just joshing around

Curling

2010-02-25T19:43:00.004-07:00

I spend a substantial amount of my time at work with a tv in sight. Lately it has stayed tuned on to the Olympics; I've loved it. But one thing that may be the most remarkable about these games however, is just how much coverage curling has gotten. Curling? Yes, curling. During the late morning to early afternoonrom CNBC is covering curling on a daily basis. No other sport - not hockey, not skiing, not snowboarding - has gotten the consistent coverage that curling has recieved.

At first, upon watching the players curl their stones down the ice, sweepers vigorously preceding it, derogatory thoughts of, "this is stupid" and "what a goofy sport!" kept recurring in my mind. But since it was the only Olympic sport on, it stayed on the tv and consequently stayed in my view. And guess what? After awhile I started to actually enjoy the game. Surprisingly, it involves a substantial amount of team strategy and skill. For example, depending on how the sweepers sweep, the stone can actually curl around other stones, traveling in a non-linear path.

But what makes it truly entertaining is that the network has microphoned the players. This little stunt is what has really made me a fan. Who would have known how much yelling goes on in curling? It's fantastic! It is a riot hearing them yell instructions at each other and get so worked up over it. Hearing the curlers yell definitely places the spectator into a different perspective, one in which the sport becomes active and engaging.

So the lesson learned: never judge a book by its cover. But if judgement has been passed, just make sure there is not significant yelling involved, otherwise you'll feel stupid and goofy for it.

The Lacuna

2010-02-10T21:50:00.001-07:00

The following was written the day prior to my trip to Atlanta for the Foreign Service exam. I left it unfinished and unpublished because I found it diffucult to focus.

Every morning around 11 o'clock I get a text. It's a text from dictionary.com - "The word of the day." I signed up for the word of the day texts to increase my vocabulary so I sound enlightened and erudite. However, more often than not I recieve a word that is either completely arcane and colloquial, or it is simply a word that has NEVER been in the standard vocabulary of ANYBODY. For instance, the word plenipotentiary (adjective, invested with full power). Come on, even history's most repressive autocrats have never refered to themselves as plenipotentiary. Even the Lord, He who is in fact plenipotentiary, never says that.

Similarly, the word lacuna (a gap or missing part, as in a manuscript, series, or logical argument) seems entirely obsolete from all language...

And that was all I wrote. I was too pre-occupied by thoughts of the impending exam that I simply could not focus on writing this inane blog entry. But then, the very next day as I was sitting on the outbound flight, something caught my eye. It was a book sitting on the lap of a fellow passenger. As I looked closer I read the title: The Lacuna. I couldn't believe it: here I had just mocked the word lacuna and labeled it as obsolete.

It left me feeling a little dull-witted. It seems there was a lacuna in my vocabulary.

The Three Branches of Government

2010-02-02T19:40:00.011-07:00

The division of government, or rather the provision for checks and balances IN government, is integral to a free and fairly run democracy. Our founding fathers were well aware of the need to separate governing powers so as to prevent any form of tyrannical mishap. But the fastidious student will realize that not only does the separation of powers create a political environment in which no single entity has superflous control over its constituency, but it provides a systemic mechanism in which good ideas are passed around and tweaked by one branch of government to the other, while bad ideas are given stiff halts and dropped cold turkey.

In my own scholarly quests, I have realized that the three branches of government not only applies to democratic government but is a viable means of arriving at and deciding upon one of life's greatest decisions: who to date and mate. You see, each human being is endowed with their own three branches of government, each of which must agree upon whom we are to wed and bed.

Our brain serves as the Legislative Branch, and just like Congress, it makes decisions, sometimes logically, sometimes illogically. Our brain must decide if the person we like stacks up in our favor. Do we have fun together? Do we miss each other when separated? Do we share common interests and goals? Does he/she smell nice? ect, ect. These are questions our brain asks us to decide if a person is the right fit for us.

Then there's the Judicial Branch; this is our heart. Just as the judicial branch interprets what is right and what is wrong, our heart tells us whether our brain's logic is right or wrong. There's a feeling we get when someone is different and special to us. Once our brain has concluded that a person is the right fit for us, we must feel, in our heart, that we love him/her.

And finally, we have the Executive Branch; that singular branch that seems to be acquiring greater power with each successive executive. The Executive Branch is ultimately the one that calls the shots. Yes, it is ultimatly the "drive" (you know what I'm talking about) that decides if we want to be with a person or not. My mother aptly describes this as "burning loins." Those loins just have to burn for us to really want to willingly surrender our life over to someone.

Just as the three branches of government must arrive at the same conclusions for U.S. law to be written and passed, so it is for us to pass someone off as suitable. It is imperative that all three "branches" agree with one another. Sometimes it seems logical that we should be with someone but we don't feel that it's "right." Sometimes we feel that we love someone but it is completely illogical to be with that person. And sometimes, just sometimes, people only listen to the executive branch with a "wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am" attitude and end up screwing themselves over! In order for a relationship to really work, all three branches-the brain, the heart, and the love-makers have to line up.

Sometimes (or most the time) when I tell people this they laugh; and rightly so - I'm hilarious. But there's some serious truth to it, if only you put your mind, and heart, and junk to it.

Foreign Service

2010-01-28T21:47:00.003-07:00

I've been sitting here for some time thinking of an eloquent, articulate way of blogging the fact that I just passed the Foreign Service Oral Exam, and I've concluded that the best way of intimating it is just by saying it. I passed the Foreign Service Oral Exam.

And now, if I may hop on that horse named Sentimentality, I wish to elucidate my thoughts:

Of my attained successes in life, this ranks among the highest thus far. Getting into BYU was a major success (that place is hard to get in to). Serving an honorable mission was a success (some days the mission just sucked). Graduating BYU was a definite success (that place is insanely difficult with all the cut-throating that goes on there). But for a host of reasons, I feel this most recent of successes carries different, perhaps greater significance. Maybe it was how notoriously hard both the written test and this oral exam were that makes it so satisfying (all I can say is I'm glad I never have to go through that again). Maybe it is the prestige that accompanies the career of Foreign Service Officers that enthuses me. Or maybe, just maybe, it is that I was able to do something, against all odds, that I have dreamed of doing.

(And here's where I hop back down off Sentimentality - she's only good for short rides anyway).

So, after passing the written test, and after writing acceptable essays, and after completing a gruelling 7am to 4pm oral examination, I have made it. Now I just have to wait for a security clearance to go through and I will be set on my way to the first of hopefully a career full of posts around the world. Cool huh?

Is It Worth It?

2010-01-20T20:16:00.010-07:00

Every so often one is struck by a epiphanic lighting bolt. Sometimes these thoughts can be grandiose and life-altering, like Archimedes exclaiming "Eureka!" as he discovered how to measure the density of an object. Other times these ideas come as simple, common sense-type notions that are so obvious one almost feels doltish for failing to realize them sooner.

These epiphanies can be positive, and they can be negative. I just had a negative one. I ran my own financial numbers and discovered, to my great indignation, I am not making any money but barely covering my expenses. Yes, I have a job (a good one which I very much enjoy). Yes, I make a decent wage. No, I do not spend much money on anything, exept...well...gas. You see, I figured out the money that I would be saving for international travel and sweet new gear is instead being pumped into the fuel tank of my car once every 5 days. Driving to and from Park City each working day is really a vibe killer.

But, before anyone tells me that no job - especially one with an hour long commute - is worth subsistence survival, know this: I get to ski Deer Valley free. (And, just FYI, yesterday was an incredible powder day, a great way to start off my season).

So, is it worth it? HEAK YES! This could very well be my last winter in the lovely Deseret with none other than the peaks and slopes of the Wasatch right in my back yard. And they are mine, for free!

So, in the eloquent words of David Luck, "SCREW YOU FOR JUDGING ME!" And screw myself for judging myself. Like I'm going to let monetary constraints dictate my fiscal actions. Hey, I should be a Congressman.

Back in the Game

2010-01-19T18:15:00.011-07:00

I've been inspired to write again; to what end and purpose I know not. Nor do I know that anyone cares. Nevertheless, it behooves me to update these annals so that in the unlikely event that anyone passes this way, they will observe an up-to-date blog.

Which reminds of this one time a former roommate - and in order to protect the anonymity of Jamison Thiel, I won't mention his name - was speaking on the telephone with someone and said loudly, and with the strident confidence of a peacock showcasing its plumage, something to the effect of, "You just wait and see! And let it go down in the anals of history I am right!"

Notice that he said anals, like an anus, not annals. Funny stuff.

There, updated blog.

Latvia's Top 10 Moments!

2008-07-08T03:25:00.011-06:00

The time has come my friends. It has been good. I have learned some things, I have seen a few things, and I have experienced a lot of new things.

Out of all the things learned, seen, and done while in Latvia however,....(drum roll please...), HERE IS THE TOP 10 "WHO GOES TO LATVIA?" MOMENTS! (I know you're all excited beyond measure).

Number 10 - Attempting to hitchhike my way to Estonia only to get stranded in the rain for 4 hours some 50 kilometers outside of Riga!
Number 9 - Swimming in the Baltic Sea! Who does that anyways?
Number 8 - Seeing the sun out until 11:30 PM! No joke, it's bizarre.
Number 7 - Seeing the sun rise at 3:00 AM. Ever more bizarre.

Number 6 - Watching old guys play chess in the park.

Seriously, this was hilarious. The funniest part happens right after 0:12 and it was so funny!
Number 5 - Wandering around Riga aimlessly for hours on end due to lack of anything better to do! I could not tell you how many hours there were, but there were A LOT.

Number 4 - Wandering around Riga for hours on end because I was lost! Yep, more than I can count.
Number 3 - Wearing a crown made with 4 pounds of oak leaves on my head!
Number 2 - Getting punched in the face!
And the number 1 moment from my Latvian adventure is...
Walking away with the ability to say, "I'VE GONE TO LATVIA!"

So there you have it, the highlights of my 3 month duration in Latvia. It's been fun. It's been great. But frankly, I came, did what I came to do, and now it's time to go home. But before I make it back to Utah, 3 weeks tooling around Europe will be a nice treat, like the juice and cookies they give you after donating blood.

So, for the curious, here is my tentative juice and cookie itinerary:

July 9-11: Berlin
12-13: Budapest
14: somewhere in the Hungarian countryside
15- 16: Slovenia
17 - 18: Venice
19 - 21: somewhere in Northern Italy
22: Zermatt, Switzerland (yes, I will behold the Matterhorn, the mecca of mountain peaks. I may even touch it)
23 - 25: Gimmelvald, a tiny Swiss village high in the Bernese Alps
26: Bern
27: Zürich
28: fly home out of Zürich

I've got the feeling this is going to be the best juice and cookies ever.

But you know, I do kind of feel like this whole experience has been a lot like giving blood. Does anybody really like to have a piece of stainless steel stuck into their arm and watch their own blood trickle down a tube into that bag? NO. But the reasons for giving blood every once in a while overcome the reasons not to, and we are compelled to give. And although we most likely will never see or meet the recipient of our blood, we know that those 15 minutes of awkward "almost pain" from having a needle jammed into our veins and having blood drain out of our bodies, will one day be of benefit.

I just hope, for my own sake, that these awkward 3 months in Latvia will also be of future - albeit unseen - benefit.

So for the last time from the capitol of the beautiful Baltic state of Latvia, goodbye. I'm gone!

The Idea of America

2008-07-03T00:25:00.006-06:00

Awhile back my mother asked how I felt when introducing myself to others as an American. It was a good question, one upon which I have previously reflected. She asked if I felt ashamed. I responded no, that I do not feel ashamed. However, I told her that unfortunately, the same pride felt when I'm within the States and claiming Utah as my home, is not there. This bothers me.

It does not require a degree in international relations to ascertain the reasons surrounding the world's negative perception of America at the moment. While the world rallied around the US in the wake of 9/11, America's foreign activities over the last several years have greatly tainted the image of the super power abroad. The vast majority of foreigners now have an unfavorable opinion of the United States. In a recent poll, the BBC noted that over half of Europe's population now views the United States as being a greater force for evil than for good in the world.

That right there is depressing and disturbing. It is why the words, "I'm from the US," do not carry the pride and conviction that I wish they could, and should carry.

Despite it all, it never ceases to amaze me how much European interest there is concerning the coming presidential elections. Nearly everyone I meet wants to know for which candidate I will be casting my vote. A few weeks ago, I was out and about with some friends and some random guy walked up and said, "hey, you from America?" I answered affirmatively. "I heard your accent and thought so," he said. "So who do you like: Obama or McCain?"

I realize that it is natural for my acquaintances to inquire as to my opinions (which they all do - it is rare that someone I meet does not ask me the same question), but a stranger - completely out of the blue - approached me wanting to talk American politics.

The outcome of these elections are a big deal to the world. While probably 99% of Americans couldn't tell you the name of the Canadian prime minister, the names of Obama, Hilary, McCain, Romney, and John Edwards have been circulating the globe for nearly a year now.

Thomas Friedman, an author and columnist for the New York Times recently wrote,"it [the foreign concern for the US presidential elections] reveals how much many foreigners, after all the acrimony of the Bush years, still hunger for the 'idea of America' — this open, optimistic, and, indeed, revolutionary, place so radically different from their own societies."

This "idea of America" is a very real thing.

In a conversation with my roommate Phillipp, a German law student currently working at the German embassy in Latvia, I asked concerning his opinions on the US. He expressed to me that despite the current unfavorable views, "America is still the model for freedom." He then elucidated the reasons for his thinking, all of which are as common to Americans as the English language.

As far as I have been able to tell, for the most part anti-Americanism does not exist (When it does in fact exist, it is usually only an outward expression of the anger and frustration caused by other repressive forces far beyond that of America's). What does exist, however, is "anti-current administration's horrible foreign policy that has had such a huge negative impact on the world-ism" that is commonly expressed. It should be noted that the United States is not insular - nearly EVERYTHING America does carries huge implications with it worldwide. But like any child who's heart aches for a loving father-figure, democracies around the world yearn for the America that once was.

That is why the coming elections matter so much to foreigners.

It is hard for anyone, American and European alike, not to simultaneously conjure up images of the stars and stripes while watching the famous clip of an East German man - completely absorbed by his emotions - hacking away at the Berlin Wall. The many positive repercussions of America's impact on the world are still very alive. That is why the Idea of America is still so prevalent. On a number of occasions, this Idea, this longing for the freedom and good that America stands for, has knotted my throat and teared my eyes. It has done the same for countless others scattered across the globe.

A large fire can be produced by simply blowing on a single coal - even if the coal appears cold and dark. In the eyes of the world, the Idea of America is still a glowing ember. All it needs is a little breath.

Tomorrow, as we celebrate our independence, let us not only remember what great things America has done, but let us aspire and re-commit ourselves to ensuring that America never be looked upon through the "golden age" lens that is now used to reminisce over ancient Greece and what was the British Empire. The Idea of America has the potential to burn strong in the hearts of freedom-loving people worldwide for many, many years to come. It is for us then, only to decide how hot, and for how long, that fire will last.

Food, Glorious Food

2008-07-02T13:16:00.007-06:00

The following is a typical bundle of goods, with their respective Latvian prices, consumed by me.

1 large pickle: $0.34
1 pound of potatoes: $0.68
1 large packet of soup seasoning: $0.72
1 bar of not-so-expensive but still really good chocolate: $0.88
1 trip on the bus: $0.90
1 pound of carrots: $1.00
1 liter of gross Kvass: $1.00
12 oz can of pop: $1.09
1 loaf of bread: $1.10
1 box of generic corn flakes: $1.86
10 medium-sized eggs: $2.02
1 gas station hot dog: $2.85
1 pound of bananas: $3.40
1 gallon of milk: $4.12
1 pound of oranges: $5.40
20 oz jar of raspberry jam: a whopping $5.86

And for everything else, there's...no money.

Just feeding myself the basics has taken its fiscal toll. As you can see, some things - like riding the bus or a pound of potatoes - may actually be cheaper here in Latvia than back home. But others - 4 bucks for a gallon of milk!?, 2 dollars for medium eggs!? - are way more expensive. I seriously don't know how these people are staying alive with these prices.

My only hope is that back home in the States, food prices have not risen to these types of outrageous levels. In one more month I will be home. I want to be able to eat again.

Apples to Oranges

2008-07-01T10:19:00.014-06:00

If there is one tidbit of knowledge I have gained from my studies and experiences in international relations, it is that you can't compare apples to oranges.

Huh?, you're thinking? You've spent almost 4 years and thousands of dollars only to learn an epithet that everyone already knows? Well, in all fairness it's not exactly about fruit. It's about countries and policies: what works for one state simply may not work for another. There is no way to correctly compare states and their policies with other states and policies.

Take for instance the Scandinavian welfare model. While this model produces excellent, and I mean excellent results for Scandinavia (seriously, those people have got it together), the rest of Europe - notably France - just can't quite churn out the same phenomenal results (hence the seemingly annual Parisian riots).

Now, I am not attempting to elucidate on the pros of Scandinavian welfare states; there is no doubt that those models work, and work very well for those countries. But what I am trying to do is simply paint a picture that says, "what works for Sweden may not work for France or the United States or any other country." And vice-versa.

It is not functional to take a state with 9 million inhabitants (Scandinavia's most populous nation, Sweden) and compare it to a state of 60 million inhabitants (France). That is an apple to an orange comparison. It would be very erroneous therefore, to conclude that since Sweden's system works for Swedes so well, it must work equally well for the French and everybody else for that matter.

