.

Crazy, eh?

Creepers

Let's do a little imagination exercise:

Close your eyes (but keep reading) and picture what the stereotypical murderer/rapist looks like. Obviously this will be different to each person. Imagine his/her gender, height, weight, ethnicity, race, hair color, manner of dress, and any tattoos, piercings, or other distinguishing marks he/she may have. Now that you have a good picture of this person in your mind, I invite you to come to New York City so that you may meet him/her.

I guarantee you that the person you have pictured lives in New York City. He/she may not live in Omaha or Provo, but he/she is definitely here. In fact, I think I saw him/her on the subway this morning. No matter what neighborhood you live in, you will probably see him/her on your street and by your office. You'll see him/her at your grocery store and you'll encounter him/her on a darkened alley on your way home at night.

That's just the way it is here. There are so many different people packed into such a small geographical space, that you are guaranteed to run into every single person you might imagine.

It's pretty cool.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas, it is an opportunity for family to gather, eat, and watch/play football. This year we spent it in Omaha where my sister-in-law (this blog's only reader) cooked a wonderful meal for twenty-one people.

Omaha is different than New York City; Omaha has Wal-Mart. There are things that we like to purchase at Wal-Mart that we can't find in the city. So when I flew back from Omaha on Saturday, I did so with a checked bag full of food and household supplies.

That is all.

Humbling

William and Mary Norton evacuated their Breezy Point home last year during Hurricane Irene. Since Irene was not as bad as had been predicted, and since William was recovering from a health condition, the couple decided not to heed mandatory evacuation orders as Sandy approached. Their one-story home sits 3-4 feet above the ground, half a mile from the beach. The storm surge coupled with a full moon high tide brought water to their deck, up the stairs, and into their home. As the two 88 year-olds piled clothing on their bed, the storm waters rose to their waists. They spent dark and cold evening huddled on their bed without power, water, heat, or cell service. In the morning their neighbors rescued them with a borrowed sailboat. (http://tinyurl.com/cmnq4yl).

This morning I tore out their bathroom.

I volunteered with the Mormon Helping Hands in Rockaway and was assigned the Breezy Point area. The experience was incredible.

We took two subways out to a chapel in Brooklyn, then boarded a bus out to Rockaway, then another bus out to Breezy Point. There are many volunteers in the area, but the people there could use many more. Most houses are being gutted or have been condemned. The area is in a district, not a stake, so it is under the direction of the New York, NY South Mission and its mission president. The mission president (a full-time leader) has mobilized his considerable manpower (150+ missionaries) to assist in the clean up efforts. The missionaries are not currently teaching or tracting, instead they spend every day in the hardest hit areas, performing service and coordinating service efforts. Members from the Manhattan stake have been encouraged to perform service on Saturdays and Sundays. There is an abbreviated sacrament service at the Brooklyn chapel on Sundays that is attended by members in work clothes, so that they can immediately board buses to get to work.

The Manhattan 2nd Ward is Better Than Your Ward

Allow me to lay out a few assumptions/generalizations. Though these aren't true in every circumstance, they are more likely than not accurate.

- Smart people tend to do well in school and attend prestigious universities. 

- People that do well in prestigious universities tend to be hired by successful companies and are paid well.

- Successful companies tend to have offices in large cities. 

- Handsome/beautiful people are attracted to wealthy people, or those that will eventually become wealthy (because they are smart). 

- When handsome/beautiful people mate with wealthy/smart people, they have handsome/beautiful/smart children that will eventually become wealthy.

When these handsome/beautiful/smart children get together to perform a primary children's program, it goes something like this:

- Flute solo by a primary child.

- Heartfelt testimonies by primary children

- Six person boys choir (in matching sport coats)

- Girls choir

- Vocal solo by primary girl with primary choir accompaniment

- Vocal solo by primary boy

- Talk by primary boy who quoted George Bernard Shaw

Needless to say, we feel a bit out of place here. At least our baby is cute.

Sundays in New York

We don't buy things on Sundays. In the past it hasn't been an issue for us because most places in Utah are closed on Sunday. Also, we didn't often find ourselves out and about on Sundays when we lived in Utah. We were at home, at family's house, or at church. We weren't often in commercial areas. In New York, we live 15 blocks from the church, so we often walk. Walking through New York is a commercial experience, to say the least. We find ourselves thinking, "Hey, we should stop at the store and get this while we're out," forgetting that it's a Sunday - since the city is alive as normal and we're walking around like normal. This is compounded by the fact that every restaurant is jammed with New Yorkers having brunch.

Just a thought.

