The Flag Tossed All Around the World

Barry, how do you like the asterisk you have next to your name? I’m asking as a BYU football fan because we’ve brought one home with us after our win in Washington last weekend. Yeah, we have a “W” to put in the win column, but it’s a win with conditions. Apparently one of the referees got in the line and blocked the PAT attempt by Washington to tie the game and send it into overtime. I never saw the play, but that’s how it’s been explained to me.

BYU has been hounded by negative press this week over the excessive celebration call on Washington’s quarterback (I guarantee it wouldn’t have made news if it was a MWC game). This call has sent columnists and bloggers crying bloody murder as if BYU didn’t already dominate the game in every statistical category. According to them, the refs handed BYU the game. One writer for ESPN went as far to say, “It was one of the absolute worst calls I've ever seen in football.”

Are you kidding me? Did you ever watch football before official review was instated? Bad calls were part of the game!

Obviously, I’m biased towards BYU. The fact is that there was a rule in place, the rule was violated, and the call was made accordingly. And like any good team, BYU made the play to get the win.

My biggest beef about this controversy revolves around the ridiculous reasons given by the media for why the call shouldn’t have been made. The worst argument of them all is that an action like that taken by Washington’s quarterback should not be made if he was acting on emotion. What? Do players ever commit unsportmanslike acts without emotion? Can you really dismiss a call because a player acted out of emotion?

Where was that when I was a kid?

If that same logic applied to my childhood...I would’ve never visited the principals office for throwing shingles at passing cars. I never would’ve spent time in timeout or be forced to reconcile my differences with my older sister. The yellow card I received in soccer would’ve stayed in the ref’s pocket because my illegal slide tackle in the 18-yard box was definitely an emotional reaction.

Moses would’ve become the King of Egypt after he killed the Egyptian, Islamic fundamentalists would be Delta airline captains, and Georgia would be singing the Hymn to the Russian Federation.

Are you kidding me?

New Kids On the Block

Over the past three days, college freshman have been more numerous around campus than bobble-head Obama supporters at the Democratic National Convention. This increase of freshman has led me to believe that one of two things must be true: EFY has extended the age limits on their summer youth programs to include college freshman or a brand new school year is about to start. The gut-grinding, mind-malfunctioning, money-spending complex I’m developing leads me to believe in the latter.

I’m serious when I say that I like seeing freshman around campus. How else can I get so much joy from knowing that the same beehive girl I hometaught as an eighteen year old will be joining me in my astronomy class? The feeling of maturity that I’m experiencing is almost overwhelming!

Truth is, I’m enjoying the chance I have to watch the freshman as they explore the great campus of BYU. Observing them has caused me to think about my own freshman experiences and the lessons I learned from them.

When I was a freshman, I learned the importance of my family. Being away from them taught me how much I truly depended on them for... everything. I cherished the phone calls, the weekends I went home, and even the occasional letter in the mail. I was blessed to still have my sister, Jill, in Provo. I remember walking three blocks to her house with a homemade cheesecake in my hands, taking each step with great care as if my gift to her was something sacred. It was a little token of my appreciation to her for the dozen papers she proof-read and her simple decision to stay nearby.

I learned the truth behind the idea that if you don’t put God first, in the end, it will make no difference who (or what) you put first instead. I learned this from a girl, the source of too many of my freshman lessons. The Homecoming dance was coming around and the girl I had my eye on was asked out so early in the year that she may as well have been predestined to go with him in the pre-mortal life. I sloughed it off as if it was nothing and asked a good friend of mine if she would go with me. With a seriousness almost uncommon in a freshman, especially in a cheerleader, she politely denied my invitation on the grounds that she didn’t want to be my second choice. I stayed home the night of the dance. If a college freshman has a difficult time accepting second place, how then, must the God of the universe feel when we place Him and His first commandment behind on our lists of wants, wishes and desires?

I began to learn my freshman year how large the world really was. It didn’t take me long to realize that Centerville really wasn’t the center of anything more than my childhood memories. The world was a big place, and I had only begun to realize my part in it. Walking around on an unknown campus made me feel infinitely small, and the headphones in my ears that guided my tour of the library didn’t help any. I learned that my new campus, like any new experience, was not any different than any good pair of hand-me-down jeans. It must gradually be grown into until it fits so well that you can’t believe it first belonged to someone else. It had become yours.

And to you, naive little freshman, good luck and a thousand good wishes your way. That is, of course, if any freshman happens upon this little blog of mine. I assume it will go unnoticed, lacking the ability to compete with the several class disclosures that you have already begun to memorize. My freshman friends, consider this blog, advice, and memories, my hand-me-down to you.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words, and a Whole Load of Wedding Presents

I began to understand how important wedding pictures were when I started receiving more announcements than credit card applications. I soon realized, however, that both my friends and my potential creditors were both after the same thing, my money. The only difference being that my friends wanted it in the form of Target gift cards. Despite all this, I am proud to report a near perfect credit score.

