The Ballad of Braddy and Katie

CONCLUSION - A SPECTACULAR EMOTIONAL BELLYFLOP

(read Part One)

(read Part Two)

(read Part Three)

WARNING: Just... just... be careful out there.

So Katie and I dated for about a year and a half and... well, it was about the strangest courtship a fellow could ever have.

We started officially "dating" in December; however, our first real date as a couple didn't happen until January (something which, I think, is pretty common for high-school couples but apparently unnacceptable in adult relationships). We spent all our free time at school together, usually cuddling in some creepy corner of the hallway. We weren't, like, actively making out or anything. At least, not for several months...

We had been dating for nearly three months by the time we had our first kiss. Katie invited me to go with her to a St. Patrick's Day parade, after which she drove me back home. We shared a big, sloppy kiss in the front seat of her parents' van. I distinctly remember having to wipe my mouth off afterwards. The neighbor kid watched us and laughed at me as I got out of the car.

After the kiss, I went and sat in the big armchair in my parents' basement. Dazed, I didn't move for the rest of the night.

Our actual dating habits were... a bit off, as we felt limited by the LDS church's standards to "avoid going on frequent dates with the same person." Now, Katie and I both strongly believed in living by that standard, even though we planned on dating regularly. We decided the best compromise would be to continue to date each other, but to also go on dates with other people.

For the record, this is a TERRIBLE idea.


See, Katie, being a friendly, pretty, blonde girl, got asked out ALL the time. Me, I got asked out... almost never, and I never really ASKED anyone else out, seeing as how I already HAD a girlfriend. I'll tell you, our little "not-exclusive dating" experiment added a whole GALLON of jealousy to our little lovey-dovey brew.

Our relationship progressed, if you can call it progression, in this fashion for over a year.

The following April, I got involved in a production of Anne of Green Gables: The Musical, which is one of the worst shows I've ever seen. I listened with interest as one of my castmates related a story about how he, at an earlier age, was in a different production of the same show. He suddenly felt, during the course of the show, that the relationship he had with his then-girlfriend was going nowhere, so he broke it off.

And... that's about the end of the story. I broke up with Katie (ironically enough on my friend Garret's birthday) for what can only be described as "no good reason." A tremendous anticlimax, I know.

About a year later, after we all graduated from high school, I attended Katie's wedding reception. I still remember seeing Katie, in her white dress, give me a big smile as I approached. I got a huge hug and an excited exclamation of "You came!"

I brought her a gift, as well: a deck of playing cards I bought from the local grocery store. At the time, I thought the gift would be sentimental. Now I realize it was just stupid.

(Side note: About two years ago, I went on a date with a girl, not realizing at the time she was Katie's husband's sister.)

Since the wedding, I've seen Katie maybe two or three times, as we still have mutual friends. One time, I spent the entire evening playing games with Katie's kids. The most recent time, we saw each other from across the street at a Fourth of July parade. We both promptly looked in the opposite direction. There's been zero contact since.

Why I'm Still Single 33

If the World Were a Musical...

Last night I gave a friend of mine a quick recap on a show I saw last week. Afterwards, we started imagining how the world would be different if it operated by the same rules of musical theater – people breaking out into song and dance, etc. We compiled a small list of possibilities – one which has grown considerably since.

IF THE WORLD WERE A MUSICAL…

• Babies would learn to crawl, then walk, and then soft shoe.
• Two young men ballet dancing in the street would be cause to call the police.
• Sixteen-year-old girls would all look twenty-five.
• The physically uncoordinated would be sent to “special class” in school.
• Roger Ebert would call High School Musical a “startlingly realistic depiction of adolescent heartache.”
• Piano skills could be listed on a resume as a second language.
• No wars would ever be fought; however, large crowds of soldiers would inexplicably flock to bars.
• Tone deaf people would have NO friends.
• The tax system would collapse, as all accountants would quit their jobs to pursue more artistic careers.
• Ugly people would ALWAYS be evil. Period.
• Generational disputes would be accompanied by country guitar, keyboard synthesizers, and a turntable.
• The Salvation Army bellmen would release an album… and it would go platinum.
• All women you ask out on dates will say “no” first, until you have a duet with them. Then they’ll shoot you.
• Matthew Broderick would be voted “World’s Sexiest Man” for YEARS until Neil Patrick Harris rose to fame.
• People would only kiss after hitting the highest note in their register.
• Basses will never get kissed.
• Nobody would sit outside on the balcony to be alone but to sing ensemble pieces with the neighbors.
• Every city in the world would have its own theme song, which immigrants would be required to sing upon entering the borders or be deported.
• All Americans would speak with New York accents.
• Talking to one’s-self wouldn’t be considered strange – it’d be expected.
• People could walk down the street in their underwear and attract no attention.
• The government would quarantine an entire city if one case of a cold is reported.
• The center of the filmmaking world would be in India, not California.
• Pirate would still be a viable career option.
• All politicians would be tenors.
• All landlords would be basses.
• The Gettysburg Address would begin, “Four score and seven bars ago…”
• No one would actually NEED to wear glasses, but everyone would wear them until they became sexually available.
• Andrew Lloyd Weber would be a famous biographer… and he’d still suck.

