The Masters

Perhaps someday you too, dear reader, may feel love so deep that it can only be expressed via poetry.
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Thanks, Lord Voldemort

Lord Voldemort was a wise man. That's why I followed his lead with the horcruxes. I figure that a man needs as many lives as he can get when he lives in West Valley. I started quicker than Voldemort did - I invested part of my soul in an object after being alive for only 10 days.

Too bad I didn't know it until 20 years later.

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I was in the driest desert in the world when I first realized what my horcrux was.I lived the missionary life, and at the time of my realization I was in the thick of a pre-sleep conversation with my companion.

"Are you looking forward to dreaming of your girl tonight?" I asked him.
"I prefer to refer to her as Ashley, not as girl," my companion replied.
"And your girls name," he asked."what is it?"

I thought for a second; my girl? Who was the love that required all my thought, attention, and devotion? What was her name? Sure, I had dated some members of the female population and I had enjoyed it. But a girl meant someone I dreamed about daily, someone I would do anything to be with, someone I would be willing to sacrifice anything for. With that in mind the answer came to me. "The name of my girl," I replied, "is the BYU Football team." My friend laughed, but I then knew: I didn't just think blue, breathe blue, or even bleed blue - I pood blue too.

My companion told me that I was weird. I agreed. But it's not my fault that I think about the Cougs more than girls. Or that I cry when Utah beats BYU. I didn't take myself to Cougar stadium when I was 10 days old. My parents did. We went to see the fireworks, but the real show came when my soul split in two; one half stuck to me and the other half set up camp on the football field. Thus, thanks to loving parents, part of my well-being is connected to the state of the BYU football team. When their play stinks, my life stinks. When a player is injured, I feel pain. Victory on the field equals victory in my life. Is it cooincidence that when BYU lost 7 games in 2004 and finished 6th in the MWC my G.P.A was 3.01 and my income was nothing per month? Or that during BYU's 11-2 conference championship season last year I placed two 4.0's and made $400 per month?

Truly, the Cougars are my horcrux; the other half of my soul.
Just don't tell any of the people who are trying to kill me.

Work's a jerk

It's time I came out of the closet. Told the truth. Fessed up. Unlocked my skeletons. Came clean. The world deserves the truth, and the truth is this:

I hate work.

Now it's time he knew as well.

Dear Mr. Work,

I hate you. I think you're a jerk. You're ruining my summer, and I can only imagine that your ultimate goal is to ruin my life. Multiple sources have told me that you'll be hounding me for another 30-35 years.Thus I thought it'd be best if we discussed things before this gets any more out of hand.

Remeber when we first met? September 21st was supposed to be a good day. Yes fond memories, my first job. I picked up my ice creams scoops, donned my visor, braced myself for my first customer, and then you walked in and screwed everything up. I thought we could possibly be friends, like you and my dad are, but from the start all you did was bore me, tire me, and hassle me. I couldn't take it. I lasted two days. I thought our brief encounter was just a fluke because when I took a replacement job at an elementary school you never showed up. Why was that anyway? Someone once told me you can't be anywhere near children, but who knows?

Let's return to the point. I was offered a job at a golf course for the summer. I snatched the offer instantly, assuming that you wouldn't dare show up at a place that has long been a sanctuary for me.

Wrong.

From day one you've been all over me, worse than ever before. You're in my face 6 days a week. Don't you want to take a break? What pleasure do you get from tormenting me? My request is simple. You've had your fun this summer. Now its time I had mine. Leave me alone or I'll break your neck. And if you ever take a step toward my elemtary school, I'll take pleasure in gutting you.

affectionately your tormentee,
Spencer Hansen

Long Live LaVell

One of the greatest college football coaches of all-time was a man of little emotion. Whether he lost by 1 point or won the national championship, LaVell Edwards showed the same level of excitement: he frowned (see photo). I mention this because during the high stakes bingo competition last night, winners had to show great excitement on stage in order to receive their prize. Low excitement would garner a prize from the crap bag instead of the original prize. This infuriated me for as a life long follower of Lavell I, too, have become a man who celebrates great victory with nothing more than a mild fist pump or a soft voiced "yee-ha". Had I won I don't doubt that I would have been booed from the stage for my low showing of excitement. It's not that LaVell or I don't get excited, it's just that we don't enjoy making fools of ourselves in order to demonstrate our excitement levels. One winner, for example, went so far as to hump the announcer in order to show his glee (my roomate, sadly).

I'm afraid I just can't do that. And I credit the legendary Cougar coach for it. Long live LaVell.

Death of a friend (again)

This is the 13th time I've seen the Utah Jazz die without being crowned NBA champions. The death blow was dealt by a familiar nemesis, the L.A. Lakers. In the deciding game Okur and AK buried multiple last minute three pointers to give the Jazz an opportunity to win, but as often is the case their effort came too late.

The Jazz team is well formed;they couple a strong group of starters with quality bench contributors. And they're a fun group to watch, unless you like to see well executed defense, of course. I don't know if I've ever seen a worse center-power forward defensive combination than the one the Jazz boast with Boozer and Okur. Coach Beardall (junior high P. E. coach) taught that hustle brings positive results. LaVell Edwards promised that if you played hard good things would happen. That's all I request from Boozer and Okur. The effort to move a foot or two on defense. The effort to jump and at least try to alter a shot.The effort to take on three guys for a loose ball (see photo). A nip of hussle could easily provide the difference in a game that was decided by three points. If I had a quicker internet connection I would find how many blocks Boozer and Okur had last season. If their combined total is a fourth of Kevin Garnetts season total, I'll poop my pants from surprise.

But in true fan-boy fashion, I still can't help but feel that the Jazz were shafted by the referees. Again, once I'm off this dial-up connection, I plan to do an analysis on how many free throws Kobe Bryant shoots against the Jazz compared to how many he shoots against teams with similar defenders. Stay tuned. I await the Jazz resurrection next October.