Monday, April 28, 2014


A while ago I was on a train, when, as rarely, but still too often for my comfort (though not as often as when I was in Perú), happens, a man who was selling something got on and began peddling his wares, which in this case were musical.

He was asking everybody on the train the same question,

(Protip: if you are trying to sell something on a train, first of all, stop it; and second, don't ask everyone the same question or the other people on the train will catch on quickly)

so when he came up to me and said,


I was ready with a scathing response:


Completely unruffled, he said


and moved on to the next person, leaving me to wonder: does he say that to everybody, or am I just really white?

Friday, April 25, 2014


The other day I was making my way home on an unbusy 39 when the time came to pull the cord--too soon, as usual, because the 39 from TRAX is just long enough for me to get into the Wikipedia article I'm reading, but not long enough to finish it.

(On an unrelated note, did you know that the English language contains many delightful pangrams? Such as:

Waltz, bad nymph, for quick jigs vex!

Go, lazy fat vixen; be shrewd, jump quick.

Jackdaws love my big sphinx of quartz.

Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs.

Amazingly few discotheques provide jukeboxes.

The wizard quickly jinxed the gnomes before they vaporized.

Moving on . . . )

Soon though the bus stop had come, however, it was not my day to make a quick exit.  The doors began opening on cue; though they continued opening, their progress was so slow as to barely be perceptible to the human eye. I waited for them long enough that I became a little self-conscious, but they continued opening at a pace that could be generously described as geologic.

As soon as the doors had opened wide enough for my frame to dart between them, I fled. Relieved that I had at last escaped the slowest doors in the world, I calmly trudged home.

(The bus was a '99.  Coincidence?  I doubt it.)

Monday, April 21, 2014


Dear stupid Provo driver:

I'm sure you think nothing of your habit of honking at the car in front of you as soon as the light turns green--you've probably done it hundreds of times, and it sure is rude of the car in front of you not to take off like a maniac as soon as the light changes; don't they know that where you're going is the most important? Sheesh.

Except for that one time when you honked at the person in front of you like usual, but they didn't go because


I hope you felt the stare of every single person at that intersection upon you after you honked. I hope that feeling sank deep into your soul, to the point that you never honk at someone at a traffic light again.


Monday, April 7, 2014


To say that I have gotten out of touch with popular culture would be to imply that I was in touch with it at some time in the past, which is clearly untrue  Nevertheless, intimations of the outside world do sometimes flit about the edges of my consciousness, and occasionally (usually against my will) make it into the inner sanctum of my thought processes.

So it is that recently on the Facebook and in other places I have heard about this movie "Frozen" and a certain song in that movie that has been alternately loved, imitated, parodied, or pilloried, depending on whom you ask.  I still haven't seen the movie, and I made it an awfully long time without hearing that song.  But then this one time I was on FrontRunner . . .

I have already explained at length my feelings on 6-year-old girls singing along elsewhere, so it will not surprise you, dear reader, that I was less than enthused that it was happening to me at that moment.  I gathered what the song was by the repetition of the words


and after about two minutes decided I had heard enough of the song not only to understand everything anybody had said about it on Facebook, but to not need to hear it ever again.

But, you see, I was on FrontRunner . . .

let it go let it go let it go let it go let it go
I was trying to study music, so the distraction proved untenable.  I tried to stave it off by listening to some thick organ music

(Forget key signatures being irrelevant in Scriabin--can we talk about key signatures being irrelevant in Bach?  Modulating to E-flat minor?  Who does that in the Baroque period?)

but when the music ended the singing was still coming from the end of the car.  Take a look at the video: it's 12 minutes long.  That means "Let it go" was on repeat.  I did what anyone else would have done; I went to a different car and studied my music in peace.

Because, you see, FrontRunner is not like being trapped in an eternal winter; you can at least move to a different car.

Image from

Wednesday, April 2, 2014


From the bottom.  I so rarely actually get off at Lehi that I thought I had better take advantage.  I realize it's a bear to walk up, but I was quite struck by the visual impression the first time I saw it.  At the right time of day it's quite pretty when the light comes in from the top.