Eat It

Quick Poll Question for everyone: What's the weirdest/most disgusting thing you've ever eaten?

Metamorphosis

Yesterday I was 22. Today I am 23. I aged an entire year in a 24-hour window... What just happened?

(Unofficial) Spring Break

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Earlier this month I went to Hawaii. My dad and brother were there too. It was fun. I'm really tired now...

Giving Time to Make Time

I was fortunate enough to get to attend the temple this morning. The competition for my time this weekend includes cleaning the apartment, working on art sketches and compositions, and writing a research paper. It's funny how, sometimes, you have so much going on in your days and weeks and lives in general that you can't figure out how spending a few hours "outside" the activities of the world will work.

Thanks to the stalwart examples of two fantastic parents, I've always known that going to the temple was important, if not always the why. That part I have had to find our for myself. In fact, that is half of the enjoyment I derive from temple attendance. This won't mean quite the same thing to anyone else, though I'm sure you know what I'm getting at, since our thoughts and feelings are just so personal.

I don't know how it works, but I always feel better upon setting one foot inside. All that worry and anxiety doesn't follow me in. It's often there to meet me upon exiting, but over that last hour or two I've been better equipped and prepared to deal with it. Take that world.

Happy First Birthday, Lil' Miss Elsie

As of this afternoon (the hour being as yet unspecified--darn daylight savings time), Elizabeth Rae Summers was brought into this lovely world, which is actually all the more lovely with her in it. She is the first daughter/niece/granddaughter/sister born for our growing quasi Borgia-Summers family.

I can't think of a better thing to have happened for us in a long time. I also can't think of a better family for her to be born into, with two fantastic parents and an equally too-awesome-to-believe older brother. Congratulations to you both, Beth and Brad, and congratulations to anyone else who will at some point have the privilege of knowing this wonderful girl. Again, Happy Birthday my sweet little Elsie!

Love,
Uncle Adam

Can I Blame This on the Economy?

I'm sorry to all those (the four I can count on my hand anyway) who've been reading my cartoon blogs, particularly my most recent one, but "Skum of the Universe" has to be put on productive hold indefinitely... I had hoped to be able to work on it in between other art projects this semester, but that just has not been the case.

It's not because I don't care, or that I don't enjoy it anymore--I just don't have the time and energy that I feel it, and thus all of you deserve. Believe me, no one can be more upset than me, and I still have plenty of ideas of where I wanted to go with this and later comics, but schooling simply has to take precedence right now. Please find a way to still be happy.

Color Coding

You can use colors to identify what kind of person you are, what that mystery mass moving in your tupperware is, and even your mood(s). It can be argued (and if you want, I will argue it with you) that all of these things--your personality, your emotions, and even the things you eat--have an impact on your day to day development as a human being [this it not to imply by deductive reasoning that I consider anyone without a personality, feelings or the desire to eat unable to qualify as a person... they have done that all by themselves]. Combine this now established "fact" with the harsh reality that this is my blog, and while you are reading, I technically own a part of you, and soon we arrive at the conclusion that I can say anything else I want afterward and expect you to comply. Which leads me into my next thought...

It is only reasonable then to proceed to assign each of the seven days of the week a corresponding color. Please note that although you might have different opinions based off of your experiences and/or relationship with the days, it is only my views that ultimately matter and are taken into account. Also, there is no consideration taken here with those who are color blind and thus cannot relate. I am sorry but I had already started this process before I realized that. Moving on:

Sunday- Green. It wasn't always this way, but it is official until I change my mind again. There are very few shades, tints and tones of green I do not like. The same can be said of my Sundays, which are almost always varying degrees of pleasant. White also works because it has an appropriate 'clean' connotation to it, although not truly a color.

Monday-Purple. This might be my most difficult to label. Like the color, they can almost always start out attractive enough, but it doesn't take too much to make them unappealing.

