Vita Didii

Google stole my voice

2010-03-12T07:35:00.000-08:00

I finally started Google Voice. For some reason, I was a bit wary at first, but the recent insubordination of my cell phone's screen (ironically, about ten days after the day determined by Verizon for my eligibility for a new phone) has led me to seek ways to stay in contact with the world.
So, it has cool features.

Go ahead. Leave me one, so I can see how this thing works. I also want to see how good their transcription method is, since I'm in the transcribing business these days (see www.translatetv.com).
And I want to hear from you.
Sing, Ariel, sing.
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah...
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah...
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah!

The Reason I Haven't Posted in a Few Months

2009-07-03T20:05:00.000-07:00

My angel Mother

2009-03-26T17:55:00.000-07:00

This post is long overdue. Abraham Lincoln said, "All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." I definitely agree. Mom, you're the best! I love you.

Dallin

2009-02-01T09:14:00.000-08:00

Until I moved to Snowflake, my name always seemed unique. I hardly ever met other Dallins. Usually people said my name wrong the first time they tried, saying daylinn most of the time. Then in Snowflake, where the Church has a much greater presence, I found I shared my name with many others. There was even a Dallin McCleve in my grade, which I though was crazy, since that's my mom's maiden name.
I've always known my namesake was Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, but I never could have imagined how close to the source of my name I could get to until coming to BYU. After I picked my major, I noticed one of the teachers in the department's name was Dallin D. Oaks. There's no way they couldn't be related. Sure enough, he's his son. Near the end of the second semester of my freshman year, I went to his office to see if I could get a research position with him. It was a little bizarre when he asked me my name. I replied, and though nothing further was said, I could only imagine what was going through his head. This kid, too? How many kids were named after my dad? I suddenly realized that we were both named for the same person. It was weird realizing that, I guess because it seems rare to meet or come close to meeting your namesake. Some may be named for a grandparent or parent, so that wouldn't be weird, but to me, I never thought it would really happen. Around the same time, Men's Chorus did a concert with the other BYU choirs at the Conference Center Theater built onto the side of the main auditorium. Among the audience were Elder Dallin H. Oaks and Elder Uchtdorf. The Men's Chorus pianist, Jared Oaks, is Elder Oaks grandson. After the performance, I saw Elder Oaks go up and congratulate his grandson, about five feet in front of me. I knew this was my chance. They were related--they could bond another time. This was important. "Elder Oaks," I said. He turned, somewhat surprised, said, "Hello," shook my hand, and then said to his grandson, "I'm parked in the parking garage down this hall. Let's go." They rushed off, and the rest of the BYU choirs followed in pursuit. But I was satisfied. Now, if one of us died, at least I could say I'd met my namesake.
Fast forwarding until after my mission, I got a job with another professor in the department, and the other day, Dr. Oaks, whose office is right next to the one I work in, came in and was talking with my boss and me. My boss had to leave, and as she did, she said, "Dallin, will you watch my office?" I suddenly realized yet another golden opportunity to learn about my name. Dr. Dallin Oaks and I then had an interesting conversation about Cyrus Dallin, our namesake's namesake, about the rise of the name of Dallin, etc. Both of us came to the realization we've never met a nonmember named Dallin. I wonder if I ever will. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for naming me Dallin, although Brigham would have been interesting, too.

Accountability

2008-12-11T17:59:00.000-08:00

As I read in Ether recently, in the Book of Mormon, I noticed something I hadn't before. After Ether builds the barges that are "tight like unto a dish," he does something very responsible: "And it came to pass that the brother of Jared cried unto the Lord, saying: O Lord, I have performed the work which thou hast commanded me, and I have made the barges according as thou hast directed me" Ether 2:18. Now that is accountability. It made me wonder, do I account for the things I do that the Lord has commanded me to do? As I think about the scriptures, I realize that this is a principle many understand. Christ Himself, in His Intercessory prayer, reports back to the Father, "I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do" (John 17:4). It seems to indicate a reliance on the Father, that even though the assignment is accomplished, no time is wasted; it's right back to the Father for the next instructions. I realize that I should be "anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness" (see D&C 58:26-7), but since all good comes from God, whenever I do good, I should report that to the Lord, and then I'll be ready for more instructions, whenever they come.

