Tiger Hides His Tale

Once upon a time, I looked up to Tiger Woods. I admired his focus, his concentration, his dedication to golf, his unprecedented talent, AND his ability to be a celebrity while seemingly keeping his head on straight and his priorities in order. Then November 2009 happened. Ironically, on my very birthday, the news of Tiger's infidelity shook America with earthquake-like devastation to golf enthusiasts, pop culture lovers--even Joe the Plumber. The headlines were printed and reprinted with the unveiling of each adulteress...the New York Daily News wrote "Tiger Hides His Tale." Then began the most contrived, manipulated public relations strategy in decades as Tiger stayed absolutely, completely silent, did not speak with the media, and "admitted himself" to a Sexual Addiction Recovery program. Over two months later, and still having not spoken even a word to the media, Tiger scheduled a news conference. Where? No other place than at Augusta National, home to the Masters Tournament, and known throughout the sports world as the most exclusive, old-school, predictable sports venue. Tiger had the news conference at Augusta National programmed like the timers my parents use to plan the ons and offs of each and every light in the entire house when they go on vacation. Tiger's every word was planned and scripted. He controlled the temperature of the news conference like the thermostat of a space ship traveling through the atmosphere. His performance was pristine, perfect, and likely deserved an Academy Award. He apologized, kept his pearly whites hidden at the right moments, and expressed his remorse, just as his speech writer had scripted. Then, months later, he chose to make Augusta National and the Masters Tournament his venue of choice for his "comeback." Once again, perfectly planned public relations, for he knew that were a fan to so much as whisper disapproval of Tiger, that the Masters event staff would have them driven farther than a Tiger Woods driver, or perhaps even better, smashed harder into a fire hydrant than the driver Tiger Woods. Not only that, but the Masters event staff would cancel all tickets given to that patron, forever.
Despite my disapproval of Tiger Woods, I still must confess that I was glued to the news updates, leader board, and tv broadcast of the Masters Tournament all weekend. I found myself checking online every 30 minutes to see what the score was, becoming nervous that Tiger was inching higher and higher on that leader board.
Why, you ask, do I hold such bitterness toward Tiger Woods? He is, after all, just a celebrity, and one which I will likely never meet nor see in person. I feel as though Tiger Woods is just another sad, sad story of betrayal. Tiger did not just betray his wife, he did not just betray his children, he betrayed the hope, the dreams, the wishes of the American people. What man would not love to have his athletic dominance, his charm, and his charismatic smile? What woman would not love to stand by his side? And to each of us that identify with those that looked up to him, we were betrayed. For me, however, it is not just the fact that he cheated on his wife, MULTIPLE TIMES, it is that I believe that had the rumors not begun, had the allegations not surfaced, had the women not come forward one by one, confessing to affairs with Tiger, that he would still be living the exact same life as he was previously, continuing to cheat and to betray his family, his friends, his fans.

Do I think Tiger is sorry? Yes, absolutely, no question, undoubtedly do I think that Tiger is sorry, but not sorry for what he did, only sorry for what he didn't do--he didn't cover his tracks, delete old voicemails, text messages, and emails.

Tiger, the best golfer of all-time, did not replace his divots.

And so it goes with looking up to athletes and anyone for that matter. I will continue to look up to them, to idolize them, to train to be like them, hoping all the time that they truly are men and women of character. When they fall, I will be hurt, I will be devastated, and I will feel betrayed, but I will also learn from them as I watch them fall. A wise man once said, "Blessed are they who humble themselves without being compelled to be humble." It would have served Tiger well had he understood this wisdom and humbled himself instead of the media and the world compelling him to be humble once his life had been driven so entirely off the right course. A wise coach of mine, LG, once told me something I will never forget--"The greatest test of a man's character is what he does when nobody is watching." Indeed, that is the true test of character, and may we all remember this counsel, constantly assessing how we are doing on that, the much more important test of life. With that being said, I now descend once again from my soapbox. Goodnight.

Steak Night Salt Lake

Last Wednesday was the second ever "Steak Night Salt Lake" at my house in Salt Lake. A fine tradition begun in the Valley known as Happy by AB, the Wooten ladies, and the rest of the crew, Steak Night represents a celebration of fine bbq, friends, and good ole non-drinkin Mormon fun. The norms of the bbq include bringing a steak/chicken/veggies and a couple bucks in return for the fine savor of AB's bbq skills, baked potatoes, drinks, and the works. I initally invited about 70 friends, R invited probably 100 or so (he's far more popular than I), and Austin probably another 70 or so. As Steak Night Salt Lake neared, the guest list began to far exceed the invitations that were initially extended, as the invitees started to invite other invitees! That's right, Steak Night had officially gone viral! On the day of the party, the confirmed facebook guest list had over 100 confirmed RSVPs, and another 50 or so "possibly attending." Unsure of the number of steak nightees that would actually show up, I began to be a little anxious about the thought of hundreds of people being in my 850 square foot house and decided to put up lights in the backyard for the masses to party. I believe the best part of this steak night, is that since this was the first BIG party I have thrown at my house, I wondered how hundreds of people at my house would go over with the neighbors. I decided that I would put my feet into the hot bath water before the actual party by checking with my elderly neighbors to see if they would mind. A dozen gerber daisies and a "I'm going to have a FEW friends over for a bbq tonight....we'll try not to cause too much raucous" later, the waters had been tested and Steak Night Salt Lake was ready to fire up the grill.