Not only does this type of comparison (which occurs both in theory and in practice all too often) become fallacious due to demographic differences, but in that governmental policies must transpose cultural and ideological differences. Policies and procedures are usually built upon values and beliefs. What some cultures value deeply, others often brush off as unimportant.

A third factor is economics. With policy, just like with nearly everything else, money is what makes the world go round. Economies, just like demographics and cultures, differ across the globe. Good, effective policies need the financial means of ensuring a job well-done. Oftentimes, there simply isn't enough of the green for one state to successfully pull off what another state can.

A banana grower wouldn't expect the same results from planting banana trees in Phoenix to banana trees growing in Ecuador. Neither should governments and people expect policies that work in one state to automatically work in another.

The next time you hear the words, "well in Denmark...," realize that many policies simply cannot successfully transfer from one country to another. Also, the next time you hear someone mention "nation building," realize that well, you can't transplant a banana tree to the desert.

So I guess in a way, it is all about fruit.

Grownup Tastes

2008-06-30T05:17:00.012-06:00

While nibbling on some bread and rotwurst this afternoon I had an awakening: I don't even like liver.

That was it.

But I ate the rotwurst anyway. I had no other choice. It had been sitting in my cupboard for some time now. It was pawned off to me a while back and in light of the fact only a week remains for me here in Latvia, naturally I am disinclined to buy more food than is necessary and so, the can was opened.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that I became curious enough to actually know what else, besides liver, rotwurst contained. I looked it up. That was when the real awakening of the day occurred.

You see, I erroneously assumed that rotwurst was liverwurst. What I was eating was not liver at all. It was blood.

Yes, unbeknownst to me, rotwurst is German blood sausage.

I just know that 10 years ago (or maybe even 5) there would have been no way on earth I would have eaten such a thing. Firstly, I didn't even have a clue what rotwurst was. Secondly, even (and especially) if its contents had been known, there would have been no chance in hell that I would have ever opened the can.

It's funny how these things change as you grow up. Some like to use the phrase "refined tastes," or say that "your tastebuds have matured" to characterize it. But I'd like to think the opposite. Could it be that in fact our tastebuds are not becoming increasingly refined, but degenerating with age as things naturally repugnant such as chilled blood puree become palatable?

Instead of questioning why little Jimmy won't eat his peas it would be better if we questioned why Daddy Warbucks is sucking down raw oyster. I mean, when did eating uncooked fish eggs and snails ever become sane?

Rah! Rah! U-S-A!

2008-06-28T08:39:00.020-06:00

Happy Independence Day!

Oh wait, it is not Independence Day. Nor is it July 4th. It is the 28th of June. But today is the day that Americans in Latvia celebrated the 4th of July.

July 4th is the yearly Latvian Commemoration Day of Victims of Genocide Against Jewish People. It was on this day that a large number of Latvian Jews were hounded up by their Nazi occupiers, locked inside one of their synagogues, and burnt alive as the building went up in flames. In order to be sensitive to this somber day of remembrance, the U.S. Embassy in Latvia throws an annual Independence Day celebration on the Saturday prior to July 4th.

The celebration warmly resembled that of an American picnic. It was held at a nice park. There were booths set up, each offering different food and drinks. There were inflatable bouncy house toys and face painting for the kids. American tunes were also blaring from a speaker system.

It was a fun time. Funny enough though, it just didn't quite feel like the 4th. Here's why:

A) Today was not the 4th of July. There is just something distinctive in the air - like a tasteless, odorless gas - on July 4th that we all breathe the second we wake up. Somehow, there is a noticeably different feeling to the day; you know what I'm talking about. Not being July 4th, that 4th of July feeling was absent.

B) Today was overcast. I cannot ever recall a 4th of July in my life that was not sunny and clear. Being cloudy, it just didn't feel like the 4th.

C) I was a minority at my own Independence Day celebration. Although there must have been 300-400 people at the party, I was not surrounded by Americans talking about the baseball season or the elections like I expected, but Latvians speaking their unintelligible (to me) language. I would guess that 95% of everyone there was not American, but Latvian who also happened to have American citizenship.

D) There was no root beer or ice cream. Celebrating the American summer-time celebration without root beer or ice cream (preferably homemade) is equivalent to an Oktoberfest without beer: it just doesn't happen.

E) I was still alone. Normally the 4th is a time that families and friends get together to barbecue and to play. It was just me and my camera.

And finally, did I mention that today was the 28th of June?

But it was still fun. I was proud to be an American, even if it was on a cloudy 28th of June, without any root beer, and all by myself. I wandered around, eating, drinking Coke (it was either that or Kvass, which is absolutely gross), and trying to meet the few people who were actually from the States.

Today's best moment occurred as I was standing in line for a piece of pizza. Without any pre-meditation or thought, I instinctively began singing along to the Cougar fight song. After singing a line or two, I realized what it was that I was singing and thought, "wait a minute...?" I stopped singing and listened. Lo and behold, the Cougar fight song, with its very American marching band feel, somehow made it onto the music playlist (not the words of course, just the tune). I quietly, but proudly, sang along (I even pumped my arm discreetly in the "rah-rah-rah" fashion at the end; I couldn't help it).

So on this 28th of June, I wish a grand hurrah for my two alma maters: BYU and America!

Summer Camp

2008-06-25T08:11:00.011-06:00

Quite often, upon returning home from a vacation - short or extended - we feel saddened and weighed down by the burden of coming back to "real" life. Sometimes feeling the weight of it all return to our shoulders causes us to wonder if taking that break - and briefly tasting what a life without responsibilities is like - is even worth it at all.

After a four-day weekend (and arguably my wildest, most incidental weekend in Latvia), I returned this morning to my desk with these feelings. Even though this week would only be a three-day work week, it was still somewhat depressing.

And a three-day work week is nowhere near as good as a one-day work week. So when I found out that I would only be working a one-day work week this week, I nearly fell out of my chair with excitement.

ONLY ONE DAY THIS WEEK??? Yes, one day. Life is good.

I had forgotten that tomorrow and Friday will be spent "working" at a youth summer camp out near the small coastal town of Ventspils. It is there that Transparency International-Latvia (the non-governmental organization that I work for - for those who are still unaware) holds a yearly a summer camp to promote anti-corruption awareness in Latvian youth.

That is exactly what every kid dreams of doing for a week each summer. "Hey Mom, when do I get to go to summer camp this year? I can't wait to learn about the latest Corruptions Perception Index and its implications for next year's TI agenda while roasting marshmallows!"

For some reason, I think catching fish and throwing cans of lighter fluid into fires were a bit more enthralling. But hey, apparently this thing works and they have a good turnout each year. And I'm not complaining or judging; because of it, I'll get free transportation to a part of Latvia I've been wanting to see for awhile, and free lodging and meals while I'm there. Plus I will not be working, but "working."

So learn on youth! Transparency International's new Guide to Countering Bribery for Small and Medium Sized Businesses awaits you!

Ligo!

2008-06-24T06:29:00.029-06:00

I would first like to wish a Happy Birthday to my sister Bree today. She is 18. That is big. What is also big is getting a happy birthday wish from Latvia: Happy Birthday sister!

Aside from being Bree's birthday, today is the traditional summer solstice. I would like to also wish everyone a very warm and enlightened Midsummer!

In the US, not much attention is given to the pagan holiday of the summer solstice. I know it is celebrated in some parts of the country on a small or local scale, but I'd say our Puritan forefathers made a rather commendable effort in forgetting to pack along the pagan traditions when they got on the boats. It's a shame really; Midsummer is great time.

For clarification of the holiday, my best friend Wikipedia notes, "Midsummer refers to specific European celebrations that accompany the actual solstice, or that take place on the 24th of June and the preceding evening. European midsummer-related holidays, traditions, and celebrations are pre-Christian in origin and have been superficially Christianized as celebrations of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist as "Saint John's Eve" festivals. They are particularly important in Northern Europe - Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Latvia, Lithuania, Norway and Sweden."

In fact, in Latvia, Midsummer is such a big deal that both the 23rd and 24th of June are national holidays and EVERYTHING shuts down. So I've had a nice 4 day weekend (well...yesterday and today were nice. Friday night...not so much). And last night, celebrating Midsummer's Eve was pretty much the coolest thing I've experienced thus far in Latvia.

Ligo, as it is called here in Latvia, is wild. Everyone heads out to the countryside for one long hoorah-rah of eating, drinking, and folk traditions. Zane, a good friend from the branch, was kind enough to invite me along to celebrate with her family. It was great. I got to celebrate a quintessential Latvian tradition and Zane, being the only member of the Church in her family, had someone to not be drunk with. Win-win!

Like any celebration or festival, Ligo has a dress code. Everyone wears crowns made of flowers and leaves. The women wear a crown made of flowers, symbolizing beauty, while men wear crowns made of oak leaves (apparently the oak is the symbol of power).

Zane's father and aunt making the Midsummer's crowns

The family all decked out. Check out her dad. Is that awesome or what!

Zane and me. Seriously, you can not tell me that that is not the coolest thing you've ever seen.

The central element of the Ligo celebration is the bonfire. Because Ligo is the celebration of the longest day of the year, bonfires are lit all night long in order that during the 1 hour of darkness, there is still light. (seriously, seeing the sky only go dark for about an hour was quite spectacular).

Around our little fire, wearing our crowns made of floral and foliage, we ate delicious shashli (meat specially marinated for 2 weeks), janis (special cheese only eaten on this occasion), sang Latvian folk songs (well, they did, I listened), and jumped over the fire for good luck (or something... No one is really sure why this precarious tradition is followed, but like any good tradition, it just is).

Zane jumping over the fire.

I'm not sure what is more life-threatening: getting punched in the face, or tripping through a fire with a bundle of leaves on my head.

At midnight, each person ran to a tree. The tradition follows that if you hug a tree for five minutes exactly at midnight on Midsummer's Eve, and you whisper your desires to that tree, they will come true. This was great. I embraced my tree, whispering sweet nothings against its supple bark.

Midsummer is a good time and a sweet celebration. Interestingly enough, beside Christmas, Ligo is Latvia's favorite holiday.

And now that I have been officially paganized, there is no other option but to forsake my Hebrew name of Joshua. So, henceforth I shall be known by the name of Jost, the Tree-Lover.

You know, looking at this now, this really does not seem like a good idea. Oh well. It was way too much fun having that thing on my head all night.

Moments that Define

2008-06-22T09:47:00.016-06:00

Why does it always seem that on home stretch of...well, anything, accidents happen? You're almost done with whatever it is you are doing, everything has gone fine, you're almost done, when WHAM!, something goes wrong. You all know what I'm talking about. It's a common occurrence.

With only 2 weeks and 2 days remaining, I am now on the home stretch of my Latvian experience and ready to leave. Don't get me wrong, it's been great. And even despite the many times I've gotten on a wrong bus and ended up at the end of the line, completely lost; or gotten off on the wrong train stop in an unmarked area without signs or any indication of where I was at, my Latvian days have passed without any major incident. Until now.

I was walking home late Friday night. I was about 2 blocks away from my apartment building when I heard someone shouting something in Russian from behind. I paid no attention and continued my walk home.

When the shouting persisted, getting closer and closer, I crossed over to the other side of the street in an attempt to avoid any possible confrontation. It was when the shouter followed me across the street that I knew it was I who was the target of his repeated rantings.

It was in Russian and I had no idea what this guy was saying. Naturally, I kept ignoring him and picked up the pace. He followed suit, eventually catching up. He began physically trying to get me to stop. With each time I brushed or shrugged him off, he got increasingly physical.

This Russian, in his late 20s, was about my height. But he was far stockier than I. The thought of getting physical with him crossed my mind but I opted to remain passively ignorant of his attempts to bring me to a halt. He was undoubtedly drunk enough as to impair his judgment but still sober enough to capably inflict a considerable amount of damage if push came to shove. The last thing I wanted was to aggravate the drunken brute.

I was half a block away from my building. I only needed to get to the door, punch in the door code, and get inside. I broke into a full sprint. I reached the door and began punching in the 4 digit code: 7 - 8 - 9 - Suddenly, before punching in fourth and last digit, I was grabbed by my shirt and hurled backwards into the street. When I turned around I felt a heavy fist land square on my nose.

He punched me! What the?! I couldn't believe it! He just clocked me in the face! I had never been hit in the face! I didn't know what to do without further aggravating him so I was left to grapple with him in hopes of keeping his arms down and unable to strike again.

The struggled continued and a second blow landed on the side of my head. During it all I heard the sound of a few people running towards us. Two men, who were originally with my assailant before we ran off, and even larger than him, came right at us full speed. Before I knew it, I had been grabbed by the throat by one of them and was being held against the side of the building.

I have never before felt true fear, the fear that accompanies a situation in which uncertainty in the face of a potentially dangerous and life-threatening circumstance is the biggest factor. In this instance I had no CLUE what was happening or what would happen. Do they want money? Do they want to kidnap me? Are they just looking for a way to vent their drunken anger? I really had no idea. At that moment, whatever the reason, I completely and entirely expected to be beaten very, VERY badly.

I cannot express in words how nerve racking those few seconds were as I was pinned, by my throat, to the side of a building.

To my complete and utter astonishment, the guy holding me began punching numbers on the door code panel. The lock clicked. With a thick, stern Russian accent I heard, "Here you go. Have good night."

WHAT?!?

I immediately extended my hand and the most heartfelt thank-you that has ever left my lips was given.

The door shut. I was completely out of breath. The night watchmen - a man of around 70 years - just stood there wide-eyed. He had seen the entire ordeal. Right before I was thrown backwards into the street and decked in the face, I had slammed my fist loudly on the door a couple times hoping to get help from this watchman. He had run over to the door, but the door never opened.

I stood there with the watchman just staring at me, with my hands on my knees, catching my breath, and trying to figure out what had just happened. Shouts from the street continued as my assailant was now fighting with his two friends. With a bloody nose and a ripped shirt I quietly walked up the stairs to my room. I was emotionally and mentally shaken up more than I had ever been in my life.

The next day, as I went out and about getting a few things done, I felt completely indifferent to the world around me. My usual optimism was gone. I didn't look at anyone. I didn't attempt to smile or acknowledge anyone as I passed them. I had this eerie feeling - completely devoid of trust - towards anyone and everyone around me.

We've all heard the American Indian adage that goes something to the tune of "Never judge a man before walking a hundred miles in his moccasins." I never could understand why people in Riga (and big metropolitan areas in general) were so cold and impersonable.

Now I know.

The Best Compliment Ever

2008-06-19T13:18:00.016-06:00

I have been alive for 24 years. Out of those 24 years, only 18 or so are years in which I can remember. Tonight, I simply want to take the time to publicly thank a friend of mine for giving me what could be considered quite possibly the greatest compliment I have ever received in these 18 years cognisant life.

When she saw this picture of Ben and I performing at last year's critically acclaimed and enjoyed-by-all Mountain Wood-Stock festival, her exact words were, "you look like George Harrison's son!"

Words cannot express how much my tired body and groggy mind perked up when she said that.

Now, I don't want to brag or anything; it was she who said it, not me. But let's analyze this. If her claim is true - that I look like George Harrison's son, who is the spitting image of his father(seriously, he is...), who happens to be my favorite member of the all-time greatest group of musicians and cultural icons of the 20th century - then logically...........I look like George Harrison which automatically makes me freaking AWESOME!!!

Thank you Betsy for making my day!

You know, the world could use a few more Betsies out there.

One wrong turn...

2008-06-18T09:51:00.006-06:00

Some days, no matter which side of the bed you wake up on, it's a bad day. Since my bed is a twin, I really can't demarcate a side. It's a shame really - there is no excuse for grumpiness.

Today, even though I had to wake up earlier than usual, I wasn't grumpy.

I had to catch a morning train headed to a small town outside of Riga. I caught the train and rode the train. I even got off at the correct stop (in my experience that is ALWAYS a bonus). I looked down at my previously highlighted and marked-out route on a map of the area, oriented myself, and began walking.

I was on my way to a business appointment as part of the project I'm working on. The majority of the offices I visit are in the center of the city and within walking distance from our office. A few have been scattered throughout the periphery, like today's office for example. These appointments cause for the greatest amount of excitement.

I began walking down the very street my pre-planning skills had determined would be the best way for my legs to go. I knew I was headed in the right direction, I just had no idea where I was. I kept hearing the traffic from a distant freeway and I was definitely nearing it. Before I knew it, I was at the freeway with nowhere to go.

I reached my destination eventually; it only took an hour, 15 minutes to get there. That's not too bad. I got to see some trees, chew on some long grass, see a lot of cars drive by, and sing a few songs.

The only problem was that I almost died when a semi-truck making a u-turn nearly collided with a car right in front of me. It was way too close for comfort. I had to dodge out of the way. But I am fine. Like a hobo in a boxcar, I sing my traveling songs and go merrily on my way, even if it means walking along the side of a freeway.

A Life of Learning

2008-06-16T12:44:00.015-06:00

You know those little pockets that are common nowadays on the sleeves of jackets? You know, the ones on the arm? Well, I always thought they were just for looks but I have seen - with my own eyes - somebody actually use that mysterious little pocket. I saw a Latvian woman produce a cell phone from one. I was amazed! Who would have thought? People actually use those!

Latvians are on to something.

