Submarine Screendoor Sales

Did I ever mention that I finally bought an ipod? I did, because someone gave it to me for practically nothing a few days after they bought it brand new. Which reminds me of something that happened at work:

Slosh: "Hey! Be careful. You could have broken my leg. You owe me $20 for that."

Geo-cacher: "I'm not giving you any money. You need to stay out of the way."

Me: "Wow. He'll let you break his legs for $20 a pop."

Geo-cacher: "That's too much money."

King Cub: "If Emmett says that it's a good deal then you should listen. He's always getting awesome deals on stuff."

Me: "At these prices, you can't afford NOT to break his legs."

Anyway. I bought an ipod and I've already decided I need a bigger one. But I'll use this one for awhile. I've recently been introduced to the world of podcasts. That kid I hang out with... the one who is writing a novel about aliens that kill everybody... he told me about a podcast for writers about writing.

You already know that I wish I had more time to write, so I've been trying to prep my head by listening to a bunch of these shows. And I can listen to them while I move furniture so I've listened to quite a few already.

While I have learned a thing or two about the business side of writing that I did not know before, I have also decided that these shows kind of bother me. Much as I have been accused of in the past, these shows seem to over-analyze everything. They take something beautiful, like writing, and take it apart and study it until it is mundane. They kill the dragon to see where the fire comes from.

When the host of this show interviews other writers, she puts them on a pedestal and the writers seem to eat it up. It's annoying. Let's do a pretend interview with ME as the subject to serve as an example, except we'll talk about humor instead of writing:

Host: "Hello, Emmett. Thank you for being here. You are so funny and it's an honor."

Me: "Thank you. Yes. It's fabulous being funny. Humor is at the center of my life."

Host: "Yes. And you ARE hilarious. One of my favorite jokes of yours is that one about the Pollocks."

Me: "Ha, ha. The Pollocks. What can I say? I was really in the zone that day."

Host: "So I'll just come right out and ask... How do you do it?"

Me: "Well, if you want to make a good Pollock joke the most crucial thing to understand is that PEOPLE FROM POLAND... are stupid. And that is the idea that needs to shape your joke. You tell a story and at the end... you sucker-punch people with the fact that these people are dumb."

Host: "Wow. You make it sound so simple. Maybe it is for you, but normal people can't do that. Thank you to my guest who once made a joke about pollocks."


Oops. I would write more but I'm going to be late for work. Sorry.

My Friends Say I Should Act My Age... What's My Age Again?

I went to pick my son up from school today. As I approached the building on foot I had to pass by a big group of middle school kids who were lying on the grass.

Middle School Boy: "Hey! Do you have any money?"

Me: "Yup. I've got a whole bunch."

Middle School Boy: "Give me some."

Me: "I don't carry cash with me."

Middle School Girl: "Don't ask him for money. Leave him alone." And then she turned to the rest of the group, "Does he go to our middle school?"

Another Middle School Girl, seeming to understand her words only as they came out of her mouth: "That... is a GROWN UP!"

Gasps of shock and amazement. Then silence.

I could totally get a date for prom. And a few years as a convicted pedophile.

Finally a Chance to Breathe, Reaching for the Fallen Sheets

Me: "So when is your baby due?"

Str8 Edge Kid: "Anytime, but the due date isn't until the second week of June."

Me: "You didn't schedule a day? It seems like all the doctors like to schedule a day to induce people."

Str8 Edge Kid: "My wife doesn't want to be induced. She wants to do everything natural."

Me: "You could have the doctor strip her membrane. That doesn't involve any drugs."

Str8 Edge Kid: "Whatever that is, it sounds disgusting."

Me: "Everything about having kids is disgusting."

Str8 Edge Kid: "Yeah, everything except conceiving them."

Me: "Nope. That's disgusting too. Especially in your case."

Str8 Edge Kid: "..."

Me: "Did I just scar you for life?"

Str8 Edge Kid: "I think so. My wife is going to wonder why I never want to take my shirt off or do it with the lights on anymore."

How to Unnerve a Young Mother and Probably Get a Little Girl Grounded

We were at one of my daughter's T-ball games last week. At the end of the game the teams did their final cheer for eachother and got some snacks.

I took the opportunity to talk to one of the T-ball moms.

Me: "Hey, is that little blond girl on the playground, who looks just like you, your daughter?"