With two ping pong tables in the backyard, a dance party in the living room, a pile of meat waiting to be grilled, and enough hormones to warm up the 40 degree weather, Steak Night was a huge success, with a headcount at one point of over 110 people, and an estimation of ~170 total for the night. And, the best part is, no policemen at my house, no citations, and no beer stains on my couches. Just good ole non-drinkin fun.

While I do not yet know about the romances that may have begun at steak night, I am hopeful that steak night will prove to be the magical beginning for at least two of the steak nightees. That's right, last steak night (in February), two of my friends met for the first time, and now they are seriously dating! Steak Night Salt Lake--A Huge Success.

Sleep and the lack thereof...

4:19 AM - I woke up to my phone vibrating, reached over to grab it, and wondered who on Earth was texting me at 4 AM! Sure enough, it was my buddy in New York...it's not 4 AM for him! He shoulda thought of that before he texted me, how inconsiderate! :) Or, better yet, I should have turned my phone off before going to bed.
After spending a solid 1 1/2 hours blog stalking a bunch of my friends/family/people I don't even know but who have awesome blogs, I've decided that what better time to post to my own, somewhat scant blog, than the wee hours of the morning when I have nothing better to do.
Nothing better to do? Really? What about, oh, sleep, you ask? Well, you see, I've been thinking about this whole "sleep" business recently. Did you know that scientists and doctors, even today, in 2010, don't really know a whole lot about why it is that we sleep? What goes on during these hours amongst the neurons of our brains, and why is it that our bodies need sleep? We know that there are different brain waves conduct in our brains while in different stages of sleep, but what is it about sleep that makes us "tired" if we go without?
For example. It's 5:50 AM and I've been awake since 4 AM when I received that $&#% text from my buddy in New York. I woke up, read his text, and then suddenly, within about 30 seconds, I knew I was doomed to a day of lethargy, exhaustion, and difficulty focusing while in class. I have learned that for me, 7 hours is the minimum I need to have enough energy (physical, mental, emotional) to be alert, awake, and productive throughout the day. And, seeing that I went to bed at midnight, those precious 4 hours just won't suffice. So, why don't I just roll over and go back to sleep? Well, you see, in my recent considerations of the importance of sleep, I have realized that I think that because so much of my day is spent learning, focusing, reading, memorizing, and so on, that the "resting" level for me is higher right now than at other times in my life when I wasn't in school and was just working, on the mission, etc etc. It's almost like, even when resting, that I am still thinking. When I do wake up, it's almost like my brain is on the starting blocks of a sprint, just waiting, anticipating the sound of the gun-shot, signalling the beginning of the race, so that as soon as I am "awake," I have a hard time getting back to bed because, even when asleep, I am still thinking, and that all it takes is the smallest thing to wake me up, and I'm off to the races.
Recently I've had some really interesting dreams, most of which I have been surprised at how clearly I have remembered them. For example, last week in school we were learning about antibiotic drugs, their names, how they work in the body, what diseases they treat, what other drugs not to take them with, their side effects, and so on. When I woke up in the morning, it was like I had been studying all night, because I dreamed about antibiotic drugs. No, in my dream I wasn't being chased by little tylenol pills through the small intestine trying to avoid absorption into the bloodstream, but instead I dreamed about all the facts that I had been learning in school. Needless to say, it was not a very restful sleep.
This past week, I had a dream in which my high school rugby coach, LG, was with several of us past players, and he asked us "Did you go to the temple today?" It was as if I was right there, listening to one of his coaching sermons in which he was teaching us one of life's lessons. He wasn't asking if we literally had gone to the temple, but was rhetorically asking if each of us had personally gone to our temple, our personal temple during the day. Had our thoughts, actions, intentions been those that would help us be in the temple? Did we take time during the day to stop for a moment and have a moment to ourselves to reflect upon our lives be it through prayer, scripture study, or just personal reflection? I felt so uplifted and inspired by my dream that I woke up and wrote it all down. Once again, however, I couldn't fall back asleep and felt tired the next day.
Anyway, maybe someday we'll learn more about what happens physiologically while we sleep, why we have certain dreams, and, possibly more importantly, the interaction that takes place between the physical and the spiritual. We know, that during the creation, the seventh day was a day of rest. Did God sleep on that day of rest? Did he sleep on days 1-6 or just on day 7? If he did sleep, why was it that he needed sleep?
Those are a few of my thoughts on this early start to a busy day. I'm happy to be back in the blogging world. Feel free to leave your complaints, corrections, or any other comments. And if you are currently blog stalking, go ahead and comment!
Why? Because that's the way we do things on Steve's Box of Soap.

