Ten of the Mountains

Kings Peak

2011-09-14T21:47:00.006-06:00

This summer, I decided to summit Kings Peak. Kings Peak is the highest mountain in Utah and Boy Scouts summit it all the time. I figured if they could do it, so could I.

I went with some friends from work. The whole adventure was epic; primarily due to the epic stink I developed after 3 days of backpacking with no shower. I had a great time and am very glad I went on the trip.

Enough rambling...here are some pics:

The view from a resting spot we found during the beginning of our ascent.

At the base of Kings Peak.

At the 'almost summit' waiting out a thunder and hail storm. It descended upon us rapidly so we found a safe spot to wait it out. Most of the other people on the mountain ran away in fear....suckers!

Me at the top of Utah, enjoying the spectacular view. Notice the greenish, wispy fumes emanating from my body? That's 100% Man Funk!

Teasing, Torment and Bullies

2009-10-06T16:26:00.002-06:00

As a parent, I think my children are perfect, not infallible, but really just perfect at filling the responsibilities of being children. My Noah performs his role as a kid brilliantly. He’s obedient, thoughtful, selfless, kind, funny, logical and all-boy in his tastes and preferences. My Sofia fulfills her Sofia-ness with verve. She’s impetuous, curious, strong-willed, self-reliant, delicate, feminine, and has me wrapped around her finger. Most parents I know feel the same way about their children; which is why parents out there can understand the pain in my heart at Noah’s recent experience with ‘bullies’.

At recess yesterday, Noah was playing by himself. He often plays with other kids and has good friends at school. But he also relishes acting out the incredibly expansive and exquisitely constructed scenarios in his imagination. I foster his imagination because I believe it’s the only place where he feels like he is completely understood and unquestionably accepted.

Some kids noticed Noah’s play and commenced mocking him. I am unclear about some the details because Noah’s description of what happened is more based on the emotions that resulted than the specific actions. What I have pieced together is that they teased him about playing alone. When he defended himself, they started teasing him about his speech.

My initial reaction was anger. I wanted to physically protect my son by lashing out at the perpetrators of emotional assault. My head filled with stern words that I hoped would cause emotional hurt similar to the pain they inflicted on my son. Then my thoughts turned to telling Noah to use his Karate if these children persist and tease him again. Noah’s wicked kicks and elbow strikes would quickly shut the mouths of the offenders.

Anger gave way to heartache. Bitter feelings of my experiences at being bullied exploded within me and threatened to influence my next actions and words. I remembered the how helpless I felt; how much anger and hate I held for my attackers. I recalled fighting the desire to punch my bullies in the face to make them stop the torment.

Noah’s experience doesn’t have to be the same as mine. Most kids get teased, tormented and bullied. I don’t know why I thought my son would be the exception. I re-committed to treating Noah with respect. I will handle his ego carefully. I am determined to guide him to a strong sense of self. My hope is that he owns being Noah with peace and confidence.

Weddings

2009-09-10T14:11:00.003-06:00

**Caution! This is a vent posting. Read at your own risk. If you are sensitive, do not proceed.

Yesterday, my youngest sister was united with a man of her choosing. The ceremony was spiritual and brief. The bride and groom were nervous, as evidenced by their very brief kiss after their metamorphosis to husband and wife was complete.

On the surface, everything was going well. People appeared happy for the couple and seemed to get along with each other. If you dug a bit further you would find an angry, squirmy, stinking wad of miscommunication and hurt feelings. The result: a catastrophic tragedy! No bride, groom, family member or friend should ever have to endure the emotional piss-storm that swarmed around my poor sister’s wedding.

I suppose that major life events; such as weddings, funerals, births, etc, generate stress and make people sensitive. The things that I find to be incomprehensible about the emotional cluster hug of the wedding seem epidemic among many of the Utah weddings I have participated in and attended. I find it ironic that a culture that preaches love, community, tolerance and unity abandons these high-minded ideals during weddings.

I will refrain from going into details about my experience with my sister’s wedding. I am happy for her as long as she is happy. I do want to provide more generalized comments that may directly apply to her wedding and many other weddings that I have had the misfortune of being involved in:

Ceremony: Thou shalt not hold any element of a wedding as more important than the Ceremony. As far as I am concerned, the ceremony is the ultimate, the pinnacle, the absolute element of a wedding. Any other element is secondary to the ceremony.

Traditions: Thou shalt abandon thy will to the will of the couple. Every culture has distinct wedding traditions. The value of these traditions is up to the exclusive and sole judgment of the bride and groom. There are no rules written, implied or otherwise expressed that require each tradition to be fulfilled. Nor is there a prescription as to how the tradition should be executed. No parent, sibling, family member or friend should assert their expectations about the traditions to the exclusion of the couple’s expectations. The crime is magnified exponentially when the selfish will of the person other than the couple is asserted through subversion, guilt, brow-beating or temper tantrums.

Responsibilities: Thou shalt not assume wedding responsibilities. This is a subcategory of traditions. Often, the costs of a wedding are divided between the bride’s family and the groom’s family. No family should interfere with the responsibilities that the other family is paying for, unless express permission is given. If the bride’s family is paying for a reception, than the bride’s family should manage the reception to the couple’s expectations.

Finances: Thou shalt make-do with what thou hast. Many weddings I have attended have been hosted by families that are not wealthy and/or are not willing to go into debt for a wedding. There is no reason that one family should be compelled to pay more money than they have for the wedding. Likewise, no family should feel compelled to pay for any perceived deficiencies by the other family’s financial boundaries. There is no place for condescending, self-righteous behavior. There is no place for extension beyond financial means. Basically, each family shall be satisfied with the other family’s contribution. The bride and groom should have a clear understanding of this principal. If they expect otherwise, they should pay for it by themselves.

Bridezilla: The bride has the right to react to the emotional stress caused by a wedding. Bridezilla: A word used to describe brides who are unreasonable, entitled, spoiled and angry. I am sure there are many examples of brides who behave beyond reason; but are we so self-absorbed and fragile that we have no tolerance for a young woman who is extremely stressed and emotional? The bride’s responses to stress are the direct result of how she learned to cope with difficult emotions when she was young.

Let Them Go: The couple shall figure it out on their own. Don’t hound the couple with your ‘advice’ about marital relationships. They are their own people. It doesn’t matter if you have been married for 6 months or 35 years; the bride and groom are different than you and they need to figure it out on their own. If they want your advice, let them ask for it. The wedding is the first time that they have to make important decisions together. Interference from friends and family undermines confidence and builds unhealthy co-dependence. Let them succeed or fail together. Let them figure it out. Your ‘two-cents’ adds about ‘one million dollars’ worth of additional stress and anxiety to the couple.

Thank You

2009-08-13T11:50:00.001-06:00

Noah was only 3 when we discovered that his speech and language were far behind other children of his same age. As parents, we blamed ourselves for not being more vigilant or dedicated to his development. After multiple doctor visits, tests and evaluations, he was diagnosed with Apraxia of Speech. My heart broke a little bit for my son. I want the lives of my children to be richer, fuller and less challenging than my life. A speech disability seemed to dissolve my hopes for Noah to have a better life than my own.

The negative emotional impact of the speech disability to Noah is painful for me to observe. People don’t know how to react when they speak to him. Noah’s self confidence is assaulted daily as he attempts to interact with people that don’t understand him. He gets frustrated and sad when, despite his best efforts, the words that are produced by his mouth don’t match the words in his mind.

We do not hesitate to help Noah. Laurie has been a scientist, warrior, translator, teacher and advocate. When we learned of the availability of a speech assistance device, we prepared ourselves to take any measure or step necessary to get him a device. Noah heard our discussions about getting a device for him and immediately demanded to be involved with our efforts. His art is a direct reflection of his commitment to the cause. It represents his imagination, passions and understanding of beauty.

People who attended Noah’s art show made a permanent impression on Noah. He watched closely as people evaluated his drawings, paintings and photos. He thrilled when he heard the compliments and beamed with pride as people picked up the art to have as their own. My family is forever indebted to attendees of the art show for your monetary and emotional contribution.

We have also been the recipients of an overabundance of charity from others who didn’t attend Noah’s art show.