Tuesday-Orange. I am learning to appreciate and understand this day. And its attached hue has also begun to endear itself to me. Let me make it clear though, that it is still not within the ranks of Sunday/Green or Friday/Red. It still has a long way to go, but it is making good strides.

Wednesday-Blue. Blue, along with this day, can be one of the most striking and captivating things you can experience, if executed correctly. Sadly, this is not always the case. But Wednesday has a nice sound to it, and I have to give it recognition for managing to confuse everyone with its spelling at some point.

Thursday-Black. Because nobody likes you, Thursday. Black is also not a color, but somehow you manage to make it fit you.

Friday-Red. Not just any red. Bold red. Strong, fierce, independent red. I do not see this one changing. Ever. I love you Friday, even with your faults, few though they be.

Saturday-Brown. This is not an insult to the day. It actually happens to bear one of my favorite colors (yet again, the term "color" is not entirely accurate). Some browns just take it too far in the end, and I've had many, many Saturdays that started out a glorious and beautiful tan and ended up as mud. It is not unlike a blissful session of cartoons being uprooted by hard labor and chores. Why, Mom and Dad? Why?

Done. That's the way it is. You can tell me what you might change, but as I said earlier, it won't make much of a difference. Hey, I don't make the rules. Well, actually I do.

2K8 In A Nutshell (Pistachio I Think)

Yes, I know that I have four days left in the year, but I'm turning in early... so unless I win the lottery, discover a new planet or inherit my own tropical island, you're probably not going to hear about until next year.

The year didn't start out with a bang (although I'm sure something exploded somewhere), but was exciting enough. I had already planned early on to take the summer off, so the course I took through the semester was a race for the finish so I could finally take a breather. At this point I was still enrolled as an Art History major at BYU, so I loaded up on the study of the dead and dying from around the art world, as well as completed that university's religion requirements once and for all. Towards the winter's end--just about when spring sprang--I wrapped up my portfolio for submission into the Visual Arts program.

What a relief that was, yet too soon swallowed up by the anxiety caused by my quick placement onto a near three month waiting list (jumping into the narrative future I can disclose to anxious readers that eventually I was accepted). Mixed in these crazy few months, I managed to finish one series of cartoon (eventually to be followed by another).

The summer months brought with them perhaps the most concentrated amount of activities, opportunities and emotions out of any previous chunk of my life thus far, including my mission (whose one year anniversary also fell during this time). There to greet me upon my return home was Dorothy, my faithful and sturdy (i.e. built like a decommissioned army tank) fire engine red 1994 Pontiac Grand Am. She was the perfect symbol of transport in the life metaphor that would become, in many ways, my personal Odyssey. The reference to the epic Greek poem is fitting mostly due to the likelihood that we--meaning my Father and I--traversed the same lands and seas as that story's famous hero (assuming he was more than a work of fiction of course). The trip to Italy and its surrounding countries was also in many ways a return home for the two of us, since we claim it as the land of our forebearers. The breathtaking vistas and rolling countryside were akin to a siren's song for that country's prodigal sons, and the ancient ruins with all their history were as a sorceress' spell bidding us to stay. But linger we could not (partly because that wasn't on the itinerary), for there was much else to do back in our real home. Like get a job.

So that's what I did. My ventures weren't as fruitful as I would have dreamed, but that's what fathers are for. And so it came to pass that for the duration of the summer I toiled away in his office cave entering data, filing who-knows-what and organizing numberless piles of paper and pamphlets. I actually quite enjoyed myself.

I also ought to mention that I was privileged to volunteer in our own Mesa temple for several weeks in the baptistry, where, as one might expect, I was privy to several wonderful experiences. The sacredness and importance of these first ordinances are sometimes lost to those of us who haven't been back since we were youth. It was very refreshing.