While I could go on about the money sharks about me, I will not because one day (hopefully) you will get a announcement from me, and hopefully I too will earn that highly coveted spot on your fridge between sister Sally’s out-dated sixth grade picture and the Christmas card from a long lost (and never again found) friend from your wild college days.

What is more significant, even eternally significant, is the engagement photo itself. To those getting married, today, tomorrow, or several years from now, THIS IS LIFE OR DEATH! The picture needs to say what you would like to say if you had no heart or sensitivities. It should say something like, “neener-neener,” or “I told you so,” but in a Sunday-conversation type of way. Having my refrigerator clothed with such engagement photos, I am qualified to give the following advice.

Throughout your engagement, you have most likely learned the importance of your hands. Whether it be high-fiving with your hands, holding hands, or giving your hand in marriage (in that order only), hands are very significant. In the wedding picture, please don’t use your hands to choke, strangle, or harm in any way your significant other. That’s what we call “mixed signals.”

The background of your picture can be a good way to distract people from a poor haircut, a bad side, or even just an unnatural smile so choose your background wisely. You may not know this now, but what you stand in front of is an image of who you are as a couple. If you choose to stand in front of a rustic cabin, people will say, “hey, these people have Little House on the Prairie values.” Likewise, standing in front of your dad’s half-restored Ford Taurus may not send the kind of signals you’re going for.

For those of you who may be indecisive, especially when it comes to deciding which picture to choose for your engagement photo, may I make one suggestion? Instead of having one picture, try having one big picture that you mostly like surrounded by fifteen other pictures you kinda-sorta like. That way, you don’t have to make a decision! You could even change outfits if you’d like!

Hopefully that will get you lovebirds started. I would spend more time giving away my helpful advice but I need to work on photoshopping myself into a picture in front of the Indy 500 Speedway. Hey does anyone know where to find a good picture of Miley Cyrus?

The Country Roads That Took Me Home

Every once in awhile, life offers a small dirt road to drive down apart from the four-lane highway you’re used to. The road doesn’t come often, but if you look closely, it’s always there when it matters, and if you’re careful, you’ll learn lessons that are fundamental to life. That’s what happened to me this weekend when I took the opportunity to go with some of my friends to Emmett, Idaho. A small city outside of Boise, Emmett is so unknown and obscure to the outside world that it might as well be protected by lock and key.

Despite the title of my blog, Emmett is not my home in the traditional sense of the word. It is not the place where I grew up, where my family lives, or even a place where I have visited before. In fact, before this weekend, Emmett was a place that existed to me only in the stories of my dear friends. Nevertheless, in Emmett I learned, or relearned, important lessons that I had once been taught in my real home. These are a few things that I learned.

Sometimes when we’re going through life, the road curves, our wheels skid off the track, and tragedy results. When the dust settles and the wounds begin to heal, we can get back on track and move on with our life. Lately, it was difficult to imagine being on the wrong side of the bell curve, the bottom of my target grade, or even a little off-track in my dating life. Sometimes I forget how good my life really is.



Doing something new is not nearly as scary after you do it. I've been learning that lesson for the past four years of my life and I still haven't mastered it. The height of the bridge is not as intimidating looking up as it is looking down. That idea can help us do things that are difficult, things that we would do on our own if we could find a way to be our very best self. President Heber J. Grant often taught, “That which we persist in doing becomes easier for us to do; not that the nature of the things itself is changed, but that our power to do is increased.” These words never become quite clear until after they have been followed.

When wishing on a star, what comes first, the wish or the star? For me it was the star. As I laid on my back listening to Elvis Presley scare away the deer from eating Grandma Hallam’s corn, I counted the shooting stars as they passed by. I counted only one in the first half-hour, and it took me nearly that long afterwards to make a wish. Then I began to think of the wishes I had for my life. The stars began to appear frequently, four or five every few minutes. I soon ran out of wishes and I thought about how sad it is to run out of wishes when the night will never run out of stars.

Just like any great weekend, it came to a close too soon. The same road that took me to Emmett finally took me back to the four-lane highway I’m used to. But these little lessons will continue to stir my mind as long as I need them. Then, I will carefully look for another bending, dirt road to take me where I need to go.

Economics for the Soul

Suppose student A is enrolled in a university economics class due to a supply of economic classes offered and the demand by the university administration and core curriculum requirements. He has not had a math-related class for more than 6 years due to an extreme allergic reaction which often manifests itself by a shortness of breath, fits of rage, and frequent episodes of trichotillomania. He has ten hours to study or work each day and his test scores relate to the amount of time he spends studying, as seen in the following demand schedule.

Quantity (hrs)                   Score (%)
0                                          0
1                                           5
2                                          10
3                                          20
4                                          35
5                                          55
6                                          62
7                                          66
8                                         69
9                                         72
10                                       73.5

Assume Student A is in a perfectly competitive market, answer the following questions.
A) Graph the above information. What is the optimal time to study for student A? (hint: notice the diminishing marginal product)
B) What would be the marginal benefit of studying for one more hour each day? Would it be worth it?
C) In the short run, should he stay open or should he temporarily shut down? In the long run, will he exit the market? Explain.
D) Is Economics 110 a sunk cost?

