The Freshest Hell

2011-12-06T18:54:00.000-08:00

2011-08-12T15:14:00.001-07:00

2011-08-12T15:12:00.001-07:00

2011-08-12T13:24:00.001-07:00

Let the CUTE-OSITY commence!

2010-01-14T11:30:00.000-08:00

The interwebs may be powered by pictures of cute kittens, but what powers those cute kittens? That's right, pictures of cute squirrels.

This is a picture I took with my new camera and I am opening up a photoshop contest. Add a cute dialogue bubble or something cute for him to hold or anything else that enhances the cute-osity of the pic and post a link in the comments. Or, if that sounds like too much work, just bask in the pure, unadulterated cuteness of the original photo. That's OK too.

If I receive more than zero submissions, a winner will be chosen by me. The prize is a squirrel skin cap, size 2 3/4, or XXXS for those who don't know their real hat size.

Cuteness commence on my mark..........MARK! (Wahlberg)

UPDATE: We have a second submission. This one from my good friend Jeremy Sorensen. It's a litt-oh potty! It's so cute because it's litt-oh!

I'm not back, just stopping in to say hi.

2009-06-15T15:21:00.000-07:00

I know I have not posted here in like at least two weeks, maybe even more. And if I am being honest, I probably won't be back for at least another two weeks. You see, I go through phases, and I'm pretty sure my blog phase has passed like a bad kidney stone.

But this little gem I just discovered was so good that I just had to post it. I know Keyboard Cat has been around for a little while now and many of you internet savvy folk have probably already seen a bunch (if you haven't, do a youtube search for 'play him off, keyboard cat' and bask in his effervescent glory). I thought I had seen all the great ones until today.

I was thinking of changing my ringtone on my phone and of course I immediately thought of changing it to 'play him off, keyboard cat' so I did a quick search for the audio file. That's when I discovered the keyboard cat mother lode. I nearly fainted with delight. So without further ado - play him off, keyboard cat!

2009-01-10T13:42:00.000-08:00

Hurrah for Costco!

2008-10-06T22:31:00.001-07:00

Well, I'm still not sold on Costco, but everyone keeps telling me it's worth the membership fee. I must say though, I love their mini restaurant. And you don't even need an active Costco card. Tonight we dined at their mini restaurant, feasting on pizza and salad. If it had been up to Corbin we would have had pizza and hot dogs and I'd currently be in the queue for a heart transplant. Corbin loves his pig products. On Sunday we had brunch with friends. I seriously believe Corbin ate the entire package of sausage. I believe he will be coming down with a severe case of "hot dog fingers" soon.

After our fine dining, we stocked up on our immediate food needs as well as food storage. Each time we go, we buy a few items for our food storage. This time we purchased canned evaporated milk and stuffing. Corbin promised me that we will have TONS of things to do with the evaporated milk. Let's hope so.

P.S. This is NOT a picture of Corbin for those of you who have not seen him recently. His hot dog fingers have not kicked in yet.

Hurrah for Israel!

2008-10-06T21:49:00.000-07:00

A picture, or in this case, a college football rankings listing, says a thousand words. Hurrah for Israel! Need I say more?For those of you who may be thinking something crass about BYU or thinking I'm praising any of the 1-7 ranked teams, you're wrong!!! You're supposed to be saying, "My, I am SO tickled to see that my favorite football team, BYU, is doing so marvelously." Yes, my friends, my alma mater is rocking the college football scene. I'd like to draw everyone's attention to Corbin's alma mater, Virginia Tech. Hmmm, a measly 18. We'll be wearing cougar blue in this home...at least until Corbin manages to post a blog :) And while I'm on my trash talking soap box, I'd also like to bring to everyone's attention that BYU is creaming the apostate school, Utah.

Dark Knight

2008-09-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

I realize the hype around Dark Night has mostly died down by now, but the legacy lives on. One recent Sunday afternoon, Corbin was lying in bed. I pounced on him and discovered that he was a little grouchy. So I did what any good wife would do, I teased him relentlessly about how he was a grump. Finally I tired of my teasings and left the bedroom. Soon I heard a ding from my iPhone telling me that I had gotten an email. I checked it and found an email from Corbin! The subject line said, "I'm not grumpy." I opened the email and saw this picture.For those wondering, the red text under Corbin's chin says, "Why so serious?" Corbin downloaded an application to his iPhone that allows you to make anyone a Joker victim. Seeing his picture, I had to do it too.

Sunday Pleasures

2008-09-21T16:38:00.000-07:00

Last week we returned from our 2.5 week vacation to Portugal. We have got a TON of blog topics ready to post...but one at a time! Hopefully we haven't lost all of our readers. Today has been an awesome Sunday so I wanted to blog about this first before any blogs on Portugal overshadow it.

Sunday has become our day to try new recipes. Corbin and I LOVE to cook. Today we had soup, salad, and bread. Fairly normal sounding but I have to admit, we did this in style, as you can see by the pictures.

Corbin made his awesome carrot soup, which we put in my favorite bowls. You can sort of see that there are lion heads on the side of the bowl. I think the soup tastes even better in these bowls. This is a soup Corbin learned to make on his mission in Portugal, but we didn't actually eat this soup while we were there (we did eat other kinds of soup though).

We had a very untraditional pear salad. And for our bread, I made a very very salty grape and basil foccacia. I love salt but I over did it a bit on the coarse sea salt :)

We really loved our travels in Portugal, but as cheesy as it sounds, there's no place like home or home cooking. This was quite poignant to me as I paused in my reading this afternoon. On my lap sat Papel taking a nap. (Since we've been home he's been very clingy.) Corbin was on the couch learning to play Silent Night on the guitar. And the air was filled with a mixed scent of stargazer lily and baking bread. I can't imagine anywhere else I'd rather be.

Mmm, mmm good in the neighborhood!

2008-06-15T08:58:00.000-07:00

What do Campbell's and Applebee's have in common? Not only are they both purveyors of fine cuisine, the former from a can and the latter from a butter soaked, wood paneled restaurant with crazy crap on the walls, but they are both owned and operated by world class golfers!

For those of you who are poor and therefore do not follow golf, this week is the US Open. And it is being played right in our own back yard at Torrey Pines Golf Course! I, of course, was among the privileged to be let in to grace that sacred grass with my footsteps. Among the giants I saw play were none other than Michael Campbell and Stuart Appleby. Campbell won the US Open a few years ago and Appleby was leading this year, last time I checked. Both gentlemen, gourmands, gastrologists, and golfers extraordinaire! [For those of you who believe I made a typo with gastrologist, I can assure you I did not. Def: gastrologist (g-strl-jst) - n. a gastronomist who can predict the future of deliciousness.] I do love Campbell's Chicken and Stars and the buffalo chicken sandwich invented by Appleby has no equal.

I am truly grateful for the game of golf, not only for creating a recreational water hazard between us well-to-do and the great unwashed, but also for bringing us such culinary greats as these two, ironic though it may be that golf originated in Scotland, home of the world's worst cuisine.

"Mmmmm. Open faced club sand wedge."

P.S. Neither of these two made it to the final playoffs today. That was reserved for Tiger, ranked 1st in the pro tour, and Rocco, ranked 158th. I spent most of the morning glued to the streaming 18 hole playoffs that ended in a tie and then went to sudden death! It was riveting. Even though sudden death is a misnomer and not quite as exciting as it sounds. Golf. Who knew?

The Kessel run in 11.99 parsecs

2008-06-08T16:59:00.000-07:00

The engineering school had a 'Junkyard Derby' and we won! We built a working landspeeder out of a pile of junk and managed to make the Kessel run in 11.99 parsecs, just eeking out a victory over Solo for the record. Things to note: we had to reconfigure the engine pods to fit in the track but we did have firing engines as evidenced by the smoke issuing from the pods in the beginning of the race vid. Also, we didn't win fastest racer but 'most unusual' or 'most mechanical ingenuity', depending on which official you ask. All those years of engineering school must account for something.

Adventures in Jury Town

2008-05-20T14:15:00.001-07:00

These are just some random pictures I took while on jury duty. We had an hour and a half for lunch every day so I would wander the streets of San Diego looking for odd bits of city life to photograph with my phone. I'm not a very good photographer so I didn't get many good shots, but here are a few.

Apparently six year-olds are totally into graf writing these days, as evidenced by this tag I found on a city corner. It's even funnier than normal in this context, which is quite a feat.

Pirates thrive in San Diego. But on the flip side, rampant ninja prejudice is a huge problem in our fair city.

MJ has been reduced to using public transportation to get around. How bad do things have to get before the government steps in and rescues our nation's floundering degenerate billionaire icons? Don't they know that the solution to all our economic problems is giving Americans juicy celebrity gossip to take our minds off the impending collapse? And they can't do crazy, gossip worthy things if they're poor like the rest of us.

This is an artist's rendering of the 3G PenciL Phone rumored to be announced by Apple sometime next month. Many people complained about the lack of a stylus for the popular iPhone. This is Apple's answer. [WARNING: Sharpening voids warranty]

This is the bus route I took to get downtown everyday. Luckily this was the express route or they would have stopped at EVERY stop and not just the 1400 shown on this map.
This is a picture of inside the courtroom taken on jury selection day. After taking this picture, I found a posting outside stating that it was a crime to record or photograph inside the courtroom. Oops. But what good is having a spy camera on your phone if you can't take super secret photos? Just nobody tell on me, ok. I've had my fill of judges and juries for a while.

mixed media - ink and pasty white skin

2008-05-08T13:24:00.000-07:00

I am on jury duty. But I'm not allowed to talk (or blog) about the case. So I'll just tell you how I feel about jury duty in general.

First, the pay is great. Alice asked me how much I was getting paid and when I told her $15 she was ecstatic.

"$15 an hour! That's more than you make now!"

"No. $15 a day."

But even with the great pay, I'm honestly not in it for the money. I am totally in it for the glory.

I've seen a few episodes of Miami Ink and it seems to be popular to get important things or events in your life memorialized in a tattoo. For instance, if your days in the navy really made you who you are, you might get an anchor tattooed on your bicep. Or if you are an ice salesman you might get 'Mr. Cool Ice' tattooed on your chest, back and arms along with a skeleton doing a cute little pose to lighten things up. My point is, when something significant happens in your life, the first thing you should do is run out and get a tattoo before you have time to talk yourself out of it.

In that spirit, I inked (don't worry, Mom, it's just ball point pen) a rough draft of what I might get after this life changing jury duty. No, I did not start this while in the courtroom, even though I am sitting in the very back of the room where no one can really see me except the judge and she's always looking at her computer. No, I did not gum up my pen with my scraggly leg hairs and pasty skin oils and have to ask the bailiff for another one. No, I did not gum that one up as well and have to find yet another pen during a break. And no, I did not have to go into the bathroom to put the finishing touches on and get a good picture of this awesome artwork. None of those things happened.

Alice will tell you how she disapproves of drawing on one's legs in public, right up there with picking your nose. She just doesn't understand the significance of being an alternate juror. I'm sure a lot of people will not understand my 'art', but that's something all artists ahead of their time have to deal with. I am ready to proudly display to the entire world my commitment to being the best juror number 13 I can be. At least until I take a shower or the case is over, whichever comes first.

Camp Life - Like Thug Life, but slightly more gentle

2008-05-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I convinced someone else's kid to get into a car with me and drove far out into the desert with him. I planned ahead and had a shovel, a large tarp, and snacks to help keep my energy up. What was going on last weekend? You guessed it, our ward's annual Father and Son camp out! Seeing as how I don't have a son of my own, I adopted a kid for the weekend and pretended like I belonged. I'll do just about anything for s'more s'mores (Modestmuse, I know you feelin' me). Over the years I've learned that if you act like you belong, people don't question you. Just like the time I went to the bus station and pretended I was waiting for my bus when really I was just looking for a cool place to rest for a little while. I just kept looking at my watch impatiently and waving around a ticket stub I found in the trash can and nobody even gave me a second glance. Works perfect every time.

But back to the camp out. As all mothers know, young boys thrive on violence. And this camp out is the one time a year when, free of the over-protective mothering of the women folk, the men and boys can finally release the aggression that has been slowly building for the twelve months since last year's camp out. The activities at this year's camp out consisted of hitting each other with giant padded sticks (the technical term is 'boffers') a la LARPing, shooting each other with airsoft BB guns, and catapulting ballistic water balloons at each other at near the speed of sound. (Even the little woodland creatures enjoy LARPing as evidenced by this picture.) Surprisingly, the bishop had no problem with any of these activities. The one father who got smashed in the face with an ICBB (inter-campground ballistic balloon) from 200 yards didn't look to thrilled, but that's the chance you take when you go on an all guy camp out. He plans on summoning his Shield of Perpetual Impenetrability next year and calling down a mighty reckoning on his foes.

Besides violence, men also like to destroy things and construct things. I managed to combine these two activities into a fireside demonstration while simultaneously teaching a lesson about the refiners fire. We melted pennies over the campfire and cast the liquid zinc into a coin mold. Destruction, construction, and fire. The divine male trifecta.

Except for the one missing finger that turned out to be just a hot dog, there were no serious injuries. God bless the Father and Son camp out, and I'm sure He does or there would have been more calls to 911. And we all came home filthy, which is the only sure indication to our wives and mothers that we had a good time.

My little stingray of sunshine

2008-04-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

It seems this blog is turning into a 'Faces o' Death' blog, what with all our near death experiences. This time it was my turn to almost die. I almost went the same way as the dearly departed and sorely missed Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. I too was stabbed by a fierce, man-eating stingray. Ok, maybe not man-eating, but certainly man-stabbing. And that man was me.

I was out surfing early Tuesday morning when I accidentally stepped on something squishy and skittish. I knew it was a stingray the instant I stepped on it, but apparently he wasn't aware I was dropping in for a visit. He thought I was steppin', which technically I was, but not the way the kids mean it. I tried to 'step off' (both the regular meaning and the 'kids these days' meaning) but I was not fast enough. So he shivved me. Or is it shanked me? I can never remember which one is the verb and which one is the noun. I guess you only learn those all important details in the Big Time House.

Anyway, he stung me right in the bottom, middle of my left foot. If any of you don't know what a stingray barb looks like, they are quite long, sharp and filled with poisonous poison. Luckily this little guy's...I mean this huge monster's barb did not break off inside my foot, which often happens.

So I hobbled back to the shore and checked the life guard stand for help. But lifeguards are apparently not early risers. It's probably safe to say that early morning beach goers are more likely to still have their natural inhibitions and common sense in tact than the late night variety. So I drove myself home with the radio blasting so I couldn't hear myself crying like a little girl.

I had learned that the best treatment for a stingray sting is to soak the punctured limb in water as hot as is tolerable. So I jumped in the bathtub after efficiently spreading blood and sand all over the carpet. Alice and google confirmed the treatment schedule and also found out that the venom is likely to ooze out of the wound and form a jelly like blob. I checked my foot. Yep, jelly blob confirmed. About the size of a quarter and all mixed with sand.

I continued to soak myself in scalding water for two hours. I tried getting out after one hour but my foot immediately started to throb so I got back in the tub. At the end of two hours I finally removed my wet suit and it looked like my feet were sun burned. There was a distinct red line where the wet suit had been. And they remained bright pink until the following day. Nothing like a first degree scalding to take your mind off the pain of stingray venom eating you from the inside out. But I think the severely hot water did the trick because it didn't hurt much after that. It did split open and bleed every time I tried to walk on it the rest of the day, but it's not our carpet so I wasn't too worried.

