Dearth of a Salesman

The job that seemed too good to be true, believe it or not, actually turned out to be too good to be true. Go figure.

So, throughout the month, I've been back in the old, familiar, grueling, messy task of applying for, following up on, and interviewing for several job opportunities. As I write this, nothing has yet panned out, though I'm waiting to hear back from a few different places.

I loathe this whole process. I abhor it mainly because I feel like I am forced to sell myself to the employer in my interview, and I detest sales.

When I'm in an interview with a potential new boss, I feel like there is a secret word, much like the secret word on "Pee-wee's Playhouse," that they're wanting to hear, and I have to make my best guess as to what that word may be. ("Passport"?) It's like I'm playing a game of "The $25,000 Pyramid," and I'm losing. No matter how impressive your résumé might be, you just don't qualify if you don't say that magic word.

Also, I am almost to the point at which I feel like I have to make up tall tales about myself and my previous work experience in order to land the sale. Making a sale is basically my least-favorite assignment at any job. Some of you are great at it, and pats on the back to you. But there are times when I do not feel like I could sell a life preserver to a drowning man.

It's all very frustrating. Yet it's a necessary evil.

The worst part about it is that no matter what you do, achieving success is completely out of your hands, in spite of your best efforts.

It almost reminds me of, dare I say it . . . dating.

Improvables: Sasquatch Cowboy

Prior to last Friday, I had been given the opportunity to perform improv with many of Utah's troupes. On Friday night, three performers from Sasquatch Cowboy, based in Ogden, came into town, and it was a pleasure both to meet them and to take the stage with them for the first time.

Erica, Parker, and Tanner rounded out the cast for the evening.

Snozzberries

For those of you living under a rock, actor and comedian Gene Wilder passed away today at age 83.

We're all Gene Wilder fans today. And well we should be. Let me tell you about my favorite moment of his as Willy Wonka in the "good" (nay, great)/non-Tim Burton version of the film.

Willy Wonka, introducing the kids to lickable wallpaper: "The strawberries taste like strawberries, and the snozzberries taste like snozzberries."
Veruca Salt: "Snozzberries? Who ever heard of a snozzberry?"
Willy Wonka (grabbing her mouth and pinching it a bit to hold it open): "We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."

What I learned as a kid from this upon multiple viewings of the film (on the Disney Channel, I believe) was that it was OK to be my weird self, to be different, to create, to do things, and to try things. There would always be those like Veruca Salt who would naysay and criticize your creativity; there always have been, and there always will be. But make music and dream dreams regardless.

Through the years, and with myriad results, I've drawn comic books and art; learned foreign languages; written articles, stories, blogs, and books; sung, played, and created music; made my own movies and acted in TV commercials; and performed live theater, both rehearsed and improvised.

I'd rather lick the snozzberries every time.

Improvables: Sidekicks, Kids' Edition

It's now been a couple of weeks (since when am I ever current in my posting?), but I recently had the opportunity to team-teach a beginning improv class for kids (ages 9 to 14, with a few exceptions) at the Clearfield Community Arts Center, with the much-needed and much-appreciated assistance of Erica, Jon, Liz, Melissa, and Richard. We had an enjoyable four days together and learned a lot from the experience.

The ability of kids these ages to let go, have fun, and try new things will never cease to amaze me.

Danny's Other First Birthday Party

Today was Daniel's actual first birthday, so in addition to the family party we held for him a couple of weeks ago, Summer arranged an additional gathering at the nearby North Foxboro park, adjacent to the splash pad.

It was a pleasant evening for an outdoor gathering, as far as summer nights go. We enjoyed cupcakes, but mostly we enjoyed each other's company.

The Opposite of Love

"Why does everyone want to go away? I love being home. But I don't like being left behind."
 -Beth, in Louisa May Alcott's Little Women

A few years ago, I attended a Sunday School class in which the teacher expressed the belief that the opposite of love isn't hate; it's indifference.

