Brock and I went to the afternoon session of the general conference of the LDS church on Saturday. I felt a little disappointed in the content of the talks (everyone seems to be panicking over the image of the church thanks to Mr. Romney), but at least being in the conference center made it all the more engaging. I learned that even apostles sometimes whisper to their neighbors in church. After Elder Wirthlin's shaky sermon, the apostle section of the stand was abuzz with worry. Doctors were coming and going, and I was speculating that Elder Wirthlin had died right there in his seat as soon as he sunk his brittle bones into the plush red cushions. Soon the buzz died down, Elder Wirthlin continued to sit, and I learned again how to answer questions coming from my non-member friends.
We had a bit of rain on Saturday. And it was cold. As we scurried from our parking space to our warm, waiting seats we passed through the inevitable parade of antis. This was to be expected, of course. What would conference be without antis? They are like the Cousin Eddy of the church. We know they'll always be there, that we shouldn't take anything they have to say too seriously, and that they'll be wearing tight green polyester pants, white patent leather shoes, and a white V-neck sweater with the outline of the black dickie underneath showing through. Brock took advantage of the opportunity to point his finger at them and laugh Nelson-style. Yeah, yeah, he is well aware that he shouldn't engage in such activities, but he is Brock, and Brock likes to do his own thing.
It was pretty funny when one of the antis saw Brock laughing at him and responded by telling him to get a haircut. See, antis and Mormons DO agree on some things.