Glad to see that bureaucracy has yet to fail us....oh, wait

For the many people who actually read this blog (in reality about two people, Jacob Keele and Tess), you know that I am going to UVU for school. I recently dropped a class that turns out would be much better time-wise if I were to take it this summer. So, I dropped the class thinking that would be the end of it, when about two weeks later I received this in the mail...












This is a check from UVU (don't worry I have removed any information that could get me into trouble) for the amount of $2.00 and 00/100 cents...seriously.
I had paid $379 for class fees this semester and had a $1200 tuition wavier, so apparently, out of that $379 I forked over...only $2.00 of it was for that class.

Now, here is where we get into some fun math: The average office worker makes between $5.85 and $13.85 an hour, but since it's UVU I am going to say it's only $5.85. The average accountant makes about $49.00 per hour. So lets assume that it took the office worker 20 minutes to process the paperwork and the accountant, 15 minutes to do his or her job. So that would cost about $14.10 to have them process this one check. If we add about $0.50 for the cardstock it was printed on and $0.44 for the postage, then we have the grand total of $15.04, just to mail me this oh-so-important check for TWO DOLLARS!

If it weren't a federal crime, I would gold plate and frame the damn thing!

And the brilliant cherry on the government cake is that the $2.00 doesn't really cover the gas it takes to drive to the bank to cash the check...thank you, and good day.

My (Hypothetical) Death Via Airplane...

This last summer Erin, her roommate, Diana, and I went to New York on vacation.

If I had to suggest at least one thing everyone should do in their life, I'd say GO TO NEW YORK CITY would be at the top of the list. We saw a play on Broadway, visited historic landmarks, and had an overall great time (much to the chagrin of my wallet).

The only negative experiences we had in New York were two fold.

First...our hotel!

We stayed at the JFK airport Ramada in Jamaica, New York.

So...pretty much on the corner of Stabsville and Rapetown. I'm not sure about Erin and Diana's room, but in my room one of the previous tenants had taken to slicing the window drapes with a butterfly knife...so that was a great, warm, safe, feeling for me.

(see)

Also, I'm pretty sure the hotel itself was on egg crates.

(See)

Second...Our Return Flight Home

Exhausted, we drudged our weary selves onto the plane, like B-movie zombies (quite literally for Erin, who had taken an Ambien 30 minutes before we boarded).

We were ready to go home and get back into our everyday boring lives, filled with school, work, and other stuff... Our plane was taxied out onto the runway when suddenly, BOOM! We were hit by a massive thunderstorm, which left us stranded for two hours.

THEN, we had to wait until all of the planes in front of us had taken off, all 41 of them. It was during this time that Erin had entered her half-awake, half-drug-induced rage. "I ordered a water!" she said curtly as the flight attendant walked nervously by...even though we hadn't taken off and the drink cart hadn't passed us by yet. Normally my sweet, gorgeous girlfriend--who is by no means editing this blog for me right now--would never do such a dreadful thing outside the confines of the anger prescription she'd carried on the plane with her. But I digress...

We were finally able to get into the air and flew directly into the storm. So let's do the math here: We were stuck in an airplane cabin on a tarmac for over four hours. I have one laptop and one iPod and both batteries had worn out by hour two. We took off and on our four-hour flight home they sent the drink cart only once to give us what I can only call a "splash" of water in a Dixie cup and a handfull of dry-roasted peanuts. If we wanted any real food we were going to have to fork out $8.00 for a finger sandwich that I wouldn't even serve at my wedding! Because Erin says they clash with her six colors anyway...but I digress.

As my stomach rumbled and my boredom grew, I reached a moment of clarity, what the Buddhist monks might call "enlightenment." Now this probably wasn't true enlightenment (being that it was brought on by hunger, boredom, and higher nitrogen levels in my brain from the high altitude, as well as being in an all-oxygen environment) but at the least we could call it an epiphany.

So, as I was saying, a single thought struck through my head like the flash of lightning threatening to send us careening toward the ground. As we made our decent into Utah, I could see the federal prison like a tiny speck down below. I thought of a death row inmate and how his final moments would play out. At the cost of the taxpayers, he would be given a steak dinner, a beer, a cigarette, and at least fifteen minutes of clean female companionship before he were to die...

