Just a Service I Provide

Guilty pleasures

2009-02-19T10:40:00.001-08:00

Since the beginning of the year, I've been trying an experiment of multi-tasking where I work from home while taking care of Lucy. Most of the time, it's quite the juggling act, like bouncing her on my knee while I write emails or feeding her while I'm talking on the phone. A couple of times, I've had to do presentations and had to bring her along and let an audience member hold her while I'm speaking. (Fortunately she hasn't developed the dreaded "stranger danger" or I'll be screwed.

Anyway, by the time Margaret gets home from work on Wednesday, I feel completely sucked dry... like I've had to pull a handcart across the plains, organize the church choir, draw up plans for the Salt Lake temple, AND get 5 poopy diapers changed... all in the same day! The main thing that I want after Lucy goes to bed is turn off my brain, and fortunately NBC has provided me exactly what I need! I'm ashamed to admit that I have been watching the new Knight Rider for a while now. I know, I know... turn away! Don't look at me; I'm HIDEOUS!

Admittedly, the show isn't all that great (hence its "brain candy" status), but just like it's 80's predecessor, I can't help watching because the car is just too cool... although in the 80's I would have said it was "rad." Whereas the 80's version was a Trans Am or something, the new and improved one can be ANYTHING. So far, it's been a Mustang, a F-Series pickup, and a 1973 Mustang. I'm just waiting for an upcoming episode where it will be imperative to the plot for KITT to transform into a Aerostar minivan. I can just see the story panning out something like this:

[Opening credits roll] KITT and Michael Knight are traveling at supersonic speeds through the Bonneville Salt Flats headed to Salt Lake City. They're in the middle of a message from headquarters giving them details about a smuggling ring in Salt Lake that is transporting illegal quantities of Jell-O throughout Utah and Idaho. The smugglers have been disguising the Jell-O as bricks of cocaine, something that the residents of Salt Lake wouldn't be able to identify, even if it was labeled "Cocaine." The cover story to infiltrate the smuggling ring is for Michael to pose as a father of 17 who needs regular shipments of the Jell-O. "KITT, we're going to have to go in stealth. Initiate transformation." And voilá! KITT becomes an Aerostar! The show then follows the usual formula with Michael Knight getting into some bind, some kid discovering that KITT can talk, KITT getting Michael out of his jam, the crime lords being brought down, and the kid getting a free ride in KITT. Only at the end, the twist is that KITT drives the little girl to her own BAPTISM! [Closing credits roll]

Man, people are going to feel the spirit when they watch THAT episode!

Oh yeah, this is what it was like

2009-02-03T08:10:00.001-08:00

Last night Margaret and I got the opportunity to go to the symphony here in Portland. We haven't been to an event like that since well before Lucy was born and we were excited but also anxious about the prospect. We made an evening of it, meeting up at a restaurant for their happy hour menu before going over to the box office to pick up our tickets. As we sat down, we started talking... about Lucy doing this and Lucy eating that and Lucy pooping... well, you get the picture. We didn't even realize we were doing it until 5 or 10 minutes had passed of us doing that. We made the decision to not even mention her name, knowing that she was fine at home and we were just out to enjoy ourselves. After we did that, it was amazing. We talked about politics, religion, Super Bowl ads. It was great. We got to have a great dinner, eat dessert at a cool new mod restaurant nearby, browse around in Nordstrom, and see a great Mozart performance. Although the experience made us wish we lived closer to family; the babysitter effectively doubled the cost of the evening.

Schoolhouse Rock goes tin-foil hat

2009-02-02T08:01:00.001-08:00

We all grew up with Schoolhouse Rock. I mean, without it, how would we know that a noun is a person, place, or thing. Or that three is the magic number. Anyway, here's a Schoolhouse Rock the government doesn't want you to see. Thanks to Obama's recommitment to freedom of information, it's finally come to light.

Surrealism in Portland

2009-01-30T07:08:00.000-08:00

You how every once in a while, you're blessed to overhear the most amazingly random conversations that make you feel happy having overheard it and happier yet that you're not that weird person talking? Well, yesterday I was blessed with such an opportunity. I was sitting in my gym lobby waiting for my workout partner to get out of the locker room. I had gotten out my phone and was ~~browsing around on Facebook~~ checking work emails, when I started eavesdropping on a guy (who looked like COmic Book Guy from the Simpsons, which will make the following story even more cringe-worthy) sitting near me talking on his phone. My ears perked up when he uttered the words "sexy mermaids", as I've always enjoyed the movie "The Little Mermaid" and assumed he was talking about that. Well, surprisingly, he wasn't talking about Ariel. I can only imagine that he was talking with his tattoo artist when he said this: "I need someone to draw me a picture of two sexy mermaids fighting underwater with a narwhal swimming by and one of the mermaids has broken off his horn and is stabbing the other mermaid with it and underneath, in Latin, write 'this pain shall benefit you'." And then to top it off, he followed up with, "the last time I tried to have someone draw that, they gave me SEA HAGS, and I don't want sea hags, I want SEXY MERMAIDS!" Don't we all.

Seriously, overhearing that just made my day.

Ummm, I have a question

2009-01-29T17:45:00.000-08:00

I saw this on someone's blog and would like to cautiously raise my hand and timidly ask, fearful of the answer, how exactly do you play this video game.

Seriously? Any ideas? Anyone out there in the Internets world played this before? Did you feel guilty afterward or invigorated? Is it appropriate to bring "protection" to the arcade or is it made out of anti-bacterial plastic? I'm dying of curiosity here!

Update
Okay, a friend sent me this information about the game. Evidently it's a Japanese phenomenon called "Kancho" and here is a description of it from an American who teaches English in Japan:

Let me introduce you to a game Japanese kids like to play called "Kancho." It's not as much a 'game' as it is kids clasping their hands together, sticking out their first fingers, and shoving them up your butt. I'm really not joking.

Just about any kid can be a Kancho Assassin. Even the sweetest little girl is liable to jam her fingers up your ass the second you turn around. This happened to one of my friends, which just goes to show - don't trust anyone. I'd say the little girls are the most dangerous because they have natural ways of lowering your defenses.

During JET orientation they told me a lot of ultimately useless stuff: what kind of computer to bring, if my DVD's would work, clothing sizes, that kind of nonsense. Nowhere, and I mean nowhere, in the 3-4 months of training did anyone ever mention that at some point, a Japanese kid may try to stick his fingers up my butt. That's something I would have liked to know, personally.

I was pretty lucky. Before I left the US, I bought a really big, really baggy pair of pants. The kids try to Kancho... they just have no idea where my ass is. It's beautiful! One kid tried and his fingers hit nothing but jean fabric and air. Yes! I've also become pretty good at dodging it. Much like Spiderman I have developed a Kancho Sense that tells me where and when it's coming before it comes. I parry fingers like a pro. My record is still 100% Kancho Free. Ha! America 2, Japan 0.

So yes, there is something more dreaded than the Ninja or the Shogun... it's the Kancho Assassin!