The Love of a Black Hole

2008-12-11T11:41:00.000-08:00

Black holes are really interesting. In my astronomy class, I learned about how they're really strong, keeping even light within its grasp--but only if you get too close. Now, I could make a spiritual application to this, and say that this means we should stay as far away from the edge as possible, and look for ways to be obedient, but I think there's something else there, too, that can be applied. A black hole is so strong, that it creates a bottomless pit out of the spacetime continuum. Essentially, it puts a whole in the fabric of space. Einstein's special theory of relativity describes this in great detail, but essentially, I see it as a scientific allegory of celestial love. True love. The love that God has for us, the love that parents have for their children, and even the love between spouses. Once a certain threshold has been passed, which is represented in black holes by the event horizon, the Holy Spirit of Promise seals, or calling and election are made sure, then love becomes infinite. Space and time are no longer barriers to it. Just imagine life without time. Just imagine life without space, or distance. Pretty tricky, right? Because that's infinite. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" John 15:13. That is the love Jesus Christ has. Maybe the analogy isn't perfect, but I am constantly amazed at how much the scientific community, within astronomy at least, accepts the idea of infinity. Science and religion really do meet, which can be a hard fact for some to escape.

Princes

2008-12-09T21:51:00.000-08:00

In John 14:30, Jesus references the devil as the "prince of darkness." At this Christmas season, my mind was quickly turned to Isaiah 9:6, where Jesus is prophesied to be the "Prince of peace." What a contrast. Although the original words for "prince" may have been different, the Vulgate Latin word for both is "princeps", which, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is the origin of our modern word, "prince." The older, Latin sense carried the meaning "instigator, founder, person who is pre-eminent in a particular sphere, leader, chief, ruler." I like that better. Prince has ameliorated in meaning such that today, it seems like a good thing, whereas in the past, in may have been more neutral. I think it's interesting to think of the devil as the " 'instigator' of darkness," and Jesus as the " 'Founder' of peace." He, our Savior, is pre-eminent in our salvation, the true source of peace in our lives; He provides the peace we cannot do without. He will lead us to eternal peace. Christ is our Prince--even our King. If the devil is ruler of the darkness, those who follow him are being led through the dark, ruled by gloom, and chief among shadowy deceit. The next time I read "prince" in the scriptures, I will mentally try retranslating it as "chief" or "ruler" or "one who is pre-eminent" in the particular context, and hopefully, as in this case, it will make more sense to me.

Sheepness

2008-12-01T14:01:00.000-08:00

The Savior was the greatest Example of consideration any of us could ever have. One of my favorite hymns has this line: "The very foes that slay thee Have access to thy grace" (Hymns, no. 197). John's Gospel quotes Jesus as saying, "I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: And I lay down my life for my sheep" (John 10:14-15). Jesus had such a connection with people that He described Himself as the Shepherd of all of them. None was outside of His sphere of love. Some days I feel down, insignificant, and tired, but the things that help me feel better, I eventually realize, are those things the Savior was best at: service and charity. Service. Smiling in the face of adversity. That's following the Savior and being considerate. That's being protected, led, and guided by the Good Shepherd. That's optimism and faith. My philosophy is, if your socks are dirty because you forgot to do your laundry yet again, be grateful you have shoes, so no one can tell this is the third time you've worn this pair of socks since you've washed them.

Triptych Crucifixion

2008-11-20T11:41:00.000-08:00

The Museum of Art here at BYU has some impressive pieces of religious art. I especially appreciated Bernard Sleigh's The Crucifixion: A Triptych. Originally commissioned for a prison in the UK in 1906, an employee saved it from destruction during a renovation and re-decorating of the prison. It then sat at her house for years until she passed away, someone inherited it, they sold it to a collector, and BYU bought it from the collector.
I love the symbolism. I'm grateful for the curator for pointing out some things. Those who are bowing to the Savior include a soldier, judge, king, and priest, emphasizing Christ's preeminence over armies, laws, governments, and the Church. The vine climbing the cross represents Christ's role as the True Vine. "INRI" is what the sign over His head says, standing for "Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum", or "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews." But perhaps the element I most enjoy about this painting is the simple fact that the cross bridges the earth with the heavens. Truly, that is the essence of the Atonement. Jesus Christ suffered for sins and sufferings, so that we may be able to be redeemed, saved, atoned for, being brought back into the presence of the Father by way of the Son. At this Thanksgiving season, I share my thanks for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and for art that teaches true doctrine.