Highs and Lows

HIGHS

1 – Pioneer Day weekend, usually something of a fake-holiday, wound up being pretty good. I spent the whole weekend by myself – which would ordinarily depress me but, after the bustle of the past month, felt quite refreshing. I even found the time to clean my kitchen. I washed all the dishes, scrubbed the sinks, scoured the microwave and stovetop, and even mopped the floor. Martha Stewart would probably cross herself before entering, but the place looks MUCH nicer.

2 – I was naughty – I went to Barnes and Noble and bought some new books yesterday. I SHOULD be saving up for some new clothes, but I feel I’ve been neglecting my intellectual side recently (well, I DID just power through some Dickens, but beside that…)

I picked up The Bell Jar, which means I now have two books by Sylvia Plath that I haven’t read. Also, I grabbed The Sun Also Rises (I’ve never actually read any Hemingway novels and am excited to remedy that) and Lolita (beautifully written, but the plot’s a bit… squick). Finally, Barnes and Noble has some really cheap collections of classic literature, which I usually ignore because I have most of them (and they’re boring), but I saw they have a large collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales with endnotes. Okay, there are, like, twelve endnotes, but the first one points out how bestial courtship tales like “The Frog Prince” and “Beauty and the Beast” are ACTUALLY parables about how sex is evil until you’re married, so I just had to pick it up.

Pretty nerdy, huh? Yeah, it’s totally great.

3 – July’s the biggest money-pit month of the year – worse for me than even Christmastime. I’ve made it through with minimal impoverishment. I won’t exactly be fat and sassy next month, but I’ve developed a liking for peanut butter sandwiches, and I get paid on Friday.

4 – My recent creative blocks seem to have cleared up. I didn’t get NEARLY the writing I’d planned done over the weekend, but, since I planned pretty much twenty-four straight hours of writing interrupted only by sandwich breaks, I’ll settle for what I’ve got, which is about ten pages of novel (a lot of it snatched from earlier drafts, but revised and polished) and a spanking new sketch. It’s got zombies in it.

LOWS

1 – The new ward situation has me a bit down. My initial enthusiasm’s worn off a bit. We’re a couple months in now, and I’m still finding it difficult to socialize with these people. They’re not BAD people at all, mind. I’ve always had a bit of trouble making new friends, so my current solitude isn’t all that surprising.

2 – I still haven’t sold my old car yet. I had planned on selling it to my little brother, who just wanted a clunker he could use for a couple of months down in Provo. I took the car in to get it fixed up for him, only to find a $450 repair estimate lying in wait for me. Wound up being a bit much for me, so that fell through. I’ll need to just take a couple snapshots and post the thing on Craigslist or something just to get it out of the parking lot.

3 – I bought a new pair of jeans recently – pretty nice looking, too. I wore them to the improv show one night. The show was fantastic – as our shows tend to be nowadays – but I wound up tearing a hole in the knees.

Moral of the story: Improv doesn’t like new pants.

4 – The wonderfulness of a three-day weekend has been dampened somewhat by my return to work, where I found 35 voice messages waiting for me. Bleagh.

Braddy Reads A Tale of Two Cities

After reading A Christmas Carol, I became convinced that Charles Dickens was one of the greatest writers in the English language... and after branching out a bit and reading A Tale of Two Cities, I'm still pretty sure of it.

I just wish Dickens weren't so long-winded all the time.