To everyone that has freely given of their emotional and physical support, prayers, time, money, facilities, art skills and materials; you have my sincerest gratitude. Thank you for everything you have given. Your efforts have ensured that Noah will get a speech assistance device. Know that your contributions will improve the quality of his communication and mitigate the emotional impact of his Apraxia.

Reminder of Our Blessings

2009-04-12T11:25:00.004-06:00

On Tuesday, our landlord told us that he was tired of being a landlord, was going to sell the house we rent from him and that we needed to be out of the house by May 7th.

We have been saving to buy a house and were planning on purchasing one in the fall, after we paid off a few bills and wiped out some of our credit cards. Our rent in this house has been nominal and has afforded us the chance to play catch up with our finances. Although we were on the right track, we are in no way prepared to purchase a house right now. Laurie and I panicked. I think Laurie and I felt like our dream of owning a home was smashed. Maybe that's a bit dramatic, but we have been working hard to buy our own little slice of America for a few years.

Through some miracle, and I am convinced it's because people love our charming and adorable children, family and friends have rallied around us. People have been bringing us boxes, helping us pack and helping us find a new place to live. We have received an awesome and immediate response to our little crisis and it has been overwhelming.

To my family, friends, friends of friends and anyone else who has offered support and help, you have my sincerest gratitude. My little family is so lucky to have so many people that care.

Tragic Feed

2008-11-13T22:34:00.003-07:00

I was looking at a news website and thought I read a link "Tragic Feed". I would ask the overused question: "What is wrong with me", but I think everyone would answer. I do wonder what I was thinking; maybe one of the following ideas fit my mood?

1. Tragic Feed: When farmers feed low grade chicken meat to chickens.

2. Tragic Feed: A polite way to say you ate something that gave you the mud butt

3. Tragic Feed: A band name. Maybe for a group of young people who feel suffocated by society at large and struggle internally with their deep thoughts and volatile anger. "Nobody understands my angst!"

It's gotta be the last one. I am sure of it.

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #4

2008-10-21T21:42:00.003-06:00

Grandpa Rolf grew up on a farm in Germany during an extremely difficult time in Germany's history. I know he worked hard and sacrificed for his family.

I believe that much of his wisdom stems from his need for something light in his life. He turned to what our family does best: distort the ordinary, mundane and tragic into obscene, funny and/or outrageous images.

So, I picture a young Rolf gathering eggs from the chicken coup one early and cold morning when he created this gem of wisdom that is still preached with reverence in our family.

For any physical ailment, with the exception of a hurt back (I will cover back injuries in an upcoming post), You must liberally apply "Chicken Shit" to the affected area.

According to Gramps, it's an effective treatment for zits, rashes, patchy beard growth, warts, thinning hair, etc...

Another Horrible Husband Moment

2008-10-07T15:28:00.000-06:00

Today, I had another horrible husband moment. I tend to have several small moments of being a horrible husband and father each day, but this episode was particularly horrible.

I forgot to take some medicine this morning when I left for work. I had a break in the late morning and drove home to get the medicine because I feel much better if I take it.

When I arrived home, I went to unlock the door and noticed that it was already unlocked. I suspected that Laurie was just in a hurry and forgot to lock the door when she left the house. I entered the house, took my medicine and locked the door as I left.

20 minutes later, I was back at work. Laurie called me from her cell phone. She proceeds to tell me that when she left this morning, the baby was deep asleep. Laurie asked our next-door neighbor, Anita, to listen to the baby monitor. Anita graciously agreed to help. Laurie left the door unlocked so that Anita could periodically check the baby, or go and get her if she woke up. In the meantime, I frantically came home, took my medicine, locked the door and left.

Laurie and I shared a brief moment of panic, followed by a round of the blame game. Her argument “I didn’t know you were going to come home, otherwise I would have told you”. My argument “You know I am forgetful and sometimes need to come home for medicine/food/work ID”. Clearly, my argument was weak. I conceded to Laurie and took the blame. We both imagined that our baby was screaming for someone to rescue her while poor Anita was stuck outside, unable to get the baby.

There is a happy end to this horrible husband moment. Dumb luck, or divine intervention prevented any catastrophe. Anita heard the baby scream shortly after Laurie left and went into our house to get the baby. The baby was safe and happy at Anita’s house when Laurie got home.

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #3

2008-09-29T20:29:00.002-06:00

Years ago, my grandpa offered me his finger. He said these magical words that I didn't understand then:

"Sie mal dran, riechts wie marzipan"

After I pulled gramps' finger and witnessed the devastation that only his colon can unleash I promised myself two things:

1. NEVER pull gramps' finger again.

2. Get the translation of his 'pull-my-finger' saying.

I have stuck by my first promise and followed up on my second. The translation is "Pull my finger, it smells like marzipan".

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #2

2008-09-20T20:59:00.002-06:00

**Warning! The following post contains a mild swear word and some sexual language.**

The wisdom of Grandpa is meant to deal with all facets of life. Whether you have concerns about the lack of hair on your chest, or your marital relationship, Grandpa has advice to share.

The following nugget is a rough translation of a German saying Grandpa Rolf has shared with many times:

"To hell with love, to hell with marriage, go back to your hand."

Could any single statement reveal the truth so well? Consider the person who is only after a quick thrill. Such a person would not be well suited to a loving, committed relationship. Marriage would be abhorrent to a person who only seeks immediate satisfaction. No, for such a person, the best solution is going 'Hand Solo'. The time and emotional effort involved in love and marriage are contrary to a quick moment of pleasure.

For people who long for more than 1 minute in heaven, the value of finding one person and committing to a marriage is the epitome of true joy. These people know that cultivating a relationship while you are still young is like saving up money in the bank. The time will come bodies can no longer perform the way they used to. When that time comes, committed couples can lean on their solid friendship to support one another and provide companionship.

I am sure this is what Grandpa means when he dispenses this sage piece of truth.

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #1

2008-09-16T21:06:00.003-06:00

My Grandfather is a great man who often imparts his wisdom to the family. I have been thinking about the various bits of of knowledge and how they speak to me as a person. Grandpa always shares these bits with a hint of mischief in his eye. In his sturdy German-accented English, he relays the wisdom of old Germany. There is no doubt that self improvement and an ultimate sense of self can be attained by following Grandpa Rolf's life lessons. I thought I would share some of his wisdom on my blog, so that anyone that reads can be edified. This is the first installment:

"Eat more eggs [insert food of your choice], it puts hair on your chest"

Short Story II

2007-12-21T16:35:00.000-07:00

Due to the underwhelming response I recieved from my last post, I suspect that my short story was so awesome, it left everyone speechless. Nothing could make me happier. However, thanks to those who had enough discipline of mind to actually leave comments. Your comments are the fuel of my spirit.

So, prepare to be awed with the next portion of the story. Are you ready? Strap yourself into your seat and grab a paper-bag....

Liam cautiously rolled onto his side. Wincing with pain, he sat up. His head wobbled and he braced himself with his arms. He closed his eyes because the whole world was waving back and forth like the water in a bowl that has just been shaken. It took a few minutes for him to stabilize himself. In order to avoid thinking about the many areas of pain throughout his body, he focused on how he ended up in a gutter with a broken body. He reflected on the previous night, scenes of violence flashed in his mind. He tried to remember why he had been beaten.

It was a Wednesday night. Wednesday night’s were unexciting for Liam. He would start his dinner around 6:30. He may watch T.V, but there weren’t any shows that interested him. He would restlessly pace around the house searching for something to keep his mind busy. He may call his parents, or he may go on a walk. Inevitably, he would wind up in bed around 8:30 or 9:00. He would read until midnight and then wake up happy because Wednesday was over.

This Wednesday started as uneventful as the rest. By the time Liam had started his drive home for another boring evening, the world seemed to explode in chaos. As he approached the freeway to enter, he noticed that all traffic was stopped. Not just on the on-ramp, but traffic was stopped on both sides of the freeway. Liam tuned his radio to a local all news station.

Short Story Ideas

2007-12-06T16:45:00.000-07:00

I am aspiring to write my own short story, for my own pleasure. I thought it might be fun to provide an intro to a story I have been thinking of and solicit ideas from those who read my blog on where to take the story next. So, if you have a few minutes, read my intro and let me know if I screwed up any grammar and also let me know where else I could take the story:

Metallic tasting blood seeped into his mouth. His eyes popped open and his view was consumed by an aluminum bat approaching his face quickly. Too tired to react with anything more than the most primitive motions; his eyes simply closed when the bat made contact. Starbursts erupted behind his closed lids. A piercing buzz filled his ears and as the pain burst through his head. Unconsciousness mercifully saved him from feeling the subsequent blows.