Now, if my plane were to crash in a super-heated conglomerate of fire, steel & my human flesh, the only thing that they would find in my stomach would be peanuts and shame.

So I would have payed $500 dollars for a horrible death and the worst last meal in human history, while my tax dollars would give Joe Van Wifekiller a four-course meal and something warm to rub up against...

I hate flying Coach!

Just to prove the joke is mine....

It's not that great of a joke but I had to post it somewhere so I can prove it's mine if needs be.

Shaquille O'Neal has a new TV show called "Shaq Vs." Where he challenges other athletes at their sports (E.G. Football, soccer, etc.). But to me an athlete vs. another athlete isn't much of a challenge. What they should really do is put Shaq up against something hard for him...like Shaq vs. remedial reading, Shaq vs. Child Support...or Shaq vs. the free throw.

A Real Life Bond Villain

A friend of mine from Jr. High posted a link today that I found interesting.
Here it is...

http://www.nola.com/news/index.ssf/2009/07/bill_gates_of_microsoft_envisi.html

The article talks about how Bill Gates and some of his "associates" (Henchmen would be more fitting) are building a machine that can control parts of the Ocean in order to possibly dissipate incoming hurricanes. While this device would be AMAZING and could likely save countless human lives...I can't help but be a little nervous. 
Here's why...

What do you get when you have a super-nerdy billionaire, a corner on the world's software market, a machine that controls the FREAKING OCEAN, and the overall penchant for evil?

YOU GET A JAMES BOND VILLAIN!!!!

All Mr. Gates needs is a giant menacing chair, a cat, and an evil lair built inside of a dormant volcano and he is set! I hate to rag on the guy's incredible idea, it's just that you really can't help but draw some strong parallels between Mr. Gates and a nefarious super villain.
Could you picture the poster for the Bill Gates Bond flick?

I think it would look something like this...

Bill Gates gives a whole new meaning to the name octo-"pussy."
Don't get me wrong, I love the advancement in technology but if television and movies have taught me anything it's this,

1. Billionaires only build death machines.
2. Robots with Artificial Intelligence always rise up and kill their human masters. (T1, T2, IRobot, The Matrix, & 9)
3. To go through time you must first travel 88 Miles Per Hour. (BTTF)
4. Only Pretty People are allowed to save the Earth! (See: Transformers or anything by Michael Bay)

So keep an eye out!
Thank you,

Neil Spencer Hiatt

I Thought You'd Be Taller...

Sometimes it is fun bumping into old friends...and sometimes it's not.

I was browsing the DVD's at F.Y.E. in the Provo Mall when I ran into John Wilcox, the younger brother of a friend of mine from High School. He was listlessly rummaging through the pop section when he noticed me and after a slight pause he wildly threw his hands up in the air and yelled, "NEIL! How the F$*K are you?" Which was awkward considering we were in a mall and there were at least three children by the video game section...but that was John for you.

To be honest I hate running into people I went to high school with. The reason being that if I cared about you enough to want to see you again...I would simply see you again. I would rather put energy into keeping current relationships than awkwardly stammer through conversations about how someone who I don't care abouts life is going while I desperately try to remember anything that we did when, and if, we hung out.


But, the fact was I hung out with John's older brother Anthony, and John always hung out with Anthony so that didn't really make us "friends" per say. John and my friendship consisted of me marveling at the copious amounts of energy John had, and John trying to hump my leg for a laugh...as it turns out not a lot had changed with John when I ran into him at F.Y.E.

"Hey, John. It's great to see you." I said, deciding to approach this conversation like I approach conversations with my Family...by pretending to care. "How have you been?" By the look of John's stained Ethnies shirt and dirty jeans...probably not well. "I'm in between jobs right now." John said. I hate it when people said 'in between jobs.' I understand no one wants to say I was fired or no one would hire me, but sugar coating it gets us nowhere. "I'm sorry to hear that John," I lied, "so what brings you here?" He pointed to a girl positioned behind the checkout counter, an attractive, young brunette with an affectionate smile. "She's my girlfriend." He said, winking to punctuate his sentence. "We've been living together for about three months, let me introduce her to you. I've told her all about you." He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled in her direction. "LACEY! LACEY! Come here I want to introduce you to Neil."

