Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Yesterday I went to all sorts of trouble* getting my van ready so I wouldn't have to ride my scooter through the mountains of snow the weatherman promised.

What a disappointment that was.

Here's a little vidya my friend Nick made.  You might have to click on it to see the full width.  It doesn't play right in my browser and I'm too lazy to figure out how to fix it.

*not really

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Once upon a time in a magical land there lived four little princesses:  Princess Bouquet, Princess Hugglesworth, Princess Sweetiecakes and Princess Tootington.

Princess Bouquet, as you might imagine, was a lovely girl who was enchanted with flowers.  Everywhere she went, wild flowers bloomed, and she was fond of arranging them in wonderful bundles and giving them to her friends.

Princess Hugglesworth was a very generous spirit who shared her love and kindness with everyone she knew.  Whenever a friend was feeling blue, a warm embrace from Princess Hugglesworth was better than chicken soup.

Princess Sweetiecakes was a talented baker and enjoyed sharing her delicious cakes and cookies with everyone in the kingdom.  As an added bonus, unlike what you would expect of such a stereotypical character, she wasn't chubby at all.

But poor Princess Tootington had none of these desirable talents.  She was the token homely girl found in nearly every group of girl friends.  Oh how she wished she could do the wonderful things her friends could do.  Instead she balanced her time between eating Cabbage (her favorite vegetable), and talking with all the boys that were in love with her friends but too intimidated to talk to them directly.

One day Princesses Bouquet, Hugglesworth, Sweetiecakes and Tootington decided to take a walk in the woods.  Just as you might expect, they encountered a villain.  This particular villain was a woegre, which is what you get when a Wolf and an Ogre love eachother very much and get married.  The woegre roared at the Princesses and declared in no uncertain terms that he intended to eat them up.

Princess Bouquet said, "Oh please Mr. Woegre, don't eat us up!  Here is a lovely floral arrangement to enjoy instead."

But the Woegre said, "No thanks.  I don't go in much for flowers."  And swallowed her up in one bite.

Princess Hugglesworth realized that maybe the woegre was having a bad day and went to give him a big hug.  The woegre swallowed her up before she got a chance.

Princess Sweetiecakes, though most normal people would have run away by now, chose instead to offer the woegre a basket of her delicious baked goods.  The woegre said, "I'll save these for dessert, but I'm still working on the main course."  And with that he swallowed up Princess Sweetiecakes.

Poor Princess Tootington was so scared she didn't know what to do.  She knew she would be next, and she didn't think there was anything she could do about it.  She cowered and shook with fear as the woegre drew closer.  She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck.  Her whole body tensed in terror.  Just then, as the woegre opened his ugly mouth to eat her up, she squeaked out a fart the likes of which had never been smelled or heard in all the land.  This happened right as the woegre inhaled, so he got the brunt of it right at close range.  The terrible smell was like a putrid fist that reached up his nose, grabbed the olfactory centers of his brain, and set them on fire.  He puked up all the other princesses, still alive, and ran into the forest.

The princesses were all very happy because the fairy tale had reached it's logical conclusion and now they could all go take showers and live happily ever after.

And Princess Tootington proudly farted all the rest of her days.  

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Bedtime Stories

Some time ago my brother Tom's kids were staying over and for fun I told his kids some bedtime stories about when Tom and I were little that were kind-of embarassing to Tom.  Later he repaid the favor by doing the same thing to my kids when they stayed at his house.

The stories have since evolved to the point that the kids really enjoy them and there are morals to the stories and everything.

I think it's time to write them down:

The Lemon

When Tom was a little boy he enjoyed eating lemons.  He would cut a lemon in half and carry it around for hours, slowly sucking the sour juice while his teeth turned to mush.

One day Dave decided to see what all the fuss was about and tried a lemon.  It was disgusting.  Dave didn't know how Tom could stand to eat them, so with an obvious disregard for the physical limitations of household plumbing, he threw the lemon in the toilet.

Some time later, their mom noticed the lemon floating in the toilet bowl, and knowing that it was a terrible way to make lemonade, fished it out and left it on the back of the tank.  (Obviously nobody in the family had ever heard of a trash can.)

A few hours later, their mom noticed that the lemon was gone and asked, "Who took that lemon I fished out of the toilet?"

Tom's face turned green and he felt sick to his stomach.  He had found the lemon and eaten it.

The moral of the story:  Don't eat things you find in the bathroom.