It took me a while to get into A Tale of Two Cities, mostly because, from my point of view, it took a long time to get to the point where the plot elements introduced actually started to MATTER. That said, Dickens creates some fantastic characters (I was especially fond of the banker, Mr. Lorry), and his prose, as always, was a delight to read. I fell in love with a particular passage describing the employees of a cerain London bank:

Cramped in all kinds of dim cupboards and hutches at Tellson's, the oldest of men carried on the business gravely. When they took a young man into Tellson's London house, they hid him somewhere till he was old. They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full Tellson flavour and blue-mould upon
him.

It's a completely insignificant passage, yet it's so unique and so vividly descriptive that I actually re-read it a couple of times.

Also, I started craving cheese.

Of course, Dickens's engaging prose sometimes gets the best of him, and he often pulls the brake on the prose so he can editorialize for a bit (for crying out loud, he names one of the vengeful leaders of the French Revolution "Vengeance"). There were times when I wanted to grab Mr. Dickens by his froofy scarf, shake him violently, and yell, "TOO SUBTLE!"

I doubt he'd appreciate the irony.

Getting to the end of the book proved to be a chore - I knew where the plot was going and how everything would be wrapped up 100 pages before the end, so I felt little motivation to finish. Still, I haven't been turned off to Dickens, and I'll probably pick up another of his books soon.

The Ballad of Braddy and Katie

PART THREE - A SAVAGE GARDEN CHRISTMAS

(read Part One)

(read Part Two)

WARNING - The following account contains scenes of intense adolescent awkwardness. Reader discretion is advised.

As much as I tried to keep my crush on Katie a secret, word got out and around - probably because my poker face has about as many cracks in it as an egg under the foot of a Russian dancer. I even got a lawnmower-shaped card at the Grasscutters concert, wishing me luck, not with the show, but with my courtship with Katie.

Right after the Grasscutters concert, we entered the Christmas season. Now, I've always thought that Valentine's Day is the biggest joke in the world, and Christmas is the true season of romance. I melt a little when I hear Christmas-themed love songs, whether it was hearing my junior high crush sing "Merry Christmas Baby" or watching Savage Garden perform "Last Christmas" during a television concert.

(I have mentioned that I have terrible taste in music, right? Well, in my defense, I DO think "Santa Baby" sucks.)

Just before school let out for winter break, I decided to make a grand romantic gesture and bought her a Christmas present. Having no idea what she would actually WANT, I bought her a teddy bear.


She liked it. I even got a hug for it - which means I got the better present.

That night, my high school's chamber choir had a show at Thanksgiving Point. My buddy Michael, also a member of the choir, had a twenty-four hour birthday party planned that would start after the show. We'd made arrangements to leave straight from Thanksgiving Point to go back to his place. I expected it would be a good weekend, and I was totally right, but a bit surprised at exactly how well it turned out.

See, Katie was at Thanksgiving Point as well. On a date. With Dwayne.

Not that it mattered WHO she was on the date with. She spent most of her time talking to ME.

Do you see this, Dwayne? You don't? That's surprising, because it's right IN YOUR FACE!

After I spent a good hour or so talking to Katie, I put on a heckuva good show (you know, for a chamber choir), then it was off to Michael's for a night of junk food and video games (cuz, you know, teenager). The day of his birthday, Michael invited all his girlfriends (and his "girl friends" - the distinction is necessary, because Mike was a player) for cake and ice cream.

Mike had invited Katie, so I was able to get the full story on what happened on her date with Dwayne. After the concert, they went for a drive, along with Dwayne's friend, Robby. At some point on the road, Robby decided it would be fun to pull a prank on the people outside the car. So... SHOOP! Off went his pants.

Less than impressed with Dwayne's choice of friends, Katie decided to go with me. We started dating at Michael's birthday party, where I, having no idea how to correctly cuddle with a girl, promptly draped myself over her shoulders like a lurpy scarf.

Trust me, over the next year and a half, we got MUCH better at the cuddling thing.

TO BE CONTINUED

The DeviantArt Experiment

Recently I started up a deviantArt account so that I'd have another place to post some of the pictures I draw. The idea was to help build up a sense of community to help keep me motivated in my artistic endeavors. Back in college, I thrived off the interaction with fellow writers that workshops and classes provided me. Even last year, when I resolved to do a drawing per day, I wouldn't have pulled through if it weren't for my artist buddies helping me keep tabs.