During this time, I made Alice call our lifeguard friend, call our med school friend, call the doctor/hospital four times, schedule and then cancel a doctor's appointment, reschedule and recancel the same appointment, and read me the entire wikipedia entry on stingrays. All while I chillaxed in the tub with a virgin daiquiri. And she never complained once. She really is a trooper.

In my efforts to capture the moment on film/silicon, I found that what hot rodders paint on their cars is not so much like flames, but more like blood draining in a bathtub. Makes you wonder what they have in those spacious classic trunks of theirs.

Still, I think my new/old volvo would look pretty sweet 'blooded' out. All in all, this has garnered me much sympathy and given me a cool story to tell people I meet on the street or at the grocery store. And so my near tragedy has become the little stingray of sunshine in an otherwise pleasantly sunny and mild San Diego week.

On the Wii-ngs of Chickens

2008-04-08T09:27:00.000-07:00

I found out something new about Alice. She has chicken wings. She's not a Hooter's hostess in her spare time, she really has chicken wings. Or that's how she describes them.

On Saturday night we were engaged in a vicious battle for the title of Wii boxing champion at our friends the Weeds' house. Alice had bravely challenged Becca, another friend of ours who was there. Becca is a certified quasi semi-professional amateur aerobic boxing tae bo enthusiast aficionado. But I had been training Alice, and as Mick/Matthew would say, she was 'gonna eat lightning and crap thunda'.

They squared up with the wiimotes in one hand and the wii nun chucks in the other. They danced out to the center of the ring and the furious fists immediately started flying. Bruce Lee looked like a sloth on quaaludes compared to these girls' blazing blows. They were each taking heavy hits to the head and body, but Becca's little Mii did not seem to be hurt at all.

"I see three of her out there" Alice confessed.

"Hit the one in the middle!"

The battle raged on with both pugilists pulling no punches. But Alice was growing tired. I knew I had to say something to keep her in this fight.

"You hurt her! You see? You see? She's not a machine, she's a man...er, a woman. You're gonna have to go through hell, worse than any nightmare you've ever dreamed. But when it's over, I know you'll be the one standing. You know what you have to do. Do it."

She steeled her resolve. "To beat me, she will have to kill me."

Her hands were like magic bullets that were magically attracted to Becca's head by some sort of magic boxing spell. Watching her fight was like...magic.

But Becca just wasn't going down. What was wrong? They had been brutally beating each other for what seemed like an eternity and neither one showed signs of injury.

And then the Wii ref separated the girls. The practice round that all new wii boxers go through the first time they fight was over. The real fight was about to start.

Alice: "What!?!?!? That was just practice?!?! I'm already dead tired! I can't fight anymore."

Corbin: "Going in one more round when you don't think you can - that's what makes all the difference in your life. All your strength, all your power, all your love. Everything you've got. Right now!"

Alice: "Cut me."

What happened next will go down in the history books as one of the greatest historical fights in history. I don't remember who won so you'll have to wait until said history book comes out so you can read about it.

The next day, Alice was still feeling the pain of the brawl.

Alice: "My chicken wings are sore."
Corbin: "Your what?"
Alice: "My chicken wings. You know these muscles on my side and back. Under my arms."
Corbin: "You mean your latissimus dorsi?"
Alice: "No, my chicken wings."
Corbin: "Oh. Do you want some hot rice for your chicken wings?"
Alice: "Yeah, that would be nice."

The End.

Near Death Experience

2008-04-06T21:15:00.000-07:00

I too am back from the grave, almost literally. This is one of the reasons we haven't blogged in a while. In early January, I had a terrible accident. Since it was so life changing, I think it's appropriate to record even if it's not funny.

Reader's notice, the contents of this blog are graphic so you may want to stop reading now and just post a comment that says something like, "I would have ended up my life had you died," or "All the sunshine in the world would have disappeared had you left our world." Either of these comments will do.

As I reflect on how to begin my tale, I realize my memory is a little shaky. It may be because of the severe amount of blood that I lost and the ensuing loss of consciousness. I had just returned home on a Wednesday evening from a Young Women's activity. I had not eaten dinner before the activity and with the bed time hour quickly approaching, I was trying to find a quick dinner to ease my hunger pains. My dear Corbin had not yet returned from his activity with the young men so I was on my own to scavenge for food in our bereft kitchen. I finally decided on my favorite default meal, chicken salad sandwich and tomato soup.

I pause now to have my readers consider the many options for kitchen fatalities. At this point, what would you consider being some options for kitchen demise? Stovetop/oven burns, can opening, garbage disposal (one of my serious fears in life is getting my hand or Corbin's hand eaten by this nasty beast that eats garbage...what a disgusting and humiliating way to go!), knife wound, falling cookbooks, and the list could go on. Now that you've had a moment to worry about what my injury was and cause you to question ever cooking for yourself again...I'll return to my story.

I had successfully completed the preparation of my meal and had commenced eating it when Corbin returned from his activity. Since I am a wonderful wife, I immediately stopped eating my meal, and begin preparing Corbin's dinner. He went to the bathroom...ok too many details, but it's important to the story. I began to vigorously slice the crusty bread in half for Corbin's practically gourmet chicken salad sandwich when the huge, serrated knife sliced into the deep recesses of my left index finger.

Instantly I saw my life rush before my eyes; I knew we had to act fast if I was going to make it through the night. I called to Corbin that I was dying and he responded, "I'm on the toilet, can it wait?" I had no energy to fight with him on such a tactless response, so I just yelled back, "NO." Out he comes to look at my finger.

While it had only been a matter of seconds since the incident occurred, my hand was covered in blood and as everyone who knows me knows, I don't do well with blood. I managed to stagger to the toilet seat and plop down while Corbin examined my finger. It was deep. He called the hospital to determine what the next steps should be. As my head hangs between my knees, I hear Corbin ask the operator, "If the cut doesn't need stitches, will we need to pay for the visit? If so, we might just wait 'til tomorrow so we don't have to pay the emergency room fee." I will make no comment here in an effort to preserve my marriage. I WILL mention that the sandwich I had to abandon was being casually snacked on by my concerned husband while I struggled to remain conscious.

Since the operator can't make any recommendations over the phone other than, "if you're in doubt, you should come in," we decided to bypass the after hours clinic and go to our friend who's almost a doctor anyway for treatment. Matt and his wife, Malerie, are dear friends to us. This was not the first time Matt has looked at one of my maladies, like the time I had a weird rash all over my body and the other time I had humongous pustules on my feet, but I'll leave that to another blog. They lovingly opened their door to us around 10pm while Matt was studying so diligently still; he's going to be a great doctor. Matt was worried I had lost too much blood and that I wouldn't make it through the night, but he reassured me that I would be ok. He recommended stitches but I refused, so he bandaged it real good and sent me home admonishing me to at least get a tetanus shot.

I made it through the night and I did get a tetanus shot. Corbin well made up for his previous callousness by caring for my finger. I didn't look at my wound for 7 days (seriously); he cleaned it and wrapped it daily. He even washed my hair for me for a week. He was a great nurse. I've posted pictures of my wound from around day 3. I was still unable to look at my wound without getting light headed so when Corbin wanted to take a picture of my wound for posterity, I had to shield my eyes so I wouldn't accidentally see it.

My wound is now completely healed. Here's a word of advice, try to continue to use an injured finger. I didn't use mine at all for a week and when I tried to use it again, it was totally numb and I couldn't bend it. After intense physical therapy by Corbin, my finger has full mobility again. So in the end Corbin became a greater hero in my eyes and I have an awesome scar. He still hasn't replaced my sandwich, though.

This Week for Blinner

2008-04-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

Our good friends the Maynards are moving tomorrow. Jane Maynard is the creator of an oft visited blog called This Week for Dinner. Many of you may be wondering if this blog is all about eating specific calendar intervals for dinner, or maybe a 'week' is some sort of giant asian green onion and that's all they eat in the Maynard household. But actually, there are many mouth-watering recipes for real food on that site. Check it out if you have never. Anyway, in honor of their moving, I will be writing this post in the TWFD style (also because we made an interesting dinner item that is semi blog worthy). I tried to get Jane to be a guest writer, but she refused on the grounds of maintaining her artistic integrity [translation: this blog is not funny or delicious enough for her talents]. So I will have to write this post as if I were her. Here goes.

I found the most amazing potatoes in all the land! They are purple peruvian potatoes, and they are seriously Purple with a capital 'P'. Somehow, I'm always able to find crazy awesome ingredients for my dinners and I get them so cheap, sometimes the stores pay ME to shop there! All you blog readers may not have the time to go searching for delectable delicacy deals, so just look at my mouth-watering pictures. And yes, I do all my own photography, which means I am awesome at more than just cooking [there is no way to fake being a good photographer, so you'll just have to imagine my pictures are as good as Jane's]. Take a gander at these splendid spuds.

I paired these purple tubers with roasted peppers and boneless beef ribs. Yummy! [there is also no way to fake being a good cook, so although the ribs were 'yummy' they were also kind of gristley. I guess that's where the shopping skills come in].

But I am not snobbish or condescending with my awesomeness. I am actually very humble, generous, and down to earth. To prove it to you, I will be giving away one hundred thousand bottles of pure Parisian truffle oil, just for glancing at my blog. All you have to do is take a brief look at anything on my site, even if it's over someone else's shoulder, and I will send you a bottle. I'm that generous.

Nate, my husband, really liked this dinner and said it should definitely be included in my future NY Times best-selling cookbook that I'm sure to write someday. By the way, he is also a way good surfer, much better than most of his surf buddies, specifically this poser named Corbin who he used to surf with occasionally.

Be sure to post your own menus in the comments section. But you'd better hurry up, because the limit is 250,000 comments and this site is so popular they fill up fast!

See you next week,
Jane

Grateful to be back from the Dead

2008-03-28T11:36:00.000-07:00

Alice and I went on tour with the Dead. We have been living in a VW bus, eating soy jerky and stinking of patchouli for the past few months. Needless to say, we haven't had access to a computer to update our blog. So please, please forgive us.

Will this be us in 20 years?

Actually, we have just been too lazy/too busy to find even a few brief moments to share our lives with our family and friends. I for one have spent every waking moment playing with my newest and most beloved possession, my iPhone. I wish I could surgically implant my iPhone into my brain because then I would be three times as smart as I am now and be able to email my thoughts directly to Dr. Phil, instead of having to type them out every time I need his advice.

As Bradley pointed out, owning an iPhone should not relieve a person of their blogging duties. In fact, owning an iPhone should make blogging easier, with the whole of the interwebs now in my pants. Now that I have thoroughly explored and hacked the heck out of my phone, maybe that will be the case. I am hoping that a third party app will come along that will allow me to easily blog from my iPhone. Then you should see the number of posts skyrocket. Just don't expect corresponding quality.

As I am still not sure if this renewed commitment to blogging will last, I will keep this post short and hope that people won't start checking this again until I have a few more posts up. But I will leave you with a photo of note. This is a picture I snapped of a guy I have dubbed 'Asian Kid (of Kid'N'Play)'. I see him on campus occasionally and his hair always makes me smile. It may not be the best picture, but you can still get a sense of the awesome wonder of his daring hirsute personality.

Sacra(ligious)ment Meeting

2007-12-18T08:56:00.000-08:00

Alice and I were asked to give talks in Sacrament meeting last Sunday. We had both been very busy with our callings and other various holiday cheer related activities throughout the week. Only a few paltry notes and scriptures had been jotted down by the time Sunday Morning rolled around. We both scrambled to put something together between presidency meetings and Priesthood Executive Committee. At PEC, I was informed that a General Authority would be presiding over our Sacrament meeting. Elder Cardon, of the Africa West Area Presidency, would be visiting our ward while on vacation or something. When I told Alice this, she got very nervous. She started reviewing her talk to make sure there was no false doctrine in it. I was worried less about false doctrine, and more about inappropriate jokes in mine.

I was still typing away on my laptop in one of the empty classrooms two minutes before Sacrament meeting started. I rushed to the clerks office and luckily they were able to print my talk from my thumb drive. Talk about waiting until the last minute, literally. Ah, technology, I declare my appreciation for your facilitation of my ever increasing procrastination!

We both ended up giving nice talks and have not, as of this morning, been reprimanded or excommunicated for teaching false doctrine. As it turns out, not only did we have Elder Cardon on the stand with us, we had two other General Authorities in the congregation: Elder Sorensen, our current temple president, and Elder Russel. Both are emeritus members of the Quorum of the Seventy. Elder Russel was visiting from Florida for a wedding. President Sorensen is often in our Sacrament meetings as he lives within our ward boundaries. That's one of the perks of living a block from the temple.

We both made it through, and are now looking steadfastly forward to the time when we are on vacation in Virginia. We can't wait to see everyone at home!

P.S. This morning I accidentally tucked my sweater into my pants. Luckily, I caught my mistake before anyone in the lab saw me!

Holiday Gift Guide

2007-12-14T11:58:00.000-08:00

With Christmas just around the corner, some of you may still be doing some last minute Christmas shopping. If you still need some ideas, here are a few goodies I found. Surely there is something here perfect for everyone on your Christmas list.

1. Psycho Shower Curtain - for those holidays that you can't spend with your mother-in-law but still want to have a friendly reminder. My mother-in-law is a saint and would never dream of stabbing me to death in the shower, but those on your list may not be so lucky.

2. Butt-Face soap - I've always thought the miracle of soap was that it was self-cleaning, so this may not be necessary. But some on your gift list may not have such a lax view on derriere detergents. This will help them keep track of where that soap has been. However, it won't help them if they drop it. Also available: Butt-Face towels.

3. Tattoo sleeves - This is for that person on your list that has always wanted to be hard core, but their Mom would never let them. A shirt that makes it look like you have tattoos, YEAH! All the anti-social benefits, none of the pain. Warning: wearers of tattoo sleeves may be severely beaten for being posers.

4. Tick Tock Timebomb clock - This is for the person on your list that has a life long dream of vacationing at Gitmo. Include a forged receipt from Target and watch hilarity ensue as they try to return it. Double good times.

5.Squishy Piggy Thingy - These squishy piggies come from the land of exquisitely useless objects, Japan. Unless you live in Japan, I don't think you can get them. You'll just have to be content with the video.

6. Wine glass holder necklace - This is for that person at your holiday party that always ends up so drunk off the sparkling cider that they need both hands free to hold onto the walls. It also doubles as a classy vomit container holder. (Currently, these are sold out. Apparently the douche bags are out in force this holiday season.)

7. Gold Money Toilet Seat - For the straight player and pimp on your list, this gift is sure to have them sittin' bricks, sittin' ON gold bricks, that is. Ain't no place better to show off your bling to the ladies than when they're...you know.

8. Reserve the world's highest tennis court - Those crazy rich Arabs are at it again. They have put a tennis court on the outside of their super-luxury hotel which sits on a man-made island. Perfect for the person on your list that loves both tennis and base jumping. Check the vid and stay to the end to see Agassi lobbing balls over the edge trying to hit people. I'm surprised it took him so long to try that. That would have been the first thing I did.