The Poem

One night when Tom and Dave were teenagers Tom was hanging around in his room with his friend Boyd.  Dave was excited about a poem he had just written and went into Tom's room to read it to them.  It was probably a really lousy love poem about some dumb girl that had serious personal hygiene problems and kissed other boys every time Dave had his back turned.  

The problem was, Dave wasn't wearing pants.  He was only wearing his tighty whiteys.  He had been so excited to share his feelings with his friends, he didn't bother to put on pants.

Right in middle of the poem, when Dave was baring his innermost feelings, Boyd flicked the waistband of his underwear.  Dave got really mad and yelled at Tom and Boyd for disrespecting his "art."

The moral of the story:  If you want to be taken seriously, wear pants.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

I want to tell about the triathlon I did a few days ago.  I want to tell you how much it meant to me, in a very personal way, to do it.  But I don't think I can tell it.  There aren't words.

I'll try anyway.

The past year has been the most significant year of my life.  As with most worthwhile things, the challenges of the past year have been very difficult.  In addition to the accident that ultimately resulted in the loss of a kidney, there were other more personal tragedies.  Some I've hinted at on this forum, some I've kept entirely to myself.

Maybe that's why I speak often of losing my kidney.  (I fear it may seem I'm throwing myself a pity party, but that's not it at all.)  I speak of it in reverence and in faith.  It represents for me, just one of the amazing ways that God touched my life this year, and the one I feel most comfortable sharing.

So when I decided to participate in a triathlon, it wasn't because I felt I had anything to prove to anyone else.  And I really didn't feel the need to prove something to myself.  The triathlon was a way to give thanks, and I don't know if there is any way I can explain that and have it make sense.

I just want to thank my Heavenly Father for giving me my life, for giving me freedom, for running to me when I was lost, and for giving me this year to get back on track.  I wish I could have run faster, breathed better in the wetsuit, had more energy throughout, but it was enough to finish well.  And that's what I intend to do from here on out.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

My brain has been doing backflips for the last four days.  That's the best way to describe it.  It's also a little like a migraine but without the head pain.  There are these flashes of disorientation and static.  My days are also punctuated by bouts of weeping for no reason.  I hear a beautiful piece of music, see a beautiful scene, or just think of anyone out there in pain and I can't stop it.

Why am I doing this experiment?  Why rock the boat?

I'm tired of being disconnected and in monotone-tune.  Maybe it's better to experience scales and chords and to sometimes be desafinado.  Twenty years of medicated sanity is long enough-- it damn well should be.

Oh please just let this pass.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Nicknames of customers and business associates over the years:

Douchey McDoucherson,
Flame Job McGee,
Roid Rage McGee,
Roketa McGee,
Homeless McGee,
Addams Family McGee,
Gingivitis George,
Lindsay Morgasm (courtesy of Taylor),
Phil McCracken,
Jay Z.,
SeƱor Martgage,
Dirty D,
The Deuce,

And last but not least, Fartwad Fard aka Frankie Fraud

Friday, March 19, 2010

Welcome newcomers.  This is really just my personal (sometimes too personal) blog.  You won't find anything here about a certain douche who is being charged by the state of Utah with 10 different counts of forgery etc.  But it's awesome to see justice being served.

Monday, February 15, 2010

I took this picture in New York.  Notice it says:  "We Flavor Kids Medicines."

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

I don't like the name "blog."  It sounds like an amalgam of "blah" and "log."  Like a mediocre turd, when expectations were high.

By that definition, a "blogger" would be someone who consistently launches mediocre turds under high expectations, and "the blogosphere," well, you can go ahead and guess that one.

This definition isn't too far off the mark for some of the blogs out there, I've sworn off more than one blog for repeatedly swirling around the metaphorical toilet bowl, but I still think there should be a better name for "blogging."

I vote against using any form of the word "diary" though, because that always makes me think of diarrhea.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Do you ever get that "not so fresh computer feeling?"

Presenting Apple's new iPad.  Cool product, worst name ever.

*Photo stolen from engadget.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

I haven't been writing as much, or facebooking as much, or browsing aimlessly as much, since the death of my dear friend iPhone.

This tragedy has had my cyber-self so depressed that it can hardly get out of bed in the morning.  Adding insult to injury, our router broke within two days of iPhone's fatal accident.  Now if I am to indulge in any virtual activities I have to sit in a very uncomfortable chair, in front of a very uncomfortable desk, my spine bent like a capital C, my wrists getting scratched on the particle-board desk-edge as my fingers plunk away at the keys.

However, I haven't replaced my buddies Router and iPhone because I'm finding that real life is pretty good and very worth living.  And my wife likes being able to talk with me without me updating my facebook status on the fly.