I've only been on for maybe a month, and I haven't actually done much to engage myself in the DA community, but... I have to say I don't know that the deviantArt community is right for me.

Mainly because I don't draw manga. Like, at all.

(I'll will admit that there's probably a bit of a... "manganese"... influence in my drawings, as a lot of cartoonists and artists I emulate have an eastern slant to their artwork as well.)

I don't mean to say that manga is somehow an inferior art style. There are several pictures on deviantArt that I've stumbled across that happen to be pretty good. It's just, so many of the pictures I come across seem to be shipping propaganda for some high school kid's favorite fictional couple.

So, really, the problem is that deviantArt seems to be full of teenagers. That's just NOT my crowd anymore.

Now, I have found some great artwork and photography on deviantArt, a lot of which has inspired me to go back to the sketchpad. I'm even toying with some other media of visual expression (I'm thinking of taking up collaging - so if anyone has some old, yellowed books they don't want anymore, I could sure use them). From that point of view, my deviantArt stay has been worthwhile.

Still, I've come across a lot of not-very-good artwork. A LOT. So I thought I'd do the internet a favor and put together a list of...

SIGNS YOU MIGHT BE A BAD DEVIANT ARTIST

• If the title of your photograph describes your model's pose and nothing else.
• If you only draw pictures of your favorite fictional characters kissing, regardless of whether those characters hook up in their respective stories or not.
• If your drawing is on lined paper (I mean, it's not like you're right next to a computer with printer paper or something).
• If the title or body of your work contains the words "darkness of my soul" in any context.
• If you turn your work into a "Demotivator" and it still isn't funny.
• If your piece is titled "insanity."
• If your photograph's only artistic edginess is that it displays boobs.
• If you draw Sonic the Hedgehog.

Hope that helps.

Gilmore Girls Drinking Game

Back in college I had a roommate who LOVED the television show Gilmore Girls. He was an odd one, sure, but he had good taste. Every now and again, I'd sit down and watch an episode with him. I had a hard time with all the soap-operatics, but I loved the dialog, thick with allusions and delivered so quickly you're liable to get whiplash. It's like porn for English majors, except all the dialog's delivered by pretty women.

So it's like porn.

(Actually, considering Alexis Bledel's character Rory starts the series out at 16, that comparison starts to make me a little uncomfortable.)

I've started watching the series from the beginning and am working my way through season 4 now. I've started to notice some recurring tropes and trends in the way the stories are told, so I figure the best way to relate them is to devise a drinking game... which'll please all two-hundred thousand readers of my blog who are both Gilmore Girls fans AND massive drinkers.

• Take a SIP every time the background music kicks in with a winsome "La La La."
• Take a SIP when Lorelai acts less mature than her daughter (Upgrade to a SWIG if that means Lorelai wakes Rory up in the middle of the night).
• Take a SIP every time a band is name-checked.
• Take a SWIG every time Rory does something unbelievably nerdy.
• Take a SIP every time a new character is introduced with only a single quirk or oddity defining their character (Upgrade to a SWIG if that quirk causes the character to have a completely illogical world-view).
• Take a SWIG every time characters get into a fight for no reason.
• Take a SWIG every time an author or journalist is name-checked.
• Take a SWIG every time Lauren Graham is the only "hip cat" in a room full of "squares."
• FINISH YOUR BEER when a major plot point happens off-screen

That last one bugs me quite a bit. We never get to see most of the break-ups, and most seasons of the show begin with the characters just finishing up some activity that would have been pretty cool to see for a whole episode or two.

Teases.

Library Whiz

I'm a firm believer in libraries - by their very existence, they affirm a person's potential to improve their intellectual condition. Open the door to a library, and you open the door to your own potential. Truthfully, libraries are nearly like shrines in my personal religion - holy and inspirational.

Also, they're a great place to pick up comics and movies.

I don't often use the word "love" in any context outside of my relationship with singer/songwriter Norah Jones, but I do have to say that I LOVE the public library.

So why do I feel like I need to shower when I leave?

The library in downtown Salt Lake is easily one of my favorite places in the city. Its four floors and basement are full of just about every book and movie I've ever needed to find. However, it's also one of the FILTHIEST buildings I've ever been to.

I often spend several hours in the library at a time, and if I have to go to the bathroom during that time... I'd rather just hold it.