9. World's Hottest 'Sauce' - Technically, Blair's 16 Million Reserve is not a hot sauce. It is purified capsaicin crystals. Capsaicin is the stuff that makes hot sauce hot. So not only is this the world's hottest, there can never be any hotter. Apparently drunk people like to dare each other to eat hot things, so to buy this bottle you must agree to the terms and conditions, one of which is that you are not inebriated. Another is that you won't actually eat this stuff, only use it as a food additive. I think this stuff could kill you. That sounds like a challenge to me!

10. Revolver Hair Dryer - This is what I got my wife, Alice. She hates brushing and blow drying her hair in the morning. On more than one occasion I was worried that she might be suicidal in the bathroom, struggling with her locks. I have already had to replace two bathroom doors after breaking them down in panic. With this handy blow dryer that looks like a revolver, I can rest assured that when she goes to blow her brains out in frustration, she'll really be tricked into styling those gorgeous curls.

I found all of these awesome gifts on the interwebs, which gave me a good idea. Guys tend to procrastinate and not do their Christmas shopping until Christmas Eve. By then it is too late to buy anything online. So these businesses are missing 50% of the holiday shopping market. So my idea is to open a store for one day, Christmas Eve. I am going to buy one of everything on the interwebs and sell them to all the guys who come to the mall for last minute Christmas shopping. I already started buying things and I figured I would go alphabetically to make sure I didn't miss anything for sale online. I hope Alice likes the idea because Aardvarks.com does not except returns.

Spendin' Cheese

2007-12-11T13:09:00.000-08:00

Alice is now employed by both the best AND second best employers in San Diego. Yesterday, her boss at ProFlowers called Alice into her office. She told Alice that HR had been reviewing her performance and her responsibilities. Alice thought she was in trouble. But they really wanted to give her a raise! Alice didn't even have to ask for a raise, they simply handed it to her of their own accord. And it was a sizable raise, too. Nearly 20% of her salary. After reviewing her original position description and comparing that to what she is actually responsible for, they felt she deserved the raise. I've never heard of a company doing that before. That's why I say ProFlowers is the second best employer in San Diego.

So who's the best employer? On Sunday, Alice was called to be the Young Women's President in our ward. Is it coincidental that the day after Alice was set apart as YW President, she got a pay raise? I don't think so. The Lord may not open up the tithing coffers, but he certainly was not going to let Alice go unrewarded for her diligence and willingness to serve.

And now the entire youth program is under our control (I am the YM President)! All the pieces are in place and my plans for raising up an army of cyborg youth is almost complete. If only my supplier in China would hurry up with those do-it-yourself cybernetic implant kits, the world would already be half mine.

Pure eggnoggery goodness

2007-12-10T13:44:00.001-08:00

What is it about that magical holiday concoction called eggnog that melts my brain into a similarly viscous, creamy puddle? It may be the recipe we use when we make it at home (one egg, one quart rum), but I doubt it. [Don't worry, Grandma. That was just a joke. We still keep the word of wisdom.] Even the store-bought variety with no alcohol turns me into a drooling infant, content and happy as long as I am able to suckle at the delicious teat of the holiday gods. Which ~~begs~~ raises the question, why do they not sell eggnog year round? Part of me is afraid of the answer. If they did sell it year round, would I be so enthralled by the sweet nectar? Or would it become banal like chocolate milk. Chocolate milk is good, but I don't go through withdrawal if I don't have it for a while. The same cannot be said for me with regards to eggnog, as can be witnessed every January when they pull my holiday beverage of choice off the shelves for another 10 months. Is part of the allure of the nog its exclusivity and rarity? I have a hunch that this may be the case. Our society is so inundated with affluence that the quest for ever more pleasurable experiences has rendered all but the most expensive and scarce products hardly worthy of a second glance. Do you remember the days when a Christmas orange was a rare and treasured present, brought from a far off land to the snowy winters of the north? I don't remember that. I have always been able to buy an orange pretty much whenever I wanted one. I can just drive around the block and pick up a whole crate for a few bucks. Big deal. Oranges, whoopee. When I eat an orange in December, I am certainly less happy than the child who received this winter gem in times of yore. But I am also less likely to die of scurvy.

'Merry Christmas, Timmy. I got you an orange so you won't die. Eat it slow, it's got to last you until March.'

In this day of on demand shopping and niche marketing made possible by the interwebs, you would think that somewhere there would be a dairy making eggnog all year round. But maybe I'll not go looking for that dairy. Perhaps eggnog tastes better when it only comes during Christmas.

A list of Corbin's favorite eggnogs, eggnog variations, and a few products that aren't on the market but should be, in no particular order:
1. Land'o'Lakes French Vanilla Eggnog
2. Hot Nog (microwave eggnog until hot, enjoy)
3. Chocolate eggnog
4. Orange Nog (add fresh squeezed juice, orange zest, or concentrate to eggnog or hot nog)
5. Eggnog waffles (replace milk with eggnog, or buy Williams-Sonoma mix)
6. Eggnog syrup (mix eggnog and sugar, simmer until reduced to syrup consistency)
7. Eggnog muffins (just discovered at Von's this morning)
8. Eggnog ice cream and milkshakes
9. Peppermint nog (I actually don't like this one, but some of you might want to try it: use a candy cane as a swizzle stick or sprinkle crushed candy cane on the nog)
10. Eggnog bath (trust me, your skin will never feel softer or more luxurious)
11. Eggnog toothpaste (I'm still looking for this one, but I'm sure I'd love it)
12. Eggnog gravy (basically eggnog syrup poured over mashed potatoes)
13. Eggnog gatorade (1. mix equal parts eggnog and gatorade, 2. sweat, 3. replenish bodily fluids with deliciousness)
14. Eggnog cheesecake
15. Eggnog deodorant
16. Eggnog flavored Doritos
17. Eggnog flavored pork rinds

Orange is the new rose

2007-12-05T09:13:00.000-08:00

This is a football post. For those of you not manly enough appreciate muscular men running around in tight pants trying to push each other over, you can skip this post. For the rest of you, please don your favorite chili-cheese stained t-shirt, plant yourself in your sofa butt-groove, and hold on to the remote as the Hokies take us all on a ride to a magical land where the football isn't the only leathery skin you'll find, Florida. (They also have a lot of sun tanned old people in Florida.)

On Saturdee, the beloved Virginia Tech Hokies trounced the odious Boston College Eagles to clench the ACC title. (That was my best sports column opening line impersonation. If you work for Sports Illustrated, please don't contact me. I love my job.) I watched this game with my textbook-addicted friend,Matt, and my crippled friend, Pete, so there were not many flying high-five chest slams, but it was still an exciting game. I long for the days of my youth when we were at Virginia Tech. We would sit in Lane Stadium and go wild as the Hokies walked all over whoever and I got terribly sun burned. Football got under your skin at Virginia Tech, like a bot fly larva. The best my current school (UCSD) can offer is water polo. There have been quite a few water polo deaths in recent years; however, officials still aren't sure if the drownings were caused by exhaustion or boredom.

For a picture of the Hokies' biggest fan, click here. (Warning: viewer discretion is advised.)

As ACC champions, we will be playing in the Orange Bowl against Kansas. Really? Kansas? What are they going to do, throw corn at us? I mean, come on! Couldn't they find a real team for us to play? Like a team of pirates or something? It is Florida, after all. I just expected more from a bowl named after America's favorite citrus. It's not as if we're playing in the Chick-fil-A bowl against the mid-day shift crew of the 43rd Street Chick-fil-A like we did last year. And we're not playing in the Siesta bowl where the half time show consists of a short nap under a sombrero. This is the ORANGE bowl, people. We all know orange is the new pink. And pink is just another name for rose. And the Rose Bowl used to be considered the championship bowl. So we're really in the national championship bowl, here. Let's find a team of ninjas that know how to chop block (they really put the 'chop' in chop block) so we can have an exciting game to watch. Or better yet, lets pit the team of pirates against the ninjas and settle the age old debate once and for all. Forget football, I'm ready for some blood splatter to cover up these chili-cheese stains.

P.S. In the comment section, please post who you would bet on in a pirate v. ninja match-up. Include likely vegas odds and reasoning behind your choice. The most creative response will be awarded a beautifully engraved shiruken, either in a decorative box or embedded in the spinal column, depending on who was predicted to win.

P.P.S. For those of you who are entirely bored with the PvN debate because you've been on the interwebs since, like, 2004 and have already read all about PvN and you made up your mind long, long ago, you may post on the much more esoteric topic of Monkey vs. Robot. Here's a little music video to get your debate juices flowing.

The emperor's new birthday suit

2007-12-03T16:55:00.000-08:00

I am very comfortable in my own skin. That being said, Alice usually wants me to be wearing something more when guests come over. Or when we go out in public where the people are predominately conservative Christians, like at church or the shooting range. Fortunately, I also like to dress up in a nice suit, which fits perfectly with the whole 'churchy' atmosphere of the local shooting range. There is only one problem: my overly large, thunder thighs. You might even call them womanly thighs. That is, if you want to be slapped silly by any woman within the sound of your voice. True, I have slimmed down a bit since I've been married and have even lost some of the junk from my trunk, but genetics are not so easily coerced. The fact is, my thighs are very well acquainted with one another. Unlike some people's thighs that very rarely meet, my thighs are so close together, they have often been classified as one megathigh. The friction created by my rubbing appendages has more than once started local underbrush on fire. With the recent fire dangers here in California, the Park Service even issued a special ban on my thighs for all preserve areas. I like to tell people that my ginormous thighs are from my high jump training. That only works until they see me asking Alice to get things down from the top cupboard shelf for me.

As you can imagine, I tend to wear out pants rather quickly. My latest pair of jeans lasted no more than 6 months before the first crotch hole appeared. Almost all my suits suffer similar maladies. Couple that with my marriage induced weight loss and I look rather silly at the shooting range, flailing around in a too-big-for-me suit with my legs perpetually crossed like I have to pee. Alice was moved upon to have compassion and she decided to buy me a new suit of clothes for Christmas.

The trouble is, buying a suit is an extremely personal experience. You have to get into the suit and move around in it. You must experience the suit. The man does not choose the suit, the suit chooses the man. It is truly magical. So my Christmas present will not be a surprise, but it will be just what I wanted. Here are a few pics I took of myself trying on suits in the local Macy's dressing room. They were having a big sale and I ended up buying two $500 suits for only $350 for both. When you save that kind of scratch, suit buying is elevated to a spiritual experience. I'm still looking for the suit with the kevlar reinforced crotch but I can settle for now. Hopefully these suits are at least made from fire retardant fabrics.

Thanksgiving (at hyperspeed) - Part 1

2007-11-30T09:29:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the paucity of posts. I'm especially sorry to you, Charlie. I know how much you depend on these posts to satiate your voracious editing/proof reading appetite. I have been stalling because I was working on a Thanksgiving movie and wanted that to be my next post. But I've been having a hard time finding the time to work on it. So I decided to post it in segments. Here's part one. It may be a little boring, but when it's done, it will be a full documentation of every second of our Thanksgiving 2007 activities. So it's more for our posterity and less for your enjoyment. Unless you are our posterity. Then it's both for you and for your enjoyment. Kind of like cake. And if you are our posterity and you're thinking of putting us in a nursing home, may I remind you of the brazilians of dollars we have hidden in a secret bank account of which you will never see a penny if you put us in a home. And so, without further ado, Part 1 of Thanksgiving at hyperspeed.

It's Christmas...It's Christmas Time!

2007-11-20T09:04:00.000-08:00

Since November 1st Alice has been in full Christmas swing. Actually, I succeeded in retarding her joyful oscillations for a few days, but she eventually broke free of my humbugish restraints. She has been begging to put up decorations since the beginning of the month and the Christmas music started shortly after that. On Sunday we finally pulled out the box of decorations and spruced up our little apartment with holiday cheer. (I wonder if the term 'spruce up' comes from using spruce tree branches in decorating for Christmas. I'll look that up on an etymology website and get back to you.) Mostly we put up some garland and a few strategically placed Christmas bows (even the glass head that wears my hats when I'm not got a bow tie). And the buttery smooth strains of Robert Goulet's Christmas float dreamily on the breeze (created by the ceiling fan). I have even pulled out our pirated copy of A Charlie Brown Christmas to delight and depress us sometime later this week. And of course, Alice is learning a few Christmas carols on the harp. You can't get much more angelic than Alice playing Christmas music on the harp! Snickerdoodles were dutifully baked and a pumpkin pie air freshener is busily wafting its sweet fragrance right along side Goulet's melodies on that artificial breeze. Our apartment is a veritable cornucopia of Christmas Cheer!

Only one thing is bugging me. It seems like there was something else we were supposed to do. Some other holiday coming up BEFORE Christmas or something. But for the life of me I can't remember what it is. Oh well. Happy Christmas!

[Etymology of 'spruce up': This phrase originated in the 1500's when Spruce was a synonym for Prussian (the Spruce tree was abundant in Prussia and so got the name 'Spruce'). There was an especially popular jerkin made from Prussian (or Spruce) leather that was thought to look very smart. Thus, 'to spruce' came to mean 'to make neat, smart looking, or trim'. The addition of 'up' on the end occurred later. So unfortunately, 'sprucing up' has nothing to do with Christmas, but jerkins are almost as fun.

jer·kin /ˈdʒɜrkɪn/ [jur-kin]
–noun
a close-fitting jacket or short coat, usually sleeveless, as one of leather worn in the 16th and 17th centuries.

That reminds me of a Demetri Martin joke which I have embedded below for your convenience.]

You're as likely to get hit by an asteroid.

2007-11-19T15:52:00.000-08:00

With the holiday season travel predicted to be at record highs, many of you may be planning on traveling by air. If you are not afraid of flying yourself, you may end up sitting next to a pale, hand-wringing, heart-palpitating traveler who is. According to one study, approximately one in every three Americans is either fearful or anxious about flying. You might want to reassure your frightened neighbor that, statistically, dying in a plane crash is less likely than some other methods of kicking the bucket. Of course, we have all heard the statistics about driving being much more dangerous than flying. But if we flew as often as we drive, I wonder if those statistics would invert.

However, I did find one statistic very interesting comparing airplane mortalities to another unlikely demise. Did you know that you are as statistically likely to die in a fiery plane crash as you are to be hit by an asteroid? That's right, if we are looking at pure numbers, your tombstone could just as likely read 'Killed by a giant chunk of space rock' as it could 'Perished in a flaming tangle of 747 after snakes hijacked his plane'. How could this be? Only a few dozen people at most have ever died from meteors while 100 people on average die in plane crashes every year. Well, if we assume that the rate of plane crash victims will continue at this pace for the next 10 million years, that gives a total of 1 billion dead. An asteroid-turned-meteor big enough to cause the catastrophic deaths of 1 billion people is predicted to happen about once every 10 million years. So, the number of dead at the end of the 10 million years is the same, thus the likelihood is equivalent.

So, when you find yourself sitting next to a cold sweating, white-knuckled passenger this holiday season, you can comfort them by saying 'At least you'll be with your family when the asteroid hits and obliterates this half of the globe'.

I've lost all will to blog.