My buddy Andrew owns a jacket with one of said pockets (a very nice jacket I might add). He's had it for a while now. He used to stash little treats like a piece of gum or some Smarties in it for those venturesome (and flirtatious) enough to open it and see what was inside. It was like the Barney Bag, or that crazy Mary Poppins bag: you never knew what you would get.

Andrew, surrounded by women, wearing his notorious arm-pocket jacket. Note the pocket on his left arm.

Besides Andrew, I didn't think anyone actually used those little pockets. That's why the lady pulling out a phone was so incredible.

The knowledge that each day I can see something as novel and fascinating as someone actually using those obscure little pockets for utilitarian purposes is what gets me out of bed each morning. It reassures me that new knowledge is everywhere just waiting for me to uncover it, and if I don't get out of bed, I might blow an opportunity. Thank goodness for these little sparks of life.

What I Learned Today in Church

2008-06-15T09:03:00.015-06:00

First things first, I would like to give a shout out to my Pops:

Happy Father's Day Dad!

Secondly, as if I were sitting at the dinner table with my family - the typical Sunday afternoon interrogation ensuing - here is what I learned today in Church:

In a small town, some 40 kilometers south of Riga, behind a dilapidated row of storage units, sits the immigrant detention center where Michael and Robert have been held for the past 10 months (See Michael & Robert, May 25). In this detention center there is a room with a table, a few chairs, and a picture of the Virgin on one of the walls - it is the "religious room." It was here where I and one of the elders who taught and baptized the two of them held Sacrament meeting this morning.

We chatted and visited for a while, asking how they were, if there was any news on their release, what they had been reading in the scriptures, and so on. They seemed to be doing well enough and expressed continued gratitude for the peace and comfort they feel since receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. They also mentioned how two Cubans had just barely been picked up and were now interred there with them. I told them I spoke Spanish, upon which Michael immediately ran out and brought Felipe and Rolando into the room.

Felipe and Rolando are in exactly the same position as Michael and Robert - they got on a ship and mysteriously found themselves in Latvia (only instead of trying to get to England like Michael and Robert, they were headed for what they thought was Spain). When they walked in and I greeted them in Spanish, their faces lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. It felt very warming to brighten up their day. The poor guys are completely in the dark when it comes to communicating with anybody here - they don't even speak English.

After chatting with the Cubans for a while, they left and we proceeded with our little service. We knelt together and Robert said the opening prayer. We then read the 6th chapter of Moroni and discussed the importance behind meeting together as a church. Special attention was given to the Sacrament, after which, the four of us knelt again as Elder Hobbs and I blessed the bread and water. As we partook of the emblems together, there was a deep feeling of humility and reverence.

Sometimes, it takes moments like these to be reminded of the sanctity and power of the simple, often times overlooked ordinance that is the Sacrament. With an enormous amount of respect and reverence, Michael and Robert partook of the emblems in remembrance of our Savior Jesus Christ. With equal respect, I watched them. In that moment, I witnessed what it means to truly have a broken heart and a contrite spirit. It was a very, and I mean very, humbling experience.

On my right is Robert, on the left, Michael.

The Forgotten Amendment

2008-06-14T07:45:00.013-06:00

One of the more prominent features of the Riga city skyline is a tall, horribly ugly, brown building. Upon noticing it, immediately one conjures up images of hammers and sickles - this building is unremarkably and unmistakably Soviet.

The building presently holds the national science academy and you can pay a few bucks to go up to the observation deck on top. After doing a little research, I discovered that this building is not one-of-a-kind. It is identical to many others just like it in other cities of the old Soviet Republics. They were given as gifts to the republics by Stalin himself.

I'm sorry, but this building is so hideous that giving it as a gift would be like taking a piece of dog poo, putting it in a box, wrapping it up, and giving it to your girlfriend for her birthday. "...ummm, thanks Joe...you really shouldn't have..."

It's no wonder nobody outside the Kremlin liked Stalin - he gave out poo as presents.

Thank goodness for freedom of good architecture. That's one of those constitutional rights that we probably never even care to consider. I didn't even know it existed until I came over here and saw with my own eyes this tall piece of poo jutting into the sky. I mean, just look at this thing!

Deep Questions

2008-06-13T06:14:00.010-06:00

I believe that at some point in everyone's life there comes a time when they question the existence of a supreme being. That point usually occurs in a tense moment, like when that stupid mosquito that continually keeps buzzing around my head cannot possibly get any more annoying. Why did God create them anyways?

Even with this question in mind, the more deeply rooted theological controversy would lie in questioning why Latvians haven't created screens - maybe only God knows the answer but there aren't any screens in the windows here. I don't know why nor do I really care. All I know is that I like fresh air so I keep the window of my room open pretty much the entire day. This leads to issues.

At night, when the lights go off and I am comfortably in my bed, content, and happily drifting off to dreamland suddenly, that most aggravating little high pitched whine approaches my ear. QUICK! I spring to my senses! The lights go on! I throw off the sheets and I'm standing on the bed! The hunt for the little ba$#@*d begins.

I create a sting. I turn the lights back off and turn on my flashlight hoping to attract him and then crush him in his stupidity. I wait. I wait some more. I wait some more. My attention span is reaching its limits. Where the H is this guy? I wait some more. It is really late and I am very tired. This is gay.

I lie back down. Suddenly, he returns! My arms fling out wildly in the air hoping to somehow do something, somehow, to the mosquito! He is gone. I lie back down perplexed. This is definitely not the normal mosquito. He taunts me. He mocks me. What I am to do?

I have now exhausted my energies and slowly slumber away. In my head I hear the distant hum of those little wings. My senses awaken. Is he coming back? I lie still and quiet - nothing. The eyelids grow heavy and my eyes fall back. Quiet.

Almost unnoticeably, the hum in my head grows louder, the pitch increases. He's back! I hear him get closer! Closer! CLOSER! Wait for it...wait for it. HE LANDS ON THE TIP OF MY EAR! HE IS STILL! WHACK!!! Did I get him? I GOT HIM! HE'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD! I HAVE KILLED HIM!

Oouuwww. My ear is ringing. It hurts. It hurts bad. I think I just blew out my eardrum?! Oouuwww.

What is with these mosquitos? You wouldn't expect there to be any in this frigid Northern environment where it just barely got considerably warm enough not to have to wear a jacket. But no, they are here. And every night they create a stir in my room.

I don't know what the deal is. These Latvian mosquitos are definitely different from their American relatives. The light trick doesn't even work. I don't get it!

I suppose, that like everything else I can't comprehend in this country, it just must be one of those Soviet legacies.

D@#* Soviets.

The Formal Reception Part II

2008-06-12T13:10:00.008-06:00

I was able to dip my culture stick into the vat of high class again this week. Last Thursday I, with my boss, attended a reception hosted by the Latvian Council of Foreign Investors - a bunch of really really rich foreign businessmen. This evening, the office got an invite to a farewell party thrown by some Latvian ministry (not really sure which one) for 8 ambassadors who are all leaving at the same time: Germany, Denmark, Finland, Sweden, Slovakia, Austria, Belgium, and our friend Canada (at least I think those were the 8).

It was thrown in the Latvian National Railroad Museum, a quaint, old railroad station (my dad would have really liked it). It was very similar to last week's event (except this time I had to foresight to put on a coat and tie). Waiters in white shirts and bow-ties greeted us with trays of wine and champagne. The food was obscenely fancy. There was a jazz band playing sweet tunes. The place was packed with dignitaries from all over. It felt like I was in some type of movie. This was definitely a whole different world from the one I've lived in.

It is exciting to attend these things, and having my dinner covered for the night is a definite plus, but at the same time it saddens me. There are hundreds of millions of people in the world literally starving to death and here I am, at this government sponsored gala, eating prime rib and salmon and caviar and three pieces of cake (oh that cake was good).

I know these types of state sponsored events are not foreign to the United States - they happen all the time in Washington. I also know that many Americans oppose a welfare state. Now I'm not entirely sure I'm completely sold on the idea either, but I really don't see how we can justify spending tax money to entertain already wealthy people's tastebuds but not want to provide just a little more support to those who are going to bed hungry or homeless or uninsured.

Governments must level the playing field. Either they must allocate more on welfare or less on themselves and the finer things of "good diplomacy." When a statesman publicly recognizes this need and does something about it - whether he be American or Latvian or Zimbabwean - he will earn my respect.

Who's Got a Pickle?

2008-06-11T09:20:00.007-06:00

In this world there are very few phrases or sayings or idioms or what-have-you that everybody knows. For example, if someone says, "beans, beans, the magical fruit...," without even thinking, everyone knows what follows. If I say, "I've got a pickle...," immediately, everyone around immediately chants, "he's got a pickle, he's got a pickle" and "hey, hey, hey."

It just so happens that today I had pickle.

I've never been a big pickle guy. I mean, as much as I love a good game of pickle, sweet pickles are the only pickles I really like. There's really not that much you can do with a sweet pickle, though. I've only ever had them diced up with tuna for a delicious tuna sandwich, or eaten plain - a pickle every now and then just makes a good snack.

Dill pickles are different. I have never, never liked dill pickles. For the most part they are disgusting. You couldn't have paid me to eat a dill pickle as a kid. As my tastebuds have matured - despite the fact that I maybe have not matured so much - I have come not to mind a good, cold, CRUNCHY dill pickle on a hamburger; but that's it, no chewy, soggy, fast food hamburger pickles - yuck.

Pickles are a big deal here in Latvia (I think it goes for Eastern Europe as a whole). They pickle EVERYTHING. I've written about pickled mushrooms. I've mentioned pickled pear. Seriously, they love to pickle. So much that they do pickle pretty much every fruit or vegetable they can from pumpkins to apples.

I noticed a while back that in the supermarkets, they had these bulk bins full of pickles. Instead of candy, like we have in the States, they have bulk pickles. Fresh pickles! How cool is that?

Today I was just feeling that urge to eat a pickle. When I was walking home from work and passed a supermarket, I went in, approached the pickle bins, reached in with the tongs, and got myself a pickle. There were three different types of pickles. I had no idea what would be what so I just got the cheapest of the three hoping it would be a good one. I paid for my pickle and as I left the store I took a bite out of it.

I was hoping it would be sweet and not dill because again, I don't even like dill pickles. I was taking a serious chance here but I thought even if it were dill, it probably wouldn't be too bad because it's fresh and not sick like those gross dill pickle slices that everyone likes - sick. So I took a bite and sure enough...I couldn't tell what it was.

A mild dill, maybe? A not very sweet sweet pickle, perhaps? humph. It's actually pretty tasty, not too bad at all. And so I ate my pickle as I strolled the rest of the way home.

The End.

The Hunters

2008-06-10T05:10:00.008-06:00

Last night we said goodbye to Elder and Sister Hunter. They have been like parents to the young single adults of Riga for the past 18 months. Weekly family home evening, my favorite part of the week, has taken place at their home. They have fed us. They have joked with us. They have been the supportive parents in the church that every single one of my Latvian peers lack.

Family Home Evenings have included a lesson by Elder Hunter. Sister Hunter, like the wonderful grandmother she is, then feeds us. This is like the greatest woman ever. Her refreshments have ranged from fruit pies and ice cream to German pancakes to garlic bread and vegetable trays. It has been the absolute greatest - on Monday nights, dinner has been covered! That will be missed.

Elder Hunter had a cheap guitar that became my weekly indulgence. I always arrived a little bit before family home evening started, then was the last to leave, just so I could have some guitar time without feeling completely guilty for not being social. Each Monday, I have been able to quietly go back to that special place of mine - music land. In college, excepting my real friends of course, a set of scriptures, my longboard, and my guitar have been my truest friends. As long as I've had them, stress, frustration, rejection - the typical feelings that accompany single student life - have been turned into happy times of reflection. Not having a guitar over here has proven especially difficult but each Monday night, I have been able to go back to my happy place. That will be missed.

Some weeks, up to 25 young single adults have showed up for family home evening; other weeks, not so many. One week, just me and one other showed up. But no matter how many people were there, it was nice simply to have a "home" to go to, even if it was just for 2 hours a week. 2 hours!?, you wonder. Yep, sometimes more. Like I said, everyone just loved being there that much.

I feel most saddened for my Latvian peers. Unlike me, they won't go back home soon to tons of members and strong families in the church. Hopefully, throughout my life, the Hunters' kindness and love won't be forgotten. I am certain, however, that for the young Latvian members, the Hunters will definitely never be forgotten.

Corruption in the Court

2008-06-09T07:37:00.011-06:00

Part of my internship duties entail interviewing foreign businesses operating in Latvia. These interviews are conducted in order to obtain an outsider's perception towards Latvian corruption. Most interviews are rather dull, composed of quick "yes" and "no" answers. I can't blame them; here I am, some punk intern jutting into their business hours. But sometimes, if I am lucky, these people will have real beef against Latvia. Those interviews are the good ones.

I had one such interview last week. A prominent international business owner from Sweden gave me a few eye popping accounts of his dealings in the Latvian business sector. He also rattled off a few subjective insights.

He said that in his experience, the only country more corrupt in the private sector than Latvia is Russia. Anyone who knows anything about Russia knows that, if this is true, it is a big deal. He mentioned how the 3 largest Scandinavian construction companies completely gave up and withdrew from Latvia a number of years ago because their sector was so bogged down by bribery and under-the-table payments that they could never secure a bid.

He said that in his experience, noting the exceptions of the Scandinavian countries, Germany, Switzerland, and the UK, the European Union as a whole is more corrupt than the US. Anyone who knows anything about the US knows that, if this is true, it is a big deal - the US is nowhere near squeaky clean. He mentioned that the governments are so tied into the private sector that self-indulged bureaucrats run the entire economies. Again, he noted, it has been extremely difficult for foreign companies to win fair contracts there.

He related to me an experience that took place here in Latvia 5 years ago. A Latvian friend of his required an operation. The doctor requested an under-the-table "facilitation" payment of 1000Lats ($2220usd) in order to operate. Unable to afford the bribe, this Latvian friend approached the Swede asking to borrow the money. The money was lent and the operation ensued.

After the operation, the Swede and his friend decided to take the doctor to trail for extortion and taking bribes. A trail ensued. During the hearings, however, it was discovered that the courts themselves were guilty of the same crimes as the doctor: 2 judges involved in the case had accepted bribes from the doctor to rule in his favor.

The doctor was found guilty and sentenced accordingly. But still - after 5 years - no ruling has been made against the judges, despite the efforts of this Swedish business owner and others. The courts are simply too bogged down in their own internal corrupt behavior that nothing is being solved or done.

What a sad and disturbing thing to have happen. Can you imagine living in a country where corruption had permeated even the very courts which hold the responsibility of interpreting and upholding the law?

We can only hope things never get this out of control back home. The slope is definitely slippery when dealing with corruption. We must be willingly to do something about it if it does happen.

The biggest problem facing Latvians is apathy - people view corrupt businessmen, politicians, and courts as simply part of "the system" - it's just the way it is.

The fact is: that is not the way it is. In order to keep a democracy running, we cannot afford to ever forget that.

1 Month to Go and Nothing to Write

2008-06-07T11:20:00.008-06:00

As the time ticks away, today marks the day in which I have exactly 1 month left to go here in Latvia. 1 month, that's all. It has gone by rather quickly, I would dare say, and with only a month to go, I hope time does not decelerate. But, I honestly hope that this last month be the best month.

Unfortunately, with 2 months already under my belt, if you haven't already picked up on it, I find myself lacking interesting things to tell of. I don't get lost anymore, nothing is quite as novel, most of the big ooo's and ahh's have already been written about, and I am just here, in the swing of things. And on days like today, in which nothing extraordinary or spectacular happens, it leaves me nearly completely void of anything to write about (hence, The Beard Album). My apologies. I simply cannot bring my mind to think of anything concerning me and/or Latvia that is of sufficient importance to write.

So instead, I will mention a New York Times article. Now I know the New York Times is held by some as the "great perpetuator of the left, the flagship of the liberal media." For those who view it as such, fine. But just for the record, I enjoy it.

The following is a recent column I found particularly provocative and wanted to pass along to all 5 (if that) of you who read this waining blog of mine.

In January 1841, Abraham Lincoln seems to have at least vaguely thought of suicide. His friend Joshua Speed found him one day thrashing about in his room. “Lincoln went Crazy,” Speed wrote. “I had to remove razors from his room — take away all Knives and other such dangerous things — it was terrible.”

Lincoln was taking three mercury pills a day, the remedy in those days for people who either suffered from syphilis or feared contracting it. “Lincoln could not eat or sleep,” Daniel Mark Epstein writes in his new book, “The Lincolns.” “He appeared at the statehouse irregularly, hollow-eyed, unshaven, emaciated — an object of pity to his friends and of derision to others.”

Later, Lincoln wrote of that period with shame, saying that he had lost the “gem of my character.” He would withdraw morosely from the world into a sort of catatonic state. Early in his marriage, Epstein writes, “Lincoln had night terrors. He woke in the middle of the night trembling, talking gibberish.”

He would, of course, climb out of it. He would come to terms with his weaknesses, control his passions and achieve what we now call maturity.

The concept of maturity has undergone several mutations over the course of American history. In Lincoln’s day, to achieve maturity was to succeed in the conquest of the self. Human beings were born with sin, infected with dark passions and satanic temptations. The transition to adulthood consisted of achieving mastery over them.

