We need your help to ensure the quality of our research. We’ve enclosed a thank you gift. This thank you gift is for taking the time to read this letter. Please share this letter with others in your household. (italics in original)

The thank you gift was a crisp new one-dollar bill. Of course I had to show the letter to Brinestone so she could share in my excitement. The letter continued:

If your household is selected, we will send you an additional small cash gift!

I’m nearly giddy with anticipation. What could it possibly be? Two dollars? Or—dare I hope—five?

Redbox is not a video store. It’s a vending machine. That means you browse, select your movies, and check out all in the same spot. While you can spend fifteen minutes strolling through a video store looking at all the boxes and trying to decide what you want, if you do that at Redbox, you’re holding up the line. That doesn’t seem to stop anyone, though. Imagine someone dithering for five minutes or so in front of a vending machine over whether to get a Snickers or a Milky Way or maybe some chips. Then imagine that the next three people in front of you all do the same thing, and you start to get pretty frustrated with people.

The worst part is that it’s completely unnecessary. If you have internet access, you can browse movies on Redbox’s website, find a location that has it in stock, and reserve it. Then all you have to do is go to the right machine, push a button, and swipe your credit card. Picking up a movie only needs to take about 15 seconds. And dropping off a movie shouldn’t take more than a few seconds, either, except that you have to wait until the machine is free.

Like tonight, when I went to drop off the movie we rented last night. First I went to Macey’s, but I could see that there were about five or six people in line, so I drove over to McDonald’s instead. I was excited to see that there was only one person in line, so I thought it would only take a minute or two.

It turned out to be more like five, though, because the woman in line in front of me was a browser. I swear she looked at every single movie in the catalog and ended up checking out three. While I was waiting another three people got in line behind me. And then, after she swiped her credit card, which took her about three tries to get right, the machine asked for her zip code. I don’t know what she thought it was asking for, because she punched in four digits, and it didn’t look like any zip code from around here.

She tried hitting “next” about five times. The guy behind me cleared his throat impatiently. I finally chimed in and said, “It needs your zip code.” She turned around looking vaguely embarrassed, apologized, and put in her zip code and hit “next” again. Finally she was on her way, and I was able to drop off my movie and go home. What should have been a ten-minute-tops errand turned into more like twenty minutes because one person decided to treat a vending machine like her own personal video store.

And this happens at least every other time I use a Redbox. Quite frequently I get stuck behind two or three browsers instead of just one, so I end up waiting in line for fifteen minutes. And all of that could be avoided if people were just considerate of others and kept their browsing to a minimum or just reserved their movies online. I’m sure most people don’t even know you can do it online, but that’s still no excuse for holding up a line for five minutes or more.

Like I said, I love Redbox, but I hate a its customers. I’m sure one of these days I’m just going to lose it and start cussing out the people who are making me wait fifteen minutes to perform a thirty-second task. Maybe it’s about time to finally get Netflix.

Then there was the weekend trip to Denver in late July to see Brinestone’s sister get married. It was great that we were able to go, even though El Guapo was less than two weeks old, because Brinestone and her sister are like best friends, but weekend trips always tire me out. A full day of driving plus a full day of wedding stuff plus another full day of driving with only one Sunday of downtime in the middle is not a very restful vacation.

A couple of weeks later, Brinestone and the boys went up to Bear Lake for an extended family reunion of her mom’s side. I skipped out because I couldn’t afford the time off, but it was kind of nice having a few days of quiet, even though it’s always weird to be the only one in the house.

Then there was another family reunion, this time for my mom’s side of the family. We headed up Friday afternoon and came back Saturday night, so I only missed a little bit of work, but it was a tiring trip too. It was good to see family, especially my parents and siblings, but setting up and taking down camp for only a day’s worth of camping is a lot of work.

And finally, last week we flew to Georgia for Brinestone’s brother’s wedding. It too was an exhausting trip filled with airports and rental car counters and lot of time in miserable traffic in a very hot and humid city, but again it was nice to be there to support family.

Honestly, I don’t begrudge the time spent on all these trips to be with family. I love my family and Brinestone’s family too, and I’m glad we were able to be there for some important events and see relatives that we don’t get to see very often. But man, am I ever ready to just stay home for the next few months. For my next vacation I might just pass out on the couch for a while.