Mom: "Probably."

Me: "She cracks me up! She calls me Indian. Like, Hey Indian! and Hi Indian!"

Mom: "...I'm...sorry..."

She looked at me like maybe I was making the whole thing up. But I wasn't.

Me: "No. Don't be sorry. I like her."

Mom: "Why does she... How did she...?"

Reading her mind, I answered: "She asked me if I was from China."

Mom: "China, huh?"

And I decided not to spring the complete conversation between the eight year old and myself on the mom, which was actually more like this:

Girl: "Are you from China?"

Me: "No."

Girl: "Are you a mom or a dad?"

Me: "What do YOU think?"

Girl: "A dad."

Me: "Why did you ask?"

Girl: "You have long hair. I never see dads with long hair."

Me: "Lots of Indians like to have long hair. I have short hair for an Indian."

Girl: "You're an Indian!" But then she quickly became suspicious of me "...Where is your bow and arrow?"

Me: "Are you kidding? The police shoot people like me if we walk around carrying weapons."

But the little girl and I get along famously and seem to have an understanding of eachother. I don't think mom would understand. So I didn't tell mom about that.

Then my wife says to me: "Tell her that funny thing that her daughter said..."

Me: "Your daughter came up to me with her hand in the air and said How.... z'it goin'? It was funny. She cracks me up. Welp, see ya later."

And the mom was just kind of standing there the whole time with her mouth frozen in place because she didn't know what to say. As we walked away, I leaned into my wife and said, "I probably just totally got that little girl in trouble. Oops."

I guess I meant to say, "I dig your daughter's edgy comedy stylings."

That Smiles Back

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but my kids are amazingly cute. They look cute. They have wild personalities. They are fun to be around. If the speed of light is the highest possible level of cuteness then these kids are dangerously close to it and the only way to smash through that barrier would be for them to do cute dances like the Roger Rabbit:



With that in mind, I was standing in the kitchen and I started doing a little of the Roger Rabbit and my wife walked in and said, "You look like a huge dork!"

And I said, "You're just jealous cuz you can't dance."

And she said, "UUUuuuuughhhhh! WHAT Did you just BREATHE into my mouth?"

I said, "Cheddar Cheese FLAVOR BLASTED Goldfish crackerssssssaaaahhhhhhhh."

If there is a maximum limit to love, it cannot be attained while eating flavor blasted goldfish crackers. I know this to be true.

Don't Try To See Yourself The Way That Others Do, It's No Use

There is a large circle of cartoonists and artists who blog that I like to watch. They recently did a meme where they drew a rendition of themselves as teenagers (some with a comparison drawing of themselves as they are today. If you have tons and tons of time to waste, check it out. I thought it was cool.

Bottles and Cans, Just Clap Your Hands

Recycled stuff from better blogs--- made me laugh.



It actually looks better than a lot of the films coming out this summer.

And if the mist ever lets the sun through, I'll hope I did the right thing

If I had an explanation for not writing I would have told you about it. I actually started this blog for purely selfish reasons and mostly to help maintain my sanity as I sat in a cubical. But it didn't work and I quit that job. And writing the blog doesn't increase the value of my home nor does it make my transmission run smoother. So what the french, toast?

Lately, I've been doing things like painting the outside of my house and having my transmission replaced (Honda was nice enough to do it for free). I decapitated a bunch of dandilions. I set up a see-saw for the kids. I even went hiking. And it was a good hike because I discovered a small man-made reservoir within half-an-hour of my house where I can teach my son to fly fish. I hiked through snow in the hot sun and my feet are tan with winter skin build-up flaking off my toe knuckles. And skin flaking off toe knuckles can only be described as awe and then some. I also gave my boss a bloody nose the other night by way of my elbow. It's hard to stay inside and blog. Maybe it's time to get a new laptop.

Nerds are going to think I'm lame, because the other day, instead of blogging, I watched Princess Mononoke for the first time and it blew me away.

And I will admit that I've had some funny conversations and zingers that I didn't bother to remember with a mental note of "that needs to go on the blog." I'll try to get into the habit again.

If That Honey Would Come Back, We Would Throw Such a Party

I have a week of school coming up again for the daytime job. There is a guy at work who is ahead of me in the program and he told me to come to his house and he would help me study. I saw some pictures of his wife hanging on the walls and said, "She looks like Lindsay Lohan." He said, "She'd be pissed if she heard you say that."

