Movie Reviews

The Descent

We saw the movie "The Descent" the weekend it opened. It's what "scary" movies should be. The story about six Scottish women going down into a cave is enough to carry the movie. My wife became claustrophobic as images of women squeezing through tight crevices were flashed on the giant screen. But then throw in some blood-thirsty cave monsters and it gets even better. The movie was about one minute into the "action" and my wife turned to me and said, "I'm going to throw up."

This movie isn't about the prom king and queen being hacked to pieces at inspiration point by a maniac. It is well-thought-out with a minimum of cheesiness. When the film ended, leaving the theater was like stepping off a roller coaster. Nobody had the slightest inclination to say, "That was dumb." So it won't change your life but if you like GOOD scary movies then go see it. See it in the cold dark theater rather than cozied up in your living room. It's worth it.

The Door in the Floor

I borrowed this movie from the library. It's strange and I can't say that I recommend it. On the surface it appears to be about a woman who becomes an empty shell after her sons die in a car crash. Her husband loses interest in her and pursues other women. Then she spends a summer getting it on with an 18 yr old boy. Then she leaves.

The movie is about a writer who brings a budding writer under his wing, but nothing about this movie pertains to writing. The characters are not likable, there doesn't seem to be much of a point. If you pay close attention, it seems to be a man-bashing movie of sorts. "Random" events all point to the fact that men are jerks and that women are disrespected, degraded and treated poorly in life:

A six year old girl telling her father that his penis looks funny.
An unfunny joke about a ship captain who has to tell a sailor that his mother has died.
Listening to hip hop songs with some lady singing about hos and "lick my back, lick my crack."
A buck naked Mimi Rogers? One of the prettiest OLDER women in Hollywood poses nude for sketches in the film, but just because Tom Cruise used to be on that like stains on your undies doesn't necessarily make it a good career move for her. I think that scene can best be described as "couragous." She is sketched as a heavily-lined face with a prominent graphic vagina.

"The Door in the Floor" is a kids' book written by the main character about a baby in the womb who can't decide if he wants to enter the evil world through the door in the floor. Because he is destined to become a jerk, I guess. I watched the movie at 3 am and the symbols and metaphors of the movie were not clear to me. When it was over, I felt like I had all of the pieces but still had no idea what picture the puzzle meant me to see. See it if you want.

Charly

I saw this Mormon movie on late night television. Go K-Jazz! I missed the beginning. Do you know what? The movie was sort of cute. Kind of like Narnia, except, in this case Narnia is a land where guys drive trucks and spend their days at gun/hunting/boat shows and women spend their time scrapbooking and everyone lives in a cookie-cutter house with a white vinyl fence.

I'm sure Mormons like the movie. It portrays the world as being confined to Mormon rules. Life is simple. Do as is taught in the Book of Mormon and everything will be good. That is the cute part. It would be nice if the world WAS that simple.

The basis of the movie, however, is unrealistic and full of those goofy things Mormons often think and do. For some reason, some outgoing, skinny blond lady comes to Utah from New York and spends every moment she can with some boring, dorky mormon dude. Of course, he hates it. He hates having this stereo-typically hot blond following him everywhere he goes, being spontaneous and fun. He comes right out and tells her she's ruining his life and that she is one of the most annoying people to ever live.

But along the way, she picks up the Book of Mormon and it instantly brainwas... I mean transforms her. While they are sitting in a boat fishing, she hesitantly admits that against her better judgment she has found the Book of Mormon to be indisputably flawless and a document of "truth" in it's purest form. She doesn't want to tell him because that means that he is right and that he has all the answers and that he is a golden god, or he will be someday, as he seems to be bound for God's highest kingdom of heaven. The moment she tells him she is going to be baptised, she is transformed in his mind from the-most-annoying-woman-in-the-world to instant-soulmate.

That was when I laughed outloud. When she said she read the BOM and it was just SO true that she had no choice but to obey what it told her to do. She had no questions, it was just perfect. If it was me, that is when I would toss her in the "crazy" bin. No questions, huh? Nothing like:

So the JEWS sailed to America and procreated to produce all of the Incas and Aztecs and Mayans and Indians? Why do history books all say they came from Asia? If America unpopulated until 600 B.C. than why do we find bodies in America that over 10,000 years old? What is with all of the horses and swords and chariots in America before the Europeans arrived? Why don't any of these enormous battlegrounds that exist in the book ever surface in real life? Polygamy was never denounced by God, Mormons just stopped doing it because they didn't want to be disbanded by the United States government?

Believe anything you want, but ASK QUESTIONS people.

Anyhow, she had no questions and she stopped wearing tanktops and she stopped drinking coffee and her character was suddenly quiet and humble. And boring. She marries the dud, er, dude. It is funny how these movies seem to depict Mormons as the-same-as-everyone-else except they don't drink coffee. I think the film makers should embrace what makes Mormons different and emphasize that. But no.

The guy gets jealous about the girls shady past and the mother gives her son a talk: So long as she is playing by Mormon rules, she is perfect and all is forgiven. If she were to suddenly be un-Mormon again, then she would just cease to be worth noticing in the world.

After they get married and have a baby, she dies of cancer. The dude is mad because he followed all of the rules and he feels like he is being punished. He forgot the tagline that God wrote for the movie: Real Love Stories Have No Ending. Ahhhhhhh. Okay then.

This, I assume, is a reference to being together forever in heaven. Earlier in the movie, he tells her of his generic Mormon belief that families stay together forever in heaven and that is the greatest priority in life. Of course that pat line gets her all hot and bothered. She tells him he is a romantic. He's happy cause Mormon responses have been drilled into his head his whole life, "All things happen for a reason," "tampons and shorts come from Satan's pantry," and "we'll worry about inconsistencies later."

It also seems that many Mormons argue that they are one of the only churches that believes in families being together forever. It's a very big selling point to them. It's not true. In fact, Mormons are one of the only religions I have ever seen to depict a heaven where families ARE NOT together. Mormon heaven has three levels and you have to plan accordingly which level you will go to, depending on which level your favorite friends and family members will be going to.

Ask anyone from anywhere what heaven is like and pretty much the only thing they can agree on is that heaven is where you will be reunited with those who have already past.

It's crap but cute crap.

Re: Alicia's Condo Burning Down...

Hi Debbie,

I am surprised and sorry to hear that the Giggle-girl's condo burned down. It's one of those things that you think will never happen to someone you know. I saw footage on the News but didn't think anyone I knew was affected by it.

I did enjoy that article you included. Mainly the words of the witness describing the people jumping from the balconies, "She kind of jumped and kind of fell and a lady kind of caught her. It was freaky."

Nothing says "don't-quote-me-on-that" like a sentence full of "kind ofs." But "freaky" you can take to the bank. Good journalism.

I don't know what Alicia is doing now. I imagine she's probably getting the runaround from some insurance company. I was in a car accident over a month ago and, after weekly phone calls and voicemail messages, I have yet to even hear the voice of the insurance representative responsible for filing my claim.

Here is what I can offer Alicia:

I have an old 6-man tent she can have.

I just bought two refrigerators for our new house. If she likes the "urban" feel, she may have the cardboard boxes. One for entertaining and one for getting-away-from-it-all. I'll even throw in a roof (a tarp).

Beyond that, she would need to settle for living in the shed behind my house.

We actually have some old furniture we have to dispose of before we move to the new place. We can offer her a bed, a table, and some old couches. Some people might think of them as "junk" but when all you have to your name is a pile of soot and ashes they probably start to look "livable." She can have first dibs before we give the stuff away at a yard sale.

I can even post her PayPal address on my blog and ask my millions of readers to send her money. It IS a strange coincidence that someone who devotes so much time to Habitat for Humanity and The Redcross would end up in need of help. It would be stranger if nobody helped her.

So the message that "no act of kindness shall escape God's wrath" is not lost on me, but I'm willing to help anyhow.

Tell her I said "hello." I hope nothing was lost that can't be replaced. And I'm glad she wasn't home at the time to take a header off the balcony and break her pelvis. Let me know what I can do to help.

Emmett

Mad Mel

He let the contents of the bottle do the thinking
You can't shake the devil's hand and say you're only kidding
This is where the party ends
I just sit here wondering how you
Can stand by your racist friend

The Giants didn't write that song about Mel but the words seem to fit. For the record, that family that we visit in Denver is Jewish and in my experience with them I have never known them to be people who plot or provoke war. In fact, the last time we saw them they gave us a present. One may go so far as to call it a "Christmas present." Either that or they jipped us out of 7 Hannukah gifts.

I almost used a slur there instead of saying "jipped," but I didn't. See how easy it is to step up and be the bigger man and not say mean-spirited things? Huh? Do you? Drunkee?

16.9.7.19/12.9.11.5/3.15.4.5

jol-esbz psf-nbz wbmujof-pbz

No One Can Hear You Scream

And just for the record: I do not cry while my wife is in labor and my children are being born. That is not to say it is not a moving experience. It's exciting.

It's kind of like that scene from the movie "Alien" where the baby pops out of that androids chest. Except instead of screaming in terror and running for your life, you pick the thing up and cradle it in the crook of your arm and tell it you will love it without condition forever, forever, forever...

Dedicated to My One True Love: The Ladies

And what do girls like? Big tough men who still cry every once in a while. I'm not afraid to talk about it. My rule for quitting my desk job was that I would certainly quit before the job flustered me enough to make me cry. When I punched a hole in the wall I figured that was close enough and stopped going to work.

I have met a few girls that like to cry. They encourage crying for cleansing and recreation and say that at the very least any normal person should cry on a regular basis. I don't agree with that. It sounds annoying.

I will tell you about things that I like. One of my most favorite things in the world is to drive across the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. I have done it quite a few times and every time it makes me want to win the lottery and become a professional ski bum, spending my life in exotic resort settings and letting it all sink in.