My educational hiatus was over far too soon, and I found myself back in the lifestyle of dirty sinks, shared living quarters, singles wards and shaving requirements. This Fall semester also became---and I say this without the slightest hesitation--the hardest and most pressing period of school in my life. I was trying to balance the physically demanding tasks of the first year art classes with the mentally exhausting science courses of chemistry and human physiology--polar opposites on the scale of learning. Every weekend was a workload, and I had little to no time for "fun." This being said, I am happy to say that I also feel as if I have accomplished more during this time than any other. The words of one of my old instructors come to mind, that "busy people are the ones who get things done." And I did a lot.

The amount of stress and pressure that I felt was equal the level of relaxation I felt upon coming home for the holidays; letting my brain, heart and body do and think little more than nothing. Christmas was as wonderful as always, if a little smaller in company than I remember. I also felt more strongly the beginnings of letting go of that special something we had in plenty as children. More and more it's become less and less about me. It's almost enough to just have it be us. Nothing beats family.

Well that's that everyone. Until next year. Here's hoping an odd numbered year can outdo this one. I'm skeptical of course...

[Quickly looking this latest entry over, I'm starting to think that a pistachio doesn't quite describe the size properly. I think I had the wrong nut. What would you have used?]

And You Thought This Was A Real Post...

Ha. Ha ha ha. Well sorry, but it's not. Not really. Although, the more I type, the more it becomes one. Oh my gosh--what am I doing? I've been sucked into starting something just to spite all of you and now I'm actually fulfilling your hopes and dreams! Where's the delete button? Blast, I think I just pushed the 'publish' icon!! NOOO!!!

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Lazy (or Beautiful)

I'll make this short. For any of you people out there who are frustrated with my posting dearth, I urge you to return the sniper rifles and cross me off of your hate list. In my defense, I've been too busy. Yes, too busy to write something that should only take five minutes to spit out (but with all my steps in proofreading is closer to an hour), and far and away too busy to have anything to do with my cartoon blogs.

Believe me when I say with complete sincerity that there is almost nothing else I would rather do right now than to sit down and draw out another comical adventure. But less than a month into this new semester I'm founding out it may just be my busiest yet. In fact, the only reason I'm even putting this up is because one of my plans to work on a class project fell through--well, that and my sense of guilt mixed with responsibility to all of you (and a fear of headshots...).

So I hope you all can forgive me, but even if you don't it doesn't matter because I've learned to forgive myself. Things will happen when they happen.

My Borgia Biopsy

Having spent the last few weeks corresponding with doctors, unorthodox "specialists," and overly concerned mothers, I am finally able to compile my most comprehensive list of current biological conditions. You don't have to read any further. Avert your eyes if you choose, because the truth may shock you.

The required process of poking and prodding was complicated more by my already discovered fear of needles. [Big or small, it doesn't matter--and no, shots are not the same thing as having blood drawn. Putting something in is quite different than having something taken out. It's inside for a reason.] Alas, I was forced by my inherent existence as a man to submit to their vampirical lust. I don't know who they're trying to fool by hiding their insidiousness behind their white coats.

Starting with the most obvious and outwardly manifested issues with which I am plagued, one will notice my stark lack of height. Because of this I have had to choose my company carefully to reduce the frequency of extreme latitudinal comparisons. None of my close friends play basketball. For the longest time I consigned myself to the belief that this is due simply to family genes. In reality, the cause is a deep rooted fear, practically printed on my DNA, of vertical extremes. Vertigo, for all you Hitchcock fans out there. It is then simply a matter of self preservation that restricts my body from reaching even average height.

Along with the loss of a few inches, there is another bodily feature that seems to be missing. I don't know exactly when it happened, but my butt has inexcusably taken an unspecified leave of absence. Suffice it to say that, without any severe change to diet or exercise, many a pair of pants, shorts and slacks have become alarmingly baggy in the rear pockets.