Bright light strived to breach his eye-lids. The filtered orange-pink light was the first sensation Liam noticed as he returned to consciousness. He knew he had sustained a violent beating and was amazed that he wasn’t dead. Taking great care to evaluate his injuries, he first took metered breaths. No pain resulted from his breathing. Relieved that he could breathe comfortably, he decided to test his vision. Dirt had become lodged in his eyes, cemented by the involuntary tears of pain that occurred sometime during the pummeling he took. He slowly opened his eyes and the thin layer of dirt cracked and fell away. Liam had to blink a few times to focus his vision. He was laying sideways, his head resting on the sidewalk and the rest of his body sprawled in the gutter. Now he noticed a deep, pulsing ache that was perfectly timed with his heartbeat at both the base of his skull and temples. He hoped that he had no permanent damage to his head or neck, so only used his eyes at first to evaluate his surroundings. Low warehouses and storage structures surrounded him. Seagulls floated lazily in the sky searching food. A solitary wispy cloud moved quickly against the bright blue backdrop of the sky. Grateful that he wasn’t blind he moved on to his hearing. A persistent buzzing loomed in his ears, as if he had gone to a loud rock concert the night before. The natural sounds were distant, but he could recognize most of them. Waves were crashing against a nearby beach and seagulls screeched. Liam moved his hands and arms carefully. Satisfied that no bones were broken, he tenderly scanned the rest of his body. He found a large lump behind his forehead. Dried blood covered his left ear and the left-side of his neck. Two teeth were missing from his mouth. His clothes were torn and frayed. Remembering being dragged behind a slow-moving car across a warehouse floor, he was surprised he even had clothes on. He completed his evaluation by moving his legs and feet. Bruises covered his arms, wrists and legs. When the assault first started, he recalled trying to defend himself. Later, he remembered groaning with pain, but was unable to hold his hands up anymore.

Raspberries to the Gateway!

2007-12-03T13:42:00.000-07:00

Saturday night, we were treated to a movie and movie snacks by our good friends, Ryan and Christine. They asked us to meet at the Gateway around 7:00. We arrived early, fearing the length of time it would take to park and wait in line. We had about 45 minutes to walk around and window shop before meeting our friends.

The movie was enjoyable and it was nice to be on a date. After the movie, we grabbed a few parking validations so that we wouldn’t have to pay for parking. We were stuck in the claustrophobic parking structure for 30 minutes, waiting our turn to get out. When we presented our validation to the parking attendant, I was rudely told that they only accept one 2-hour movie validation per car. She then brusquely told me that I owed her three dollars. I handed the parking witch my debit card. Her rude tone turned into poorly veiled anger as she told me that debit cards are not accepted and that she needed cash or check. I lost my temper. I told her that she was ridiculous. Thankfully, Laurie had cash. As I handed the witch her cash, she gave me a sarcastic ‘Have a good night’. My hackles were raised by her rudeness and I insulted her with a “Blow it out your ass" before I pulled away.

Perhaps I took it too far, picking on a single parking attendant. But I really felt like I was telling Larry H. and his horrible company off. The parking witch represented the Gateway and represented the policies created by Larry H’s company. I am still seething about the lame policy at the Gateway that forces movie-goers to pay for parking. The movie tickets and snacks are already outrageously priced.

I am grateful to my friends for treating us to a show, and if I had to pay for the movie tickets myself, I would be even more upset. I will never choose to go to the Gateway to see a movie again. I have plenty of other nice theaters within a 20-minute drive that don’t charge for parking.

Questionnaire from Lou's Blog

2007-11-30T16:49:00.000-07:00

Laurie had this on her blog. Since these questionnaires are so hot right now, I thought I would do one, too.

So, here goes:

A: What accessories do you wear everyday? A Star-Trek pin and a BattleStar Galactica necklace

B: What is your beauty routine? Shower, brush teeth, mouthwash and Nair (down there)

C: What was the last item of clothing (for yourself) that you purchased? A vintage 2002 Salt Lake Olympics Roots hat.

D: Do you use a dresser, closet, or both? A dresser for my ‘evening wear’ and a closet for everything else.

E: What type of earrings are in your ears right now? Big hoopy pirate-style

F: What type of figure do you have? Average height, weight of a gnu

G: Do you wear glasses? X-Ray glasses.

H: What type of handbag do you carry? It’s European!!

I: What is your ideal of style? Serial Killer

J: What jewelry are you wearing right now? My watch and Martha Stewart nipple rings.

K: Do you wear knee-hi stockings? They match my lederhosen.

L: Do you *have* to wear matching lingerie? Oui, but of course

M: Do you wear makeup? I’m so darned pretty, if I do wear it, it’s to make-down my appearance so people stop staring at me.

N: Do you wear nightgowns? Oui, but of course!

O: What outerwear do you put on when going out on a typical winters day? This season, it’s faux monkey fur with matching bootlets.

P: What is your favorite perfume? Camel Musk and English Leather (available through Avon and at a convenience store near you)

Q: Is your motto "quality over quantity" when it comes to clothing and accessories? Quantity. I wear as many clothes at one time as I can.

R: Do you wear rain boots? I prefer to call them “Urban Puddle Walkers” It sounds more androgynous that way.

S: Do you wear socks or slippers when your feet get cold? See Q.

T: Do you have a set of travel luggage? See O.

U: What is your daily uniform? Shirt, sometimes pants but always socks.

V: If you are married, did you wear a veil with your wedding dress? No, but I lift my brides veil to give her a smooch.

W: Do you wear a watch? Everyday

X: What item of clothing always makes you feel eXtremely beautiful? My Martha Stewart toe-ring and matching nipple rings.

Y: What is your favorite type of yarn? Yak

Z: Do you prefer zippers or buttons? Button fly is the best. Zippers seem so threatening to my ‘down there’ parts.

Happy Birthday Laurie

2007-11-21T21:26:00.000-07:00

It’s my bride’s birthday today. I wish I could have lavished her with many expensive gifts and purchased servants to grant her every whim. Instead, I provided her with a pauper’s offering and hope that my devotion and love for her will overcome my material shortcomings.

Laurie is my perfect match. She and I started out as best friends who talked about everything and we are keeping up the friendship. We often bounce ideas off one another and work to find solutions quickly. I couldn’t imagine a finer spouse to weather all of life’s up and downs with than Laurie.

She makes people feel welcome and loved, which is why she makes friends easily. Laurie is a world-class peacemaker. She can calm my raging temper with her smile. Her patience with the boy and me are beyond measure. When you speak with her, she really listens to what you say and makes you feel like your ideas and thoughts are very important.

Laurie is creative and playful. There are many times that I am stumped when trying to teach the boy things. She is able to develop methods to teach him all things in language he will understand. Her child like excitement for simple things can really liven things up. When we went on vacation to California, she was hopping around like a 9-year old girl when we went to the beach because she loves the ocean.

She is a speed-reader and easily absorbs the information she reads. You can ask her about the plot of any book she previously read and will provide you with details that most people wouldn’t remember.

My wife is a tender and faithful soul. Her tolerance for swearing and violence is minimal. She remains close to the Lord regardless of the trials she is going through. Her unpretentious adherence to her religion makes her a stellar example to those around her.

Laurie, I love and adore you. You still make my life exciting and worthwhile. I am grateful that I married an 'amazing' woman like you. Happy Birthday Love!

Christmas Miracle

2007-11-06T08:17:00.000-07:00

Laurie and I have been yearning for a recliner for years. It all started when I valiantly promised that I would purchase a nice recliner for my wife during her first pregnancy. Unfortunately, I was unable to live up to that promise. She reminded me of her desire every time we saw a nice recliner. It wasn’t a direct reminder; it was a more subtle reminder in the fashion of women. Something like: “Boy, that recliner would sure be nice. I would really enjoy sitting in it during late nights with our babies.” My guilt at not being able to provide a recliner for my wife was enhanced by my own desire for a comfortable chair to relax in.