I have thought about that lesson a number of times since, and I think there is a great deal of truth to it. With hate, which we normally would think to be the emotion directly opposite of love, there is at least some feeling there for you, even if it is a negatively influenced one. With indifference, there is no real acknowledgement of any feeling at all. It is apathy; it is ignorance.

I didn't realize until recently, though, that the teacher was quoting Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor and 1986 Nobel Peace Prize winner, who just passed away last month:

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference."

Indifference, then, causes a whole host of problems. Lack of caring about or acknowledging a problem, let alone doing something about it, leads to disastrous consequences. Fortunately, we do not deal with issues today that are anywhere nearly as serious as the horrors Wiesel faced during World War II, and I'm not attempting to address anything anywhere near that deep tonight.

This is not to say, however, that indifference hasn't crept into our society in less-subtle ways. Indifference is still alive and well under our very eyes. I see it all around, and it often appears in the form of cliques.

Cliques are great for those who belong to them, and that's fine and dandy. But what inherently happens with them is not that people are included but that other people, by definition, are left out or are forgotten.

This issue means a great deal to me because I have often found myself on the outside at one point or another during nearly every age and stage in life. I've seen cliques in my neighborhood, at school, at church, in the workplace, in my extracurricular activities, and even as a missionary. I have also been bullied on multiple occasions, which may be the ultimate rejection or feeling of being left out of a group. Many people never actually grow out of cliques, for I see them all over the place today. For all I know, there will always be cliques; there may be cliques at PTA meetings or in the retirement home.

As a result of my experiences, I suppose life has fine-tuned me to feel and see the needs of those left behind, and though I have not always been able to include everyone in everything, I have made an honest effort, albeit not a perfect one, to include as many as I could. My life has, likewise, been greatly blessed by those wonderful individuals who have reached out the hand of fellowship to me and have lifted my hands and my spirit when they have hung low, whether due to chemical or other reasons.

How rare is the true friend who sticks around; whose interest in you is motivated by true concern, patience, and shared mutual interests; and who is there by not assignment nor motivated by convenience. There's a handful of you who fit this bill, and you are appreciated greatly.

If you currently find yourself in a clique, I invite you to consider someone who might not be there at your next gathering but whom you could invite to join you. Or look for someone different to sit by next time. I assure you that you won't have to look too far to find them, because they are all around, and they are longing for friends. If you're not currently part of a clique, I invite you to come and sit by me, and we'll make fun of the cliques together.

Seriously, though, and not to make this sound too much like a Sunday School lesson of my own, but I feel like this idea fits the theme of the Island of Misfit Toys, which is: "Each one bring one." As one of the counselors in the bishopric taught on this topic: "You all know who sits 'alone' even though they're surrounded by a lot of people."

My Dinner with Wenceslao

I've visited El Rocoto, my favorite local Peruvian restaurant, more than once over the past month. In addition to my recent lunch with the Torrejón family, I met up with my old friend Wenceslao Palomino for dinner a couple of weeks before that.

Wenceslao just sent the photos today, so here is the shot of us outside of the restaurant.

Ping Pong for Doubles

I follow the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles both in life (or at least I try to) and also on more than one social media format. In addition to putting out some of the best posts/tweets on the Internet, these 15 men are almost as popular as Kim Kardashian, by which I mean, having done some quick math, that they have collectively acquired one-sixteenth the number of her followers.

Earlier this week, Elder D. Todd Christofferson tweeted:

"Others will feel our love and Heavenly Father's love when we remember them. A letter, a text message, or a phone call can be a blessing."

I'm not smart enough to figure out how to take a screen cap and then post the actual tweet here, so I copied the message just now in case you don't also follow Elder Christofferson. But seriously, follow him.

I share that message with you today because it leads me into an addendum to my previous post here on Paco Nation—you know, one of those "extremely lengthy posts" that people who haven't actually read this blog think I post on a regular basis.

