If only.

If I were President of the United States of America I would...
1. Only run for one term.
This makes my lack of popularity with the public irrelevant. My policies may not be popular, but they'll be right. How's that for egotistical?
2. Eliminate as many superfluous government agencies as possible.
That's right. Regardless of how high unemployment rises. I want those people working for the private sector, not stringing up more red tape.
3. Demolish teachers unions.
It's about time the educators in the United States were held up to the basic standards of merit. You can't teach, you get fired.
4. Make voting mandatory and Gerrymandering illegal.
There wouldn't be a big penalty for not voting, just a fine of $50 or so. But making everyone vote will force the candidates to cater to the center which has been alienated because of the political partisanship. People would need to become educated about political issues.
5. Give a $15,000 grant to anyone majoring in the hard sciences.
Enough of this arts stuff. We need some mathematicians.
6. End all wars waged on foreign soil.
Enough said.
7. Make employment a mandatory part of receiving welfare assistance.
I don't care if they work at the local Burger King. They just have to be employed. Oh, and I would limit unemployment benefits to six months. People would have a chance to apply for an extension, but they would have to provide extensive proof that they had been applying for work.
8. Taser seven-year-olds.
Just kidding. That's just a shout out for Brian Regan.

The Comedy of Washington

I work at the Woodrow Wilson International Center, a living memorial created for the memory of President Woodrow Wilson and his desire to create a bridge between the world of intellectualism and policy making. There are larger-than-life pictures of President Wilson on the windows, marble inscriptions of his words on the walls, bronze castings of his profile, and, to beat them all, a life-size, suit-wearing paper mache effigy lurking around the corner of the third floor elevators. He startles me, staring at me with glass eyes, every morning on my way to my computer cubbyhole. Apparently one of the interns got tired of doing research and resorted to creativity instead. I wonder what kind of professional recommendations that intern got for improving the office decor. I also wonder if the office personnel would appreciate a paper clip sculpture. I confess, I might find that more of a challenge than researching the Liberian constitution.

The secretary at the front desk has a shrunken head exhibit from Korea. She has all kinds of other trinkets in her collection—painted eggs from the Poland, wood carvings from Jerusalem, needle points from Switzerland—but I’m always captivated by the shrunken heads aligned in neat little rows, protected by a shield of framed glass. Her name is Lindsay and she smiles a very cheerful smile every day. I can't help but think, "All the better to eat you with."

There’s a man that sits on the corner of 18^th and H Street every morning and plays a trumpet. He plays in short, staccato spurts, demonstrating prowess with high notes in unexpected intervals. I first heard him play the national anthem on my walk to work and I’ve listened for him every day since. I caught a glimpse of him in a tattered brown coat with a reflectors on the sleeves—probably a coat donated by a construction worker. Sometimes I have to stop and listen to him play those crisp notes in the cold air. So far, Come Thou Fount is my favorite of his songs.

The scholars that I’m working with are both intelligent men and about as different as one would expect, both in aspect and in demeanor. One of them is purely legs. He wears the same pair of jeans to work every day because I don’t think he can find any other pants with legs that are long enough to fit him. Occasionally these pants are accompanied by a button-up shirt and suit coat, just in case he has to appear for an interview on television. After all, the audience only sees the upper half of your body. So he wears a suit on top, and jeans and combat boots on the bottom. Not sure where he got the combat boots but they really look like they’ve been through some combat. The other is a short man, and he rests his hands on his belly when he speaks for any considerable length of time. Whereas the first can only tolerate my presence or my communication for two minute intervals, the second man likes to hear himself talk about as much as possible. This morning he kept me, riveted audience that I was, entertained with a long monologue about how he only deigned to visit Las Vegas when his aunt couldn’t fly on airplanes anymore. I was as confused as you may be about how all this talk of Las Vegas tied into the political situation in the Ivory Coast or land ownership in Liberia, but then, his intelligence surpasses us all. I like him though. He's a cheerful fellow and he has more respect for my intelligence than the first scholar. I think the first scholar is under the impression that I'm suffering from a lack of education over the eighth grade. I intend to address him about it tomorrow and use nothing less than five syllable words. He may not understand what I'm saying, but that will prove my point perfectly.

Identity crises are not just for old men and fancy cars

Did anyone else go through an identity crisis in their college years?

