I ain't scared!

A phobia is a "persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it." These phobias come in many shapes and sizes. Some are more incapacitating than others.

Topping the list of the ten most phobias is arachnophobia (the fear of spiders), and ophidiophobia (the fear of snakes). Not too much further down the list is cynophobia - the fear of dogs. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a recovering cynophobic. As the saying goes, "time heals all wounds." I know that I'm not a completely recovered cynophobe but I'm working on it. However, there are bigger fish to fry right now.

I also have two lesser known, but equally debilitating, phobias. I don't know that they have names just yet as they are probably off the phobologists' collective radar. Don't laugh...these are things I deal with on a daily basis. I haven't yet developed a complex over them, but I'm convinced that's due solely to my vigilance in protecting myself against these phobias so they don't come to pass.

What are these irrational fears, you ask?

Firstly, I'm afraid that I'll be walking in public with my zipper down. Zipping up becomes such a part of the routine that there are times that you don't think about it at all. It's kind of like when you are driving somewhere familiar and all of a sudden *POOF* you're there and you have no idea how you got there, but yet there you are. When this kind of short-term amnesia is zipper-related, a moment of panic ensues - did I zip up or did I forget..I don't know...I can't remember! Alarm bells ring, my face flushes and I immediately seek a casual way of checking to make sure I'm secure down south. I'm usually able to accomplish this by a subtle belt buckle adjustment. So far I haven't had any issues, that I know of anyway.

My other phobia, coincidentally, involves bathrooms. However, this time it's a place I'm not familiar with that scares me - the women's bathroom. Sometimes when you're in a public place and in a hurry to answer nature's call you just rush into the nearest restroom. Like driving and zipping up, this can be an autopilot occurrence. Sometimes I don't check the signs well enough as I'm walking in. There is a split second of sheer horror as I realize that I may have just walked cavalier-like into the women's restroom. I wait for the inevitable screaming, but it doesn't come. There's a urinal. Ahhh...I picked the right door. I've been lucky so far, but one day, unavoidably, I fear I will pick the wrong door and have to deal with the consequences of it.

They say the best way to overcome a fear is to face it head on, so if you see me with my zipper down heading into the women's restroom, just pat me on the back, wish me well, praise me for my courage and know that I'm confronting my fear.

Shirts, Shoes, Socks and Slacks

I've had a number of people recently say to me, "Jason, you're a svelte guy and a pretty swanky dresser. How do you do it?" As a result of being inundated with similar comments, I've decided to create this handy guide to help my fellow guys clothes shop like pros. Just because you may not be a guy doesn't mean you can't read and maybe even learn a thing or two. I present to you clothes shopping in seven easy steps:

Step One: Don't Be Scared
The store is not going to eat you. It may take your money, but your physical well-being is almost guaranteed. If you can't do this step, you will not be successful in your shopping endeavors.

Step Two: Locate the Mens' Department
There are some very alluring clothes in other departments; but if you stare too long, feel the fabric, or (heaven forbid) try an item on, people will think you are a creep and you may be kicked out of the store. Trust me on this one.

Step Three: Memorization
You must very casually and nonchalantly memorize every outfit and article of clothing featured in pictures or displayed on mannequins. These are your targets and the only items of clothing you need to pay attention to. If you happen upon an article of clothing you potentially like, you must first check with the pictures and mannequins to make sure it fits the style. If the item doesn't match the style, don't touch it! The only items of clothing you should be buying are on display.

Step Four: Fit
When you locate an approved item of clothing, you must make sure the item is the right size for you. This is accomplished by simply holding the item up to your body. A trip to the dressing room is not necessary if you hold it up to yourself properly. If you are an experienced shopper, you may try taking into account shrinkage resulting from washing and drying. Exercise caution, however, accounting for shrinkage is an advanced technique - do not even think about attempting if you are an amateur.

Step Five: Store Help
If any store personnel ask you if you need help, politely decline. You are your own man (or woman), help is for people who don't know how to clothes shop.