My mother went to college in Colorado and still has friends in the area and we visit them every few years or so. One Thanksgiving my mother, stepfather, brother and I drove out to Denver. My brother and I followed my mom's truck in her convertible Mustang. We drove through high mountain roads, the less traveled ones with hidden fields and apple orchards. It was sunny and we listened to one of my favorite CDs: The Meat Puppets, Too High Too Die. The only thing that was missing was some awesome girl to share the experience with. In that regard, I felt especially slighted, since my fiance had only recently dumped me.

It wasn't the worst but it definitely wasn't the best dumping. She said, "I can't marry you." I said, "We don't have to get married, we can keep dating." She said, "No. I can never be with you again." And she offered that alpha and omega of explanations, "I don't know why." Of course, it would have been nice if I didn't have to dwell on it and if the rejection wouldn't have burned in my chest for months and months, but that is what happened.

So we went to Denver for Thanksgiving and the drive was nice but not quite perfect. My mother's friend was divorced and had a daughter about six or seven years old. She had been married to a lawyer from a wealthy family and they had a lot of material things but they lived under the thumb of the in-laws. Nothing they had in their lives actually belonged to them. She didn't like living that way and divorced the man. But he always lived in close proximity so the daughter could have both of her parents and they still had a strong friendship.

During this Thanksgiving, other relatives and friends of the family were all gathering together. There was another small girl who was about twelve years old. I spent most of my time hanging around with the little girls, taking them to the park and stuff. It was evident that the twelve year old liked me. It was flattering, so much as you can be flattered by a prepubescent girl who knows nothing about you but likes you anyway. Maybe love is always like having your wishes granted by the devil, like that Simpson's episode where Homer wishes for a turkey sandwich but worries it will be made with zombie turkey meat (it turns out the turkey was dry).

I liked challenging that little girl though. I laughed at her description of school. How she was in A-club. Therefore, she could only date guys who were in A-club. To be in A-club you had to get straight-A's, you couldn't do drugs and you could NOT wear the same article of clothing twice in a two week period. When she told me that, I told her I did not get straight A's and I asked her what she thought about the way I only wore homemade t-shirts or just plain white t-shirts and shorts that were usually made from cutting off Dockers bought at a second-hand store. I think she fought for a way to continue thinking of me as A-club material.

This little girl had an awesome father. He was probably nearing 40. A single dad. He kind of reminds me of Ferris Bueller's best friend. He had a good sense of humor. When I ran out of clean clothes, he loaned me a t-shirt. He laughed about my noodle arms and we had a long conversation about making t-shirts. He was the one who suggested that I make a t-shirt that read "Body by Ramen." If I lived in Colorado today I would be friends with that guy.

Everyone wanted to drive into the mountains and visit that hotel where Stephen King wrote his book, "The Shining." I got to ride with the guys, including the dad, and we had a good time.

At one point on this trip to Denver, my mother mentioned to me, "You know... that twelve year old is pretty cute..." like I should totally bust a move. When she said it, I thought, please be kidding, please be kidding, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, mother, please be kidding. Oh, but mother wasn't kidding. It brought another aspect of loneliness to the trip.

We all went to the hotel and looked around for awhile and then we watched the small town holiday parade from the sidewalk of their modest Main Street. I was able to laugh whole-heartedly when the father of the twelve-year-old mentioned in casual conversation that he planned to indiscriminately shoot and kill the first boy his little girl ever brought home. The comment had nothing to do with mom's suggestion.

Given my emotional state, it was as good a Thanksgiving as could be hoped for.

Closer to Christmas and New Years, my father and stepmother asked if my brother and I would like to go to Denver for a ski weekend. They had a friend in Denver who was flying to the midwest for a rendezvous with some guy so the friend said we could use her house while she was away.

I still wasn't trying hard not to be in a rotten mood. I think my mother-in-law was trying to help me. When my dad went into a shop and we waited in the car she started some small talk. She noticed I was carrying around a book called "Nine Stories" by J.D. Salinger and she told me how she had met the writer's grand-daughter a few times when she was in college (I should have held out to be a Bruin or a Hoya so I could meet interesting people like that). When my step-mother decided to confront the issue directly, she said, "You have to kiss a lot of frogettes before you find a princess." My stepmother is an accomplished doctor and holds a very high rank in the military but it is still little nuggets of wisdom about frogettes that impresses me the most about her. My parents remarried well.

Anyhow, we went and spent a day on the snowy slopes of Breckenridge. Then we were starving so we stopped at a Denny's for some food. Surprisingly, we bumped into the man that my stepmother's friend had just flown across the country to visit. I don't know anything else about that story. But we shrugged it off and returned to the lady's house to sleep. I can't recall why we were sleeping on the floor of the den instead of in the beds but it was still pleasant and their was a fireplace nearby when we laid out our sleeping bags. It was a nice day made horrible because I had to lay there and try to sleep a few feet away from my brother and his messed-up crazy girlfriend while they made out. I thought about what a wonderful day and wonderful experience and wonderful opportunity it was to be there and that it should be ME making out with my awesome girlfriend on that floor and that my brother's girlfriend didn't deserve to lick his spit off the sidewalk let alone get an all-expenses-paid vacation to one of my favorite places.

I tried to block it all out by lying face down with my hands over my head and that is when I heard drops of water spattering on my pillow. Really it just made me even angrier. Everything that's right was wrong again.

The last time I went to Denver was five years ago. When we showed up my mother's friend told me that her daughter was apprehensive about seeing me because she had always had a crush on me. She said that when I walked in, her daughter turned to her and said. "Do you see how good he looks?" I've known that little girl for her whole life and I do love her. When I showed up with my wife and one year old son it was not my intention to shake up her teenage world. She was hardly around so I didn't get to talk to her but it made me sad to see her hanging out with 14 year old retards and smell her reeking of cigarettes.

My wife and I had spent the day snowboarding at Breckenridge and when we came home I was getting shivery and lathergic and feverish. Slimysculpin and his family came over to see us, as he hails from that area, but I'm sure I wasn't good company that New Years night.

The last I heard, that girl was having problems. Her father (the lawyer) suddenly ran off with some stripper and everything started falling apart. I feel bad that I can't really play any part as a friend in what is probably the hardest time of her life. As always, I'm just some old married dude.

Now you know a little more about the women I love in my life and the places I like to go.

If I went 'round saying I was an Emperor, just because some moistened bint had lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away!

Who needs Poptarts when it's easier to grab a leftover steak in a paper towel and eat it while you drive to work? If I can figure out the packaging for grab-and-go steaks I'm going to put those pastry pushers out of business.

You Snooze You Lose, Well I Have Snost and Lost

Just an update:

We made an unofficial offer on that house in Saratoga Springs, which the seller accepted. When we put it in writing the next day, the house had already been sold for $10K more than our bid. We've got things in the works to get another house here in our current neighborhood.

As I guessed, the car accident I was in almost cost me my job. I missed one day of work due to diarrhea and received another two "occurrences" for the accident. That is enough for termination as a temporary hire. Rumors were flying around my workplace that I was no longer employed. They were started by my back-up boss (the coordinator who was disappointed that I wasn't poverty stricken rez fodder).

My real boss came to me and told me the company would make an exception to their own crappy rules and let me stay on. He said it was the fault of an inexperienced coordinator. Other employees laughed and even were upset by the threat that I may be fired as it would mean they would have to work the extra hours not covered by myself. Anyway, my boss made me sign a paper saying we had talked about it and made it clear that if I am even late one more time this month then my employment will still be terminated. I tried to laugh it off by saying, "I'll try really hard not to get into any more car accidents." He nodded like it was a really good idea.

Push out the jive. Bring in the love.

The Blogpost

When Eleanor had a week or two off between the regular school year and summer school we watched a couple of episodes of Matlock while we ate lunch. We are not fans of the show but in comparison to the rest of the daytime lineup it seemed like a good choice.

At the beginning of one episode, we looked at eachother and laughed. The title of the episode was "The Suspect."

Man, do they even try to make these interesting? We threw out some guesses that the show's writers were all locked in a room talking:

"Come on you guys. We are one title away from heading home to our families for a long holiday weekend. Let's hit it and get out of here."

"Um... how about 'The Suspect'?"

"The Suspect? That's brilliant."

Only to be followed up with titles like The Victim, The Jury and The Legal Process. They showed up for one idea and ended up naming every episode for the following season. I imagine the same scenario, with serious consideration being given to a title like "What the stenographer heard", when someone finally said, "Maybe it's time to end the whole series?" and everyone just breathed a sigh of relief and thanked him.

The incredible tactic they seem to use in every episode is Matlock figuring out who the real perp is and then nailing him with a line like "I've got your shoe shine boy ready to testify that he saw you the day of the murder fleeing into the woods behind the crime scene" and then the guy spills out a complete confession; often when culprit is not even the one on trial.

I like Don Knotts but it really gives the show a "Mayberry is all grown up" vibe when you see the stars reunited. The only thing missing is a cameo by Opie.

I guess it's good as far as daytime tv goes.

I was bent metal, you were a flaming wreck when we kissed at the overpass

A lot of unusual and bad things things have been happening to us lately. Just out-of-the-ordinary things and it's really starting to bother me. Like a couple of weeks ago when I accidently bumped the door to our medicine cabinet with my elbow and the whole thing crashed down into the sink and then rolled into the bathtub, throwing toothpaste and Tylenol and other bathroom stuff in every direction. And a couple of days ago, a five gallon bucket of paint spilled in our car.

Last night I spent several hours watching day turn into night, sitting on the grass in front of a gas station, soaked in Dr. Pepper, waiting for the police to arrive.

