Eat a crocodile? I'll do 't.

I found another poem I wrote quite a while ago. When I was a sophomore in high school, my friend, Tyler Panian, needed a poem to critique for his English class, so I made this one up on the spot. so really, he wrote it; I merely dictated.

Watery Grave

by: Alexander Johnston Hale

A crocodile lives in my pool.
Some people think he's really cool.
But don't be fooled,
'Cause he's not nice;
He will bite your face off...
Twice!

These are some Valentine's Day Haiku's I wrote this year for a Family Home Evening activity, and they are called The Happy Valentine's D's:

Delusion

So full of passion,
But I have no one to love,
So, what do you say?

Dejection
I think of your eyes:
They are blue like the river
rushing right past me.

Disquiet
My heart beats for you
Like an army of drummers
Just as annoying.

Didn't even knoet

I typed my full name (Alexander Johnston Hale) into Google to see if anything would come up, and to my great amazement and amusement, a link to poetry.com showed up with a poem that I had written more than 10 years ago!

While on an LDS mission in Nebraska, my brother, Ryan, told me about how obsessed everyone there was about Cornhusker football. I guess it was so silly to my 12- or 13-year-old mind that I wrote a poem about it.

without further ado, my poem:

Football in Nebraska

by: Alexander Johnston Hale

Once, while sitting on my bed,
A clock fell down and struck my head
As consciousness left me I fell to the ground
And laid there, no motion, not even a sound.

When I awoke I looked at the clock
It must have been broken, no more tick, no more tock.
Without any knowledge of how long I'd been out,
I left my room to go walk about.

I went to the window. something was wrong;
Not a child at play, and no birds singing songs
The sky looked so gloomy, the streets looked so bare,
I ventured to think that no one was there.

Was I the last person? was I the last soul?
Was it just in my neighborhood? or the world as a whole?
What would I do? how would I survive
If I was the last person, the last thing still alive?

Then it struck me, like lightning, like the clock to the head
I realized how long I had been in bed
I ran back to my room. how could I be so retarded?!
The Cornhuskers were playing and the game already started!

I have no idea how it got onto poetry.com, but I gave it a 10.

My own wake

While trying to make the most moral decision, selfish farsightedness led to probably the biggest mistake I've ever made with a relationship. I lost what was more than a chance. Now in the emotional scramble of a second attempt, nearly hopeless for what could have been, a spiritual insight has made all my moral efforts free of regret: The victory is not in winning love, but in loving. I loved, and will continue to love.

Donating my boomerang to science

One day in my psychology of humor class I jokingly made a side comment to a fellow student that the incongruity theory of humor was like the flight of a boomerang. It kind of made sense, but there hadn’t been very much thought behind it beyond the impulse. When a creative project was assigned, I told my colleague (it becoming a running joke) that I was going to whittle a boomerang. I don’t know how serious I was with the idea, but I had to “stick to my boomerangs” every time the creative project was brought up. I have always wanted to whittle a boomerang, so that’s what I ended up doing. I haven’t whittled anything since Pinewood Derbies, and I’ve only ever thrown a boomerang once before (it was one of those triangular Aerobie boomerangs), so I decided that it would be creative enough, and probably take far longer than the required eight hours of work for the project (which it did). I had to make two of them. The first one worked so well that I threw it around until it broke... three days before I had to present it. I was so upset about it breaking that I not only fixed it, but I made another one. Two boomerangs! I was so focused on making the boomerangs that I forgot about having to explain how a boomerang relates to the psychology of humor.