I told the other guys at work that his wife looks like Lindsay Lohan and he denied it, " I don't think she looks like Lindsay Lohan."

Another guy asked, "Which celebrity would you say she looks like?"

He said, "If I had to choose a celebrity... then I'd have to say she looks the most like... Lindsay Lohan."

Later when the boss came to us and gave us a work assignment we didn't like, he told the boss, "I don't know what balls-in-the-face ACTUALLY feels like, but I IMAGINE it's something like this."

Someone yelled at him, "Who the hell do you think YOU are, that you can talk to your boss that way?"

I said, "Do you have any idea who he thinks his wife looks like?!?!"

I've never met the girl in person nor talked to her. For all I know, she has never even heard my name. But the guy came up to me yesterday and said, "My wife says that YOU work too much."

Tell me something I don't know, Lindsay Lohan.

After we finished our study session, I thanked him for the help and gave him my standard speech. My standard speech about getting together and hanging out. It always includes me saying, "You should come over and we'll Barbeque." And then after they say, "Yeah, that would be fun." I inform them, "Except I don't OWN a barbeque. But maybe I'll buy one soon. And then we'll do it. And it will be fun."

I've been talking about this non-existent barbeque for years now. I either need to buy a barbeque or stop telling people I'm going to invite them over for one.

The guy from work called me on it. After he told me that his wife decided that I work too much, he asked, "So when are you going to buy a barbeque."

The answer is always the same: SOON.

The weather is nasty and unfriendly out here and seems to have a strangle-hold on our state. One of the guys at worked summed it up nicely:

I said, "It seems like it's warming up out here."

He said, "Yeah, but the weather in Utah is like a bad girlfriend. Just when you think she's warming up and being nice, she turns around and shits on you."

Anyway, I'll let you know when I get that barbeque.

Tragic, The Blathering: Uncle Fungus

A while ago, we told our son Ethan to invite a friend from school over to our house to play. The kid that he chose lives down the road in the trailer park. My wife told his mother that she didn't mind driving over to pick him up.

One thing about living in a trailer is that when you walk in the front door, you are usually right in the main living area and the entire place is about the width of one driving lane on the highway. So when my wife arrived to pick the boy up, she knocked on the door and a voice said, "Come in!" So she opened to the door and who did she see, but Uncle Fungus.

Uncle Fungus was not the one who said come in. Uncle fungus doesn't talk at all. He's just the guy who has made a lifestyle of taking up all the room on the couch, 24 hours a day. He doesn't talk, he rarely showers, he had better have a damn good reason if he's going to be troubled to go outside, and mostly he just doesn't want you to battle him for control of the television.

So my wife just picked up the boy and nothing was done to upset Uncle Fungus, like making eye contact. And that's the way he likes it. And it seems to me that I've seen quite a few Uncle Fungi in my lifetime so I figured it was worth making a trading card about him.

Uncle Fungus does not go on the offensive much. However, if he is forced to defend himself, you must first make your way through a muddle of dirty dishes, then you encounter his foghorn blast of BEEEEEEEE-OHHHHHHHHHHHH! And if the body odor doesn't get you then a dizzying mist of morning breath is sure to cloud your thinking.

Tension is Rebuilding, Somethings Got to Give

I'm sick of working but mostly I'm tired of being out in the snow and still getting a sunburn on my face. The other day I came home and my daughter said, "You work too much, dad." I said, "I know. I'm never going to work that much in one week ever again." She said, "You don't HAVE to go. All you have to do is tell them I QUIT." She makes it sound so simple.

I've been working on trains lately. Lightrail lines, to be more precise. Today, we were shoving some soil and this black dude comes tearing out of a nearby bus station, dives and somersaults over our temporary fence and then sprints across four railroad lines. With his pants and underwear around his ankles. And cops chasing him. I don't know if they caught him. I imagine they did eventually.

When he first flew over the fence, I was close enough that I could have run over and tackled the guy, but these days it gets tough to tell who is the good guy and who is the bad guy. Or if you really want to get philosophical: How does one categorize what is good and what is bad in a world built on greed, deception, slavery and other such atrocities? It's all about looking the other way, isn't it?