As a follow-up to that post: Ladies, we men don't speak your language. We speak a language all our own, in fact, and it's filled with stuff like sports, Star Wars, video games, and action/sci-fi movie terminology. It's an XY chromosome thing, really.

Collectively speaking, we also don't often get the hints that are dropped our way by the female gender and need to be told things directly in case you'd like to get a message across that you might like to do something socially with us. (This is something called flirting.) By the same token, many of us males have faced rejection so many times, especially by the Misfit Toys age, that we frequently cannot tell whether someone we're interested in romantically either shares an interest back or just can't play ping pong.

What do I mean by ping pong, you ask? I use the term here as taught to me by my mission president, Carlos Cuba, years ago. In this sense, ping pong is when you carry on a conversation with or teach a discussion to people by saying something to them, then listening intently while they speak, and then you speak again, and so on, thus taking turns bouncing the ball back and forth over the net, figuratively speaking, as you are both uplifted and edified together.

In the dating scene, then, I see the metaphor of ping pong being played out not with words only but with gestures, too. For example, if one person takes the initiative and asks out someone else, and they both have a great time, then the person who was asked out could—going back to Elder Christofferson's tweet now—send a text to the person who did the asking out as thanks for a fun evening. Letters and phone calls seem to be somewhat passé now, so a text may be your best bet.

From the perspective of a guy who does a majority of the asking out in his own dating experience, I can't tell you how nice it is to get a text like this after a date has concluded. It makes me feel appreciated and helps to dispel some of my insecurities about myself. Better still, if the lady then takes the initiative and strikes up a conversation with me the next time we're in the same room together, be it at church or elsewhere, she is showing that she knows how to play ping pong indeed, and the gesture shows that further interest is there. It makes things easier for both of us going forward. Then, on the following encounter, it's your turn again to start up a conversation, or you might send a text to say you're thinking about her, or whatever; this is how ping pong keeps working. Some kind of positive daily contact is wonderful—to use another mission metaphor.

Likewise, I have felt rather crestfallen on those occasions when a girl I really liked sent me no text message (nor something else akin to it) after a date nor really spoke to me the next time I saw her. On those occasions, a message is sent indirectly, and it reads: she's either not interested or doesn't play ping pong, and I'm not smart enough to know the difference.

When you're interested in a person who either doesn't know how to play ping pong or doesn't want to, well, it turns out to just one person bouncing the ball around, and that gets either boring or frustrating after a while, and you quickly lose interest in the game.

Some of you who are well versed already in ping pong may wonder why I even bring up this topic. Perhaps it is because in my time on the Island of Misfit Toys, I've found a surprising number of those in my dating pool who have not actually been in a committed relationship prior to their 30s. I'm always very floored when I learn this about some of those I've taken out, because these people are in no way unattractive or uninteresting. But nevertheless they exist, and they often are not familiar with the rules of ping pong, and a familiarity with ping pong helps both players to play the game far better than they would if they were not aware of the rules.

And the rules are really pretty simple when you break them down.

Dating: Impossible

Good evening, Paco. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go on a date. Should you not completely botch that up, you might even someday attempt to get a second date or, heaven help us, the delusion you've had for decades now that even a relationship is possible. Let alone anything further than that.

As always, should you choose someone in your ward, or anyone else you might see on a regular basis, and any of your I.M. Force (also you) be caught saying something unintentionally stupid, thus forever putting you in the Friend or Stranger Zone, your date will disavow any knowledge of your actions and will ignore/avoid you, and possibly unfriend you on Facebook. This tape will self-destruct in five or ten minutes. Good luck, Paco.

First, though, let me rewind the tape a bit and explain where I'm coming from today.

Last weekend, as in two weekends ago now, we castaways on the Island of Misfit Toys, aka the mid-singles, the Left Behind, or the Leper Colony, took part in an annual mid-singles conference, which involved people from all over Utah, as well as folks from out of state, and even people out of the country. Those who organized it did a phenomenal job of putting things together and delivered an excellent product.

