Tophography

Last night, I found myself wandering the unfortunately named Provo Towne Centre Mall. Firefox knows my locale, which, as far as I know, is also the same locale of the mall in south Provo. Because of this, Firefox is sufficiently intelligent to inform me that I spelled both “Towne” and “Centre” incorrectly, given my locale. Every time I see a sign owned by a person who apparently believes that British-izing their spelling makes things quaint or chic, I feel the need to offer the public the same courtesy that Firefox gives me, and spray-paint a large, red, squiggly line underneath the offensive words.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so judgmental. For all I know, the mall might exist is some “Little Britain” district of south Provo. It’s possible that in March of 1962, there was a great cod scarcity in the Atlantic, brought about the conceivable over-fishing of cod during the previous decade. This conceivable over-fishing could have been due to certain advances in frying techniques that might have been made in 1953, making the old, British standard of fish and chips even more popular. It’s logical to assume that if this potential string of events did, in fact, occur, that it could have lead to a great rise in a unemployment in those who worked in the fishing industry, leading to a possible exodus of British fishermen ending up in south Provo, and working for Geneva Steel, and thereby justifying the spelling on the Provo Towne Centre Mall’s sign. I have very little reason to believe that such events actually took place, but I really don’t have reason to believe that they didn’t.

I imagine that if you are still reading this, it’s only to discover what on earth all of this has to do with colonial jurisprudence. I’ll explain. Finding myself in strange and disagreeable surroundings, I sought out something more akin to my natural habitat. That, of course, would be WaldenBooks. I had about 30 minutes until my group’s table would be ready and I would have to return to the restaurant, so I spent about 35 minutes in the bookstore. This led to a small amount of philosophical introspection, which I promise will eventually explain the title of this posting.

Lately, I’ve been spending quite a bit of my time reading and browsing through bookstores. Some of the books that I’ve acquired over the last month include a collection of Ayn Rand’s early works, Origin of Species, 3 Theodore Roosevelt biographies, and a collection of food articles by Mark Levy. Not only am I spending more time reading, but I’m also reading more widely. I thoroughly enjoy it, and I also appreciate everything that I’ve learned and the different set of ideas that I have to contemplate, but I also am worried that maybe this isn’t the best use of my time. To reference two talks by Elder Oaks, sometimes I wonder if I could be labeled as one who is “ever learning, but never coming to a knowledge of the truth,” or even one who is sacrificing great things in order to busy myself with things that are just good.

This all leads up to the latest manifestation of my possibly unhealthy interest in reading. That would be me, curled up in my bed on a Saturday afternoon, reading about colonial jurisprudence from a copy of “A History of American Law,” which I bought last night at WaldenBooks in the Provo Towne Centre Mall.

Ever since I first started to to explore the Internet, I’ve come across quite a few writings discussing what it means to be a nerd. The wording is different, and sometimes I’ve even seen pieces completely focused on distinguishing the terms geek, nerd, and dork. The first write-up that I remember reading was a rather adolescent essay called, “The Conscience of a Hacker by somebody with the rather pretentious moniker of, “The Mentor.” Every so often, another piece would show up on Slashdot, many of them from people within the FOSS (Free/Open Source Software) movement, like Eric S. Raymond.

Most of the things I’ve read have been entertaining, for a nerd/geek like myself, but still rather broad and obvious. I came across a new one today (when I should have been finishing my programming project) that I found to be rather insightful. I identified with a number of points that the writer made. I especially enjoyed his comments about “The Cave” that nerds will use as a retreat/workspace. After reading it, I realized that, during the past month, I’ve caught myself spending quite a bit of time trying to turn my bedroom into a suitable Cave.

So, have a look-sie, and get to know your nerd (or yourself) a little better. Not every nerd will fit neatly into this mold, but I think that most of what he has to say is generally applicable.

In case you missed the link, this was the whole reason behind this post.
http://www.randsinrepose.com/archives/2007/11/11/the_nerd_handbook.html

I’ve always heard that the hot springs around Utah Valley are frequented by naked hippies. Fortunately, this is wasn’t the case last night. I do have a soft spot in my heart especially set apart for hippies, but only for those hippies who are properly dressed. Preferably in some stylish tie-dye apparel.

But getting on to the point. We had a fun little jaunt down to Spanish Fork on Friday night. There was a bit of concern, initially, about whether or not the mountain was on fire, but I suppose that we lucked out. We also benefited from the experience of Ms. Vernon, who had previously been to the hot springs before. It’s always nice to be looking for something with somebody who has a good idea of how to find it. This contrasts somewhat with the time I went to search for Nutty Putty caves, and drove around for a couple of hours looking for it, before we finally gave up and went home.