The other night I was hanging out in a vault in the street between The Gateway Mall and the Delta Center (I still don't call it the Energy Solutions Arena, cause that's a dumb name) until 4 am because it was conference weekend and the city wanted those trains running fast and strong. I don't know if the people going to conference were good or bad, I just know that I was getting paid double-time. Sometimes that's all you get to know whether you like it or not.

The other night, I was on lunch-break from the furniture store and I went to the gas station with the 18-yr-old (who is actually 19 now). I told him that my wife called me and told me we got a bunch of paper work saying we were recieving some money from my mother's life insurance. I'm not rich, of course, but it's a big enough chunk of change to make a dent in the debt I owe to other people. But it's boring to be responsible all the time so I decided to splurge by buying two of those big cookies with the pink frosting (one of them was for my wife, because she likes those cookies more than I do, even though she recently told her mother I WASN'T the-nicest-guy-you'll-ever-meet and her mother said, "Emmett is nice!" and my wife said, "Oh yeah, Emmett is NICE but he ISN'T the nicest guy YOU'LL-EVER-MEET." I didn't deny it, I just told my wife, "When you have a lot of responsibilities and no time to take care of them all you get a lot more impatient with people and you're not willing to let them waste your time. You end up not being as nice as you could be to a lot of people. I don't deny it and I don't regret it. I'm a busy guy... besides I would probably hate the nicest-guy-you'll-ever-meet because he's probably creepy and has probably never really been challenged in life or he's overcompensating for something or he's just trying to get something from you.")

Anyway, I told the 18 yr old it would be fun to go on vacation or just buy crazy stuff instead of using it to knock out your credit card bills. And to prove it, I referenced the two pink-frosting cookies in my hands and said, "Mother would have wanted it this way."

I look forward to making another random purchase and saying the same thing. Maybe for the rest of my life. Because eventually, I need to do something fun. And I really mean it. The 100 hour work weeks and people dropping like flies isn't doing it for me. I told my wife I need to start making some GOOD memories and soon.

Mom Leans Down And Says "My Sentiments Exactly."

HERE IS A POST I STARTED WRITING A WEEK AGO. I NEVER FINISHED IT.

I have a blog? Is that like a responsibility or something? It is? Okay.

So. What's crappening?

No matter how much I work, it never seems to be enough for my masters. They want more! Last weekend I took my family to California for my mothers funeral. Yes, she died over a month ago. She was creamated and we buried her ashes. Those are the more prominent reasons why I haven't written.

Also. The other night I was doing brainless work moving boxes and furniture and finally came across a little time-to-think. It was strange. And I found that the more time I had to think, the less I liked it. So I've been avoiding that particular activity and returned successfully to my previous plan of killing myself by working. But not thinking works against ideas for blogging and that is another reason I haven't written.

How was California? The weather was incredibly enjoyable. Especially since people had warned me that it would rain the entire time we were there. It felt like summer. It was most bizarre to drive out from snowy mountains into a land of trees with leaves and fruit trees with colorful blossoms. It was really nice. And it gives me hope that Utah will soon be a place with leaves on the trees. But I'm not going to count on that because I've been freezing my butt off in the snow at work ever since I came home.

My mother's funeral went well. I think she would have liked it. I want my funeral to be in the same place with many of the same people. So don't let my wife tell you otherwise. Her family has their own cemetery on my grandpa's mountain.

Before I forget, I would like to say THANK YOU to all of our friends and family. I never would have guessed that my mother's passing would inspire people to give me plants. And flowers. And cards. And money. And thank you to all who have given me their support. There are a lot of you.

When my mother was sick, I only worried about HER suffering. I didn't worry about myself. Now that she's died, I'm constantly realizing how it affects my own life. It's hard not to feel ripped off. Even little things irk me. I talked to my stepfather. Of course, he's having a hard time of it. But he told me that HIS mother was staying with him for a while to help him out. And I couldn't help but think, "What if MY wife dies 20 years from now? Who's going to stay with me?" Or even when I finish reading a book and I read the Author's Page at the back and they say things like, "Thanks to my father for his strength and thanks to my mother for listening to me cry." And then I think, "I'll never get to write a thank you page like that for her." Anyway, it's weird --- the little things that irk me. I guess I'm jealous of others for having their mothers.

But at the same time, I know several people who wouldn't be able to handle this type of loss. I'm sad about it, but I can still function. So I figure maybe it's better that I suffer it then the others.