Just the other day, right as I walked into the library, I saw a young couple with their dog on a leash. Before anyone knew it, the dog let loose and peed all over the carpet. Thankfully, the couple ran straight to the reference desk to inform the librarian (who most likely got a college degree so she WOULDN'T have to clean up pee for a living). Still, the whole thing was... disgusting.

Above: I have a college degree.

Libraries are free to the public, but they're not a public park. Just because they don't charge you for admission and let you take their stuff whenever you want doesn't mean you can spit raspberry jam all over the mirror and expect them to clean it up. Librarians aren't your mom, and you're not four anymore.

So, please, make a pilgrimage to your local library, but for Dickinson's sake, be clean about it.

The Ballad of Braddy and Katie

PART TWO - THE INVISIBLE COURTSHIP

(read Part One)

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING*: High school can cause unnecessary melodrama and unfortunate fashion decisions. What you consider "cool" as a teenager will cause mild to severe embarrassment in later years.

Summer vacation rolled around, and, suddenly, I lost pretty much all contact with the girl I went on my very first date with. I spent most of the summer doing janitorial work at Lake Ridge Elementary School, but, every now and again, I'd spend a Saturday night at local church dances. I went to each of these dances, hoping I'd run into Katie again. I think she actually did go to one of them, so, naturally, I spent the whole night avoiding her.


I also think I may have had a nervous throw-up (cuz, you know, teenager).

When the school year started up again, I went out for the fall musical, Li'l Abner (a surprisingly excellent show that deserves to be better known than it is). Much to my delight, Katie auditioned for the show as well. We both made chorus parts, which meant I had another place to accidentally run in to my dream girl and pretend I barely remembered her.

The one drawback to being in Li'l Abner, though, was that my part REQUIRED me to grow out my facial hair as long as I could. I went three months without shaving. Nowadays, that'd give me a pretty substantial and rugged beard, but back then, my follicle ferocity wasn't NEARLY where it is now. I looked... like a patchwork badger. It was sad.

About this time, word got out among my peers that I had my sights set on some girl - but no one knew who (unless they had eyes). I'd long cultivated an image of disinterest in dating - I just wasn't interested in anyone - so my friends all thought it was a pretty big deal. I still felt like it needed to be a secret.

Eventually, my buddy Garret caught Katie and me having a real conversation. He said nothing, but he stood there for five minutes, looking back and forth between me and her with his eyebrows raised. Finally, I pulled him aside, where I shoved him against the wall and threatened to kill him if he told anyone (cuz, you know, teenager).

So I thought things were going well... but then, HE showed up.

His name was Dwayne. He was a member of the football team, a brilliant tenor, and he played Lonesome Polecat in the show (meaning he actually got to shave). He set his sights on Katie, and I lost pretty much all chance of being with the girl I liked.

Closing night of the show, I pulled Katie aside and told her that I really liked her. She was kind about it, but she showed a bit of confusion. I didn't know quite what to make of her expression until the cast party that night, when she left the restaurant with Dwayne's arm around her shoulder. Needless to say, I was crushed. I went home that night and sat in my room with the lights off, playing to Savage Garden's "Gunning Down Romance" to myself on repeat.

We later had another talk, where Katie admitted that she liked me, too, but she also had feelings for Dwayne. She decided not to date either of us, for the time being, but to continue being friendly with everyone. I was totally OK with this decision.

The fickle high-school popularity fates then showered me with some favor. Garret had recently formed a small singing group with a couple of other guys from choir, and they needed an extra bass. They asked me to join up with them, and, soon, I was a member of the a capella quintet The Grasscutters (the name comes from an old slang term for stealing someone else's girl).

Right before the show, the other Grasscutters took me aside for a bit of a makeover. I shaved the beard, got my hair cut short, and added some blonde highlights (that really came out looking like leopard spots). By the time that curtain went up, I was hot, awesome, and ready to doo-whop to "In the Still of the Night" like nobody's business.

Katie sat front and center, and Dwayne was nowhere in sight.

TO BE CONTINUED

*The above warning was not actually issued by the Surgeon General.

Hitting the Wall

Over the past couple months, I've done very little work on my old NaNoWriMo project. I've been more than a little disappointed with myself - my goal, after all, was to have a complete and voluptuous second draft by November. That way, I could shelve my current project and start another one, knowing full well that I'm invested enough in the novel to return to it.