Laminectomies and Anatomy Lab

I survived.

Can't say much more than that, but I survived, at least so far. We don't know our results yet, but rumor has it that "many of us will be disappointed." I'm afraid I may be in that group, but then again, for many of my classmates, any score below 90% may be considered extremely disappointed. For me, however, a business major who feels like not just a fish out of water but a fish beached on the blistering hot sand amidst a sea of biochem, biology, and other science majors, I'll be happy to just have passed the first exam.

This post is not about the exam, but instead about a few other thoughts I'd like to share tonight while here on this box of soap.

Today in our anatomy lab, we performed what is called a laminectomy. In medical terminology, the suffice "ectomy" means "to remove or to take out." So, today we removed the lamina from our cadavers, or in other words, we removed the lamina of the spinal vertebrae, revealing the tissues that the vertebrae are designed to protect, the most notable of these tissues being the spinal cord. Without describing in too much detail how the laminectomy is performed, let me just mention that we used a bone saw, a chisel, and a mallet to break the bones of the vertebrae to remove the vertebral lamina and expose the tissues of the spinal cord.

As we finally broke through all of the vertebrae covering the spinal cord, I watched as my lab partners pulled off the newly broken strip of bone and tissue. I had read about the spinal cord, seen many artistic renditions of the gray and white matter, studied the posterior and anterior trunks and nerves that brought nervous impulses to and from the spinal cord and brain, but even then, I waited nervously to see what it would all look like. We first came to the dura matter, the superficial tissue of the meninges, a brownish/pinkish tissue no wider than your pinky finger. We then made a long cut and pinned back the dura matter, to then reveal the remarkable meningal tissue deep to the dura matter, the arachnoid matter, so named for its transparent, whispy, and cobweb-like appearance. We then noticed that there seemed to be some type of liquid inside the arachnoid that would rise and fall when the tissue was slightly depressed. "That's cerebrospinal fluid!" one of my classmates remarked, followed by echoes of "wow" and "no way" as we realized that this was the very fluid that is removed when a lumbar tap is performed. We delicately cut and pulled away the arachnoid matter, then revealing one of the most simple, yet remarkable structures in the human body--the spinal cord. Covered by the deepest of the meningeal tissues, the pia matter, the spinal cord is no thicker in diameter than a pencil. It is lined with blood vessels and about every two inches has nerves protruding from both sides. I realize that this description is not only evidence of how little I know of anatomy, but that it is also an injustice of how beautiful is the spinal cord and its surrounding structures. To think that every heart beat, every muscular movement, and every skin sensation of a pin on the tip of your finger passes through this simple tube we know as the spinal cord is evidence to me of the incredible creation that is the human body. Surrounded by blood vessels, cerebrospinal fluid, and a protective covering that can only be penetrated using a drill and hammer, this spinal cord is one of the most vital tissues for life. So when you wake up tomorrow morning and crawl out of bed, stretching and yawning as you begin the day, "stand a little taller," stretch yourself, stretch your vertebrae and your spinal cord, knowing that your spirit is housed within what we know as the human body, one of God's most remarkable creations.

Is this my new life?

It is 7:47 pm on Sunday and I am wondering if this is how my new life will be. The rest of the world is enjoying their evening and I am feeling the adrenaline of my sympathetic nervous system pulsing through my veins, causing my pulse to increase, my blood pressure to rise, as I prepare to "fight-or-flight" for tomorrow.

Tomorrow is my first medical school exam.

Perhaps it is that I am nervous because I never took anatomy in college, or perhaps it is all the other brainiacs in my class that intimidate me, or perhaps it is the page-long email from the School of Medicine Dean's office that we received on Friday evening telling us that we are not allowed to bring watches, mp3 players, backpacks, paper, or pencils into the exam on Monday morning and that we should arrive early because the exam will begin promptly at 8 AM.

Hopefully once I get this first test out of the way I'll be able to relax a little bit and know how to prepare next time. The first-game/first-test jitters will hopefully not prevent me from performing well on the exam. That being said, this is medical school, and I think I may have just entered into the fraternity of anxiety, stress, and worry that seems to ail most doctors. After all, this stress and worry is largely due to the pressure to learn the material so that I can tell you what's wrong with your sick baby, why you can't seem to get pregnant, why your sibling/parent/friend has a chronic disease, and so forth... I guess with that in mind, maybe it's a good thing it will be so difficult and challenging? It will be worth it, right?

