Yosemite.

This weekend my ward went on a camp out to a little place called Yosemite. It was very cold. But it was very beautiful.








We hiked to the top of Yosemite Falls, which is probably one of the prettiest hikes I have ever done. During the course of the 8 point something mile long hike my feet got fairly dirty. Alright, they were downright grimy. Not knowing where to wash up (slash afraid of the frigid river water nearby), I did what any respectable camper would do: I pretended my feet were clean and stuck a pair of socks on 'em. Needless to say, I spent a decent amount of time in the shower yesterday scrubbing all that caked on dirt off my feet. All part of the camping experience :) Overall, though, the trip was thoroughly enjoyable. Just as spectacular as everyone said it would be.

Hello again.

Exactly one week ago today I took my last CPA exam. Ever. (Please confirm this detail again with me in about a month or so when the scores are actually released, and I can state this characteristic about my life with more certainty than just the cheery optimism I am currently employing.) Do you know what that means???

No more this.


And no more that.


Celebrations are in order. And the resurgence of this little guy.

Provo dating scene.

Yesterday I had the grand opportunity of witnessing one of the most awkward first dates. Now I will never claim to be the premier dating aficionado, not having a particularly rich history in that area, but here are a few observations I was able to glean from that experience. Number 1: I hate the ever-so-broad "So what are your hobbies?" question. I'm not saying it's not important to know the girl's interests, but there's got to be a different approach. The direct "What do you like to do for fun?" path shows me that you have the conversational adeptness of a 13-year old pubescent boy. You might as well follow it up with some comments on the weather. Or maybe some trivia on golf. Number 2: You're LDS, I'm LDS, we like to pray, but please don't say a prayer over the food out loud in the middle of a restaurant on our first date. Or any date for that matter. Finally, number 3: Don't judge me based on my pioneer heritage, please. First of all, who actually cares about that anymore in assessing the qualifications of a future spouse? We're not the Malfoy family; we don't need to be in search of purebloods. And OK, maybe the pioneer stock is important. But is a first date really the appropriate locale for asking if the girl's grandparents have been members their whole lives?

Which reminds me of a funny story from my freshman year here at the BYU. I was visiting a friend's grandma who lived just up the street from us in DT, when the grandma asked me where I was from. Upon hearing I was from Indiana she replied, "Oh, so you're a convert?"

Anyway, ignore the digression. Actually you can probably ignore all my advice on dating. I really don't have enough ethos to fully substantiate my position. These are just a few thoughts from my past Saturday night life.

Elf yourself.

Oh, it's back, and it's better than ever. I can't quite figure out why, but I laugh at those dancing elves every single time. The best looking choices for Santa's helpers, you might ask? None other than my fave tax professors. Meet Boyd, Bob, Dave, and the IRC. And of course I threw myself in there to tango as well. Sometimes dreams really do come true. Even if only on the Internet.

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

John Hancock.

The other day my brother and I were at the store, purchasing something with a credit card. That's when the cashier asked my brother for his "John Henry." I let the blunder slip, but as time passed, I couldn't help wondering if I had failed to exhibit proper patriotic duty by teaching this guy a little basic 4th grade American history. Or if my 7th grade English teacher might be upset that I hadn't given the kind gentleman a brief tutorial on English idiomatic expressions.

Ah well . . . too late to educate that silly cashier now. But for future reference, the appropriate man and expression is "John Hancock."

Not John Henry.

And not Herbie Hancock.

In other news, I decided to do a little research on this John Henry fellow, and found this interesting bit of trivia on Wikipedia: "In Canadian culture, it is common to refer to giving one's signature as a 'John Henry' instead of a 'John Hancock', who was a revolutionary figure or even a traitor, opposed to the Royalty of England."

So maybe the cashier was Canadian. Hmmm.

Counting.

My brother Andrew recently needed surgery on his mouth to pull a substantial number of teeth. In the few days leading up to the event, my mother kindly explained to Andrew that the doctors would be putting him to sleep to perform the surgery. She told him that the doctors might ask him to count backwards from 100 and before he knew it, he'd be out cold. "So," she asked, "can you count backwards from 100?" "Yeah," he retorted. "100, 99, skip a few, 1." Now that's one smart kid.

Welcome.

I would like to take the time now to cordially welcome this precious establishment to Northern Utah. My dearest sentiments are passed your way. Granted I'll be leaving the area shortly, but this place of fine dining will be welcomed just as warmly now as it would have been 4 years ago (actually more so now, since I didn't touch hamburgers 4 years ago and needed the sister Lauren to convert me).

WELCOME.

And as a final note, please add carrots to that list of rude foods discussed below.