Thanks to the majesty of selflessness during the holidays, we experienced a Christmas miracle that has allowed me to maintain some dignity, but has also granted us a beautiful leather recliner. My parents heard us talking about a particular recliner at Costco. They set out to purchase this recliner for us and surprise us with it for Christmas. However, before they had their chance to surprise us, Laurie and I found that there was only one chair left in the valley. My parents discarded their wish for a surprise and bought the chair for us yesterday. It’s so comfortable that it’s probably a sin to sit in it for too long. Laurie and I were taking turns sitting in it last night.

Halloween Moochers

2007-11-01T11:26:00.000-06:00

Although Halloween is thought to be a holiday in which comic mischief is allowed, I believe that civilized communities need to maintain some etiquette during the festivities.

For example, when trick-or-treating, you need to wait for the resident of the house to open the door in order to obtain your treat. It is considered poor manners to walk into someone’s home and demand candy. Likewise, it’s crucial for members of the community to give and take in harmony. If you take your child trick-or-treating in your neighborhood, you must give candy to the other children in the neighborhood. Sadly, my small family has disturbed this Halloween harmony by only taking candy and not giving any in return. The disturbance to harmony dawned on me as my son trudged up the steps of the last home on our block with 6 lbs. of candy weighing him down.

Let all of my neighbors rest assured that next year, we will provide treats to their children, just as they gave treats to my child. Thus harmony will be restored and the spirits who roam the Earth towards their final destination on Halloween do not need to be perturbed by the break in balance.

Happy Birthday to Me

2007-08-18T09:22:00.000-06:00

Wow, 31 years old. I remeber thinking about being an adult when I was a kid. 20 was getting up there in years and 31 was just ridiculously old. I try to tell my wife that to the mind of a 10 year old, I should be wearing depends and using a walker. But she refuses to change my diapers, so I have to just keep using the toilet.

The best thing that happened to me for my birthday is finding out what gender our "Bun-in-the-oven" is. It's a girl, which is wonderful and exciting. The Boy calls her Shaak-Ti, after a female Jedi who is an amazing fighter in the Clone Wars cartoons.

Because of the beauty this little girl will undoubtedly have, I am going to start Ninja training. As a Ninja-Dad, I can track her dates, find out where they live and siletnly execute the entire family of any boy who does inappropriate things to my daughter. Just think about it, here's some punk kid putting the moves on Shaak-Ti and just as his hand starts wandering....shuriken to the eyeball....

Sure, I will have to sacrifice my current values and morals to be a Ninja, but it's worth it to defend the honor of my little Shaak-Ti.

Finish School, You Bum.

2007-04-16T13:11:00.000-06:00

As I write this post, I hang my head in shame. I am now at a point in my life in which I am considered to be a man. Not just a man, but a man in his prime. I should be thriving in my career of choice, driving a brand-new BMW 745i, taking my child to space camp and burning dollar bills in my obscenely huge fireplace.

Alas, these dreams are not realized because I have yet to finish school.

What is a 30-year old man still doing plowing through school? Who knows? All I know is that my parents are growing weary of having an uneducated son. I was told as much by my Dad last week. Dad was very tactful and kind when he told me to finish school; but he basically said: “Finish school, you bum.” Granted he has invested a great deal in my education and deserves to call me on the mat. But, it does nothing to help my already damaged ego.

My justifications for not finishing are weak, but I attempt to use them:

- The CEO of JetBlue never finished school.
- I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up.
- It’s difficult to balance full-time work and full-time school
- It cuts deeply into my XBOX time.

I am enrolling in school again. My resolve is tempered and solidified. I will graduate. I have established a self-serving foundation that will be used solely to get me through school. Donations can be sent to the Husky Old White Guy Scholarship Fund (HUWGSF). My next school session starts on June 8th, so donate now!

Muscles

2007-03-07T10:27:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I missed going to the Gym. So I decided to do some pushups and jumping jacks at home. As I started the pushups, The Boy stopped what he was doing and watched me for a second. He got down on the floor and started pumping out some toddler pushups. Toddler push-ups involve assuming the push-up pose and then moving your legs from bending to straight. I commended him on the fantastic job and told him that he was building up his muscles. I flexed my arms and showed him my muscles. He followed suit and showed me his muscles.

After a set or two of push-ups, I started doing jumping jacks. Again, The Boy observed my odd behavior. He cranked out toddler jumping jacks; in which he jumped up and down and tapped his head with his hands. Again, he showed me his muscles after the jumping jacks.

We were hungry after our rigorous work out. I poured some Multi-Grain Cheerios (the best cereal on the planet) for myself and The Boy. Initially, he didn’t want to eat it. When I told him that it was “Muscle Cereal” he ate the whole bowl vigorously.

I had a lot of fun working out with my boy. It’s nice to know that some good things I do interest him. I was worried he would only learn bad behaviors from me. He has already said some naughty words because I have shot off my foul mouth in his presence.

No Church

2007-02-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, we were frantically running around the house as we prepared to go to church. My boy was sitting in front of the TV, eating cereal and occasionally watching his crazy parents. We saved getting him ready for church until the last, because it is always a legendary battle to get him dressed. On Sundays, it is an epic war to get him dressed for church.

When I brought his ‘Church-clothes’ to him and started trying to get him ready, he protested and shouted in despair: “No Church, please, no church!” A wrestling match followed, as my wife and I teamed up against the thrashing, screaming two-year old. Technically speaking, the parents were victorious. The boy was completely dressed. However his appearance was not ideal. Noah sat there, sobbing in a white button down shirt that was previously ironed, but was now wrinkled from his thrashing. It was wet around the neck and chest from the tears falling from his eyes. His pants were twisted so that the button was almost aligned with his hip and his socks were floppy.

The war did not end with the clothes battle. As we approached the defeated toddler with his church shoes, his wrath was kindled anew. “No Shoes, Boots!” He was determined to win one battle on Sunday. He wanted to wear his snow boots to church. Normally, I wouldn’t care. But it was a warm day and I knew he would be extremely hot if he wore his boots. So, a new fight commenced. Again, the parents were victorious. The boy was beside himself with anger and humiliation. We served a cold and bitter helping of indignity that caused him to seethe.

As we dragged him to church, he continued his protests. I think he knew that he lost the war, but he was letting us know that he was not happy about it. Once we were at church, his attitude changed instantly. He happily ran to some seats and sat down.

The HHC

2007-02-05T09:54:00.000-07:00

A few years ago my friend and I started a special club, the HHC. This club has exclusive membership. We do not accept applications or petitions to join. Rather, a member of the HHC must witness a certain act or behavior in order to induct a candidate into the club.

Imagine a young husband who has been married for less than 3 years. He and his wife seem happy and hopeful. Suddenly, the husband performs a behavior or act that kills the honeymoon. This act is the pivotal moment in a married couple’s life in which the wife actually re-evaluates her decision to stay married to this poor husband. The behavior or act could include any of the following; purchasing a game console, purchasing a large TV, skipping out on a family party to play basketball with your friends, being honest about how your wife looks in a particularly bad piece of clothing, washing your red shirt with her favorite white blouse or any other number of infractions. Whatever the behavior is, it must enrage wife so much that she gets mad enough to spit fire.

I performed a great insult last week that helped solidify my status as a co-founder of the HHC. Our T.V. went on the fritz. As avid movie watchers, we needed to replace the T.V. I found a used one on Craigslist for a great deal. This new (used) T.V. was significantly larger than our old one. It was a great deal and in great shape. When I went to pick up the T.V., I could tell right away that it wouldn’t fit in our entertainment center. I called my bride and told her that the T.V. was nice, but wouldn’t fit. She told me that she would let me make the decision. I understood that she was testing me, but my desire for this shiny, fancy TV overwhelmed my common sense. I brought the thing home, hefted it atop of our entertainment center and waited for the hailstorm that would inevitably come when my wife saw this monstrosity. When she saw it, she was initially silent. She made a few off-hand comments. I could tell that I hit the wrong buttons on my wife’s patience control panel. I suffered the mental torment and guilt that comes from making someone you love angry for a few days, but not enough to return the T.V. I had pre-determined that the guilt was worth the new T.V.

HHC stands for Horrible Husbands Club. If you are a married male and you anger your spouse past the point of patience, then you too can be inducted into the HHC.