The trouble, though, is that the last couple of months I have absolutely DREADED sitting down to work on the book recently. This isn't the same "dreaded" that leads me to play Free Cell over doing my writing - it's the kind of "dreaded" where I just don't WANT to continue the project as it's begun.

And that, I think, is the solution to the problem - starting over.

I don't plan on scrapping EVERYTHING I've written - in fact, I think some of the stuff I've done for the second draft thus far qualifies as the best writing I've ever put on paper since I signed the credit card receipt on my complete Calvin and Hobbes collection. However, I've noticed a small, but incredibly significant problem, with the plot setup that needs to be addressed before I can continue.

There's a bit of fantasy at work in my novel that I've been trying to slip in covertly in the opening chapters (think less Lord of the Rings and more Inception). I don't feel like I can progress with the actual PLOT of the story without getting that particular tidbit of information across clearly... but I've been doing everything EXCEPT clearly stating what the crap's going on.

It's another incident of "Braddy's trying to be too clever."

Starting over (again) is going to create a lot more work for me; however, the thought of making a fresh, more coherent start actually puts a big-ol' smile on my face, so I think I'll go for it.

The Ballad of Braddy and Katie

PART ONE - THE FIRST DATE

During the blog round this week, I’ve noticed a noteworthy number of posts about dating – even considering 90% of the blogs I keep tabs on are from single Mormons who spend most of their time wondering when their Prince Charming will come save them (or Princess Charming – it’s an equal-opportunity fairy tale here).

Despite how unbelievably sexy I am, I tend to get depressed when I think too hard about my dating history, partially because it’s a saga full of missteps and embarrassments, and partially because, to this day, the most successful relationship I’ve ever had was the very first girl I ever dated.

Our story begins – as all great adventures do – in Ms. Daley’s Advanced Placement European History during my sophomore year at Cyprus High School. It was spring, that magical time of year when a young man’s fancy turns from thoughts of beating the crap out of people as Samus Aran in Super Smash Brothers towards love. Her name was Katie, a pretty blonde girl in overalls who drew dragons on her notes with colored pencils, and I was lovestruck.


I’d just barely turned sixteen, the landmark age for young Mormons when we’re encouraged to start dating, and I had absolutely no idea how to go about the process (still don’t, I guess, but that’s the subject for another saga). Luckily(?), my friend Melissa thought she could help out by setting us up on a date. I’ll admit to being grateful for the assist at the time, because I was finding it a little difficult to flirt while the class discussed the significance of the Defenestration of Prague.

At this point, I should probably tell you that Melissa had been dating her boyfriend, Doug, ever since junior high. She was pretty much engaged at sixteen… actually, that may be literally engaged. They got married next year. Really, by this point, her entire purpose in socializing was to pair off all her friends.

If you want to know why I’m so opposed to getting set up on dates, the history starts here.

Anyway, my very first date was an all-day affair on a hot Saturday in May. The group of us piled into a van – me, Katie, Melissa, Doug, and… umm… Doug’s whole family. We spent the whole day at Lagoon, a fairly sorry little amusement park. We rode rides, ate overpriced food, and waited in long lines to use the bathroom. I’m pretty sure at one point I actually got on one knee and proposed to Katie – as a joke (cuz, you know, teenager).

Lagoon has this ride called the Rocket, which takes the group up about a bazillion feet and drops it. I sat next to Katie, who acted like she was totally freaked out. I decided to be comforting or whatever, so I reached to pat her hand. She promptly grabbed mine and held on to tightly until the Rocket reached the top of the tower. I’m pretty sure my heart kept floating up.

(Looking back from ten years in the future, I’m pretty sure Katie faked the whole “Oh, I’m so scared” routine to get me to make a move. Well played.)

During the ride home, Katie and I sat in the back seat with Doug and Melissa. About halfway home, I took a thing of lip balm from Katie and played “Keep Away” with it (cuz, you know, teenager). She, of course, reached out and tried to grab it back. We wrestled with it for a bit, and, when she managed to take it back, my hand landed on her knee. There it rested… for the remainder of the forty-five minute drive.

That would be a good sign, except I wasn’t actually putting a move on her. I didn’t actually CUP the knee (and that’s probably the strangest phrase I’ve written all week). My hand just kinda… sat there. For over a half hour.