Here’s the analytical rundown:

Incongruity theory explains that an important (and in the theory’s case, essential) aspect of humor is its incongruous deviation from expectation. A boomerang satisfies this criterion very well: When a boomerang is thrown, it is expected to move and act like any normal object of that size and mass—move straight for as far as the energy provided can propel it. However, a boomerang begins to fly differently from the norm shortly after it is released; it curves in an elliptical path until, if thrown correctly, it returns to the thrower. Now, the incongruity of any joke is merely confusing if there is no deeper explanation to the unexpected deviation; the intelligent, alternative explanation (wit) elicits a mirthful response (possibly laughter) indicating that the experience was humorous. This is satisfied by the understanding of Bernoulli’s Principle: As air on the top of each arm (or airfoil) moves a farther distance over a curved path in the same amount of time as the air moving in a straight path on the bottom, the increased airspeed on the top has lower pressure (the principle itself) than the unaltered airspeed on the bottom which creates lift in the direction of the low pressure. Therefore, a boomerang is pulled in the direction of the curved face of the airfoil. That sounds all smart n’ crap, and it completely explains the incongruous behavior of the boomerang! The result: humor. If you don’t believe that this whole process is funny, then why did everybody chuckle when I told ‘em I was whittling a boomerang?! (If you can think of anything, keep it to yourself, this isn’t about you)

Another aspect of humor is that it follows a basic, three-act pattern:

Act I: The Introduction of the plot—a boomerang is thrown. Off it goes, straight, just like everyone expected.

Act II: The Conflict or plot twist — to everyone’s shock and amazement, the boomerang curves (I bet you thought I was going to say it “twists”... or "conflicts")

Act III: The Resolution—the boomerang returns safely to its owner, unharmed, having learned a valuable lesson.

A Laugh is born!
Right now I'm thinking of a crying laugh... straight out of the womb... a paradox?

Sigmund Freud has an explanation for this just as he does for everything else. His Psychoanalytic Theory of humor states that the laughter and mirth resulting from this humorous experience are just the outlet for excess libidinal energy which built up in act II from all the suspense and tension (don’t deny it) when, to our relief, act III shows you that there’s really nothing to worry about anymore.

The Reversal Theory of humor explains that laughter and the feeling of mirth are a result of the psychological interchange between the telic (serious, goal-driven) and paratelic (playful, inconsequential) mindsets in even, moderate ratios… probably something to do with Pythagoras and the Golden Mean, I’m sure. And, because everyone knows that returning boomerangs are used for hunting birds (telic), the playful use of boomerangs in recreation (paratelic) is funny!

The final concept I want to use is known as “The Circle of Expectation”. If you will please revert your attention to the facet of Incongruity Theory about (and explanation for) the deviations from the norm. As incongruity needs to be moderated in quality by requiring a sound alternative explanation, the Circle of Expectation moderates the quantity of incongruity so that it is not just a random deviation devoid of any logical tether. If the boomerang were to disappear and reappear 100 miles away, that would just be baffling or confusing, not humorous. It is expected that a person of my stature would be able to throw an object of similar size and mass up to 100 yards. Thus, the physical area of expected possible flight of the boomerang is restricted to a 100 yard radius with the thrower as the focal point. The flight path of the boomerang stays within the confines of the Circle of Expectation and does not lose any humor to confusion.

So, I whittled a boomerang for my psychology class. That incongruity with expected course-relevant assignments has hopefully been resolved in an intelligent and creative way. Perhaps it pushed the limits of the Circle of Expectation, but at least Freud helped us all return to some sound, level ground just as a boomerang returns ever-so-faithfully to its master.

These are the figures I used in class during my presentation

I finally whittled a boomerang. I'm supposed to do a creative project for my Psychology of Humor class, so I decided to hit two birds with one boomerang: 1. Complete my creative assignment. 2. Fulfill my dreams.

It's kind of a lame video that I took with my phone, so I'll try to get a better one up soon.

Dino-roar

Click "play" to see how I drew them!

I choo choo choose you.