Moving internally now I will discuss what has become a fairly recent nuisance. Chronic stomach pains, ranging from moderately discomforting to nauseating have plagued me for the better part of a month now. Many self-proclaimed experts may quickly attribute this to medicinal side effects or just label it as a consequence of lactose intolerance. And while it is true in some part that I can no longer fully tolerate the friends I once called cheese, milk and ice cream, I believe the real culprit is much more simple. You could say that it is "in my stars." My early summer birthday places me in the zodiacal definition of a Gemini. What that means then is that somewhere, unbeknownst to me, is my cosmic, if not identical twin. My hypothesis is as follows: due to the suddenness of my predicament, the only explanation is that my twin has also suddenly been inflicted with a legitimate injury to their person. Gastric bypass surgery perhaps, a sustained gunshot wound, or even cancer. Consequently, my own displeasure is nothing more than an astronomical case of sympathy pain.

Amidst all of this discovery I have also learned that my cholesterol is slightly higher than normal. But that's nothing a breakfast routine of Cheerios can't fix. Thank goodness too, because I might have started to worry otherwise.

The Year Dot

Not too long ago I made a point to mark the three-year anniversary (if it can rightly be called as such) from when I left home to begin a two year mission.

Today though marks for me a much more significant anniversary. On July 21st, 2007 I returned from said mission. One year. The number is smaller, but the occasion carries a lot more weight.

My next few thoughts may sound negative, but I prefer to think of myself more as a realist. That weight sometimes feels like a ball and chain--just light enough to keep from hindering any progress, but heavy enough to remind me lest I forget that, when comparing the two years "on" with my now one year "off" lifestyle, the latter withers in terms of productivity and accomplishment. Before, everything I did was part of working towards a goal; but now, with several, less defined goals moving in waves around me I feel a bit lost.

It's not an inherently sad day. My sweet mother is baking a much anticipated apple pie to celebrate. But in regards to the feelings of loss and separation, I think it's appropriate to dress in black for the duration.

The Homecoming

After what can arguably be labeled as one of the best weeks of my life, I have returned from visiting far off and exotic lands to my sweet, native country. No place on earth, no matter how inspiring, how fascinating, how incredible can ever replace the pleasantness of being home, especially in time for its birthday celebration.

I don't mean to criticize Europe, or more specifically the countries of the Mediterranean--well, maybe just a little bit--and so for those who would like to know a little about the excursion we embarked upon, I will include some highlights.

Let's start with the ship, shall we? Best. Food. Ever. I could stop at that. I've never eaten so many delicious and rich types of food consecutively in my life and not been ashamed for it. Chile catfish with fruit salsa and rice almond pilaf. Fried Brie in phyllo dough with an apple cranberry glaze. Chocolate Mousse bread breading with vanilla cream sauce. I will miss them all...

Our complete tour started and ended in a little port city just outside of Rome known as Civitiveccia. For the seven days in between then, we made port at locales like Taormina, Valletta, Dubrovnik, Naples and Florence (a good place to get lost in, which actually is exactly what happened). It was often a startling mix of Old and New with bustling city scenes bursting out of century old fortresses, or in some cases, 2,000 year old ruins. Sicily had its rugged beauty and relaxed atmosphere. Malta was a captivating history lesson on its own. Croatia was an antique paradise. Pompeii was a "blast from the past" (and for those of you who know its story, the pun was absolutely intended). The Tuscan countryside and its cities are a revelation and a dream you only wish you dreamt more often.



But in all honesty, despite my love of each of the places we visited, I felt a little nag as if something was missing. Maybe it was the city planning and structuring with which my wonderful Mesa has spoiled me, or the lack of any local church buildings. Sure, there were plenty of those other kinds of churches, but hopefully you know what I mean. There are a lot of different kinds of freedom to experience out in the world. And even the wonderful freedom from cares and inconveniences that come with a luxury vacation don't compare evenly with the deeper ones we get to enjoy here.

Farewell Italy, with your painted landscapes and romantic charm. Perhaps I will return to you someday. But until then, it's good to be back.