The JST

2008-11-14T19:41:00.000-08:00

I've always thought that the JST (Joseph Smith Translation) of the Bible was really interesting. It's actually not really a translation--more of just some inspired changes. I'd always thought that all of the changes were to reverse or correct errors made by designing and corrupt priests and incompetent and careless translators, but I just learned something new about it:
The classic opening of the Gospel of John: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God" (John 1:1) is a favorite passage throughout Christianity. Joseph Smith changes the wording a great deal to read: "In the beginning was the gospel preached through the Son. And the gospel was the word, and the word was with the Son, and the Son was with God, and the Son was of God." (JST John 1:1). My purpose of mentioning this is not to get into the doctrinal and theological changes that Joseph Smith made to this and the verses that follow it, but to share with you what I've learned about the JST. Apparently, there was an ancient Christian hymn as follows:
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was before God And the Word was God."
This is almost identical to the un-JST-changed KJV version. So why did Joseph Smith change it, if it was most likely a part that has not been corrupted? The JST must be more than just corrections. It's also prophetic commentary. As my professor said, sometimes the JST was explaining the mind of God, as God had revealed to the original prophets. Basically, the JST seems to also insert things that were in the mind of God, which even the original writers did not put down. I think this is amazing. It strengthens my testimony of the JST, and of the Bible. If God could inspire one man, He could inspire another, and since both are inspired by God, He makes it work.

Somewhere In Dreamland

2008-11-11T22:24:00.000-08:00

Dreams are funny things. I've had a couple of interest recently:
Dream #1. I was walking down the sidewalk, minding my own business, and Mr. Palin (this was the week before Election Day), complete with goatee, asks me, "Are you Dallin Bailey?" "Yes," I answer. Enter Sarah Palin. "We just wanted to thank you for forwarding that letter up to us in Alaska for us. Our daughter really needed it." I suddenly (this is all part of the dream) remembered getting a letter in the mail that was not addressed to me, so I put it back in the mailbox and forwarded it on. The Palins then gave me a big hug, there on the street. I kind of wanted to get my picture taken with them, but I didn't want to embarrass them (obviously this was a dream--what kind of politician doesn't like their picture taken?). I felt warm and fuzzy.

Dream #2. Scene 1: I was driving around some obscure rural town as a missionary with my brother Douglas, I think. We were staying at this lady's house for free. We went driving somewhere, and saw a homeless-looking man with a white beard standing at an intersection. I pulled over and offered him a ride. He got in, we took him to the lady's house, and I told him he could stay there, too. Turns out he was one of those alternative medicine people, specializing in magnet therapy for sore joints. I happened to have really sore knuckles, so he got out his little magnet tool and started rubbing my knuckle really hard. Right then, the lady came in. "Why is he staying here?" she asked. The man says, "Yeah, this is awkward." Scene 2: As I stood outside the BYU library, I saw my friend, Joseph Boone, and told him about my dream. Yes, in my dream, I told my buddy about my dream.

Any interpretations? Anybody? Personally, I think it's interesting how my political views and willingness to offer things that aren't mine show up in my dreams. I've always been pretty skeptical of alternative medicine, too.

Ask, and it shall be given you

2008-10-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

In my study of the Bible, and over my lifetime of going to church, I have heard many times the promise Christ makes , usually assumed to be about prayer: "And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened" (Luke 11:9-10). I think it's about prayer, too, because who else are we going to ask for something we need? If I want something, I'm a lot smarter to ask for it from someone who has it than to ask someone I know doesn't have it. God has all, and has promised all, and so if He and His Son make this promise, They can back it up. After reading this verse yet again, I decided to try it, pure and simple. Of course, I'm always praying for these, requesting safety, etc., but this time, I decided to just outright ask for what I needed. It was something good, and something I knew He could give me. And guess what? So far I've gotten it. After Joseph Smith got his answer, which came in a way he hadn't realized it would, he still had a lot of responsibility, as we all do when we ask for something from God, and the receive it. But the testimony gained from receiving something I didn't have before, just by asking for it, helps with the added responsibility.

A Cup of Sugar

2008-10-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

As I've been reading the Gospel of Luke, I have had new insights on scriptures I've read many times before. This one is pretty straightforward, but for some reason, I'd never noticed it before.
Luke 6:38 (Jesus speaking to his disciples) "Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again."
I'd always just skipped to the end of the verse, thinking it to be another verse that said how you treat others is how you will be treated. But there's more to it, and that more part is really interesting. "Good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over." That is what we receive, so what we should give. In my cooking experiences over my life, I have had many occasions to measure different materials. Some, like white sugar, are fairly easy to measure, and would be hard to mess up. But others, like brown sugar or butter, could be messed up, because they don't always fall into the measuring cup as easily. To get a proper measurement, some recipes specifically require that the brown sugar be packed down. I am sure in ancient times, as Jesus was living in, there were those who were very sloppy with their measurements in trading, buying, and selling. It would be easy to just pour in some flour haphazardly, and call it a full measurement, but a good man, a generous man, a Christlike man, would pack it down in, making sure there aren't any pockets of air, fill it to the very top, like as kids we all liked to do in filling up a cup of water (it's fun seeing the surface tension make the water dome over the top). My feeling on this verse is that Christ has already given us a full measure of blessings, even overflowing. Thus, we need to be generous (see previous post on generosity) and charitable, not just being honest in our dealings with our fellow men, but generous in our dealings with our fellow men, because Christ was generous to us first. Think of this next time you measure out a cup of sugar in your next milkshake.