See, I’ve got this attitude that any physical contact not initiated by the girl is likely to be unwanted, so I leave myself a little bit of wiggle room and deniability (“Oh, that was YOUR knee? My bad.”). I still hold this attitude as an adult – although its execution is usually less spectacularly awkward than the above, but not much.

All awkwardness aside, I think we can all safely say that the first date was a roaring success, right? Kick started my first relationship and all that?

Well, as it turns out, Katie and I wouldn’t officially become a couple for another seven months…

TO BE CONTINUED

Why I'm Still Single 32

Braddy Reads a Trifecta of Kiddie Comics

Although they're often perceived as a kid's medium, comics aren't always suitable for all ages (just look at the recent DC superhero redesigns and you'll see what I mean). Of course, there are still plenty of comics geared specifically towards children. I picked up a few last week (kinda coincidentally) and read them through, and was pretty surprised with what I found.


First up we've got Jason Shiga's Meanwhile, a cross between a comic book and a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Readers pick between branching paths which start with an innocent trip to the ice cream shop and end with... um... most likely... world annihilation.

It's a bizarre trip.

Comic panels which normally read from right to left are instead connected by a tiny tube (which you can see on the cover), sometimes leading to a completely different page. Panels are nestled within other panels that you're NOT SUPPOSED TO READ YET SHHH!, making for one of the densest, most confusing reading experiences I've ever had - and I've read "The Waste Land" TWICE.

That said, the story itself actually prompts a lot of thought about fate and free will (more than I'd expect from a so-called "children's book"). There's a lot to chew on, but not so much that the book really merits a re-read. Definitely worth experiencing at least once, though.


Next up, we've got Jill Thompson's Scary Godmother, a book I've wanted to read for a while. And, you know... it's all right.

The hardcover linked above contains five different Scary Godmother stories, some of which are DEFINITELY stronger than others. The debut effort is a solid kid's story, and the sequel (a twisted take on How the Grinch Stole Christmas) is even better.

It's when Thompson veers off the beaten path of the traditional kid's stories that her work's the strongest. By far my favorite story of the bunch was "The Mystery Date," in which an innocent note leads two young children off in search of the Scary Godmother's secret admirer, only to find that the entire population of creepy creatures has the hots for her.

I don't know if I'd buy this collection for anything more than the artwork (which is fantastic, by the way). If I had kids, however, it'd be a no-brainer.


By far my favorite of the books I picked up (and the biggest surprise) is a little collection of Andy Runton's Owly, a book I'd only heard reference to once. I found it while browsing for Scary Godmother and figured, "What the heck. I'll pick it up."

I absolutely loved this little story.

Owly's a (seemingly flightless?) bird with a love for the world that the world... doesn't often reciprocate. He's a predator, so other animals tend not to trust him. Still, Owly's out there, putting out seeds for the other birds and helping a little lost worm find his way back home.

The stories are mostly wordless - the characters speak through pictures in word bubbles. Runton's art is... I've used the word "exploitative" to describe it, actually, which may be a bit too much. When Owly's attempts at kindness are rejected, he FREAKIN' CRIES, which is just cheap.

I read the second book in the series as well, which wasn't quite as solid (or maybe it just wasn't as fresh). Honestly - and this just may be the emotional sissy in me - I could probably find a place for this first volume on my bookshelf.

The 2005 Olomouc Most Likelies

Every so often, when I'm at my parents' house, I take a look into some of the many, many boxes of memorabilia I've let accumulate there. Last time, I found an old autobiography that shed a lot of light on my adolescent self. This time, I found a small slip of paper from my mission for the LDS church - a list of "Most Likely Awards" from 2005. It looks like my twenty-year-old self made off like a bandit.

• Most likely to marry a native Czech/Slovak: Elder Bradford (that's me)


• Most likely to become the next Mr. Rogers: Elder Smith


• Most likely to be seen defacing BYU property: Elder Smith


• Most likely to marry a popcorn chick*: Elder Bradford


• Most likely to find her spouse in an old folks' home: Sister Chipman


• Most likely to take her 1-year-old to a Nelly concert: Sister Robbins


• Most likely to be found on the playground of Utah State, singing and choreographing Newsies songs while wearing Aggie blue socks, green overalls, and a cap: Elder Bradford (Most of that didn't happen)


• Most likely to be found eating a mutton sandwich, while his wife is in labor with their ninth child: Elder Coombs