Step Six: Checking Out
Inevitably when you're checking out the cashier will ask you if you want to keep the hangers. The correct response is: "no". You don't want to seem like you're unprepared for your new clothes. You must give the impression you have plenty of hangers - remember, clothes shopping is a regular event for you. Besides, we both know the clothes are just going to end up on the floor anyway.

Step Seven: Time
You must complete all prior steps in ten minutes or less. Fifteen is acceptable in extreme cases.


There you have it folks, a sure guide to shopping. Good luck, have fun and remember: tags always go in back. Always.

What's it worth to you?

When you dine at a restaurant, it is considered good form to leave a gratuity, or tip, for your server. When you get your hair cut, a massage or other personal services performed it is also appropriate to tip the person providing those services. I suppose this is our culture's way of thanking them for the service rendered.

I've never really been comfortable with the idea of placing a monetary value on another person's work so I tend to maybe be a bit more generous than I should be. However, I had an experience recently that totally changed that mindset.

I was returning home to Utah from a quick trip to California and had to pass through airport security. I emptied my pockets and walked through a metal detector. The alarm went off, so I had to go back and try again. It went off again. I walked back to try again - BUZZ. Try again. BUZZ. Try again. BUZZ. The friendly TSA agent asked if I had anything in my pockets. I assured him I did not. He had me move into a glass box and wait for a more intensive search.

A not-so-friendly TSA agent carrying a wand approached me and had me step to the side where he was going to perform a search of my person to ensure I had no dangerous items I was trying to carry onboard a plane. The Wand Man asked me to turn out all of my pockets, which I did and in the course of so doing discovered that I had forgotten to remove my wallet...with a magnetic money clip.

I tried to explain to Wand Man that my wallet was obviously the cause for the metal detector alerting when I walked through and that I should be allowed to proceed on to my gate. But Wand Man wasn't having any of it. He explained to me that he had to conduct his search and that he would pass the wand over me and if it beeped, he would have to pat me down in the area it beeped.

He passed the wand all over my body and it never beeped once. Somehow Wand Man still felt the need to thoroughly pat me down. After becoming more acquainted with me than I am comfortable with any man being and satisfied that I was not carrying any dangerous items, I was free to go.

This left me with just one question: what does one usually tip for such intimate, personal service? Ten percent? Fifteen? Twenty? I didn't know either, so I just walked away, red-faced, to my gate.

Hitching a ride

Today I did something I have rarely done in the past, yet I felt completely comfortable doing today - I picked up a hitchhiker.

This wasn't your typical road warrior thumbing by the freeway, no siree. I didn't even have to stop to pick him up, he was sitting on my hood when I walked out of work. I tried to shoo him off the hood but he merely moved a little and looked up at me - this was a bee with an attitude. I thought for sure he would hop off when I started driving - no such luck, he just sat there.

I decided to see how fast I could get going before he'd fall off so I gunned it out of the parking lot. When I was on the road, he was still on the hood. I figured I'd lose him on the freeway, but that danged bee kept hanging on. I decided to test his endurance and got up to about 85 MPH (don't try that at home) but the bee was still there. This was one tenacious bee.

Despite my Andretti-like speeds and stuntman maneuvers, the bee wouldn't budge. The only time I saw him move was when he crouched down, presumably to be more aerodynamic. He hung on the entire time on my way back from work. As I was driving and watching the bee cling to my hood, I thought about life. I thought about how we should attack life with the same resolve this bee had; how we should never lose sight of our goals and pursue them with all the effort we had; how when life is battering us and we want to give how we should hang on for all we're worth. I thought about how much fun the bee must have been having and I also thought that maybe the bee had died and gotten stuck somehow.

This last thought proved to be false when I got out of my car and observed the bee crawl on the hood. If I'd had a hat on, I would have taken it off for this bee. I did have my shoes on, however.

I took off one of my shoes and as I raised it above my head I said with a snarl, "Adios, vaya con Dios" and let the shoe fall. Mission accomplished...or so I thought. It seems the bee has gotten the last laugh - he is still on my hood.

Don't know what you ot 'til it's one...