2007-11-14T14:23:00.000-08:00

Taralyn tagged me. I don't even know what the heck that means. And she forgot to say 'No tag backs' so at first I decided to tag her back and avoid this whole mess. Then I remembered that I hadn't posted anything in over a week. Partly because I've been busy, partly because there has been a dearth of both humorous and exaggeratable episodes in my life. I realized that if I didn't post something soon, I would be in danger of losing my only meaningful connection to other people's lifeless computers. So, in the absence of anything interesting to write about, I'll tell you seven things about myself.

1. The great dramatists of this century could learn a thing or two from me. Like how to roll their Rs to give emphasis and punctuation to a soliloquy. I am also a certified expert in how to wear tights so they neither pinch the boys nor ride the back range.

2. It's hard for me to find the right thing to say in a room full of mice. Also, I would never shake hands with a gardener. Also, my eyes are always cold. Also, my mother's uncle was a good man.

3. I once ate an entire bag of Doritos in one half of a sitting (I finished half way through my sitting spell). Not a big family size bag, a little individual serving size bag. But after I was done, I wished I had one of the big family size bags because I was still hungry. [Remember, Snack Strong because the Japanese are preparing for a Snacking Invasion, replete with painful SnackTactics, as evidenced by the genuine Doritos package to the right.]

4. I like to let my toenails grow out long. And I mean frito lay long. Alice, in her ever charming way of transmogrifying words, disgustedly calls them my 'talians. I always tell her that Italians are usually much hairier and better lovers than my toenails have proved to be in the past. Alice always retorts with 'That's debatable'. I'm never sure if the point of debate is the hirsute Italian stereotype or my toenails' clean-shaven prowess.

5. I have an addictive personality. That does not mean people become addicted to my personality and must have regular contact with me 'just to feel normal anymore'. It means that I become easily addicted to things. Past addictions include TV, MarioKart 64, Halo, poker (yes I know gambling is a sin, and I've since repented and never returned), surfing for surfboards online (genius integration of both kinds of surf in one phrase), downloading audiobooks, blogging, and my continuing and all-time favorite addiction, Alice. This week's secondary addiction is Volvos. Used Volvo 7 passenger wagons with the third row seat that faces backwards, to be more exact. So in conclusion, don't ever offer me heroine unless you're my mortal enemy out to destroy me. (Little does my mortal enemy know I'm about to commence a regimented program to slowly build up my tolerance to heroine over the next seven years. Wish me luck.)

[Charlie so graciously pointed out that I 'mispelled' heroin. I would thank him and correct the error if that were in fact the case. However, I was speaking about the mythical woman variety of the homonym, and not the beloved mind altering substance of crooner Lou Reed. I just can't say 'no' to buxom women central to their time period, thus the necessity to build up a tolerance. Thanks anyway, Charlie.]

6. I used to harbor great disdain for pop culture (i.e. popular music, fashion, and, of course, POGS), just so I could feel superior. I'm not proud of my one time snobbishness and I believe I have overcome this character flaw, although I still find most radio music nauseating. I've learned to like what I like, no matter how many other people like it. Sometimes even the Lone Wolf will walk alongside the sheep on his journey to the distant mountains. Dang it! There I go again feeling superior.

7. I've always wanted to undergo a painful operation of some kind without anesthesia, and then subsequently have my memory of the event wiped by either drugs or hypnosis. I've also wondered what it would be like to come down with lockjaw. Come to think of it, I've also always wanted to have a large boil somewhere easily accessible but not embarrassing, like my knee. Do these things point to a masochistic streak? I don't think so. I'm typically very wimpy. Just medically curious.

Bonus Fact: I once, by gentle persuasion and love unfeigned, convinced a shy Subway sandwich artist to place live gold fish on my veggie delight sandwich, after having her stab them with the mayonnaise knife to try and curtail some of the flipping and flopping. I then proceeded to eat half of said sandwich in front of the gawking customers and subordinate restaurateurs. I hope God doesn't use goldfish as character witnesses on judgment day.

That's it folks. All you ever wanted to know about me, and a whole lot you didn't. This post was not as cathartic as I had anticipated. In fact, it was down right depressing. I think I will take solace in a half gallon of double chocolate chunk ice cream and a box of Kleenex with Aloe when I get home. I am not completely heartless, therefore I will not perpetuate the pain and suffering by tagging anyone else.

Oh my Vishnu!

2007-11-05T16:41:00.000-08:00

Someone Else: "Did you hear about the reincarnation of Vishnu?"

Me: "Gesundheit."

The Same Someone Else: "Don't be a jerk."

__________________________________

If you keep abreast of international news, you likely have heard that the reincarnated Vishnu will have her extraneous appendages amputated soon. Some might view this as an excellent opportunity for modern medical science to give a young girl a chance at life she would not have had at nearly any other time in the history of civilization. I for one am worried that this might be a portent of larger evils. Namely, the complete disregard for mortalized deities and the handi-capabilities they are born with. We are so wholly obsessed with 'fixing' the half mortals that grace our earth with their presence that they are likely to stop showing up at all. If Buddha were living in America today, he would probably be a contestant on 'The Biggest Loser' and treated for hypothyroidism. In one brief moment the religion of 360M people would have been wiped out in order to increase Tuesday night ratings for ABNBCBS. If Ganesha were born in our day, he would probably be stuck in a sideshow act or probed and prodded by scientists until his early demise allowed his skeleton to be bought by an insane pop star. I am worried that if we are not careful, the Gods will grow thirsty.

_______________________________

After removing tongue from cheek, I am glad that this family has decided to give this young girl a chance to live. How terrible would it be for a religious tradition to prevent one of God's children from living a healthy, happy life. I am glad that the true gospel celebrates all life and esteems every living soul as infinitely valuable.

But this article reminded me of something else I once read about conjoined twins. Even if conjoined twins are healthy and can remain so while joined, pressure is often put on them to be surgically separated. Pressure by doctors, family, friends, society. They are all well-intentioned, I am sure, and the thinking goes that the conjoined twins will be happier if they are separated and able to live 'normal' lives. However, this is usually not the case. Conjoined twins often suffer from severe depression after separation and feel like a part of themselves was taken away or died. They miss the intense, deep connection they shared with their twin. They are not usually happier with their 'normal' lives. Should we as society pressure people into living 'normal' lives? And who can really judge who will be happier living within society's norms? Maybe conjoined twins actually lead happier and more fulfilling lives than us loners could ever dream of. And yet, I dearly hope my own children do not have to 'suffer' through any trial like that. I guess our own perceptions of what is best are deeply rooted in a place not easily reached by logic.

Ch. 43: How a fire taught Alice about geneaology and Big Corbin Zean won a suitable prize for carving the scariest jack-o-lantern he could think of

2007-10-30T09:48:00.000-07:00

***This post is written in the style of Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck, a very funny book indeed. If only I were as talented a writer as Steinbeck, then this post would be truly humorous. And I would be famous.***

On October 21st, Alice and Big Corbin Zean smelled smoke as they left church. This was not the smoke from the hundreds of votive candles lit for the Virgin Mother. They were sure of this because there were no candles lit for the Virgin or any other saint in their church. They are not catholic. The smoke they smelled was carried on the wind along with little flakes of ash that would be the closest thing to snow San Diego would see that holiday season. Alice was reminded of home.

"It smells like a neighbor is burning their trash. I miss southwest Virginia. Can we have soup for dinner?"

Alice and Big Corbin Zean did not have soup for dinner that night, and the smoky air would soon bring other things to mind besides country living. The man on the radio told of a devastating wild fire sweeping across southern California, blown by the hot Santa Anna winds, at speeds up to 80 mph. The winter before, these same winds brought warm air from the desert and 80 degree December days to the temperate San Diego coast making the beach a plausible destination while the rest of the country froze. This time, the Santa Anna winds were bringing a little too much warmth.

Alice and Big Corbin Zean both went in to work the next morning, only to return home a few hours later due to air quality concerns. They stayed inside their apartment and breathed each other's exhalation for the rest of the day and all the following Tuesday. Big Corbin Zean had borrowed a projector from a friend for a lesson on Sunday and had cleverly 'forgotten' to return it.

"My friend surely would not want me to be outside in these dangerous times. And I have heard of smoke damaging televisions and computers. The smoke outside might damage the electronics inside the projector. It is for his own good that I keep this projector safe in my own house until the smoke has cleared."

And so Alice, Big Corbin Zean, and their cat, Señor Papel, Bishop of Artesia, watched movies on their bedroom wall while they anxiously awaited an evacuation call the man on the radio said might come at any moment. At one point, their apartment lay just two miles outside of the evacuation zone. And so Alice began preparations.

On deciding what was most important and worthy of saving from the potential fires, Alice learned that staying alive was her number one priority. Food storage, clothes, and emergency 72 hour kits were the first items piled in the middle of the living room floor. She also realized that those documents passed down from her ancestors and her own remembrances that would be important to her and her posterity came in a close second. Photo albums, home movies, journals, birth and marriage certificates were added to the pile. Big Corbin Zean and Señor Papel, Bishop of Artesia mostly sat on the couch and ate corn dogs.

As it turned out, Alice and Big Corbin Zean were not evacuated. But Alice learned an important lesson. She learned that the most precious things in life are your connections to those who have gone before and to those who are yet to come. And also staying alive long enough to give those who are yet to come a chance to do so.

Alice returned to work on Wednesday but Big Corbin Zean stayed home all week because his university campus was closed. And he had a cold.

The next week, Alice and Big Corbin Zean were invited to a pumpkin carving party and Big Corbin Zean carved the scariest thing he could think of. He carved a picture of a house burning down. Even though he cheated and looked at pictures of houses on the interwebs, the party goers voted Big Corbin Zean's pumpkin the best of the evening and awarded him a suitable prize. Big Corbin Zean gave his suitable prize to his sweetheart, Alice, and thought to himself how she would be the first thing he packed if he ever had to flee from the path of a raging wild fire.

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Other Halloween pictures including a Mary Poppins, a tennis ball super-glued to Corbin's head, and pumpkin carving action shots.

Halloween 2007

Alice is clairvoyant (and that's one reason I heart her)

2007-10-25T22:01:00.000-07:00

This week campus was closed due to the wild fires so I was left with lots of free time. (I think we will post the week's events later so you can read all about our harrowing battle with the flames of death. But for now, you can get your fill from the 24 hour propaganda networks.) This afternoon I busied myself making this short video for Alice. When I went to pick her up from work I told her I had made a surprise for her on the 'puter. Her immediate response was "Is it an 'I heart Alice' movie?" What the heck?! Please stay out of my brain. That is personal property and you cannot enter without some kind of warrant.

She is no respecter of the law, personal space, or personal alpha waves. Although, it does make it easier to call her from across town when I am trapped inside a shark tank with bombs strapped to my ankles and my mobile is dead. Surprises are always difficult but at least she knows how much I love her even when I don't make cheesy videos to tell her.

P.S. I know hearting things was so 2002, but she is just so cute I can't help myself.

Babylon the Great is Balling

2007-10-19T10:10:00.000-07:00

Last weekend Alice and I caught a rare glimpse of Babylon. Let me tell you, the food in Babylon is exquisite, although their churros tend to be a little overcooked. You'd think the devil, with all his worldly power, would know how to make a good churro. But apparently, that is one secret the Mexicans aren't willing to share, even with the lord of the underworld. Then again, would it really be hell if they had tasty churros? But I digress...without having even started my subject.

Qualcomm, one of San Diego's largest employers and a Fortune 500 company, held their annual employee party, code named Quallapalooza, right down the street from our apartment at the La Jolla Hyatt. Alice and I, upon hearing the noise and seeing lasers shoot over the high brick walls, donned our evening wear and sauntered (well, I sauntered, Alice glided) past the security guards and into the height of decadence. [Tips on getting into parties without having to lie: 1. Follow a large crowd and try and get into the middle. 2. Don't look at anyone checking tickets/badges etc. in the eye. Just keep your eye on the prize and believe you can make it. 3. Look and act like you belong. I once got Alice into an OKGO student only concert because I was wearing a tie and my hat and they thought I was in one of the bands. I simply said "She's with me" and they let her through.]

Just inside the lobby, we were greeted by the most original and progressive musical artist of our day. I can only describe him as a neo-medieval steampunk glamrock cyber cellist. He even brought his own fan (seen in the lower left corner of the photo) to blow his luxurious blond locks around while he sent his audience on an auditory cybertrip to a land of dragons and robots.

But the surprises didn't stop there. In fact, there was far too much awesomeness to document all of it here. A brief list would include open bars; lasers; gambling; Johnny Cash cover band; at least three other bands on different stages inside and outside of the hotel; celebrity impersonators of Madonna, Bono, and Cher (first identified by Alice as a drag queen); a giant chocolate fountain; more types of food than I can remember; palm readers; caricaturists; prom style photographers; walking trees...the list goes on and on.

But the highlight of the evening were the ten foot diameter clear beach balls floating on the hotel swimming pool with bikini clad girls rolling around inside of them. That's right. Dancing girls inside giant balls floating on the water. If judged on this point alone, this party was the greatest party since the fireworks show at Sodom and Gomorrah. I will end the account here as there will be no topping the floating hamster girls.

P.S. You may be wondering why there is some strange man in our picture instead of Alice or me. That is because we forgot to bring our camera. Luckily for us, people like to share their pictures with the world. A quick google search found some random person's pictures of the very same event we were at. Just remember that the Interwebs sees all.

Aged to distraction

2007-10-16T13:45:00.000-07:00

Alice and I went to a nursing home and spent time with some old geezers. We got pictures of our two favorites. This old curmudgeon was more fun than a barrel of Geritol. And his decrepit wife knew how to rile him up until he was so agitated that he wet his depends.

OK. If it's not obvious, our long-toothed friends are actually none other than yours truly-s. Alice and I went to the Reuben H. Fleet Science Center and were virtually aged via the miracles of modern science. (Now if they could only go the other way, my dream of becoming immortal so I can finish all the seasons of Lost could come true). I think I aged quite well. Like a more ruggedly handsome Sean Connery, except for the vacant, senile eyes (but I've always had those). I think I'll buy Alice some moisturizer on the way home.

Here's a link to the rest of the photos we took there. Remember 'Judge not amateur photography lest your professional grade photography be judged'.

Reuben H. Fleet Science Center - Oct 12 2007

Shock and Ah! How cute!

2007-10-15T09:37:00.000-07:00

Alice says I sometimes say things just to shock people. Sometimes I think she is right. Other times I know she is. This is one of those latter times. But I'm going to go ahead with my attention whoring nonetheless.

Would eating your own boogers be considered breaking your fast?

This question was intensely debated by Joe, Brad and me through text messages yesterday. It being fast Sunday in our ward, food was on my mind and I thought I had found a clever loop hole. So I went to my trusted ~~spiritual~~ loutish advisory duo, Joe and Brad. Here's what they had to say:

Me: Does eating your own boogers break your fast?
Brad: Technically, I don't think so. Although I personally exclude them from my fasts. It all depends on how you phrase your opening prayer.
Joe: Only as much as swallowing your own spit.
Me: So that's a no, right?
Joe: Right. Just make sure you don't get caught. Then you would have other things to worry about.

So I got the green light from my brain trust. But I chickened out at the last minute. Don't get me wrong, I've nothing against digging for gold. In Portugal, where I served my mission, it was much less of a social taboo than it is here and I found it quite liberating. Although in public I'll usually just sneak a surface thumb scrape, not the full-bore index finger, just to make sure I don't have any danglies.