The event concluded Sunday night with a fireside at the Ute 'tute, at which I'm told 2,500 attended. The featured speakers were Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and his wife, Kristen. I was seated in the overflow, about a half-mile back from the pulpit, but technically I was in the same room as a dedicated servant of the Lord and his wonderful, insightful spouse, and we received some very helpful, very meaningful counsel.

To make a long story even longer, and I promise I'm going somewhere with this, Elder Oaks read as part of his presentation a number of letters from current and former mid-singles who, like many of us, struggle(d) with the dating scene. All but one of the letters Elder Oaks read were from the female point-of-view, I believe. One of the letters touched on what Elder Oaks called the "Peter Pan syndrome," which means that the whole dating thing largely isn't happening, and hanging out is the norm, because many men are selfish, immature individuals who instead of growing up and taking on adult responsibilities are far more concerned with "the accumulation of money, property, car, home, travel, graduation before marriage, etc." than in building a lifetime with someone else. For the first time in our country's history, he said, there are more single adults than married adults, and this concerns the Brethren.

When conversations like these arise about why dating isn't happening, single guys like myself often see the finger of blame (and not always of encouragement) pointed at us, in this and many other settings. And this is because many years ago, sometime after Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden, men lost a Rock-Paper-Scissors game to women and got stuck with the responsibility of being the gender that has to make that move and shoulders that responsibility, and thus it has been ever since.

Elder Oaks is correct, of course. I see a lot of men doing the Peter Pan thing, and I can empathize with the frustration that many ladies must feel about priesthood inaction, so to speak. So, we should own that, collectively speaking, guys. This counsel and message are intentionally given, and should be.

Nevertheless, there are always two sides to a story—are there not? Believe it or not, there are those of us who are actually trying to break out of the mold, who are trying not to be Peter Pans. We've been trying for years now, because we heard these same messages as young single adults and have been dating, or at least trying to date, for years—long before we washed up on the shore of the Island of Misfit Toys. And we are frustrated, too.

Why? Because we often feel like we are caught in a darned-if-you-don't, darned-if-you-do, no-win, catch-22 situation. We hear these calls to date, and we make an effort, and yet the end results of our attempts often leave us feeling even more disillusioned with the whole horrible, gut-wrenching process. We hear our fellow female singles wondering why they don't have dates, and after we've done what we think they asked for and have asked them out or gone on a date, we are often left feeling like asking you out was one of the most offensive things we could possibly do.

Let me stress: This particular message is largely given, I believe—and as a contrast to the intentionally given counsel from Elder Oaks—unintentionally. I'm not trying to offend or alienate anyone here, let alone my own dating pool. And I realize that I may be treading in shallow waters.

Let me give you a few examples of what I mean.

I have previously posted here on Paco Nation about the problems of approachability with some and in trying to get to know those who just don't come to activities or who appear to evacuate the building like it's on fire after church meetings conclude. We can't proceed to the dating stage if you just don't show up or if we otherwise don't get a chance to meet you first. Sometimes, even getting the privilege just to talk to some of you—and it is a privilege—can be very difficult.

In addition, we live with the conflicting messages. One side of society tells us to get busy and to get dating already, OK? The other side keeps reminding us that we're nincompoops, which can put us between a rock and hard place, self-esteem wise. As another single woman put it in a different letter Elder Oaks read: "All of the single men are like parking spots: either handicapped or far out." This is how society portrays us sometimes, and it isn't exactly inspiring once the laughter has died down.

Once we've passed the stage of getting to know you, getting to know at least a little bit about you, getting an actual date with you is not always a guarantee. A fellow single friend of mine recently lamented that he had gone on two dates the previous month, but that was after he had asked out 10 girls. To use a different Rodgers and Hammerstein reference: Sometimes, some of you can be a girl who cain't say yes.