Closet-gay Brad and I went to get some fastfood on our lunchbreak. Our light turned green and we started crossing a busy intersection. I looked over and noticed that one car was not heeding their red light and was coming right at us at about 40 mph. I yelled, "Hey!" as a warning to Brad but couldn't think of any useful instructions to give him. Then the car was only a foot or two away from my door. My life didn't flash before my eyes or anything. I guess I didn't expect to die but I was thinking, "Here come the broken bones." I figured a broken arm a possibly a few broken ribs was a reasonable guess.

I think I swore when the car hit us but I can't remember for sure. I said something. Brad and I were both holding our fountain drinks during the collision and they seemed to explode. We were drenched and sticky. I later found the safety glasses, that I had up on my head during the wreck, down on the floor by the brake pedal. When the crash was over, I just said, "That kind of hurt." I was thinking that using "it was like being hit by an NFL linebacker" may be an over dramatization, but an NFL player is probably in the neighborhood of 400 pounds whereas the car that hit us is about 3000. So that could possibly be an understatement.

We were able to move our car into a gas station parking lot and we were surprised when another car pulled in behind us. When the old lady hit us, she pushed our car over into the next lane and we smashed in one of the doors on the car next to us. There were three kids under the age of three involved in the accident. I must of had the worst jolt of anyone, as the car hit my door. Afterward, I looked in the car and saw that my seat had absorbed most of the shock (the door had been pushed against the seat all along its edge). I was very proud of the 1988 Honda Accord for not tearing open like a wet paper towel.

The accident occurred about 7:40pm. The police finally showed up just before 10:00pm. At the time, I thought, "I'll bounce back. I feel bad for that lady. She probably feels guilty and just made a mistake." But when I came home and tried to go to sleep, I started changing my tune. It hurts to lie on either of my sides and to lay on my back is still pretty uncomfortable. Every time I try to sit up or lay down, there is a point where I get shooting pains and it does not feel like my neck can support my head. It hurts to turn my neck and to lift my arms. Upon realizing that, I thought, "She's old. She's had her run. She needs to park it in front of the TV. Guys like me have kids to support and I can't be jeapordizing my job by being hurt and missing work because some old lady gets behind the wheel when she's-not-all-there anymore." I will try to see an orthopedic specialist today or tomorrow, which I'm hesitant to do because I have no health insurance. I'm sure you will all say, "Her insurance will pay for it!" but it's still a pain because I will be getting the bills and her insurance company will still be talking to their lawyers trying to find a way out of it.

Here is my optomism:

No broken bones. I'm still grateful for that.

Hey, 3.5 day weekend.

The paint spilled in our crappy car, rather than our good one.

I put the medicine cabinet back together and rehung it. It was a miracle that the mirror didn't break.

We found a house and had our offer accepted on it. We just have to make sure the loan goes through.

Another funny thing is that the lady who caused the crash could give a very clear description of how her daughter was reaching into the back seat to help the grandkids moments before the accident, but here is what she wrote on her statement about the crash:

"The light turned red. They were making a left turn. I couldn't stop and hit them."

Aside from the fact that she drew a sketch of us driving in the opposite direction as the reality, I think she was also trying to imply that we ran a red light to make a lefthand turn in front of her. To be honest, I think she was staring at her daughter the whole time and probably didn't even realize she was in an intersection.

And while we were waiting for hours on the grass, there were a lot of rubbernecks trying to see what the party was for. A car full of boys drove by and they yelled, "Hahaha, bitch!"

Yes, we all know the world is full of insensitive retards. That doesn't even make a good story:

"Guys, do you remember that time we saw that unimpressive car accident and I yelled, hahaha bitch! at a random group of people standing in a parking lot? That must have been the funniest thing I've ever done."

If someone had plowed into that car, just as he yelled it, THAT would have been interesting.

Not Far From the Tree

The other day, Ethan approached his mother and asked, "Do we have an umbrella?"

Eleanor said, "Yes."

Ethan asked, "Is it big?" The answer was yes.

Ethan asked, "Can I use it?"

Eleanor asked, "For what?"

Instead of answering, Ethan did a pantomime act of clutching to an umbrella, swinging from side to side and falling gently out of the sky and down to earth.

Eleanor asked, "Are you going to jump off of your bunk bed with the umbrella?"

Ethan nodded.

Eleanor told him, "Using an umbrella as a parachute is just pretend. It only works on TV."

Ethan seemed to accept that response and ran off without further request to use the umbrella. A few moments later, Eleanor heard a loud thump and a sharp cry of pain from Ethan's bedroom. When Eleanor looked into his room she saw our son lying partially on his pillow on the floor next to the bunk bed.

Eleanor smiled and asked him, "What happened, Ethan?"

He said, "I fell on my pillow. It was slippery."

Apparently, Ethan had given up on the umbrella idea but had continued with Plan B which entailed tossing himself over the bedrail and landing delicately on his cumulus nimbus pillow. He found the reality to be that his pillow is little more than a glorified door mat and offers little in the ways of being a safety device.

When I put Ethan to bed that night, I jokingly piled up three pillows on the floor near the bed and said, "Hey, do you want to jump on these?"

Ethan looked at the pile and said, "No. I think it will make my stomach hurt."

Alright then.

One of my favorite things in the world is when we ask Ethan a question and he answers with a game of charades. The other day we asked him what he wants for his birthday and he just answered "Waaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" as he acted out cutting down a tree with a chainsaw. He was nice enough to finish off the act by specifying that he wanted a TOY chainsaw.

I guess kids are just cute. I woke up yesterday when Ethan was trying to get into our bedroom. Eleanor was getting dressed and was blocking the door with her body, "Who's there?" she asked. Ethan responds, "Your son." He gets so formal. He calls me father a lot. Jonah, on the other hand, calls me da-doo. After Ethan woke me up, I got up to use the bathroom. When I got the hallway I was met by my daughter, Olivia, who held up her hand in the "hang loose" sign and zealously told me to rock on.

There's a dead hobo on the patio and an old barbed wire on the funeral fire

We sold our house. It was easy. We set our "lowest acceptable price" about $20,000 higher than what is reasonable and our broker offered the house to an investor as is. It sold right away without even being listed for sale.

We could have done a few days worth of work and asked for another $5000 but it really isn't worth it. Having the house sold AS IS takes a lot of pressure off of us to do the myriad repairs and improvements that we've been avoiding. Now we get the pleasure of trying to BUY a house in a market gone mad. Most likely down in Saratoga Springs.

If we sold to a family I would have sold for less. The upside to selling to the investor is that they will let us rent the house until we find a new place to live.

I'll keep you posted. Sorry, I've been too busy to write.

Finding He-mo

Today, I hope you showed up to my blog thinking that guys are awesome and girls aren't because that's what we are talking about. I wanted to take a snap at another movie that everyone loves: Finding Nemo.

Would it surprise you to learn that the story was written by a man for men? There hasn't been a proclamation to this effect by the author that I know of, but take another look at the movie. Are there ANY strong female role models? Let's review:

CORAL (Marlin's Soon-to-be-eaten Wife)

I think Coral came across as insincere and unappreciative of her wonderful husband's accomplishments in providing her with an oversized home with a fantastic view of the drop-off. Can you believe she had the nerve to speak against Marlin's desire to name ALL of their children Marlin JUNIOR or Coral JUNIOR by suggesting they name one Nemo? Me neither. Women are impossible, but at least she chose a boy's name and got eaten in a timely manner.

DORY

She's so lovably forgetful and absent-minded. But still, every man has his limits and even Marlin must confront her about being a "delay-causer" and basically tell her that she is a detrimental obstical to everything he is trying to accomplish in life. Then Marlin turns into a total douche and let's her tag along just because she's dumb and can't keep from hurting herself. She's good for a laugh.

DEB/FLO

Remember? That crazy fish from the dentist tank who thinks her reflection is alive?

PEACH (the starfish)

She's just as loud as any over-bearing mother. Luckily, like any self-respecting girl would do, she muffles practically everything she has to say behind an air-tight seal against the wall.

DARLA

The pint-sized, brace-faced, fish-killing nightmare. Pure evil backed by the "Psycho" stab-music.


PEARL

Even that adolescent octopus points out her own physical imperfections and the methods by which she decieves others (especially men) from noticing her stubby nub.

Shall we compare these losers with their assumed cartoon internal reproductive organs to the MALE role models in the movie? Let's see... who were the strong, nurturing, good-hearted MALE figures of the film? Oh yeah, ALL OF THEM. From the thoughtful uncle/dentist, to the intrigued pelican, to Gill (a second father), to the school of Moonfish (who come to Dory's aide when Marlin points out how annoying she is), to a surfer turtle and his favorite son, to sharks that want to better themselves, to a ray who is passionate about teaching, to Marlin, himself, whose only crime is loving-too-much... there are only good things to say about the male figures in this movie.

Like Dre said, bitches can't hang with the streets. Move over Bacon, here comes something meatier!

Both Have Feathers, Except for the Desk?

But why is a raven like a writing desk?

A Severed Crab Leg?

What lies on the bottom of the ocean and twitches?

Take a Hint

I was filling up the van with gas the other day when some speakers overhead started playing that song "Do You Love Me? (Now that I can dance)."

What a goofy song. I wish so bad that a girl answered the question at the end of the song...

"You broke my heart because I couldn't dance but now I can really move... Do you love me...?"

Then the girl says something like:

"Well, I tried to let you down easy by saying I already had a boyfriend and you just kept bothering me even when I said I was washing my hair, or doing homework or hanging out with my REAL friends, so I just made up a stupid reason like, 'you can't dance.'

You are definitely clumsy and socially inept, but I couldn't care less about your dancing. You're pudgy and pasty and you live with your mom. You're Instant Message ID is "Shortcircuitjohnny5."