Sometimes, I guess you have to care about someone enough to let them take themselves out of your life. You can't force somebody to care about you, because that's their responsibility. True love is the love that Jesus Christ has for us. It is a Spiritual Gift that cannot be attained by the natural man, but only through the power of the atonement, as a gift from our Savior. We are incapable of truly loving others without first loving Him. Through loving God, we are filled with the Spirit, and become capable of loving other people. That's why He commands us to love Him--because otherwise, we wouldn't be able to truly love each other. Thus, any righteous, loving relationship is merely an extension of the relationship we have with Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ loves us because he chooses to, not because we earn it. Our love can only be real and true if it is a choice as well, otherwise, it is just lust and infatuation; fickle, flighty, chemical, ephemeral. The difference between love and lust is agency. You don't have to choose to lust; that's natural. Love is harder than that, and because Christ has chosen to love everyone, there isn't anyone that doesn't deserve our love. If love is a choice that you are in control of, and everyone deserves your love, then I guess the selection of who you choose to be in relationships with (all levels of true friendship and relationship) depends on the trust you have that that person will be able to choose to love you. Maybe it takes some hard, rough, uncomfortable introspection to decide to be worthy of that trust. But if not, any love that was learned and chosen, even if not reciprocated, was worth your time. There is no better indication of the quality of our character than how much we choose to love those we can trust.


Without the ability to choose, water takes the path of least resistance, sometimes only to the ends of being dammed up in stagnant pools before ever reaching its goal. Our gift of agency allows us to choose things that are hard-- paths full of resistance-- so we can overcome our natural instincts and inclinations to take the easiest way. What it means to be an agent is to have the faith to choose what you know is right even and especially when you don't want to. It is good to make hard choices and risk our own comfort in order to reach our destinations. People are more than the way they make us feel. One of the hardest choices for me is to forget the way that people make me feel, and worry about the way I make them feel. That sounds a lot like love.
Oh, let the rain fall down and wash this world away. Oh, let the sky be gray. 'Cause, if it's ever gonna get any better, it's gotta get worse for a day.

To whom it may concern:

As you all know, yesterday was Mr. Cupid Valentine's birthday. We regret to inform you that despite our efforts and elevated awareness, we have not had any success in locating him. We strongly advise you to continue dismembering rose bushes, cutting out paper hearts, and purchasing chalky candies to support the cause. We appreciate all previous donations of monies and gift cards, and gratefully accept any further contribution (we accept Visa and MasterCard). Thank you for your support.

Regards,
Commercialism

All I know is that I don't not know nothing.

Politics is funny to me. It doesn't take a lot of effort to realize that what you thought yesterday isn't necessarily what you think now even when yesterday you thought that you would always think that way, so tomorrow you probably won't think the way you do today. Yet, everyone is so sure they know what's right for themselves and everyone else. I think that the biggest proof that someone isn't sure of what they claim to believe is stubbornness. How better can one try to convince oneself of correct conclusions than to ignore all other perspectives and react hostilely to new ideas.

Even in situations where there is an Ultimate Truth (not politics), few people are honest enough with themselves and/or focused enough on legitimate self mastery to want to find out what it is. Most people don't want to discover truth; they want to discover that they knew the truth all along. just like nobody wants you to be completely honest with them; they only want you to be completely honest about the good things you say about them. It's worth secretly being wrong today to avoid openly admitting you were wrong yesterday, especially if your stubbornness allows that secret to keep even you in the dark.

We're so afraid of being (or having been) wrong that instead of pursuing what's right, we'd rather convince ourselves that we were never wrong in the first place. We're so busy trying to persuade ourselves that we're right, that it seems the only defense we have against opposing opinions is to rile ourselves up in the polarized, irrational, mob mentality: that anyone who thinks differently is stupid or evil. If all of that is based on your initial thought that you've been working so hard to convince yourself is right (that was probably imposed on you by circumstance), then people just like you in different situations are probably thinking you are just as evil and stupid as you think they are. Think of school and sports rivalries. What are those based on if not thoughtless, random affiliation. What about Road Rage? How can getting angry at someone you don't even know improve your situation with them. When people get angry at you and think you're stupid, does that make you want to think they're right and justified in any act of aggression toward you? The more you hate, the more you become like those you hate so much. The more you think about it, the more you know. Do you want to?

