This Morning

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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!