Couple's Creative Hobbies

Well, world, I don't know if you noticed but Alia and I have been married for almost THREE MONTHS. I know it isn't a particularly long time in a geologic sense or anything, but it still seems like it has flown by to me.

The transition to Couplehood has been a bit, well, surprising, to tell you the truth. I figured that being married would be a continuation of us hanging out together, occasionally seeing some friends, and just pluggin along through life. The only difference from engaged life and married life, in my perspective, was that I wouldn't have to drive Alia home to that forsaken apartment complex, University Villa. Man, was that place a dump.

Anywhoodle, becoming a couple is much more than that, I have realized. I'm not sure if it was the couple months in a couple's ward that made me realize this, or just the other married friends that I have, but a good couple has to have some sort of creative hobby that makes them better than everyone else.

See, in the past, I measured my worth by the attractiveness of girls I dated. I won't say that I was always the best (no offense to any ex's that read this (why are you reading this anyway? move on.)), but I definitely snagged a good one at the end and married her. Basically, I was at the top of my game and felt sufficiently awesomer than my peers.

However, after marriage, nobody cared about that anymore. The other married couples wouldn't compare themselves unfavorably to me, since they were all married too! So, what was I to do? How could I brag to others and prove that I am the best?

After some really deep soul-and-blog-searching, I realized that in order to prove myself superior, I needed to have superior couple's hobbies. Weekly Battlestar Galactica marathons don't make you awesomer than other couples, but weekly sky diving trips do. You know what I mean. I had to nonchalantly pick up a hobby that I could casually drop in conversations at church to make me feel better than the other person.

Which is why, after considerable debate, Alia and I are becoming Bounty Hunters. Now, I'm not talking Dog level hunters, I mean if Boba Fett had an awesome wife, and they went around killing guys, he would always be judging himself off of US.

Now, I know what you are thinking, "Wow, that's so hardcore." Don't you think I know that? Forget scrap-booking--more like crap-booking. Even my amazing sisters, Stacy and Jenny...talents of cake decorating and photography leave a little to be desired, don't you think? Does your camera turn into a jet-pack, Jenny? Can you carbon freeze Han Solo with fondant, Stace? I thought not.

We aren't there yet, but it's a start. And, I am just so grateful to my supportive wife who doesn't condemn me for my dreams and aspirations, and gives me room to grow as a married man. She's always been there for me, watching my six and giving me reloads. I love you, honey.

And, I'm glad we are so much cooler than everybody else.

Alia's Costume Design. She wanted a more feminine feel.

Productivity Block

"What do you mean you don't have dry erase boards?" I bark at the elderly woman sitting behind the Customer Service counter at Home Depot. "I can buy a cement mixer, hot dogs and a heart-shaped toilet seat but piece of fiber board covered in glossy plastic is beyond the scope of Home Depot? I mean the building only covers the same ground area as an international airport. In fact, between the plants and the fountains, this place probably functions as its own eco-system, but where on Planet Depot would you find room to fit something practical?"

I am answered with the empty stare of bewilderment. This poor woman after 80 years of bare knuckle boxing her way through life, two world wars, The Great Depression, disco, Pearl Harbor the event and Pearl Harbor the movie, has now resigned herself to a bright orange smock and a name tag because she needs the health insurance to cover her litany of chronic illnesses trying to prevent her from the satisfaction of seeing the end of the world. And now she has me to contend with, badgering her about an item no one really needs unless they're giving a lecture on wave function relativity…or using it as a prop in a movie about someone giving a lecture on wave function relativity. 

I am searching for a dry erase board because I have Productivity Block. You know, like writer’s block only extending to any and every endeavor in life. And through the flawless prism of logic that I have constructed, a dry erase board will obviously assist me in fabricating efficiency. How, you ask? Because I can pace around my apartment wearing a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, squeakily scribbling down have-done’s and to-do’s in various colors of marker, depending on each items level of importance, circling some, underlining others. (I write the have-done’s so that I can have something to check off, thus providing the illusion of accomplishment. If I could do those things there’s no reason why I can’t do these things, right?). I can then place the preferably oversized whiteboard in an overwhelmingly obvious place on the wall, where I can see it no matter where I am in the room.

Okay, let’s be realistic. I don’t have Productivity Block. I could be productive if I wanted to. I have Productivity distraction. And the entirety of my blame falls squarely on the interwebs.

