I'll have a #3, DeLuxxe Sized

On Thursday evening at the New Silver Heights Bingo Hall in Louisville, dreamers sat down with all the hope life had not yet stripped away. Perhaps a little hope they kept secret such that they might be the one to yell a simple word among so many numbers. One word. Bingo. But once again, their dreams were put on hold by a Louisville man racing through hall with his pants down screaming "Bingo." Police arrested Deharra Waters pictured above in an unusual mug shot and charged him with disorderly conduct and alcohol intoxication. Police say his action caused alarm to both patrons and employees alike.

-Breitbart.com 12/30/2013 I would like to be the first person to say that I am disgusted by what I read, as it relates to what happened in the New Silver Heights Bingo Parlor. For some reason, stories effect each of us differently, but this one has cut me to the bone. I monitor the news with regularity, and at times I am impressed by what people do, other times I find myself disappointed, and at times (like today), my patience with our world simply falls short. I guarantee that the simple patrons of the Parlor were hoping to use those fun shaped bingo markers, without being made sick. I feel like throwing up, thinking about how the the early settlers of Louisville, William Johnson and James Peters, would be rolling over in their graves. Or how three truck drivers named Dale, Chip, and Clyde were forced to toss their bingo markers and wrestle Mr Deharra Waters out of the hall. All I could think was, what a jerk. When I was 21, I remember going (along with my brother Matt and Ben Colvin) on a group date to a Bingo Hall. Sure the average age was 74, you had to buy a turkey and mashed potatoes meal as cover to get into the hall, when you left you smelled like an ash tray, and afterward you knew more about Firebirds than your local high school Auto-body teacher, but it was the good clean fun that you just wanted to share with the world. At no point did any of us concern ourselves with anything but the balls rolling out of the tumbler. These people were the salt of the earth, and though most of them would probably post bail for one of their grandchildren within 48 hours, they wouldn't know what to do when a situation like this stared them right in the face. But Mr. Waters comes in singing, "Comfortably Numb," shocking the rest of the hall into what they must have thought was a scene from a Seth Rogan movie (which none of them had seen). Which brings me to what really bothers me: We've all done this, and many of us sober... why is Mr. Waters getting all of this publicity? Today's Civil War bias media sickens me. If something happens in states that were vital during the Civil War, it's international news. If some guys named Matt and Ben, in Utah, do it... nothing. And you wonder who will win the War on Terror.

I fear I may be turning into Karl Pilkington. Each Wednesday, I have a class from 5-7:40, in the basement of BYU's JFSB. I don't get reception on the cell in the basement and so when I had a break during class last night, I decided to go outside to get reception. As I walked outside I had the thought, "Wow, this is a perfect day. I wished I smoked so I'd get outside more."

How burned out is my mind that I decide smoking would be a good way to catch a little sun? I'm a bit worried about the connections my mind seems to be making these days. I wish I could say this was a joke, but I truly had that thought. This isn't the first thought I've had lately which left me questioning my own sanity. I think some of this thought process can be directly linked to my just finishing the entire catalog of the Ricky Gervais Show (Podcast), for about the tenth time. Please don't report this to Mensa; I don't want a long drawn out investigation, which ultimately sees me losing my membership.

If you have a question who Karl Pilkington is, this is a good intro:

So as many of you may know, my scholastic endeavors have been far more fruitful since I married Traci. So I thought about writing a blog about it to thank her. But then I realized I should put things in perspective by giving thanks where it is most deserved. While Traci has been around much of the time to see me writing papers, reading, or taking tests, another force has been there every step of the way. Each day, after work, I find myself trying to completely change my mindset. The type of thinking needed at work and at school are entirely different.

Much like as Pee Wee Herman wakes up and slides down the fire pole, as I walk through our front door my work clothes disappear and my "uniform" is already on me. My uniform consists of a Maple Leafs long sleeve shirt, and Maple Leaf pajama bottoms (both Christmas gifts from my mom). With the help of my uniform I have read some of the most incredible works of literature, including: Shakespeare's King Lear, Donne's Holy Sonnets, and Dostoevsky's Notes from the Underground. My uniform refuses to be a part of the reading of Danielle Steel novels or Twilight; fortunately for our working relationship, we are of one accord on this topic.

So in closing, thank you uniform, I owe you so much.