Enjoy your opinion ... because it is yours

Last semester, I wrote a column denouncing the immaturity and utter stupidity of a popular series of books that later became an equally immature movie. I’ve bashed that franchise enough for the time being, so I won’t mention its name except to mention that the plot involves vampires and hormonal girls.

Anyhow, soon after I wrote the column, I received an interesting letter in response. I’ve got the letter reproduced in its entirety on my Facebook notes, but it’s too long to include here. It was written in all caps with a marker all over four pieces of paper, the kind of thing usually taped around a brick and thrown through a window.

I’m not sure that English was the native tongue of the writer. It included cryptic phrases like “[The novel] IS A BOOK AND GRANT IT OR NOT SUBJECT TO OPINIONS BY THE READER READING IT” and “YOU GIVE POWER TO THE EVENTS YOU ENCOUNTER.”

The last part was the most interesting. It said, “HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR OPINION BECAUSE IT IS YOURS.”

Isn’t that true?

One of the great things about America — aside from _________ and it being the country that produced Red Baron French Bread Pizzas — is that we can, in most circumstances, speak our minds. We can express our opinions, and as long as we don’t defame people too much, we can all live in bliss knowing that everyone’s got their own view of stuff.

I’ve got some pretty far-out opinions. I believe vegetarians are missing out on some of the greatest gifts ever granted to mankind, like beef jerky. I believe the guy who invented Otter Pops should be canonized into a saint. I think that guys should stay as far away from wearing girl pants as a chicken from a KFC. I even think Jack Bauer could beat Chuck Norris.

I might be right about those things. I might be totally wrong.

But, as that faux ransom note exhorted me so eloquently, I enjoy my opinion because it is mine.

We're a peaceful planet! We have no weapons! [Boom!]

Over two hundred years ago, the right to keep and bear arms proved to be one of the strengths that bore the struggling American colonies to freedom as a united nation. Minutemen and ill-equipped militia banded together to drive one of the world’s superpowers from the American shores.

Now that right, assured of its hallowed position in the history of the United States., is in jeopardy. Liberal groups, claiming the interest of safety, want to remove the Americans’ right to have their own firearms.

The Second Amendment to the Constitution guarantees “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.”

There are some who would interpret the word “people” in that statement to mean the military, and those whose official duty it is to keep the peace. However, it is unlikely that the Founding Fathers meant it that way, having just emerged from a war where the common man, not only the police or a standing army, took up arms against tyranny. While law-enforcement and military professions are noble, each individual citizen should retain the ability to protect himself and his family.

Gun safety will always be an issue. Many well-meaning people believe that taking guns away from people will solve many of the crime problems societies face. However, statistics show otherwise.

A study based from the FBI Uniform Crime Report illustrates this point. Though the handguns per capita in the United States since 1945 have risen dramatically, the amount of gun-related crimes has remained relatively steady. Contrast that with Washington, D.C., which banned handguns in 1976. From 1976 to 1992, crime doubled, while the nation’s crime rate grew by a mere 12 percent.

Look at the example of Peru, where citizens aren’t allowed to own firearms. Instead, houses are enshrouded in bars to defend against criminals with no such restrictions. A former missionary who served there said, “In America, criminals live behind bars and people are on the streets. In Peru, criminals are on the streets and people live behind bars.” Such is the price of laws where ordinary people have no access to any means of defense.

Making laws against guns will only affect those who obey the laws. Great Britain has enacted strict gun control laws in the last fifty years. Now, according to several English newspapers, the number of illegal guns in the country has doubled. Those who choose not to obey the anti-gun laws will find their own ways around the law as they always have. Then the guns will have been taken out of the hands of the law-abiding citizen, though the criminal will still procure firearms from methods outside the law.

There is a necessary right for every American to be able to protect himself. Without the realization of this need in the past, America may never have been able to gain independence. In another study, this one by the Northwestern School of Law, Americans use firearms to defend themselves from criminals at least 764,000 times a year. The same organization surveyed imprisoned criminals and found that 34% of them had been "scared off, shot at, wounded or captured by an armed victim.”