I just never got into the eating it part. Not even when I was little. But according to some doctors (OK, maybe just one), snacking on booger mcnuggets can be good for you. If I look exceptionally well fed and happy next fast Sunday, you'll know I no longer have a gag reflex.

The Biggest Fan

2007-10-14T19:11:00.000-07:00

My sister, Henri, has proven that she's the biggest "The Freshest Hell" fan through the creation of a t-shirt. I really like chocolate...so if anyone wants to beat Henri at being the biggest fan, you can make chocolates for me. I'm not ashamed of being open to bribes.

I don't want you all leaving this blog thinking "Henri" is short for Henrietta, because it's not. Henri's formal name is Margaret Ruth. So Henri has nothing to do with it. For as long as I can remember, my family called Henri, Henri. My dad was the author of this name, taking it from a comic in the newspaper during the mid '80s. Henri was a character in the comic who was a baby that my dad thought resembled our Henri.

My dad was fond of making unusual nick names for his kids. I was called Bones since I was so skinny but it wasn't used much. Joe was called Fat Boy since he was a pudge when he was a toddler, that also didn't stick for long. Tom's name was actually made up by my siblings and me, it's Boss Chicken. It came from us teasing him that he was bossy like a chicken, whatever that means (we were in elementary school). Tom was called this for a good portion of his life. In his defense, Tom is not bossy like a chicken at all. Zack, the youngest, was and still is called Junior, Boss Chicken Jr.that is. When Zack was in primary the primary leaders heard my dad calling Zack "Junior" and thought he was named after my dad. For that year's primary program, Zack's name was listed in the program as "Don, Jr."

So that's a little background on my family.

Me + Science = Cool

2007-10-11T12:55:00.000-07:00

Last night I brought the young men from the ward to my lab for our activity. I performed amazing and inexplicable feats of magic and miracles. They were awed by my awesomeness. The Bible says 'out of the mouths of babes...something something' and straight from the kids - I am the coolest guy ever. Unfortunately, I forgot to recruit a camera man so the rest of the world could partake of my glorious glory. So you'll just have to take my word for it (or the word of the throngs of raving fans present last night) that my magic is truly magical.

Here is a list of the many, many two magical feats I performed last night.
1. Dehydration of sugar with sulfuric acid
2. Super Frozen Banana and Rose (You won't find these frozen bananas at the fair! Unless it's a SCIENCE fair! Because that's what I do at my job, science.)

The rest of the night I captivated them with my unrivaled yarn spinning skills. It was a truly magical evening. I would almost say 'romantical' if it wasn't all guys.

So, the next time you're in town, stop by* Corbin's Wondrous World of Wonderful Wonders. You will be undissapointed.

*This offer is only good for friends and family who live very far away, and thus have an extremely low probability of ever actually visiting. (The shattered banana was kind of a pain to clean up once it thawed out again.)

Spa Day at the Dentist

2007-10-09T20:52:00.000-07:00

I too went to the dentist, the same dentist as Corbin as a matter of fact. However, my experience was much different, spa worthy different.

As I was laying in the chair, the hygienist asked me if I was interested in getting a parafin wax hand bath. Initially I didn't know how to respond. I thought, "is she asking me if I like them, have done them before, or would seriously want one at this very minute?" My hygienist confirmed and said, "Yes, we have the equipment in the back, if you want one now." Heck yeah I wanted one at that very moment. Who doesn't love a nice wax hand bath?!?

So following a little tooth polishing, we went in the back and my hands were dipped in the warm wax. Then giant "mittens" were put on my hands and we went back to my chair. I received a floride treatment and then the dentist inspected my teeth. I got a 100 percent...I mean I was good to go (I still love getting 100's). The wax was removed from my hands, and my clean teeth and moisturized hands happily left the office. Now that's customer service.

The hygienist told me they were working to obtain more spa like amenities in the office to offer patients. Apparently it's a growing trend in dental offices to offer spa treatments as they work to make their patient's stay more comfortable. I would like to see massages, foot rubs, maybe a manicure or pedicure, oh and definitely a face mask offered. Hopefully all of these could be accommodated in one visit.

If my local hospital had a spa facility, you would not see me hesitate to have a baby. Part of me secretly wished to return to my dentist office sooner than another 6 months so I could get more pampering.

People will pay you to be inhumane

2007-10-04T16:16:00.000-07:00

Some people don't like going to the dentist. I don't mind it. I like the mild pain of the cleanings (kind of like good loose tooth pain) and being flossed by someone else. It makes me feel like royalty. Like I'm so rich that I can pay someone to chew my food and then floss my teeth when I am done. I guess I really am so rich that I can pay someone to floss my teeth. People in Africa don't have dental hygienists. Plus my dental hygienist is very gentle with the floss. Much more gentle than I am with my own gums, which is nice. I guess.

But I also had some sealants put on my wisdom teeth. I still have them which is why I'm so smart. But they are hard to clean and I apparently have deeply grooved wisdom teeth which has caused not cavities, but some staining. So the dentist did a little etching and a little sealing.

The whole process reminded me of the last time I had a cavity back in Virginia. We were living in southwest VA at the time and I think our dentist had a lot of back woods clients, considering the level of treatment I received. The experience gave me a good story anyway. Well, it's an alright story. But it's not very long, which is why I have to pad it with all this extra background and build up. On with it.

I went in for the scheduled fillings and the dentist informed me that they were just little surface cavities. He asked me if I wanted Novocaine. I had never been offered anything else so I asked what my options were. I was really hoping for some laughing gas, but apparently he didn't have a sense of humor. My options were Novocaine or nothing. Nothing!?! NOTHING?!?! Are you mental? You are going to drill into my teeth, right? With a drill! And you ask if I want NOTHING?!?!

So I said, 'Sure. I'll go with the Nothing.' I hate Novocaine. You have to go through the rest of the day with half your face Christopher Reeves-ized. And you look like Sloth from Goonies, even though your face magically changes back to normal every time you look in the mirror. No thank you. Besides, how bad could it really hurt?

Let's just say my new dentist was surprised by the reflex urination in my pants produced by the sound of his dental drill yesterday.

Actually, it turns out that it didn't really hurt that bad. But he did touch a nerve a time or two with his drill, so it wasn't all laughs. But I get to act like a tough guy and tell people that I got two cavities filled with no numbing. And I've got a terrible memory so it's practically like I never felt the pain at all.

Well, I've got to go stare at myself in the mirror for hours.

For the Incredulous and Curious

2007-10-02T11:36:00.000-07:00

***DISCLAIMER: This video was requested. Alice and I are not those people who think having a pet is like having a child and should, therefore, be bragged, talked, and blogged about incessantly. Although this denial makes it all the more likely that we are, in fact, those people. Please shoot me.***

As the creator of the video, I am exercising my rights to ascribe to it meaning and purpose. This is Papel's response to Zac's cats, William and Wallace, and their shameless rabble rousing. Papel figuratively and literally poops on their violent, anarchistic ideals. Papel knows that he is safer, healthier, happier, and better fed than those cats condemned to the outdoors, whether by chance or by negligent owners.

Remember, "Cat Heaven is a beautiful place, but you can't get there if you're euthanized."

Corbin's True Love

2007-09-30T21:43:00.000-07:00

Many of you may think that I am Corbin's true love. However, you are all wrong. Corbin's first love is chocolate soufflé. Now most of you are thinking, "Understandable. It's ok for Alice to be Corbin's second love." But I am not even his second love; cream puffs are his second love. I do come in third...I think.

Tonight Corbin made cream puffs. I played with the cat.

I think when we have kids, I will not read them the story of the little red hen. No use teaching them an ideal that I won't ever live by to teach them by example. Yes, I was the lazy cat who watched as the little red hen (Corbin) slaved away in the kitchen. Unlike the story, the little red hen in my house offered me a cream puff when they were done. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't in the kitchen while he filled my cream puff. Without being the wiser, I took a bite into a cream puff wherein the delicious filling exploded onto my face, into my hand, and luckily some of it managed to get into my mouth.

Corbin's cream puffs truly were divine. The recipe is compliments of Martha Stewart. As we admired Corbin's handiwork, we noticed we had a cream puff that resembled a living creature in our house. No, not Corbin. It was Papel! We should try to sell it on eBay with a tag line of "Replica of the Virgin Mother's Cat." I bet we could get a fortune.

NEXT PROJECT: Piñata filled with jalapeño slices

2007-09-27T17:40:00.000-07:00

I am now the proud owner of more jalapeño slices than can be consumed in one lifetime. Thank you, Costco.

I was lured into buying the 1 gallon jar of jalapeño slices by the incredibly low price of $4. Truthfully, they were for a youth activity which involved nachos and dodge ball. [Note: Separating the two activities in either time or space greatly decreases clean up time.] Somehow, I thought thirteen year old girls would eat at least 12-16 oz. of jalapeños each. I was sorely mistaken.

In fact, the jalapeños seemed to be blessed in much the same manner as the loaves and fishes of New Testament fame. We had dished out some of the jalapeños into a bowl for easier serving. At the end of the night I went to return the remaining few jalapeños back to the vat from whence they came and, Glory glory!, they wouldn't all fit! I put the lid on and some of the juices leaked out because the barrel was too full. I was sure I had witnessed the multiplication of the jalapeños. So I started calling them Holypeños.

But it may have turned out to be more of a curse. Perhaps the Great Señor Carlos in the sky sensed Alice's ingratitude at having to take home a full hog's head of pickled peppers. Whatever the cause, peppery vinegar leaked out on the ride home and the noisome juice must have seeped into the trunk carpet. Alice now fights nausea every time the trunk is opened.

Meanwhile, I have to find something to do with the blessed Holypeños before they contaminate our fridge. I'm expecting the 'Either the Holypeños go, or I go!' speech from my usually passive wife sometime in the near future. But I have a hard time throwing things away. Especially divine mexican condiments.

So I think I may have found a solution: Deep Fried Holypeño Slices. I can't wait to try these things out. I'm gonna glut myself on pickled peppers made gloriously golden through the magic of deep frying. Oh, FryDaddy! Is there anything you cannot fix? These bite-size beauts are very versatile. Dip them in processed cheese and surgically insert them directly into your arteries. Or sprinkle them on your yogurt and eat them for breakfast. Pure delish.

If you don't hear from me for a while, I'm either still gorging myself on delectably fiery deep fried Holypeños, or I'm in the hospital recovering from a colon transplant. Either way, it's going to be a great weekend.

The eminent decline of American education

2007-09-25T12:01:00.000-07:00

As depressing as it is, American youth are not preforming good in many standard school subjects. We all remember the valiaum crusader for geographical education, the indeflatable Miss Teen South Carolina. Here is a glimpse of one of the misdirected youth that caused such a strong, yet completely warranted response from the beauty queen.

The young person in this film doesn't even know where Paraguay is. Or Jabooty (sp?), for that matter. If that is in fact a real country (which I highly doubt), our kids need to know where it is. We are all on the fast track to economic ruin if we can't teach our kids to do better than this.

P.S. I'd like to see this kid point out the different countries in real life, not just on a map. While flying over them in an airplane, for instance. Not so easy without borders or color coding, is it?

Winter came early to SoCal - HUGE STORM!

2007-09-24T17:11:00.000-07:00

This past weekend we had a horrendous storm pass over the usually blue skies of San Diego. Luckily we were prepared, thanks to numerous and early warnings from the news media and meteorologists. Apparently, a large cold front made it's way down from Canada and swept along the coast, leaving a wake of destruction. It terrorized Californians all the way from San Francisco to San Diego.

The odd thing about this storm is that we don't usually get storms this early. Winter will sometimes bring the occasional storm, but not usually until well into November. This year, Motha' Naytcha' was pissed, and she took out her anger on the peace loving Sunshine State. (I've decided Florida doesn't deserve that nickname so I'm taking it back for California. Besides 'Golden State' fits Florida much better, as most of its inhabitants are in their golden years.)

Alice and I braced ourselves for the worst, and we are glad to still be alive and blogging. I will recount some of the more harrowing details of the fateful storm.

Driving home Friday, the radio news program warns of the impending storm. Alice and I stop by the grocery store on the way home to pick up bread and other staples in case we have to huddle under our bed for a few days.

Friday night we try to distract ourselves by watching Survivor online. If there is a city wide blackout, we want to get our media fix to tide us over through the outage.

We stay awake until the wee hours of 11pm in order to witness the raw power of the approaching apocalypse. We contemplate unplugging all electronic devices and boarding up our windows, but we are too lazy.

We fall asleep, huddled together in our bed, unsure if society will still be there when we wake up, or if anarchy will have taken over in the aftermath of the storm of the century. The temperature plummets in the night to a frigid 60 degrees, giving me cause to consider shutting our bedroom window. But I shrug off the concern and pull the light blanket back over my body and go back to sleep.

We wake up and take in the devastation. All around us, everything is covered in a thin layer of water! The streets, the cars, even the deck furniture by the pool. The devastation is unbelievable. We check the lights to see if we still have power. I was sure that all that water must have shorted out the power lines, and even electrocuted anybody unlucky or foolish enough to step in the dangerous puddles that dotted the ground here and there. (Water can not only drown a person, but it also conducts electricity very well, making it even that much more dangerous in a city full of electricity.) Miracle of miracles! The power is still on.

We turn on the radio to get a full estimate of the damage. Sure enough, the news reports are rife with warnings and cautions. 'Be careful driving out there! The roads are WET!' 'Spotty rain is slowing down the traffic on 'the five' all the way from Del Mar to La Jolla!' 'Reports of light to very light rain have been coming in from ALL OVER the county!'

Needless to say, it was a very stressful weekend. I'm glad that storm is over and we're back to our 77 degree weather. I just hope we can make it through this winter if that's the kind of storm global warming will make a regular occurrence.

Survivor China - It's getting Hot Soup in here

2007-09-22T16:06:00.000-07:00

We got together with some of our friends to kick off the Survivor season. This year they are in China. We have a little Survivor tradition going where we each pick three people and depending on how long they last, you get points. Whoever has the most points at the end of the season gets a prize.

After picking our Survivors, a lively debate sprung up regarding two of the females on the show. Matt Weed said that Jaime was much hotter than Amanda, while EVERYONE else thought the opposite. I mean, every single other person in the whole entire group thought Matt was crazy. But he wouldn't back down. So we are widening the vote to you, our readers. Please vote for who you think is better looking in the poll to the right.

Baby Oil

2007-09-22T13:21:00.000-07:00

My beautiful wife attributes her youthful visage to her daily moisturizing with baby oil. Actually, she uses the oil to remove her eye makeup. But she says the moisturizing effects have kept her enchanting windows-to-the-soul free from surrounding wrinkles.

Although I am ever grateful for her stunning beauty and the pleasure of drowning in the dark pools of her eyes every day, I can't help but wonder what is the true cost. Just how many babies do they have to squeeze to get one bottle of baby oil? I would think that we could come up with better uses for those babies. I just wanted to open a forum for discussion on this very important issue.

Do you wear normal clothes?

2007-09-19T21:19:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, Tom, my brother, is on a mission. He's serving in the Utah Provo Mission. He only has about 6 months left. So until he returns to civilian life, we will post comments on our blog on his behalf. Perhaps this will inspire our readers to be better missionaries. Here's his first featured post in response to my question, "Do you wear normal clothes?"

