This is a double-packed review of “The Book of Mormon” geared for both Mormons and non-Mormons. If you are a Mormon, I’ll give you an idea of what it’s all about and what to expect if you are wondering whether or not to see it. If you aren’t a Mormon, just go see it (but read my review first, since you are are already here).

When I first heard that Trey Parker and Matt Stones, The South Park guys, were doing a musical about the Book of Mormon, I rolled my eyes. I had seen Parker’s show Orgazmo and it wasn’t even remotely close to actual missionary life (I don’t recommend this show on any level). My expectations were very low and my preconceived notions suggested this would be a mess. Then the reviews came in. Then the Tony’s. I was surprised and extremely curious. So I listened to the soundtrack and was hooked by the third “Hello.” The music was fun, catchy, and hilarious. We bought our tickets the minute they were on pre-sale back on September and had been anxiously listening to the soundtrack to gear up for last night. Seeing it live was a blast. I was enthralled for every minute.

But, before I continue with my review, I need to tell you about myself, and my background as a missionary so you know where my review is coming from (and why I can review this for Mormons and Non-Mormons).

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Today marks a historical day for one mans struggle against fate and a string of bad events that nearly drove him insane. It is also the transit of Venus. An event that won’t happen again for over a hundred years (it happens in pairs, eight years apart every 105 years). For Guillaume Le Gentil, it marks an dreary anniversary of an epic quest for scientific information.

In the 1700’s, French astronomers used this event to measure the size of the solar system. Guillaume Le Gentil was one of the many dispatched across the world to watch, measure, and document the event to help unlock the secrets of the universe.

He left his wife in March 1760, a year before the event, to travel to his assigned destination in India. During the journey news reached him that war had broken out between France and Britain and so he altered his destination in India to try and avoid the conflict. As the ship neared the destination and the Transit of Venus approached, they learned the British now controlled the area and the ship was forced to return to what is now Mauritius. Without options, he was forced to observe the event from the deck of his retreating ship. Because of the rolling sea, he was unable to observe through his telescope and take the required measurements (it takes my brother long enough to stabilize and set up a telescope properly in his back yard, I can understand why this didn’t work).

As this was the first of the paired events, the next transit of Venus was eight years away. He decided since he’d come this far, he’d just wait it out and catch the next. He went to Manila to record it but the Spaniards were too hostile. He went back to India, where a peace treaty was now in place, and was able find a suitable location a full year year before the actual event. Plenty of time to set up his observatory. And then he waited.

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Amazon is promoting my book. Today only (Feb 9, 2012), the Kindle version is FREE. If you don’t have a kindle you can still get it free and read it online if you want to check it out. Since it’s FREE, you might as well at least take a look….and for those of you that have read it, you should post a review
Get it here!

A hint of a grin showed on Cheryl’s bitter face. Gnarled by a lifetime of repressed pain and unrestrained anger, she was incapable of a real smile. The closest she ever came to feeling good was through minimizing the bad and that was only achieved with the help of Captain Morgan (the only name brand item in the house). It washed through her like a cleansing fire, burning away pain and misery. This moment, right now, was her heaven. Her bliss. Her freedom from agony. And as her body became light and her lips started to feel numb, she knew everything would be fine. And then she’d float up, away from the horrors, free of the reigns that bound and cut her flesh.

Her body stayed behind; sprawled in a chair stained by two generations of drool, liquor, and sometimes urine. With shut eyes and arms hanging awkwardly, it sat motionless while a cigarette dangled precariously from two fingers, sending a smooth column of white up into the cloud that hovered on the ceiling. Her chest rose and fell, peacefully, for the entire afternoon, long after the spent cigarette butt had fallen to join two friends on the hardwood floor.

Cheryl didn’t hear the screech of the bus as it braked in front of the house. She didn’t hear the front door creek open, the small footsteps, or the two attempts to push the door shut. But she did hear the little voice that ended the silence.

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Yesterday Henry was sick. Yesterday was also the midterm exam. And yes, he was really sick. And although this wasn’t the first time he’d been home sick on the day of an exam, it was the first time he had missed an exam because he was actually sick. And that pissed him off because unlike the other sick days, yesterday he could have aced the test.

He punched in several numbers into his calculator and scrawled another answer: “hydrophobic: the chemical was less soluble in water than in an organic solvent.” He looked at Mr. Jones, everyone called him Doc, sitting like a hunched statue behind his desk, glasses hanging from his nose like a rock climber seconds away from a fall. They were the only two left in the room, maybe even the school. Doc was probably thinking about how much he’d rather be flying down the sunny road in his vintage 68 Mustang.