Head injuries

2009-01-29T06:43:00.000-08:00

This weekend, while chatting with my grandmother and aunt, we were discussing a recent spill that my grandmother took that had given her a concussion. (She's okay, by the way... and curiously the incident was a mixed bag in terms of effects. On the one hand, she has to read large-print books for a week to two, which unfortunately limits her to Reader's Digest condensed books or the Scriptures... eh, who am I kidding... it limits her to just Reader's Digest condensed books. But on the other hand, it cleared up something that had been bugging her for quite some time and that had forced her to drink tea to treat it. Maybe the spill was God's way of helping her obey the Word of Wisdom... you know, like STDs are God's way of helping people obey the Law of Chastity)

Anyway, while we were talking about concussions, my grandmother said that she saw sparkles (which is WAY more exciting than the boring stars that other people report seeing). I told her that I remember seeing sparkles, too, when I sustained the most horrific head injury of my life: The Hose Incident of 1988. I talked about this before, but in case you're a newcomer to this blog and haven't gone back and read every one of my posts to be regaled with it's greatness (and if you haven't, what's up with THAT?!), here is the story:

One day, I got stuck with the task of watering our lawn. I was moving the sprinkler from one location to another and was pulling the hose when it got caught up on something. Being the lazy teenager that I was, I decided to try to whip the hose off the hang-up rather than walking back and freeing it. Unfortunately I grabbed the hose not at the end but about 10 inches from the end. Suddenly, as I stood there whipping the hose up and down and back and forth--expending WAY more energy than if I were to simply walk back and free it-- something hit me so hard on the head that I couldn't hear out of my right ear, my vision went black for an instant (during which time I saw the sparkles against a dark backdrop and was inspired to visit Studio 54), and I could barely stand up straight. I was standing near the road in front of our house and thought that someone must have thrown a rock at me as they drove past! Senseless violence in rural Idaho even in those days! I stumbled back to the house, all the while telling myself my name, address, phone number, preferred brand of bacon bits, and the synopsis to last week's episode of Knight Rider to confirm that I didn't have amnesia. I'd seen enough movies and soap operas to know that even the slightest blow to the head is enough to make someone forget that he's a rich baron that drives racecars and is a double agent between the US and Canada. Unfortunately I could well remember that I wasn't wealthy royalty but a pimply teenager into computers and science--at least the injury could have made me think I was a British agent for a few minutes. When I went in the house and told my mom what had happened, she was (understandably) freaked out and rushed me to the clinic in town. As we were sitting in the examination room, I had some time to think about what had happened and my original thought that someone had thrown a rock at me just didn't seem to add up. One, none of my enemies or nemises had that good of aim, two, a rock thrown that distance would have left more than a series of threaded lines on my forehead, and three, I wasn't even facing the road. It was then that I realized that I had hit myself with the wicked strike of a whipped garden hose. I sheepishly told my mom what I had just realized and she said that we'd stick to the thrown rock story when we told the doctor what had happened. And that's exactly what we did. Now the internets know why I have a slight bump on my forehead, why I'm into whips and chains, and why, for a short time, I was completely obedient to the Third Commandment.

Slacker

2009-01-16T11:19:00.000-08:00

Holy crap! Why didn't anyone tell me that I haven't written on this thing for more than a month! And so much has happened. So much that it's all just a blur and I can't differentiate anything out of that blurry view, so you'll just have to imagine how wild and crazy and amazing and tragic and transcendental the past 6 weeks have been and we'll move on. Go ahead and imagine... I'll wait... Are you doing it? Ooo, don't forget to imagine the part where Obama calls and asks me for advice on something. Oh, and don't forget to picture me negotiating a peace treaty between two warring nations... yeah, that was good. Man, it's too bad it's all such a blur, because you would have LOVED reading about it, but let's just move on.

Today I had to do something I dread: cancel a subscription to a service. I hate it because they always pull out the "why are you leaving us" or "let us offer you a special deal" or "we've got these pictures of you that you really wouldn't like to get out, would you?" I hate that. Anyway, I've found a fool-proof method of stopping them in their hard-sell tracks: tell them you're moving, but not just any simple move will do. They're trained to respond, "Oh, we can just transfer your service to your new address. Where are you moving to?" Here's where the part that throws them comes in. I respond, "Norway." Both times I've tried this, they meekly say, "Oh, we don't offer service there. I'll process your cancellation." Works. Like. A. Charm!

Now if only that trick would work on our home teachers!

Holiday lights

2008-12-04T09:34:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's that time of year again. To go find your snarled mess of Christmas lights and get them hung up.

Because nothing says the birth of Christ like the twinkling beauty of tiny lights hanging on your house's eaves.

Inexperienced bar-goer

2008-11-18T08:27:00.000-08:00

A while back, an accounting firm at the end of our street went out of business and a bar opened in the vacant space. And not just any bar but a classically stereotypical hipster bar with velvet curtains and smarmy twenty- and thirty-somethings who look down on you when you walk by on the sidewalk with your Dutch stroller thinking that you should be using a Radio Flyer wagon to transport your baby. Anyway, this bar INFURIATES our neighbor, as the street in front of our house tends to fill up with the bar's patron's cars. He is always on the lookout for reasons to call the parking authority for any infraction, which endears him to the bar, I'm sure.

Which reminds me of my first Portland bar experience. Now me and bars don't have a long history together. Growing up Mormon, I always had the perception that bars were dark, seedy places that smelled like smoke, stale booze, cheap perfume, and despair. All the men were drunks looking for an excuse to be away from their families and drown their sorrows and worries in cheap whiskey and all the women were caked-on makeup floozies with stringy hair looking to snag a man for the night. The sitcom Cheers only altered my perception a little--bars were also places where people were forced to work if they were imprudent enough to get an English literature degree. My college years didn't afford me any opportunities to glimpse inside a real bar, given that going within 50 feet of one was a violation of the BYU Honor Code and the nearest one to Provo was a biker bar 80 miles out in the West Desert.

Well, finally, after fleeing Utah and moving to Portland, I finally got the opportunity to step foot in a bar... a REAL LIVE BAR! What made it alluring wasn't the alcohol, since I don't drink (although I was curious to find out if you really get free pop at a bar if you say you're the designated driver... if I found that out to be true, I'd never have to buy Diet Coke again and I'd be hanging out at bars all the time! Turns out you have to be in a group of people drinking who actually need someone to drive them home. Stupid rules.). No, the siren beckoning us into this bar was its wealth of pool tables. One day, around 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday, Margaret and I walked by that bar and saw that the only people in it was the bartender, a couple of waitresses, and a couple of hardcore drinkers who looked like they'd been sitting on their barstools since the place opened at 10:30 am. We furtively looked around to make sure that no one from our ward was in view, then I took a deep breath (the last smoke-free breath I would take for the next 90 minutes) and stepped over the threshold. The main surprise I had about the place was that it had an awful lot of plants. I didn't really expect that, assuming that any potted thing would be quickly killed from being the dumping ground for cigarettes, bad cocktails, and the occasional vomit. Who knew?

We sauntered over to the pool table closest to the door all casual like, trying to project the image that this was something we did all the time. Margaret took care of getting the billiard balls out of the machine and picking out our cues while I got the task of, gulp, going up to the bar and ordering our pops. Believe me, all your cred disappears when you step up to the bar at the local dive and order a couple of rum and Cokes, but hold the rum, and instead of Coke, please use Diet Coke. I told the bartender we were the designated drivers, hoping that would throw him off track. Which it didn't. Damn!