Generosity

2008-10-20T08:30:00.000-07:00

A lot of my mission companions and roommates have taught me about generosity. Many of them showed by their actions that material things really aren't quite as important as day-to-day life tends to get me thinking. This has always been something I've thought about for a long while, so it's interesting to see what Jesus says about it in the New Testament. In Luke, Christ delivers some of the same Sermon on the Mount material, quite trademark: "And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid not to take thy coat also. Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again." (Luke 6:29-30).
So, give more than you're asked for, give willingly, and always be willing to possibly never see again things that you lend out. All of that is good--but what I really enjoy is what Joseph Smith says about it, in his translation, replacing an important tidbit:
"And unto him who smiteth thee on the cheek, offer also the other; or in other words, it is better to offer the other, than to revile again. And him who taketh away thy cloak, forbid not to take thy coat also. For it is better that thou suffer thine enemy to take these things, than to contend with him. Verily I say unto you, Your heavenly Father who seeth in secret, shall bring that wicked one into judgment." (JST Luke 6:29-30). I like this rendering because it includes Christ's analysis of what the regular KJV says: "it is better that thou suffer thine enemy to take these things, than to contend with him." So, I gather that God looks on contention, and my part in it, more than if I am currently being treated justly. Justice, sure He will take care of it, but eventually. I need to ask myself, am I being contentious because I feel taken advantage of? Because if so, I'm forgetting God's ultimate, though often delayed, justice. Whether or not someone really deserves something is not up to me to judge: I should give freely and willingly. I am grateful for those who have been examples of this in my life.

Thanks for Remembering

2008-10-15T10:24:00.001-07:00

So, maybe this is a bit random, but the other day as I was crossing the street between the JKB and the Tanner Building, a guy walking one direction said hello to one of his classmates crossing the other direction. The other classmate stopped, and said, "You're Jeff, right?" So far, this is not any different than the ordinary exchange between two people who barely know each other. But Jeff's response made me think. With a smile, he said, "Hey, thanks for remembering." All at once, I remembered that people really do appreciate being remembered, especially with specifics like names. Just last week I heard somewhere that using people's names when you talk to them or are teaching them helps them to feel more involved, apparently helping them to learn more and remember more, and all around have a more effective and enjoyable exchange. It's a technique we talked about in the mission field, how significant and powerful it was that God called Joseph Smith by name when appearing to him, and how using the names of the people we were teaching made them feel more involved. It also helped us to personalize our teaching of the gospel to them. It was difficult remember people's names, since I met so many each day, but for those names I did remember, more times than not it pleased them. It's as though forgetting a person's name erases the connections made in the last dialogue, but remembering that person's name, even if a lengthy time has passed, enables progress to continue from those connections made at the time of meeting. Sometimes on campus, I see someone I recognize by face, but not by name. Sometimes they call me by name. If I don't know their name when they call me by name, I feel bad (because I'm not famous yet), so when I remember someone's name, and they don't remember mine, I know how they feel. Names are important, and the first step to beginning a successful friendship, in my opinion. I'm grateful for Jeff, who reminded me how grateful I am when people remember my name, and how I should make a conscious effort to remember people's names better.

Prophet

2008-09-29T13:41:00.000-07:00

I'd heard Jesus be called a prophet before, in the hymn, "I Know that My Redeemer Lives":
"He lives, my Prophet, Priest, and King", but I'd never really thought before recently about Jesus being called a prophet. At His triumphal entry into Jerusalem, to start His final week, "the multitude said, This is Jesus the prophet of Nazareth of Galilee" (Matt. 21:11). My NT professor said that when John the Baptist died, part of what Jesus was feeling was that now He was the leader, now He was the prophet. In verse 46, the priests and the Pharisees don't seize Him at that time, because they fear the multitude, who see Him as a prophet. I don't think I'm covering all the senses of the title, but when He was on the earth, Jesus was the head of His Church, because He was the very Gospel, the very Way for us to return to live with His Father and Our Father. Jesus was the spiritual leader of the time on the earth, which, to me, today, seems like a very interesting situation, one that only occurred once in the history of the world.

2008-09-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

The following is one of my favorite poems. It was written in 1872 by Josiah Gilbert Holland. It gives me hope as I think about what Christ teaches in the Sermon on the Mount, to become perfect as Father in Heaven is perfect.