Culprit #1: Facebook.

If you are trying to be productive, Facebook will surreptitiously tip-toe into your room, softly press a pillow over the face of your productivity and deftly smother it to death. Do you log in to Facebook anymore? Do you even need to use a password? If not, then you are like me—a broken human, continually plugged in. You have now fully integrated with the social network. You are a freaking appendage of your Facebook status update. What is the point? To wait for someone to comment and validate your banal existence?

Culprit #2: Google.

Google is especially dangerous because it blankets you in the illusion of productivity. You say to yourself that you are on a quest for information and information is power! You start telling yourself you are looking for a chili recipe or a news story about the midterm election and 12 hours later you find yourself dehydrated, shaking, and concluding a 300-page Wikipedia entry about monarch butterflies. Another day wasted...but did you know the monarch butterfly is believed to have reached some of the islands it has colonized by hanging on to the riggings of ships?

Culprit #3: Everything Else on the Interwebs

YouTube, Chat, eBay, blogs, podcasts, etc. All of these things distract from a well-lived life. You can go on YouTube and literally not enjoy anything you watch for six hours but continue to search anyway. You can have a chat conversation with an old friend that takes three hours to type, yet fail to comprehend that the same conversation uttered in our native tongue would take three minutes. Ebay is a great way to not only blow a day but $500 as well. No, you don't need a collection of soup spoons used in the Roosevelt Room of the White House during the first Bush Administration... but throw in the linens and you might have yourself a deal.

So I have written this, and you are reading it. Oh no...you have gotten lost on your path to getting directions to Red Lobster. You are probably already drowning in a tidal wave of extraneous nothingness, submerged in a sea of Adam Lambert and cat videos and non-descript photos of mishaps with “fail” printed in power font across the bottom; I still have only a vague understanding of what that means, but if you spend more than 30 seconds looking at it, someone should stamp "fail" on your forehead. You have been trying to update your resume for weeks now, for goodness’s sake; I can't help you with that! Snap out of it, can you hear me? Run as fast as you can, shut this thing off and throw it through your window and scream at the top of your lungs, "I'm bored as heck and I won't take it anymore!"

But before you hurl your PC or Macbook, shattering the glass prison that enslaves you against the infinite opportunity that awaits outside your apartment, friend me on Facebook and click on a few banner ads! I love US Bank! Did you know you can deposit checks using your iPhone! Wow!

If I were you, I'd consider investing in a dry erase board.

Alia 

Inception

Well, it's been done. Inception. For those of you who have seen the movie, the titular procedure's success was tentative, as the entire film was a subversion of reality.

But, I am pleased to announce to you today that my lovely and amazingly astral empowered wife has done it. She tricked herself into studying while she sleeps.

You see, poor Alia has, for some time, been swimming in a sea of homework. I won't say she is drowning, because she's pure awesome, but it has been with as much effort as it would take me to eat a raw onion.

However, she has found a way to study while she sleeps. By implanting the idea of anatomy lectures, she has secretly been getting her RN in the dark hours of 12:00 am to 6:00am (not weekends or holidays). Her technique would have gone undetected, unacknowledged, were it not for the awful sleep I had last night.

I'd say it was about 3:30 am. The scene? Lying in bed, unable to drift back to my fantasies of becoming a post-apocalyptic John Connor, I was startled to see my previously slumbering sweetheart sit upright and suddenly call out "Bryce!? Bryce! Where are you?"

Now, if you don't know, Bryce is Alia's younger brother of 16, and known recipient of Alia's obligatory older sibling bullying and teasing. I sat in trepidation, wondering what heinous scheme would be unfurled upon me, if I was to be identified as her younger brother. I remained silent, quickly praying that I could avoid the possible tickling or punching or being convinced everybody was a demon (all things Alia would do to her poor brother and sisters).

Alia, however, was tenacious, and began to slap her hand around the bed like a blind beggar searching for dropped change. She quickly found my torso, and her hands leaped to my shoulder and began to shake me.

"Bryce! Bryce! Wake up, you have to wake up!"

Now, I was beginning to wonder to what extent was Alia's lack of lucidity, so I calmly responded (though I fear'd my tremulous palpitations would betray me),

"Who am I?"

Hoping I wouldn't get a joking 'Jean Valjean' response in return, I was slightly relieved to hear her response.

"You're Bryce, silly! You have to wake up!"

