A Sample of Nielsen

It is likely that I will soon begin a new job. The Nielsen Company has denied my request to work part-time while staying in Idaho. My feelings are not hurt. Nielsen, after all, provides a product and service that I do not entirely support. I was frequently asked to supply, format, and analyze media-related data. Often times the data was corrupt. Many times I was asked to compare dissimilar data in order to create a "better picture" for clients. Nielsen TV ratings are gleaned from 20,000 devices which are installed in 20,000 of the 114 million plus American homes. Sample science, it is called. Sample science, to me, means showing up early to Costco or Sam's Club Saturday mornings.

My current life circumstance provokes reflection. I am a single, unemployed college graduate. Society, especially Mormondom, will have a person believe that this is extremely undesirable. I disagree. I am desirable. I am a Costco sample. Eat me.

The Cold War

I write best when I'm comfortably warm. Sixty-eight degrees is the maximum temperature within my parent's home, but this alone does not affect my writing. Yet, it is true that often times I can see my breath.

Man's body temperature fluctuates around 98.6 degrees. The spirit, I have discovered, is void of temperature. The soul, on the other hand, is a peculiar thing. Its temperature is based upon gravity, but not like gravity as man recognizes it most. The soul heats or cools based on the gravity of life circumstances. Its temperature, however, can be manipulated with practice. The temperature of my soul is usually around 72 degrees. It's quite odd, though, my soul temperature has recently aligned with the room temperature of my parent's house, 68.

My soul has cooled. I will warm it slowly. A quick heating back to 72 could be traumatic.

Fortune Faded

Hong Kong, a Chinese restaurant in Idaho Falls, tells false fortunes. Three men entered and were seated. Two ordered food. The check came with two fortune cookies. One curious man cracked open his fortune and read it aloud. The large waitress returned. "I forgot to give you three cookies," she said.

I reached for the tardy cookie and broke it. With the fortune in one hand and the shattered remains of the cookie on the table, I read the fortune silently. The text on the small paper delivered not a fortune, but an epiphany. My fortune was identical to the curious man's. The cookie fragments remained on the table motionless like my heart, but I did eat. Could we have the same fortune? Impossible. Do true fortunes only come to those who order food? No way.

Shocked and frustrated, I needed release. With the normal deliverance miles away, I settled for competition. We picked up a fourth man and returned to my home. To some, table tennis might be a leisurely activity. To the four townies of Idaho Falls, it is a fierce battle of manhood. My partner and I finished the night undefeated. The curious man who sat across me at Hong Kong may have been given an identical fortune, but as he stood across me at the ping pong table, it was clear that our fortunes are not entirely linear. Thus, I have lost all faith in fortunes--Cookies I will continue to eat.