These Days, It's All About Babies

I learned the other day why my blog audience is so pathetically small. To be fair, I guess I can't blame it on a singular event or factor. Doing that would be like blaming the entire success of the movie Titanic on the sinking ship. It's not that I want my blog to attract lots of attention as much as it is to help people believe that I'm still alive and kicking.

As I was perusing through the other blogs I like to read, I came across Stephanie and Lon's blog about the adventures of their baby, Eden. I admit, it was a great blog which included some really sweet pictures of their baby surrounded by entertaining commentary. I really can't compete with that. What impressed me the most about their blog was the amount of comments that were posted at the end of it. If blog viewership was measured by the number of comments in each blog, Stephanie and Lon's blog compared to mine would be similar to the circulation of the New York Times compared to the Davis County Clipper. Does anyone read the Clipper anyway?

So, the lesson that I learned from reading Stephanie and Lon's blog is that it is all about the babies. That's the only thing people are interested in nowadays. This little realization of mine didn't help my situation any. You see, I don't have a baby, I'm not a baby, nor do I have close access to a baby that I could borrow to blog about. What I have done, however, is dusted off some of my very own baby pictures from the Farmer family vault, some of which have never been seen by my own blood, in hopes to increase my blog audience. Enjoy!



This is a nice picture of me swimming when I was only eight months old. Water has always seemed like my natural habitat.



Halloween was always a fun time at the Farmer's. However, I wasn't too fond of getting my picture taken in a pumpkin and it took me nearly ten more years to eat pumpkin pie.



This was an awful day in my life. The physical scars healed quickly, but the emotional scars have lasted to this very day.

There you go, people. I delivered what the world really wants to see. Babies. I hope you enjoyed my stroll through memory lane!

The Taxonomy of the Troll

We can safely assume that the difficulty of naming our Norwegian friend stems from our inability to figure out exactly what he (or she) is. Therefore, if we can apply the practice of scientific observation, and with the help of wikipedia, we will be able to properly classify this fellow and come up with a proper name.

It is clear from the early hypothesis of other family members, namely Heidi, that classifying this animal is anything but easy. I am indebted to her astuteness when it comes to this subject. However, I am thoroughly against the notion that this creature is a goblin, but is, in actually, a true troll. I will, therefore, prove to the blogging world through a diachronic taxonomy and careful observation and research that the creature is a troll and nothing else. The result of this blog will be a load of useless information and an unfinished econ assignment.

In discovering the nature of this beast, it will be helpful to make careful observations. Since I have had possession of the troll for over a week now, I am fully qualified to do this. First, its skin is an olive tone with a texture that resembles the skin of the aged. The hair of the head is also dark with no particular style or fashion. Its nose is elongated telling us that it could possibly be a member of the pinnochius family, which uses its nose mostly for lying and reaching glasses in the cupboard that are too high to reach flat-footed. It's eyes are not real. The clothing of the creature is quite peculiar. It wears only a green pair of overalls that can lead us to make only two logical conclusions. One, it is most likely a male, and two, it never attended Ricks College.

Now let us examine the possibility of this creature being an actual gremlin. Gremlins are an American invention that have originated in the 1930s. They are most closely associated with airplanes and have been the cause of many airplane accidents including the not-yet revealed reason why the Lost people are still on the island. Our friend obviously has no fear of air travel so this fact seems to correspond. However, from looking at pictures of gremlins from the movie, Gremlins, it is easily seen that our creature bears no resemblance.



The next idea is that our creature is a gnome. That explanation is simply inadequate. If we would apply the principle of Occam's razor to keep things simple, we would go from gnome to nome which would put us in a city in ancient Egypt, a long way from our friend's nordic homeland. Plus, he has no pointy hat.



The only logical we can come to is that this creaturely is a thoroughbred troll. I understand that the confusion stems from the following comparison.





I believe that this misidentification mistake is a result of American Globalization and overprotective parents. As Nordic traditions have diffused into the United States, we have acculturated those traditions to meet our own needs and wants. This has unfortunately resulted in a plethora of these warm and friendly creatures that have invaded our very own playrooms and TV screens. The origins and mutations of the troll that have been caused by American Globalization can be seen the in following timeline.


The original troll.



When the troll hit America, it went one of two ways.





Because that was all too scary for most American households, this was what resulted.



As we have mentioned earlier, overprotective parents can also be blamed for the troll confusion. Before the troll became what we know it today in America, it was what every American children's nightmares were made of. American pop culture has a great way of taking something scary and frightening and turning it into something harmless. Now this adaption isn't as uncommon as you might think. One of the greatest products of our popular culture is is the virtual domestication of undomesticatable animals, as seen below.






Therefore, I still believe that our friend is a troll. But I think that Nilbog is a good name.