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Well as a missionary we have a standardized wardrobe. Our daily attire consists of slacks with a white shirt, tie and dress shoes. This makes life rather simple as to what to wear. I wish I had a picture of my closet on me because all it consists of is a whole bunch of white shirts.

In this specific mission we don't necessarily have p-day clothes. There are only a couple of exceptions to the rule of standardized apparel. The first is exersizing (aka sports) in the mornings and on p-day and the second is service. I prefer the second because I don't like waking up at five thirty to play basketball even though we do it once or twice a week. This rule is kept mostly because there are soo many members here where "every member a mission president" or as I like to add in mostly because of experience an emeritus general authority.

Well the dress code does not allow much to differentiate throughout the week. Pretty much the only thing that changes is the tie. That is why ties are an essential commodity to mission life. There are three types of ties.
1- The totally awesome cool ties that you will probably end up taking home - these are the ones that always have stuff spilt on them.

2- The way totally ugly ones that are cool that you wouldn't be caught dead wearing at home but wear just because you can.

3- The ones that are just like why did anyone ever buy that in the first place with ununique designs and just not good- these are used to go tracting in the desert or rain or mud and are meant to be destroyed or burnt.

Finally missionary apparel allows for shoes consisting of the colors of black brown or cordovan. I wear brown, this works great when you serve in the middle of a desert and they dont actually put sidewalks in anywhere. Far less shining and they still look good. I prefer the ones with no laces because its just that much easier. Even with laces I never untied them. I think I would have cordovan shoes except for the fact that I have no clue what cordovan is. I think my companion might have some except we both dont know what it is.

Well hopefully that answered your question as to whether or not I wear normal clothes. For me these are normal clothes, but for your standards, only occasionally. In fact I have only have one pair of shorts and then I have one pair of sweat pants for when its cold. I usually sleep in one or the other.

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Does anyone know what cordovan is??? You will win a roll of bounty paper towels if you can answer. See a previous post entitled "Cat Vomit and Bounty Paper Towels" to understand how valuable Bounty paper towels are if you're thinking, "she's cheap," 'cuz I'm totally not.

In memorium of the skunk

2007-09-19T16:06:00.000-07:00

Alice and I like to do tongue twisters. But I can't go into much detail because this is a family blog.

We also like to try to say difficult rhymes fast.

Enjoy!

Avast, ye scurvy dogs! 'Tis Talk Like A Pirate Day!

2007-09-19T15:25:00.000-07:00

Arrrr! Ye scallywags be worse than black spotted if'n ye didn't remember. Prepare to be broadsided by Cap'n Corbin Bloodbucket! An' let no land-lubber shame these here hallowed pages with their filthy bilge swill. Unless they be saucy wenches. Then 'tis right and true to allow parley.

An' be mighty sure to fill the commentin' part clear to the top o' the crow's nest with yer preferred phrases o' the sea.

Ten more reasons I am better than the cat

2007-09-17T15:43:00.000-07:00

1. I've never pooped in the bathtub, except for that time...I mean, I've never pooped in the bathtub.
2. I can usually refrain from licking myself when we have company over.
3. I can use a fork (which may soon no longer be a distinction if Alice figures out how the lady in the video did that).
4. I can do calculus.
5. When I bite people's legs, it's because they asked me to.
6. I still have my claws.
7. I have a blog.
8. I don't have to wear a tag around my neck with my address on it in case I get lost. I can keep my tag on a bracelet.
9. I'm never scared to enter a Chinese restaurant.
10. I still have my boys.

My Week with the Cat

2007-09-14T12:49:00.001-07:00

Yes, another blog featuring cat information. But there's nothing else to write about when my sweetheart is gone. Corbin has been in Santa Barbara doing research since Monday. He returns home tonight! I have learned absence does make the heart grow fonder. Additionally, his mere presence fills me with life. This week I've been a lazy cat feeling completely lifeless without my Corbin. I'm so glad he'll be back soon.

My week without Corbin has been very unproductive and I haven't nearly ate as well as I do when he's around. Below is a list of my post-work activities and dinner.

Monday - I went to the mall and bought some new clothes to fill my loneliness. It sort of worked. Ate left over eggplant Parmesan. Felt a little guilty for buying stuff while my house was a mess so washed some dishes. The house is still a mess. Watched Intolerable Cruelty until I passed out.
Tuesday - I returned unopened food that I bought for a Young Women's activity and went to Target and bought shampoo. Ate a grilled cheese sandwich. The house is still a mess but who cares? Watched the Prestige until I passed out.
Wednesday - Went to a Young Women's activity. Ate a grilled cheese sandwich. The house is still a mess and I really don't care. Came home and watched the Long Long Trailer staring Lucille Ball until I passed out.
Thursday - Cleaned the house...finally something productive. Corbin comes home and now I care :) Ate a disappointing frozen pizza from Trader Joe's. Watched Down with Love until I passed out.

While Papel can be a good companion, he is certainly no replacement to Corbin. Here's why:

Papel cries, Corbin does not. As soon as I walk into the door, the crying begins and does not stop until he's fed. One day I seriously thought about recording it and posting it to prove just how loud and long he can cry. His cries went on for some time. Apparently it wasn't acceptable for me to go to the bathroom after a long day of being chained to my desk. After feeding him, he's content as he gulps down his dinner. Following the meal, he cleans himself, sits on the deck and then comes back inside and begins to cry again. Now he's bored and wants to play. And I'm tired and missing my sweetheart, so I ignore him and...see point #2.
Papel sneaks up on me, Corbin does too...but I like it when he does :) For those of you who don't know, I'm visually impaired. I normally wear contact lenses. At night I take them out. Just before falling asleep, I become paranoid that I may not have locked the front door. So I drag myself out of bed and stumble into the living room. Just as I'm about to pass the couch to check the front door, out jumps Papel, who I can't see because it's dark and I'm visually impaired. He's reared up on his hind legs with his front legs waving and his mouth open. I walk right into him unknowingly and his front legs wrap around my leg and he begins to playfully bite my leg. I'm practically asleep and blind and all I know is something fury and pointy is on my leg. So I shake him off and try to restore my heart rate and breathing.
Papel hogs the bed, Corbin can be pushed out of the bed if necessary. Papel sleeps with us every night. He typically sleeps right where I would put my feet if I were to lie straight on my side of the bed. It's very difficult to push him out of the way so I end up sleeping diagonally with my feet ontop of Corbin's. I thought with Corbin gone, I'd at least get more space in bed. I was mistaken. Papel continued to lie down in the same spot. And silly me, so did I. Apparently without Corbin I also loose some level of intelligence and problem solving skills.

I would write more, but my lunch hour is over and I have to return to work. Stay tuned for a post on our reunion.

Rebuttle: My Job is Still Best

2007-09-08T22:43:00.000-07:00

Our blog on Thursday, featuring Zac's comments regarding who has the best job contained some striking commentary. I was ALMOST convinced his job is better than mine when he reminded me of the hot dog vendors...they are one of my favorite things about DC. However, i thought of a few "perks" he didn't mention. I feel my readers need to know the truth so they are not misled into thinking Zac has the best job.

1) Zac's commute lasts 2 hours ONE WAY, a round trip total (for those mathematically challenged) of 4 hours. My commute is 15 minutes one way. While I may not have any dependents to welcome me home (although I think I will begin lobbying for making pets dependents and I bet I will win in the great state of California; we did elect the Terminator as governor), I am not wasting away my life in a train, bus, and car.

2) DC is HOT. Forgive me for my excessive use of capital letters, but I want it to be well understood that DC is indeed very hot. Prior to it becoming our capital city it was a beautiful plot of swamp land replete with mosquitoes and disease. The swamp is gone but the mosquitoes still torment native and visitor alike.

3) Zac works with hardcore criminals that would drill him in the knee if they had the opportunity (a guy Zac works with actually drilled someone in several locations on his body). Zac thinks this is cool but really he just says that so he can try to sleep at night knowing these criminals are out there and could very well learn of his whereabouts if they ever get out of prison. I, on the other hand, work for a company where we send "love, not like." Over 90 percent of our cards include the word "love" in them. My efforts at work provide opportunities for people around the country to send tokens of love.

4) One of the reasons why I get paid less is so that Zac can get paid. While I love Zac and don't want him and his family on the streets, the simple fact of the matter is that taxpayers don't have to pay to keep me employed. So in other words, I'm not draining society :)

In conclusion, my job is still best, not Zac's.

Pimpin' is for (w)ussies

2007-09-07T13:47:00.000-07:00

From a purely evolutionary point of view, pimpin' is a stupid move. The driving instinct in all organisms is to pass on their specific set of genes to the next generation. And to out compete all the other organisms of the same species at this 'game'. But pimpin' does almost the exact opposite. Pimps aid other men in passing on copies of their genes while the pimp's genes are not passed on (a pregnancy would interfere with business).

Although in today's society, there seem to be two routes taken in order to spread one's genetic heritage. One is monogamy. The other, straight sluttin'.

Monogamy: The evolutionary benefits of monogamy are phenomenal. A family with two parents are more likely to be able to provide for the physical and emotional needs of the children. The father can work to put food on the table and the mother can nourish the children emotionally. Or vice versa, for you anti-gender role crowd. These children will be more likely to grow up to start families of their own where they can provide for the well being of future generations. Over time, monogamous tendencies are selected for.

Sluttin': This is the quick and dirty approach (no pun intended). Get as many women pregnant as possible before you die of syphilighonoherpes simplex HIV. (As a side note, some sexually transmitted diseases increase your sex drive to promote more spreading of the disease. Viruses work hard at spreading their genes, too.) You don't have to stick around to make sure the kids have enough to eat. The sheer numbers of your offspring out there should make up for the ones that don't make it.

Anyway, I'm sure you are all familiar with these evolutionary strategies. For some reason, I was just thinking about them and how pimpin' fit in. So how does pimpin' fit in with the evolutionary pressures? I don't know. Just like I don't really know where this post is going. All I know is that pimpin' is for suckas. All positive aspects of society come from us suppressing our instincts, or the 'natural man'. So the next time you instinctively reach for that pimp cup and diamond grill, just say 'Pimpin' is for (w)ussies'. (But if you're hell bent on pimpin', you'll need a pimptastic name. Get yourself one here.)

Yours truly,
Fadeproof C. Rock

Front page worthy comment

2007-09-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

Since the Musical Chairs post is already a few days old, comments are less likely to be read. But this recent comment is good enough to have it's very own post so I'm pulling it to the front page. Plus, this saves me from having to write my own post and I still get credit for updating the ol' bloggity blog. And if you look really hard, you might find the inspiration for the bacon 'stache. Although I must admit, Zac could take a few lessons from me on 'the look'.


Zac said...: Musical Chairs? Are you serious? What happened to the good ol' company softball team? Pro Flowers had to opt for a lame-o childs game to make you feel like part of "the team" and then it denied you a measly $100 prize when the company is making money hand over fist? Sounds like you got punked.

On the other hand, my job is the shiznit. Not only do I have access to the Bureau of Prisons database (I was among the first to know where Moutha Stewart was going to do her time), but I also get to interact with some of the biggest snitches in the nation, including former mafia God Fathers, Aryan Brotherhood commissioners, and MS-13 turncoats. If that isn't enough, I get to work in the capital city of the greatest country in the world, where it is a regular occurance to see motorcades of politicians (who, incidentally, are also some of the biggest crooks), diplomats, foreign dignitaries, and even the President of the United States clogging up the very streets on which I drive to and from work. Even Borat made an apperance at the nearby "Kazak" embasy before walking to the White House to demand a meeting with the President.

Need I mention the hot dog vendors on every corner who curiously remain in their portable, toiletless kiosks all day long without ever leaving and with no sink to wash their hands? I have decided that these super human vendors must be equiped with very large bladders or posessed by demons. The latter would not be surprising considering the controversay over the satanic and masonic symbols evident in the layout of the streets of our Nation's Capital.

Speaking of the Masons, I bet your SD doesn't have the House of the Temple, Head Quarters of the Supreme Council of the 33rd Degree of Freemasonry. Masons come from all over the world to this edifice to receive their 33rd Degree initiation. But they arent the only ones who flock to this great city.

Thousands of people pay their way to visit Washington DC every year, whereas you and all your tax paying friends pay me to come to DC every day. Although you might get to attend the occasional baseball game because the sport is so boring that they can't sell out the stadium and have to resort to giving corporations like Pro Flowers discounts on the nosebleed sections, I get to work in a city where every museum is free. So rather than spending several hours wondering when something exciting in baseball will happen, or trying to understand the difference between NASCAR and Funnycar, I can stroll into a building full of artifacts covering just about any topic interesting to anyone with a pulse. If that doesn't have you convinced, consider that one day during every summer, Ben and Jerry's offers free ice cream all day long to anyone visiting the old post office building.

I'm not sure if it's the Coffee Toffee ice cream or the miriad possibilities of thought provoking entertainment that has people lining up to visit the city where I work, but I do know that you wont find people lining up outside the doors of Pro Flowers to get a shot at that musical chair prize.

And, last time I checked, Uncle Sam isn't giving out any deductions for having a cat, so please accept a heartfelt thank you from the bottom of my heart for contributing more of your taxable income (which hopefully includes that prize money) to make possible my prestigious postiion.

Besides, I have my own team of musical chair players and I could play every evening if I wanted to. Let me be the first to tell you that it gets dull quite fast. There comes a point when they couldn't pay you to play another round. Instead, you should try taking up a sport with a little more thrill and skill in it like water skiing, which I am able to do quite regularly during the summer months.

In conclusion, you might get free flowers and a few nights of baseball boredom, but my job is better.

P.S. I grow my own flowers, because, yes, I am that good.

Weekend to end all weeks

2007-09-04T14:48:00.000-07:00

***Disclaimer: This post is a mostly factual account of our weekend and contains very few (if any) humorous or interesting bits. Proceed with CAUTION.***

Labor day weekend. Alice and I celebrated by laboring diligently...to PARTY like it was a national holiday!

We started our weekend off with a short camping trip up to Lake Jennings. It was hotter than reheated H-E-double hockey stick up there. We drove up there Friday evening with Matthew and Malerie Weed and Peter and Rachel Hawkins. Had a little tin foil dinner, a little peach cobbler, a little oppressive, mind-melting heat, and unfortunately, no swim in the lake (it is a drinking water reservoir and the rangers are apparently familiar with some of my more unsavory swimming habits). This campsite was unusual in that it is situated in between several neighborhoods and a Jack-in-the-box. There was also an elementary school style playground right next to our site. But the camp atmosphere was restored with a few burning pallets and dutch oven cooking.

Then we drove the 2o min back to our place the next morning. We polished off Saturday with a little stint at the temple.

The Hawkins invited us over for dinner on Sunday so after church we made a berry upside-down cake to bring with us. Alice found the recipe in Better Homes and Gardens. I didn't realize it was in the 'Healthy Food' section until it was too late. I was already half way through mixing the batter. I loudly proclaimed that there was no way this cake could taste good, coming from the 'Healthy Food' section. Alice mostly ignored my complaints. It didn't turn out too bad. Not our best dessert, but still edible. The Hawkins made a meat lovers pizza and a pesto pizza with pears, prosciutto and Gorgonzola. We washed them down with virgin Sangria and ginger ale.