Change in Missionary Age

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints announced today that young men will be eligible to apply for missionary service when they have graduated from high school (or its equivalent) and have attained age 18. A few thoughts about this change:

- The pool of potential missionaries will increase. I'm sure it is not an entirely uncommon occurrence for a young man to graduate from high school with full intentions of serving a mission, only for that intention to dwindle with time, or become impossible through transgression. With missionaries able to depart immediately following high school, they will not face this awkward waiting period.

- There will be less demand for male BYU dormitory housing. Dorms are mostly occupied by pre-missionary boys who are attending BYU for a year before they can serve a mission. If most boys serve before they start school, they will most likely live off campus upon their return.

I think this change will be positive. I wish I could have gone right after high school.

Welcome Home

Today I attended the Pittsford ward with my brother and my baby. Coming back to your home ward is an interesting experience. You see all the people that made such a difference in your formative years, and you want to show them the best side of you, so that they can make comments like, "Oh that Sven, he's grown up to be such a nice man," or "Wow, look at Sven's baby - he's the cutest ever!" Well today's homecoming was unique, to say the least.

As we walked into the chapel, about 10 minutes late, baby decided to take a running facedive into the wooden side of a pew. I had already felt all eyes on us as we walked in, and my suspicions were confirmed when baby's accident elicited an audible gasp from the entire congregation. He bled a little, and cried a lot, but eventually calmed down and we finished the service without further incident.

As we were getting up to leave, a random lady came up to us and said, "I don't know if you noticed, but you son fell and hit his head when you were walking in here." I replied that I indeed, had noticed. Then she went on, "I don't mean to criticize, but as a medical professional, I thought I'd mention that you really shouldn't pick him up by one arm like that." I replied that while I appreciated her concern, I was fully capable of raising my own child. She then asked how I'd like it if someone were to pick me up by one arm. "I'd like to see someone try that," was my retort. She then warned me one last time about how I might dislocate his shoulder. I ended the conversation by assuring her that I knew what I was doing and that I intended to completely ignore her advice. I was probably inappropriately rude to her, but that's how I roll.

Welcome home, indeed.

Stroller Incident

I ran over baby with a stroller today.

Recently baby has learned how to undo the straps in his stroller. Often while we're walking around town, I'll see him sliding down in his chair, and usually I catch him before he falls out. Not today. At first when I felt something dragging beneath the wheels, I assumed it was his blanket, which I have often driven over. But the stroller felt lighter at the same time, which was not normal. I soon realized it was baby once I ran over him with the stroller and there he was, on the ground, by my feet.

He didn't even cry. I guess he's used to my parenting style.

Puke

Baby has been sick the last week or so. His nose is always running and he's got a crazy cough.

Today he was falling asleep in his high chair after lunch, so I gave him a bottle and set him on the couch so he could fall asleep. He came close, but never fell asleep. Upon finishing his bottle of milk, he came over to me, wanting to play. I gave in. We went to the bedroom and wrestled on the bed. It was epic horseplay. One second he was buried in blankets and the next he was suspended over the edge of the bed by his ankles. It was awesome.

So once we're done, he promptly pukes all over the hallway floor. Being a wise father, and knowing that these things come in twos or threes, I promptly placed him in the (empty) bathtub as I ran for paper towels and disinfectant. By the time I had returned he had puked all over the toilet, floor, bathtub, and all his bath time toys. So I stripped him naked and washed his clothes in the sink. Then I cleaned the floor and toilet and took him out of the bath so I could clean the tub and his toys. While I'm working on the bathtub, naked baby proceeds to pee all over me, the toilet, and the floor.

Some days you just can't win.

Shampoo is Better

If you can't tell, I'm still procrastinating on my big paper.

So what's the deal with shampoo and conditioner bottles? Seems to me, the most important word on those bottles is "shampoo," or, in the alternative, "conditioner." Well if it's most important why is it always the smallest? Every hair product bottle I've come across is labeled something like:

Pantene Pro V

Moisturizing and Straightening for Oily Hair

Hypo-allergenic/All Natural

Mango/Guava scented

Conditioner

The worst is when you're at a hotel or staying with a friend, so you're in a foreign shower. Now you're trying to curve your body away from the all-too-hot shower stream (since you're unfamiliar with the knob-temperature ratios), while still maintaining a safe distance between your body and those weird hairs on the wall, peering through the mist, squinting through the tears from having strange soap in your eyes, looking for the word "shampoo" in 4 point font.

Why are government leaders arguing about global warming and gas prices when we haven't addressed this yet? Especially since this can be solved so easily. HR Bill 250-2 - The shortest piece of legislation ever penned:

"From this day forward, all bottles containing shampoo must be blue in color and all bottles containing conditioner must be yellow in color. Pert Plus may remain green. Penalty for violation of this statute is death."