No way in Hell! I was trying to be nice but look what you made me do. Now Mash Potato your way out of my face."

Last Work Rant

It's no good blogging about work anymore; everyone there is normal and boring. I don't know quite how to handle it. They just show up and work hard. The management likes to say "We work hard, we play hard." I know the first part is true. I don't know what they mean by the second part.

The best and worst parts about my job:

Worst--- THE DRESS CODE

I come home all damp with sweat and covered in a moderate amount of grime, but heaven forbid if my company t-shirt comes untucked from my khaki pants.

Best--- DAILY ALARMIST AND PARANOID WARNINGS ABOUT MAN'S MOST ANCIENT ENEMY

Everyday at the start of our shift we receive stern and all-too-serious warnings about racoons and their sinful, devious plans to get their rat-hands on our precious food products. Keep the doors and windows closed! You can't see them... but they're out there! Plotting. Scheming. Biding their time.

When the warnings are extra-serious they will also include squirrels and foxes in that woe-begotten grouping. I asked what our response would be if such a tragedy was ever to occur...

When I attended "orientation," they sent people in from every department to talk about the company. The only fat guy in the place showed up and said, "I work in the quality department. I bet you think my job is to hang out in the back and taste chips all day. It is!" He certainly is a jolly fat man.

Apparently, one of his job duties includes roaming the aisles of the warehouse with a bb-gun to smite our many enemies.

Another thing I enjoy about work is when we move the delivery trucks. You get to go outside at the top of a grassy green hill, under the mountains and over the city. The trucks are a cross between a U-Haul and a city bus. If they would let me borrow one of the trucks when I move, it would be one of the coolest job perks ever. Not likely.

Sometimes we move the trucks in the day but mostly it's at night. You sit staring at the city lights out of the giant windows with the door wide open and the night air rushing in. It's peaceful.

Some things about my coworkers:

Paula (from Cambodia) is the nicest one. A lot of the people get mad and blame all of the problems on "the new people." (Is it MY fault we're behind or is it because the conveyor belt broke down ten times in the last hour? jerks.) When I don't understand and do something silly, Paula just smiles, involuntarily, like she's watching a four-year-old trying to tie their shoe.

Doris. Man is she bossy. She would step over her dying mother if she thought it would improve her numbers. She's been working here for 5 years. She was all excited tonight about being at 103% of "company expectations." Not a good sign. She is hard to understand and vague. The first time she spoke to me, I had to wonder if she was hitting on me. She said, "You don't speak spanish? You look like you do. I thought we could stay up late and speak spanish to each other."

How many times has someone said THAT to you? Sounds like a pick-up line to me. Even when she says things like "crunchy cheetos," it sounds like she's speaking spanish: Crun-chichitos. She gets frustrated with me.

There are some huge polynesian dudes working there, too. One of them talks like my three-year-old in a Rocky Balboa, slurred baritone. He doesn't speak in complete sentences. He'll say, "Seh-tu? Seh-fo?" And you're supposed to know to respond, "Yes, I loaded truck 72 and 74." He's huge and looks like a steriod monster with solid black eyes and dirty dreadlocks, but he's actually one of the nicest and most helpful guys there.

Dave is another huge polynesian. He speaks louder and clearer than anyone I have ever met. He speaks like he's trying to lecture 500 people without a microphone. He'll ask you where you went to high school and when you finish your answer he will describe his own high school experience, like you asked him the same question back. He's interesting.

Chris is a "Return Missionary (Mormon, of course)". He came home after six months, instead of the usual two years. He said he just didn't want to do it. After all those years of growing up, he didn't feel like going right from high school to a strange land (South Carolina) and working 24 hours a day at studying scriptures and changing people's religion.

I said, "Well, you gave it a shot." I told him how I knew one guy who served a full mission but came home disappointed that the entire process kind of boiled down to manipulation. He said he worked it out to a complicated script and pattern of reasoning and it worked nearly every time. He said he was disappointed because it was more like selling a used car and less like connecting with people or even helping them. Chris said that was probably true, but that the manipulative part of it was the part he liked.

He said coming home from his mission was probably as much work as just staying on the full two years. He said the leaders in his mission would sit him down over and over and give him talks about how he wasn't just failing his mission, he was also failing as a role model for all his little brothers and sisters. When Chris continued to insist that his heart was simply not in it, his mission president pulled out the big guns and told him, "If I hadn't finished MY mission, I never would have met the people and made the connections I needed to make millions and millions of dollars." Luckily, the church had always taught Chris to value salvation over worldly wealth and the threat bounced off of him like sinners bounced off the bouyant belly of Naoh's Ark.

Chris still feels guilty. I really like him, though. I told him I would set him up on a date with my sister-in-law, except he didn't finish his mission and that just doesn't seem like it would go with the ideal fantasy that she is trying achieve with her life. No dice, Chris.

The Texan: one of my bosses. I don't think he means to be a jerk, he just sort of has a knack for it. When I can't duplicate the speed he has attained in 3 years of work within a few hours, he encourages me to work harder with key phrases such as: "You suck, again, Emmett."

He asked me about being Indian. He said, "Are you a reservation baby, Emmett?" I said no. I said I lived near the reservation for about 7 years but not on it. I told him that my father and little sisters live on the reservation. He asked, "Why?Because it's cheap?" in a jerk-tone. I said, "To make a difference, I guess. He's the first medical doctor in the tribe's history. He's managing the hospital the tribe built." And after so many questions that led up to that moment, that answer seemed to kill his curiousity. He just said "oh" and completely stopped talking to me. Maybe he just didn't like that the conversation didn't go where he thought it was. It is a little annoying to me that the conversation probably would have continued if I had answered something like, "Yeah. Dad just drinks all day in front of the television, waiting for his unemployment checks to show up in the mail."

I don't the Texan realizes how he comes across. I sense he's got some problems going on in his personal life that he doesn't talk about. He told me his wife graduated from the high school where my wife works a few years back, because she was having his baby. Sounds like a good starting point for a stressful marraige.

I notice all the girls and the old man do the crappy job that nobody likes almost everyday. So does the closet-gay guy. All the able-bodied men do the jobs that require fast-walking, heavy-lifting and high-reaching. I also notice that, despite the high percentage of polynesian and mexican workers, there are none that I know of in middle-management positions. The Texan was promoted from our team. He was one of the only white guys on our team before us new-hires arrived. The brown guys that trained him have two years experience over him but no promotion. The Texan also likes to encourage us to work hard by repeating over and over that it took him a year to be made a permanent employee. Another coworker clued me in that he leaves out a significant detail: The Texan accidentally crushed somebody's Mitsubishi Eclipse with a company delivery truck not long after he was hired on.

Maybe I just have a gloomy outlook, but I'm not expecting this job to take me places. The last thing I expect when I go to ANY job is justice or equality, all I want is money to pay for my basic needs and time to spend with my friends and family. It will do for now.

Friends Forever

My sister got out of the Navy and, by some lapse of judgment, has decided to move to Utah. I'm glad. My brother flew to Florida last week and drove across the country with her and the kids. My sister is staying with us in our little cottage until we can buy a larger house. My blogging will not be as frequent as people are sleeping in the room with our computer (I came to realize that this room is where I do nearly all of my writing, drawing and music stuff).

We are excited for our kids, as they will now have lifelong friends closeby. No more hanging out with the wild boys. Ethan told me the other day that one of them had been choking him with his legs while the other one threatened to pee on him. Ethan wasn't tattling, just describing his day. He said he yelled at the boy not to pee on him, so the boy peed on his bedroom floor instead. It's anywhere, anytime with that kid.

I've been watching all of the kids all week. I took them into the mountains so they could walk on the snow and throw rocks in the raging creeks. I did have one difficult day:

We want to sell our house very soon, so we hired a company to come refinish our peeling bathtub. We checked with Re-Bath and their salesman was rude. He told me our bathroom was "NOT inviting" and that I basically couldn't afford NOT to pay him $4000. No sale, Re-Bath.

The company we did hire sent a guy over promptly at 9:30am. A few minutes after he arrived, my nephew Aaron went running into the bathroom and threw up down the back of the guy's legs. My wife chased him into the bathroom and started apologizing and trying to help Aaron as he spewed over and over. The bathtub man was very non-chalant. He said, "Don't worry about it. It didn't get on my clothes. Just my legs."

With no concern for the puke he went on to make chit chat with Eleanor, "So how long have you lived here? Where are you from?"

To me it sounded like: "Yeah, I just got puked on. It happens more often than you might think. What's your sign, baby? My horoscope told me this would happen."

But he went on working with the tub and Aaron kept throwing up. Eventually, the bathtub guy told us we should leave because of the fumes. We packed up all of the kids and went to get some lunch. When we got home the bathtub guy was finished and gone and we opened all the windows and doors and hung out in the yard.

By then, Aaron's sickness was coming out of both ends. Of course, all of this would happen on the ONE DAY where our bathroom was out of commission (I never put our downstairs bathroom back together). Aaron had to hose off in the back yard and I got him some clean clothes. Then he went downstairs and laid down.

Soon enough, Aaron came running upstairs to use the bathroom. I said, "Just try really hard not to touch the bathtub." The guy said we couldn't use it for a day and a half. Aaron tried but failed. He closed the door and all the sounds that issued forth were bad. I opened the door and the scene was the very definition of "explosive diarrhea." All over the room, including the tub. And that was just round one.

I felt really bad that the tub wasn't working and I just kept handing him sopping wet towels and telling him to clean up his legs as best he could. He was worried about what would become of the tub and I told him just to worry about getting himself cleaned up. Worse yet, I was supposed to drop off all of the kids with Eleanor at her school. It was the last day so she HAD to get in grades and credits for all of her students. Then I was supposed to drop my brother, Joel, off at the airport and then head to work myself.