Lacey smiled affectionately and headed our way. I shook her hand and introduced myself. "Hi, my name is Neil."

"This is the guy I was telling you about," John interrupted. "The funny guy who would talk to his penis." And all at once it seemed as if everyone in the store sucked the air into a single collective GASP! I could almost see the words hanging there in the silence "the guy who would talk to his penis." The silence and shock that held in entrance of the store was deafening.

To be fair to John...I did talk to my penis once, as a joke mind you, and only through my pants...it's not like I tied it to a string and had it dance around while I called it madam. But I digress.

It was Lacey who finally broke the awkward silence. She nodded her head in approval and simply said, "It's nice to finally meet you..." And then she said it, the phrase that still baffles me every time I run it through my head, she fixed her eyes on mine and simply stated, "I thought you would be taller." Then turned on her heels and walked back to the front desk to help more customers.

I stood there for a moment and rolled her words back and forth across my mind, as if they were a game of shuffle board being played during a hurricane. Sad to say the first thing that popped in my mind when she said it was, 'what the hell has John been telling her?' Did he just come home from work and say, "You should meet my friend Neil. He holds a ventriloquist conversation with his private parts and gives it a shoddy British accent...also he is ten feet tall and crushes cities with his every step, you will love him!"

What confuses me the most about the situation was that she was so disappointed that I was short. Standing at 5 Ft. 8 Inches I am about average height. But that isn't what bothers me. What bothers me is not that I am short, but that she was impressed by the crappy stories John had been telling her about me. He didn't tell her that I was in a band sponsored by a skateboarding company that had been on tour and opened for bigger groups like the matches, homegrown, etc, he didn't say that I was a headlining stand up comic...he told her that I once talked to my junk and it was funny and for some reason that means I should have been taller...C'est la vie.

Archibald Duke Fluffington the III

Ahem...Ladies and Gentlemen, Introducing the world's greatest puppy!

Archibald Duke Fluffington the III ("Archie" for short...or "Arch"...or "A-hole").

























Archie is a two month old, female, Half Shih-Tzu half Lhasa-Apso mix, a Shit-so, if you please. She has soft black and white fur, doesn't shed, is litter box trained, is WAY cooler than Fonzie, and just happens to be ADORABLE!!!!

Now I know what you're thinking...why does a female dog have a male name?
The answer is simple, she is my dog and I will call her whatever the hell I want ;-)
That's right, the Bitch is mine...and Erin's!

Anyways, I took her to her first check up today and she is doing just fine! After two more vaccinations she will be allowed to go for walks outside and interact with other dogs! HOORAY!
So, just as a note if you come over and see Archie be sure to sanitize your hands first...we don't want this one dead of Parvo anytime ever!

The Anti - Classy

CLASSY

Pronunciation: \ˈkla-sē\
Function: adjective
Inflected Form(s): class·i·er; class·i·est
Date: 1891
Definition: Having or showing class: as A: Elegant , stylish a>B: Having or reflecting high standards of personal behavior a>C: Admirably skillful and graceful.

If you are like me, which let's face it you probably aren't, when you think of the word "Classy" it may conjure up the image of aristocratic men (or women) clothed in fine suits and pork pie hats (or dresses & powdered wigs). These men/women are comfortably resting in warm leather arm chairs, sifting Brandy, reading the new yorker and discussing gentlemanly things.

Like this...(See figures 1 & 2)

These esteemed captains of industry, blue blooded nobles sum up all that it truly means to be classy.

But, it unnerves me greatly to inform you that we as a society have steered far away from the 1891 definition of "Classy" as shown above. (Just so you know, this blog is in jest, somewhat, so calm down. When I say classy I mean classy as in gentleman like or courteous not as in the actual sense that we should label people by class).

It seems that the upper crust surrounding America's proverbial Apple Pie is littered with burns and rotten fruit.

As masses we flock to American Idol and reality television to suckle at the tit of mediocrity; while entertainment with real wit, humor, and story writing gets cancelled after a few episodes. You bow down and worship elitist whores like Paris Hilton and uneducated zealots like Sean Hanity. You raise political figures on both sides (be it republican or Democrat) to God like status while ignoring that we as a people are the engine that makes this country run.