Gradatim

Heaven is not gained at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true:
That a noble deed is a step towards God,—
Lifting the soul from the common sod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by the things that are 'neath our feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,
When the morning calls us to life and light,
But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night,
Our lives are trailing the sorid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,
And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for men!
We may borrow the wings to find the way—
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray;
But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
But the dream departs, and the vision falls,
And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.

Josiah Gilbert Holland

As I read about Jesus Christ in the New Testament, I'm more and more amazed that, although He was perfect, in that He never sinned, there is evidence He was not omniscient, or complete, from birth. He went about doing good, and He stood up for the right. He was moved with compassion--Jesus really was a person, a human. The Son of God, a perfect human, but human. He felt pain, physical and emotional. I've read in the Doctrine and Covenants: "And I, John, saw that he received not of the ^afulness at the first, but received ^bgrace for grace" D&C 93:12.
By putting things " 'neath my feet" and "the pride deposed and the passion slain," I can build a ladder to get me to heaven. Jesus Christ built a perfect ladder and made it possible for me to build mine.

Back in the USA

2008-09-19T19:36:00.000-07:00

After four semesters in Canada, away from BYU, I'm back. It's quite the adjustment. Life was good in Canada. I was serving a mission for the Church (of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). Never have I experienced such joy and sorrow and trials and blessings. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, yet, I find myself longing to go back. It's not as though I feel I have unfinished business--I knocked on thousands of doors, talked to thousands of people, had conversations about Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith and the Bible with hundreds of people, all day, everyday, for the full two years. It's just that as a missionary, I constantly had an outlet to help me feel better: service. As I gave people the chance to learn more about God, or as I physically helped them around their house, I felt useful. I felt like what I was doing was important, even if it was just pulling weeds or moving boxes. Being a missionary feels so good.
Now I'm back to civilian life: working, socializing, and studying. It can be easy to go for awhile without doing any service. But I know that when I do something for someone, I feel so much better about being home again.
Soon I will be normal again. But hopefully, a new and improved normal.

a tribute

2006-06-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

Finally. The new month has arrived. I can update again.
I would like to pay tribute to my fish. He would be almost three now. What a fine specimen he was, a quality betta splendens. I am forever indebted to him, for he inspired me to great literary heights, which brought me money beyond my wildest dreams.
Alas, Timor.
Though you were, now you are not.
Why did you have to go before I learned Latin?
Oh, cursed spite.
It's a hard-knock life.
Though you may never be replaced, every fish triggers a memory of you in my heart.
Thank you.

The story of my toe

2006-05-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

As shown in the last post, my toenail is not quite normal. It really is quite a nappy thing. Just so, back before my recent retiring of my cross country winged shoes of Hermes, I had a lovely condition called "ingrowntoenail." Awesome. I underwent multiple "toenail-ectomies" in the ensuing months. On the third procedure, the doctor proceeded to jam the scissors in such a way that the toenail would not grow back. It seemed to grow for a few weeks, and then, as you see, it stagnated. It's not fungal, as far as I know, nor is it infected. It's just old. And dead. I anxiously await the time that I will have all ten toenails back in their perfect form, but in the meanwhile, I'll join the freakshow. And thanks to Alex for...fine. Alex did not take that picture. I took it. So, a word of warning to you all: Ingrown toenails are bad. They hurt. Buy wide shoes. And be careful how you clip your toenails--don't clip off the corners too deep. If you do, you'll end up like me. I've always wanted to join a circus.

My epic journey through the works of a master Russian author

2006-04-16T23:18:00.000-07:00

I signed up for Honors 203R (cross-listed as Russian 342) the night before class started. I had realized that one of my classes was going to be really lame, so I dropped it and signed up for Tolstoy in Translation. I was a bit worried about having so much reading to do, but I would rather read than research how to build an airplane from scratch and present it to a class of Honors students. I also found myself just committing to something I thought might be good for me. Anyway, it turned out to be my favorite class, blah, blah, and I literally was inspired by the literature. War and Peace is a real book. I learned about truth and Zeno's Paradoxes (look them up on Wikipedia) and lust and all sorts of good stuff, all in the context of aristocratic families through times of a real war, Napoleon's invasion of Russia, and peace--hence the title. Yup. War and Peace is about war and peace. Anyway, the next tome I perused was Anna Karenina. Talk about uplifting and depressing at the same time. I don't think the lessons were especially new or earth-shattering, but they were definitely true. Basically, adultery is trash and benefits no one. But again, truth. What is truth? The last Tolstoy novel we read was Resurrection. What is truth? A recurring Tolstoy theme. But also, forgiveness is the only way to joy. But don't take my word for it. Read these books. All 2609 pages of them. Learn about joy and truth and forgiveness. I was regularly dumbfounded at the nuances of characterization Tolstoy captured, little feelings his characters experienced that I, too, have experienced and never thought possible to be put to words (I'm not talking the adultery here). I guess I'm not as special as I thought. Or I guess I'm more literary than I thought. Or maybe I'm a Russian seeker of truth at heart. I believe that more people are seekers of truth than realize. It's just some take a bit too Faustian of an approach. Anyway, I am definitely a convert to Russian literature. Thanks go to Alex for his expertise in capturing those moments of triumph for which words simply are inadequate.