At any rate, it’s been an eventful few months for us. For quite a while now I’d been planning on applying to PhD programs in linguistics (and would hopefully be accepted to at least one). As I was applying, though, something changed. I’m not quite sure what happened, but suddenly I was losing my enthusiasm for more schooling and was growing increasingly doubtful that I actually wanted to be a professor.

I mean, I love the subject and love learning about and talking about it, but teaching is something else altogether. It means lesson plans and grading and standing in front of a class of students who may or may not like me or the subject. It means doing research and lots of writing and trying to get tenure—and this is assuming I could get a decent teaching job in the first place instead of just bouncing around from one adjunct position to another.

And more school? I don’t know. Suddenly I was feeling very burned out with school and just wanted to be done. I don’t want to drag my whole family through a few more years of this, moving across the country and living in cramped apartments, racking up who knows how much debt. Lego’s going to start kindergarten this fall. I remember how hard it was for me to move out of state and then move again and change schools and then move again, all between the ages of 7 and 9. It’s hard to make friends and adjust to new places. I don’t want to put my kids through that if I can avoid it.

So I finished applying to schools, and I was only accepted to one—Northern Arizona University. It sounded like a solid program and a really great fit for my interests, but I just couldn’t see myself going anymore. And while I was deliberating what to tell them and leaning towards telling them no, I came across a job listing here in Utah that would be perfect for me. I’m very well qualified, and from all I’ve heard it’s a great place to work. I realized that even if I don’t get this particular job, it’s what I really want. I sent back the form to NAU telling them I wouldn’t be attending.

I’ve applied and have gone through the first two rounds of testing but haven’t interviewed yet. My current boss wished me luck and says they’d be crazy not to hire me, which means a lot because I know he’d love to keep me here if he could. I’m hoping and praying it works out, even though it would probably mean moving very quickly, and we’d have to figure out whether or not to buy a house or keep renting for the time being.

Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll decide to go back for that PhD and will end up teaching after all. But right now I feel like I want to put down roots somewhere and actually begin a real career in earnest while enjoying my time with my family. Which reminds me, if you haven’t heard, we’re expecting boy #3 mid-July.

One way or another, this summer is going to bring a lot of changes. I’m not sure yet where everything will end up, but I feel like it’ll end up where it should.

[phone rings]

Me: Hello?

Guy: Steve-o!

Me: I’m sorry; you have the wrong number.

Guy: This isn’t Steve?

Me: Nope. Sorry.

Guy: You’re not Steve [last name]?

Me: No.

[pause]

Guy: So who is this?

Me: Someone else.

Guy: Oh. Sorry.

Me: No problem.

[guy hangs up]

Steve, wherever you are, please stop giving people my number.

We got the kids into the car and started heading up to Provo, but after a couple miles the car started acting funny—it dropped out of overdrive and kept trying to shift back up, but it was stuck in drive. Then it started having problems with drive and was dropping into second, and we started smelling a hot, oily smell. I suspected we were leaking transmission fluid. Brinestone wisely suggested that we pull off at the next exit, which was by the Wal-Mart in Springville.

We exited and stopped at the light to try to pull into the closest gas station. When the light turned green and I tried to go, the engine revved but the car didn’t budge. I tried shifting into park and back into drive, but nothing happened. I put on the hazard lights, popped the hood, and hopped out to take a look. (By this time our green arrow had turned red, so I wasn’t too worried about being mowed down.)

I looked under the car and saw not transmission fluid not dripping or leaking but gushing under the car—there was already a puddle of it at least two feet across. Luckily it wasn’t the transmission itself that was shot—I could see pretty clearly that it was coming from a hose to the transmission fluid cooler that had popped off. The car wasn’t going anywhere, so I decided to walk over to the gas station and get some transmission fluid and hopefully a screwdriver so I could reattach the hose, clamp it down, and get enough fluid in the transmission to allow us to get out of the intersection.

