The Other Drummer

This morning I decided to listen to what was probably my favorite talk from this last General Conference, Elder Holland’s “The Only True God and Jesus Christ Whom He Hath Sent” (video link here).

Talk about the epitome of “bold but not overbearing”. Elder Holland does a wonderful job of explaining in no uncertain terms our views of Jesus Christ. What a testimony to the divinity of Jesus Christ and His Church!

And I’d just like to say *sniff, sniff* that I am so blessed to have the roommates I do, and I read Baptists at Our Barbecue and now I totally know the church is true.

Amen.

Gmail is sportin’ some fancy new IMAP moves. It’s active on three of my Gmail accounts. Waiting for two more before things get really crazy in Mail.

Wow. I’m such a geek.

As many of you probably saw on the news last night, some apartments in Salt Lake had a gas leak which exploded, turning many people out of their homes. My friend Hunter lives there. Fortunately his apartment was OK and nobody was hurt in the explosion.

After the initial shock wore off, my first assumption was that Questar had another PR nightmare on their hands. But after reading KSL’s coverage (from which I quote extensively here. And thanks for the pic guys. Really. You’re the best.) I realized the apartment owners are actually the ones in a world of hurt.

If you like PR-cringe-inducing quotes, check these out:

One resident said, “…he contacted the complex’s maintenance crew to fix the leak on several occasions, but nothing was done.”

Charmaine Harmon, another resident said, “…she’d smelled natural gas so strong it made her nauseous. She says Country Lake’s maintenance crew didn’t fix it. ‘It’s been weeks, and we’ve been trying to get them to do something about it,’ she said. ‘We’ve had exposed gas lines and everything since we moved in.’”

Ouch. But wait! There’s more! This time from the owners of the property:

“Country Lake Apartments are owned by Alliance Residential Company, a national property management group. A spokeswoman from Colorado arrived today but refused to give us her name.“

Huh?

“We have since identified her as Kelli Billman, a vice president of operations for the company.

She tells us her number-one concern is for the residents, but she refused to comment on Harmon’s allegations. Upon further questioning, she threatened to have us removed from the property.”

WOW. I’m no PR expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to do things.

Any random PR gurus (or armchair PR gurus) feel like commenting on the situation?

Of course, Henry B. Eyring has been called to be second counselor in the First Presidency. It’s amazing to think how the Lord has organized His church. Without any fanfare or debating or arguing or politicking, the leadership of His church has been reorganized. What a testament to the inspired process – the Lord’s hand is over this work.

The Standard of Truth has been erected; no unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing; persecutions may rage, mobs may combine, armies may assemble, calumny may defame, but the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and independent, till it has penetrated every continent, visited every clime, swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done.
- Joseph Smith, History of the Church, 4:540

I sat across from a creepy guy on the train the other day. He had longer blond hair (think Lancelot from Shrek) and had this weird, Luna-Lovegood-esque, airy look to him that was sitting on the fence between total innocence and serial killer. He wore stonewashed cargo-jeans from straight out of the early 90′s and – get this – I never saw him blink.

When I sat down he just stared at me. It was uncomfortable. (If I make eye contact at all with people on the train it’s just a quick nod of acknowledgment and that’s it.)

After he was done looking at me he stared out the window. I, too, looked out the window, thankful to be free of his eerie gaze only to see him staring at me in the reflection! At that point I think I peed myself a little.
As I looked down toward my bag (to get my Moleskine to record the experience) I noticed his thumb had a sore on it and it was bleeding. My first instinct was to tell him about it so he wouldn’t get blood all over his cargo jeans, but then I stopped myself and watched in horror as he raised it to his mouth, sucked on it a bit with that dreamy/spaced-out look on his face and put it back on the seat next to him. He did this a couple more times, seemingly gaining some unholy power from drinking his own blood.

At one of the stops a girl about our age came and sat next to him. She was frail looking, as if she’d been battling some disease her whole life and would break in half if she tripped.

Our friend the psycho stared at her with unblinking eyes, looking her up and down a couple of times before lifting his hand and sucking on his wound again.

Extremely creepy.

Nothing ever came of it. I haven’t seen the guy since, thankfully. But come to think of it, I haven’t seen the frail girl either…