Chastened, I brought our pops back to the pool table and we started our game. Given that this was the first time in years that either of us had played pool, we were absolutely terrible. But we were having fun laughing at how ridiculous we were at our awful pool-playing skills. That game lasted quite a while. It takes a surprising amount of time to sink... um, however many balls are in a billiard set... when each ball takes four to five attempts. By the time we finished, we were getting into it, and so I went and got refills on our modified rum and Cokes and we started a second game, as the bar was still quite empty. Within 10 minutes of starting the second game, however, people started flocking in. I don't know if it was happy hour or the local steel mill 45 miles south of us had changed shifts, but suddenly the bar was a noisy, smoky, crowd of people. Soon all the other pool tables were filled and we were feeling the pressure to finish our game. A guy saw that we had only several balls left in our game and came over to place two quarters under the lip of the pool table. "Um, I wouldn't recommend betting on us," I told him. "We're not very good players." He gave me that, "you're a non-drinking Mormon poseur just faking that you're comfortable in a bar and feeling all rebellious while drinking your Diet Coke-look" (you know the one) and told me that that's how you declare that you have dibs on the table for the next game. I wanted to bolt from the bar in humiliation, but couldn't waste the rest of my Diet Coke and the fifty cents we'd spent on the game. The 35 minutes it took to sink the last three balls felt like an eternity, as I could feel the eyes drilling in on us as we feebly tried to finish our game of shame. After the eight ball dropped into the corner pocket, we gulped down the last of our Diet Cokes, put on our coats, and proceeded to never step foot in that bar ever again.

Mixed blessing

2008-11-10T08:07:00.000-08:00

I recently bought a pair of those high-tech Gap chinos with the space age treatment infused in the very fibers of the pants that make them impervious to stains and repel liquids like the back of a duck. Well, I've loved these properties up until an event a couple of days ago that have made me rethink the benefits. I was holding Lucy and I heard the telltale noises that indicated that something was going on in her pants. Then I looked down and realized that the substance that escaped the diaper hit my space age pants and instead of soaking in, just ran down them and all over my shoes! Ugh. It is MUCH easier to wash a pair of pants than get poo out of sueded shoes, believe me!

Just call me a hopeful romantic

2008-11-06T09:07:00.000-08:00

I am so happy to be ending this drought of posts with such historic news that Obama was elected the next president of the United States. And to say that I am surprised, relieved, and hopeful about it is an understatement. I think for me, the magnitude of this election underscores my hopelessly romantic and idealistic view that America is first and foremost an idea. Unique among nations, it was founded not by coincidence of geography, homogeneity of its population, or benevolence of its ruler but by a simple idea summed up in our Declaration of Independence: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed."

Such power was held in that idea that it expanded to much more than the white, male, landowners it was originally meant for to eventually include blacks, women, Indians, indeed everyone. The power of this idea struck me full force a couple of years ago when Margaret and I were in Oslo. Despite all the time I'd spent there while on a mission, it wasn't until going back on vacation that I actually got the chance to visit the Oslo City Hall. The building is quite amazing and the symbolic significance of it being the site where the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded each year only adds to its gravitas. Upon the building's completion, the major artists of Norway were invited to paint murals and frescoes inside. All of them were impressive, but one completely reshaped my perception of America.

Åge Storstein painted a fresco in one of the rooms that went from floor to ceiling on all four walls. The fresco is titled "Menneskerettighetene" or "The Human Rights." In it, the concept of human rights and liberty is symbolized by a flame. A flame that is ignited in America at the Revolution, spreads to France, then to the rest of Europe. The flame is almost extinguished by the Nazis, and on that panel, there are a huddled mass of Norwegians hiding underneath debris, carefully guarding only a tiny ember. Finally, in the final part of the fresco, the shackles of oppression are thrown off and the flame is allowed to burn brightly and be held aloft. Looking at this painting, and subsequently thinking back on it, I was struck by the wonderful gift that America gave the world and how thankful the world was for our contribution. But I was also struck by the change in our role in the world. Rather than being a force for good and freedom in the world, we'd become preoccupied by more selfish goals that belied the noble ideals of our founding. I was no longer living in the same America that saw patriots fight for the idea of liberty and justice. I was no longer living in the same America that my grandfather fought for and my grandmother sacrificed for for the sole purpose of bringing liberty and freedom to people on the other side of the world. I was no longer living in the same America that the rest of the world saw as a beacon of hope and possibility. Such were the emotions that I felt upon seeing this painting.

That was a long introduction to why I am so hopeful about the outcome of this election. Seeing the thousands of people gathered in Chicago to hear Obama's victory speech I felt hope. Hearing the fireworks, whoops, and honking cars at my house starting less than five minutes after the polls on the west coast closed and Obama was projected as the winner, I felt hope. Reading the Norwegian paper online and seeing that the top TWELVE articles were about the election and how excited the Norwegians were about our selection gave me hope. The following morning, seeing people still so excited gave me hope. All of these things combined to give me a hope that we can live up to our ideals once again and be a flame that gives light to the dark places in the world.

I don't think Obama can do this on his own, though. We'll all have to work together for this idea called America. The excitement, optimism, and hope that Obama has inspired in so many tells me that America still has it in her to be a source of good for this world in desperate need of our characteristic can-do, idealistic, creative nature to come shining through. And that, above all else, gives me hope. So after reading this post, you'll probably think that I'm just a hopeless romantic, to which I'll respond, I may be a romantic, but after that election, I'm far from hopeless.

Truth in advertising

2008-10-17T11:31:00.001-07:00

I wonder if the McDonald's worker places these stickers on in the hopes that it educates people that if you'll end up a pig in a sty if you eat too many hamburgers.

Catching up

2008-10-17T09:24:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the paucity of postings lately. What with the Big Event, new fatherhood, and composing my interpretive dance opera "Caffeine!", I'm lucky to find the time to shower. Just kidding, I think I'd rather skip meals than one of my thrice daily showers. It's just one of the debilitating effects of germaphobia. (Although it also has a positive side, in that Lucy is now pushing 6 months and hasn't been sick yet... knock on cyberwood.... and she hasn't even been kept in a bubble or ANYTHING!)

To catch you all up, here's what's been going on: I'm still working to cut down on the amount of Diet Coke I drink in preparation for a trip to Utah in December. (Just in case I get called to work for the Church while I'm there.). Margaret has been going to work on Wednesdays, so I have been using the remaining paternity leave I have to stay home one day a week with Lucy. That's been interesting and enjoyable. Although last week I think I completely pooped her (and myself) out. Here is our day: get up and go to Noah's for a bagel and Diet Coke(s), go in to work for a few hours because The Event was that weekend, go to Taco Bell with a coworker, head home for a minute to refill bottles, etc., go to the grocery store, meet Margaret at a restaurant for dinner. Phew! Then Margaret took Lucy to her craft club. By the time Lucy got home, she practically fell asleep as we were laying her down in her crib. And Margaret and I collapsed into our bed.

The Event went well. My family was here all weekend and they focused all their attention on Lucy, despite the fact that, HELLO! I'm standing right here! You could at least say 'Hi'! Now that The Event is over, things are winding down a bit, although we have trips to Idaho and Utah planned before the end of the year. With that many more flights, trapped in a closed container, I don't know if Lucy will be able to maintain her sick-free streak for much longer!