Right now though, I'm getting a really good wireless signal from the high school across the street.  (Usually it's pretty spotty and I have to hold my laptop just so to load a page.)

As you know if you've read much of my blog, I've done a lot of stupid things in my life.  For the past year or so, I've dwelt on my most recent stupidity, which time hasn't separated from me enough for it to be funny.  I don't think I'll ever look back on 2009 and laugh, except maybe about losing my kidney.  There's some good material there, but I digress. . .

I want to go back and find something distant enough to be hilarious.  I know that's setting the bar pretty high, especially considering that this is, so far, a free-writing exercise.

I have a bunch of cousins who are really good, interesting people.  Because of the circumstances under which they were born, their scottish ancestry, and their hardscrabble childhoods, they are all tough as nails.  When we were kids we were pretty close, but we drifted apart later when their house in Payson, Utah burned down and for some reason they moved into a haunted house in Durango, Colorado.  They came back to Utah when the poltergeists got the best of them, but unfortunately we were never as close afterwards.

The youngest of these cousins was Jedediah, who passed away a few years ago.  Being at the bottom of the pecking order, he had to get tough right away.  He was still in pampers when one of his brothers hit him with a board and put a splinter in his eye.  He was a cute kid that little Jeddy, but he didn't take crap from anybody.

One time, when Jed was about ten years old, he and my brother Tom wanted to go for a bike ride.  Jed was at our house visiting and didn't have his own bike to ride, so he asked to borrow one.  Somewhere I had acquired a cast-iron rattle-can yellow bike frame that weighed about 400 pounds.  I had been piecing it together with junk parts for the last few weeks, and for some reason, probably selfishness on my part, I let Jed use that bike instead of one that was fully functional.

So he and Tom took off down the hill from our house.  Being the tough little bastard he was, Jed pedaled as hard as he could and picked up lots of speed.

The problem was that the bike only had a coaster brake, which works by pushing the pedals backwards.  These kind of brakes work great unless the chain derails, which it did unfortunately.  With no brakes, Jed blasted through two intersections before t-boning a car and hitting his head on the hood.  I don't remember all of the details but it seems like Jed may have cut one of his fingers and had a seizure.  An ambulance was called, reports were filed.

Man, I can't even tell that story in a humorous way right now.  I guess I'm just not in the mood.
I'm not feeling nearly as quiet and desperate as I was when I changed my blog around, so maybe it's time for another change.

What do you readers suggest for a name?

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

I was discharged from the hospital on a cold Sunday night. Until I went in for surgery the Winter had been mild, but during my stay it snowed several inches. The result of this was somewhat disorienting, like when you go see an early movie, and when you come out it's dark outside. The landscape had changed while I lay in bed full of morphine.

I was glad to be going home, but I was nervous as well. I worried about the noise the kids would make, and the inadvertent pain they'd likely inflict when climbing on me. Most of all, I felt wounded, "injuried" as my daughter called it. But it was more than that, I felt heavy and oppressed.

Prior to the operation, I had similar feelings. Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I was worried about things going wrong. But I think overall I was feeling a sense of loss.

This introspective pity party is nothing I'm proud to admit, but it's the way I felt as we slowly rounded an icy curve on Canyon Road, and I noticed a deer standing in the middle of the street.

"Deer" I said, pointing.

Kaerlig slowed the van just in time as another deer bolted out in front of us, momentarily froze, then leaped back to the right shoulder. The air hung icily in the headlight beams, the deer stood still, and we realized there were a whole group of deer on the left hand side of the road. We stared, and they stared back. Then the one in the middle of the road walked across to the group. The one that had just jumped in front of us hesitated, then ran after the others. This deer miscalculated the speed of an SUV that had been approaching from the other direction, or maybe didn't notice its approach. Either way there was a sickening crunch as the deer's hindquarters intersected with the passenger side headlight of the SUV. The poor creature was knocked to the shoulder of the road like a bowling pin, and landed silently on the curb of recently plowed snow. The animal lay still, The SUV drove away without stopping.

For a moment I projected myself into that cold, dying creature. A moment before it had been alive, wide-eyed and uncertain. Now broken and wounded. (Even if I had had a hunting knife I doubt I could have dispatched it to the other side the way my father-in-law once did in a similar situation. I wanted to put it out of its misery, but I didn't have the strength.) I felt the ice of the snow and the confused mess of bones, muscles and tendons trying to make sense of themselves. At once I felt fear and death and longing.

The kids were confused. Thankfully they hadn't seen it. They didn't understand what had happened. I closed my eyes as we continued homeward.