My friend Geppetto seemed interested in talking to me about the whole thing. I think it's because his mother has gone through some serious health issues in the past few years, so I think he was relieved to talk to someone who understands. I said to him, "It's strange. Your mom will always love you no matter what you do. Now I can't call her just to complain about life anymore. If I go bankrupt, I can't live on her couch anymore. When I need money, I can't call her and ask anymore."

Geppetto said, "You can call me to complain about life. And your always welcome to stay with us. But DON'T call here asking for money."

It's a generous and caring offer but it's still not mom.

Now it feels like I'm living life without a safety net. Aside from all of your future plans involving mom being unexpectedly canceled, there is a new fear. I think that as people, we are ALL on our own. Even when we think we're not. And moms are the closest thing to making that statement untrue. It just feels like I am even more on my own now.

I also keep having this strange urge to call my mom. Like none of this ever happened. And it's a kick in the teeth to have to remind myself that she'll never be answering her phone again. Even though the Caller ID on my cell phone says "MOM" when my stepdad calls me from his house.

I always thought I was good at accepting things but this will take some getting used to. When my family arrived at the house that my grandpa built and raised his kids in, I wanted to walk up to the cemetery before the ceremony so I wouldn't be so surprised by the situation when the place was full of people. It shook me some. A little later I took my wife there, thinking it wouldn't be as hard on her. But there we stood, in a field surrounded by trees. We walked through the picket fence and passed the graves of my mom's dead cousins. Near the back we found the plaque where her father was buried. Next to it was the plaque where her mother was buried. And next to that was a freshly dug hole in the ground. With a pile of moist dirt standing next to it, seeming impatient to get back in the hole.

The moment my wife saw the open grave she spun around with tears flowing from her eyes. She mumbled, "I can't do this." The hole was certainly a heartless thing. It was the unwanted guest at the party. I told my wife I was sorry for showing her the hole.

The ceremony was held in the front yard of the house. Facing a bank of dirt with tall evergreens perched on top and honeysuckle vines climbing the walls. I showed my kids how you could pick the flowers and suck the nectar out of the flower funnel.

My Uncle John read an obituary written by my stepdad and he also read some things my mother had written. She wrote about how the world is an unforgiving place and that we should all take care of each other. She wrote about the people that took care of her. She wrote about history and the importance of telling stories.

After a bunch of stuff like that, my Uncle John invited people to say anything they wanted to about my mother. It was mostly my mothers co-workers who spoke about her. I was very surprised that any of them would travel to such a far off cranny of California to pay their respects.

I was hoping that somebody close to my mother would say something but nobody did. My brother and sister wouldn't. My stepfather wouldn't. My mother's brothers and sister didn't talk. I didn't want my mother to only be represented by her co-workers. I almost never cry and I thought that shyness was the only thing holding people back, so I stood up to say something.

The second I stood up, I understood exactly why nobody close to my mom would say anything. I tried to say, "I would like to say something..." But I couldn't even get those words out. Something was horribly, horribly wrong with my voice. It squeeked and croaked and my eyes felt like water faucets before I'd even said anything. But once I was up, I was up and I had to talk. So I ignored the croaking and blubbering that veiled my words and I talked for quite a while. When I sat down, I asked my wife, "Could you understand a single word I said?" She said she could.

Cause even though I was crying, I didn't TALK like a wuss. I think I probably talked about how I write here. I made some jokes and tried to paint a picture of who she was as a person because I didn't want people thinking that the only thing she could do was take care of a forest. Everyone kept telling me I did a good job afterward, so I hope that I did.

The day after the funeral was Easter and we stayed with my older sister and her kids. They got easter baskets and we did an egg and candy hunt at my father's house. Then we all went to the ocean.

It was drizzly rain at the ocean but you barely noticed. I thought I was smart telling everyone to leave their shoes in the car when we got there, but as soon as my son got to the water, he laid right down in the soupy sand left by a receding wave with his pants and sweatshirt on.

I said, "Ethan! What are you doing?"

He stared at me, wondering why he was cursed to have such dense parents. He said, "Getting wet." Duh!

My daughter was playing tag with the waves. She'd chase the waves out and then the waves would chase her back to the dry sand. She was running from a wave but she tripped and the wave smothered her. I saw her eyes get huge and I saw panic setting in as cold foamy water swirled recklessly around her. I said, "Livvy! It's okay. You're alright. Don't worry." And I plucked her out of the water and laughed at the sand stuck to her face and up her nose and in her mouth. I got her to shore and she spit repeatedly. She was totally soaked but I told her we could buy her some new clothes. She'd just have to be naked for a little while.