Yes, yes it does

2008-10-07T10:52:00.000-07:00

This sign was on a shop window on my street. (I had to post it to maintain the 'R' rating that my blog received.

Week of craziness

2008-10-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the complete lack of posts for the past while. I organize a big event at work that happens this weekend. It generally sucks all my attention, energy, and life force and I'm looking forward to next Monday!

Anyway, to tide you over, there were two interesting things in today's paper that I had to pass along:

1. This is from John McCain and considering recent events, REALLY makes me want to move to Norway where there is universal health care:
"Opening up the health insurance market to more vigorous nationwide competition, as we have done over the last decade in banking, would provide more choices of innovative products less burdened by the worst excesses of state-based regulation."

YIKES!

and

2. This is a quote from the retirement announcement of Berkeley Breathed, the creator of the comic strip "Bloom County" and "Opus":
"With the crisis in Wall Street and Washington, I'm suspending my comic strip to assist the nation. The best way I can help is to leave politics permanently and write funny stories for America's kids. I call on John McCain to join me."

I would love to see a McCain children's book!

One can dream

2008-09-26T08:23:00.000-07:00

Considering the current state of the US economy, leadership, etc., etc., I found myself wishing for something more akin to this speech coming from the president. Below is the text of FDR's inaugural address:

“Let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear … is fear itself … nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror, which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.

In every dark hour of our national life, a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves, which is essential to victory. I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days. In such a spirit on my part and on yours we face our common difficulties. They concern, thank God, only material things. Values have shrunken to fantastic levels: taxes have risen, our ability to pay has fallen, government of all kinds is faced by serious curtailment of income, the means of exchange are frozen in the currents of trade, the withered leaves of industrial enterprise lie on every side, farmers find no markets for their produce, the savings of many years in thousands of families are gone.

More important, a host of unemployed citizens face the grim problem of existence, and an equally great number toil with little return. Only a foolish optimist can deny the dark realities of the moment.

Yet our distress comes from no failure of substance. We are stricken by no plague of locusts. Compared with the perils which our forefathers conquered because they believed and were not afraid, we have still much to be thankful for. Nature still offers her bounty and human efforts have multiplied it. Plenty is at our doorstep, but a generous use of it languishes in the very sight of the supply.

Primarily, this is because the rulers of the exchange of mankind’s goods have failed through their own stubbornness and their own incompetence, have admitted their failures and abdicated. Practices of the unscrupulous money changers stand indicted in the court of public opinion, rejected by the hearts and minds of men.

True, they have tried, but their efforts have been cast in the pattern of an outworn tradition. Faced by failure of credit, they have proposed only the lending of more money.

Stripped of the lure of profit by which to induce our people to follow their false leadership, they have resorted to exhortations, pleading tearfully for restored conditions. They know only the rules of a generation of self-seekers.

They have no vision, and when there is no vision the people perish.

The money changers have fled their high seats in the temple of our civilization. We may now restore that temple to the ancient truths.

The measure of the restoration lies in the extent to which we apply social values more noble than mere monetary profit.

Happiness lies not in the mere possession of money, it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort.

The joy and moral stimulation of work no longer must be forgotten in the mad chase of evanescent profits. These dark days will be worth all they cost us if they teach us that our true destiny is not to be ministered unto but to minister to ourselves and to our fellow men.

Recognition of the falsity of material wealth as the standard of success goes hand in hand with the abandonment of the false belief that public office and high political position are to be values only by the standards of pride of place and personal profit, and there must be an end to a conduct in banking and in business which too often has given to a sacred trust the likeness of callous and selfish wrongdoing.

Small wonder that confidence languishes, for it thrives only on honesty, on honor, on the sacredness of obligations, on faithful protection, on unselfish performance. Without them it cannot live.

Restoration calls, however, not for changes in ethics alone. This nation asks for action, and action now.”

I'll forego the smarmy comments, as I think these words speak for themselves.

No long up to BYU standards

2008-09-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

Sadly I've just found out that this blog has received a rating that would make it ineligible for consumption at BYU, or anyone wanting to go to the temple. So if either of those fits your description, delete me from your bookmarks before you're found out. And guess what things gave it an ignominious "R" on its chest, you ask? It used the following words: "sex" (3 times), "crap" (1 time), and.... wait for it, wait for it.... "MISSIONARY" (used 4 times)!!! I guess it assumes that I'm talking about missionary position, which of course I'm not. BORING! But speaking of missionary position, that reminds me one time when I was a missionary in Norway... oh, look at the time. Well, I'll tell you that story some other time.

Pumpkin bagels are back!!!

2008-09-19T08:39:00.000-07:00

Margaret was ecstatic at the news that Noah's pumpkin bagels are FINALLY back in stock. Every year, when I see them, I think back on that very first Halloween, when the Israelites dressed up as Russian peasants the night before they fled Egypt for the Promised Land.... or something like that. I mean, why else would there be a traditional Jewish food in pumpkin?

Aaaa! Where's my mind bleach?

2008-09-18T10:44:00.001-07:00

And here I thought that Mormonism couldn't get more commercialized and treacly. This book is the unholy union of the Book of Mormon and Anne Geddes! Because that's just what the world needs, pictures of cute kids reenacting scenes from the scriptures to make people believe in them even MORE! And I shudder to think of the poor kids posing for the photos of Bathsheba bathing, the wickedness of Sodom and Gomorrah, or the slaying of Abel by Cain scenes.

If, by some ironic need or head injury, you would like to get this book, it is of course available from that veritable purveyor of all things kitschy Mormon--Deseret Book (read about Margaret's last visit to one here)!

Non-political

2008-09-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

I don't want to get political on this blog, but I had to include this graph. I think it speaks for itself, which allows me to write absolutely nothing that would incite my Republican family. (Hey everyone!)

Mormonads

2008-09-05T14:20:00.000-07:00

All fine, upstanding Mormon teens get an important rite of passage around the time their twelve. And I'm not talking about learning that most of what they're going to be feeling for the next 10-15 years is filthy, disgusting, immoral, and shameful you should only do with the one you love after marriage. No, I'm talking about when they trade in their Children's Friend subscription for the way more edgy, ~~sexy~~, adolescent magazine The New Era. Well, one of the features of this magazine was a centerfold poster giving a spiritual message, and two of the most famous ones are below, albeit delightfully subverted. (Not that I condone such a thing. Uh, I'm just showing how the Devil makes people do wicked, wicked, hilarious things.)

This first one originally stated, "Be your own kind of beautiful." Although this poster is a little closer to the truth:

The caption on this next one was originally, "Get yourself into a tight squeeze." But I love this version, which reminds me of a friend who met someone on ldssingles.com and after several dates, got an email from the guy's wife asking her why she's emailing her husband. Oops! (And no, it wasn't a polygamy thing or the wife would have been okay with it.)

Ah satire. My favorite genre! Which reminds me of an underground mission newsletter filled with satire and parody I used to write in Norway that almost got me in a LOT of trouble. But that's the stuff for a post on another day.