You can read commencement addresses from the 19th and early 20th centuries in which the speakers would talk about the beast within and the need for iron character to subdue it. Schoolhouse readers emphasized self-discipline. The whole character-building model was sin-centric. So the young Lincoln had been encouraged by the culture around him to identify his own flaws — and, in any case, he had no trouble finding them. He knew he was ferociously ambitious and blessed with superior talents — the sort of person who could easily turn into a dictator or monster.

Over the course of his young adulthood, Lincoln built structures around his inner nature. He joined a traditional bourgeois marriage. He called his wife “mother” and lived in a genteel middle-class home. He engaged in feverish bouts of self-improvement, studying Euclid and grammar at all hours. He distrusted passionate politics. In the Lyceum speech that he delivered as a young man, he attacked emotionalism in politics and talked about the need for law, order and cool reason.

This concept of maturity as self-conquest didn’t survive long into the 20th century. Progressive educators emphasized students’ inner goodness and curiosity, not inner depravity. More emphasis was put on individual freedom, authenticity and values clarification. Self-discovery replaced self-mastery as the primary path to maturity, and we got a thousand novels and memoirs about young peoples’ search for identity.

In the last few years, we may be shifting toward another vision of maturity, one that is impatient with boomer narcissism. Young people today put service at the center of young adulthood. A child is served, but maturity means serving others.

And yet, though we’re never going back to the 19th-century, sin-centric character-building model, for breeding leaders, it has its uses. Over the past decades, we’ve seen president after president confident of his own talents but then undone by underappreciated flaws. It’s as if they get elected for their virtues and then get defined in office by the vices — Clinton’s narcissism, Bush’s intellectual insecurity — they’ve never really faced.

It would be nice to have a president who had gone to school on his own failings. It would be comforting to see a president who’d looked into the abyss, or suffered some sort of ordeal that put him on a first-name basis with his own gravest weaknesses, and who had found ways to combat them.

Obviously, it’s not fair to compare anybody to Lincoln, but he does illustrate the repertoire of skills we look for in a leader. The central illusion of modern politics is that if only people as virtuous as “us” had power, then things would be better. Candidates get elected by telling people what they want to hear, leading them by using the sugar of their own fantasies.

Somehow a leader conversant with his own failings wouldn’t be as affected by the moral self-approval that afflicts most political movements. He’d be detached from his most fervid followers and merciful and understanding toward foes. He’d have a sense of his own smallness in the sweep of events. He or she would contravene Lord Acton’s dictum and grow sadder and wiser with more power.

All this suggests a maxim for us voters: Don’t only look to see which candidate has the most talent. Look for the one most emotionally gripped by his own failings.

Written by David Brooks

Just something to consider. Re-read the last 4 paragraphs. Mr. Brooks is on to something.

See, you can learn a lot from the New York Times.

The Beard Album

2008-06-06T03:27:00.012-06:00

Back on April 10th, I wrote about my experience at the Latvian Symphony. Most notable, was the fact that during the monotonous, completely mundane and torpid organ solo I noticed all the older men with beards (See The Maestro, April 10).

In light of the fact that a it seems like a considerably greater amount of men let their faces go in Eastern Europe, I have begun The Beard Album.

Should I feel bad taking all these pictures without these men knowing? I don't think so. They are probably more than grateful to contribute their folliclical energies to the cause of man. They know, that one day, the razor wielding, iron fist that binds both BYU students and "professionals" alike will, in its own dictatorial fury and paranoia, smash itself to pieces. One day, Fashion and Professionalism, the great worldly goddesses worshiped by both old and young, bond and free, will be humiliated and brought low as Baal. One day, no longer will the Head monkey in Paris be followed,* but men will wear their faces as they are so inclined. Lennon said it best: hair peace.

To these men, whom I have covertly taken photos of, I dedicate The Beard Album. Thank you, guys.

*A reference to Thoreau, who, speaking on following the capriciousness of fashion, said with great satire, "The Head monkey at Paris puts on a traveler's cap, and all the monkeys in America do the same."

The Formal Reception

2008-06-05T12:43:00.011-06:00

This evening I attended my first formal reception/cocktail party/whatever you call it when you go into a fancy ballroom and drink and eat fancy foods and meet people.

This particular reception/cocktail party/whatever you call it when you go into a fancy ballroom and drink and eat fancy foods and meet people was thrown by The Latvian Council of Foreign of Foreign Investors. Transparency International-Latvia somehow was fortunate enough to garner an invite (We’re unclear of whether the invitation was simply to be nice and recognize us, or to suck up to us so we won’t audit anyone) . It was hosted in what is known here as the “Small Guild,” an old Hanseatic League building owned by the city that now is used for upscale events and receptions like tonight’s.

Waiters with trays of champagne and wine greeted us at the door. I felt like I was in a movie. There was a jazz trio playing in the corner of the ballroom and tables were piled high with the most obscurely fancy orderves (sp?) and finger foods I have ever seen. Some, like the prime rib kebabs, were absolutely the best thing I’ve eaten in over 2 months. Others, such as the pickled pear with blue-cheese spread on top was not so good. And the caviar-like, raw salmon thing was ok.

The majority of those in attendance were high rollers sitting on millions of dollars worth of Latvian investments. My boss - a good guy, father of 4 in his late 30s - and I felt just a tad out of place without the obscenely priced clothing that everyone else was wearing (heak, I didn’t even have on a tie) but it was fine. We sort of just did our own thing in the corner close to the food.

Occasionally, some big wig would come over and speak to us. The conversation always died out rather awkwardly as they realized we were not anyone influential they were trying to rub shoulders with. I’m laughing just thinking about it. I mean, Marcis (my boss) showed up on his bike and I on foot. We were basically there just to mooch free food – and that’s exactly what we did. mmmmm.

Marcis and I. This is after the party had pretty much cleared out. We were some of the last few to leave - never eat and run, only eat.

Not What it Seems

2008-06-04T01:21:00.008-06:00

In response to a recent request to post pictures of the KGB prison (thank you Jesse), I must say that I really don't have any. The outside of the building is actually a very nice piece of architecture which sits right on the main thoroughfare through town. You would never suspect that inside held a prison complete with torture rooms and execution chambers. Unfortunately, I did not take any shots of the inside because I was unwilling to pay extra to take photography - I hate when they do that! But here is the front of the building.

As you can see, totally normal. And here is the view looking down the street. It is right in the center of the city when you'd expect it to be in some far off, obscure area.

And you can't really tell, but this is the side of the building and those windows along the foundation are the windows to the prison cells. During the KGB days, the windows were painted over.

And that is all. Thinking about it now, maybe I should have paid the few extra bucks to take pictures inside? because these shots are lame. Come to think of it, I didn't even ask how much it would be!? hmmmm.

Microwaves

2008-06-03T10:14:00.006-06:00

When I was still young in the mission, my companion and I got some leftover food from some branch member's party or something once. By the time we got home, the food was cold. Not having a microwave, I was just going to eat it cold but my companion suggested heating it up. "How?" I asked him. "How do you think?" he replied very sarcastically. I really didn't have an idea and I told him so.

It was then that I received the most cynical response I have ever gotten in my life - and it was deserved. "With FIRE," he sternly told me as he got out a frying pan, threw in the left overs, and turned on the gas burner. Oh.

Yes, I felt very sheepish. It's just that always growing up with a microwave, it had never occurred to me that food could actually be rewarmed by just putting it on the stove.

I am now living in similar circumstances without a microwave (only there is no heavy Guatemalan looking at me like I'm the most ignorant and pathetic dummy that ever walked). Sometimes I pull out the frying pan to heat food up but then I run the risk of charring whatever it is I'm wanting to eat. I've discovered a better way.

By resting a smaller pot full of left overs on the rim of a larger pot full of water, I have fashioned a double-boiler that serves the purpose of a microwave. I know! I'm genius! It works great only instead of a quick, minute-and-thirty second warm up it takes about 10 minutes once the water starts boiling. But hey, it works!

Now, whenever I hear that "Wells Fargo Wagon" song from The Music Man (you know - oh, oh the wells fargo wagon is a...comin' down the street, oh please let it be for me!) it has more meaning for me. In one line, a lady blasts out, "or a...double-boiler!" as her wish for what she wants the Wells Fargo Wagon to bring. Ha! I already have one! And I didn't have to wait for some crummy wagon to get it! Ha, lady!.

Vilnius

2008-06-02T13:23:00.008-06:00

My weekend was spent in the capital of Lithuania. Vilnius a seriously cool place - by far the best in the Baltics to visit. It really is a neat place to be. There is just a cool, almost chill, vibe there that doesn't exist in either Tallinn or Riga, it just feels much more European than the other two. This is probably due to the relatively low Russian population in comparison with Latvia and Estonia.

The bus arrived in Vilnius around 3pm Saturday afternoon. I was more than thrilled to be off the bus. There must have been 20 kids around the ages of 10, 11, 12 on that bus. I don't know if there is anything more aggravating than 20 Gameboys or PSPs or whatever all blaring their obnoxious video game sounds all at the same time. I couldn't fall asleep for the entire 5 hour ride. I almost lost my cool. I really wanted to just stand up and yell, "TURN YOUR FREAKING SOUND OFF!" but I didn't. I'm not sure they would have understood me even if I did.

I got to Vilnius, and like I said, it was sweet. I've given up paying entrance fees so I didn't actually go inside much - after awhile, it's all the same anyways. Instead I just wandered around, "parading" if you will. I found my way to a park in which they were having their annual folk festival. What luck! It was the best. I spent a good 2-3 hours just chilling in the park, listening to the Lithuanian folk music and eating good Lithuanian food.

I found my way over to the Vilnius Basilica. Now, I've seen a few churches over here but this was truly impressive. It was enormous and ornate in its classical styling. Unlike Estonia and Latvia, Lithuania (like its neighbor Poland) remained Catholic through the Reformation. Interestingly enough, I have never actually seen a Catholic place of worship even half full for mass; until Sunday morning. This place was packed.

Sunday morning I visited on old KGB facility. This place has been left exactly as the KGB left it in 1991 and has now been turned into a museum. I'm not sure I have been in a more disturbing place. The prison was absolutely horrifying. The "boxes," little 3ft. by 3ft. cement cells, the torture rooms, and the execution chamber were almost too much to see without getting completely depressed and disgusted.

In the "exercise yard," an outdoor but enclosed area of maybe 10ft. by 15ft., I sat down on the single bench that occupied the center of the area and just thought. The people interred there, who were not criminals but simply enemies of a motherland they had never professed allegiance to, were subject to such inhumane treatment. It was horribly depressing. What made it even more realistically unnerving was that most of the museum guides were former inmates.

I strolled through town some more after the prison. It was around 12:30pm when I received a text message from a pair of elders back in Riga in response to my query concerning the time and place of church in Vilnius (all 3 Baltic states comprise one single mission). They told me the address and time of church, which was at 1 o'clock; I had a half an hour to get directions to the chapel and get myself there. After asking a few people where the address was, I realized that only by taking a taxi would I get there in time. I grabbed a cab and made it just as the meeting was beginning. It wasn't until the sacrament was being passed that I actually ran the exchange rate and did the math in my head. Holy crap! I just spent $20usd to get to church. Ah man.

When I am in Heaven and allowed to see the replay of my life, I will definitely ask to see my face in sacrament meeting that moment. Twenty bucks; I couldn't believe it. I sure hope I got 20 bucks worth of the Spirit.

Nah, just kidding. It was worth it. I'll just have to budget that money out of the next two weeks' groceries. What can you do.

Fred

2008-05-30T11:37:00.006-06:00

One of my favorite Beatles' songs is Taxman. It's one of those songs that you just have to sing (or yell) along with. The best thing is that the chorus is so simple, everyone else listening to it picks up right away and joins in. Not earning any money right now, I don't have any issues with the tax man. But yesterday I had to chase after the trash man.

Dumpsters and garbage cans and weekly pickups don't exist here. There are daily pickups instead. Every weekday at a specific time, the garbage truck pulls around and everyone on the block runs out with their bags of trash. This happens daily. I really think it would just be easier to stash a dumpster or two on each block and come weekly, or every few days. Who knows.

When I moved in to my place I didn't know the trash time. Nor did my roommates. Nor did our landlord. And the old guy who always sits out on the steps in front of our building only speaks Russian. What, were we supposed to just sit around all day looking for the trash man? No. We had lives to live.

We went at least two weeks without taking out the trash. What happened could be considered 'the trash pile.' I named it Fred.

Fred smelled bad. Fred's growth rate was too fast. We didn't like Fred but since we had no idea what to do with him, he stayed put in the corner, always growing. When Fred actually started getting in the way of free movement around the kitchen, we were forced to have a stake out for the trash man. We said our goodbyes to Fred at 6:15pm.

The problem is still that we have to physically be on the street to put our trash in the truck. If we miss it, too bad. Yesterday around 6:16 I remembered. I grabbed the bags that occupied Fred's old spot and made a break for the street. I made it. A feeling of satisfaction came over me. Then I looked behind me and saw the trail from my door, out the foyer, into the street. The satisfaction turned to sadness. It's just never easy is it?

This Sucks

2008-05-29T14:47:00.006-06:00

I wasn't going to write this evening. I thought, "I need a break" (This blog stuff takes its toll. You think always being the funny-man, investigative journalist is easy? Think again). But here I am, sucked back into providing a daily dose of 'whatever' for personal fulfillment.

Which leads me into my topic for tonight: sucking.

Once in every other week or so I splurge and spend $1.25 on a bar of Latvian chocolate. Oh my goodness. While not German or Swiss or Belgian, the Latvian brand, Laima, sure beats anything homegrown. Due to the necessity of making each bar last as long as possible, I have almost mastered the previously inconceivable act of simply sucking on a single piece of chocolate until it melts away. I've never been a sucker. I've always been the chomper. It's amazing how rewarding it is! I had no idea it was so satisfying to just suck on a piece of chocolate!

I'll be honest though. Sometimes it is just too much and I have to chew. There is just something so gratifying about sinking my teeth into to something that delicious.

Eclectic Tastes

2008-05-28T12:20:00.007-06:00

A friend of mine asked me the other day if I ate like a Latvian yet. The question was preceded by first asking if, not what, I was eating - thoughtful. I told her that yeah, I guess my current culinary habits did reflect Latvian, rather than American cuisine (although it could hardly be called cuisine).

So what is Latvian food? I asked a co-worker that same question myself. His answer was, "It's the same as German food really." Fitting.

My staples consist of eggs, potatoes (sometimes boiled, sometimes fried), carrots (cooked for dinner, raw for lunch), sausages, cheese, and bread. That's really about it. I make a lot of stew with a seasoning packet and potatoes, carrots, and little meat balls I get at the deli. I eat a lot of sausages, accompanied by just cheese and bread. A lot of eggs. German pancakes and French toast for breakfast. And that's about it.

I'm not really sure if it qualifies as Latvian, but there's definitely enough sausage and cheese in my diet to unqualify it as American.

On the quest to further my Latvian tastes, just this evening I bought a bottle of Kvass. I figured it was Eastern Europe's equivalent to Root Beer. I wanted to try it out.

Oh, it was not good. As soon as the cap was off, a rank aroma of black licorice, fermented molasses, and bad oats filled my nostrils. It tasted worse. The label read, "Carbonated Soft Drink with Sugar and Sweetener." I don't know WHAT it was.

A Typical Conversation Between an Aerospace Engineer and a Chemist...

2008-05-27T10:37:00.013-06:00

In a recent phone conversation, my dad recounted to me a chat he had last week with a colleague who is a chemist and has spent considerable time living and working in Europe. After hearing about my German roommates and their dish washing protocol, he mentioned it to the colleague. From what I was told, the following is what occurred:

"So my son is in Latvia on a international internship. Have I mentioned that? Yeah? He's having a great time. He's just such go-getter, you know. Anyways, he has a couple of Germans as roommates and he wrote on his blog - which, reading it, by the way, makes for the best part of my day - about how these guys don't rinse their dishes; they scrub, and immediately put 'em out to dry."

The chemist chuckled. "Yeah, I discovered the same thing when I lived over there. None of my co-workers rinsed their dishes either."

"Really?"

"Nope. No rinsing, whatsoever." He continued to chuckle. "Until one day I sat them down and did some tests with the dishes they had just washed. They saw, how without rinsing, how 'clean' the dishes really got."

His chuckle had turned into a belly laugh by now and he continued, "Sure enough, the lights went on in their heads as they observed all the bacteria and soapy, oily scum left behind. I asked them, 'We rinse off our lab instruments, don't we?'"

They were both laughing now as the chemist mentioned the funny faces he saw as his co-workers connected the dots.

"So what's the deal with that?," Dad asked. "Well," replied the chemist, "I think it goes back to centuries of just washing with water. When soap came around, they viewed it as something to simply just add to the water to make washing easier, or better, or whatever. And to this day most Europeans still don't rinse."

"Huh. Interesting."

And so it is. Now the question, What turned Americans on to the sanitary act of rinsing? looms large.

My roomies probably look at me when I'm doing my dishes and think, "Dumb Americans, always wasting water..." And then they talk about it in German when I leave the kitchen, "Why does he do that?" "I don't know. Maybe he has OCD?"

This Morning

2008-05-26T02:25:00.012-06:00

Everyone knows that European electricity comes out of the walls at 220volts instead of the 110v in the States. Furthermore, the socket is shaped differently. That is why, to come to Europe, we must buy little adapters for our electronics. I have one. This morning I arrived at work without my adapter. I had to take the 10 minute walk back to my apartment to retrieve it. So sad.