She said that she hated the ocean. I said, "No! Livvy! You're fun. Fun people get wet at the ocean. Didn't you see how everyone was smiling and laughing at you? You made them happy."

Even as she walked along with sand in her underwear and shivering in the cold, she said, "It was kind of fun."

We got her some dry clothes and ate at a chinese buffet and went to the theater to watch "Horton Hears A Who." Which isn't really worth mentioning aside from the fact that that's what we did.

We were only there for two days. Right before we drove away I went to visit my mother's grave one last time. Her best friend bought a lot of flowers and plants to make a garden near her grave and I wanted to see if they had been planted. Up on the hill, the flowers were all arranged but not in the ground.

My mom's brother Frank found me there and talked to me about the plants. He was surprised that I knew the names of a lot of the flowers. We talked for a while and then I said, "I left my wife and kids in the car. I better get going." Then he handed me some money. He said, "Don't refuse this. I know it's hard when your young. Just take it. Hell. When I was your age, my dad gave me a credit card. So take the money because I'm not giving you my credit card."

So You Say You're Ignored

It occurs to me that I mostly post wimpier videos on my blog. Just to keep things on an even keel, here are some songs I like with a little more energy behind them:

It's Just An Illusion Caused By The Sun Spinning Round

My 4-yr-old daughter loves to draw. I would even go so far as to say that she draws too much. When you need a clean sheet of paper in this house, it is hard to find one. The other day she came to me and asked me who I liked rocking out to. So I showed her really quick and she presented me with these portraits:



When I played this video for her, she said, "This one is pretty. I'm not going to draw it. I'm just going to watch it."

You Are Mindless Soil-Shoving Losers Put On This Earth To Serve Us!

I've been sick but not too bad. And I've also been working. A LOT.

A LOT.

But as far as work goes, it's been okay. My friend Gordon wrote me a little while ago and it made me dream about working at the old desk job. It was horrible. What a nightmare! I was so happy to wake up and not have to go back to that job.

But when I did work there, I remember having a conversation with Gordon. We were discussing how the job leaves a lot to be desired and he said: "Think about it. Do you EVER wake up EXCITED to come to work? Even just every once in a while? Not at this job. Never. But even people with regular jobs should be excited to go to work every once in a while."

He's right. And when we were talking about it, it seemed like such a far-fetched, fantastic idea that I figured that being excited about going to work was the type of thing that only happened in movies and fairy tales.

Last week I got moved off the soccer stadium job to do a more urgent project. This other project involves a lot of digging holes, fixing things, and filling the holes in again. Most of the time is spent digging, though. And nearly everyday I come home quoting that line from the movie "A Bug's Life" that I used as the title of this post.

But the work has been fun. They gave me a blowtorch (they call it a "weedburner") and told me to use it to melt a bunch of PVC pipe. It reminds me of that scene from an episode of The Simpsons where you look into Bart's future and he's using a wrecking ball to knock down buildings, then he laughs and says, "They're finally PAYING me for this." And after a couple of days of that, they said, "When you come in tomorrow we'll show you how to dig with the mini-excavator (it's like a mini-backhoe).

And the next day I woke up with a strange feeling. A feeling that I thought didn't actually exist or a feeling I had just completely forgotten. I was EXCITED to go to work. When that realization hit my brain, I thought: "Hey. It's happening. I should tell Gordon about this."

I never want to dig with a regular shovel again. It's pretty amazing how delicate and precise you can be with a metal claw on the end of a robot arm.

And that is probably the best part of doing this kind of work. It feels so manly. Like, YES, THESE are the kinds of things I should know how to do... as a big macho tough guy.

But there were also wimpier, more tender moments when I made myself vulnerable by admitting to the guys, "I'm having a bad sawzalling day. Everything I sawzall today has rough, chipped edges." And they tried to make me feel better by saying, "No. It's just cold this morning. It's hard to make a good cut when everything is covered in frost." I said, "No, it's too late. I'm feeling self-conscious about my sawzalling. Don't ask me to cut anything else."