Rock Bottom

2008-08-27T14:30:00.001-07:00

Well, I've got the unfortunate news that I, too, know that I've hit rock bottom. Of course, I haven't woken up with my face in a urinal, but it's just as bad. Gather round, internets, and listen, for never was such a tale of woe. As any reader of this blog could surmise, Diet Coke/Pepsi is a fundamental aspect of my persona. I can easily down the fabled 96 oz. "Bladder Busters" of Utah fame in the same time that it takes a mere mortal to drink 32 oz. Of course this super power does come with a severe side effect: caffeine addiction. I've tried weaning myself off it time and again, but Diet Coke is a cruel mistress who demands obeisance several times a day... and preferably in at least 32 oz. amounts. Well, Margaret and I have been talking about getting off the stuff, particularly since I've been experiencing some heart issues that may or may not be related to consuming the equivalent of 12 cups of coffee a day. I was convinced of it on an intellectual level, but every caffeinated fiber of my being wouldn't let me.

Okay, fast forward to this weekend, where we were driving home from a trip on a Sunday. We stopped at McDonald's for a wholesome breakfast, including a Diet Coke. Well, after getting back home and having to rush to church, and then not leaving the house after getting back, that turned out to be the ONLY Diet Coke I had all day. The Olympics closing ceremony distracted me from the slight twinge beginning to form in my brain, and I thought that if I slept it off, I'd have gotten a LITTLE closer to falling away from the path of caffeination. Well, around 1 or 2 in the morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. The caffeine level in my system had reached critical levels, like down to 0.08% or something. I went to the kitchen, but alas, no pop to be found. I went to the medicine cabinet to get some Tylenol, to at least help with the headache. Then, sitting innocently on the shelf, sat the solution I craved, despite the fact that it would truly be making me hit rock bottom. I saw the magic words on a pill bottle: acetaminophen and caffeine... on a bottle of, wait for it... wait for it... MIDOL! I didn't hesitate for a second, I just took one then and there. Of course as I was swallowing the bitter little pill, the picture at the top of this post was emblazoned in my mind. There I was, knowing that I'd hit rock bottom. But on a more positive note, I wasn't bloated, either, so I guess it wasn't ALL bad.

No pictures!

2008-08-20T16:58:00.000-07:00

As you can see, Lucy absolutely HATES the paparazzi that are constantly following her around.

New magazine

2008-08-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

Have you heard about this new magazine? I know several people who are going to be getting gift subscriptions from me this Christmas. And you know who you are, don't you Jeff, Dave, Jack, Bonna, Will, Sonya, Margaret, Dan, Ginny, Jim, Kelli, Jennifer, and David? Don't worry, as one of their first subscribers, I get a discount on gift subscriptions.

Actually, it came from a hilarious blog that all my Mormon (and Mormonish) readers should go check out called "Bishop Higgins 3rd Ward-News for Mormons" here. (And if you have no experience, don't bother, because you definitely won't get the humor.)

Feeding time

2008-08-13T13:49:00.000-07:00

Seldom am I more jealous of Margaret's skills as a parent as when it comes to feeding. When she feeds her,Lucy is instantly at attention and eats quite well. So well, in fact, that she was at the 97th percentile in weight when she had her two-month check-up. Well, on our Wednesdays together while Margaret is at work, it turns out Lucy isn't so cooperative with a bottle as with breastfeeding. Unless the conditions are EXACTLY right, she seem to prefer starving. And through trial and error, I've discovered the optimum, or more correctly, MANDATORY conditions are thus: the milk must be 98.6º±0.5º, delivered in a ridiculously expensive bottle that mimics a human breast, be bounced on an exercise ball at the rate of 106 beats per minute, with the bottle being squeezed at 689.47 pascals at a rate of every other bounce, and the light in her room has to be on, to give her something to look at. And even then, unless she is REALLY hungry, she still won't eat. Hopefully this is a phase, as I doubt we'll get any babysitter to follow all these steps. The temperature, bouncy ball, and light are one thing, but getting the pressure that exact takes a practiced hand. And if she's this picky with being fed milk, I'm not looking forward to introducing her to duck confit!

This NEVER happened in Norway!

2008-08-12T08:02:00.001-07:00

Did you read about the recent story of the woman who cloned her dog and it was revealed that she was the woman who kidnapped a Mormon missionary and used him as her sex slave? Check out some of the details from an article about the incident:

The story of Joyce McKinney is the stuff of pulp fiction: a North Carolina-born beauty queen who moved west, won the title Miss Wyoming USA, converted to Mormonism and went on to college at Brigham Young University, where she became obsessed with a fellow student.

When that young man went on a mission to England, authorities say McKinney hired a private detective so she could locate and follow him.

She and a male accomplice were accused of abducting the 21-year-old missionary as he went door to door, taking him to a rented 17th-century "honeymoon cottage" in Devon and chaining him spread-eagled to a bed with several pairs of mink-lined handcuffs.

There, investigators say, he was repeatedly forced to have sex with McKinney before he was able to escape and notify police.

I added the bold. Can you believe that?! Talk about the missionary position! If she only waited a few years, she could have gotten her missionary fix from that calendar of shirtless Mormon missionaries. And I'm sure that calendar would have been much cheaper than mink-lined handcuffs. Although I'm sure you'd want only the best for your kidnapped sex slave chained spread-eagle in your honeymoon cottage. No faux-fur for HER!

Man, the worst crime committed against us in Norway was being exposed to soul-crushing guilt for not putting in all of our hours proselytizing. Of course it wasn't soul-crushing enough for us to actually put in all our hours, just soul-crushing enough that it took several beers and a joint or two to lift the burden... I KID, I KID!

Wall-E

2008-08-08T08:12:00.001-07:00

Last night, Margaret and went to see the new Pixar movie Wall-E. It was AWESOME, albeit a little over-the-top. I mean, the humans in it, having grown completely dependent on machines, were all portrayed as fat and lazy, they would rather communicate via electronic means than face-to-face, and were completely unaware at the real world around them. That's why my grandmother hates science fiction. It's completely unrealistic. I mean, humans are NOTHING like this. Especially AMERICAN humans. And most particularly especially not SUV-driving-while-talking-on-a-cell-phone-while-drinking-a-double-big-gulp-and-DVD-playing-for-the-kids-in-the-back-seat American humans.

Sheltered lives

2008-07-30T13:43:00.001-07:00

Yesterday at work, I had to do a presentation for a group of tribal kids who might be interested in going to college. They all grew up on the reservation, and to say they have been sheltered is putting it mildly. And I know sheltered, having grown up on an Indian reservation myself. I remember only having six Swatches when they were popular in the 80's, I was 17 the first time I had escargot, and I was 19 before I went to Europe to live for a couple of years. Needless to say, I know a thing or two about being sheltered. Well, my experiences PALED in comparison to these high school juniors and seniors. The group stopped at a mall here in Portland, and it turned out one of the kids had never been to a MALL before! (As it was, that kid was so overwhelmed that he just went to good ol' reliable JC Penney and then sat on the bench outside of the store to wait for the other kids in the group. I imagine him a huddled up in a corner, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, but he probably just sat there texting friends back on the reservation.) And when we took them out to eat after the presentation, we went to a hotel restaurant and while waiting for our food, they all had to ride the elevator to the top floor! I tried to act casual for the program leaders, but inside, I was thinking, "I can't wait to call my brother. He's NEVER going to believe this!" Thinking back on our presentations about prepping to go to college and getting an education, I can't help but think that these kids are going to have a BIG eye-opener when they step onto campus that first time.