Perhaps local governments should be given the ability to regulate firearms. It’s acceptable for an Idaho government, made up of Idahoans who know how Idahoans think and what Idahoans need, to decide what’s best for Idahoans, for instance. It is not, however, acceptable for a bureaucrat in Washington, D.C. to decide what is best in a faraway state in which he has never set foot.

And what would ordinary citizens need guns for?

Many different tastes and varied pleasures abound in the great United States, which stretches thousands of miles across mixed lifestyles. Many of those cultures fused into the great nation enjoy hunting and other outdoor pursuits, in which guns — held by responsible, benign adults — play a major role. Others enjoy shooting targets; still others collect firearms as a hobby.

Responsibility is a key factor. Simply arguing that something can be dangerous is not a justifiable reason for cutting off its availability. The key is to teach how to properly store, care for, and use firearms to avoid accidents. Thus, the law-abiding citizen — the only ones truly affected by anti-gun legislation, as pointed out earlier — would continue to enjoy the benefits of firearms.

Americans must be aware of the issues surrounding gun control and make choices based upon logic and statistics, not propaganda from either the right or the left. American history was written by those unafraid to stand up for their rights. The loyal supporters of the Constitution must never allow the precious pieces of American legacy to be stolen — like the freedom to keep and bear arms.

[Random point for Scrollies only: Alderaan was a peaceful planet, without weapons, and it got blown up by the Death Star. See where gun control got them.]

I'd rather kiss a Wookiee

I think I can safely say that most BYU–Idaho students know the dangers of premarital sex and will agree that such relations are in violation of the commandments of the Church.

But violations of the law of chastity, in my mind, are not the only things that can spoil a girl for me.

Somebody once compared sex to an apple, saying that the more a girl indulges in premarital violations that sacred act, the more she becomes like an apple of which someone has taken a bite.

After while, you don’t want an apple everyone’s taken a chomp out of, right?

For me, kissing is like slobbering on an apple. It’s not quite like eating an apple someone already bit out of, but it’s not quite as appealing as munching into a fresh ripe fruit.

I realize the analogy isn’t perfect, but it works if you’re a non-germaphobe like me, who once ate a bag of popcorn I found on the floor at a movie theater after pulling out the empty candy wrappers.

Still, I wouldn’t want to partake of an apple coated in twenty other guys’ glistening drool.

I met a guy on my mission who bragged about making out with 35 girls, at least five of whom he hadn’t know their names at the time. In my Math 108 class a few semesters ago, we took an anonymous poll of how many girls each guy had kissed. One guy scored over 50.

Where would the fun be in that?

I don’t mind if a girl I date has kissed a few guys. A little experience is tolerable, and maybe even preferred by some. Few people will find their eternal mates without a few failed relationships behind them, and it’s okay to have lips that carry a little experience. But I don’t want someone who’s been around the block too many times.

This rant isn’t the resentful whining of the words of an embittered mind behind inexperienced lips. It is, I hope, a plea for people to prioritize before the regrets have time to accumulate.

Guys, let’s think about this. Maybe there’s some low-moral hottie who will let you make out with her. Maybe there are a lot of them. Maybe you’re attractive enough to maintain a physical relationship with a girl you’re not really into, resulting in a lot of noncommittal lip-locking.

It might be fun, but what would your future eternal companion think of all that?

I doubt the girls we really want would appreciate it much.

And, girls — you may be a hit if you’re willing to give a little of yourself to every guy who comes along, but that won’t last.

If you kiss your heart away, you might have fun for while, but you’re simply not the kind I want to marry.

And keep your apple away from me. I hate slobber.

A communications disruption

This is a letter I found waiting for me in the office today. It was written in all caps with blue marker on four plain pieces of paper. I've kept all the original spelling and punctuation. I just wanted to share this joy with everyone. It reminded me of a ransom note, the kind of thing taped around a brick and thrown through a window.

DEAR RYAN,

OR TASTELESS MALE YOUR CHOICE. TWILIGHT IS A BOOK AND GRANT IT OR NOT SUBJECT TO OPINIONS BY THE READER READING IT. I HAVE READ THE ENTIRE SAGA AND ONLY LIKE THE ACTION PARTS OR AT LEAST/MOSTLY THE PARTS OF ACTION BEHIND THE SCENES, (I RECOMMEND THE MOVIE, IT TAKES THE WHINE OUT OF BELLA AND THE ACTION IS MORE PROMINENT.)