And at one point in the day, I was trying to bundle some pipes together really quick with some duct tape. I was moving the roll of tape around and around the bundle and then the guy I was working with said, "That's enough." and he reached out and ripped the duct tape while I was still wrapping. And I almost got upset with the guy. Because reaching out and tearing another man's duct tape... well... that just seems like your crossing a line to me. I'LL DECIDE when it's enough. But I'm still new on the job so I didn't want to make trouble. But that guy is on warning.

Going to lunch with these guys is strange, too. It's kind of sad and kind of funny. They are the biggest perverts ever. But it's not even creative. It just seems like a bunch of indifferent, cliche lines and I almost wonder if they feel PRESSURED to make lewd comments as construction workers. It all seems for show. It doesn't seem like it comes from the heart when they say, "It's a slow beaver day." or "It should be illegal for a girl that pretty to wear clothes." It seems pretty pathetic to me and I can't say I enjoy being at their lunch table. And it would be one thing if they were all single but they're not. They're all married, with kids. But they go to lunch like they have this important duty to openly stare (as a group) at women and make stupid comments. I would respect it more if they were single and trying to find a date. But they aren't. And I doubt any of them has any intention of cheating on their wives. So it seems kind of pointless.

I like pretty girls as much as the next guy but I just don't understand the goal of these lunch time games. I'm thinking these guys are probably insecure and need to talk like that to prove something to eachother. I don't know what. It just makes me realize that my wife is really pretty and that I'm attracted to girls that remind me of my wife, except they look sort of like her, just not as good. It sounds like I'm pandering to my wife here, but that's really how it is. Sorry.

We were at lunch the other day at a mall food-court and one of the guys said, "I'm going to be in the video game store. Come and get me when you're done eating." So after we finished eating, we went and got him. He came out of the store looking bothered and he said, "I was about to start killing people in there! I forget that people are nerds like that! I was listening to some guys talk about buying gold for some video game and I seriously wanted to hit them in the face."

I said, "I was talking to a guy at my other job and he likes "Dungeons & Dragons" but he doesn't like to let people know because they make fun of him. And I told him that it's stupid for anyone who plays "World Of Warcraft" to make fun of people who play "Dungeons & Dragons" because they're basically the same exact thing."

And the guy who was mad at nerds said, "And then there are people like me who make fun of ALL of those people."

I said, "Well. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to think about you. You say you're all about making fun of nerds and yet you just spent your entire lunch hour hanging out in Gamestop."

My general foreman said, "Damn! Don't mess with the new guy!" and he had a good laugh at the nerd-hating-nerd's expense.

So, anyway, I never pictured myself as a soil-shoving loser but now that I'm doing it, it doesn't seem all that bad.

A River Of Tiny Tears Flow From Your Crocodile Eyes

Our family would like to present the happy conclusion from last nights game of "Animal Hospital." Band Aids and lollies for all!

If I Claim To Be A Wise Man, It Surely Means That I Don't Know

I enjoy keeping track of all the off-the-wall, stern lectures I get at work from my superiors. Stuff I would never expect to have to be told at work. Previous examples:

Keep the doors closed or the raccoons will eat our profits.

Do not suggest that "Big Jugs" are to blame for a lack of productivity.

Do not come to work with a mohawk.

And the new one I am adding to my list came from yesterdays contractors meeting:

Do not urinate into empty bottles and leave them on the job site. It's just plain lazy and unprofessional!

Oh, Boy...SLEEP! That's Where I'm a Viking!

I was dreaming last night and my dreams are even more boring than real life. I dreamed my wife and a couple friends were hanging out in the living room. Some city workers were raking up leaves in front of the house and I decided to take a shower and get dressed for the day. But the bathroom in my dream had a broken door. I tried to fix it but it proved to be very difficult.

Rather suddenly, I woke up and jumped to look at the alarm clock to make sure that I hadn't overslept. It turns out that I still had over an hour before my alarm would go off. "Good," I thought to myself as I laid back down, "That will give me time to fix that bathroom door."

And I did dream that I fixed the door. I am disappointed in myself for having control of my dream and wasting it so. Dreams are lame. I think Mitch Hedberg summed up dreams best when he said, "One minute you're resting comfortably... the next minute, you have to build a go-cart with your landlord.

Night After Night, Who Treats You Right?

The other day while we were standing around in my mother's hospital room...

Me: "I was saying I was going to go out and buy her an Ipod and put a bunch of music on it that she used to listen to. It must get so boring laying around in bed all day."

