Covet Righteousness

I graduated from Brigham Young University of Idaho in December 2008. I websurf quite a bit these days, and today my past brought me to a BYU-I website. The guidelines and rules it promotes, even demands, are well-intended.

It was at this university where I learned and developed a personal theory: Absolutes are unhealthy (which in of itself is an absolute). The Honor Code at BYU-I is a document that must be signed in order to attend. In fact, it must be followed with strict adherence. If it is not, a student may be expelled or suspended. More, the student may be subject to ecclesiastical discipline.

If I were to attend undergraduate school again, my personal, fundamental differences would lead me elsewhere. Although my Personal Code conflicts with the Honor Code, I suppose I have BYU-I to thank for helping me develop my own moral guidelines.

Killing is not always wrong. Prayer is not always the answer. Open minds can open doors. Closed minds can close them. Circumstance and situation are the fingerprints of life.

BYU-I Student Honor Website

A Tree Grows in Manhattan

Walking toward Central Park, I noticed an old friend – A 1985 Chrysler Le Baron Town & Country Wagon with wood panels: Fondly nicknamed, The Tree. I drove The Tree for two or three years in high school. It was a classic car with character. The Tree would chime at me when driving over a bump or when I “gently” tapped on the dash. Sometimes she chimed for no reason at all. We joked that she would chime if you donated coins to the change box below the radio … and sometimes she did.

Fully equipped with turbo, The Tree left many surprised victims trailing in the dust. In fact, it was often difficult to determine its exact speed: the speedometer sometimes fluctuated radically. On one occasion there must have been fifteen people piled in her trunk as we fled from a high school hazing scene. I wasn’t sure if I was going 70 or 30 mph.

It is possible that the wagon I saw on the corner of 86th Street and Madison Ave was The Tree. I inspected the car the best I could without looking too obvious. Mostly, I was looking for a specific marking. My Tree had a perfect circle burnt into the fabric on the inside of the driver’s side door. One soccer practice a teammate with questionable citizenship thought it wise to brand the car with a cigarette lighter.

You see, we sold her years ago, I believe it was in 2001. She was having a few problems, and she developed a bad smoking habit. A nice looking woman bought the car for a fair price. My father outlined the known problems and made sure she understood the sale was final. A week or two later, a not-so-nice-looking woman returned the car and demanded a refund. The little rascal didn’t want to leave. My father refused. She left the car with us without a refund. Sadly, we shipped The Tree to the chopping block, a local junkyard. Her location is now unknown.

I have lived in Idaho, Alberta, and New York. I have seen trees in all three places. Yet, I was still unable to confirm The Tree sighting. If I find this car and it is possible, I will purchase her freedom and let her roam the forests of the Great Northwest. If you or anyone you know has any information to The Tree’s whereabouts, please contact me.

What Lies Beneath

Hundreds of people sit and stare at computer screens in a 15-story building in Manhattan’s East Village. I sit in the southeast corner of the 14th floor. If I lean far enough to my left and then lean some more, I can see the Financial District outside a window. Directly beneath me is J. Crew headquarters, a Billboard recording studio, Kmart, AOL, subway tunnels, and more.

The floor above me is mostly unoccupied – hundreds of thousands of dollars of empty space. Even my floor is only 70% full. Provided an internet connection, I could accomplish 90% of all work related tasks from anywhere in the world.

Today, I have corresponded with JP Morgan and Deutsche Bank, sold tickets to the US OPEN, researched my picks for an upcoming fantasy football draft, purchased a Dust Buster at Kmart, walked through Washington Square Park, posted to this blog, chatted with numerous friends, searched for apartments, looked for jobs, read through the New York Times, and created an online forum where NYC Mormons can communicate housing, transportation, and commerce.

Do nothing long enough and it becomes your expectation. A woman asked me to do a small, five-minute project today, but because I rarely do anything, I was irritated. Just for fun, I completed it in an hour and eleven minutes. 1:11.