Update on Brahms' Sym. No. 3

2006-03-19T21:08:00.000-08:00

Just in case you read the posting of my lame report on Brahms' Symphony No. 3, that tale about the hero and whatnot, just for your information, I've been asked to redo it. I failed it. It's "not scholarly." In my defense, writing about music is a tough thing. I'm pretty sure it's meant to be heard, to be listened to, to be made, even maybe to be talked about, at least the cool or crayz parts. Writing about music seems unnatural to me.

Update on the Andrew thing

2006-03-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

A week ago, at the Saturday evening Stake Conference session, I saw Andrew again. I could hear his bass voice in the quartet that did a special number. Monday, after Men's Chorus, I found myself walking right next to him.
"Hey, Andrew."
"Hey."
Um.
"You did a good job in that quartet Saturday."
"Oh, thanks. Do you think I was too loud?"
"I could hear you, but it wasn't too loud."
"Good. Thanks."
And our paths diverged.
"See ya."
"Yup."
Me and Andrew, we're buddies now. Maybe not bus buddies or let's-room-together-after-the-mission buddies, but anyway. Right. Yes. Quite so. Thas righ.

2006-03-11T00:41:00.000-08:00

Last week, I went to Salt Lake City with the Men's Chorus for a performance at the big ACDA (American Choral Directors Association) convention, held on Temple Square. Sister Hall, our director, had been preparing us for this performance since before the completion of the audition process, so she felt it pretty important. We sang well, and the audience of choral conductors from around the country was impressed, at least according to those who bothered to to mention it. And I think we honestly did share with the audience a Feeling they perhaps hadn't felt in that way. I questioned how my performance had personally been, but I couldn't doubt our performance as a group.
The bus and hotel aspects of the trip brought me back to high school choir trips a bit, though, needless to say, a trip with nigh unto two hundred adult men is not the same as a trip with sixty high school teenagers. Thankfully, the Men in Men's Chorus don't flirt amongst themselves (with one possible exception, hopefully nothing every blogworthy), but I felt a bit out of place. The men are nice, and a lot of them are my age; I even talked myself into accepting an invitation to play a card game with some guys on the way up to SLC. But I really don't have any 'buddies' in there, like I did in high school choir, and since there was no one to flirt with, I mostly just wandered, trying not to look pathetic or pitiful. I tried this by actually trying to make friends with the other guys. I walked around the mall and the Conference Center during free time with the guy I share my folder with, and that was good, but it wasn't anything like having one of my high school buddies. On the bus trip back, immediately following our concert, I couldn't find even him, so I found an empty seat and sat, preparing myself to spend the hour-and-fifteen-minute trip reading Anna Karenina. However, I had chosen the bus in front, meaning the first bus to leave, meaning the bus had to be filled before it could leave, meaning some random guy in Men's Chorus sat next to me because there weren't any open rows left. It's taken me awhile to get to the point of this whole thing, but stick with it: I'm finally there. This guy who sits next to me seemed to be an average, ordinary member of the Church with assumably a passable singing voice.
"Can I sit here?"
"Sure," I responded. I had no reason to say otherwise.
This was followed by several minutes of silence, listening to the guys next to us reading Laffy-Taffy jokes, and staring at the headrests of the seats in front of us.
The bus I had chosen happened to be the bus that had to go back to our performing place to load some things. It took a couple minutes to get there, then the bus stopped, some guys left to go get the stuff, and everyone else just waited on the bus.
Another couple of minutes passed.
As I had spent the trip, feebly maybe, trying to not be a loner and trying to get to know the other guys (Sister Hall encourages feelings of brotherhood), I decided to initiate conversation.
Give me advice. Maybe here's where I went wrong.
"What's your name?"
"Andrew." A pause. "What's yours?"
"Dallin."
A conscious attempt on my part not to ask anything cliche or trite.
Attempt.
I can't remember exactly, but I made some comment about Salt Lake City or asked him where he was from or something.
"I'm from Holladay," Andrew muttered, Holladay being a suburb of SLC.
"Oh," and I got this connection-finding conversationary mechanism from my Mom, "my aunt and uncle live in Taylorsville. Is that anywhere near Holladay?" Taylorsville is also a suburb of SLC.
"I think so. I've only been there once, on accident."
I tried to humor him, but I really didn't find it especially amusing.
Another couple minutes passed, and we were still waiting along the side of the road at Temple Square for the rest of the guys to load the stuff and re-board the bus.
This time it was Andrew who spoke first.
"Well, it was nice meeting you."
Like a wall, with a moat in front of it, filled with venomous pirahnas, misted o'er by flaming fog, he shut me out with that simple comment. We hadn't even left SLC yet; we still had over an hour to sit next to each other. Usually that comment is reserved for when the destination is reached, for that comment effectively kills any further conversation save an agreement and return of the 'compliment.' So, we both took naps. And neither of us had anything to say when we got back to Provo.
At least I learned his name?