Florida Dreams

2007-01-17T14:03:00.000-07:00

It’s January. It’s January in Utah and we are experiencing sub-freezing temperatures. There is extreme inversion in the Salt Lake valley, which compounds the cold temperatures and chokes the clean air with pollution. This type of unwelcome weather is sheer misery for those of us are not related to polar bears.

A few years ago, pre-child, Laurie and I took a vacation to Miami, Florida. We stayed with some of our friends who were willing to put up with us for a week . Although it was late January and cold as hell at home in Utah; Florida welcomed us with warmth and sun. We stayed close enough to the beach that we were treated to comfortable ocean breezes and clean air whenever we were outside. Our trip was an exquisite journey that revealed how sweet life can be in January. Then, two years ago, I returned to southern Florida in January. This time I stayed with friends who live in Ft. Lauderdale. I was again greeted with warmth and sun. Perhaps not as warm as my first trip, but Utah had a record-setting blizzard while I was in Ft. Lauderdale, so I felt very blessed.

Needless to say, at this time every year, I start yearning for the paradise that is southern Florida. The combination of the supreme weather and the graciousness of my hosts have caused me to fall in love with the Miami-Ft. Lauderdale area. Granted, if I lived there I would probably long for different seasons. However, when I bundle up in my bed with 3 blankets covering my shivering body tonight, I will close my eyes and relish in the glorious memories of southern Florida.

Holiday Desperation

2006-12-19T16:01:00.000-07:00

For many years I have endured the violation of the peaceful holiday season I once enjoyed in my youth. This is primarily due to getting married and fitting in the numerous, and sometimes superfluous, family parties that my wife’s family holds. My Christmas 10 years ago was as follows:

Christmas Eve:
4:00 pm – 8:00 pm Dinner and presents at my family’s house

Christmas Day:
1:00 pm – 3:00 pm Lunch at my aunt’s house

Peaceful and simple, right? Oh, how I cherish those holidays. Now, we find ourselves in a mad-rush, running from party to party, trying to see how many events we can go to; thereby avoiding the creation of inevitable offense against family members.

Here’s a recent sample of my Christmas:

Christmas Eve:
4:00 pm – 7:30 pm Dinner and open presents at my family’s house
8:00 pm – 12:00 am 2nd Dinner and open presents at Laurie’s parent’s house

Christmas Day:
7:30 am – 8:30 am Open ‘Santa’ gifts and stockings at Laurie’s parent’s house
9:00 am – 11:00 am Breakfast with Laurie’s Grandma
1:00 pm – 3:00 pm Lunch at my aunt’s house
3:30 pm – 5:00 pm Dinner at Laurie’s other Grandma’s house
5:00 pm – 8:00 pm Party at Laurie’s aunt’s house

With a schedule like that, how can you possibly remember where you are? The potential for calling a rarely-seen relative the wrong name is great. And how stupid do I feel when I thank the wrong person for the wrong gift?

This year, I put my foot down. I declared to my wife in the most authoritative and manly voice I could muster: “There will be no more running around in the bitter cold, wasting gas. No more losing our sanity as we cope with the shock of moving from one family environment to another.” I am serious. I would rather sit at home, enjoy being with my little family and spend some good time with each other. Besides, I want to start our own traditions in our house.

My sweet wife just gave me that maddeningly condescending smile. It’s a smile that is common in many women. They use it when they are trying not to scream at their spouse or children in protest of what they have just been told. I am sure that In the back of her mind, she was probably saying something like: ‘I own you, slave. Your requests are in vain. You will never have any rest on holidays as long as my family lives.’

Does anybody know of any good jobs on the East Coast, or Europe perhaps?

Flurer Lexicon

2006-12-04T14:16:00.000-07:00

I recently spoke to a good friend and used some words that he was not familiar with. This is because I used words that are specific to the little piece of geography we call 'Our Home'. Some of the words are just plain silly, but they are used frequently in our home. Some of these words/phrases include:

Trout: used in place of the word 'throat' when describing the symptom of an illness that causes one's throat to be sore or swollen. For example; 'I have a sore trout'.

Dime-ma-maria: used in place of the word 'diarrhea'. Since 'diarrhea' is a funny word anyway, we thought we would add a little more silliness to a word that really describes a miserable condition.

SBE: this word was inspired by the acronyms that people use when text-messaging each other over phones or using an Instant Message program online. SBE stands for Sudden Bowel Emergency and is used when one experiences a sudden cramp in the bowels, followed by an insatiable need to evacuate one's intestines.

Cruck-Cruck: this phrase is derived from the sweetly innocent language attempts of our two-year old. He is utterly obsessed with trucks. Whenever he sees something that pleases him or that is exciting, he exclaims 'Oh, cruck-cruck!' We now use it in our house when we are excited about something.

Cry-hole: a term that became very popular when our boy was born. He would often cry or scream, as babies do, and as I placed a binki in his mouth to pacify him, I would say, "Stick this in your cry-hole". We use the term when someone is whining. For example "Shut your cry-hole"

Plogged: a hybrid word that crosses plugged and clogged. If one is stuffed up with an overabundance of mucus in the sinus or chest, we say that we they are ‘plogged’

There are many others, but these are some of my favorites.

The Holiday Mob

2006-11-10T16:54:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving is drawing near, and the Holiday Season has begun. The Holiday Season has some great memories for me. Unfortunately, these memories are tainted by my recent experiences with the Holiday Season.

People, who are otherwise rational, kind and generous, turn into literal monsters. They abandon their good virtues and start practicing evil behaviors. Their elbows and knees become destructive weapons. They selectively lose their hearing and forget all traffic laws.

It must be the result of the tension of buying gifts, getting the right ingredients for that perfect meal for the in-laws and dragging the kids around for their various holiday events that makes people crazy.

One year, I made the mistake of going shopping on the day after Thanksgiving. I was lured to the store by some phenomenal prices. After I was done shopping, I lost all faith in humanity. As I followed the herd of shoppers into the store at the brisk hour of 5:00 am, I was almost trampled under the feet of the horde. When I approached the areas where the good deals were found, the scenes reminded me of those jackal feeding frenzies you see on nature shows. Everyone was pushing, shoving, stomping, grabbing, biting and clawing just to get that stupid forty dollar T.V. I let go of the fear that gripped my heart and approached one of the feeding frenzies with cautiousness. At this point, I merely wanted to observe this anomaly in human behavior; however I was pushed in by an aggressive woman who looked like she could have been a kindly grandmother. I was buffeted by arms and elbows. In fact I took a good hit to the nose and it started bleeding. Out of spite, I started blowing my bloody nose on the members of the maniacal crowd. I was sucked into their bastardly behavior and started strategically throwing my own limbs around. My hands gripped the sacred item that everyone was willing to kill for. Then the pain really started. People stepped on my feet, kicked my shins, elbowed me in the head and stomach. I fell and crawled out of the group, my hands retaining a kung-fu grip on the package. An item that I really didn’t want or need was now a precious object that the mob desired.

After escaping the clutches of the blood thirsty mob, I brushed my clothes off and ran to the nearest check stand. I wiped my bloody nose on some kid’s hat as I jogged up to a poor cashier. She was stunned to see my gushing nose and commented on my swollen eye that would later turn into a beefy black eye. I made my purchase, and ran out of the store like a man who is being chased by rabid, zombie lions.

I was not feeling the peace and love that is supposed to accompany the Holidays. I hated every person in that store. I was soured for anymore holiday shopping and refused to enter any store until after the New Year.

So, my wife and I are committed to having our shopping for the Holiday’s done before Halloween rolls around. If we don’t get what we need by that time, we will just hand out cash. There are ways to avoid the Holiday mob and enjoy a warm and peaceful season.

Children Ruin Everything

2006-09-13T19:40:00.000-06:00

Many of my friends and coworkers are pregnant. I swear that there is a new baby born every .10 seconds in Salt Lake. Everyone wants a kid, until they have one. They imagine that they will be able to enjoy time together with their new baby and patiently teach them all of the wonderful wise things that they have learned. Parents-to-be also vow that they will raise their child better than their parents raised them.