"Why do I have to wake up?"

"Because you have a camera around your neck!"

Well, this certainly wasn't the response I was expecting. Curious as to the new line of thought, I pushed ahead, cautious of what might lay before me.

"What kind of camera is it?"

This elicited a slap to her own forehead, in comedic frustration with my complete ineptitude.

"The kind of camera our FAMILY HAS!" her voice dripping with forced patience. "The only camera we own!"

I was curious still, however, at the exact purpose, and questioned her on the matter.

"What is the camera for?"

This brought another slap to her forehead. Clearly, we were not on the same plane here.

"You need it for the right side of the digestive system! You need it...for...for...the digestive system."

This dialog had clearly drained her energy, and she began to sink back on the bed. The cause, however, of the dream became clear.

Alia had planted the idea of running a endoscopic examination using a flexible camera to evaluate the digestive system. It was so simple, so brilliant, so much better than studying the textbook or going to labs! My wife is a genius!

So, when I informed Alia that this discourse had occurred, she was mildly embarrassed that I discovered her secret, but I assured her that nothing was wrong with different types of studying, as long as she didn't make me think I had to put my head on a train-track to see Spiderwing, my beloved, imaginary son.

So, Bravo, Alia. I'm not even sure Cobb, Arthur, and Ariadne could have come up with something so brilliant. Bravo.

But, you mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Baby names

So, for the past while, Alia has liked to occasionally bring up the topic of baby names. Now, this in no way implies that either of us is planning to have any need for baby names for a while, but discuss them we do. I think it stems from a socio-cultural atmosphere of baby making inherent in the Church, with it's history back to the far-flung days of yore when Alia was in Young Women and they would have activities like "Picking Baby Names", or "How to Choose an Appropriately Worthless Major in College while Still Showing You are Intelligent, So You Can Get Married and Use the 'Baby Names' Lesson".

Anyway(s), it has become a focal point of our...um, how did she phrase it?....debates. The problem being that I don't like any boy names. None. I hate most other boys, and I have always thought boy names were stupid.

Girl names are so euphonious; the way they lyrically drip off the tongue like warm syrup onto the Eggo's of my ears. Alia is a prime example. Beautiful name, good job Ang and Rich.

However, guys have names like Bob, Jermaine, and Spike. Additionally, any name that does sound good runs the very high risk of sounding effeminate. And if that isn't enough, as Alia and I are both the coolest nerds we know, and major geeks, we tend to want to use names we'd see in The Silmarillion or some other fantasy book/video game. I don't want to name my first son Turin Turambar.

Also, every time Alia mentioned a name, I would retort by saying that I knew a guy with that name, and he was a total loser, and if we named our child that, he would most certainly become a prostitute or a drug dealer or would buy Linkin Park CDs. All of which are completely unacceptable.

So, what to do?

Well, Alia asked me last night, while I was trying to fall asleep, but since I love her, I postponed my slumbers for a few minutes, considered it thoughtfully, and said the best name I could think of: Spiderwing. I mean, what's more awesome than Spider that could fly? Forget the ballooning or swinging--- a flying spider is a foe to be reckoned with.

Well, that was met with the appropriate punches in the arm and exasperated sighs. So, I thought a little bit harder, and came up with Merlin. Good name. Powerful wizard, and an older gentleman, the Patriarch, actually, in my stake had that name.

More punches. I guess that falls into the fantasy department.

And thus, as I laid there, with my arm bruised and my elbow bleeding, I realized that I should just give up. My opponent was stronger, faster, and better than me. I know Alia is going to name our children whatever she wants, regardless of my, dare I say, brilliant suggestions.

So, I formally surrender. Alia can name the kids. I've realized I'm worthless. With no power comes no responsibility, and I'm more than happy to rip off my pants and hand them to her.

Proverbially, that is.

Alex

Get Me to the Church on Time: What does "Yes" mean?