STAR WARS IS NO COMPARISON TO TWILIGHT. STAR WARS IS WAY BETTER AND FAR MORE INTERESTING.

ONE LAST THE ... THIS IS AMERICA WHERE YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO SPEAK YOUR OPINION. IF YOU'RE NOT WELL YOU MUST LIVE IN A COMMUNISTIC PRISON. BUT, I MAY SOUND STUPID BUT, YOU GIVE POWER TO THE EVENTS THAT YOU ENCOUNTER. IF YOU DON'T LIKE YOU DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN, JUST BURN IT. IT IS NOT YOUR THOUGHTS.

BUT IF YOU WANT A HATEFUL, ANGRY LETTER ...

[Here follows the letter "Q" in red letters all over the next page.]

WELL GOOD THING THAT IS OVER! HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR OPINION BECAUSE IT IS YOURS.

SINCERELY, YOUR FRIEND OF PERKINS HALL...

THE HUMAN ENIGMA

That's it. Is that not amazing? After reading it five times, I'm pretty sure this person liked my column, but I'm not quite sure what "you give power to the events that you encounter" means. I'm not entirely sure that English is the native language of the writer. But whoever it is, thanks for agreeing with me ... I think.

Bantha poodoo

I see that other people have other tastes. A lot of guys like watching football, for instance. Some people are obsessed. I’m pretty sure my dad makes ritual sacrifices to Bronco Mendenhall, BYU’s head coach, under the full moon. Some people, possibly through some bizarre genetic defect, don’t like Star Wars.

But that doesn’t mean I have to share these tastes, or that I can’t, in the spirit of free comment, point out that aliens have clearly taken over the brains of individuals whose tastes differ widely from mine.

Today I will denounce a force for evil that has been more destructive than nuclear bombs, more immature than wearing your underpants on your head, and more pointless than golf.

I hope you’ll excuse me for including a small amount of healthy sarcasm for a topic I feel strongly about.

It’s rap. Hip-hop.

Sometimes, when I’m trying to sleep, I can feel the seismic vibrations of rap permeating the walls of my apartment. It doesn’t matter than the walls are thin; I suspect the thump of the hip-hop beat could penetrate thirteen-inch-thick titanium.

That’s just one of the reasons I hate hip-hop. Even though my tastes are base enough that high culture like Twilight escapes my appreciation, I simply can’t stoop far enough to settle for what could reasonably be called failed poetry.

Can’t write sonnets about love, draft verses about the moon, or even pen limericks about porcupines? Not a problem. Just write awful lyrics where the word “player” somehow manages to rhyme with “say.”

Consider yourself shallow? Just rap. Most rappers seem to be consumed by the threefold desire to get some action, make money or shoot somebody, in no particular order. Granted, those three desires have permeated literature for thousands of years, but rap has simply found a way to reduce those already basic themes to nearly animalistic urges.

I’ve always felt that rap lovers have a compelling need to compensate for a definite lack of masculinity. What other explanation is there for their preference for booming systems where a beat like some sort of Apocalyptic war drum drowns out any last vestiges of genuine music?

And I’m not racist. I don’t care what ethnic or racial groups are generally associated with hip-hop. White people made country music, and I hate that, too.

Everyone has different tastes. I recognize that others have different tastes than I do, and I won’t judge anyone with such tastes, except to say that they obviously inhabit a lower rung on the evolutionary ladder than myself. Ha. Just kidding.

Help me ... you're my only hope

It seems there are multiple opinions concerning Barack Obama, and they seem to be leaning toward the extreme ends of things.

On one end, we’ve got the frenzied liberals who think Obama is some sort of Chosen One reserved for the latter-days to save the world. According to these Obama fans, as far as I can tell, Obama will end single-handedly end world hunger, lift the country out of the recession, stop terrorism, defeat Lord Voldemort and bring balance to the Force.