You all probably already know this, but I'm in a Master's pro ram at BYU. To facilitate my learnin I had to purchase a laptop computer. I studied my options and compared prices (read: went to Office Max and said, "That one looks cool.") before purchasin the computer that would eventually carry me throu h rad school. I affectionately named my computer "Pam", an ana ram of the pro ram I was in (MPA).

However, it has not been all peaches and cream. The pro ram is difficult at times and my computer has, at times, been less than friendly. Immediately followin the first semester, the hard drive on my laptop decided it was done with school (wish I could say the same). Fortunately for me, Pam was warrantied and the nice folks at HP sent me a new hard drive lickity split so I could et back to my learnin . Pam’s name chan ed at that time to Pampire – a laptop risen from the dead.

There's a new problem, thou h. I noticed shortly after purchasin Pam that there was a key on the keyboard that liked to fall off. I was always able to put it back on and proceed on my way. But this time, thou h, the key has fallen off and I can't et it back on.

It's a ood thin my papers are done for the week. I'd have a heck of a time explainin to my professors why my paper has no letter " ".

Recession

Life is cyclical - things come and go. A few years ago, a serious recession started that has continued to this day. I'm not talking about the financial distress our nation finds itself in today; I'm talking about something far more important: my hair.

When I was born I had a little hair, but by the time I was toddling around I had beautiful tresses of light blonde hair. Life was good.

As I've aged, my hair has darkened. It went from toe-headed blonde to blonde to dark blonde to light brown to brown. Now, unfortunately, it's gone from brown to gone. As a result, I made the life-altering decision to shave my head. It's been over a year now since I made that decision and I haven't regretted it once. Something like this can really shake a person to their core and make them feel like they are seriously lacking in their life and they attempt to make up for it in interesting ways.

People will try to compensate for perceived inadequacies. Some people buy fancy sports cars or humongous pickup trucks in order to compensate for shortcomings (tee hee). Other people grow beards when they can't produce thick locks of golden blonde (or brown) hair. Apparently they think that by growing hair lower on their face it will somehow make up for a lack of it up on top. Weird, huh?

In many ways, my personal recession is something of a migration. You see, the hair that is was once on my scalp is starting to take up residence on my ears. MY EARS!! I thought that kind of craziness was reserved for old men, in which group I most certainly do not classify myself (right? right?? RIGHT?!?!).

The United States will eventually pull out of its recession. Some of us, however, won't be so fortunate. I guess we'll just have to resort to growing beards...and shaving ear hair.

Toothpaste terrorism

When traveling abroad in the United States, if you fly and carry your personal hygiene items in your carry-on bag, there are limitations to what you can carry. Apparently, liquids, gels, and pastes are forbidden substances, if they're not in a clear bag. Because the clear bag makes all the difference in the world when preventing a terrorist attack.

I had no idea that toothpaste was considered a dangerous substance, or a liquid. On a recent flight to Dallas, I had my hygiene items in my travel case, a Wal-Mart bag, and thought that was sufficient. I was wrong.

The top-notch, highly-trained and educated Homeland Security agency, the Transportation Security Administration, or TSA, screened my bag and then decided that it warranted further searching. One of their crack agents had noticed that I had an unsecured tube of toothpaste not in the clear plastic bags. My bag was searched and the offending tube was removed and the TSA agent eyed my warily, "This tube is larger than 3.4 ounces and you are not allowed to bring it on a flight."

Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate that there are measures in effect to protect our nation and keep air travel safe, I really do - but toothpaste?! Maybe I should have done a science fair project where I blew something up using Crest Whitening Mint flavor paste instead of baking soda and vinegar. I probably would have gotten something more than just a "Participant" ribbon.

After further research, I found that toothpaste actually does contain an explosive ingredient - propylene glycol, which "becomes deadly when added to a mixture of concentrated nitric and sulfuric acids creating the liquid explosive called metriol trinitrate, which is similar to nitroglycerine."

For now, I use a mini-tube (3.4 ounces) of toothpaste, hoping to show the government that I am not in fact a terrorist, but rather a dentally concerned citizen. Maybe next time, TSA should be on the lookout for nitric and sulfuric acids instead of my toothpaste.