On Monday we packed in as many activities as is humanly possible in order to maximize the unofficial last day of summer. I got up at 5:30 and went surfing. Then we went to the zoo for two hours with the Weeds, the Hawkins, and Nick and Jenny Wegner. We saw a polar bear fight and swamp monkeys picking on an otter (monkeys are apparently mischievous in real life as well as in cartoons). Then we went to the Original Pancake House, which is not actually the original Pancake House, but merely one of many copies in a chain of restaurants all claiming to be the original. The food was superb, even if it wasn't original.

To the beach we ventured next. Soaking up some cosmic rays and being healed by mother nature, as Malibu would say (thanks for the link, 84rkr). A little body surfing was done under the tutelage of Matt Weed, a semi-pro body surfer well known for his incredible distance.

After the beach, we all came back to our place for Matt and Malerie's signature homemade ice cream. After a long weekend with the Hawkins and the Weeds, we probably know each other too well. Alice thinks I'm lucky they are still talking to us after some of my shenanigans.

It's hard to come back to work after an action packed weekend like the one we just had. But Alice pointed out a silver lining: our offices have air conditioning. Alice is considering putting a Costanza cot under her desk to avoid sleeping in our stifling apartment. Maybe she can make it a double cot.

P.S. Thanks to Matthew for the fine pics.

My balcony is not filling the measure of its creation

2007-08-30T09:46:00.000-07:00

I was reading in Alma, chapters 40 and 41 this morning. These chapters are all about the resurrection and how good will be restored to that which is good, evil to that which is evil. Light to that which seeketh light, and darkness to that which seeketh darkness. I am pretty sure my balcony will be condemned to outer darkness come judgment day.

I have a tender basil plant. She struggles so valiantly against the tide of darkness. Her wilting, yellowed leaves strive upward toward that light which is the source of all life. And yet, she is losing the battle. My balcony is intent upon keeping her in the shadows. He cruelly allows her a few moments of light in the morning, but only if she is precariously perched on the very corner of the railing. In this position, she is very likely to tumble to the ground, 20 feet below, with the passing of any gentle gust. She has already taken one such fall, and her health has never fully recovered. I am convinced this is all part of my balcony's devious plan to rid our house of fresh basil. Sweet Basil's relative was killed a few months ago with this same deadly combination of darkness and drops.

If what Alma preaches is true, my balcony will surely have darkness restored unto it at the great and terrible day of judgment. A darkness so pervading that there shall be great wailing and gnashing of rails. I for one, do not feel pity for my balcony. Mercy cannot rob justice. I only hope that they have fresh basil in heaven. Otherwise would it really be?

Scribbler

2007-08-29T17:48:00.001-07:00

I found a new toy. It can turn anyone into an artist. I drew this face with it and also our new header (it may not be up long, depending on Alice's approval). [Update: It wasn't up long. Alice said the red swirls looked like blood. So I turned the swirls green and added flowers. She is a much happier Alice. She also likes the juxtaposition of the slightly abrasive title and the gentler graphic. My wife is so smart.] It is called the Scribbler and you can try it out here. Some of you true arteests out there will certainly create more stunning works. But it's fun for all ages!

The creator, Ze Frank, has some other fun interactive toys on his site, but this is my favorite out of the ones I've tried.

Anyway, I have to go. My nanoparticles are done incubating and I have to go and wash them. Time to get out my nanosoap and nanowashcloth. See you all later.

P.S. UCSD Rocks!

Online polls are not a joke.

2007-08-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

I am typing this with a gun in one hand and a sword in the other. Why? Because I am very angry. This is my angry face. For all you jokers out there, online polls are not a joke. You cannot simply vote willy nilly just for laughs. I am, of course, referring to the online poll on this very page, featured slightly down and to the right (depending on what side of the computer monitor you are facing). If you will look closely, you will notice that several votes have been cast for 'No, I never vote in online polls'. Think about it, folks! You just did vote in an online poll!!!

This is not a game. Peoples lives and livelihoods are at stake here. How do you think the President of the United States gets elected? That's right. Online polls. And how are TV shows for Thursday night's Must See TV chosen? Again, online polls. And what about guilty/not guilty judgments for moving pedestrian violations? You guessed it. Online polls.

Basically, our entire economic, social, political, and speed dating infrastructures rely on the integrity of online polls. If people start voting untruthfully, then it's a short trip to Anarchy Town. And trust me, you do not want to take a vacation in Anarchy Town. The food is terrible.

Would you sell your integrity for a smile or a laugh? A smile that you will never see and a laugh that you will never hear, because this is the interwebs, not real life? Don't do it. If you do have a change of heart and desire to repent, you can always change your vote. Repentance is why they included that option.

Please, people. Do not play games with Lady Democracy. She is a fickle and jealous lover and she will leave us for The China if we do not treat her right.

*If you had someone else cast your vote for you, thus maintaining your non-voting status, I apologize. You should not have had to read this. But I have a feeling that this post is not ill advised.

I Love My Husband

2007-08-26T18:19:00.001-07:00

Since it's Sunday, I think it would be appropriate to share a good family oriented story. This story stars my husband, whom I don't deserve, in the sense that he is way too good for me.

As our faithful bloggers know, my iPod nano was stolen by an OCD thief in the night two weeks ago. It has been a miserable two weeks as I experienced an emotional roller coaster of anger, sadness, frustration, despair, loneliness, pity....I'll save you all from hearing my ranting. I'll wait to share with Papel, he is a good listener.

Since the day it was discovered missing, Corbin has been faithfully searching Craigslist for my iPod. This week he thought he had found it. He had emailed several people one day asking for more details on the iPods they had listed for sale. One of these people responded to Corbin. Their name is foreign so I will spell it like it sounds: "A Home Molester." The email correspondence with this gentleman (so we will call him) was odd. Corbin would ask a couple of questions in his email and the gentleman would only respond to one and only partly. This correspondence continued several times with the same sort of incomplete response. At last Corbin thought he figured out why he was not getting complete answers. It was me!

Corbin thought I had placed a fake ad on Craigslist for an iPod to ensnare him. In Corbin's defense, this wouldn't be the first time I faked an online personality. When we were dating, I created a fake person on an online LDS dating service and stalked Corbin's fake person. The impersonation was soon seen through and we had a good time pretending to trick each other. So Corbin thought he had figured me out. So he wrote an email to this gentleman that said, "Ha ha ha. You're so funny and smart. I had a feeling it was you. I love you." Well, it wasn't me and the gentleman "A Home Molester" really exists and received my love note.

Somehow, this come on didn't deter "A Home Molester" from selling the iPod to Corbin. The gentleman sold him a 4GB Nano for $80. So Corbin is giving up finding my iPod and we've settled on this used one. I didn't realize how much I missed my one electronic device that had included me in the iPod revolution.

My dear husband spent countless hours searching for an iPod for me and even made a pass at another guy to get me one. This is true love.

Musical Chairs is Not Just for Children Anymore

2007-08-25T23:02:00.000-07:00

On Friday my company, ProFlowers, kicked off it's employee appreciation week with a BBQ and musical chairs. Yes, musical chairs is not just a party game for 5 year olds, it's also for working professionals and executives. It is an amazing show watching IT nerds, customer service chatty Cathy's, and number crunching analysts battle it out for the title of musical chair champ and $100. This year I found myself being summoned by our CEO to join in the girl's competition. I didn't want to play since girls are mean but as the music started to play, I found myself actually competing and pushing other women out of the way to ensure I captured a seat. I didn't win but I was able to walk away with fairly sore sit bones.

This is just a small example of why I probably have the best job of anyone who reads this. My job does require real effort, but I don't like jobs that you just sit around. One of my least favorite summer positions involved me watching tv in the conference room literally all day because I had no work to do. Some may say, "Awesome! Where did you work and how do I get hired?" I'm not telling because you slackers that want this job definitely need a back breaking job to put you straight. I don't want you ending up on the street dealing crack.

The San Diego magazine rated ProFlowers as one of the best in the city to work for. Below is a list of reasons why I think it was rated so well in no particular order:

*Free lunch every Tuesday from a different restaurant - Corbin is very envious of this perk. Often I get free lunch on other days of the week as well, especially during holidays when we work 12-14 hour days.
*Laid back working environment - you can wear flip flops and shorts or a suit if you want.
*Open door policy with everyone - no matter what your rank in the company, everyone works together
*Innovative mindset - everyone I work with are serious geniuses, which makes me wonder why they hired me. They are open to any suggestion you have for improvement.
*Holiday thank yous - following Mother's day, the company reserved an entire theater to see Pirates of the Caribbean. Everyone in the company plus whomever you wanted got to go. We also got popcorn and drinks.
*Bonuses! What more can I say?
*Parties - we have a summer and a holiday party. Lots of prizes are given out like electronics, money, and vacations. At our summer party I won $250.
*Employee appreciation activities - We have a week's worth of activities. This year we are seeing a movie at lunch (last year we watched a few episodes of the office), playing musical chairs during a BBQ, going to the Del Mar race tracks, going go kart racing, and attending a Padre's game (which we can bring family).

*Free flowers. I love this perk a lot. Just this week I learned how to arrange short stem flower bouquets and brought home two bouquets. I've included a picture of the flowers I arranged to enhance the jealousy factor I hope to instill in each of you.

Post some of the good/fun things about your job. I'd particularly enjoy hearing about the frustrations you have, that while not funny in the moment, are entertaining after the fact.

Let the bodies hit the floor

2007-08-25T09:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I went to the Bodies exhibit. Strangely enough, it came to the mall just around the corner from our apartment. For those of you not familiar with Bodies, they preserve real human bodies using a polymer preservation process which replaces all water and degradable substances with silicon.

They have displays with whole and partial organs as well as near complete bodies partially dissected to reveal key features. Eerily, they remove most of the skin but still leave humanizing patches like eyebrows, lips, and belly buttons. The butt crack was also usually left on. Don't ask me why. But with these humanizing features, it was easy to picture these people alive and doing normal things (with skin on, of course).

As I studied these infinitely detailed organisms, my own muscles almost involuntarily flexed and twitched. They were dynamically posed, often simulating a sports move, and the muscles and tendons stretched tight between the bones. It was not hard to imagine what my own muscles looked like straining beneath my skin. Everyone else began to seem transparent, too. I could envision the fetus curled up inside the pregnant lady to my left. I could see the heart rhythmically pumping in the boy to my right.

They have one process where they inject a polymer into the circulatory system and then dissolve the rest of the tissues, leaving only the arteries, veins and capillaries. Life size and recognizable as a human body. The fingertips had a surprising number of capillaries. So many that I could still see the faint fingerprints even though there was no skin left.

I really gained a new appreciation for the miraculous engineering that makes up our bodies. A billion trillion tiny little machines, all working together to keep us alive. It made me realize that even when I'm being extremely lazy (which happens more often than it should), at the cellular level I am really quite busy.

The whole experience was breathtaking. Thank you, Alice, for a wonderful birthday present.

P.S. All the bodies are unclaimed Chinese cadavers. Or at least that's what the chinese government is telling us.

Fixed gear fixation, or Why I want a fixed gear bike

2007-08-24T15:37:00.000-07:00

It all started with a parking pass. UCSD offers 10 free days of parking every quarter if you register your bicycle with them. Regular parking passes cost several brazillian dollars. And Alice takes the car most days so I don't really need a regular parking pass. But there is a UCSD parking lot next to our local beach which would be nice to be able to park in on the weekends. Ten days a quarter of free parking works out to one day a week or free parking at the beach. And all I have to do is register any old bike on campus.

So that's how it started. I was soon browsing craig's list for a free bike. Then I thought a usable bike might come in handy for when Alice has to take off early. Or when I need to tow Alice into town on her rollerblades for tae kwon do lessons. So I considered paying a few dollars for a reliable cycle.

And I immediately knew what I wanted. I had seen them sporadically for the past few years. They look like no other bike in this day of full-suspension, gadget laden, mega-componented 200 lb monsters. A full 98.2% of those tanks have never even ridden through a puddle, let alone been in a situation necessitating a full suspension. Don't get me wrong, there are sweet mountain bikes out there that look like a Mad Max vehicle. I guess I just don't like that every Grandma in the neighborhood has a $69 Wal-mart full suspension special that weighs more than a '65 Caddy and looks like trash. The ride I wanted was stripped clean. Down to the bare backbone of the cycle. Just the soul of it.

One single, solitary cog on the back. One on the crank. Single speed. No dérailleur, no shifter cables, some are even devoid of brake cables and levers. These bikes originally began as track bikes. Since a track doesn't have variable terrain, no need for changing gears. And since light makes might, everything else was stripped off the bike, including brakes. Most of the street fixed gears at least have a front brake for emergencies, but the hard-core fixers simply rely on their legs and back pedaling for braking. This is not the same as the coaster brakes on your old bmx or beach cruiser. The pedals and the drive wheel are inseparably connected. If the back wheel is moving, so are your legs. This makes for a better work out, too.

Mostly, I am enamored with the ultra-clean lines of the fixed gear cycles. Unfortunately, they are hard to come by for less than $200. That is still pretty inexpensive considering a mediocre road bike starts at $700. But for a cheap ______ like me who won't even spend $25 on a rash guard so his nipples don't bleed when he goes surfing, it is a bit steep.

I think I will have to settle for that purple huffy with the basket I saw for free on craig's list today. Then again, that beaut was probably snatched up moments after it was listed. I guess I'll just have to dream.

Cat Vomit and Brawny Paper Towels

2007-08-22T21:44:00.000-07:00

Not all of my posts are about cats but I live a fairly simple, routine life. There isn't much that differs from my normal routine. I get up, exercise, shower, eat breakfast, read scriptures, work, come home, eat dinner, watch a show, sleep. Then I do it all over again the next day. I'm not a cat fanatic, at least not yet. It's just that the cat is the only variable in my life.

Today the cat vomited. That was different.

While cleaning up the vomit with a Brawny paper towel, a flashback of an 80's commercial ran through my mind. I'm not sure if there's a jingle for Brawny towels, but I know that the commercial said something like, "These towels are the strongest and won't shred when used; buy them." I always want to buy Brawny paper towels but they're expensive. They have to be at least twice as much as generic. Plus generic towels have cute pictures on them and I like that.

So how did I come by these name brand paper towels? My dear mother in law sent me one roll to help pad my birthday present. Besides the actual gift, which was beautiful and I love very much, I was excited to receive a roll of name brand paper towels.

So back to cleaning up cat vomit. As I scrubbed cat vomit juices out of the carpet, I realized my Brawny paper towel was not shredding like the generic ones do when I try to clean vomit out of the carpet. I've doubted my whole life if Brawny was better and stronger. I've learned today that Brawny is better! Perhaps Henri's prize will be a role of Brawny paper towels.

I'm curious what our blogger friends thoughts are on buying name brand vs. generic named products. What name brand products are must haves and it doesn't matter how much it costs?

How to write a wildly successful blog post

2007-08-22T11:42:00.000-07:00

This is a brief how-to guide to writing a wildly successful blog post which will bring you fame and riches beyond your humblest dreams. This advice can be relied upon to be 100% accurate and true except for the parts that aren't. Any legal actions against the author in regards to advice given in this guide will be dealt with in the harshest manner imaginable. That is assuming you cannot imagine something harsher than a giant double scorpion, riding bareback on a mega-gorilla wearing diamond plated dentures, showing up at your house at the most inconvenient time, which will most likely be while you simultaneously have company over and Lavern and Shirley reruns playing on the picture box.