Speaking of Indians, I remember one time in Norway, right as I got moved to a new area, being amazed at having three dinners with members a week. Now, that's nothing for missionaries here in the States... in fact they get that may a DAY, but given the average for Norway was around 1 member dinner every other month, I knew something was up. And when the members were kind of disappointed at the dinners, I grew suspicious. Well, it turns out that my companion, in an effort to score more meals from members, had told the ward that his new companion was an Indian and that he only spoke Norwegian and his tribal language. Of course this had people lining up to have us over for dinner. If only I'd have brought a feather headdress and loincloth, I could have fulfilled their expectations. As it was, they just got another immature American boy that they'd never invite back for another dinner.

Child surrogates

2008-07-24T08:13:00.000-07:00

Recently Margaret and I went to a concert in a local park where there were lots of people with their kids, in fact it is probably a prerequisite to attend. Come to think of it, we had never been to one of the free concerts Portland Parks puts on. I guess they're for the parents starving for social interaction and entertainment in a venue where their children can run around in packs and recreate Lord of the Flies scenarios. One of the couples we went with brought some bubbles and I started blowing some. I was immediately warned that they had a Pied Piper effect, and sure enough, within 12 seconds, a horde of children had materialized out of thin air, anxiously awaiting more bubbles. Margaret had to pick up Lucy for fear of her getting trampled by the swarm of urchins. That got old really fast, so I passed the bubbles back. Let the more experience parent deal with the swirling mass of kids.

Later on, I spied a couple who evidently felt left out of the whole parents-with-children dynamic going on, because they each were carrying a dog in a Baby Björn. Yes, a DOG! In a BABY BJÖRN! I was transfixed. And when they got out their little bottles of Alpo Jr. (chicken fingers dipped in ranch dressing flavor) and fed them with spoons, I wasn't that surprised. After burping their little bundles of joy, they carefully swaddled each dog carefully and sang them "How much is that doggy in the window" to lull them to sleep. They left early, presumably to go home to set up their educational savings funds for Canine Obedience School. Without a scholarship, those places cost a FORTUNE!

Okay, maybe a BIT of that was exaggerated, but they really did have their dogs in Baby Björns.

Which reminds me of a woman in Norway I knew from my mission. She went EVERYWHERE with her little Pomeranian in a handbasket. We'd run into her on the streets; dog in a basket. At home; dog in a basket. At sacrament meeting; dog in a basket. Well, one day, when I was blessing the sacrament, I looked down to see her taking an extra piece of bread and feeding it to her precious little dog! And sensing the spiritual importance of that transmutated body of the Lord, the little dog was lead to partake of the sacrament. I'm assuming that's why, since you know how hard it is to get dogs to eat bread otherwise. And now, her little dog will be with her in heaven in a little basket made of clouds. Awww.

What! No Obsession for Baby by Calvin Klein?

2008-07-21T18:17:00.000-07:00

Can you believe this product? I can't even imagine why someone would use this. If your baby didn't smell fresh, shouldn't you actually WASH her rather than cover up the smell? I can imagine some harried parent getting ready to take the baby out and gets a whiff of a rancid poopy diaper and some soured milk that seems to have hidden in the nooks of the baby's neck. This parent, pressed for time, just thinks, "I don't have time for THIS! I'll just give Alexandria a little spritz of this baby cologne and no one will be the wiser. Plus, I want her smelling her best, because Atticus will be at the play date and I want to be sure those two hit it off!" Jeesh!

And speaking of babies, is the term "buddy" limited to boys? The other day, Lucy, dressed in a green outfit, was sitting in her stroller and the checker, thinking she was a boy, said, "How you doing buddy?" When we corrected him, he later referred to her as "Sweetie." The gender-role stereotype land mines are all over the place, aren't they?

What is this? Hogwarts?

2008-07-18T09:24:00.000-07:00

There's a guy in our ward who just got back off his mission to Bolivia. One of the items he returned with was a scripture cover made by a native Bolivian. And by the looks of it, a native Bolivian witch doctor. It was so over-the-top and strange that I had to take a picture of it, which I offer to you below:

Is it just me or does this look a lot like our Introduction to the Dark Arts textbook we had as first year Hogwarts students? Man, I hated that class. Professor Lugubrius was such an evil taskmaster (which I assume is why he got the job). Although I have to admit, the Mulletus maximus curse which makes the hair on the back of your head grow faster than the top has come in REAL handy over the years.

Anyway, back to the Bolivian missionary. Nothing makes me appreciate the fact that I served in one of the wealthiest and advanced nations on earth than hearing about all the privations that third-world missionaries experience. Gigantic spiders, being served dog meat, and getting infected with a life-threatening bacteria from the Amazon river are enough to give me nightmares. Some of the privations we experienced in Norway included having to choose between salmon steaks and braised reindeer steaks in a burgundy sauce on our flight to the country; running out of sparkling water in the dining car of the train and having to gag down PLAIN water collected from meltwater cascading off a glacier in the Jottenheim mountain range; or having a saleslady in the Ralph Lauren store tell you that the floral tie you're wearing is SO last year! The only way we were able to endure it was knowing that we were serving a higher cause.

Good ol' ballot initiatives

2008-07-18T08:21:00.000-07:00

I had to laugh at this article in today's paper:

A measure seeking to commemorate President Bush's years in office by slapping his name on a San Francisco sewage plant has qualified for the November ballot.

The measure certified Thursday would rename the Oceanside Pollution Control Plant the George W. Bush Sewage Plant.

Supporters say the idea is to commemorate the mess they claim Bush has left behind by actions such as the war in Iraq.

Local Republicans say the plan stinks and they will oppose it.

Hmm, let's think of some other public facilities to rename, shall we?

How about renaming that rest area right outside of Boise the Larry Craig Rest Area? Or rename the intersection of 42nd Street and Broadway the Eliot Spitzer Street Corner? Any other suggestions?

Germaphobia gone mainstream

2008-07-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, not to brag or anything, but I've been germaphobic since before it was fashionable... like since the 20th century. I can't even walk into a bathroom to get something out of the cabinet without washing my hands. And wash long enough to sing the alphabet song in my head. And the harsher the soap, the better, because I don't want ANYTHING alive on my skin--and that even goes for the epidermis!

(Which reminds me of my zoology class at BYU, where we had to dissect something each and every week. My lab partner and I always seemed to finish early, but we had to stick around to take the end-of-class quiz, so we would always go to the vending machines and get a pop and those nasty "Grandma's Cookies" that taste NOTHING like anything MY grandmother ever made, but I digress. Anyway, we'd go back into the dissection room and eat, always grossing the other students out. But here was my secret to being able to stomach eating a ~~trans-fat laden sugar bomb~~ cookie within 200 yards of a formaldehyde-preserved cat: soap in the wash area that smelled so antiseptic that you could completely disinfect Brittany Spear's toilet... and Brittany Spears herself... with a single wipe. Granted my hands looked like they belonged to a 93-year-old Bedouin that spent his entire life in the Sahara, but by golly, those hands were CLEAN!) Okay, that was a long aside, but bear with me.