What new parents don't realize is that their lives are ruined as soon as that first child escapes the warm comfort of the womb and screams forth into this world from it's mother's vagina
Technically speaking, parents live. I mean we breath and blink and eat and poop. However, the life that was once filled with lazy Saturday mornings of sleeping in, going to movies at the drop of a hat and having long nights of steamy sex is dead. You will never recover that.

I will admit, I love my son and wouldn't trade him for anything. But parents only live to help their child(ren) survive, that is unless the parents are completely selfish a-holes.

When you become a new parent, be prepared to shed your playful, carefree days. Your life is over. You now begin a new life in which you function only to help your posterity survive. I hope that your marriage is strong enough to survive that change

Kill a Friendship: Join a Direct Selling Company

2006-06-30T16:43:00.000-06:00

Nothing ruins a friendship faster than direct selling companies. In general, companies in the direct selling industry share a business model that requires its ‘independent sales representatives’ to recruit more ‘independent sales representatives’. These companies encourage you to recruit your family and friends.

One day, your brother, sister, best friend, neighbor or other close acquaintance is going to knock on your door. You open the door and there they stand. Perhaps they are accompanied by some goofy schmuck who is there to ‘support’ them, or perhaps they are going solo. Either way, you can tell that they have come for a purpose. For the next hour or two, they pitch a company or product. The idea is always the same: Pay for a starter kit and then go and bother your family and friends to recruit them. They profess and testify of the great riches that you will attain by joining their company. The entire time that your friend or relative is presenting, all you can think about is how you are going to let them down without ruining your relationship – and that’s the kicker.

As soon as you drop the bomb on your friend or relative, they are hurt. Because you don’t share their enthusiasm and conversion in their wonderful scheme, you are now persona-non-grata. This arrangement causes a great swell of anger to form in my gut towards any direct selling company. Thanks for ruining my relationships, jerks.

Direct Selling companies prey off of desperate people who need money to bring in their profit. Here’s how they take advantage of you:

They pay you a commission based on the number of recruits you sign up. This commission is a percentage of the outrageous fee they charge for their starter kit and for their product.
They call you an ‘independent representative’ or ‘consultant’ or any other euphemism to make you feel like you have support of a large company and network of people. In reality, you are a customer who brings in more customers.
If you are good and brining in more customers, then you may make money. Remember for everyone that you bring recruit, the morons ahead of you will also get a paid.
If you are not good at recruiting others, then you just contribute to the wealth of others.
Because you are not an employee, you get no tangible benefits. You don’t receive health and welfare benefits, vacation days, disability insurance, or any other group sponsored benefit. If you happen to be a healthy person, this may not be a big deal for you because you can get individual insurance. However, if you are unlucky enough to have an illness of any kind, no insurance company will touch you.
Their product is not unique. I was at a convention for direct selling companies in which I received free samples of face moisturizer from a few different companies. Each of these moisturizers smelled the same and when I tried them, felt the same. I also compared these free samples to a face moisturizer I purchased from my sister in law, who happens to be a ‘consultant’ for a direct selling company, and I found it to be undistinguishable from the other face moisturizers.

There are other examples, but these are the biggest infractions that these damnable direct selling companies perform.

Don’t join a direct selling company. Don’t allow friends and family to ‘present’ to you. Even if they say that they don’t mind if you say no, they really do mind. You will regret sitting through the presentation and will mourn the loss of your relationship.

Mayonnaise is not a deodorant

2005-12-21T17:03:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, my wife and I went to a movie with my sister-in-law and her weirdo husband, I call them the “Malodors”. During the movie, I experienced the last straw in a long line assaults on my nose from this couple. They have intensely poor hygiene; as a result, the odor that they generate is powerfully unpleasant. One witness reports that the smell of sewage issues forth from Mr. Malodor’s rotten maw whenever he laughs. According to this witness, the smell is also accompanied by a pea-green mist. On this occasion, the last straw, the stink of rancid mayonnaise emitting from the Malodors was overwhelming and induced dry heaving in other members of our party.

I am dumbfounded by this couple. What compels them to become so unclean as to cause people around them to vomit? How can they stand each other? I have a difficult time understanding how they can ignore their own nauseating smell. They must just be used to it, which implies that they have a long and persistent tradition of poor hygiene.

They have achieved an epic and unimaginable body-stink that could overwhelm and kill a rhino. In this age of readily available showers and inexpensive soap and shampoo, there are no reasons to justify their poor hygiene. I can no longer be around them, as their putrid odor will always cause me to be nauseous.

My dear wife has such big heart that she claims she still loves her sister, Mrs. Malodor, and wants to stay close to her. But I think that they should be branded with a tattoo on their foreheads that declares them to be “Unclean!” and then banished from the family forever.

Real-life Zombies

2005-12-21T16:02:00.000-07:00

I strive to remain healthy and keep all nasty viruses and bugs at bay by eating healthy foods and taking supplements. However, during the winter season, hosts of people turn into sickos, or unhealthy carriers of disease. These sickos possess less than half of their normal brain functionality and usually spend their day shuffling to and from the bathroom. They moan, sniffle and grunt. Their miserable sighs can be heard everywhere. They are slaves to a micro-biotic master. I feel it only fair to warn these people that as a result of their illness, they qualify as a Zombie and; therefore, are fair game for elimination.

Zombies always carry some horrible virus, bacteria or other contagious micro-invader that turns normal people into disgusting wretches who only focus on satisfying the demands of their illness and cannot otherwise function normally.

Now, I don’t bear ill-will toward anyone. I am peaceful and hesitate to disturb any living creature, including insects. Zombies are a different story. They are not counted among the living and present a threat to my well-being – they must be destroyed. I have seen how Zombies are dealt with in the movies and in every case, it is spectacular. Some shot-gun blasts, a grenade or two, a few swipes with a chainsaw and viola! Guiltless Carnage!

If you are sick please do not go out. Leave work/school/church and don’t come back until you can speak to me without sniffing up that stream of snot that is oozing out of your nose. Your deep, gag-inducing coughs are a call to arms for Zombie hunters. Stay home until you can purge your illness from your body and overcome being a Zombie.

Rest in Peace, Pops.

2005-07-05T14:46:00.000-06:00

This weekend, I celebrated the 229th birthday of America by going to Las Vegas. The trip was undeniably fun. One of the best memories I have is the Red Hot Chili Peppers (RHCP)/ Weezer concert I went to on Saturday. Sadly, though, this memory is tainted by the loss of human life that occurred at this concert. This blog is dedicated to you, “Pops”.

There we were getting our faces melted off by the amazing talent of the RHCP in the middle of a scorching Las Vegas evening. The crowd was packed tightly together as everyone jockeyed for positions closer to the stage. We were a mere 10 yards from the stage. My friends and I were dancing and shouting and getting baked from all the pot that everyone was smoking around us. During a break between songs, we heard a low popping sound. We saw a white shirt, a piece of cloth, ashes (or some other form of lightly falling debris) and a feather shoot up into the air from almost groud level and then descend softly just 15 feet ahead of us. The only conclusion we could come to was that someone was rocked too hard by the awesome musical talent of the RHCP. This person, whoever he or she was, spontaneously exploded. I have named him or her “Pops”, after the sound that he or she made at the instant their soul left this earth.

No mention was made of a fatality in the news about the concert; but we all knew better. There is no other appropriate explanation for what we witnessed. Our knowledge of who “Pops” was is limited to the fact that his or her body couldn’t cope with being rocked; however, we honor “Pops” for his or her courage in going to the concert.

So, here’s to you, you poor bastard. I hope the concert was worth your life. You gave up you earthly existence for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. May your soul now rest peacefully in green pastures absent of any face-melting music.

Ignore Famous People!

2005-06-15T12:38:00.000-06:00

The decision in the Michael Jackson trials of “Not-Guilty” has caused frantic conversation in my office about whether or not he was really guilty. Whenever someone asks me that question, I reply through grinding teeth and with a metered pace: “I think Michael Jackson is a very sick man. I believe he was capable of the things he was charged with. I do not think there was enough credible evidence to convict him.” What a stupid answer. The skeptic in me believes he is a horrible, demented and sick man that did perpetrate the crimes he is accused of, and has likely committed more crimes that we don’t know about. I think he should be placed on the “Child Offender” watch list and have his children taken away from him. Needless to say, backing me into a corner in the work place and asking me to be honest about something, the honest answer to which will likely get me fired, is extremely tacky and inappropriate.