Living in a town where the people seem larger than life creates the perfect impetus for the individual examination of purpose and plan. The backdrop of the United States government can make you feel really small and unimportant, especially when you scurry every day through the shadows of the monuments to truly great men such as Washington and Lincoln. Today as I was walking home from work, every street had police blockades and federal sentinels stationed to guard the way as the Chinese president and his minions made their way in a siren-blaring motorcade to the state dinner at the White House. Hordes of protesters for Tibetan freedom chanted in rhythm about Hu Jintao's "failed leadership" and carried a mock-style coffin for the CCP "dead party." I speak to my fellow interns and they talk about going to Congressional meetings, briefing the undersecretary of the national treasury, or some other world-shaking project. Am I the only one who came to Washington, DC to find out where I wanted to go? Everyone, it seems, has an axe to grind or a platform to push. So where's my axe?

I can think of plenty of things that I feel passionate about, but I don't know if I want to make them my life purpose. For instance, I know that Liberia has some serious problems with incorporating their traditional judicial systems with the formal judicial system created by the new government. There's only one lawyer in the entire country with the background and education necessary to deal with juvenile delinquency. As it stands now, it would take ten years where a majority of students studied law in order for the judicial system to even begin to fill the posts necessary to run the formal system. Until then, they rely on the traditional tribal means of obtaining justice--systems that often implement torturous practices such as trial by ordeal. I recognize this as a situation that needs help and assistance. Do I want to make it my life purpose?

You see, I don't know if there's anything that I can think of that would inspire enough passion within me to keep me going for a lifetime of dedication. There's so much power in focus. People like Gandhi, Mother Theresa, and other remarkable figures found a cause to which they could dedicate their lives, and they stuck to it. I guess I came to Washington to find something like that--something that would help me catch a vision or glimpse of what I could accomplish with the ensuing years.

Instead, I'm working as a glorified secretary. Not even glorified, really. I just go by a different name: intern. I don't mind, honestly. I'm learning a lot. I can't tell you how much I've learned about the American government process, the state of the modern media, the Arab-Israeli peace negotiations, and the Liberian civil war. Not to mention the fact that I've added about twenty new words to my vocabulary (anathema, diaspora, plebiscite, pelf, unctuous). I appreciate these opportunities. But I guess I don't feel as though they're bringing me any closer to discovering my driving purpose for my career.

It doesn't have anything to do with money. I can handle being poor if it's for a cause. I can also probably handle being rich (I'll let you know when I try it). It has everything to do with waking up in the morning knowing that I belong somewhere--knowing that I have a meaningful, significant place, however small. I've only ever had this feeling a few times in my life. One of them was when I served my mission for my church. Never before and never since have I felt such a sense of purpose and meaning. Not sure where it went.

Cathedrals and Monuments

I am proud to be an American. I would like to see the children from this country spend a week in Washington, DC, touring the sites, reading the memorials, and learning the history. In remembering the great history of this country, I have re-discovered my love of the Constitution, the Founding Fathers, and courage of the early settlers. For all her mistakes and foibles, I believe in the destiny of America.

I cannot think of a single country in the history of the world that has tried to demonstrate Christian charity by coming to the defense of nations in need. I think of the various empires in Eastern Europe, Asia, or South America, and I can't think of a single instance when another country saw fit to intercede on behalf of those unable to defend their freedoms by their own power. I felt the strength of this heritage as I looked into the faces of the soldiers at the Korean War Memorial. There is a great deal of controversy on this topic, but I believe that we agree to help these nations because of what Abraham Lincoln said in his second inaugural address, that it would be unfit to "wring [your] bread from the sweat of other men's brows." And so we preserve our rights to freedom and liberty, and we preserve the rights of those who call for our aid.

The national cathedral is a sight to behold. I have never seen more vibrant colors in stained glass windows. When I entered the cathedral this afternoon, evensong was going on, and a children's choir from the cathedral school sang gospel hymns and gregorian chants. They ended with "Deep River," one of my favorite African American spirituals. Nobody told ever told me that beauty felt so much like heartache. The harmonies within that song echoed throughout the cathedral halls and honored the memory of the civil rights movement. I'm so grateful that the government of this country has provision for change. It could prove to be our downfall, but it has also proved to be the source of our greatest glory. I stayed to hear the Organ Recital from a prestigious organist, but, aside from the Bach fugue, I enjoyed listening to the spirituals from the children more.

I am ever thankful for Sundays. I feel calmer on Sundays, even when they are busy. Sundays sharpen my perspective and remind me of the faith that is the source of my greatest blessings. And because my prayers seem more sincere on Sunday, may God bless America.