As I was reading the news this morning, I perused my way onto an article about a NASA success on Mars that just barely occurred. There were some photos of Mars and whatnot. Most amusing was the celebratory shot at mission control. I'm thinking the guy on the left had been waiting a very long time for a good enough excuse to get close to his co-worker. He looks just a little too content in his colleague's embrace.

Michael & Robert

2008-05-25T11:57:00.012-06:00

You know those mornings when you wake up just because? When you are too tired to get out of bed but not tired enough to completely fall back asleep? This morning was one of those for me. I really don't like them at all.

It's mainly because I feel so unproductive just lying there. Even when I sleep-in a substantial amount longer, I feel more productive because at least I'm doing something. Just lying there gets frustrating.

But today, I'm not one to complain. The day went in a direction I never expected. I was able to participate in a baptism this afternoon and it wasn't just any baptism either. This was a little more special.

Michael is from Ghana. He is 24 years old. His parents and siblings were killed in violent conflict and just recently he fled his country in hopes of something better. With a friend who had similarly suffered, he managed his way onto a ship heading for London but instead found himself completely stranded in Riga, Latvia. With absolutely nowhere to go (and no idea where he was) he lived on the streets searching for help. It was during this time that his mind was recalled to a point in his life when he had met Mormon missionaries back home in Ghana. At that time, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with them; this time, he felt different.

Michael and Robert began hearing the lessons and became increasingly interested. They eventually desired baptism. Their progress became interrupted, however, when voluntarily, they walked into the immigration office hoping to apply for a work permit. They were immediately jailed and interred in a refugee camp (while given the name, camp, it is definitely more reminiscent of prison as they are not allowed exit nor will they be deported any time soon).

It has been 9 months since then. Michael and Robert have only been able to meet with the missionaries once every month. Special arrangements had to be made between the mission president and the government to secure the brief leave from the camp for their own baptisms (They were only given leave one at a time and consequently, Robert was baptized last week. This week was Michael's turn).

Michael arrived at the chapel this evening smiling despite the 3 migration officers following his every step. It was sick really: even in the dressing room he was chaperoned. He didn't seem to mind though. He was just happy to finally enter the waters of baptism.

The service, like any baptismal service, was beautiful in its simplicity. Pure happiness radiated from his warm face as he entered the water. I have not seen such joy in a long time. To conclude the service, he bore his testimony. I have not felt the Spirit that comforting in a long time. He recognized the Lord in all that had happened to him. He recognized his continual reliance upon God, stating that in His due time, he will be delivered.

His knowledge of the gospel and his faith were rock solid. He and Robert consistently read from the scriptures and Church magazines together. They pray together. They hold on to one another in their hope and dream of freedom. Now, with a new spiritual life, they continue in anticipation for the day when they can begin a new temporal life.

I was brought to guilt as I considered the lives of these two brethren. I share the same age as they and we each find ourselves in a foreign country. Yet, opportunity and economically fortunate circumstances have brought me here; they have been driven here by violence, desperation, and pure misfortune. Instead of finding greater liberty, they are now prisoners.

I write about this for two reasons. First, so that their faith and testimony of the true and living gospel can be passed on to ward members and friends. They are true examples of faith and hope. Second, I wish to draw attention to the further plight of Michael and Robert. They are lucky - they have found the true Church on the earth. But still, along with hundreds of millions of others, they are trapped in physical bondage by violence, hunger, and oppression. I know that sky-rocketing gas prices and the sub-prime crisis have Americans reaching for the torch and pitchfork. But seriously, does any of that matter when there is more than enough food to eat? Does any of that matter when we can walk down the street without the fear of getting shot at or blown up? Does any of that really matter when we are free to simply come and go and do as we please?

Apathectic Losers

2008-05-24T05:29:00.006-06:00

I've never really been keen on discos or clubs. Even school dances got old with the unrelenting bump, bump of club music. It's just not my style - at all. I like happy music, music that I can smile to while getting down groovy-like. So when I decided to go with some friends (yes, all Germans. at times I feel like a Nazi POW) to a disco last night, of course I was apprehensive.

How was it, you ask? Well, to be honest, it exceeded all expectations. European discos are a bit different than State-side clubs. They are a lot more "happy," if you will, doing without the tough-guy, "yo, yo what's up" attitude. This particular one didn't allow smoking inside (a definite plus) and it seemed as though high school dances had been more dubious.

The funny thing is that everyone gets all gussied up to go to the discos. I just don't quite fit it - and I'm alright with that. Most the dudes here go for the suave, soap opera look: super expensive, dark jeans, some really nice dress/casual shoes, nice shirt, and their hair all slick (you get the picture). Here I am with the typically American, I'd rather be on my longboard, "I don't care" look in a t-shirt, blue jeans, my Vans, and uncombed hair. That right there kept me in the world but not of the world.

And people say apathy is a bad thing...

New Oval Art

2008-05-22T12:34:00.010-06:00

One of the more tender moments of A Hard Day's Night has Ringo deciding that his life is too short to waste just being a drummer and leaving his "responsibilities" to go parading. Now, parading simply entailed walking around town taking still life photographs, attempting to skip stones in the city canal, and making friends with a 14-something year old boy before being arrested for unintentionally making trouble in a bar (a great scene really...).

In the spirit of Ringo's defiance to established life, I too went out parading one evening. Although I didn't make any friends or get arrested, like Ringo, I took my camera and got a few shots of the local scenery.

Pick up any travel book on Latvia and it will mention how Riga, Latvia houses the largest collection of art nouveau in the world. I had no idea what they were talking about. I figured it had something to do with new ovals. I was wrong. Art Novuvea is French for "new art." According to my all knowing, best friend Wikipedia, art nouveau is a type of decorative art that peaked around the turn of the 20th century and is "characterized by organic, especially floral and other plant-inspired motifs, as well as highly-stylized, flowing curvilinear forms" (my guess wasn't too far off).

So here are a few shots of this new oval art that everybody is talking about. If you're into eccentric Victorian era architecture, I guess this would be rather exciting. For those of us who would rather stare at a kaleidescope screen-saver while listening to Strawberry Fields Forever, it's still pretty neat.

No Finns Allowed

2008-05-22T11:44:00.008-06:00

On my way to and from work I pass the same buildings with the same shops and businesses in them (go figure). Of particular interest is a men's clothing store. What caused me to take notice of the store wasn't the obscenely priced suits ranging from $1000- $5000, but the sign that hangs in the window:

I really had no idea what it could mean other than something to do with Finland. What really threw me off was the "no." I started wondering. What, does Somijas mean Finnish people and they don't allow Finns inside? Or maybe they are very nationalistic Finns and Somijas is a slang term for someone of some nationality or ethnic group they don't want in their store? I thought on this every time I passed the sign. After a couple weeks I had a novel idea - why not actually look it up in the dictionary.

After looking up the translation it made more sense. "No" does not mean "no" but "from." And "Somijas" is - you guessed it - Finland. Mystery solved. Those Finns makes some darned expensive suits.

Now I can walk to and from work without wondering what type of business would be so discriminatory against Finnish people as to not allow them in their store. Whew, what a relief.

Why Rinse?

2008-05-21T04:25:00.007-06:00

A while back, when I grabbed a glass off the drying rack, I noticing something rather intriguing: there were bubbles and dirty dishwater residue in it. I simply thought it was an isolated and accidental case - everybody misses a spot here and there - and reached for a different glass. Then I grabbed a spoon and again, that nauseating little spot of dishwater residue was in the bottom of the spoon. I concluded that either the lighting in the kitchen was bad or the person who washed these particular dishes was acutely blind. Again, I grabbed a different spoon and no second thought was given to the matter.

The unrinsed dishes kept turning up, however. What is going on here? This was definitely not any type of isolated incident. Glass after glass, plate after plate, spoon after spoon all had sick, soapy residue on them. It really started to weird me out. Finally, after observing one of my roommates wash his dishes, I was able to diagnose to situation. Sure enough, no rinsing was involved - the dishes went straight from the dirty dishwater-filled sink to the rack.

"You don't rinse them off?," I inquired. He didn't know what "rinse" meant. Fair enough. I explained the meaning. With incredulity he answered, "Do you want me to rinse them off?" I didn't want to create a stir so I replied in the negative. But, being a sharp guy, he perceived my qualm and courteously proceeded to BLOW a few of the bubbles off the pots he had just put on the drying rack. Oh, ok, thanks man.

I really don't get it. Neither one of my roommates rinse their dishes. And it's not like they are unclean slobs; on the contrary, they epitomize German neatness and cleanliness. It just makes me wonder if they rinse off in the shower.

16 Tons...of Mushroom

2008-05-20T01:24:00.010-06:00

This morning I got to work, took out my computer, and sat down at my desk with a sigh. Another day, another dollar, thought I. Hold on, I'm not earning any dollars?! (another sigh) - and cue the Tennessee Ernie Ford tune - ...another day older and deeper in debt. Yikes.

It's funny how these types of epiphanies happen. It must have been 14 years since I first heard that song. I was maybe 10 years old. I had to sing it with my class for one of those elementary school musical programs. Of course, it had no meaning back then, nor has it, until today (another sigh).

It's all good though. In some way, sometime in the not-too-distant future, it will pay off; like eating pickled mushrooms.

Pickled mushrooms are a traditional Latvian (so they tell me) snack usually eaten along with little smoked sausages and cheese and crackers - you know, picnic snacks. When a co-worker of mine brought in a bowl of pickled mushrooms for a little, happy hour get-together my curiosity was perked. I was pleasantly surprised - they were actually really good.

Now these pickled mushrooms are about the size of a normal small-sized mushroom. Logically, if they are that size after the pickling, they had to be WAY bigger before the pickling (at least...3 times bigger!). So either the mushrooms are just naturally humongous mushrooms or they are genetically modified humongous mushrooms. Or, they are grown near Chernobyl, which is not too far from here, and they are both naturally AND genetically modified humongous mushrooms. My bet is on the last one.

What does this have to do with capitalizing on my dividends? I will tell you. Because these mushrooms were grown near Chernobyl, and were thus both naturally AND genetically modified humongous mushrooms, some of their natural and genetically modified nutrients will pass on to me and in the not-too-distant future I might sprout a third eye, or a third arm. Talk about beneficial; with an extra bodily amenity, think how much more productive I will be!

Just the Way It Is

2008-05-19T14:27:00.005-06:00

I hope everyone is enjoying the beautiful May weather. I still have to wear a coat to go outside. I really cannot believe this: it is late May and I am still wearing pants, a jacket, and shoes - SHOES! (I'm just glad my mother pressured me into buying a pair before I came out). This was definitely not expected. The strange thing is that it has nearly become customary for me to just put on my jacket without even thinking. It has taken some time to get over the fact that I still needed to bundle up though. At first it made me depressed. Then it made me angry. Now it's just the way it is.

We always say that - it's just the way it is. Growing up I hated that inextricably redundant phrase more than anything else. It seemed as if the answer to any and every disgruntle that ever occupied my thoughts was, "that's just the way it is, son." And yes, it WAS almost always my dad who was the one to say those odious words. It was never enough. I wanted something more; something I could wrap my hands around and strangle. But no, even that was just the way it was.

But, uhh, I'm not really sure as to where this is going.

It is still cold here; just know that.

MOM! LOOK AT ME! SEE ME?!

2008-05-18T11:53:00.017-06:00

They say the 4 hour bus ride from Riga, Latvia to Tallinn, Estonia is rather pleasant. It travels through the pretty Baltic countryside, often times going straight up the coast giving great views of the sleepy Baltic Sea. I happen to agree.

I left Friday evening around 7 and arrived a little after 11. By far, the best part of the journey however was the sunset. First, the sun didn't even actually set until 10:30 or so - crazy, I know. Second, it didn't actually get dark until an hour later (even more amazing is that it began to get light again just after 2am - so by the time the dude I couch-surfed with and I were done cruising the town, it was already getting light!). The sunset itself lasted for nearly 2 hours - 2 hours! The sun slowly descended, as if were bright red apple being dipped into a sea of candy, down and down. And just when it was about to disappear, it seemed to glide along the sea horizontally hurling bright reflections of pinks, purples, and reds until finally, it dropped. It...was...gorgeous.

Saturday was spent getting lost in the city. My first destination was Kadriorg Palace. It was built by Peter the Great as a summer home. Most of the subsequent Czars followed suit and spent their short Northern summers there as well. It was the first "palace" I have ever seen - I couldn't believe how luxurious and decorated it all was. These guys definitely lived high on the hog.

Next I wandered over to Old Town Tallinn and got lost for half a day in its narrow, twisting streets, antique buildings and fortress towers. Tallinn is a very quaint and charming city with its medieval aura. Even despite all the people in medieval garb trying to sell postcards and the like - giving it an uncannily similar feel to Disneyland - it was a great place to spend the day.

One day was definitely ample time to see it all - Tallinn and Riga are very similar. We've all grown up with the adage, if you've seen one, you've seen 'em all. This goes in the Baltics every bit as well. If I were asked to recommend which of the two cities offered a better visit, I would have to suggest Tallinn. It is a bit smaller and, consequently, it has a little more medieval charm to it (can I even say that? medieval charm? they weren't called the Dark Ages for no reason...). Plus, there was a museum that let me try on chain mail and hold a sword. Who wouldn't love that?

I felt rather foolish asking the docent if I could try on the armor (last time I checked, I was 24 years old). He looked at me funny and gave me the negative to the armor but offered to let me parade around in the chain mail. Naturally, it was just enough to put one of those quirky, boyish smiles on my face.

Musuem Free Day

2008-05-15T07:53:00.006-06:00

The National Museum of Latvian History - it sounds all official and intriguing doesn't it? It did to me. I've waited to go there until now, however, because there is no admission charge on Wednesdays. Yesterday, being Wednesday - and being a Wednesday that afforded free time - I went. It is housed in what is known as the Riga Castle, which also houses the Latvian President's apartment and offices. As you can tell by the photo, it's not really a castle. It's really just a big building but since it has one turret/tower, they called it a castle.

The museum itself contained an impressive plethora of artifacts, illustrations, maps, and exhibits recalling Latvia's story from its early beginnings. Despite this impressiveness, I was overtaken by boredom rather quickly; everything was in Latvian.

I know the numbers in Latvian and I can say please and thank you, and the equivalent of okay/alright, and ask, Do you have_? (supplemented with whatever word I before-hand look up in the dictionary), and yes and no. I'm beginning to become very familiar with the words for the various food items and I can even ask, And which platform? (in reference to the train station platforms) but naturally, in spite of it all, everything to be learned in that museum more or less stayed unlearned by me.

After perusing the aforementioned collection of things to see for a while, trying to at least pick out dates to pair up with whatever I was looking at, that got old. By the time I got through the middle ages, I was officially checked-out. Not wanting to short-change myself the full experience, I quickly walked through the rest the museum and then left. It was unfortunate really. I'm only glad I went on the free day.

Taxi!

2008-05-14T10:58:00.013-06:00

In the States, I have only ridden in a cab twice, both times on a trip with my grandmother in Washington DC.

In Central America I took taxis all the time - and all for less than what it would take to ride the bus back home. One time, I got my foot run over by a taxi. I had gotten out of the car and I guess I had gotten out before I was supposed to because after I put my foot down, the car rolled forward just enough to squash the heel of my foot under the rear tire and then stopped. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt as bad as I expected. I told the driver my foot was under the tire and he laughed, thinking it was a joke. I reassured him it wasn't. When he looked for himself and saw it was true, his face was struck with a look of absolute horror as if he had murdered someone and he hurriedly put the car into reverse. He felt really really bad. I just laughed.

In Latvia, I wouldn't even dream of jumping into a taxi. It's not that I'm afraid of getting my foot run over. Nor is it because I'm afraid of dubious cabbies. It isn't because Latvians are known as some of Europe's worst drivers either. It is because A) I have no need to ride in a cab, and B) there is NO WAY I'd have the money, even if there were a need.

When taxis come to mind, you think of a 10 year old, yellow Crown Victoria with a crummy, well worn interior that reaks of cigarette smoke and B.O. But what would you think if you imagine hailing a cab and climbing into a leather interior with a Bose sound system? Or imagine a Mercedes or Beamer with the TAXI sign on the roof? Ah, you must be in Latvia!

There are more Mercedes and BMW taxis here than any other make. It is really quite astounding. Where these drivers get the money, I haven't a clue (Well, yeah I do - the lazies dumb enough to fork out $12 for a 5 block ride down the street is where). And it's not like these are some cheaper, only made for Europe-type models. No, no; they are exactly what is conjured up when German luxury cars come to mind.

So if anyone ever wants to feel like a celebrity being whisked away to some type of exclusive party, look no further than downtown Riga.

Hurdy, Vurdy, Shnurdy!

2008-05-13T01:16:00.008-06:00

I am sick of living out of bags, cans, and boxes. I have reached the point in my life in which cooking is no longer viewed as an evil - it takes too much time to cook, and then clean - but it is viewed as a means to a higher quality of life. The dollar does not go far here so I have been confined to eating bread, crappy frozen vegetables, and cheap sausage. Sometimes I put butter on the bread. Once in a while I boil noodles to eat with my bread. Sometimes I put sausage and frozen vegetables on the bread. I'm done, sick of it, I want to eat.