So needless to say, I've been a sucker for anti-bacterial products whenever a new one comes out. Antibacterial hand soap: check; antibacterial lotion: check; antibacterial pens: check check (I bought a box); antibacterial kite string: check; antibacterial yogurt: check (although it just tasted like milk). Given all that experience, I think I'm qualified to say that a recent product I saw at Target is a little over-the-top.

Check out this picture I took at the store. Okay, now get a little closer to the monitor... a little closer... a liiiiiitttllle closer... okay, there. Now look at the upper right-hand corner. You see where it says "Microban?" Well Microban isn't a tiny can of spray deodorant, it's antibacterial plastic. Yes, the protractor is made out of ANTIBACTERIAL PLASTIC! While I appreciate porta-potties being made out of Microban, I can't imagine a protractor getting too dirty and certainly not enough to spread disease. Hold on, let me check the Urban Geometry curriculum for the high school here in town... okay, here it is:

Unit 8-Angles; Chapter 2-Protractor exercises.
Measure the following angles:
1. What is the angle where the toilet lid rests on the toilet?
2. What is the minimum angle required of a stream of urine to make it into the urinal?
3. What is the preferred angle one should hold his arm at when shooting up heroin with a used needle?

Well, I stand corrected.

The Chemical Brothers - The Salmon Dance

2008-07-15T10:47:00.001-07:00

This could be part of the salmon outreach education we do at my work. Can you imagine playing this for senators or governors? (And given the education levels of a lot of them, it's geared right at their demographic!)

But MOM! All the trashy babies are wearing them...

2008-07-14T20:53:00.000-07:00

I wonder what people at church would think if Lucy showed up at church sporting these. She's already been in trouble for wearing something sleeveless and where you could see her underpants. SO inappropriate.

They're also available in zebra stripe, hot pink, and black here.

Thought of the day

2008-07-14T10:51:00.000-07:00

This is a t-shirt, available at Threadless Designs.
(And no, I don't get any commission from this plug... hold on while I make a call to Threadless... ... ... nope, no commission.)

Man, I feel old

2008-07-14T08:12:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is KINDA embarrassing to admit, and I'll list my ~~excuses~~ reasons after the admission, but Margaret and I watched High School Musical II--WILLINGLY. (And before we go on, let me say that our reasons were as follows: 1) We'd watched the first one, but only to get the "4-1-1" on today's tweens and teens as part of an anthropological treatise we've been working on in our spare time titled " Why America is Essentially Screwed." 2) The movie was filmed at the same resort we stayed in when we were in St. George a couple of years back and we wanted to see that awesome pool again, even though it was just on film, and ~~3) We were curious to find out what wacky things Sharpay and her sexually ambiguous brother were up to now.~~ Um, there were only 2 reasons... )

Anyway, the story goes a little something like this: annoying rich girl is crushing on cute boy trying to earn money, cute boy's cute girlfriend is also trying to earn money, jealous annoying rich girl wants to separate cute boy and cute girl so uses powers of persuasion to get cute boy a job at the country club (the resort), cute boy insists on country club hiring every one of his friends, country club of course does exactly that, since that's what job hiring is really like, wackiness ensues. Well, during the scene where all the friends are just playing in the kitchen, breaking into singing and dancing routines, and eating the food meant for guests, the resort manager had the UNMITIGATED GALL to come in and tell the kids that they had to clock in and out, be at their job station on time, stop eating food meant for guests, and not to breaking into cheesy song and dance routines that scared the guests! Can you believe it? Asking employees to do such things right out of Stalin's playbook! Didn't we fight the Korean War for the right to DANCE?!? And the manager was painted as completely unreasonable for making these demands. Didn't he know that a job was where you hung out at a place with your friends, goofed off, got free food, and most importantly HAD FUN... and got money for for it, to boot! Margaret and I felt really out of the target demographic of the movie when we were commiserating with the manager who had to herd and hand-hold these entitled kids to get any work done. No wonder everyone is hiring illegals... American kids won't work. (Although in their defense, it DOES take a big chuck on time to text message, play Guitar Hero, and keep your Facebook status up-to-date.)

Well that's not going to happen to our Lucy. She's going to develop a work ethic! She can only watch TV for four hours a day, she is limited to 2,500 text messages a month, her personalized Hello Kitty-branded American Express has a strict $15,000 credit limit, and as soon as she turns 6, it's off to the textile mill for her tiny hands to work those threading machines.

Trauma

2008-07-09T08:06:00.000-07:00

After two months of paternity leave, including a 10-day trip to Utah, I'm seriously in shock working more than one day a week. A guy can get really used to that REALLY fast. Unfortunately, short of moving to France, I don't know how to get a work week that short (unless I win the lottery, of course... or do whatever it is that Paris Hilton does). And this week is Lucy's 2-month immunizations. Ooo! Looking forward to THAT! Yikes!

Speaking of traumatic, yesterday the headline article in the paper was about a 14-year-old boy who got his arm cut off... I mean 'severed' (for some reason the paper never said cut off, evidently deeming it too graphic or crass--not that that stops them from writing about Paris Hilton's exploits [Wow! TWO unrelated Paris Hilton references in the same post... a new record!) by a boat while he was surfing on the Oregon coast. Well, today's paper had an article about the reattachment surgery and included this quote from the boy's father: "For the level of injury--having your arm completely severed--he's doing very well. It's a hard thing to grasp." OF COURSE it's hard to grasp when your hand isn't attached to your body. Geesh! I wonder if at the obligatory press conference, all those gathered will give him a hand?

Be careful what you pray for!

2008-06-30T14:45:00.000-07:00

Ever since that fateful day two weeks ago when Steve Jobs announced the new iPhone, I've been praying--yes I do pray about some things... like Apple products, world peace... you know, things like that. Anyway, I've been praying for a reason to get the new phone, as I couldn't justify (which if you know me is practically an impossibility!) buying a new one after dropping $400 on one just last year. I prayed "[Insert name of diety you think I pray to here], please give me a reason to get the new iPhone so i can use it to bring good to the world and help solve the problem of homelessness with it." I didn't know how my prayer was going to be answered, but i had faith that things would just work out. Well, my prayers were answered yesterday night. The lid to Lucy's liquid vitamins didn't get screwed back on and they spilled all over my phone, getting the cherry-flavored, sticky liquid into the external speakers and microphone. (and don't blame me for sabotage--Margaret forgot to screw it back on, not me) now I can hardly hear the ringer and people can't hear me if I don't yell. I've become one of those annoying people who have to shout into their phones because the mike doesn't work right.

Now I have to wait patiently until July 11 to get my completely justified new phone. See prayers really ARE answered! (Although I should have added the caveat to the prayer that I wanted it answered on July 10 so I wouldn't have to be incovenienced--I hate that! Well, that and answer the prayer in a way that I could still sell my phone on eBay when I get my new one. Alas!)

Appropriate alerts

2008-06-23T18:45:00.000-07:00

This weekend, while driving down the freeway, Margaret and I both almost had a heart attack when the very loud, very alarming alert came from our car. And I'm not talking about the nice, melodic alert to remind you to buckle your seat belt (which in a Volkswagen Jetta, by the way, sounds like 'La Cucaracha'). No, I'm talking an alert that sounds so intimidating, so threatening that it's as if the Jetta was telling us that the drive train was about to fall off, the fahrfegnugen generator was about to blow, or the flux capacitor accidentally created an unstable worm hole. It was THAT alarming! Of course Margaret and I both had that rush of adrenaline that comes from the feeling that "oh my gosh, the car is falling apart while we're doing freeway speeds... with a BABY ON BOARD!"