I'd be lying if I said the the shock of being married has abated. Every once and a while, Alex and I look at each other and know precisely what the other is thinking. Sometimes we don't say anything, but sometimes one of us vocalizes: "Holy crap we're married". We laugh, but inside we still haven't succumbed to purported monotony of married life. Okay, it's only been a couple months, but, for me at least, its hard to remember what it was like when we weren't married. To be honest, I try to block the whole dating scene out of my memory. I may have learned a lot, but sometimes in needlessly (no really, I was stupid) painful ways. Oh, dating...the laughter, the tears, the intrigue, the betrayal, the infamous fake-smile, the money not spent on dinners, the politics, the juggling act. SO not something I miss. But what did it mean to finally say "Yes" (we can all hold off on our comments concerning the word "finally"...I know how old I am every bit as much as you do). Yes. Three little letters. One short word. Of course it implies simple affirmation--nothing nebulous about it. But what does it mean, really, in the matrimonial sense? The decision to marry by two people who love each other is a larger than life decision, one that has the potential to outlive a mortgage. Celebrating a 25th wedding anniversary is not the same as making the final payment on a 25-year mortgage.

Yes means you’re willing to take your spouse to your most private world so that it can be enriched and made brighter with two lights instead of one.

Yes means playing blind to your spouse’s imperfections – be they physical or psychological – because imperfections remind us that the gifts from above are not perfect. They come to us as raw materials and it is up to us to refine and polish them.

Yes means the willingness to bring other human beings into this world, to give them a home and to tend to their needs, giving them the love and affection...at a much, much later date (bring them into the world at a later date, not hold off on showing affection until they're old).

Yes means arguing constructively and engaging in diplomatic...banter. There is no contradiction here. Argument can be healthy exercise, the process leads us to more knowledge and to a more enhanced realization of the situation, so long as we are really honest, and really willing to empathize. But fighting has to be carried out diplomatically. It takes a massive dose of openness to master it. And by that I mean, so long as the conclusive phrase "You're right Alia, I didn't mean to suggest that you were wrong" is included, we can diplomatically overcome any disagreement. Though, truly, I can't think of anything we've argued over. Now, I'm not so naive as to suppose it will never happen, but I know that Alex is a big enough person to handle things in a calculative and sensitive way.

Yes means sharing the other spouse’s frustrations and celebrating successes, confident in the belief that were it not for the other, their personal joys and success would be impossible.

Yes means exciting plans and projects for the future: a second home, fulfilling hobbies, travel to distant lands and taking on roles to expand horizons.

Finally, Yes means “I can.” I can make my spouse happy, I can ignore the pettiness of marriage, I can open up my feelings knowing I won’t be judged, and I can share what I have. Will you be able to rekindle the spark? Yes. Will you be able to offer the olive branch in spite of a horrendous quarrel? Yes. Will you be able to weather adversity with an extraordinary amount of calmness so you can think of solutions intelligently and not emotionally? Of course, I can.

...right? Oh, erm, Yes.

I'm not sure why or how we fall in love. I'm not sure why anyone would want to take me, quirks and all, and deal with me forever. As Albert Einstein said, "Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love".
So how does it happen? I'm not looking for a biological explanation, here. I'm not of the opinion that Love is a dirty trick played on us to achieve continuation of the species. No one knows....that's we we're careful about it. You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the slow-motion running across fields into your lover's arms can only come later, when you're sure they won't laugh if you trip. And I don't believe in soul mates, really. That would require two perfect people. No one is perfect, but Alex says I'm perfect for him. And so long as we're trying to be the best we can be, that's all that really matters in the long run, right?

Yes.

So thanks Alex. I love you. I'm glad I said Yes.

Alia

The Joy of Unread Books?

At any given moment, my house is littered with a number of unread books. Some I’ve started but abandoned; others I keep meaning to get to. The precarious stacks on the bedside table, the desk, the bookshelves—the ones that aren't occupied by homework, dinners-from-Christmas-past, hair products or bills, that is—inch ever higher, threatening to entomb us in our home “Cask of Amantillado” style. Two overflowing grocery bags sit on the kitchen counter, where they’ll gather dust until I eventually take them to the Strand. When I finally have the time and resolve to read something new, I become a promiscuous commitment-phobe, taking up with another book nightly until I find the one I’m ready to go the the distance with. And that's just the books that I have an inkling to read. What about The Controversies of Nutrition, or Chemistry: The Structure of Life, or Human Anatomy (third ed.)? In college, the list of arranged relationships is stifling. But for me, the line between loving books and feeling overwhelmed by them is practically imperceptible, and I know I’m not alone in this sentiment. The world needs an expression analogous to having “eyes bigger than your stomach.” Might I propose: bookshelves bigger than your apartment?