At this point, I called Eleanor and told her what had happened. She laughed at the story but said, "I'm coming home. I'll finish grades tomorrow."

Needless to say, work was the relaxing part of my day. The bathtub cleaned up fine and looks better than ever.

My Most Offensive Word

There is a word that I don't think of nor use very often. When I use the word in conversation, I have a doubt about the correct enunciation but I don't worry about. I just let it rip.

The word is "SCARCE." When it comes out of my mouth, I usually pronounce it as SCAR-ce. When I do that, people freak out. What did you say? That is not even a word? It has happened a few times and I am amazed that people find it so disturbing.

My brother-in-law even gave me a grammar lesson on silent-E's and gates and all that. He told me it should always be pronounced SCARE-ce. But there are many words that break that long-vowel/gate rule; like have, give and most of all FARCE.

I'm just going to think of it as one of those "you say tomato, I say tornado" things.

Rice is Nice

Eleanor: "I'm going to make teriyaki chicken for dinner but I don't want to because I know that the rice will be gross."

Me: "You're in a rice-funk. You've convinced yourself you will always mess up the rice and you won't make any good rice until you've moved past that."

Eleanor: "I know. I have no rice-confidence."

The rice was fine.

Tragic: The Ramen Canoodler

Sorry. I couldn't help it. I just wanted to draw The Ramen Canoodler.

His fighting style is to lose miserably until his girlfriend, Sweet'n'Sour Jane, feeds him a panful of Ramen. Then he comes back with a vengeance. Let's say he is relatively harmless but, after prolonged exposure, you may suffer dizziness, headaches or heart palpitations.

Flip This

The house-hunting is a mental strain. We have seen a couple houses that we have been really interested in but they are sold within a day or two. I can handle that.

What really upsets me is when the same house comes back on the market a month or two later with minor "improvements" made and a new price tag that is $50,000 - $100,000+ more than what they bought it for. It's ridiculous. These do-nothing investors go out there looking to make a buck by buying all of the affordable housing, putting in some new carpeting or adding an asphalt parking-pad and then jack up the price.

It is difficult for us to compete because we need to sell our house and buy a new one at roughly the same time. It's tricky. It will be very hard to hit that window of time on a nice piece of property BEFORE the jerkwads put their new price on it but that's what we are trying to do.

I'm starting to strongly dislike people who try to make a living flipping houses. When we sell our house I will cut a good deal to a family who actually wants to live here and milk any investor who wants to buy for every penny I can get.

Pigskin

I realized that the company I work for deals in a lot of pork rinds. But they don't call them pork rinds. They gave them a new name that makes them sound like a little somethin' granny whipped up in the kitchen.

It's funny how well that works with people. If all food names were as honest as "pork rinds" then foods like Jello and hotdogs just wouldn't make it as household products. But throw in some food coloring and tack on an agreeable misnomer and it can be a hit.

Examples of good naming are things like "Beef Jerky." How much tougher can you get than "Beef Jerky?" Even "Ramen" noodles. Sounds like "Raw Men," and who doesn't like those? It could even work as the name as a WWF wrestler: The Ramen Canoodler. Sounds like some rugged dude who will twist you into a pretzel at the sound of a bell. The Ramen Canoodler should be the arch rival of Nacho Libre.

Bon Appétit.

Ralph as in Puke

The other night I came home from work to find our bed full of puke. I had to sleep on the couch. Our baby was sick and then my wife got sick and last night I got sick and had to call out from work.

For a moment I got excited, thinking: Yes! A three day weekend!

I had all these visions of driving down to Zion's National Park or something like that. About two minutes later I was kneeling on the floor trying not to throw up. Thinking: That's right. I almost forgot about the dry heaves and diarrhea. I guess it will still be a while before we can take a vacation.

I'm mostly better. Still a little tired. But our daughter just threw up all over her Carebear pillow. I better go wash up all the puke-beds.

Only One Man would Dare to give Me the Raspberry: LoneStar!

I feel really bad for closet-gay people. It must be especially hard to be a closet-gay Mormon because the church tries to explain your sexuality to you. Essentially, that you are choosing to be evil. If it was as easy as choosing, there are several people I have met who would CHOOSE to be completely different people.

Until they have that option, though, they will roam the earth jammin' up the Gay-dar. But here are some tips if you are gay and wish that you weren't:

Don't make statements like:

"I am so mad I got that DWI (DUI). I could have spent that money on a whole new wardrobe."

The word "wardrobe" is a dead give away. And complaining about how you'd like to go clothes shopping also doesn't help.

Don't say:

"If God wants to marry a woman, why does he keep sending me all these bad experiences with them."

There is an 18-year-old who just got hired on at my job. Classic case:

He went home early on his second day of work because he had "a migraine." Even if you have a legitimate migraine, don't call it that. You may as well say you have pre-mentstrual cramps. Just say, "my head hurts."

He also plays the viola and talks about it non-stop. He has a second job building and repairing violas. He says he studies under the top-viola-teacher at BYU but refuses to enroll and become a music major because, "they would make me learn other instruments." This, despite his dream of becoming a professional voila player.

Another topic he brings up is how he likes to crochet beanies in his spare time. He's making one for a guy at work.

Also Don't:

Walk behind me, proceeding to say, "Emmett has 'shampoo commercial hair.'" Four times in the space of a minute. I heard you and I chose to ignore you.

Don't:

Spend a lot of money on expensive, stylish safety glasses so you can look good working in a warehouse.

He also said, "It's funny to hear you talk about your wife because you look younger than I do."

I said, "I pretty much look the same as the picture on my first driver's license. Same haircut and everything."

He said, "You must have been a super-stud."

Not a good sign.

He and I both probably weigh about 150 but he expressed concern over the amount of "carbs" in my dinner.

There is so much to cover but this should be a good start.

Hanging Chad

I told you about the guy from work named Chad. He is the one I've been seeing about starting a band with. He's been calling a lot lately wanting to get together but I'm never around when he does.

My wife said, "There are a few messages on the answering machine from Chad from the furniture store. One of them is normal and the other one, he sounds like a nervous telemarketer wanting to know why you quit and how the job could have been better."

I laughed and said, "I can see Chad doing that."

And Chad called again yesterday, regarding "jamming." So this morning, my wife said, "Chad is on the phone... from the furniture store." And she pointed at the message she took yesterday: "Chad. Jam."

I answered the phone.

Him: "Hi, Emmett? This is Chad from the furniture store. I am doing a survey of employees that have recently quit and wanted to know if there were any particular reasons why you left."

Me: "Is this multiple choice? Mark me down for: It sucked ass."

Him: "What? No, it's not multiple choice. Just any reason you can think of."

Me: "Is this Chad? C'mon. Stop messing around. What have you been doing lately?"

Him: "Yes, it's Chad. I've just been working."

Me: "Me too."

Him: "So why did you leave the company?"

Me: "Um. The benefits were too expensive."

Him: "Okay. Well, that concludes my survey. Thank you."

TWO CHADS? Calling at the same time from the same company for completely different purposes? I thought there was no such thing as coincidence. Oh well.

A Degree or Two Off

My wife is feeling the sting of not finishing college. She is a "Para-Professional" (fancy talk for "teacher's aide") at an alternative high school here in the city. She has been working there for five years and she enjoys it.

People have asked her for years (myself included) why she does not finish school and become a legitimate teacher, as she seems to love her job. She usually responds that she would only want to teach in the program that she is currently working, and after finishing school it would probably take her entire career to obtain such a position.

But the teacher she works with has been very sick and even had to resign due to his illness. It's bad. He tries to force himself to continue but most the time he finds it is too difficult even just to walk to his car.

I wish I could blab about the teacher's name because it's funny, but this is the internet and I don't want to be broadcasting his personal info all over. Anyway, the teacher has not been able to make it to class since before Christmas. My wife has been running the class. The school brings in substitutes but they are more of burden to my wife than a help. They basically get paid to sit there all day. Sometimes they even sleep in class.

This has added some stress in our lives because now my wife has to cover extra hours. The program is for students who work full-time and only show up occassionally. It gets very complicated and overall, my wife has 85 students that she is responsible for. Most of them are trying to graduate or pass the GED by the end of the year. (The school is ranked in the top ten in the nation for keeping kids in school, as opposed to dropping out. I think they say the drop-out rate in America may be up to 30% of high school students.)

Of course, my wife is not appreciated for anything she does. The administration all acts like it's just part of her duties to take over for the salaried teacher. My wife get's annoyed by it but she knows that she is there for the kids and that their HS degrees are more important than unappreciative principals.

It is funny and it makes us want to kick ourselves because, in seeking out a new teacher to run the class from now on, the principals are constantly coming up to wife, "You don't happen to have a 4 year degree do you?" They ask her just about every day. If she did, they would give her the job. Pretty much her dream job. But no. It is not meant to be.

The pen is mightier than the sword and a piece of paper can be stronger than the Great Wall of China.

Just a Man and his Will to Survive

They worked me really hard tonight. It got me thinking:

Practically everyone would be grossed out at the idea of drinking a bucket of monkey snot. But if you were dying of thirst out in the desert or lost at sea, eventually everyone would drink it, were they were fortunate enough to find such a bucket.

Things like that should be the prizes for the "challenges" on Survivor. Then it would be worth tuning in to.

Movies I SHOULD Hate but DON'T

TWISTER

Helen Hunt kind of bugs me. And Bill Paxton will always be the mean, older brother from Weird Science to me. Or that punk guy that gets killed at the beginning of The Terminator. Throughout the movie, TWISTER, I'm sitting there hoping Bill will stay with the sex-therapist. The risk vs. the reward of what they are trying to accomplish with tornados isn't very convincing... and yet, through it all, I have seen the movie several times and I still don't hate it. There must be some subtle underlying aspect I like. C'mon, it's not like I like Congo.