The hike in was easy, though it did take us around an hour. I’m sure that those in a hurry could easily do it in half the time. We only saw two or three other groups at the hot springs when we got there. We had passed a few groups on the trail that were heading out. The first spot we looked at was actually a bit too hot for our liking, so we went downstream a bit, and found a nice little pool that was goldilocks-ion perfection. We discovered a rather slimy moss on some of the rocks under the water that we affectionately named, “Dragon Snot.” The discovery of which, being the highlight of the trip (for me, anyway).

For those interested in the springs, here’s a link to a google map that I think shows the correct trail. Just watch out for those hippies. I’ve heard too many rumors to completely disregard.

Saturday was unusually busy for me. Technically, I guess it began with a few last games of mafia, around the campfire, then going to sleep under the beautiful stars (a new moon). I’m afraid that I am simply no longer able to have a good night’s sleep while camping. I finally got up around 7:00 with a sore back. Luckily, there was plenty of food to cheer me up.

A group of about 12 of us chose to go camping in Mona because of a certain rope swing that we had heard about. The rumors turned out to be true (Google Map). Other than the rope swing and the pleasant pond, one of the niceties of the campsite was that there was no fee.

After breakfast and another few hours at the rope swing, we packed up and went back to Provo. My friends thought I was a bit ridiculous for hopping into Carriage Cove’s boiling-hot hot-tub in the middle of the day, but I thought it might do some good to my back. The rest of the afternoon was filled with a little shopping and studying Gilbert and Sullivan’s “The Gondoliers” in preparation for the evening performance that I planned to attend. Part of my shopping trip included buying a copy of The Format’s CD, “Dog Problems”. I’ve had it on my Shuffle for a while, and it’s definitely good stuff. I also bought some nice bratwurst for the PLUG’s Annual Summer BBQ.

During the two hours prior to the BBQ, I listened to the entire soundtack of “The Gondoliers”, and followed along in a copy of the libretto. I’ve found that I enjoy theatre much more when I’m familiar with the show, especially when it comes to witty writing like that of Gilbert.

The BBQ started at 6:00, and the show started at 7:30, so I figured that I should show up for the first hour, so that I’d be able to enjoy my bratwurst with a few others that didn’t mind being unfashionably early. Unfortunately, despite the advertisement of a 5:30 call for those setting-up, the guy with charcoal didn’t show up until a little after 7:30. He evidently was involved with some sort of medical situation, but he apparently didn’t make any arrangements for anybody to take over his duties. There was another person that happened to have a bag of charcoal, but it still wasn’t ready for cooking when I had to leave at 7:00. Quite the let-down.

I suppose that I should give my operetta critique its own posting…

Books, books, and more books. My excuse for never having a clean bedroom is that I just have too much stuff, and not enough places to hide it all. The chief ingredient to my permanent mess is a horde of books. When I was switching apartments, I was given an extra bookcase by one of my former roommates, which almost gave me enough room store all my books, with the paperbacks stored two-deep on two shelves. Unfortunately, the bookcase itself was a piece of junk, and is now even more so.

Now I guess I’ll have to find a new bookcase for my ridiculous collection. I say ridiculous because I don’t really have a good reason to keep most of my books around. I almost never read a book twice, and I don’t plan on ever reading some of my books. I don’t know anybody else that collects old UNIX manuals. The only reason that I actually buy books is so that I can get somebody else to read them too. I also like the fact that I don’t have to worry about returning books to anybody.

Anyway, now I have to clean up the mess, and find some corner to temporarily store my library. If you’re ever looking for a good book to read, stop on by, and I’ll give you something. If you don’t live nearby, email me for recommendations. I’m full of strong opinions.

Having a cellphone has been intersting in various ways.  One of the things that I find entertaining is getting phone calls for a wrong number.  I guess I like it because it usually means I get to practice speaking Spanish (I have an 831 area code, look up the demographics for Salinas).  Even if I just say “Creo que tienes el numero equivocado,” and they hang up, I still get a kick out of it.   I think I’ve gotten about 5 or 6 mistaken callers, and all but one was speaking Spanish when I said, “Hello.”

I’ve also gotten a few calls from some company in Florida.  The first two times, I just told them that they had the wrong number, and just hung up.  This time, the lady on the other line apparently wanted to talk to me even though I couldn’t understand her well.  She asked if I could understand her if she spoke slower.  I thought, why not practice my spanish a little today?  So, she asked what my name was, and I told her, “Topher.”  She needed me to spell that one out for her.  Then she asked about my age, height, weight, whether I worked indoors or outdoors, and about my general state of health.  It eventually got to the point where I was asked if I was interested in sexually appealling pheremones, muscle enhancing supplements, or vitamins to help my poor, over-worked brain.  It was then when I said that I wasn’t interested in anything like that, and that all my health problems could be solved with more sleep, more food, and more exercise.  I thanked her for helping me to practice my Spanish, and said goodbye.