An allegory on the meaning of life.

2006-03-02T17:01:00.000-08:00

So I had a concert Tuesday evening, and it was very nice. It was preparatory for our big ACDA Convention performance this Saturday. Sister Hall has been telling us how important it is since the audition process, not just the first day of class. We will be singing in the Assembly Hall for a few hundred choral directors from around the country. It will be very rewarding. Anyway, last week she was telling us that we really need to get our uniforms washed if we haven't yet, and I was pretty guilty, since I hadn't washed my uniform YET (it's dry clean only; I do wash my regular clothes). And so, it takes two business days at the cleaners, and leave it up to me to leave it until the last day possible. I got it in Friday afternoon. I brought my suit on a hanger, and they told me they use their own, so I got to take my hanger to the rest of my classes that day. Anyway, Tuesday evening rolls along (did I mention the BYU laundry closes at 5:30?), and I'm typing my outline for a paper about Baroque influence in Brahms' Fourth Symphony, and all of a sudden, I think about the concert in a couple hours, and I realize that my uniform is at the cleaners, and I subsequently realize that it is 5:50! Not good. So, I don a sweater and race up ninth, cruise by Heritage, DT, and DT field, and arrive at the laundry at 5:57 (I'm not in shape). There's a guy at the door, and he opens it for me, so I walk in, and he says, "Wait, we're closed!" I was pretty desperate. 194 guys dressed alike, and one wearing a black suit instead of grey pants and a blue jacket? Not feasible. So, I say, "I need my suit! I have a concert tonight!", and there's still a girl at the cash register. Another girl behind the counter says, "We closed half an hour ago." The girl at the register says, "Your in Men's Chorus? (Actually, she said, "You're in Men's Chorus?"), and I replied hastily in the affirmative. Things were going my way. "Okay. We'll get it." "Thank you very much," I reply, very politely. As the other girl gets my suit, the cashier says, "We had about twenty of the Men's Chorus in here ten minutes ago." I nod and grin, still very politely, get my suit, and leave, very grateful for my suit, grateful for its cleanliness, grateful for the amazingly comfortable temperature outside with signs of a coming thunderstorm, and grateful that I'm not the only one who cut it close. I just did it my way.

Johannes Brahms' Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Opus 90

2006-02-08T22:33:00.000-08:00

my initial response

Johannes Brahms’ Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Op. 90
cd recording of Sir Charles Mackerras conducting the Scottish Chamber Orchestra
The entire symphony is emotional and full of interesting contrasts and beautiful melodies, but as before, the second movement, andante, is the part that I noticed. As I felt it, it is the epilogue of a tale involving a hero having accomplished a great and magnanimous deed. It seems our hero is humble as he tells his tale through a clarinet and bassoon duet. He gives some details, but nothing outrageous or proud. The audience is grateful for his modesty. Then the flutes start to chide him for a minor discrepancy in his tale. The brass instruments resonate that he should feel bad and should reconcile his lack of consistency. The hero quickly realizes his error and repents. The rest of the orchestra continues to lecture him, but they appreciate the dispatch of his response. But all is not well. The hero, having been lifted by overcoming his fault, sees life in a more serious light, and he is pained to a crisis by the harsh realities he now observes. Yet the added understanding makes him more powerful and more mature. Our hero nobly accepts his new responsibilities, notwithstanding their weight, for he knows that along with the performance of duty comes immense satisfaction. How noble, how selfless! As the last six measures of the movement embrace the gentle and peaceful ritardando, our hero’s newly increased virtues are extolled through brilliant ascending lines of eighth notes passed between instruments: He has become more honest in telling stories, so tell the clarinets; more wise in accepting reprimands from elders, according to the oboes; and more enabled to perform future deeds of valor and charity, sung by the flutes. Brahms may not have imagined it so, but so I felt it.

Classical music definitely is inspiring. The Romantic symphony as a genre is full of emotion and feeling, even passion. But it's all in the listening. Try listening with a score in hand. I dare you.