• Most likely to have the part in his hair mistaken for the Grand Canyon when seen from outer space: Elder Coombs


• Most likely to give themselves food poisoning: Elder Richards, Elder Bradford, Sister Chipman, and Sister Robbins (it was a bad month)


• Most likely to run away from Grandma: Sister Chipman


• Most likely to be seen making out with a gothic chick in the tech room at the local community college: Elder Bradford


• Most likely to speak for more than an hour at his homecoming address: Elder Smith


• Most likely to spend six years at Utah State and never become a True Aggie: Elder Bradford (it only took me four years not to become a True Aggie)


• Most likely to be mistaken for Jim Carrey: Elder Bradford


• Most likely to eat their own young: Sister Robbins and Sister Chipman


• Most likely to win a gold medal at the "Bodily Functions Olympics" in Shtinkering: Sister Robbins (I have no idea what that means, and I'd rather never know, thankyouverymuch)


• Most likely to be at the Hanacka pub eating Svickova: Elder Jeppson ("Svickova" means "sirloin - I'd never looked that up until yesterday)


• Most likely to be found reading the dictionary: Elder Murray (I was sure I'd take that one home)


• Most likely to be found at a high school prom... stag: Elder Bradford

Good times, good times.


*A popcorn chick is a girl who's skinny when you marry her, but the heat of the marriage causes her to expand rapidly.

Trivialities: Fourth of July

Independence Day tend to be one of my least favorite holidays. However, I still managed to get a lot done this past weekend - some of it fun, and some of it... well, read on.

1 - Friday

I've still been hanging on to my old car after a recent dating mishap prompted me to buy a new one. Well, I had the day off on Friday, so I decided to take the car in to get inspected and cleaned up a bit. The mechanics that worked on the car checked all the systems, including the headlights... which they forgot to turn off.

I then drove to the library, went in and browsed for a while, and came out to a drained battery. I went back in to the library to ask for some help, only to find that all librarians are hippies and don't actually HAVE cars to provide jumps with.

Above: Not owned by hippy librarians.

So I wound up walking home from the library to pick up my other car, driving myself back to the library, giving MYSELF a jumpstart, driving back home in my old car, walking BACK to the library, and then driving my other car home.

Friday was a bit of a waste.

2 - Saturday

I spent most of Saturday morning in Bountiful, helping my grandmother paint her garage. In the afternoon, I felt like kicking back and watching a movie, just to relax, so I picked... Batman.

Na na na na na na na na...

Despit my deep and abiding love for all things Batman, I haven't actually seen the old "Biff! Kapow!" Batman show since I was a little kid, so I went in to this movie with some pretty low expectations. And, I have to say, the movie was a LOT more fun than I anticipated. Shark repellant bat spray, self-sacrificing porpoises, and, of course, a bad day to get rid of a bomb... it was all good.

Also, Frank Gorshin's Riddler is beyond awesome.

3 - Monday

The Jesters Royale have a traditional Fourth of July show that's free to the public. Last night's show was pretty darn spectacular - one of the best in recent memory.


We had death tacos, CPR that fogged up a fellow's glasses, beat-boxing British types, a treehouse that somehow transformed into the Tower of Babel.

Oh, and lots and lots of ambush kissing.

Daily Sketches: Fanart Edition?

I've been giving a couple of other drawing utensils a go recently - most notably a sizable number of Faber Castell brush markers and a set of Copic multiliner pens. As much as I like these new tools, I have to say that I very much prefer my old Sakura pen set... Not sure why.


Above is actually the second draft of this particular face-punching composition. The first draft didn't work for me, because I couldn't get the face-punchee's hair quite right. This is an improvement, but... Actually, I'll just leave it at that.


I decided to try my hand at drawing some "fan art," for a change. We're starting off with one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite books.

Sadly, while working on the checkerboard configuration on the floor, my pen leaked a little bit. Probably why the whole thing's a little half-@##ed. Still had a lot of fun with this one, though. I may try to do some more Alice sketches coming up.


I've never read Pinocchio before, and I haven't seen the Disney film in YEARS, so I don't know exactly why I felt so compelled to draw a sketch of Gepetto (whose name, sadly, is misspelled on the poster there).

I've always thought that Gepetto's defining characteristic is his loneliness, so I really tried to capture someone who's completely washed up and past his prime. In that regard, I think this one turned out well.

The puppets could have used a bit more work.