Jump-start

I'm going to be busier this semester than last; I have a job now, I'm taking more credits, and the classes have larger workloads. Sitting in my Social Psychology class, I started to worry about it. When am I going to have time to rest and recharge? When am I going to have time to do what I want to do? When am I going to have time to not worry about the time I'm not going to have? That time seems so important. But when I'm busy doing nothing, I feel more susceptible to inertia than rejuvenation.

I think the process of waking up in the morning is more awakening than the extra hours you spent sleeping in. I can't remember the last time I took a nap and felt more awake after the nap. Why do you get so tired when your driving? it's probably one of the least strenuous thing you can do. Your body doesn't want to fall asleep when you're driving because it needs it, but because it thinks your trying to fall asleep because it hasn't really moved for so long. I think we like to compare ourselves to rechargeable batteries. When our cell phones, our laptops, or our iPods run out of juice, all you have to do is plug 'em in and wait for it to be full of energy again. By association and familiarity, I guess it's just natural to assume that your body works the same way. But the next time you feel tired in the middle of the day, try doing some push-ups, or go for a run instead of taking a nap. It's a lot quicker, a lot better for you, and a lot more effective. Wouldn't it be cool if all you had to do to recharge your cell phone was call someone?

The busier I am, the more productive my leisure time gets. The days I have things to do, I accomplish more than I plan, and the days I have no plans seem to be the least productive and the most exhausting. We aren't rechargeable batteries! We're car batteries, and we only charge when we're running!

Ff ff ffuh father chriss ff FATHER CHRISTMAS!!!

My favorite part of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe is when Father Christmas comes with the hopeful news that Aslan is in Narnia, the White Witch's powers are fading, and the cold of winter is coming to an end. His gifts of weapons also are strikingly similar to the Armo(u)r of God. I was thinking a little about that book today(I'm a big fan of Clive Staples Lewis) and it was always hard for me as a young kid growing up in southern California to understand what the big deal was with being "always winter and never Christmas." I loved Christmas, but the thought of being anywhere it was snowing (in my young, naive mind) seemed far more jolly than any present. The experience and wisdom I've acquired in recent years (living in Utah) has helped me understand this terrible truth: Winter = Death. For most of the people who have ever lived, that is a very real fact. If you entered the season without a large reserve of food, firewood, and body fat, it was curtains for sure.

We don't have to worry about "making it through the winter" anymore; most of us will live through it even without redoubling our efforts, but for those of us who still have to walk to school in the snow and brown street slush, the winter weather is less than desirable. But go ask anybody what their favorite time of year is; they'll probably say "Christmas Time." Not only does Christmas negate the bad feelings for winter, it makes it "The most wonderful time of the year." C.S. Lewis clearly illustrates that truth: Christ doesn't only overcome the pain of sin and perdition to a point of neutrality, but to exaltation. I know that Jesus wasn't really born in the winter time, but maybe it's an appropriate analogy to make the celebration of His birth have the same effect on the year as His atonement has on our lives.

Semantics

The most beneficial personal classification as far as distinction of truth is to be a realist with occasional appeal to nominalistic accusations of vague generality when circumstantially appropriate. Thus, authoritative status is preserved semantically while maintaining its value pragmatically.

Have you ever had a conversation with a mirror?

They never let you get a word in.

MMMM... Felt it!