THE BRADY BUNCH MOVIE/A VERY BRADY SEQUEL

When the movie came out I wrote it off as nonsense. I was right, but after being subjected to reruns on HBO the humor sunk in: The family oblivious that the 60's were over. Jan on the brink of insanity and hearing voices. The part where she growls in a monster voice, "It's me. The NEW Jan Brady." Cracks me up.

Our old neighbor, Jon, from Flaming Gorge used to walk around singing Greg's hokey song, "Clowns never laughed before... ponies never ran..." That may have something to do with it.

Last week, I accompanied Ethan's kindergarten class to the Hogle Zoo. When we were riding the school bus back home all of the windows were down. (I had flashbacks of Ms. Dickerson bundled up in her winter coat on a sub-zero morning riding the bus through those colorful canyons with her window down while everyone behind her froze). Anyway, it was windy and my hair was blowing everywhere. A kindergartener yelled at me, "You're hair is blowing all over."

And I almost yelled back Shelly Long's line from the sequel, "It's a good thing I use Aquanet!" I didn't... because I'm much too cool for that.

In summation: I like the Brady Movies. Can you believe the dad is Lumbergh from Office Space?

GONE IN 60 SECONDS

The premise: Some dork has to steal a million cars in one night or his brother gets it. It sounds like something I would hate. But I watch it and it doesn't seem to bother me. I might even go so far as to say, "I enjoy it." Must be Nick Cage and Angelina... and all those cool cars.

LEGALLY BLONDE

Watched it with my wife. Reese Witherspoon is just too likable. And she ends up with a guy named Emmett.

TITANIC

A lot of people don't like it. I like it okay. I like Kate Winslet and I used to hate Leo but he won me over by making some decent films. It was the first movie I saw with my wife, before we were dating and stuff (I still sat by her).

FROM JUSTIN TO KELLY

Okay. I just put this in here to bother Minnow. I haven't seen the movie. I would expect to hate it but who can say until we all sit down together and watch it.

More Wicked Witchery than Stevie Nicks

The 3-year-old is getting too smart. We may have to destroy her for the good of mankind. The other day she used SARCASM against me. She's 3. Barely 3!

Olivia: "Where did mommy go?"

Me: "She ran inside the restaurant to get you a burrito because you're being a whiny crybaby."

Olivia: "I'm not a whiny crybaby. I'm Olivia (pronounced "Owivia")."

Me: "Yeah, but 'Olivia' is spanish for 'Whiny Crybaby.'"

Olivia: "Funnyyyyy."

Me: "What did you say?"

Olivia: "Funnyyyyyy, dad."

And today her mother confronted her about a puddle of urine on the bathroom floor.

My wife: "Olivia, who peed on the floor in the bathroom?"

And in the same manner her father defended himself against interrogation in high school, Olivia said, "Maybe it was you, mom."

But we found your soiled undies in the bathroom trashcan, little girl! You're busted and you aren't going to talk or smile your way out of it!

Head Full of Suds

When I was reading about secret societies, they included a lot of essays on brainwashing and manipulation. Some guy who ended his name with PhD says he is a professional hypnotist/therapist and that he would like to implement laws to prevent the use of the tactics he uses in his profession. He says it would be useless to try this, though, because too many lawyers, government and religious agencies all currently use those methods to suit their needs. He talks about effective ways of speaking, use of lights, music, chanting, conjuring fear and guilt, sleep and food deprivation as ways to manipulate and control people. He says the worst people of all, though, are the True Believers. These are people who WANT to be told what to do. Basically, they don't want to think, they don't want to make an effort, they just want to follow some rules and be praised for it.

It's kind of like that Carrie Underwood girl from American Idol:

"Carrie, you have just attained worldwide fame and a million dollar record contract. You are the It-Girl. You can go anywhere and do anything. What do you have to say?"

"Jesus, take the wheel!"

Fantastic, Carrie. That took a lot of guts. Heaven forbid you actually BE SOMEBODY or take any responsibility for what you do. I don't think that it is a lot to ask for you to know and like yourself and to know why you do the things you do. If YOU can't do it then why would God want to know you?

Try to come up with a better answer than: "For God."

Why don't those stupid idiots let me in their crappy club for jerks?

Since "The Da Vinci Code" movie is coming out this weekend, I am making another attempt to read the book. A lot of people that I know like the book. When I first tried to read it, I found it smacks badly of typical suspense. For some reason I find one-page chapters annoying and insulting. Like the author thinks I have the attention span of a... hold on, let me read this pop up. I think I just won a plasma TV. Okay, what was I saying?

Anyhoo, I WILL read the book but it may take some effort on my part. I know it's a personal problem.

But in preparation for the book, I did snoop about looking into secret societies. Becuase that is the intrigue of the book. The book claims a thousand-year-old society, Priory of Sion, included the likes of Leonardo Da Vinci, Isaac Newton and others (the Catholic church, apparently). If suspicions are correct, these people were not geniuses. They were the lucky "Grand Masters" who were credited with the wisdom passed down to them through the society.

I do know Da Vinci was kind of fruity. His "Mona Lisa" painting became famous, not because it wow-ed the crowd, but because after he painted it, Da Vinci would carry it around with him everywhere he went. To the point that people would stare and ask, "Why is that dude always carrying around that painting?" There is a rumor that the painting is a self-portrait. A portrait of how Da Vinci would look as a woman. That theory might be in the book. I haven't read it so I don't know.

From what I have read, the FreeMasons are into white and black magic as well as negotiations with alien beings. I read a story about a girl who had escaped from a Mason-run drug house, where they kept doped up kids incapacitated so they would do anything and then they pimped them out.

People seem to believe FreeMasons essentially control the world and have done so for hundreds of years. That the layout of Washington DC was designed by Masons, which is why the White House lies at the base of a pentagram (when the streets are viewed from above). Masons love their symbols. It was suggested that the Revolutionary War was even part of a movement by the Masons (Ben Franklin, Paul Revere and George Washington among them) to shake up Englands widespread rule. They also like to suggest that the pyramid and eagle seals on the US dollar are Masonic symbols. Among other things, one Mason founded the Mormon church which currently thrives and makes use of similar rituals here in Utah, and another Mason went on to found the Ku Klux Klan.

It was suggested that all religions are just retellings of previous religions, many of them with interesting links between to eachother. Stories like the origin of Christmas, which was just a Pagan Winter Solstice ceremony (celebrating the end of winter's dying and the beginning of spring's rebirth) with the antlered god, like Pan from greek mythology, removed and a baby Jesus thrown in. All the other symbols seemed to have remained. Trees, deer, Santa and such. This change was made by Romans. There was also stuff about rain being the "sperm of God" which fertilizes the Mother Earth and a bunch of stuff about mushrooms and how people used to think they were magical because they didn't realize they were reproducing by use of spores.

I also thought an explanation of the Egyptian pyramids being recreations of volcanoes (wombs of the earth; thus the root 'pyra') was interesting. They also said the Egyptian calendar begins and ends in August, which is why the Sphinx has the head of a virgin (virgo) and the body of a lion (leo). Apparently, most secret societies love the Zodiac.

There is also the "Skull and Bones" society, created at Yale in the early 1800's. In the beginning they were believed to have ties a large opium smuggling ring. In the last century, members of this group are believed to have funded our major wars as well as political candidates. John Kerry and both George Bushes are part of this society.

So I guess secret societies do rule the world. If you don't have one, you're not with it and you're going nowhere. I really don't think there are any secrets we could learn that would really change your life. We are putty in the hands of the elite, regardless of what name they go by. To watch The News, you would think any Democrat and Republican who happened to end up alone in a room together would totally duke it out. But look at Bush Sr. and Bill Clinton holding hands and skipping around the world together. Why? Because they are the winners in our society. They may disagree on some things but, to take a step back, our society will give them money, a place to live, body-guards and immortalize them for as long as we exist. They like things just as they are.

My favorite secret society is "The Management." You know when you go in a public restroom and they have those paper things to put on the toilet seat. They always say, "Provided by The Management for your protection." Those faceless people are at least out there helping people. I mean REALLY helping people.

Refrigerator Real Estate

Maybe I'm just a little stressed lately, but tonight I came home from the store with drinks like juice, milk, Gatorade and such and almost swore when I looked at the food stuff on the tall top shelf of our refrigerator. That's the most valuable real estate in the fridge. Get out whipped cream! Get out old spaghetti sauce! Where did this ziploc bag of pasta even come from?

It's hot outside and I'm all about the drinks.

Dr. Hottest-Thing-On-Skates

Another show that died before its time: Dr. Katz. Season one is out on DVD. Examples of what made me laugh:

Asking his unemployed son about his plans for the night:

Well, I have plans. They're just not that complicated. You know... take a shower... clean up. Just lie on my bed... feeling clean.


About clothes shopping with a friend. Specifically, for overalls:

"What goes with this?"

"Uh, I don't know. They're overalls. I guess a banjo. I know what doesn't go with it: Jobs and women."


About watching an opera:

"Look how much work it takes to bore ME."


Perspective between men and women:

"Women will always say, 'we look at guys sexually, too.'Women have no idea. They have no clue what-so-ever. It's like the difference between shooting a bullet and throwing it. If women had any idea, even for a second, of how men really look at them... they would never stop slapping us."

Jerk at 3

I really do try hard not to fill my blog with gossip about the freaky people I meet everyday but this scene just cracked me up when I got home tonight.

This 3-year-old is one of the wild kids from next door. One prime indicator that you are a bad parent: YOUR KID HAS A MULLET.