It's as though people everywhere are de-evolving into "The Anti-class" of America...and I mean everyone, not just celebrities.

So without further ado, my list of things that make us "The Anti-Class."

1. The Faux Hawk - Yes, it was probably great when you were 19 and playing in an Emo band your freshman year of college but please...please stop! Take this guy for example, not only is he sporting the Faux Hawk but he is flashing a gang sign while wearing a button up shirt....really? So he's obviously not in a gang but is borderline douche bag (I say borderline because note that his collar is not popped). And this is what brings me to my next Anti-Class...

2. Douche Bags - At one point in history this word simply meant feminine hygiene product...but then there was an onslaught of self-absorbed chode lickers enough so that they got their own definition in the FREAKING DICTIONARY! Merriam-Websters defines a Douche bag as "an unattractive or offensive person." or as the dictionary of Neil defines it See: The cast of The Hills, Laguna Beach, Chris Angel, and Justin S. from my last B.Y.U. ward. For more clarification on what a Douche Bag is please direct your attention to the picture below.

If you have any of these traits then...

And I can't stress how much the "Livestrong bracelets" bug me. Not because the idea behind them isn't a good one, it's that most people wear them as a fashion statement and probably have never even known someone who suffers from Cancer, let alone helped out by donating time or money.

3. P.D.A - No, not the personal organizer...P.D.A. stands for Public Displays of Affection. Now, don't get me wrong...I don't care if you hold hands or even give your girlfriend/boyfriend a small kiss or peck every now and then...but, when you are in public or in a room with more than 2 other people DON'T MAKE OUT!!!! WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? And I'm not just talking about teenagers, I'm talking about grown FU%$ING ADULTS! I'm 23 and I see people who are older than I am full on making out in a public setting...I'm sorry but it's tacky, rude and AWKWARD! Are you 12? Really, are you sure you're an adult? Because, you are acting like you are in study hall.

And don't give me that, "We are just showing our love" crap. That's like agreeing when a douche bag says, "You're just jealous because I am too real and you can't handle the heat I am throwing down." (Actual quote from an actual Douche Bag).

Here are some examples of OKAY P.D.A and NOT OKAY P.D.A.!

OKAY:

Holding Hands, pecks on the cheek, one or two small (tasteful kisses) that is okay...anything more than that...get a DAMN ROOM!!!!

Not OKAY!!!!

WHAT THE HELL???? My girlfriend and I cringe when we see these douche-tards doing this IN PUBLIC! When we want to be intimate we respect those around us. I don't understand what makes people want to do that in front of other people. Are people like this so emotionally needy and starved for approval that they will do this crap in public?

4. Reality TV - This is a big one...If you turn on the television during the day and especially at night it is littered with talk shows, game shows, and scripted "reality." These are shows that thrive off of people who slander, backbite, and prostitute themselves out for a few minutes of fame. It replaces classic REAL entertainment like Arrested Development, Pushing Daisies, etc.

with shows like Judge Judy, Survivor, and the American Idol.

Here is a List of "Reality TV" that is so bad it makes Jesus and Buddha cry.

1. Paris Hilton's My New BFF - You'd think she would have made more friends in prison.

2. American Idol - quick hint...the attractive half talented one wins.

3. The Hills - Everyone hates me and I hate my high profile fashion job, now I know how Ghandi felt.

4. The Real World - 7 douche bags live in a house together...who cares?

5. Laguna Beach - Oh my God, my trust fund is only going to be $2,000,000...now I know how Gandhi felt.

6. Amish In The City (Seriously...it was on TV)...nuff said.

7. Survivor - I hope they vote off that bitch Karen.

This is where I am going to stop...not because I can't find more things wrong with the overall dumbing down of America but it makes me queasy to write this.

So What Have We Learned?

1. No Faux Hawks (Gross)

2. No Douche Bags (Seriously)

3. NO P.D.A. (Be tactful)

4. Stop with the Reality T.V. Already!

Thank You,

Neil Spencer Hiatt 2/24/09