My Mom's Friend: "What music would you put on it?"

Me: "I don't know. Bread. Styx. Stuff like that."

My Mom: "Breadsticks?"

Me: "Yes. They've finally combined to form the ultimate super-band: BREADSTYX!"

You're Learning How To Walk. They Pick You Up And You Keep Falling Down.

My mother died this morning. It isn't an unexpected blow anymore. I don't feel ruin inside. I just miss her. This entire month has felt pretty funky and I can't say my mind isn't muddled right now.

I would have stayed in San Francisco with her but everyone, including my mom, decided (before I had a chance to think about it myself) that I needed to come back to Utah and do some schooling for my daytime job because if I didn't do it this week it would probably set me back a year. So I was on a 15 minute break from a 6 hour class at 8:30 this morning when my stepfather told me that she past on.

I haven't talked much in class, because of my funky predisposition, be we talk a lot about safety in class. They even show us a lot of pictures of burn victims and guys who have been run over by trucks, just to drive home the point of how important it is to be safe. They have an in-your-face approach to teaching. Check out this "true or false" question from a sexual harassment quiz I recently took:

11. A foreman who repeatedly refers to the size of a female worker's chest by indicating that the reason she is having difficulty performing a task is because her "big jugs" are getting in the way is subject to a sexual harassment complaint and possible disciplinary action.

Anyway, our instructor was talking to us about that sugar-plant explosion and other recent work disasters and he described a woman who's husband had been burned so badly that, even though he was still alive, he couldn't even communicate with his family and he was likely to die. Comparing my mother's situation to people who have been burned to death or electrocuted made me feel like she had it okay.

I felt strange about leaving my mother in the hospital but, as my sister pointed out, she frequently kicked me out of her hospital room for no apparent reason. She would just say, "You can go now, Em. Alright, Em. See you later, Em." My sister thinks my mother didn't like me to see her in that condition. I think she didn't like being helpless and vulnerable like that.

A week prior, the nurses had been encouraging her to sit up or stand a little everyday if she could. When I was about to leave for the airport she told me she wanted to try standing up before I went. But the nurses had moved her port for dialysis to her thigh and they were pretty strict about saying no. That she couldn't even try. I hope my mother didn't feel bad about that. I hope she knows that one's dignity has nothing to do with one's posture. I'm proud of her. She's always been strong. The hospital didn't change the way I thought about her.


The first time I saw her in the hospital, I told her she looked the best out of everyone in the ICU. But she was also the only one in there who still had dark hair. One day she wanted a mirror really bad and we couldn't get the vanity in her little hospital table to work. I offered to see if they had a mirror down in the gift shop and she sent me down to get one. They had a $500 mirror in the hospital gift shop. I asked the clerk if they had any mirrors in the purses they sold and she helped me find one. But the purse that came with a credit-card-sized mirror was still over $100. Finally the girl went in the back and grabbed her compact out of her own purse. She said, "Here. You can have this one." I offered to pay for it. She said no. She had another one somewhere. I told her she was going to mess up my karma and that I would in turn do something nice for someone else at a later time.

My mom got the mirror and used it to confirm that her hospital appearance was less than appealing. But it's hard to make a feeding tube look good. Not even super-models can do that.

It's strange because sometimes I'll talk on the phone with my stepfather about my mother's condition and as soon as I hang up, I think, "Hey, I should call my mother and see what SHE thinks about all this." Because I forget that she's the one in the bed and I figure she's out there somewhere walking around in the woods wondering why I haven't called lately.

I think all of us really wanted her to pull through this, but the reality is that all the numbers were bad. Really bad. And you can't bend reality. Not with your brain. Not with a crane. My brother told my sister how he had a really bad feeling. He works out in the woods but he only sees owls every once in a while. He told my sister that the last time he saw an owl that our Uncle Leroy died. Right around the time my mom went into the hospital, he hit an owl with his car. He even stopped and got out and asked the owl if he was okay. And the owl flew away. And then a day or two later he saw an owl out in his front yard and he thought it might be the very same owl. Anyway, all of this owl business made him very uneasy. Now that she's died he'll probably be terrified of owls.

I just got the news a few hours ago and I haven't really talked to anyone about my mom dying. I probably should. But I don't want to. I don't like it when people tell me they're sorry.