In this spirit, I've attempted to fix up a few things. One of the biggest impediments, however, is that I only have a stove with 2 burners, one fry pan and a pot; no oven, not even a toaster. Since my resources are limited, it makes my situation quite difficult.

My fatal attempt at spaghetti sauce ended up with a half pound of ground beef and a can of tomato sauce in the trash - it was horrible. Even in my poverty and hunger I could not force it down.

I've tried to mash potatoes but it's hard to get them right just using a fork. They never quite turn out the way they are supposed to.

I bought a can of tuna fish. As soon as the opener pierced the aluminum, thick oil seeped out - and it was motor-oil thick. Gross. Not wanting to waste, I choked the tuna down as fast as I could straight out of the can. It wasn't even worth making into a sandwich.

My first victory has come in the form of German pancakes. Sister Hunter, one of the senior missionaries here, made them for family home evening once and showed my how to make them: eggs, flour, milk. It's great! I'm cooking! I can cook! I'm a cooker! Dr. Leo!

My problem, however, lies in that after a week's worth of German pancakes, I now need something more. French toast, German pancakes, and fried-egg sandwiches seem to be the only thing I can come up with. It's like I'm at the worst Denny's ever, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

After 68 Years, Old Joe and the Fuhrer Still Going At It

2008-05-12T01:20:00.013-06:00

Friday marked the 68th anniversary of Germany's official surrender to the Soviet Union. Because over half of the population of Riga is ethnic Russian, this anniversary is a big deal here. Much of the city's population wore orange and black ribbons on their person and covered their cars with flags of the same likeness. At night, there was a celebration in one of the parks with fireworks.

Naturally, it is really only the Russians who celebrate this. The actual Latvians are extremely indifferent on the matter in that May 9, 1945 only signifies the transfer of power from one oppressive regime to another.

After speaking with a few people concerning the matter, I learned that on the 16th of March, there are similar celebrations made in commemoration of a victory by Latvian SS troops over the Red Army with marches and the like.

So on one hand, we have old Soviet redliners celebrating the victory over Germany; on the other, Latvian SS vets celebrating a win over the Red Army; and in the middle are the rest of the people who really could not care less about either one. Does anyone else find this as interesting as I do?

In light of such interest, my day was spent at work and then jumping on a train heading to the town of Salaspills, upon which I got off at the dinkiest, most remote train stop I've seen. After wandering in the woods totally lost, I made a few phone calls and was able to find my destination: a Nazi concentration camp that now holds a memorial to those thousands who died there. It was a bit eerie, to say the least. A large plaque above the entrance reads, "Beyond this gate, the earth groans." They have constructed a nice memorial there, with statues and monuments that are covered in flowers placed there by local visitors.

It still is unfathomable to me how such atrocities occurred in the "modern" era. Just yesterday I finished reading Walter Scott's Ivanhoe. For those unfamiliar with the novel, it is the tale of King Richard and his return to England to reclaim the usurped throne from his brother Prince John with the help of one of his knights, Ivanhoe, and Robin Hood and his merry men (It really is a great read and its images have added to the mystic of all the forests and castles I've been frequenting). One of the main characters in the novel is a Jew and throughout the story we see how much persecution and revile the Jewish people felt in those dark times. Ironically, since then, time has not eradicated the prejudice and inhumanity towards them - and Salaspills is living proof that only 68 years ago, the situation had changed little.

Ode to My Mother

2008-05-11T09:45:00.002-06:00

Being mother's day, today I devote this entry to my own mother.

Thank you Mother.

I love you.

Poor Whiskers

2008-05-09T02:00:00.008-06:00

On my morning stroll to work I passed the corpse of a cat who had been run over. Its eyeballs had been ejaculated from their sockets and were loosely hung by the still-attached optical nerves. It...was...horrifying (I was going to post a picture but it was just too gross). It immediately made me repent of the time I laughed after accidentally running over a cat.

I don't feel all that bad though, as the cat was culpable. It ran out in the middle of the road, and like a stupid jack-rabbit, got out of the way only to run right back under the tires with a loud POP!. The girls in the car screamed; I got wide-eyed in disbelief at what had happened. It popped! I couldn't believe it. The sound was a pop! I had to laugh.

The adages to be "cool as a cat" or to have " the reflexes of a cat" do not hold their value anymore. I thought cats were smart? Why do animals do that, anyways? Right when they are safely out of harm's way, as if they had a suicide wish but got scared at first, they go directly back into the line of fire.

I suppose that in some fashion or other, we, like any other animal, are guilty of this phenomena too. The man who overcomes his drinking addictions goes back to the bottle in an instant of rage or insecurity. The family, who has suffered through years of financial difficulty finally emerges from debt only to take out another mortgage. The young woman, after leaving an abusive relationship, finds another man of the same low class and respectability. And the list could go on.

That is probably why Lehi told his sons to be as the Valley and River he mentioned. Geographical features are not capable of screwing their lives up. In this spirit, I wish to now be known as "cool as a cumulonimbus cloud" or to have "the reflexes of a willow in the wind" or to be "tactful as a stream finding its way quietly and discretely through the forest," you know, these types of things.

Murses

2008-05-08T01:47:00.008-06:00

I am sure that anyone who reads these nearly pointless anecdotes of mine has wanted to ask me what the biggest perceptible difference between Latvia and the US is. At first thought I would say the weather. But then I think that somewhere in the States there is probably a place with similar weather. Then I think the landscape is very different. This too, can not be true as there are definitely parts of the US with similar geology and flor. Next I would mention how unfriendly strangers are to each other - no one even smiles or acknowledges anyone unless there is a reason; no hellos or nods or even eye contact on the streets. This notion, however, is also untrue as outside the realm of rural America, it is not much different in the States. So, after ruling out all these options, the only thing left is purses.

Purses, you ask? Yes, purses. I always have, and most likely always will, never understand why women need so many - but that is not the issue here. I'm referring to men and purses. Latvian men wear these little purse-bags. No, they are not with flamboyantly colored materials covered in sequins or a billion dangling charms; they are just basic little camera-bag type purses.

Upon first noticing them, I laughed. What fags! But then I started thinking: How many of us men are constantly having our legs fall asleep when sitting in a hard, or even a cushioned chair due to the wallet in our back pocket cutting off circulation? And how many of us are sick of wearing holes in our jeans where the keys or cell phone wear through the pockets when rubbed against a wall or tight space? And how many of us are sick of crushing or bending papers, letters, or anything by putting them in our pockets so we can function, hands-free?

Man-bags, or Murses (man-purses), would actually be a beneficial accessory to us men in the States. What American decided that purses are just for women? I'm starting to think HE was the fag who, attempting to conceal his gayness, thought if by going without the purse he somehow demonstrated a more masculine appearance.

I've considered purchasing one of these purses myself but I am stopped by the knowledge that however utilitarian they may be, once back in the States, they become a symbol of femininity and I am consigned to live as the society in which I live. But forget that - I've always enjoyed sticking it to the man. I'm just concerned about what the ladies will think.

Laundry

2008-05-07T01:52:00.010-06:00

My landlord has been promising to install a washing machine in the flat ever since I moved in. It has been 3 weeks now. Last week I had to do laundry in the bathroom sink. This week he finally came through and brought us a machine. The catch, however, was that we would have to wait another 2 weeks before he could get someone to install it. He proposed that if we wanted in done sooner, we do it ourselves. The roomies inquired if I could install it. I figured I could, but declined. Of all the skills I've acquired working maintainence, the most valuable has been the ability to recognize when a seemingly simple project has the potential to go really bad very easily. With hardly any tools or spare plumbing parts, this was sure to be that type of project.

My roommates went ahead themselves in the endeavor. And what was I to do? Sit there and watch? Heak, if they were going to do it anyways I decided to join in with the yanking and prodding. Sure enough, a little drip-drip and before you know it, yelling, and then water everywhere. The water lines had been tweaked so that they would not re-seal and it was one humongous wet mess. Luckily, upon notice of the dilemma, our landlord arrived with a few vital tools and the machine was installed hitch free. Why he didn't offer the few wrenches we needed in the first place, we may never know.

Me and Little John, running through the forest...

2008-05-06T01:30:00.005-06:00

The 5-day weekend was eventful. Thursday and Friday were spent just kickin' around town. There were some concerts in the park, some festivals, and some good weather which were enjoyed. The real weekend began at 6AM Saturday morning. I had previously expressed my desire to visit the capital of Estonia to some of the friends in the branch. A few decided they wanted to go too. My proposal to travel by bus (a short 4 hour ride) didn't go over well due to financial constraints. They proposed the best option to be thumbing for rides all the way up. Incredulously I asked if that would really work to which they gave their firm affirmations that it would, backing it up with the fact that they had done it many times before. I was stoked. I was to hitch-hike my way from Riga, Latvia to Talinn, Estonia. What could be more adventurous than that?

As mentioned, I got up at 6AM and met up with Zane, Jo, and Simona and we took a bus to the outskirts of the city where immediately we began thumbing. Within just a minute a car pulled over and picked the 4 of us up. The lady was only going about 10 kilometers in our direction but that was a great start. We got out and proceeded to thumb again. Another minute or so after and a commercial van pulled over. Amazingly, this van was going directly to Talinn. Unfortunately, it only had room for two so Zane and Jo took off leaving Simona and me to the mercies of the driving masses. An hour after getting left, we finally got a ride. This car, however, like the first, only took us 10 or so kilometers. After that, we got another ride another 10 or so kilometers.

It was at this spot, after 3 rides taking us maybe some 50 kilometers outside of Riga, that Simona and I would be stranded for 4 hours - FOUR HOURS. By the time we received a text announcing the arrival of Zane and Jo in Talinn, I was so fed up with it all I said screw it, walked to the others side of the road, and began hitching for home. My great adventure had been laid to waste.

After a further hour and a half, a heaven-sent messenger pulled over and took us straight to Riga.

What a horrible experience. Never again will I attempt that crap.

Independence Day was fun. There were celebrations and concerts and activities around town. At first I kinda laughed thinking how ironic it was that Latvians, after being occupied for practically most of their entire existence as a state, were so exuberantly celebrating their independence. After giving it some thought, however, I realized that for that very reason, they had all the more reason to celebrate. It was funny, once I realized this I almost got a bit emotional. Freedom is something that EVERYONE desires, and Latvians, only in the past 15 years have truly gained it. I suppose it makes it all the more sweeter to them, as it should.

The day's festivals were followed by everyone watching the national hockey team get their butts kicked 6-0 by Canada in the World Hockey Championships. For them it's ok though. Hockey happens to be their favorite sport and the national team, although getting completely tramped by both the USA and Canada, is good enough to consistently qualify for international play, which makes them very proud.

On Monday I decided to visit a region in Central Latvia named Sigulda. Locals call it "the Switzerland of Latvia." I have yet to visit Switzerland but I'd say this is more like a...West Virginia maybe. It is gorgeous, however. There is a national park and a bunch of medieval castles and ruins all over the place.

I jumped on a 7:45AM train and wandered around taking pictures and hiking for 8 hours before coming back to Riga. It was awesome. I was in nature. No city. Few people. Fresh air. Centuries old castles. European forests and woods, that were totally new and different to me. There was moss and growth everywhere. I felt like Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. It was a great, and I mean a GREAT day. I felt totally liberated. I must have hiked10 miles or so. I came home just in time for Family Home Evening and no one could believe I was there all day long. On Sunday they all had told me a couple hours was more than enough time to spend there. Well...I'm going back for another day because there is still so much to see and do.

It's probably that I'm an American, who has never seen an actual castle in his entire life, that makes it all so intriguing. When I wasn't Robin Hood, I was running around defending the fortress against invaders as arrows and stones were being hurled my way with people yelling and falling from the high castle walls. It's every child's dreams after all the fairy tales and Disney movies we've all been raised on. All the Europeans are just like, "meh, that's cool - there's a castle in my back yard." Just wait though, when they cross the pond and see their first red rock, they'll be a cowboy fleeing for his life from a band of savaged Apaches who want their scalps. That is what I think of when I'm there anyways.

Why They're the Coolest

2008-05-03T08:09:00.003-06:00

No time for an entry today - I'm at an internet cafe so it's costing me. I wasn't even planning on writing today, but I just want to draw attention to my buddy Ben's blog. I strongly encourage all to go to the link on the side of the page named Bunjamin, and watch the video posted in the entry called "driving like jason bourne..." It....is....AWESOME. This is why I love these guys so much! Enjoy.

Does a Body Good

2008-05-02T04:38:00.006-06:00

There is a dairy farm somewhere in Morgan County, Ut that my parents have bought their milk from for years. The milkman comes twice a week at some absurdly early hour in the morning bringing the freshest, most delicious milk one could ask for (I believe it is called RoseMary Dairy, or Rose Hill, or Rose whatever - that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet). Being raised on it, I was always spoiled. The problem, however, was that I naturally became accustomed to it and, consequently, store-bought milk just never did it for me. Upon moving out of the house, however, I was forced to allow store-bought milk to do it for me and, like all things, after a while, the store-bought became customary.

Latvian milk is a different story. It has this strange, almost earthy, aftertaste - as if you had just put your mouth on a dirty, udder nipple and sucked the milk out yourself. This first month, I have not drunk (drank? drunken?) much milk. This week, however, was a milestone week in that for the first time I drank some milk and thought, "hey, there's no dirty, udder flavor...." Congratulatory remarks to me. (You know, the more I think about this, the more I realize how the tenses of "to drink" form outright weird words. Drank? I mean, that is a strange word when given some thought.)

The best thing about Latvian milk is that it doesn't come as the usual Skim, 1%, 2%, and Whole. No, no; they have 0.5%, 1%, 1.5%, 2%, 2.3%, 2.8%, 3.5% and, a whopping 3.8%, which is currently stocked in my refrigerator. There is so much more variety to choose from. Why anyone needs such a rather arbitrarily wide selection I'm not really sure. But I am not complaining as the 3.8% feels so good going down.

The only problem I have to deal with now, however, is that milk only comes in volumes of 1 lt and 1.5 lt. So, just like with everything else, I have to go to the store seemingly ever other day.

Happy May Days!

2008-05-01T02:25:00.006-06:00

Just the thought of a 3-day weekend makes Americans giddy with boyish excitement. Let me, however, suggest an even better alternative: the 5-day weekend. Yes, the U.S. may be the model for freedom, but Latvians have the right idea about holidays. Today begins May Days, a combination of 3 separate holidays (labor day, independence day, and some other day that apparently merits leisure) into one super holiday. This place is dead right now - stores closed, streets substantially less crowded, and I happen to be the only one in the office today, the only reason being to have internet access. It's great. They will have concerts and festivals in the squares and parks all 5 days. So from the beautiful city of Riga, Latvia...Happy May Days!

On a separate note, Phillip and I have discovered a tricky new way to deal with pesky street vendors and guys that follow you around prodding you into their strip clubs. These guys are obnoxious. They always approach everyone immediately speaking English, assuming all are foreigners. When approached, I immediately begin speaking Spanish while Phillip speaks German simultaneously. Their reactions are priceless. Some of them give a very blank look of confusion; others just seem to fade away in a perceivable state of sheepishness. Naturally, we feel very clever and laugh (in Spanish and German, of course).

From where, doing what?

2008-04-30T01:14:00.004-06:00

There is always a feeling of apprehension, maybe a little unease, when meeting new roommates. The thoughts of how well you will coexist always occupy most the space in your mind the first few minutes, or maybe even hours, that you are with them. It was such the case today as I met Toby and Phillip. After a few minutes, I decided that they weren't just alright, but they were pretty cool. As is the case with the majority of the educated world, they speak English but, being the minority by 2/3, I figure some German would come in handy.

Being the most "local" of the 3 of us, I was appointed by majority vote as the guide for the night and we went out in search of some drinks. Now, since I am not a drinker, my expertise on the good spots were vastly limited, so I took them to this spot in Old Town that's like an outdoor cafe with tables out in one of the big town squares. I've always wanted to go there and just sit and chill but never had a reason to.

We had a good, little chill. My 2 new freunds (ah, see, I'm learning already) commented on the similarities between the Latvian beer and their home brews. I commented how the Coke Zero the waitress brought me tasted like crap and how come I got that instead of the normal Coke I asked for.

Toby, a civil engineering student from Hamburg, is interning with a German firm based in Riga. Phillip, from Frankfurt, is a law student interning at the German embassy. I am an international relations student from Kaysville, Ut interning at an NGO (yes, the ambiguities that constitute my life make for difficult conversation with OR without language barriers).

Ammenities

2008-04-29T01:14:00.006-06:00

The supermarkets in Latvia intrigue me. They are so small and the selection so scant. There are no baggers, that you do yourself, and the only bags available are small plastic bags about half the size of one of the plastic bags you and I would think of. It seems like I, along with everyone else, am stopping by to get groceries every other day because you just can't fit all the groceries, say, for a week, in enough of the little bags.

Now, I have my theories behind this shopping culture so foreign to me. My first instinct told me that it's because they're so poor they only can afford to buy enough food to last a couple days at a time. This was soon debunked, however, as I realized these people here, at least HERE, in the city center, have money.

Next, I thought that maybe nobody has refrigerators so they only buy just enough food so it won't spoil. Again, this isn't true. Like the States, everybody has a fridge.