Tip #0.5: Always include a picture. Even if it just a random picture you stole off of google's image search. Most people won't even bother to read your post, so a picture is absolutely necessary for them to have something to look at while they are not reading.

Tip #1: Make the post useful. Teach people how to do something they've always wanted to do. How to spell phrontistery, for example. By the way, it's spelled P-H-R-O-N-T-I-S-T-E-R-Y.

Tip #2: Look up large, obscure words in the dictionary and somehow shoehorn them into your post. This will make you look smarter than you actually are. If the words also happen to be unwritable click language words, readers are likely to think you are a Norse, or possibly Finnish, god.

Tip #3: Incorporate one of the five major themes of literary conflict into your post. These are, in no particular order:
1. Man vs. Man
2. Man vs. Nature
3. Man vs. Society
4. Man vs. Himself
5. Man vs. the Undead (also includes cyborgs, self-aware robots, and demoniacally animated cheese)

Tip #4: Include at least one list in your post. The masses like their information in bite-sized form. Lists are also an excellent way to jump randomly from one topic to the next without having to use good writing skills to make a coherent post. Here is a list of sub-tips on including lists in blog posts:
Sub-tip #1: Never, ever include a list when you really should include a table. Some of the most commonly mis-listed table items include: names of semi-famous pirates and their lovers, things you can do with European soft foods, parties you always wished you were invited to and the reasons you would have had a terrible time if you had gone, ketchups.
Sub-tip #2: Keep your lists short and sub-lists shorter. No one wants to read a rambling list of random nonsense. Sub-lists should never exceed three items. Two is the optimal number. Unless it is an actual list of subs (either sandwich or maritime variety), in which case the reader will be confused regardless of the number of items in the sub-list. Regular lists should not exceed five items. If you must, additional items can be pasted in at the beginning of the list as fractional items. Readers will never know the difference due to modern sentence machine editing technology.

Tip #5: Take out attack ads against other blogs, slandering their character. But never the author's character. That's just tasteless. *Technically, this tip is a follow-up action to be taken after you have already finished writing your post. As such, it should be ignored.

There you have it. A 100% comprehensively complete, step-by-step, do-it-yourself instruction manual/guide incorporating full explanatory notes and references on how to author your very own wildly successful blog post.

Now you can sit back, relax, and watch the reputation-currency of the interwebs (comments) come flooding in. You may want to check your post compulsively every five minutes just to see if anyone has posted a comment. If no comments have been posted, the server must be down.

What does a cat have that no other animal has?

2007-08-20T14:13:00.001-07:00

Answer that riddle and you get a prize.

Speaking of cats, I think I'm going to train our cat to live without food. I'm pretty certain it will work, unless he stubbornly refuses and dies before I finish the experiment. He seriously eats better than we eat. His food comes with fifty different kinds of gravy. I think I've only tasted three kinds of gravy in my whole life. That's just not right. If, as Alice would say, most food is only a vehicle for the gravy, why is it that you can buy 35 flavors of corn chips while the gravies are sequestered to a one foot section of grocery shelving. The government should do something about that.

So, neglecting that bit about the gravy, I guess this will be an animal post.

Michael Vick has been in the news a lot recently. His dog fighting buddies turned on him like a pit bull on a chihuahua. Vick should have known that a dog is man's best friend. He could have instead used his dogs to set up a 250 lb. black guy fighting ring and probably never been caught. Or if he had been caught, I'm sure his dogs wouldn't have ratted him out like his 'friends' did. Dogs are much more loyal...and they can't really speak english.

Personally, I'm not wholly opposed to the whole dog fighting thing. He is a Hokie alum after all. Plus, after every fight, there is one less pit bull out there looking for babies to snack on.

This post has gone to the dogs. I quit.

Someday, my house will never be finished.

2007-08-15T12:39:00.000-07:00

I was looking back through some of our old photos and happened upon those taken at the Hearst Castle. We visited the Hearst Castle on our second day in California. We were driving down from Sacramento where we picked up our Sentra (which Alice is in love with, by the way, because of the cookie-cutter, indestinct styling cues of Nissan's bottom of the line fare). I thought I'd just share a few of the better photos. Those of you who are professional or semi-professional photographers, please keep your comments to yourself.

Hearst Castle is unique in that it was never finished. He had so many brazilians of dollars that he just kept adding on. Buying new artwork and sculptures. He even had a real roman temple dismantled and reassembled around his swimming pool. Someday, my house will never be finished.

Thieves BEWARE

2007-08-13T21:44:00.000-07:00

I'm on a personal mission to catch thieves. I hate thieves. Why is it that there is a small subset of our population who thinks it's ok to take what's not theirs? While I feel all sorts of thieving is abominable, taking from a private citizen (versus a store) is hitting below the belt.

Like many causes that unfortunately stem from personal experience, my new found mission comes from a personal thieving experience. On Sunday night someone with OCD broke into our car while it was parked in our carport. This mentally ill person took everything out of its plug or container and laid it all neatly onto the front seat. While we were in Virginia someone broke into our car and messed it all up but couldn't find anything good. Now that we USED to own something good, this thief did find something. Luckily no damage was done to our car.

Today I participated in an MRI research study at UCSD. One of our friends is a neurologist that works there and I got paid not enough money to buy a new iPod. While my brain was being scanned for traces of genius (which I'm confident will be found), I kept thinking of what I would do if this inhuman thief ever returned to the scene of the crime and I caught him.

I pictured him sitting in our car, neatly organizing everything before he decided what he wanted to take. Meanwhile, I have just approached the car and .... Scenario one: I daringly opening the door and pull his hair and poke his eyes out while my free hand calls Corbin to come down and inflict more damage to this lost soul. Scenario two: I stand in front of the car locking the door with my remote while he tries to unlock it from within to run away, while I again call Corbin to come to my rescue.

Somehow I feel more empowered when I plan how I will prevent anyone else from defiling my poor little car. I don't have much of a sense of humor about this right now, but perhaps our loyal blogger friends will propose ways they dream of defeating those mentally ill, social rejects, that like to take what is not theirs.

Lost in Costco

2007-08-12T11:17:00.000-07:00

Pack the kids into the miniature van and get ready to strap on your nacho feedbags. Alice and I splurged on a Costco membership. Coolest place ever. It's like joining a secret society with benefits including things like 'Buy one gallon of mayonnaise, get four free'!

The building is so big, we went through four different weather systems on our way to the deli. They have to set up relief stations every few miles to hand out sustenance and drink to prevent starvation and dehydration. Just like they do for illegal immigrants crossing the Arizona desert. Which is ironic, because I'm pretty sure I crossed at least one state border myself while looking for toilet paper.

They have such a wide selection, we even found DC's own crack smoking mayor for sale. He was mixed in with raspberries and blueberries in the frozen fruit section. (Look it up. He's a real berry.)

We bought about 200 pounds of canned and dried food for our food storage. So when California is cut adrift from the mainland, hopefully we'll be able to survive. As long as Costco comes along with us, we should be able to feed the entire state for at least a year.

Although it is extremely likely to happen, I am not afraid of getting lost in Costco. What better place could there be to be stranded? I'll simply slip into a pair of maternity pants, find a comfortable sofa in the furniture aisle, and settle into a 50 gallon drum of chocolate covered peanut butter balls while I wait for the rescuers or the apocalypse, whichever comes first. Isn't America great?

P.S. Snape...Snape...Severus Snape. (Thanks for getting that song stuck in my head, Brad) Check it out here.

I wish I was (corbin says "were") a cat

2007-08-09T20:40:00.000-07:00

So first, I think I will satisfy Henri's request of dumbing this blog down, as indicated in this blog's title.

I have been the proud owner or ownee of a cat (same thing as seeing the glass half empty or half full) for three years. I've come to the conclusion that if it were possible to surgically become a cat, I would do it. I wonder what that procedure would be called...any ideas?

I'm about to reveal a spoiler too, so stop reading now if you don't want to know this little secret of mine.

Here I go.....

I think I'm ready....

I'm scared....

I hope I still have friends after this ....

I'm a rigid sissy girl. If I were a cat I would not be this.

Papel has once again taught me through his actions, as only actions can speak louder than words and cats do not speak words, that cats are superior creatures and have no weaknesses like being a rigid sissy.

Case in point. Papel enjoys prowling along the balcony railing. He keeps an eye out for any intruders to our peaceful home, which apparently includes the ground two stories below, the bushes, the neighbor's balcony, and the entire pool area. One evening while on watch, Papel caught site of an intruder. Now, what would a rigid sissy do? Run into the house and pull the covers over her head because she's so stiff she can't even crawl under the bed. But a fearless cat would defend his domain even risking his own life. Yes, Papel gallantly leapt from the second floor balcony landing straight into the bushes below.

He took no thought of his well being but rushed after the intruder who was making himself comfortable by the side of the pool. Papel is such the knight in shining armor that he took no thought of how he has no claws to fight off this intruding cat and defend his loved ones. He jumped onto the cat and began "scratching" at him and attempting to deafen his adversary by screeching loudly. In no time, the other cat was bolting from the pool side with his tail between his legs.

What a hero. I want to be a hero. And I bet many of you would too, especially after watching "Heroes" on NBC. And through Papel's actions, I have learned that if I want to be a hero, I must be a cat. So unless you are on "Heroes" or are a cat you can't be. Sorry that this is such a downer of a blog.

The Uber-Deathly Hallows, or Oh, Henri!

2007-08-09T10:56:00.000-07:00

At the behest of Henri, the only faithful contributor/commenter to my blog, this post shall attempt to review the last book in the Harry Potter series, The Deathly Hallows. To avoid spoilers, stop reading this now.

Everyone dies. I told you there would be spoilers. If you didn't stop when I told you to, it's your own dang fault.

OK, so maybe not everyone dies, but a right lot of them do end up as the main course at a worm feast before this jeremiad is over. In Henri's opinion, this book doesn't live up to the others. I agree with her, quite literally, as more people are brutally butchered in this children's tale than all of the Saw movies put together. I had to read something a little more light hearted like Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump or The Wizard and the Hopping Pot just to stop the nightmares.

Was Rowling just pulling at our heart strings, or was there a real purpose to killing half the characters, including Harry's poor little owl? She did say she wanted to make sure no other authors could come after her and exploit the Harry Potter franchise by writing follow up books. In that sense, knocking off Hedwig seems like a pretty good idea. Harry can't very well fight off future dementors and evil wizard lords if he can't even receive the post. How's he to know the return address of his would-be attackers? I'm sorry I ever doubted your genius, J. (yes, I am on a first initial basis with Ms. Rowling).

This is supposed to be a children's book. With all the senseless killing and, as Henri put it, 'the profanity and more complex writing style' full of 'unpronounceable words', I think J. has made it apparent she is ready to move on to headier genres. My money is on a sci-fi western romance with a genteel cowboy roaming the open 'space' (SPACE: What is it and why is it important?) fighting intergalactic outlaws and looking for interstellar love. I'd book Fabio for the cover now before his schedule is filled with imitation dairy spread endorsements and Red Hat Club appearances.

I think Henri said it best. "The best things in life are things you don't need." And what could we need less than a sci-fi western romance written by a billionaire children's author featuring Fabio in a cowboy hat and little else on the cover? (Don't bother asking what he's wearing inside the covers.)

P.S. I actually enjoyed the book. It's simply much easier to write a critical review. I tried writing a glowing review but "It was really quite good" was all I managed to come up with.

Pipe's up, hose down

2007-08-08T12:52:00.000-07:00

My friend Aaron Vollmer from Virginia Tech dropped by for a visit. We went out for real mexican food at El Cotixan. Aaron, a former SD resident, recommended the place as having excellent carnitas. The tacos were far superior to any flavorless imitation one might find in any random east coast state, say Virginia for instance. Tender, perfectly seasoned meat, creamy guacamole, pico de gallo, and salsa verde wrapped in two soft corn tortillas. My only complaint was that my tacos did not come with cheese on them. Dinner without cheese is like a beautiful woman with only one eye. But I managed to choke them down.

We finished the evening off with dessert at BJ's pizza place, home of the famous Pizzookie. For the uninitiated, the pizzookie is a hot, deep dish chocolate chip cookie with vanilla bean ice cream on top.

The alarm rang out this morning at 6:30 am. With sleep still in our eyes, he and I went surfing. Alice of course did not come. She is a very safety conscious person and she vowed not to get in the water until she first learned how to surf. So as to avoid any accidents. It was either that or it was too early and the water too cold. I can't remember.

While we were there we saw a partner surf team (two people on one board) doing lifting stunts while riding the waves. Envision a figure skating lift on a surf board. Not for me. Chafing is bad enough as it is.

Enough babble.

P.S. Those really observant will notice the pictures are of an evening surf session. I'll add the pictures from this morning as soon as Aaron sends them to me.

Does the fish take the hook, or does the hook take the fish?

2007-08-07T16:29:00.000-07:00

Last night, Alice and I went to look at a Porsche 914 I found for sale on craig's list. It was blue with upgraded 911 suspension and brakes, five spoke Fuchs racing wheels, racing spec engine increased from 1.7L to 2.2L, Weber carbs, short throw shifter, and a racing stripe that the owner assured me added at least 5hp. Price? Only three and a half large.

Alice said it was too loud...

...and too bumpy...

...and too fast.

She inadvertently discovered the three main reasons, in no particular order, for owning any sports car worth its asphalt. Alas, she was not convinced by my modest pleas. Nor by my unabashed begging accompanied by genuine tears.

Alice was clearly not taking this bait with the Stuttgart badge, while I swallowed hook, line, and sinker. And so some lucky bachelor will daily be experiencing the joy of ringing ears, a sore bum, and hefty speeding fines. How I do envy.

If past experience serves me correctly, we are probably not the best owners of things requiring more than superficial maintenance. You may recall the '61 Vespa still sitting idle, or rather, not idling at all. Or the '48 Plymouth we barely managed to sell on eBay before it turned to a fine red powder before our very eyes. You probably don't know about the incident with the goldfish because we ashamedly kept that story to ourselves. But you get the idea.

The man is supposed to maintain any and all machinery or mechanical apparatus appertaining to his family or household. But as the man of my house, I am fairly busy with much more important things. Like perusing craig's list for great bargains.

Better 'Fresh Hell' than reheated hell from the night before

2007-08-07T15:26:00.001-07:00

The world is being drowned in a deluge of blogs. The majority of the mundanely mediocre blogs sink to their watery graves a few days or weeks after their similarly watery births, never to be read again, save perhaps by the author (and even that is sometimes obviously not the case).

I am not deluded into believing my blog will not join the others at the bottom of the deluge. But for a few brief shining moments, my blog will be the newest blog, glittering with freshness like a new car just out of the showroom or a really freshly born baby. 'What fresh hell is this?' you ask. The freshest hell, that's what hell this is.

Unfortunately, those brief moments have most likely already passed as I had to go take a wee-wee in the midst of writing these very words. It was certainly nice while it lasted. I guess I could always drink another glass of water. Having the newest blog was nice, too.

Welcome to my blog.