Additionally, why do we care that much about Michael Jackson? Vast segments of time have been squandered on deliberating his guilt or innocence. My coworkers have started spouting off “reliable” facts about the poor state of Michael’s finances that are somehow a direct result of him being on trial. When did they have the time to research these facts and why are they delivering them to me? It’s so painful to listen to people talk about this issue. It offends me more than getting kicked between the legs by an anonymous coworker.

I want to shake my fist indignantly at all famous people right now. It’s not just Michael Jackson, but its Tom Cruise and Russell Crowe and any other famous person in the news. Why are their personal lives so interesting to us? Is it really news that Tom Cruise is a Scientologist? Is your life so pitiful and boring that you must leech onto the lives of those we watch on TV and in the movies to make it interesting?

Many famous people lead para-normal lives. They are out of touch with the common person and have many have no idea what the average American does in a day. In fact, I suspect that many famous people don’t even know what is going on in the news. They have entourages that provide them with everything. People are actually hired to tell famous people what news is important, what clothes to wear, what to eat and who to date.

If famous people are not even keeping up with the world around them, why should we keep up with them? I think we could benefit from ignoring anyone famous for the next 3 months. If the focus that we expend on worrying about famous people and their personal lives were diverted to solving problems in our homes and communities, it would have two stellar results:

Celebrities would stop behaving like spoiled ingrates and would cease vomiting the details of their personal lives for attention. We will therefore judge them on their performance in their respective fields, instead of, oh let’s say: what religion they belong to.
Our homes and communities would become clean, safe and welcoming.

I am now "Dood"

2005-05-12T12:31:00.000-06:00

Noah, my one year old, has started vocalizing. He says very small, monosyllabic words. For example, Mom= “Mam”, Hi = “Heya” and my favorite: Dad= “Dood”.
I am now “Dood".
This suits me much better than plain old “Dad”. Being “Dood” means that I am much cooler than being “Dad.” It also means that Noah thinks of me as a peer. It reminds me of when I hang out with my friends and we address each other with “Dude”, instead of our names. For example: “Dude, did you see Dawn of the Dead?” “Dude, yeah! It made me wet my pants!”
I will relish being “Dood” until Noah learns to speak. Once that happens, he will realize what a geek I am and demote me to “Dad”.

Kin yuo spel?

2005-04-22T16:39:00.000-06:00

I recently received feedback regarding my blog. I appreciate feedback and look forward to reading comments and suggestions. In one particular piece of feedback, I was asked if I could spell. While I justified my poor spelling and grammar by pointing out that my blog is subtitled “RANDOM THOUGHTS AND INSANE RAMBLINGS”, and therefore, misspelled words were part of the ambiance of the blog; I have to confess, I really can’t spell.

My blog contains the limit of my abilities and talents. I know, you must be thinking something like: “Wow Kersten, you must have the mind of a 2 year old baboon.” Yes, it would be ironic if I did have the mind of baboon, as my blog is called “The Baboon”. Plus, it would be handy to blame my stupidity on a severe medical disability. Sadly, my mind is an original Kersten growth. As pitiful as it is, my mind is indeed my own. I make due with what I have. Isn’t that what life is about?

Is it a crime to misspell words in my blog? Should I be punished by having midgets shove bamboo between my fingernails? Why oh, why is Paris Hilton on T.V.?
My answers: No, perhaps and because she’s rich.

Mr. Boots goes night-night

2005-04-12T15:19:00.000-06:00

A new law is being debated in the Minnesota state senate: Legalized cat-hunting. Their justification is that they need to minimize bird deaths. What an outstanding idea! Cat-Hunting sounds like an extremely fun way for people to spend their time.

I imagine a still, quiet night on Maple Street. Suddenly, the loud boom and following echo of a 30.06 being fired destroys the peaceful evening. A cat screeches, fur flies and Jimmy emerges from the behind a white-picket fence to claim his prize. He swats at some gently falling tufts of cat-hair in front of his face and removes his camouflage hat. There, on the sidewalk sits the obliterated body of anonymous alley cat #345. “That bastard never knew what hit him” thinks Jimmy. He removes some latex gloves from a pocket in his NRA vest and picks up the torn remains of the unsuspecting feline. Jimmy callously carries the cat-carcass to his back yard and into his garage. There he begins the gruesome task of preparing the head for mounting, to display above his fireplace. He has already bagged 16 cats this year, some of whom belonged to his neighbors, but most were just ratty strays.

Wow! Well, as you can see, it’s a thrilling prospect. I am not sure why they limit the hunt to just cats. I think they could open season on stray dogs, abandoned alligators and orphaned newts. It would really give the average American the chance to prove his/her meddle in reducing the packs of feral animals roaming the streets and living off of garbage and birds. And so what if a “stray” bullet accidentally hits that yappy dog next-door? You’ve just contributed to the overall peace and harmony of the neighborhood!

Just think about it: Legalized Domestic Animal Hunting. The NRA will see an increase in membership and Smith and Wesson will rise out of self-loathing to become a respectable American institution. The thought of it just makes me want to put my right hand on my heart and look at Old Glory with tears in my eyes.

Tax Refund Anticipation-Christmas for Adults

2005-04-08T09:14:00.000-06:00

In keeping with ancient tradition, my wife and I file our taxes via snail mail. I am not quite sure why we haven't transitioned into more modern forms of filing. We are either lazy and fear changing our foolish tradition, or our accountant will charge us more to efile. Regardless of the reasons, we find ourselves waiting for our tax-refund. The anticipation that exists in waiting for our refund is like Christmas when you were a kid - You just knew you were getting that cool Luke Skywalker with the retractable Lightsaber that came out of his arm and a his sweet X-Wing with R2-D2 in the back! You were waiting for this awesome gift to come and had been anxiously counting down the days before Christmas since your birthday. It's Anticipation season again.
Here we sit, counting down the 6-8 weeks: "Four weeks left, dear!" The reply: "Ooo! I can't wait! We can finally (fill in any frivolous purchase/car repair here)!". The week following, the anticipation builds. Songs are created from the sheer excitement of getting money from the government. Such Anticipation songs include the classic: "We can't wait, We can't wait. Oh, Tax-Refund, please don't be late!" and "daddies gonna buy a new muffler!" The off-key refrains can be heard for weeks prior to the big day.
In some small way, we even decorate for the event. We leave a space empty in our closet for the new clothes that we need to buy and are waiting for our return to purchase. My wife designates the south side of her closet for the new skirt and blouse. I designate the middle, so as not to exclude old and perfectly serviceable clothes. The ever-increasing oil stain in the drive way marks the joy of the season. Even the smell of blooming lilacs brings to mind the memories of anticipations gone past.
Wow, I am so thrilled for my refund to come! I just can't sleep tonight... Happy Anticipation!

Whining is for wimps and women

2005-03-09T21:42:00.000-07:00

My eleventh month old son, Noah, is fond of bonking his head on hard and pointy objects. It's not that I think he intentional knocks his head...he is either drunk or just not very coordinated yet. Assuming that the latter is true, let me move on the the real issue I have with his infamous head banging. Every time he hits his head, he starts whining and crying. Now, I don't want to raise a wussy-boy, so I tell him: "Stop it. Whining is for wimps and women." If it were just me raising my son, rest assured, he would turn out to be an insensitive, egotistical, powerfully flatulent man with the ability to grow more chest-hair than Magnum P.I. and crush rocks with his head. However, my wife always intercedes and says something like: "Son, don't listen to dad, it's O.K. to whine and cry." Alarms ring in my head... I fear for the future of my son. I think if it were just my wife raising Noah, he would turn out to be a flower-growing, shoe-shopping, English-Patient watching wussy-boy who would enjoy getting his nails "done" and have the ability to make a mean souffle. Is it really OK to whine and cry? Perhaps if you have just had your arm torn off by a Wookie. In that case it may be OK to let out whimper and shed A tear. Other than that, suck it up and be a Man!

Hiatus is off and Oscar lament

2005-02-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

Due to a recent series of tragic and poorly timed catastrophes, I have been away from my blog. These events range from my wife being in the hospital to losing my job. Now that I have these things under some control, I feel that I can let my creative vomit spew forth from my mind again and contribute my insane babblings to my blog.