My theory? There’s no point in worrying about all those books you haven’t gotten to yet, because very often our preconceived idea of what a book will be is just as valid and enlightening as the book itself might be. I often find that the book I have read is somehow not as exciting as the book I had imagined reading. After all, no book is ever quite as good as it potentially could have been. An unread book is an intoxicating, romantic thing, and the act of reading is, in one sense, destructive: all that possibility is reined in, made finite. Certainly we all have ideas about books we haven’t read before we read them. That’s why we pick them up in the first place. These preconceived ideas can be useful, too: part of the performance of being well-read is the ability to know what a certain writer or novel represents, even if you haven’t actually read them (yet).

I recently came across an article by Kristy Logan, a noted contributer to the New Yorker, entitle "Confined by Pages: The Joy of Unread Books.As a writer, Logan looks to literature as more than a simple diversion. “These books have affected my writing, and I haven’t even read them. Maybe we can learn as much from our expectations of a story as we can from the actual words on the page,” she suggests. In other words, all the unread books on her shelves help Logan conjure ideas for her own writing, and each unread book means one more story she can possibly tell. It’s a powerful idea, but one that’s less useful to the more recreational reader (or the rueful writer).

There’s also a worrying confession tucked away in this counter-intuitive article. “I have about 800 unread books on my shelves,” Logan admits. Anyway you slice it, that’s an awful lot to leave to the imagination. Logan might be O.K. living with the constant reminder of the literature she has yet to consume, but in her circumstances, I know I’d just end up feeling like the poor sap from this classic episode of “The Twilight Zone.” It’s one that never fails to give me the willies. Surely there is joy in the unread book, but for me, it’s only to be found browsing at the bookstore.

(Of course, there is the irony that I sit here burning time writing about how I don't have any time...excuse me while I go read about cardiovascular disease.)

Alia

The Wedding Dinner: a series of delicious events

What a beautiful night! We were treated to a lovely and veritably feast, courtesy of the Crandalls. The candle-lit dinner was further illuminated by the loving presence and comments of friends and family who attended. Thanks to everyone who made the night so memorable.

Here's Mollie reading an excerpt from the her wedding gift to us--a book of photos memories that we will cherish for years to come! The company was lovely, the toasts were heart-felt, the setting exquisite. It began to really sink in for me that night ( IT being the notion of being married. No, really, married).

Alex was a bit sore over the enthusiasm adopted by those who described how persistent he had to be in order to finally convince me to marry him. Evidently he had to cajole, blandish and eventually bewitch me into submission. Hehe..FALSE! I was utterly enchanted by him--seduced from the beginning (shh...nobody knows!).

Alia

Pictures!

A random Giant troll by the ski jump

Jam Session outside of Skien tonight

The fjord where we swam and jammed

A viking ship! And an Alia!

I think she wanted to pull out her sword in excitement.

The enormous ski jump above Oslo.

I wish I could convey how huge it was

From a distance, it looks tiny. It's not. And, it's pure awesome. I have the hugest desire to try jumping on one some day.

An interesting monolithic pillar. It is one rock, took 14 years to carve.

A very large garden.

Artsy with the pillar.

Cool sculptures from the same artist.

Alia likes this one. I think it's pretty funny.

A very famous little baby, everybody comes to this park and takes pictures with it. Not everyone grabs the hands *cough*, thank you Chinese tourists.

A view from Oslo of the ocean/fjord.

Alex

The first post!

Hi.

I know this is an awful first post, but I thought I should put something down before I just start posting pictures and random thoughts.

Alia and I are ecstatic to be engaged (and with each other, too!), and we wanted to write a blog to start chronicling our various deeds and adventures, which will undoubtedly bring a little ray of sunshine into your drab, dull lives. Assuming you bother to check our blog, of course.

We have both been working (periodically) on the story of how we met--from our own, individual perspectives. Well, I have, at least. Alia's story is more like "How Alex connived his way into an engagement with me". Side note: She told me to write the story as our perspective as the protagonist.....I wonder who the antagonist is supposed to be.....hmm.

Anyway, that is still forthcoming. We are hard at work on it, I swear. All the little blog elves have been pulling extra shifts to write it.

Regardless, I wanted to post pictures of our trip in Scandinavia. I couldn't do that, however, to a blank blog, so here I am, busting this thing out and fulfilling my post quota for at least the next couple months.

I hope you are all absolutely riveted...like the Titanic. What an awful pun.

Alex