Finally, I came to the conclusion that possibly these small supermarkets are a carry over from communist days when state run food stores were the only means of purchasing food and people only got small rations at a time. I may be wrong, but that would be my guess. The idea of big, U.S. style supermarket, let alone a Costco or Sam's Club, would probably be viewed as so completely unnecessary it would make me laugh.

Which brings me to my next point, garbage disposals. There was a very nice, German girl that worked here at TI with me for a week or two before she left. One day we were talking and she asked me what the deal was with those things in the kitchen sink that suck everything down the drain. She couldn't understand why those existed. Excitedly I went off on the swirling water and the sucking power and the ease with which you can get rid of those food scraps, and the swirling sucking motion, and how easy it is to dispose of unwanted food scraps, ect, ect, ect. She just looked at me with a blank look and said, "but you can just throw the scraps in the trash." Oh, well, yeah, I guess you could actually; never thought of that.

Albeit unnecessary, I still like them. There's nothing like the action of a 1/3 horsepower electric motor under the kitchen sink than can suck water and make it swirl down the drain, taking with it unwanted scraps of food, that eats and sucks down the water and food in swirling motions, taking with it the water and scraps of food and the...

A First For Everything

2008-04-28T01:12:00.006-06:00

I have never seen a beaver before. In all my jaunts and gallivants in the forests and mountains not once have I seen a beaver. I've seen beaver dams, but not the inhabitants. On Friday night, swimming in the Riga city canal, I saw two beavers. I was shocked. Right in the middle of the city were these 2 beavers just swimming around. Now I have seen a beaver.

I have never seen the Baltic Sea before. On Saturday, I grabbed my backpack and found my way to the coast. As usual, I missed the correct bus stop and ended up at the end of the route in some little town that clearly was not my intended destination. This was not the coastal town I wanted - there was no coast in sight, anywhere. I found it wise just to head back on the same route hoping to find the right place. Sure enough, a couple miles back I found a place that looked well touristed and got off there. It turned out to be the right place.

Jurmala is the resort town of Latvia. It resembles a Newport Beach or a Park City, a typical resort town feeling with little streets filled with shops and little, ornate houses. I meandered through it until I came to the beach and had a raucous time:

As you can see, it was bristled with excitement. I ate my lunch and read and sat, all for 3 hours or so. It was actually quite pleasant simply being out of the city, in the sunshine and salty breeze. Now I have seen the Baltic Sea.

I have never been on a Latvian train. To return back to Riga I opted to take the train. Turns out it was not only cheaper than the bus, but much more enjoyable (it glides through the country-side as apposed to the highway which winds through all the cities and towns along the way). Now I have been on a Latvian train.

Good Times in Latvia

2008-04-25T01:53:00.005-06:00

The other day I saw a lady in her 60's, probably, cruising down the sidewalks on a Razor scooter. It was definitely the coolest thing I'd seen for a while.

Today I saw a guy on a moped pop a wheelie and ride it the length of the block - ON A MOPED. That too was nicely astonishing.

I decided I need to find an old bike in a dumpster or something so I can cruise around, ride out to the coast, ride into the countryside. That would be sweet.

Remember the hot dog I ate my first week here? The one that tasted like the vienna sausage? Despite the fact that that was a less than grand experience, I still love hot dogs and went to the store to see if I might find some good franks or something. There was quite the selection to behold. Not being able to read what exactly each type was, my choosing ability was limited. I picked some that looked good and were just a little bit pricier, with the hopes that they were better quality. I went home and opened the package to find that the hotdogs were all linked together. It was a giant chain of hot dogs! I'd never seen anything like it accept in cartoons. It was fantastic! So, chuckling to myself, I pulled out the links, dangled them about, draped them around my neck, took some pictures, it was great fun. And then I cut off a couple and put them in the frying pan (just kidding. I didn't drape them around my neck; that would be weird). They weren't bad. It was no kosher Costco-dog, that is certain, but it was definitely a step up from the street hot dog. Plus, I got some good giggles out the experience. Oh, life is good.

Prone People

2008-04-22T03:02:00.011-06:00

Great news! In trying to figure out my class schedule for this fall I realized I have been on the wrong track this whole time! I thought I was emphasizing in International Politics when in reality I've been on track for the Political Economy emphasis. So what does that mean? Well, unless I want to be in school for 2 more years, I have to pretty much take econ classes for the rest of my undergrad. Fantastic. Forget that my lowest grades are already from econ classes. You know what else? When all is done, I will be just 2 courses short of a BS in Economics - TWO. I am basically being forced to get a major in Economics. Oh this is fabulous. Why not just bump it up to a major and get a joint degree! And heak, while I'm at it, let's just move the Spanish minor up to a major and get a triple major! Dang it. I will just have to sweat this thing out and get out of there.

This makes me think of all the prones there are in the world. There are accident prone people, success prone people, and mistake prone people, just to name a few. I seem to fit neatly into the category of the very latter. I fear that my lack of detail is beginning catch up with me.

Who knows, in the end maybe this mistake of mine will be a blessing. Just like when I totally spaced when singing up for Driver's Ed by putting my birthday down as being 3/11/84 instead of 4/11/84. I didn't even realize I had done that until after I was put in a driver's group all with people whose birthdays were in February and March and wondered why I was the only April birthday. So, while it was the norm to get your driver's license a month or two after your birthday, I got mine the week of. Of course, those who didn't know me didn't believe I had made an honest mistake. Those who knew me well, maybe thought I had made an honest mistake? Ah well. To a 16 year old, that was the best mistake that could have possibly ever been made.

A Happy Family

2008-04-21T13:20:00.003-06:00

It's common knowledge that Nutella is kind of a European thing. They put it on toast and crackers and crepes and the like. I put it on pieces of bread when the sweet tooth rolls around later in the evening. It's a interesting thing, Nutella. They say it is a "hazelnut spread" as if that means it's healthy for you. In reality it's just a weak, processed chocolate spread. Upon close inspection of the nutrition facts, it reads that only 0.5% is actually hazelnut. That's not even worth mentioning. I don't think they would even mention it if they weren't marketing the product as "hazelnut spread." Instead, they would say something like, "contains an insignificant amount of hazelnut" like they do when it's something bad for you like sodium or trans fat.

Why am I writing about this? Not sure.

For Family Home Evening (between7-10 singles from the area meet at the senior missionaries home each week - it's fun), they wanted me to talk about my mission briefly. The jungles of Central America are even more foreign to Latvians than to Americans so they just kept asking questions. I spoke of the Nica culture and lifestyle, the diarrhea and upchucking in the front yard, the bugs and animals, eating cow tongue and brain, eating iguana, getting on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride in the form of public transport everyday, eating nothing but rice, beans, tortillas, and boiled bananas practically everyday, getting bit by dogs, getting bit by millions of the tiniest ants and mosquitoes one could imagine, seeing the biggest ants you can imagine, you know, Tropical 101. Naturally, I was enthralled at having such an enthused audience. That right there was a truly symbiotic relationship.

Halleluja

2008-04-20T12:48:00.010-06:00

As always, church was a great little part of the week. The branch is probably around 100 members or so big, which is really good for just a branch. There isn't a chapel but they have a floor in a building which is just about a 5 minute walk from my place. As previously mentioned, there are so many Americans, sacrament meeting is translated by one of the missionaries into English for us all. It's a good experience to be the one wearing the headset. I think we take it for granted already speaking the lingua franca of the Church. There is a Sunday school class in English, however, which is nice. The best part about church, however, is singing the hymns. Here's why:

(if it doesn't work try this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6a75BDoJqg&feature=related )

I've only ever seen a few Mr. Bean episodes; this happens to be one of them. Funny enough, this same thing happens to me each Sunday. Despite my best efforts to lift my voice in Latvian, it mostly comes out as unintelligible mush. It makes me laugh actually.

When it is possible for me to pronunciate the words, however, it sounds as if a Latino, not an American, is attempting to speak Latvian. This too makes me laugh. My good buddy Ben served as a missionary in Korea and later spent a good amount of time in China. Needless to say, he has very good grasp on the Asian languages. He, being a very smart guy, has also picked up a considerable amount of Spanish. The funny thing is, when he speaks Spanish, it sounds as if an Asian is trying to speak Spanish. If I were majoring in linguistics, I'd probably do a study on this phenomenon. Since I am not, I will just laugh at it.

Saturday in the Park

2008-04-19T12:03:00.003-06:00

The sun shone the entire day. It was nothing but blue skies, still a little chilly, but oh so nice. I found a park bench and soaked it all up. There were people out everywhere walking, talking, all enjoying a sunny Saturday. Birds chirping, ducks quacking, and a guy playing a saxophone nearby all made for a pleasant array of ambient noise as I sat there and read. My good buddy Andrew, on various occasions, told me how much he loved The Jungle Books by Rudyard Kipling; so when I found a paperback copy in a bookstore, I bought it. He did not lie. It is a great story.

After reading for sometime I got up, meandered the narrow streets of Old Riga, and found my way down to the river. The Daugava, like all rivers that has hosted a citiy for ages, is dark dark brown with no visibility. It is still nice to just go sit by it and look out though - sort of peaceful. Honestly, I can not believe how many big churches they crammed within this tiny old town. There may be 7-10 of them, with 5 or 6 of them being humongous, and it only takes maybe 20 minutes to circumvent the entire town. I seriously ask why on earth they kept making these things - there is no way they could fill one of them on any given day, let alone 10. It's baffling. It makes for a very quaint, little city though - good for strolls.

Of all these friends and lovers...

2008-04-18T13:46:00.012-06:00

In my boredom and solitude here in the cold Latvian nights, I have turned to the only friends I can - The Beatles. Yes, documentaries on Youtube are abundant, sweetly filling many hours of time. So for lack of anything else to write tonight (the day went well, I started using down time to study for the GRE), I will write on my favorite topic in popular culture as if I too were being interviewed in a Beatles' documentary. If you don't want to hear about it, I don't blame you - stop reading now. For the rest, maybe only my Dad, keep reading:

Dad was a big fan. The first time I can ever recall hearing about The Beatles I must have been only 6 or 7. We were in a poster shop for some reason and I saw a poster of the coolest car I'd ever seen, it was a Lamborghini I think and I wanted it. I remember my dad, with a quirky smile, holding up another poster, asking if I didn't want that one instead. I still remember it today. It was this very picture:

"Who are they?" I asked. They were 4 guys with long, grungy hair, nothing cool to a kid. My Mom said, "no you don't want them" as she pushed Dad out of the way with that "oh brother" type of attitude. Dad just smiled and said something like, "they were The Beatles and they were the coolest band ever." The Beetles? huh? Well, to a young child, even if they were the coolest ever, 4 guys were no where near as cool as a sweet looking car so naturally, I got the Lamborghini poster and that was that.

Although Dad was a big fan, the only Beatles music he had were two cassettes: one had a recording of Abbey Road on one side and the old Hey Jude album on the other, and the other was Revolver. I'm not sure if it was because money was tight or because Mom didn't like them or what that he only had those two (probably a mixture of both). I remember however, my Dad putting Hey Jude in one day as we were driving or something (I was around 9 at the time) and it was like the greatest thing I'd ever heard. After that I listened to it over and over and over again on my little tape recorder. Oh, it was so good, every time I just loved it. I was hooked. Dad would point them out on the radio and give me history about the songs and whatnot. It was great.

That year for Christmas I received the red album on cassette tapes. Yes, the Greatest Hits (1963 - 1966). I can't tell you how great it was. Three months later I got the blue album (Greatest Hits 1967-1970) for my birthday and again, it was so good. For the next five years, those 30 or so songs became my own personal soundtrack. When happy, I'd listen to one of those tapes. When sad or frustrated, I'd listen to one of those tapes. It seemed like every emotion I ever had, The Beatles catered to it. They still do.

I remember watching TV one Saturday night and Dad was just flipping through the channels and stumbled upon A Hard Day's Night on PBS. I never knew they made a movie! Imagine my excitement when Dad told me they had others too. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before! I actually got to see The Beatles play their songs and run around (that's all the film entails really). I was in heaven. I thought that those 4 guys were the absolute greatest guys in the world! After that, we just had to watch Help!. Again, it was like a whole new world had been opened up to me. I just loved every second of it. After seeing them, not only did I love their music, I wanted to be them (Girls may have had their crushes on one of them, but I wanted to be Paul McCartney. As I've grown up(wait...I'm a grown up? I didn't think grown-ups wanted to be anyone else?), George has become my favorite and naturally, he's the one I want to be, even now).

For my 12th birthday, I wanted to go to the Hansen Planetarium to see The Beatles' lazer show. Oh man, words can't express how incredible that was. I was so into it that I vividly remember Dad telling me to stop singing because I might be disrupting the people around us.

Naturally, when I wanted to learn guitar around the age of 14, it was Beatles' tunes with which I taught myself. To this day, there is nothing more therapeutic than rendering the introspective You've Got to Hide Your Love Away.

When I turned 16, I used some birthday money and went out and bought my very first Beatles' album on cd. It was A Hard Day's Night. I couldn't wait to get home and play it. And I did, over and over and over. Then with the money I earned lifeguarding, each pay check I'd go out and buy an album. Every time I'd come home, go into my room, shut the door behind me, and just listen to the entire album. I remember so well how amazing all the new songs I'd never heard before were, the ones that I never heard on the radio or on the Greatest Hits - songs like I've Just Seen a Face and Getting Better and I've Got a Feeling. These previously unheard of and seldom aired songs just blew my mind.

There was one time when I was in my room just jamming out, pretending to be Paul, holding a pretend bass, shaking my head and lip-syncing to All My Loving when Mom walked in. I felt a little foolish. As a young boy I wouldn't have felt embarrassed, however, I was probably 17 then.

At the very early stage of my affinity, I well remember watching a Paul McCartney concert that was broadcast on TV with Dad. It was awesome to see an aged Paul still rock. It had never even occurred to me that The Beatles had grown up. Upon realizing this, I asked what had happened to The Beatles. Dad told me. I was completely heartbroken. My heart actually ached. It was absolutely awful. I feel the same feelings now when it doesn't work out with a girl. This was real heartache. In my mind, The Beatles were like family - my best, most intimate friends.

Many years have passed since I was first introduced to the Fab Four and in those years there were always times of great happiness and times of sorrow and grief and all the times in between. In each of those times, no matter what I felt, The Beatles sang to me. I have loved other groups as well - Led Zeppelin comes in at second, followed by the Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd and others. None of them, however, carry the same emotion, the same feelings that The Beatles do. For instance, just 2 days before I was to leave Nicaragua as a missionary, Let It Be came on the radio as we were in a taxi. I cried. It was such an emotional time. I was ecstatic to be going home but at the same time so sad to leave the people I had grown to love so much. The timeless message sunk deep into my heart as I realized it was my time to move on to a different stage in life.

I know all this may sound pretentious and superfluous; you're entitled to think that. But just today, I put on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and immediately, it was like I was in a different world. And I'm entitled to that world.

Defensive Driving

2008-04-17T10:00:00.005-06:00

Latvian stoplights: I barely noticed them for the first 2 weeks I've been here. Today, being my 15th day in Latvia, I noticed them. I'm not sure if it's this way in the rest of post-Soviet Europe or even Europe as a whole, but the lights turn green to yellow to red and instead of going directly from red to green, they turn yellow first. I thought yellow meant 'caution!' but here it means, 'ok, almost time to go! not yet, but in a second!' I'm not really sure I understand the logic of it all; different system I guess. Can you imagine the accidents that would happen in the States from this? While the law book says yellow means 'caution,' the vulgate interpretation is 'quick! you can make it!' and so everyone accelerates. A yellow preceding a green would only make for a mess at every intersection as the North-South traffic sped up to the make the light and simultaneously the East-West traffic tried to be the first off the line. I guess Latvians are just more civilized behind the wheel.

This reminds me of something I learned in an economics class. It has been statistically proven that when people feel more physically secure/safe, they are more reckless and thus more accidents occur. It makes sense. When I first found out that old football players only wore cloth padding and leather helmets I asked my dad if they got hurt a lot. He told me that actually there was less injury because the players weren't as rough with each other then knowing how easily they could get injured. In reference to driving, the study noted that seatbelts and airbags make drivers feel more secure and therefore they are prone to drive faster and more reckless. The real answer to decrease the number of accidents on the street, my professor noted, is to put sharp spikes facing the driver on the steering wheel. Yep, that would do it.

What I Do

2008-04-16T07:44:00.002-06:00

New places are always somewhat uncomfortable at first. I am in my new apartment for the first night. It's a nice place, in a good location right in downtown Riga, and currently I don't have any roommates, nevertheless, it is a bit unnerving being here in this strange place. The internet hasn't been connected yet so I thought the next few nights were going to be especially boring. But no! I'm mooching someone's wireless signal!

The Latvian countryside is interesting. This pancake-flat country's landscape doesn't have a lot of variance, but it is pleasantly pretty. I had to take an 90 minute bus ride out to a small city today for work. It's funny how many different random U.S. based firms exist out here. Today we interviewed a door and window manufacturer headquartered in Oregon. The interviews basically consist of us surveying them about their perceptions of corruption in Latvia. Once we have our research done, we will make up a report of the findings which will be given to our boss who will then use that info, together with other projects, to compile general reports for Transparency International headquarters in Berlin. The work is actually quite interesting and while there may not be much notoriety for TI in the normal world, the fields of political science and international relations all view it as very reputable and beneficial organization. So, while most people have no clue exactly who it is that I'm interning for and what it is that they do, it's ok. Basically I'm making the world a better place. I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, so we'll just leave it at that.