I got to the gas station and looked around, but I couldn’t see any automotive supplies or tools, which struck me as pretty ridiculous. No oil? Not even any windshield washer fluid? I headed back to the car, and as I was waiting for the crosswalk a guy ran up behind me and asked if I needed help pushing the car. He’d been behind us at the light and had pulled around us and then turned into the gas station. I said I’d love some help, and when the left turn arrow turned green again, we pushed the car through the intersection and into a parking space at the gas station. I thanked him profusely but didn’t even get his name. (Whoever you are, thanks again. You were a lifesaver.)

Brinestone suggested one of us walk down to Wal-Mart to get some transmission fluid and screwdriver to fix the hose, and I decided to go since I knew what kind of fluid to get. Oh, and did I mention that it was about 16 degrees and windy that day? I was half-frozen by the time I got to Wal-Mart, but I got what I needed and headed back to the car. I got the hose back on and clamped down (burning my arm on the exhaust manifold in the process) and started pouring in transmission fluid. Meanwhile someone from our ward saw us and checked to see if we needed any help. I told him I thought I had it under control, but he said he’d wait to see if we got it running first before he left. I checked the fluid and it looked full, so I tried putting it in gear. The car moved. Success! I thanked our neighbor, and he left.

And then I tried driving again, and nothing happened again, except this time the check engine light came on. I checked for the diagnostic codes and called my dad, who then asked a mechanic at work. Apparently the vehicle speed sensor and transmission shift control were reporting problems, but he said the former might be causing the latter and that it could have fried the speed sensor when we were revving it with no fluid in the transmission. Also, I had broken the hood release handle earlier, and now the hood was closed. I’d need a pair of pliers to pull on the end of the hood release cable and pop the hood.

We went inside the gas station to get some snacks for the kids and get warm, and I noticed that they did have a small automotive section, including transmission fluid (though it over twice what I paid at Wal-Mart), screwdrivers, and pliers. I bought a pair of pliers and decided to check the fluid again, and it looked low, but it wasn’t still leaking. It takes a while for fluid to settle in, so the full reading I got earlier wasn’t actually accurate. I kept adding fluid, waiting, and checking again until I got another full reading on the dipstick. I tried putting the car in gear again, and voila! It worked this time, and the gears didn’t drop out again like they did before. Apparently it was just low fluid causing the trouble codes.

By this point we’d spent at least an hour and a half at the gas station. Brinestone’s parents would be arriving in town in about two and a half hours, so we decided to skip the party (especially since we still didn’t really trust the car) and just head home, avoiding the freeway so we wouldn’t be left stuck in the middle of traffic on an icy, windy day. (There’s construction on the freeway right now, so there aren’t a lot of places to pull off in an emergency.)

Before we left, my dad called back and offered to give us their minivan when my mom comes up to Utah in a week or so. Apparently they were planning on buying a new van and getting rid of their old one even before I called about our problem, and they declined our offer to buy it from them. We had been planning on buying a van this summer anyway, and just a few days ago we’d talked about getting one sooner rather than later, since this car seems to be falling apart rather quickly now. So this is not just a wonderful gift but wonderful timing. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mom and Dad.

We got home safely, and when Brinestone’s family got in to town, we went out to a Chinese place for dinner. (It’s called Lucky 5, on Main Street in Spanish Fork, and I highly recommend it.) My fortune cookie read, “Your troubles will cease and fortune will smile upon you.”

It was a pretty happy end to a very crappy day.

I haven’t enjoyed a TV show that much in quite some time. I also haven’t been so frustrated with a TV show in quite some time. I already knew from friends and family who had watched the show faithfully that things got weird after a couple of seasons and that there was lots of mystery but not a lot of answers. This held true right up through the end, with a series finale that made approximately zero sense but was still somehow quite satisfying despite this minor shortcoming.

The most frustrating thing about Lost, of course, is that there were never really any answers. Countless mysteries are introduced and then abandoned or altered beyond recognition. For example, in season 1 we know there’s a monster on the island that randomly rips up trees and kills (though apparently doesn’t eat) people. Later we find out that the monster is a cloud of black smoke. Later still it’s referred to as a security system for the island and then specifically for the temple. There are a few references to it judging people and allowing the worthy to survive. Later still it’s hinted that the smoke monster might have done something to Danielle Rousseau’s team, changing them in some way so that she thought they were infected and then killed them all to prevent the infection from spreading. But then in the end we find out that the monster is just some evil entity that takes the form of dead people and wants to get off the island but can’t (though, of course, it’s never explained why). None of final revelations make any sense in regard to the previous ones. And that’s just one mystery out of at least a few dozen.