North Korean Bullies

Worried about North Korea? I'm not sure we should be, according to news sources here in DC. Apparently they recently paraded around some missiles as a scare tactic, like a bully on the elementary school playground when the yard duty's back is turned. They wanted their rivals to cower in the face of a missile with a range of 2,000 kilometers. Unfortunately, their engineers failed to mention that those missiles were actually built for a submarine, and they will have to make extensive structural reinforcements in order to use it as a land-based weapon. Then they have to take extensive measures to test the launch of these new missiles over a period of years. Unfortunately, GPS is not a reliable source when it comes to long-range weapons and with where they are now, it would take them about 1,000 missiles to hit a single target. Even the U.S. doesn't have the artillery to just throw away missiles like that.

One of the scholars that I'm working with was on CNN last week. Take a look at what he has to say about Middle East peace negotiations. http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/bestoftv/2011/01/07/exp.ps.mideast.peace.process.cnn?iref=allsearch

Welcome to the Capital.

I am officially an intern in the capital city of the United States of America. Hello, adventure.

I live at a BYU owned building that houses the young adult institute, the Church Public Affairs office, and two floors of dormitories for BYU interns. The boys live on the third floor, and the girls live on the fourth. Across the street is a squat, white cinder-block Ethiopian restaurant and a small falafel place with blue neon lights. I walk back and forth to work each day (which takes about an hour and a half), and I get to walk right along Pennsylvania Avenue, in front of the White House (hence the pirated image from Google). I waved to Obama, but I'm not sure he saw. We'll have to work on that.

My internship is lowly research assistant at Woodrow Wilson International, a nonpartisan think tank that publishes scores of books about international and domestic issues. The scholar that I'm working with right now must remain undisclosed (for reasons I don't understand), but he has legs like a grasshopper. He must stand at least twice as tall as I am. I don't know how he fits those legs inside his office. Seriously. When he walks around, I always have the impression that he's standing on stilts. His waist is at my eye level. If I ever get up the courage to stop shaking in his presence, I'll ask him how tall he is. He's really nice though. My first day of work, he gave me about four books to read for "background research" in order to be familiar with the issues at hand. I also received a stack of yellow legal sheets with a scrawling, handwritten notes. I think he's so used to working in high-end government jobs that he never learned how to type. He always had secretaries that would type up his lengthy treatises on government machinations. I spent all day today trying to decipher the code of his handwriting, and learned two brand new words: "shellacking," and "animus." Don't make fun of me for my pitiful vocabulary. I was excited. I also learned all kinds of juicy tidbits about Kennedy, Roosevelt, Lincoln, and a slew of other presidents.

On other news, one of the girls that I work with sounds just like Penelope from Saturday Night Live. I feel like laughing every time she opens her mouth.

Also, the heel of one of my boots is mangled so badly that water inevitably seeps in. My boots are fairly effective at keeping my feet warm (if they could keep from getting wet), so I solved the problem by taking plastic grocery bags, putting them on my feet, and tying them around my ankles. It was very effective. I felt warm (though a little squishy) all the way to work.

I go to sleep with the sound of sirens in the background, just in case I was in danger of forgetting that I live in the pulsing heart of a great, big city.

Museums

I don't know if the rest of you just love looking around at old dead animals and artifacts. Maybe it's your favorite hobby. As for me, I go to museums to feed my ego. I feel smarter every time I take a moment to read the plaques, committing the multi-syllabic scientific terms to memory. My IQ increases every time I step inside these culturally rich arenas. While the inferior beings on the coast of California deign to surf, I glean rich, meaningless facts in darkened halls of the Natural History Museum in Los Angeles. For the benefit of the masses, I have included a list of some of the more interesting facts (minus the scientific terminology).

Apparently, male moose become very volatile during mating season, and they have been known to charge moving trains. A moose is also the same thing as an elk in Europe.

All mammals have the following characteristics: fur, mammary glands (in females), and three bones in the middle ear. Who knew that ears connected humans, muskrats, and kangaroos?

The duck billed platypus is one of the oldest mammals known to man.

The dodo bird is the poster child for human-caused extinction. Apparently they disappeared around 1690. The museum characterized them as "huge, flightless pigeons."

I have 28 pounds of bone weight.

Whales and camels are closely related in their DNA strands.

The African oryx is the animal closest related to the mythical unicorn. Apparently, the King James Version of the Bible translates the Hebrew word for oryx as unicorn.

I saw a prehistoric shark tooth the size of my palm. The shark that it belonged to measured over sixty feet in length.

Rubies are most plentiful in the metamorphosed rock of Mogok, Burma.

Call me shallow, but my favorite part of the museum was the Opal box in the vault. There was a beautiful white opal the size of my fist with green-gold fire trapped inside and flickering on the surface. What a fascinating rock. I couldn't stop staring at it.