 When I pointed the lens of my inexpensive three-mega pixel camera at Scott, he covered his face with his one free hand and probably considered throwing his McDonald’s milkshake at my face. We were standing in a garden near my apartment that I had never discovered until Scott told me how, “#$%#!@$!$ up” it was. The garden is only three blocks from my apartment and I’m still not sure how I’m going to sleep at night knowing that there is a Sphinx out there with the head of Joseph Smith. But eventually Scott stopped hiding from my camera. He had apparently absorbed the fact that he would be sooner or later be plastered to my Blog the same way he’s sometimes seen on other Blog’s with hot dogs in his mouth. I haven’t written much about Scott. When I saw him at a dinner for Barney Frank in April, I felt stupid in my blue sweater and my straight-legged grey pants from the GAP that I barely had enough courage to walk across the tiled floor to the Information booth where he was sitting. And after all that courage had built up enough that I could stand up straight and suck in my bulging gut that was toppling over my one-size too small pants, I blurted out that I had a question and even raised my hand. And that question was whether or not my car was going to get towed away for parking in the front of the Fine Art’s building since I was pretty sure that if that happened I would be stranded at the University of Utah forever. I actually said that. I actually said, “I don’t think I could find a ride home if it were.” OF COURSE MY CAR WASN’T GOING TO GET TOWED AWAY AFTER 7:00 P.M. After Scott answered my question I thought for sure I was going to die. I felt like I should reintroduce myself by saying, “Hi, I’m Ken. I don’t have any common sense.” Instead, I went back to my volunteer group and pretended to help the caterer. Only a few minutes later, my courage re-appeared and I headed back to the information booth and decided I’d start with a handshake. I’d so start being smart later.
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