I saw a Discovery Channel special once about elephants that paint. At first I just thought it was kind of silly because I've actually been to a zoo where they had one of the elephants grab a paintbrush, dip it in paint, and splotch it on a sheet of paper. It wasn't a big deal; there was no real form or subject or anything, just random smears of color. I'm pretty sure the elephant couldn't even see what it was doing, but it was a cute trick. Then the program showed some of these paintings, and that they sold for more than $500! That's ridiculous! The paintings were totally bogus. the only variations in them were the colors the trainers gave them to use and the elephant that made them (Jojo's were all crazy scribbles, and Srisiam's were all vertical lines). I couldn't believe they were calling it art. There is no artistic ability there. There's no skill. The elephants are incapable of even understanding what they're trying to do; how could they ever be expected to improve? All they know is if they do a trick, they'll get a treat. But then the program explained that the money from the sales was used to help protect Asian Elephants (they're endangered). That's art! Back when I watched that special, it explained that all of the profit from the sales would go to this fund except for the cost of material, I just went on the website the show talked about again today, and even though the prices for the paintings have gone way down, they're only donating $30 a painting.

What do we mean when we classify something as "art"? I think that's a good example of how our language is being destroyed: everybody means something different. The other day I was playing with spilled pepper on a table in the cafeteria and made it look like a frog's head. If you call that art, what word are we going to use to classify the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? it's like the word "Love": If you tell everyone you love them, you can't tell anyone you love them. It's alright for something to be beautiful without calling it art. Art is more than just beautiful things, it's the beauty of beauty in all of its forms. Everyone just wants credit for things that they are even remotely involved in; you see something you like, and you've got to stick your finger in it. After all, you can't have art without an artist, right? But isn't the purpose of art to express the feelings one has felt more effectively than through words by providing a sensual means of experiencing the same emotion the artist experienced? And if that isn't the common consensus, shouldn't it be? How can you do that without experiencing emotion in the first place? There has to be passion! with that understanding, the value of "art" and merit of that classification is directly proportional to the effort and motivation involved.

In my opinion, some of the most harmful things that someone can do to society is to give credit when it isn't deserved, withhold credit where credit is due, and to think that you're the one who deserves the credit. I'm guilty of that often. I'm too quick to give credit to people who's motivation is completely extrinsic and monetarily based (giving only to get), and too slow to give credit for all beautiful things to the Real Artist. Seldom do we really deserve credit. Just because we sometimes get to stick are finger in some of the beauty we've been blessed to be a part of doesn't make us the artist. Doesn't it seem fitting, then, to make our imitations of Real Art focus on Him? Art is more than aesthetics (as far as the colloquial meaning of that word). the beauty of art comes from passion. The ultimate passion is expressed through understanding the beauty of God's creations, thus, expressing the beauty of our own existence (being created by God), we can create true beauty: art. This emulation of God's power to create is art. Everything has already been created without us. All we can do is imitate.

Life is long and the world is huge

I've been learning the guitar. it's a very slow process, but I can tell I'm getting somewhere... sort of. My wonderfully soft model hands, though awesome, can't seem to do what my brain wants them to. Not only that, but the tips of the fingers on my left hand have become numb and calloused. All I want is to be way good right now and still keep my precious hands supple.

The reason some people are so good at the guitar is because they spend hours every day for years learning and practicing. I guess if it was something you could learn perfectly in a week, we wouldn't know any good guitar players because everyone would play at the same skill level. I haven't been fascinated with anyone's walking ability lately. Even though it's a pretty complicated task when you think about the balance and weight distribution involved, everyone does it to just about the same skill level. For the record, I do consider myself an exceptional walker. Now I listen to music more intently, paying attention to the skill required to play it (let alone write it) and I enjoy it more. Every day since I've been practicing, I hear a new song that I decide I have to learn to play. There are so many good musicians! I feel so small and insignificant compared to them, and those are only the ones I know about. There is so much out there that is bigger than me. it's kind of an exciting feeling. It's not a small world, no matter what Disney says. There's so much out there! So much to learn! It's a little overwhelming, but I've got plenty of time to learn how to play better, and the skill I acquire will be equal to the sacrifice I put into it. To play as well as I want to be able to might just cost a little more than the texture of my fingertips.