I found my new favorite place to eat today. There's this Russian dish called pelmeni which is basically just ravolli, Russian style. It is good stuff, and there's no better bang for your buck over here. This place is expensive! For those who don't know, the current exchange rate is 1:0.45. That's one dollar for 0.45 Lats. Everything is double here. So when I can fill my belly for 3 US bucks, that's stellar.

Desk Jobs

2008-04-15T04:58:00.006-06:00

Lifeguarding seems like the ideal summer job. You sit there at the pool, looking cool, getting tan. What most people don't consider, however, is that while you sit there looking cool, you are merely watching people have fun while you sit there sweating. In actuality, being a lifeguard is straight-up boring.

I had my days of lifeguarding (3 years to be exact). I've also had a number of other jobs, some good, some horrible. (The library was awful. Talk about boring; it was me and the books for 4 hours a day.) Now I'm experiencing a whole new world, a desk job. It's like uncharted territory for me. I come in the office around 10am, plug in, and sit down, where I SIT, pretty much until 5 o'clock. I mean, I have work to do, mostly research work. But I sit here, all day long. Is this normal? Is this really what happens to people between 8am and 5pm? Wow. It never really occurred to me this is it. Well actually, I do remember doing a job-shadow thing and going with my dad to work one day. Now THAT was quite possibly the most boring day of my early pubescent life. I have to give him credit because he tried to make it exciting for me, but alas, the desk job just isn't for spectators. One of my buddies' dad is a gynecologist. Needles to say, he never went to work with his dad.

I found a place to live finally. I got a hold of this German guy who rents out to German exchange students and interns and whatnot. He was going to give me a spot in the closet of one of his apartments. It was a bigger closet - big enough for a bed, small desk and suitcase maybe - and I was desperate so I thought it better than sleeping in the park (which I thought I might have to do my first night in Latvia). However, just today he bought a brand new place and right now I'm the only one there. It's actually quite nice, better than a closet anyways.

Home Away From Home

2008-04-13T09:59:00.007-06:00

Ah Sunday, that special day of the week. As my family will tell you, as a kid I hated Sundays. It was the longest, most boring day of the week. The only thing I could do was antagonize my sisters, and I did. I got yelled at on Sunday more than any other day.

As a new missionary in the MTC, Sundays became the best day of the week, a true day of rest without any classes. If I was lucky, I could even sneak in a 15 minute nap. In the mission field, I soon learned that Sundays were the worst, most stressful day of the week - at least in Nicaragua this was the case. It was 2 hours of frantic activity trying to get the 10 people who committed going to church to church, then it was 3 hours of church, trying to make sure those people were ok, then, instead of a relaxing Sunday afternoon, it was off to the streets again. It was just that long day at the end of a week of rigorous missionary work.

Now, Sundays take on a different meaning for me. It is the one day where I feel at home. The branch here is actually quite strong as far as small branches go. About 1/3 of the branch are Americans. There are three entire families, two of whom work at the Embassy here, a slew of missionaries, a foreign exchange student from Michigan (who, cool enough, met the missionaries out here and recently got baptized a few weeks ago), and me. While the meetings are held in Latvian, it's all translated into English through headsets. I don't really even know anybody, and granted, the meetings can be a drag sometimes, but it's still feels comfortable just being there. After today's meetings, the missionaries invited me over to lunch. Once a month the whole zone goes over to the Hunter's home and has lunch after church. That was a treat. Dang, I would have killed for something like that as a missionary. As a Latin American serving missionary all I got were baptisms.

Finding the Sun

2008-04-12T13:56:00.013-06:00

In the Baltics, seeing the sun shine is a rare phenomenon this time of year. And Spring, with its life and warm excitement, doesn't arrive until May. I've been here a week and a half now and the sun has manifest itself to me twice, each time lasting no more than an hour or so. It somewhat depresses me, almost putting me in a state of claustrophobia having it be cloudy all the time. Such is life. Paul McCartney once eloquently sang, "tomorrow may rain so, I'll follow the sun." While true in its intended poetical context, there's not always a sun to follow; the only option being to wait for it to come out. So we must wait. I must wait.

I write about this for 3 reasons. First, I just watched a Beatles documentary - those are the best. They say you should major in what you really love. If only. But now I can hear everyone telling me, "if only you spent as much time studying what you're in school for..." Yeah, well...Second, I really do miss the sun. (Spring in Utah is my favorite season: it's warming up and turning green but the peaks are still covered in snow. It's one of the few times when I can have my cake and eat it too.) Third, my good buddy Dave recently posted a blog entry (dluxlife.blogspot.com) in which he mentions that the sweet, soft I'll Follow the Sun by The Beatles is one of his new favorites. He mentioned how sad it is that all us roomates are splitting up. I'm here, Ben is in Ghana, Andrew leaves for Europe next week - soon to be followed by Cody, and Dave is transfering schools. This all wounldn't be so bad if we were all coming back to each other, but were not. Ben and Cody are graduating and taking jobs outside the state and, as mentioned, Dave is transfereing schools. Andrew, luckily for me, will still be around applying for grad school. Seriously, what a sad thing to happen. I think of all the fun we've shared, the times when 5 guys in their mid-20s couldn't get any stupider. All the bonfires, the campfires in the front lawn, the housefires; the jam sessions; the backpacking trips, the climbing trips, the ski trips, the LDS trips; the countless hours on our longboards; hosting themed dress up parties; the mustaches we've grown, the laughs shared, and even the tears we've cried will be greatly missed. Who could ask for better friends? No one, I say; no one.

So, here's to us all. Because life undoudedtly will give us cloudy days, let us each find the sun that we are to follow, and follow it.

My Day

2008-04-11T11:54:00.008-06:00

Have you ever woken up and thought, "today's my birthday!"? I have. But not today. I wasn't reminded until I checked my email. Either I'm getting old or finally turning into a man, or both. So here I am, 24 years old. I don't know what's more odd, that I'm 24, or that I'm in Latvia? You tell me.

There was practically no work today in the office. We're waiting on pending requests to interview American businesses here and can't do much until we get those done. So, I took off early, made a few calls to find a place to live (I'm still searching), and then I was off. I spent the majority of the day in 2 museums. The Musuem of the Occuptation of Latvia was a thriller as far as musuems go. It's fittingly housed in an unproccessed Soviet bunker. As far as bleak 20th century histories go, Latvia takes the cake: Soviet oppresion with mass deportations to Siberian work camps for a decade, then Nazi rule for a few years, and then back to the Soviets for 45 years. These guys never caught a break.

The Latvian Museum of War was also a good place to get lost for a few hours, which I did.

In the middle of the city lies a massive Russian Orthodox church which I pass most days. On my way back this eveing, since I had time, I decided to venture inside. I hit the jackpot as far as being in the right place at the right time - I had just walked in on their mass, I think. It was totally different than anything I've ever seen as far as Christianity is concerned. At first I thought, "man this is wierd," and then I realized, "I'm Mormon. Everyone thinks I do wierd things." haha. Even-Stevens.

It being my birthday, you might ask: I wonder how Josh celbrated his birthday? If you didn't ask that: shame on you. If it weren't for those who wished me a happy birthday in emails, I wouldn't even have remembered myself. What if they hadn't cared either? I'd most likely be sitting here alone doing nothing. Oh wait...
For those of you who did wonder, here you go:

The Maestro

2008-04-10T12:50:00.010-06:00

The Latvian National Symphonic Orchestra is first rate. Tonight they performed at the Dome Cathedral. I wanted something to do tonight so I went. A symphony in a medieval church is about as cultured as you get if you ask me. It was really good for the most part. The evening started out with an organ performance. Have you ever noted that that all the showboat pieces, the ones that are composed to display the performer's best talent, are always the dark, dreary, seldom melodic pieces? No exception here. It began as somewhat eerie, then turned a little creepy, then, it got boring, then it went spooky again, then it crescendoed into something outright freaky, and then, with the one dulcit sounding chord in the whole 15 minute piece, it died out. Wierd. During the boring part of the organ performance I noticed that well groomed facial hair on older men isn't quite as taboo here in the Baltics as it is back home. I wonder why that is. Not that I have any qualms about, I think it's awesome. Old men can pull it off with a real air of dignity; and they do here. Maybe when I'm old, and finally dignified, whoever decides what goes and what doesn't will decide that it's ok for Americans to have beards.

Once the organist decided he had sufficiently wierded most of us out, the rest of the concert was very enjoyable. Some Bach and Mozart. The best part was the conductor; this guy was textbook. He had the long, shock white hair and he was completely emersed in the music. I wanted to video him but I realized I had yet to turn off those annoying beeps the camera makes at every push of a button and I didn't think the people around me would appreciate hearing those. I couldn't help but smile watching him as he put his entire life out there. I'd like to feel that emotionally attached to something one day. Then, when I look like a fool, people will just smile and say, "Isn't it cool how into it he is?"

Impressive and Excessive

2008-04-09T11:46:00.008-06:00

I was able to explore two of the big attractions Latvia has to offer: 2 medieval cathedrals. It was neat. The unknown history of this place astounds me. One of the first things I noticed about Riga, however, was how clean it was. I don't know why, but I was expecting it to be alot dirtier than it is. (I know, I shouldn't assuassme.) Rarely will you find litter in the streets, there are garbage bins all over, and the entire inner city transportation network of trains and busses is run off electricity. It is really quite impressive. What's not impressive is the apartment I checked out this evening. It's exactly what you'd image a Soviet inner city housing project to be like. It's not that I mind living in less than desireable conditions - Nicaragua provided 2 years of that. The real issue concerns the 9 tenants I'd be sharing the apartment with.

As I was out, I passed a Hare Krishna-run restaurant. I thought, "I wonder if they're throwing colored poweder at each other in there? I'm in!" and, naturally, I went in. The vegatarian staples weren't bad actually. It was quite the contrast, however, from the hotdog I ate for lunch a few days ago. It looked like a normal hotdog you'd find in the States but there were two differences. First, the bun was thicker and tastier than a typical American hotdog bun; this was evident before I even bit into it. +1 point for the Latvian hotdog! The actual wiener itself, however, was a different story. It was like a giant, warm vienna sausage. It's not like it was bad - I myself enjoy a nibble on a vienna sausage from time to time. But that's the thing - a NIBBLE. This thing just got old after a few bites. Maybe that explains why vienna sausages are so little?

Life's Doldrums

2008-04-08T09:25:00.004-06:00

Much to my displeasure, a well-written and engaging novel will always have some doldrum in the story. I suppose this is to give the reader a break from the suspense or action or whatever the author is spoon feeding his readers. I remeber the first time I ever read The Fellowship of the Ring. That whole part at Tom Bombadil's just bored me to death; to this day I can't read through it. Today must have been one of those parts. Nothing really happened. I woke up, went to work, did my intern thing, and came home. Currently, as I write this, I'm watching the BBC World Service, which happens to be the only channel available in English. I actually quite enjoy it. Some might say that my affinity for world news would be a significant doldrum in my life; fair enough.

This morning I tried using Skype to call home. Just yesterday I bought a headset so I figured I should put it to use and make a call to the 801. Around 4pm Riga time (7am MDT) I dialed up my parents. My mother picked up with the usual "hello?." I responded excitedly. All I heard, however, was a repeated, "hello?," "hello?," and then, she hung up. huh? Apparently I need to do something to fix the microphone settings on my computer.

Bad Directions?

2008-04-07T13:46:00.013-06:00

I officially began my job as an intern for Transparency International-Latvia. Currently, we are in the process of surveying all the businesses registered with the American Chamber of Commerce here in Latvia. The survey is basically just an elongated questionaire asking opinions concerning the corruption in Latvia. Some of the companies seem very eager to take part. Others, namely Phillip Morris, have been outright rude in their denial of corrupt activies and won't give us the time of day. I guess this shouldn't come as a huge suprise considering they expedite the mortality rate of their consumers. Maybe I'm just being synical and presumptuous. I shouldn't assume as much. My mother always told me (well, she mentioned it a few times) that when you assume, you make an ASS out of U and and ASS out of ME. But that would spell assuassme which doesn't really make any sense at all. Why I ever believed her I don't know. I think it was just her way of being able to swear. On Scout outings Dad always joined in with the "dam" jokes and I suppose Mom wanted to show how cool she was too. Can I blame her?

The hostel I bunked in for the past 5 nights is in the hindsights (for now). The previos intern has left, but his place was paid for up until the 16th, so he offered it to me. So it is here that I will reside for the next 9 days. I really don't mind being a transient, especially when it is in my fiscal favor. Looking for a place can be quite difficult. Today, for instance, I made arrangements with a women to see a flat for rent. At the designated time I went to the place where we were to meet. After a half hour's wait, she had yet to show. So I left. I figured she most likely wasn't coming. Plus, I had plans - it was Family Home Evening at my new BFFs home! I hadn't been so excited for Family Home Evening since I was 9 and we went for hamburgers at Artic Circle. So there I was, strolling down the cooblestone streets of central Riga following the directions to get to the Hunter's appartment. Upon arriving at what I thought was the right building, and searching...and searching, I never found the right place. Strike two for the day. Maybe I don't listen well? Maybe people don't spell things out clear enough? Maybe I assuassme too much? Maybe it's just my bad luck? The good thing about it all is that each time I go somewhere new without knowing exactly where I'm going, I see a new part of the city. Yeah, that's it - good, old Riga and I getting intimate.

New Friends

2008-04-06T13:10:00.006-06:00

Conference Weekend went well. I can say that I hadn't looked forward to General Conference with so much anticipation since I was a missionary. The only difference between then and now however was that now I was simply so excited to go so I could have "friends" for a bit. And it was nice. So now I can say that I have friends; Elder and Sister Hunter are now my new BFFs. Now, I know they're old enough to be my grandparents but that doesn't matter.

On Sunday morning I hopped on the bus I thought went right past the chapel (which lies about 20 minutes away by bus). Soon enough however, I realized this bus was not going to the chapel at all (I had gone yesterday, tagging along with the missionaries, so I knew enough to know I was not in the right place). And yes, soon enough I was the only passenger left on the bus. The old Russian woman who takes tickets kept looking at me as if to say, "ah ah? when?" and I could only smile awkwardly. Finally we arrived at the final stop and she motioned to get off. Great. I wandered around asking if anyone knew English. Some said no, a few shook their heads, and one lady wouldn't even respond - maybe she thought I was trying to sell her something; I don't know. Eventually I found a guy who spoke English, and asked him if just by a small, smidgen of a chance, he knew where the Mormon church was. To my utter astonishment, he did! Not only did he know where it was, he was going on the bus the would pass right by it! I was saved! I would not be left out to be eaten by wolves!

So here I was on this bus, thinking life's all hunkey-dorey going to church - I mean, I had just been miraculously rescued! Well, along comes the ticket taker (again, an older Russian woman. They're all babushkas. Why? I don't know. But a fact nonetheless) asking to see my ticket. I don't really understand why they even have tickets because you pay the driver when you get on, just like you would in the States. Then, once in a while, this "conduktora" comes around asking for the ticket the driver gave you, as if to make sure you didn't somehow sneak by him in the narrow little entrance onto the bus. Well, I couldn't find the stupid stub. Before you know it, I have this old babushka yelling at me and then writing up a citation and asking me to pay a 2 Lat fine ($4.00). (sigh) Through this, the guy who was helping me find the church, Goethe by name, graciously tried to explain to her that I did pay, that he saw me, and to ask the driver for assurance. Needless to say, NOPE. To add to it all, this occurred as we passed the chapel, which meant that when I finally paid her, waited for her to write out this citation, and got off the bus, I had to backtrack a good distance back to the chapel. hmmmm. At least making new friends made me feel better (and maybe they will invite me over to dinner one day).

Oh Sweet Sweet Hostel

2008-04-05T23:41:00.001-06:00

Riga, Latvia has all the old world charm of a medieval village with the modern day elegance of the world's busiest cities. It was in this place that I found myself on Wednesday night, having just flown in from Dublin, Ireland. My suitcase - having conveniently come out onto the carousel as the second to last - in hand, I wandered over to the the nearby atm. I pulled some cash and was sent into anaphalactic shock($1 buys me 0.45 Lats. not cool). I then went over to the information booth and asked how to get into the city. A pretty young Latvian woman who spoke good English told me of a good hostel to stay at and how to get there. I was to catch a certain bus outside on the street that would take me to the center of the city and close to the hostel.
So there I was, a stranger in a strange land on a strange bus with strange people who spoke a strange language going to a location I did not know. Upon recognizing the described stop to get off on, I got off the bus and began wandering the streets of central Riga looking for the hostel - it was about 9:30pm. After some 2 hours, and all sorts of discrepant directions from young Latvians with basic English skills, I came to the hostel.
This wouldn't have been so frustrating had I not spent 2 hours lost in the streets of Dublin earlier that day. I had a 9 hour layover in Dublin, which gave me some time to explore the capital city of Ireland. Needless to say, that city is whack. Street signs are few and far between, the streets meander this-way-and-that, the street workers - who you assume speak English but are barely intelligible to an untrained American ear, making me feel like a fool! - were almost no help at all, and...to make things worse, there was a thick fog making it hard to see anything all culminated to make my Irish experience less than desirable (sigh). But, I have been there! Ha!