Although I am somewhat anxious for what lies ahead, I am equally thrilled. This first week of school has been very exciting and lots of fun. Now if I can just get this first exam out of the way.

The revolving door . . .

Do you remember your last day of elementary school? I sure do. I waited eagerly at the door for the final bell to ring, ironically anxious to leave elementary school and move on to junior high. As I ran from the halls of Rosslyn Heights Elementary, my heart raced with enthusiasm. I was thrilled for summer, and excited at the new world that was Hillside Junior High. Despite my enthusiasm, however, I believe that even as a pre-adolescent twelve year old, I still realized somehow that life would never be the same once I left. Gone were the days of recess, of saving my money for the two edible foods in the cafeteria-peanut butter squares and pizza, of trading my mom's to-die-for chocolate chip cookies for Eric Anderson's Swiss Rolls, and gone were the days of being the fastest runner in the school. I was excited to leave elementary, nervous to be at the bottom of the newly complicated junior high heirarchy of popularity, but simultaneously enthused to begin a new adventure.

Funny how so many of the experiences of life are merely iterations of the past. I somehow managed to make it through junior high, then felt similarly mixed emotions upon leaving Hillside Intermediate to enter Highland High School, became teary eyed when I pulled off my football helmet for the last time as a senior and gazed up at my friends, coaches, and family as I sang the school song for the last time, was thrilled to leave for Brazil as a missionary but sad to leave family and nervous at the adventures that awaited me and then two short years later was thrilled to leave Brazil as a missionary but sad to leave family in my new home and nervous at the adventures that awaited me back at my suddenly unfamiliar home in Salt Lake.

The opening and closing of chapters in life is not so much a progressive journey down a long hallway as it is a revolving door. We enter just at the right moment when the door is open. If we wait too long, the revolving door will pass us by and we'll have to wait for the next time it comes around, missing out on the adventures available only once we take that step across the plane of the door. Once inside, we join others that have also chosen to enter the door at the same moment. We learn with them, we learn from them. We cry, we celebrate, we experience what that rotation of the revolving door has to offer. We don't often realize, however, that time continues to pass, that the revolving door is still doing that, revolving, evolving, changing. Just when we are comfortable, the door opens once again and we nervously must leave our familiar experiences and step into the unknown. We are saddened to leave what is left behind, but thrilled for the new experiences ahead. And then the door opens again, and we get in at just the right moment to start the next rotation of life's revolving door.

The door is closing on this last chapter of my life. I am sad to leave what has been so familiar to me for the past 5 years of life. I will not miss Provo itself, University Parkway traffic on a Friday night, church meetings in a biology lab, or the creepy and weird chant of the BYU fans lifting arms up and down in robot-like rhythm to the theme of Star Wars. I will, however, miss the great times with my bro and sis, my friends at work, and the important lessons of life learned while in P-town.

The revolving door of life continues, and with the close of this past chapter of life, the door once again opens to a whole new world, and I don't mean A Whole New World of magic carpets and "new horizons to pursue" like in Disney's Alladin.

What will this new world be like? How will this new world change my perspectives, my goals, dreams, and insights? What lessons will I gain in this new chapter of life? What is this new world, this new chapter of life to which I am referring? Well...

Tomorrow I will start medical school. Enough said.

Introducing...Steve's Box of Soap!

In the early 19th century, the executioner's gallows were removed from the Northeast corner of London's famous Hyde Park. The public, however, continued to visit Hyde Park--no longer for its gallows, but instead to have a forum for free speech. In 1855, for example, shopkeepers gathered in the Northeast corner of the park to protest the newly passed law which forbade businesses to operate on Sunday. Other public rallies followed, and in 1872 the Northeast corner of Hyde Park was officially designated as a site for public meetings. Since 1872, political enthusiasts, religious missionaries, radical thinkers, drunks, leftists, rightists, and everyone in between is invited to stand on their own "Soap Box" to offer their opinion. The soap box enthusiasts have included revolutionary thinkers such as Karl Marx, George Bernard Shaw, George Orwel, and even V.I. Lenin. Each speaker is typically given three minutes to develop their theme, someone then shouts "Liar!" and then the fun begins. The soapbox speaker is then subject to the often-outlandish comments of his listeners until someone else spins off their own idea and takes control of the proverbial Box of Soap.

And herein is born Steve's Box of Soap. While many blogs address a very specific topic, this blog is without limit, just as the SoapBoxes of the Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park. Steve's Box of Soap will hopefully be funny, insightful, random, goofy, and interesting. Most importantly, Steve's Box of Soap will be insight into what I would be saying if I were standing on a Box of Soap in Hyde Park's Speakers Corner.