Earlier today, this kid took the gardening tools we gave our daughter for her birthday and threw them in a nearby irrigation canal. When I retrieved the tools from the water he came up to me and said, "Ha, ha. Your shoes are wet." Then he stuck out his tongue and yelled, "You can't catch me. You can't catch me." I could have caught him, of course, but I wanted to give him every opportunity to run far, far away. I told my kids to stop playing with the neighbors.

Later, I heard Ethan crying in the driveway. He told me the 3-year-old had punched him in the eye. He wasn't crying because he was hurt. He was crying because he wanted justice. But I reminded him that I had told him to stop playing with those kids earlier in the day.

While I was having this talk with Ethan, my wife was breaking up a fight between our daughter and the neighbor-boy, again, over the gardening tools. When my wife pulled the shovel out of their hands, the 3-year-old boy stuck his tongue out at her and then flipped her off. She told him to go home and started laughing about the finger gesture. Just to make good and sure, the 3-year-old boy turned and flipped her off again as he was walking home.

Tonight, he was just hanging out in his moon-boots. What fate is worse: A little jerk becoming a big jerk? Or a little jerk becoming road kill?

I'll think about it for a day. Seeing his dad smacking him in the yard isn't any consolation. Yesterday, my kids were eating popsicles on our front steps when one of the neighbor boys jumped from a moving car, TWICE, in order to avoid seeing "Nanny McPhee" at the dollar theaters with his family.

The day I move cannot come soon enough.

Look at the Size of that Tan

Have you ever watched an old Western or Adventure movie and, while the heroes are killing off the natives, some small part of you is thinking: "I wish I had skin pigmentation more like those technocolored non-christians."

If so, there is a business in our neighborhood that may suit your needs. It's called "Savage Tan."

Maybe it's not the look you are after, though. Maybe you like the feeling. Maybe long winters give you an inkling to wrap yourself in aluminum foil and cook yourself at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. And maybe you are a vampire who doesn't like sunlight.

If so, there is a business in our neighborhood to suit your needs, too. It's another tanning salon called "Bake in the Dark."

These businesses may have the market cornered on appealing to your deepest desires, but I think they could take it a step further. If people are accepting of those salon names then surely people could accept a name like "The Tumor Garden" or "Face Like a Weather-Beaten Wallet."

My Friend, Gordon, is excited for the release of a "tanning pill" that has been in development for years now. All the color without the skin disease. He says researchers have also noted side-effects of weight-loss and increased labido. It sounds way better than some lightbulb bed in a stripmall. Hopefully it will be approved for use soon and put the lame-o's out of business.

Golden Kid Gloves

I knew I had it in me. I was watching my kids this morning and I had another one of those selfish experiences where I wanted to eat breakfast so I cooked some french toast.

Our 10 month old was sitting on the couch and I was nearby on the loveseat eating off a paper plate. I saw our baby move closer to the edge and he sat teetering for a moment like Humpty Dumpty. Then he pitched forward and looked to land directly on his head. Without hesitating I thrust myself off the loveseat and slid across the floor like an allstar outfielder. I've got roadrash on my knee and elbow but I was able to get my hand under the boy before he hit the floor. My french toast went everywhere.

Even though I saved him from a rough landing, he decided to cry for awhile anyway. It was redeeming though, after I had to stand there like a dunce when my daughter went rolling into the bog. I had the same impulse then but my brain quickly killed it, informing me, "This isn't a pile of french toast... it's a baby. You stay put."

I think I would do well if I had time to play on a sports team.

In other Sports news... Ethan did well in T-ball this week. It was the first week his coach actually pitched it to him in a game and he smacked it to third base on the first swing. When he was on base, I saw him talking to the opposing teams second baseman: a girl with a pink glove.

I asked him what they talked about. He said, "She's a Shark. I told her we are The Rockies... because we rock."

He's already smoother than his dad.

The trick is only pick on those that can't do you no harm, like the drummer from Def Leppard's only got one arm

This piece of art is a collaboration by the two older kids. They brought it to their parents, smiling, and said: It's a Nerd Whale.

I think the circle around the eye is supposed to represent the whale's glasses.

Equal Time for Plum Smugglers

I decided to grant Sculplin his request for boys and their boys. It's not as much fun because the short of it is: Naked guys are gross.

You can touch a boob and it's not a far stretch from an affectionate "arm around the shoulder." If you touch a guys uglies a good hand washing is in order. People talk about guys being sexually stimulated by vision and girls another way --- maybe some day we'll figure it out and we all pray it isn't a big wad of money ("security," they like to call it). Without seeing the research, I am willing to agree that they are on the right track. It's hard for a girl to go wrong with cleavage. A guy with socks in his trousers is likely to get attention, but is it good attention, Tom Jones?



Probably not. I'm guessing a 9/1 opinion ratio of "creepy" to "all that." Better to be like the South Park guys and jest with the issue. Most girls seem to prefer a sense of humor to an actual scary bulge.



I'm no expert, though. The ancient Greeks seemed to prefer the male form to the female. Michelangelo's "David" is a piece from the Renaissance in Italy (c. 1500) but a lot of the Roman stuff was copied or heavily influenced by the Greeks. There are several depictions of "David" from several different artists, many of which show David standing over Goliath's severed head. I think this version is supposed to exude the psychological tension before the fight. There is more emphasis on David's juevos than muscle bulk and even less on the sling with which he will slay the giant. Yes, naked dudes have been glorified through art for thousands of years.



When the Greeks occassionally immortallized a woman, it was usually more of a full figure than it was skin and bones, as we all seem to prefer these days. If you go tens of thousands of years into history you will find statues similar to "Venus of Willendorf" all around the world. Who's that girl with the junk in her trunk?



Testicles are more gross than interesting. Best to keep them tucked away. Inventing a pair of "wonder-briefs" would be a horrible idea.

Benchwarmers

We went and saw the movie "Benchwarmers." It's good for a laugh with an overly-cheesy, Adam-Sandler-signature, happy ending.

The hard part of the movie was listening to the 20-something girls behind us talking for a quarter of an hour before the film started.

Example---

Girl 1: "Oh. I saw 'Aquamarine.' It was so cute. I really liked it."

Girl 2: "But if you read the book, you know they changed some things."

Girl 1 (defensively): "Why would I read a kid book?"

Girl 2: "I don't know."

My wife just laughed and enjoyed it while I tried to find a happy place in my mind.

The Chip Stain's Grease Will Come Out in the Bath

I finished my last night of moving furniture. The job involved some heavy lifting and putting up with a rough group of people, but mostly it was just a lot of driving around on a lift or tug. It wasn't unbearable and I would have to see it was probably more entertaining than most jobs.

There was a freaky little guy from Texas who never shuts up and always drives into poles. A couple of days ago I went up to a coordinator to ask for a laser scanner (you can't work without one). A few seconds later, Texas, comes rolling up and asks for a scanner, too. I asked, "They didn't assign you a gun either?"

He said, "Gee, Emmett, do you think that's why I just came and asked for one. Think, Emmett. Think!"

The coordinator starting laughing and asked him, "Did YOU just tell EMMETT to think?" That is probably as close to a compliment as I will get from them. I also took it as a good sign that they had me training new people even after I gave them my two weeks notice.

Later in the breakroom, I asked Texas, "So are you loading trucks and pulling the 800's?" Meaning: Are you pulling furniture off the shelves where they keep the big stuff like the tables that crushed that dude to death a year ago.

Texas said, "What have I been doing for the last 3 days, Emmett? Where have you been?"

I said, "Do you think I'm your secret admirer or something? I don't follow you around to see what your doing? I know you've been loading but have you been pulling the 800's for the last 3 days?"

Texas: "No, just tonight."

Me: "Alright then."

Then we all went downstairs to check our stats for the night. Texas said, "Look! Someone is only moving 6 (pieces of furniture) an hour! David R.. Who is David R.?"

Everyone stared at him but no one seemed to want to say it: "David R.. You're brother-in-law. The husband of your wife's sister. The guy you moved to Utah to live by. The guy who told you get a job here." I was really, really, really starting to worry that I would never meet a normal person from Texas.

I was tempted to tell Shrek that I would be making an additional $3 per hour at my new job, which by his math is an extra $18,000 per year. I tried to take a cart full of furniture but my gun told me that Shrek already had the load entered into his gun. Shrek said, "Didn't you see me smiling at you when you pulled up to the cart?"

I said, "Yes. I just figured you were wetting your pants or something."

There are a couple of compulsive liars there. One guy who talks about how he slept with his school teacher all through highschool and bought her a car only to be dumped when he reached legal age. Another guy goes on and on about how cool his car is, how he collects and races cars, how he has a second job testing rocket fuel and how he will sell me a 2005 Toyota Tacoma with 80K miles on it (that he won in a shopping mall sweepstakes) for $500. I said, "I will bring you the money, you bring the truck." He said it will take him awhile to rotate the truck out of the warehouse where he stores his cars. If he sells me a truck matching that description at that price it will buy him a lot of credibility.

Chad is cool. He is the bass player for the band I auditioned for. That whole thing is still up in the air but Chad said maybe we should form our own band on the side. I see how things pan out in the next couple of weeks and then I will take matters into my own hands. But Chad is very animated. Everytime I pass him in the warehouse he does something like chirp like a dolphin or push out his chest, show a lot of teeth and act like he's chewing gum (I think he's trying to look like a valley girl or something). The other night, the bosses were tearing into us, "We have a lot of work to do. It can be a long night or a short night. It's up to you." And Chad put on an idiot face, straightened his arms and faced his palms forward and said in a goofy voice, "Well then I think we should make it a long night." It probably doesn't read very funny but I laughed pretty hard when he did it.

Toward the end of the night my gun stopped working so I went to find that techy coordinator. We were driving towards eachother and he was holding his middle finger high in the air before him for quite some time. When I flagged him down he just said, "I wasn't flipping you off, that was for the guy on the forklift over there."