The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me

2006-02-03T23:21:00.000-08:00

Actually, me, Frosty, and Scott Nelson.

A snowman, a murder, and me.

2006-02-03T22:03:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, it snowed. I'd just had a pazookie (ask later) with some friends and was going home to move my laundry from the washer to the dryer (remember that; it's important.), when I couldn't really help from noticing how much it was snowing and piling up everywhere. So, I went back and got those cray-z pazookie people and started singing.
"In the lane, snow is glistenin'. " I didn't really, but the snow did make me feel like making snow angels and snowmen. Together, we created an unusual snowman, but fairly average in most respects. Minus the ketchup lips and the Nesquik hair, it's pretty average. And we were fairly cheery and calm, too. Minus the violence brewing in our minds. It was her idea.

The following photos may be somewhat disturbing, depending on your poetic faith in regards to simulated violence:

Too bad it didn't stop there. Poor Frosty didn't get any mercy from anyone, including me.

The pinnacle of my disgrace:

So, these aren't the worst things. Maybe it was peer-pressure, maybe I was just trying to assert my independence and make friends, but whatever it was, I didn't know I had it in me. Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? Is it wrong to murder and mutilate a snowman? It doesn't feel pain, but we did mold the snow to represent a person. If we did this everytime, would I do the same things to a real person?

I don't think I have to answer that.

As we perpetrated this heinous deed, one of Tiffany's roommates came by.

"Oh, how nice."

Then she saw the knife wound and the bullet hole (not shown) and me carving Jack-Frost-O'Lantern.

"That's disgusting. That is really gross."

And I have to say, I agree.

Am I proud of it since I'm putting it on my blog?

I'm not a violent person. I hate Halo and Halo2 and UNREAL TOURNAMENT: GOTYE. But Saturday, I got swept into it, and I was having the most hilarious time with friends I've had in a long time. Honestly, I don't feel very guilty. Especially since me and Scott and Frosty became such good friends.

2006-01-29T18:45:00.000-08:00

So pretty much my roommate, Alex, says that all my blog has is pictures. My first post was actually picture-less, but he's basically right. Maybe sometime I'll start writing like he does. Not yet.

This semester's readings.

2006-01-21T21:39:00.000-08:00

Score.

I do what I can.

2006-01-21T21:12:00.000-08:00

Jaydog Bassoon

2006-01-21T21:11:00.000-08:00

aMora and Alyssa

2006-01-19T22:01:00.000-08:00

Foolish, young, and not-so-innocent.

Me and Emily

2006-01-19T21:59:00.000-08:00

at Four-Mile Knoll

Evan and Elise

2006-01-19T21:56:00.000-08:00

The Bakers.

2006-01-19T21:54:00.000-08:00

The Houston Temple

2006-01-19T17:02:00.000-08:00

Dallin Chan and Nathan Koizumo

2006-01-19T16:56:00.000-08:00

Hey.

Me and Nathan

2006-01-19T16:55:00.000-08:00

Before he deserted us.

Good morning, Starshine.

2005-12-15T23:34:00.000-08:00

How many fingers does he have?

Who is on the phone?

2005-12-15T23:30:00.000-08:00

Alex looking chic

2005-12-15T23:29:00.000-08:00

on pins and needles

2005-11-30T21:48:00.000-08:00

Directly after

2005-11-30T21:45:00.000-08:00

The Lovebirds

2005-10-08T01:59:00.000-07:00

Nathan and his fiancee like each other quite a bit.

The RMs

2005-10-08T01:54:00.000-07:00

These are Curtis Smith and Nathan Snyder.

Hello.

2005-10-08T01:46:00.000-07:00

This is Alex. Me and Alex go way back.

"What up?"

2005-10-08T01:44:00.000-07:00

TOMMY HERMAN

Douglas

2005-10-02T18:27:00.000-07:00

Douglas and his watermelon.

Douglas

2005-10-02T18:24:00.000-07:00

Douglas and his grapefruit.

MOAB

2005-09-29T23:18:00.000-07:00

I like Jeeps.

I'm not sure the HBLL receives tithing funds...

2005-09-29T22:56:00.000-07:00

at least the fifth floor.

La fontaine

2005-09-29T17:14:00.000-07:00

L'Eau Vivant

2005-09-26T22:31:00.000-07:00

This is the fountain in the courtyard of the JFSB. Wells traditionally represent an endless supply, so they are often central at places of higher learning. A well at BYU naturally brings to mind significantly symbolic meanings.

Heya.

2005-09-26T22:20:00.000-07:00

C'est moi. Nomen mihi Dallin Didius est. Sum ergo valeo.
Valete.