On the other end we have the imperiously self-righteous conservatives who denounce Obama as the antithesis of all that is good in the world. They apparently regard him as the Antichrist, up there with trolls who eat little children and people who wear brown belts with black shoes.

I don’t mean to lump actual human beings into stereotypical groups, but we all fall somewhere between the two extremes, and we have to be careful to recognize both good and evil for what they are, and to find good where we can.

For instance, on the Obama-liking scale, I’m somewhere in the middle. I don’t sacrifice goats to a golden Obama statue at the equinox; nor do I use one of the many issues of Time plastered with his face to wipe spaghetti sauce from my chin.

No, I didn’t vote for him, but I support him.

Our country is in trouble. Our economy is in the toilet, and it won’t take much for the money we’ve still got to spiral into oblivion down a capitalistic S-bend. The war in Iraq continues to drag on without an apparent purpose to the average American.

At this point, I’m willing to see what Obama has to offer. If there’s anyone in a position now to pull America out of the doghouse, it’s our new commander in chief.

He’s definitely not perfect, our president. But he’s got some good ideas, and he’s our only hope short of direct divine intervention, and I hope we’re not due for the Second Coming for a few years yet.

And so, to paraphrase Princess Leia:

Help us, Barack Obama. You’re our only hope.

A big light blur

My mom asked me, in lieu of a traditional Christmas card in which the family members’ achievements over the course of the year are detailed and quickly forgotten by the reader, to write up a summary of our recent Christmas trip.

With that boring introduction out of the way, let me back up — a little over a year ago, I got home from serving an LDS mission to New Mexico. Our family elected to head back there to see the sights and visit some of the people I’d met during my time there.

Now, just to clarify, our family includes Dad, enjoying the reprieve after his recent release as bishop; Mom, always at work keeping the house from disintegrating into utter mayhem; me, Ryan, a genius writer majoring in communication at BYU-Idaho; Reilly, currently in France as a missionary enjoying a "joueux noel"; Connor, a sophomore in high school, beginning the long road to understanding girls; Dillon, future NFL coach currently enduring junior high; Abby, a feisty little girly-girl who bleeds pink; and Quinn, everyone’s favorite youngest brother.

Before the trip could begin in earnest, however, we had to endure the ride down there. From Rigby, Idaho, to Albuquerque, New Mexico, is about fourteen hours in a car, theoretically. There’s a little-known theory of relativity devised by Albert Einstein’s half-brother Alberto that states the number of hours in a car grows exponentially when influenced by the amount of passengers in a vehicle, the amount of random stuff accumulated underfoot, and the ratio of juices boxes and jerky to actual food. All in all, the drive to Albuquerque took about fourteen years, but we made it.

Our first site of interest was Mesa Verde, a spot in southern Colorado where ancient Pueblo Indian ancestors built homes into the sides of the cliffs. Next, we went to church in a small town on the Navajo reservation called Crownpoint, where I served for four months about two years ago. I was pleased to see all the same people I had known there, and I was especially happy to learn that several of the people whose baptisms I had a hand in were still active and holding callings. There are few things more rewarding for a returned missionary (one of which is finding a wife, but that’s a ramble for another year’s Christmas letter).

Then we embarked. In the Albuquerque area, two things stood out. First, I’d forgotten how many drunks, homeless people and generally scary people there are in the otherwise enchanting city of Albuquerque. Of course, even the hairiest, most insane denizen of the ghetto deserves a decent Christmas, so we collected gift bags for the homeless people and went around giving them out. Next, we visited Sky City on Christmas, an Acoma village built directly on top of a mesa and observed a sacred dance in which villagers dressed as elk danced in an old Spanish mission before gun-bearing honor guards.

In the end, we returned to Idaho a little tired, a little carsick, and a little weary of fighting one another for a bed. But our hearts, like our stomachs and our bladders, were full by the time we finished the long car ride.

It was an amazing experience, to be sure; it was a welcome departure from the Christmas traditions, which, unless we’re careful, can become as rote as a second-rate nativity play.

I know it sounds corny, but it’s true. If you ever have the chance to serve a mission, do it. If you have the chance to go back, do it. And if you have the chance to eat Navajo tacos, do not put barbecue sauce in them. It messes you up.

Happy New Year.