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When I was younger, I borrowed a rifle from my neighbor, Bob Coulter (or as I knew him, Bishop Coulter) for the deer hunt. The hunt passed, I returned it and didn’t think anything of it until sometime later when I ran into him while shopping for a coat at K-Mart. I remember the isle and the new green coat I had in my hands as I stopped to say hi to him. Horrible experiences have a way of burning small details into my memory like that.

After a friendly greeting, he told me that he was disappointed in me because a small amount of rust was on the gun when he got it back. On the surface, it is a simple situation. Any mature, responsible person would have responded with a sincere apology and asked what could be done to make it right.

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If you didn’t start reading on Day 1, you might want to start from the beginning.

Our hotel has been noisy, every single night. People talking, running up and down the stairs, doors opening and closing…all night long. But when somebody started banging on our door in the middle of the night last night, it was too much. The first time it happened I was groggy and by the time I woke up, they had stopped. I was miffed because it had taken me at least one frustrating hour to fall asleep. I figured some drunk fool had forgotten a room number. I was almost asleep when it happened again. BANG BANG BANG! This pissed me off and I yelled out, “WHAT?!?!” in a very unfriendly tone. It stopped and I heard them knock on a few other doors. I’m not sure what it was about but I wasn’t about to open the door in the middle of the night for anyone, especially after our walk through druggieville the day before. That’s not a picture of our hotel, by the way. But if it was quieter I might have stayed there even if it did look like a haunted house.

We slept in as long we could and still get breakfast and then caught the metro to Syntagma Square. The 10am Sunday changing of the guard is a big deal with a marching band and a full platoon of Evzones dressed in their traditional kilts, tights, and pom-pommed shoes. These are the elite guards and world famous for not only their attire but for their unique march which involves many slow, high-sweeping choreographed kicks.

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If you didn’t start reading on Day 1, you might want to start from the beginning.

For the first time on our trip, Greece welcomed us to a new day with cloudy skies. We walked to the corner in a light drizzle and dropped below street level to catch the metro. The red-line carried us to the Acropolis stop and as we climbed up the stairway to the surface, it was apparent to me that Poseidon had released a can of whoop ass on the city. I knew instantly it was my fault. This was his revenge.

The rain pounded the city in a constant chaotic roar. Water trickled down the stairs that climbed up to the street level like it was a small riverbed. Thunder rolled through the sky like Zeus and Poseidon were racing in massive chariots laughing heartily at my plans to explore the Acropolis.

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If you didn’t start reading on Day 1, you might want to start from the beginning.

We said goodbye to our cute little room in Nafplio and departed for Athens. It isn’t a long drive, only a couple of hours if you drive straight through. We, of course, did not drive straight through. When I first told Mikayla we were stopping at the ruins of another ancient city, Mycanae, she was far from enthralled.

“Haven’t we seen enough ruins?”

“But those were Byzantine, Venetian, and Ancient Athenian ruins. Today we get to see Mycenaean ruins!”

That didn’t seem to help.

“The castle we hiked up to yesterday? That was 300 years old. These ruins today are over 3,500 years old! These are the people ancient Athenians called giants because they figured humans could not build the massive structures found in their abandoned cities. These are the people that, according to legend, built the Trojan horse and defeated the city of Troy. A fierce warrior-like people that vanished without a trace over 3,000 years ago. These are the people that Homer tells about in the Iliad and Odyssey, where Greek Mythology comes from…”

“Okay dad! I get it!”

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If you didn’t start reading on Day 1, you might want to start from the beginning.

In the early 1800’s, the port town of Nafplio was chosen to be the first capital of modern Greece. A major reason was the Palamidi, a baroque fortress (said to be the most well preserved in all Europe) that sits 1,000 steps above town atop the cliffs. The first thing on our agenda today was to climb to the top of the castle before the afternoon sun arrived.

But as it turns out, the fortress ended up being the second item our our agenda after “letting Mikayla’s hair dry.” So instead of waiting on the deck with Mikayla for the sunshine to do its job, I took the opportunity to walk through the quiet streets of Nafplio. Several shopkeepers were just opening, most were still closed tight, and most of the traffic I ran into had four legs, a tail, and no more than 9 lives. A coordinated journey crisscrossing through the streets and alleys quickly shrunk the town down to a manageable size. Last night our aimless meandering was fun but had not let me build an internal map.

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