After an actual date has taken place, getting a second date can often be as difficult, if not more difficult, than getting the first one. There are a handful female acquaintances in my ward who will no longer speak to me, for whatever reason. My offense, as far as I can gather, is my last previous social interaction with them, which was having taken them out on a date. Before going on a date, I got along swimmingly with these people. I daresay we were friends even. But now, these few go out of their way to avoid or ignore me.

So, you see, the message—once again, unitentionally—is that having taken you out is possibly the most offensive thing I could've done. The message can be: Ask for a date, lose a friend. Maybe it was a glance, a bad joke, paying with a coupon instead of forking out a whole $50 for dinner—something I've unintentionally done has disqualified me from future social interaction, and I don't know what it is or was.

For the life of me, I don't know why this phenomenon occurs or why this approach is considered more "kind" than taking perhaps 10 to 15 uncomfortable seconds to to tell me something akin to: "I just don't feel any chemistry with you"; "I had a good time with you, but I don't see a relationship going anywhere"; "I don't wanna kill you, but I will"; or some other message that leaves no possible room for misunderstanding. But instead, we play the avoid and ignore game. Society teaches us that this is "kind."  I saw the same thing occur in my YSA ward, and I see it now.

Well, that's all of the potentially-offensive-but-I-sincerely-don't-mean-it-that-way stuff I've got for now. If you have made it to this point, fellow Misfit Toys (and others), thank you for bearing with me, and I welcome your input/feedback. I realize that the bemoaning-your-singleness approach does not necessarily attract people, so I really don't intend to do this type of thing often.

I also urge you to consider that just because you may have read something that doesn't fit your experience doesn't mean that my experiences and frustrations aren't valid, just as your experiences and frustrations are plenty valid. I guarantee you that many other active LDS single men feel this way, because we have conversations about these frustrations frequently.

I cannot judge anyone else's motivations or intents, because they are known to only that person. I can, however, report on observed patterns of behavior and express how they have affected me, and I feel that's what I'm doing with this post. I'm not pointing fingers at any one person, let alone am I trying to malign the female gender. You confuse me sometimes, and I'm trying to understand why you do what you do sometimes.

Of course, if the real issue is you're just not getting asked out by the men you want to ask you out, rather than single men in general, you might try, I don't know, asking them out yourself and seeing where that leads. It is possible, and it's not viewed negatively by us gents. I recently got asked out on a lovely picnic prepared by a sister in my ward, and together we enjoyed a most pleasant afternoon together. It was thoughtfully done and was a wonderful gesture. And we have even had some conversations together after this social outing, too.

So, ladies, what I'm saying overall is: Please be kind to your active LDS single male friends who are trying not to be Peter Pans. According to conference attendance figures, we may even be an endangered species; I'm told that single women outnumbered single men at a 7-to-1 ratio.

With that plea for kindness, I remind you that we're trying (not always succeeding, but trying), per the Golden Rule, to be kind to you in return, because you are wonderful; and not to quote One Direction or anything, but sometimes you really don't know how amazing you truly are. Sometimes, you perplex the snot out of us, and trying to understand the feminine mystique remains one of life's greatest mysteries, but you really are wonderful. I look around me at the wonderful ladies in my ward each week and the recurring thought is that there are still so many of you I'd like to get to know if given the chance.

If any of you, with total recall abilities, bring up that certain Tuesday back in 2003 or 2007 when I said this or did that, and it left you feeling this way about me, well, I validate that. Our actions have consequences, whether intentional or unintentional. I'm not perfect, nor am I claiming perfection here, and neither are you. But together, with understanding and with effort, perhaps we can still somehow form a more perfect union.

*KABOOOOOM*

Danny's First Birthday Party

At tonight's monthly family dinner, we also celebrated Daniel's first birthday. His actual birthday is August 25, but with family dinner falling where it usually does, we made the adjustment accordingly.