With that brief intro, I would like to slip right into something about the Oscars last night. I was outraged to see that none of my "Best Movies of 2004" list were even considered or mentioned. My top-five list of movies is as follows:

1. Shaun of the Dead (Best Movie)
2. Shaun of the Dead (Best Directing: Edgar Wright)
3. Shaun of the Dead (Best lead actor: Simon Pegg)
4. Shaun of the Dead (Best supporting actor: Nick Frost)
5. Shaun of the Dead (Best Zombie flick of the year)

There was no mention of the finest cinematic achievement of 2004 at last night's Oscars. Why? I can only think that it has something to do with the fact that the Academy is out of touch with what the average American really likes in movies. Or, perhaps the Academy was too afraid to admit that the witty British humor and outstanding dialogue of Shaun of the Dead was far beyond their grasp.

If you are unfamiliar with Shaun of the Dead, shame on you. I encourage you to become familiar with it. One of the things that makes this movie superb is the exquisite humor throughout the entire movie. Even at the worst possible moment for the hero and his friends, you feel detached from the horror because the fun supersedes the sting of "scary". Shaun of the Dead provides you with the classic thrill of awesome zombie hordes, who are hell-bent on eating the living and gives you a look into what an average slacker can achieve when motivated by not being eaten.

Things you cannot miss in this movie include; the druken rendition of the 80's classic "White Lies", cricket bat meets zombie head, a zombified groom, zombie death-accompanied by Queen, Ed's off-color overtures to Barbara, zombie game shows, Mary's impalement and the "Harry Potter" look alike who gets what he deserves.

Though I must give props to the uber-action packed, extra-scary, bed-wetting fun of Dawn of the Dead; Shaun of the Dead didn't leave me wanting to sleep with a shotgun at night.

Country Music

2004-11-23T10:41:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I despise country music. I don’t use the word “despise” lightly. In the Official Book of Dieter’s Vocabulary (not available in stores…yet) the word “despise” is reserved for items and subjects to which I passionately hate with such vehemence that it induces physical illness and anger.

Lately, at work, I have been sentenced to listening to hours of country music. I have been contemplating a boycott or a one-man strike. If I didn’t have a family to feed, I would walk out because I despise country music that much.

Back in the early days of America, when country music was young, it defined a lifestyle; the cowboy working the herds, the farmer toiling in the fields or the blue-collar worker slaving over barrels of Jim Bean at the distillery. These people worked hard and described their hardships through earthy, folksy music with guitars, violins, gin bottles and harmonicas. Their hard lifestyle afforded them the right to complain.

Let’s take a look at today’s country music. Almost every country song these days is about love. Yeah, that’s original, love. Whether it’s a lover, son, brother, mother, dog or pick-up truck, it’s all about love. What about today’s country music singer? Are they working their hearts out to make a living in the fields, on the ranch or in a distillery? NO. These so-called musicians primp themselves up with “Country Clothes” to look like they are come from the hard lifestyle. Give me a break. The hardest part of their job is having to decide which bottle of vino to pop open in their modified Ford F350 limo (complete with store-bought steer horns on the grill).

The majority of Country Music fans are urban dwelling people, who rarely break a sweat at work, have never been on a horse outside of the pony ride at the fair and whose concept of the origin of alcohol is “It came from the liquor store”. These are the same country music fans that wear Stetsons in their Geo Metros and Ford Festivas. They often wear Wrangler jeans that are so tight, they can’t sit normally and have the Wrangler “W” imprinted on their butt-cheeks.

Not to disrespect those hard working people who still wrestle cattle, farm stuff or who still work in the Jim Bean plant. You have my utmost respect. You should be ashamed of the music whose roots were founded in the hard work of your occupational forbearers.

Tribute to Laurie: You are the Queen!

2004-11-18T11:14:00.000-07:00

Fatherhood is great. I love being a dad, and I think it's a result of my son being such a stud. He is usually really calm and content. I sincerly think that he loves me, too. There is a minor dark side to our relationship. Lately, Noah has decided that he hates sleeping at night. This is difficult on me because I don't get much sleep; however, my suffering is nothing compared to the beating my wife goes through every night.

Over the past 3-weeks, here is a typical night. Noah goes to sleep around 8:00-8:30 PM. Mom and dad plop into bed around 9:30 or 10:00. At Midnight, we hear the tortured screams of our little boy coming from his room. One of us springs into action, usually, Laurie. Laurie gets up and tends to the wee one for about an hour or so and then slinks back into bed. Around 3:00 am, we hear Noah cry again. Laurie gets out of bed to take care of him for an hour or so and then comes back to bed. There is a repeat of this hellish process at 5:30 am, until Noah wakes up for good at 7:30 am.

I have thanked Laurie for her hard work. I have made numerous attempts to help her out during Noah's "no-sleep zone", but I think I fall short of what she needs. So this is a tribute to Laurie. She is the absolute greatest mother and wife on earth. Not only is she patient and loving with Noah during the day, but she maintains her patience into the early hours of morning and beyond. She is a saint who deserves to be spoiled with flowers and daily foot-massages.

Laurie, you are the Queen of our family. You have earned my gratitude forever. You are a woman unmatched by any other I have met. You have the right to punch me in the mouth anytime I complain, because you endure far more than I think I have the moxy for.

Zombie Movie with Midgets

2004-11-12T10:48:00.000-07:00

There are no great zombie movies with zombie midgets. It seems unjust to exclude midgets from the ranks of the creepy, blank-faced undead. Little people can be terrifying zombies; in fact, I contend that they would be even more terrifying than your average-height, run of the mill zombie. Midgets, by design, would make the scariest zombies ever known.

Let's consider the facts:

Midgets have been the brunt of many degrading and humiliating jokes. This contributes to their midget-rage. If you combine midget-rage with the powers of the undead, you have yourself one bad-ass midget who won't hesitate to open up your skull and slurp your head hollow.

Midgets can fit into places that taller people cannot. Let's say there is an apocalyptic catastrophe that turns the majority of earth's citizens into brain-thirsty zombies, hell bent on killing all non-zombies. You are one of the few survivors and you are holed up in a “safe place”. With midget zombies, your safe place will become a zombie buffet. Midgets can fit in ventilation shafts, sewers, chimneys, underneath public restroom stalls, in the overhead baggage compartment of planes and other tight places that their larger, zombie compadres cannot. Once you have a midget zombie breach in your stronghold, say your prayers brother, cause’ your grey matter is as good as gone.

Finally, midgets would make superior zombies because their high-pitch screams would cause extraordinary terror in the hearts of their victims. The low moans and grunts of larger zombies are too tired and old. Those low zombie sounds have been used too often. Victims of large zombies are probably lulled into boredom when they hear their attacker gently moaning and grunting like a big zow. Imagine the heart-halting fright as a midget zombie approaches you for the kill and screeches like a mighty eagle! Oh, it gives me the chills just thinking about it!

Boo Hoo to you, Wussy-Boy!

2004-10-13T12:54:00.000-06:00

Last weekend my brother-in-law came for a visit with a bunch of his friends. They are all twenty-something choir nerds who still live with their parents. Perhaps it's because the realities of responsibility have not settled in yet, or maybe it's ingrained in choir nerds, but they were hyper and a bit annoying. To relieve my frustration and boredom, I started to tease my brother-in-law. I started with some mild comments about nose-picking and poor hygiene practices. I think I threw in some jokes about the size of his manhood...Actually, I am not really sure what was said because I was in a ZONE, I was red hot! I was roasting my brother-in- law alive!

Well, apparently I offended him. He was sad and he let the things I say to him effect his mood. He said something about it to my wife, who in turn talked to me about it. I guess my teasing stung because it hit close to home. Maybe he really does have poor hygiene and really does pick his nose and eat it. Perhaps I will never really know. Considering he is not man enough to talk to me about it. Instead he runs to his sister with tears in his eyes. There is no honor in that, WUSSY BOY! There are one of two Manly ways to handle my teasing, and running to a woman, crying like a baby is not one of them! The proper way to handle someone's teasing is to either: tease the teaser back and have some fun yourself, OR talk to them face to face after the teasing is done and let them know that your fuzzy-bunny feelings were hurt.

Wussy-Boy, all I have to say to you now is Boo-Hoo.