I said, "No. My password stopped working." He said, "Oh, let's go take care of it."

At the end of the night, when he came around and told us all to go home, he added, "And thanks for working here, Emmett. Dick!" And he drove away. The other boss said I was welcome to come back anytime I want.

At the new job, I get all the free chips I want or I can buy anything the company makes for half off or better. The company owns about 80% of what you see in the chip aisle at the store, including nuts and beef jerky. They gave me four t-shirts and a thick hoody. And they gave me $75 for work shoes that I bought yesterday.

I mentioned how Ethan takes pride in wherever I work. Apparently he told that trashy neighbor of ours. She talked to my wife about it today. She said her husband has applied there six times and can't get on. Better than that, when I got to work yesterday the boss said I didn't have to break down boxes of chips. I got to be the guy who goes up high in the racks and sends all the chips down the conveyor belt. The boss said, "They told me you had good potential so I'm here to test you out."

All the jobs are hard because you CAN do them fast, which means you SHOULD do everything as fast as you can if you expect to be made permanent. Like running 20 feet instead of walking it every chance you get. My boss seems cool and I was happy to find out he was from Texas because I was close to posting a blog about how only freaky people come out of that state.

It seems to be a higher quality group of people, but they still swear and talk about sex a lot. There is a girl named Paula from Cambodia that I worked with for half the night. She looks like she's in her twenties but she has three teenaged kids. Even she joked to the boss that she would "shake her booty" and give him a lapdance on his birthday (it was HER birthday yesterday).

At the end of the night she told me to go ask one of the guys loading a truck if he needed help (which I didn't know how to do). I did. He answered, "Yes, but I don't think you're professionally trained to help me." And then he just walked off. Soon, Paula saw me straightening out some carts and asked me why I wasn't helping him. She took two minutes to show me how to load a truck correctly. I purposely loaded the truck as fast as I could just to show the other guy that he was a jackass for dismissing me. I beat him (not that he knew it was a race).

Everyone who works there seems pretty cool and disturbingly happy. You have to wonder if the secret ingredient in all of their food is Prozac. I asked one girl, "Do you ever get used to the greasy potato smell? Or can you smell it for years?"

She said, "It's not that bad."

I said, "I know. But do you get home and your husband tells you you smell like greasy potatos?"

She said, "I don't have a husband."

I said, "Do you get home and your cat tells you you smell like a greasy potato?"

She said, "I don't have a cat. It's just me and the ghosts."

I said, "Do you get home and the ghosts tell you you smell like a greasy potato?"

She didn't answer, because other people started teasing her about being a lonely old crone.

Anyway, it seems like a good job. I'll probably remember more later but I have to go now.

Hooray for Boobies!

I've been really busy lately. I'm in the middle of switching jobs so I'm working about 60 hours this week. I was thinking about my blog and how I've been pretty self-centered with it. I used to like throwing in tidbits of fiction I just made up but I haven't had time. Lately, it's just been about what I've been doing from day to day. So here's a post just for the readers.

I wanted to talk about something that everyone enjoys talking about. I already used "public restrooms" and I wanted something more endearing than boogers or vomit and I decided on boobies. And it's not just guys that take an interest, even my highly conservative wife, mother-in-law and sister-in-law will talk at great length about boobs. I will refrain from calling them tits but I will also shy away from "breasts" as my wife would have me call them. Feel free to replace the word "boob" with any euphemism you like. But don't doubt my ability to suck the fun right out of this topic by referring to them as mammaries. Stay in line or I'll do it.

If you are going to be disappointed that I'm not going to post any nudity, just remind yourself: This IS the internet. Boobies played a D-sized roll in keeping the internet alive before it had anything of girth to offer common folks.

First, I am not going to attempt to tell you which boobs are the best. Deciding for yourself is an important and fun part of what makes life worth living. But I do think one trip to awfulplasticsurgery.com should make you think twice about making alterations.

Yes, you can be like Britney and have (ghetto)fabulous, larger-than-life warheads that look like they are going to wipe out civilization as we know it with a circuit-frying electro-magnetic pulse:



Or you can be like Britney and be fabulous without being so "in-your-face." The term "quality, not quantity" (should that have a double-T in it?) comes to mind:



Girls with small chests should not feel bad about themselves, as they seem to in american society. You are still women. I had a teacher for a "German" class in college who was very flat chested. I think she stopped thinking about boobs altogether because of what she lacked up top. As a result, the Frau would constantly come to class with no bra. Those memories will forever stand out on a cold day in my mind. I think the whole class was like a deer in the headlights on those days. I'm not saying the boobs make the woman. Quite the opposite.

I like boobs but I don't think girls should obsess about the them like they seem to. It's strange to see a "Hollywood" party on television where every woman there seems to have implants (I watched a biography of Gene Simmons on A&E). It's degrading to boobs, like they are just a purse or something.

Personally, the strangest thing about boobs is when you are a (male) kid and, here and there, you see bare-breasts in movies or whatever. When you are young you don't realize that they make these movies using the hottest models they can find:



Then comes a day when you see an actual real-life nude woman. For me, it was growing up in northern California where hippies and tree hugging people loved to swim naked in the rivers. It was just as common as not to show up at the swimming hole and your mom would have to yell at people to put their clothes on: "I have children here!"



There is an unmistakable awkwardness and deception to seeing nude models in movies and thinking they are what is "normal" and then seeing a bunch of naked dirty-haired granola girls stumbling along the banks of the Trinity River. Mind blower.

Lastly, in our society of repressed and raging emotions, it wouldn't be a good idea to have girls walking around topless. However, it is still male-driven sexism that girls are taught they MUST cover up and be ashamed of their bodies. Unlike us manly men who can let it ALL hang out.

I thought this post would be a good idea mainly so if I ever run for public office I could say it was things like this that made me lose rather than the fact that people don't agree with my political views.

Movie Music

When I worked at the box loading job, they gave me a gift certificate to Best Buy. So I did what any normal person would do and used it to buy a 3-pack of horror movies. One of the movies was "Donnie Darko."

I wouldn't necessarily recommend watching the movie, it's okay. Let me know if you want to borrow it. The movie is funny here and there but I liked one scene, in particular. The scene should have been the entire movie; everything else could be cut.

It's the scene where they play the "Tears for Fears" song, "Something happens and I'm head over heels..."

It starts with the kids jumping off the school bus in their uniforms and follows Donnie into the school. Then you see a bully walk past and sneer at Donnie and then the camera follows the bully. He sneers at an uppity teacher holding a book entitled "Attitudinal Beliefs," she sees him and walks off in a huff. The camera shows Donnie's love interest staring at herself in a mirror in her locker then back to the bully as he snorts something up his nose. A teacher walks by and watches the bully as if the bully is tying his shoe. Then you follow the teacher outside where an overweight girl who is picked on throughout the film is sitting at the base of a statue: the schools mascot, a muscle man with a bulldog head. Then you see the uppity teacher introducing Patrick Swayze (the author of "Attitudinal Beliefs") to Drew Berrymore (the English teacher; a cute head between two giant shoulderpads).

Then you follow Drew Berrymore past a group of little girls practicing their block-and-dodge-boxing dance routine for their performance group, "Sparkle Motion," and into English class where the song ends, "Funny how time flies."

If the one scene was the whole movie then the movie would be interesting. The movie has a lot of weird stuff in it, like it's all leading up to something deep and life-changing, but it never arrives anywhere. The overall point of the movie seems to be: Maybe people would be better off if you were dead.

It was made by the same people that make those "Final Destination" movies. Go figure. But I really think filmmakers should incorporate good music into more movies. If Spongebob can do it, the rest of Hollywood should be able to as well. Funny how movies like Shrek and Ice Age (that Rusted Root song is cool) can do it so well while movies for adults usually fail in the worst way.

Desert Oasis

For Olivia's birthday, we took the kids to the Tulip Festival at Thanksgiving Point.

They have an elaborate wall of waterfalls. It sure beats looking at the sagebrush, but I still think it's funny that somewhere on the grounds there is a big lever labeled "Waterfall ON/Waterfall OFF."

I guess the point is: Life is what you make of it. Sometimes it's a huge fiberglass waterfall that only runs during business hours.

I Don't Need No Leather Jacket, I'm Warm When I'm With You

Today was my wife's uncle's birthday so we went to eat some cake with him. He's a nice guy who doesn't have any kids. He's old and bald but still seems like a kid himself.

At the company where he works, the top sales-person gets to take home the company Hummer (H2) every month. He has taken it home a few times. He decided it would be cool to bring it to the cake party. Not to show off, more like the way he will show up to a Christmas party with an X-Box and say "Who wants to play?" He just kind of likes to share new gadgets and such and have fun.

After I ate some cake I went in the yard and was playing baseball with some boys. My wife came out of the house with the keys to the Hummer. She said, "I think Clyde really wants you to take it for a drive." Everyone else had taken it cruising around the neighborhood. I told my wife, "I'll do it but only if you come with me."

The gear shift looked like the throttle for a cruise ship. My wife said, "What are these things?" I said, "Those are the vents for the air conditioner." Hummer style! I was disappointed to find no controls to inflate/deflate the tires from the cab.

It was fancy. It had LCD screens in the headrests and DVD all over. The navigation system was cool but you can get that in any car. My head was nearly against the ceiling, it drove like a tank and I cringed at Clyde's tales of the $80 fill up at the gas pump. The mammoth size didn't seem to serve any reasonable purpose.

I'm happy with my Jeep Cherokee. It has headroom, power, a decent stereo and sheepskin seat covers from Costco. It gets double the mileage. My daughter frequently repeats the story of how I once picked her up from dance class and let her ride in the front seat without her booster chair. She says the Jeep is hers. Best of all: The Jeep is paid for. Now I know.