Danny needed some help from Summer but was able to get the candle blown out on his cake.

Toy Story factored into the night, with the gifts of a Sheriff Woody hat and a Toy Story 2 DVD given.

In addition, we broke in the karaoke machine I recently purchased, and I'd say it was a big hit with everyone. The kids especially enjoyed the opportunity to sing some of their favorite songs.

Why So Serious?

Blogging is not a competition, so I don't mind others doing their thing while I do mine. I am occasionally a bit perturbed when people I consider friends admit that they haven't even bothered to read things I've written while offering a negative or (worse) indifferent opinion on them, based on hearsay or whatever. ("Extremely long posts," offered one person who had "heard" that from another mutual friend.) That stuff bothers me somewhat. But that's their choice. I'm not gonna go key their cars or anything.

Paco Nation is not necessarily a humor column, folks. If you've been following me for any amount of time, you know that by now. My sense of humor is somewhat dry and/or subtle, so if you've read a number of posts and found them to be "just so serious," as another friend remarked, without any kind of humor at all, well, I guess it's just lost on you, and that's OK. Different strokes for different folks.

Truth be told, if you want to see me perform a comedy routine, or at least attempt to, I would invite you to come and check out my improv comedy troupe on any number of Friday nights at the local theater in Centerville, or even on a couple of Saturday nights a month at the somewhat-local theater in Clearfield. There are plenty of opportunities to see me make a nincompoop out of myself, and people occasionally tell me that I do a good job at it. I've been doing this professionally for only the past 11+ years now, so if you've not caught a show in that period of time, I'm sure you'll have plenty of chances in the next 11+ years.

I could go on forever, really! After all, my bones and joints are holding up for someone of my advancing years, and I can physically really do this forever.

*Hearty British chuckles*

Ha ha, no. I try not to take it for granted in any way. Seriously, though, because I'm "just so serious" here, after all, Paco Nation tackles some serious subjects because, well, I've faced some serious demons this year, and also over the past few years, and writing about them is one of my ways of exorcising them. I don't pretend my challenges are any more difficult than anyone else's, but they've been difficult for me. The insights I've gleaned through living with them have taught me a great deal about such things as patience, empathy, understanding, and overall faith in an all-knowing and all-loving God, and these are words I throw in the mix along with my own brand of humor.

It's rarely (if ever) about politics here, Opinionated Person. That's the topic sometimes, but please give me a little credit as your friend as not being so one-dimensional. For my day job, which I'm not ready to quit yet, I even get paid to write things and to review others' writings. I'm a very multi-layered writer, like an onion. An onion that writes. Not the Web site The Onion.

Having said that, and with malice toward none, I remain very grateful for all of my friendships. I'm a tad bit more grateful for those who actually take the time to read things rather laughing off my hobbies and interests as not being worth a moment of their time, but I'm nevertheless grateful for all of them. You bless my life in divers ways. Thank you for going along for the ride here on this blog, which is one just one aspect of my personality.

My Dinner with the Torrejóns

My second mission companion, Estenio Torrejón, and his family were in Utah this week to see the sites and to visit old friends. I met up with them Thursday afternoon for lunch at the local Peruvian restaurant, El Rocoto, in Bountiful.

It was great to see my old friend and to meet his wife, Karen, and their kids: Jasmín, Daniel, Isabela, and Jacob. (It turns out that his boys have the same first name as two of my nephews. Wow.)

Sunday in the Park with Jana

Last night, those family members who could attend went to see Jana and an ensemble cast called the Kenley Revue Company perform a selection of Disney musical favorites at the Ed Kenley Amphitheater in Layton. It was a a warm evening to be outside, but that's July in Utah for you. Songs from Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, The Lion King, Mary Poppins, Newsies, and Tarzan were presented.

Jana also made the Zazu puppet she is holding in the photo. It was used for "I Just Can't Wait to Be King."