Yet despite all the convolutions and shameless retconning and pointless killing off of characters, I still really enjoyed the show (well, except for most of the last season, which I think really was pretty bad). Why? I think it was because of the characters. I often wanted to yell at them for keeping secrets and for all their other stupidness, but through it all they were all pretty fascinating to watch. They were well-written and and well-acted, and I enjoyed watching them grow and change over the seasons. I liked learning their back stories piece by piece and seeing how they were all connected. I liked watching them discover their purpose and find out what was important.

And in the end, I think this is why I enjoyed the finale, even though, as I said before, it really made zero sense and answered no questions. When it was all over I was satisfied because they had all found what they were looking for in some way or another. I think this is what the show was really about the whole time. What is your purpose in life, and how do you find it? What are the important things in life? Some people have focused on the cheesy everyone-goes-to-heaven ending, but I don’t think that was what it was about. In the end, the important things in life are time and the people you spend it with. I think there’s a lot of truth to that.

But (no offense to my friend Dan, who saw the movie about 17 bajillion times in theaters and was personally responsible for about 3 percent of the movie’s gross earnings), I thought the entire thing was one giant cliche—including the plot, characters, and dialog—from beginning to end. Not once was I surprised by anything; you see everything coming from about a mile away, and as a lot of critics have said, it really does feel like it’s little more than a mashup of Pocahontas and Fern Gully. Maybe throw in some Dances with Wolves in there for good measure. But that’s not to say it wasn’t entertaining, despite its predictability.

On a different note, some designers have criticized it for using that most hated of all fonts, Papyrus, in the subtitles and the movie’s title. And while I agree that it’s a bad font that screams, “I’m an amateur!”, in a strange way I think it was actually the perfect font. It’s hackneyed and cliche and almost universally beloved by non-professionals. And it says little more than “I’m vaguely and generically exotic,” which is exactly what Pandora and the Na’vi are.

The planet is described as being worse than hell, but in reality it seems like a rather pleasant and enchanting version of Earth with a few slight twists—the animals mostly look like Earth animals, except they have six legs and breathe through their necks (ooh! exotic!). The plants mostly look like Earth plants, too, except they all luminesce (again: ooh! exotic!). The Na’vi, in the grand tradition of Star Trek, look and act almost exactly like people, but their skin is blue and they have tails. Oh, and there are inexplicable floating mountains and energy fields and some mineral that’s extremely valuable, though we have no idea why. Again: it all has the thin veneer of exoticness, but underneath it’s all comfortably bland, familiar, and unoriginal.

But I still kind of wish I’d seen it in IMAX 3-D.

It’s frustrating at the moment because I need to work on my car, and the only place I have to work is the gravel driveway (read: mud pit) on the side of the house. I fixed Brinestone’s broken car in the snow because it was a necessity; I generally don’t prefer to lie on my back in the gravelly mud with rain spotting my glasses while trying to dismantle the front end of my car.

And meanwhile, at work, I’m in the middle of the interminable project of posting all of our past publications to our web site. This involves taking dozens upon dozens of Word documents (most of which look fine on the surface but are a formatting mess), converting them to HTML, cleaning up the nightmarish code, and posting them via our content management system. It’s making me realize once again how helpful it would be to know how to program. I could put together some Visual Basic or Javascript that would automate a lot of the steps.

Thankfully I discovered that one of our PCs at work has Dreamweaver CS3 on it (it used to have Adobe Creative Suite Design Standard on it, but recently the computer guys wiped it and then—accidentally, I think—reinstalled Design Premium), which speeds up the HTML clean-up considerably. Still, it takes a long time to clean up and post all those files. Blah.

I’m ready for some real work again.

Or maybe you don’t think about those things at all. Maybe it’s just me.