Now imagine my annoyance when I looked down to see that the alarm was for... wait for it... wait for it... the WINDSHIELD WIPER FLUID WAS LOW! Although I guess with German engineers' reputation for efficiency and order, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. But I mean really, is a dirty windshield REALLY a red alert emergency?

Krazee speling

2008-06-19T10:45:00.000-07:00

What is up with all the creative name spelling that is sweeping the nation? I think there are two camps, people who name their kids with weird name spellings and those who think they're crazy. In this morning's newspaper, there was a woman whose daughter's name was Madalyn. Is a daughter with the name spelled 'Madeleine' really doomed to a life of stultifying sameness? Although from what I hear, it's REALLY bad in Utah. In fact, here are the twenty most popular girls names from Utah county last year: Haley, Hailey, Haylie, Hayli, Haylee, Halee, Halie, Hali, Haelie, Haeli, Hayle, Hale, Haile, Haily, Hayly, Haly, Haely, Haylei,Halei, and Hayley. Okay, it might not be THAT bad, but still the fact remains that all of those are actual names used in Utah in the past few years!

Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe I should be worrying for not naming Lucy 'Loosie.' Eh, now that I type it out, 'Loosie' looks more like a 30's-era hooch runner during Prohibition. (And coincidentally, her great-great aunt Lucy, who she was named after, was, you guessed it, a 30's-era hooch runner during Prohibition. And she didn't pass down any family recipes for corn mash, barley malt, or 'Reservation Cognac©' so don't ask.)

Search for shorts

2008-06-18T18:02:00.000-07:00

Today, we went to the.. ugh, I'm ashamed to admit it... the mall. (Don't judge me. We needed, um something for Lucy... yeah, that's it!) Anyway, while we were there, I looked for a new pair of cargo pants. I wore my last pair so much that the seat wore through and I tended to look a little too slutty walking around exposing myself like that. (It's okay here in Portland, but we're going to Utah next week and I'd be sure to get in trouble shortly after getting off the plane.) Well, during our mall travels, I only found two pairs that fit my parameters--namely they weren't too long (I swear most cargo shorts seem more like capri pants) and they have an easy-to-access pocket for my phone. The first pair was at Nordstrom and they were on a 50% off rack to boot! SCORE! Unfortunately I looked down and saw that the original price was $210!!! Yes, $210! For shorts! SHORTS! Even at half price, they better be woven from baby goats that had been given daily brushings by trained monkeys. Then I found the next great pair at Eddie Bauer. In fact they had a pocket that my iPhone fit in EXACTLY! And to make it even better, they were marked down to $19.99 from $60. It was a match made in heaven, which meant of course, that they didn't have my size.

Now I'm still on the look out for cargo shorts. I told Margaret I'd be willing to buy a pattern and fabric for her to sew me a pair and she said that wasn't going to happen. Jeesh!

So sleepy

2008-06-17T06:26:00.000-07:00

Okay, since Lucy was born (and for months prior for Margaret... something about getting up every 20 minutes to pee or something) we haven't gotten much sleep. In fact it has become a precious commodity more valuable than ~~Diet Pepsi~~ our twice-daily 2-hour scripture study. Given that we're both home on new baby leave, we eventually get around 8 hours of sleep, but instead of one long stretch, it's in fits and starts throughout the day. 2 hours here, 4 hours there, 3 minutes while I'm driving and realize I have no recollection of the previous 5 miles, the 40 minutes between getting the sacrament water and the closing prayer... you just find the time.

Anyway, the biggest problem during the night was waking up to feed Lucy. She's been going on a mid-night feeding, then an early morning feeding, then a breakfast-time feeding since she was born. Well last night, what we had been dreaming of finally occurred: she (FINALLY) fell asleep at 10:30 and slept a LOOOONG time. Margaret was planning on a 3:00 feeding, but Lucy wasn't awake. Then at 4:00; still sound asleep. Then at 5:00; still not awake. At this point, I'm going in to check on her to make sure she's still breathing. Finally at 5:30, I turn off the white noise machine hoping to get her to start to wake up, which it does. Phew! I swear, we still didn't get much sleep, as we were up worried that she was sleeping too long. So to recap: we don't get any sleep when she wakes up all the time; and we don't get any sleep when she DOESN'T wake up all the time!

Fresh out of the oven

2008-06-12T08:52:00.000-07:00

Here she is, fresh out of the oven. You just combine 2 lbs. of sugar, 2 tablespoons spice, and 80 lbs. of ~~panic, worry, anxiety, and frantic nursery remodeling~~ everything nice, bake at 98.6º for nine months, and voila! you got yourself a little girl.

Actually, the picture is of a recent weigh-in we did on Lucy, who we just KNEW had gotten bigger. I mean some of her onesies we could only snap the middle button at the crotch. (And fortunately her bulky diapers prevented them from turning into a baby thong--and that look is so 2005.) Anyway, the most accurate scale we have is a digital kitchen scale, but the scale part is too small to balance a baby on, but when we put a baking sheet down to support her, the readout turned out to be too close to the actual scale part to be able to read the weight. Well, with a glass casserole, our problem was solved! And despite the fact that it looks like we're prepping her to put into the oven, we got a weight on our ~~little~~ not-so-little girl.

On another note, we've officially gotten used to having Ikea close to us. Yesterday we went there for, wait for it... wait for it... JAM. Yes, the store that we once planned meticulously for, pouring over the catalog for weeks, renting vehicles to accommodate our purchases, taking an entire day to drive to Seattle and back for, has now been reduced to a quick stop in to buy a couple jars of food. (Although we did get some meatballs for lunch, so it wasn't JUST for jam.) I guess it's like that old adage that people will travel 1,500 miles to go to the temple when that's the closest one, but they build one in their hometown and they just take it for granted and never go.

And finally, speaking of Ikea, I still feel like I'm in Norway with the embarrassingly long paternity leave that my work offers. I got the first month after Lucy was born completely off, will work one day per week through July, and then three-day-workweeks for another two months. While not EXACTLY Scandinavian-benefits length (Sweden gets 18 months off), it's WAY more than the other guys in our childbirth education class got--most of whom got 2 to three weeks off. And boy let me tell you, I could get used to this one-day work week REAL FAST! (Although not so used to it to have another baby anytime soon.)

Horror/fascination

2008-06-09T20:21:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend, Margaret and I were watching ~~brain candy~~ a serious documentary on The Learning Channel called "I Didn't Even Know I Was Pregnant." It was with both horror and fascination that we watched these stories of women (who were all overweight... how else would you not know?) who had either thought they were infertile so stopped taking birth control, were so obese they stopped menstruating, or had taken antibiotics while on the Pill. One couple in particular (the antibiotic woman) struck me as amazing. They said they weren't even thinking about kids on the distant horizon. They went out of town to their cabin and on the way up, she started feeling sick, getting worse through the night, and had such a severe backache by the next morning that her husband took her to the small clinic in town. Imagine their surprise when they found out she was in active labor. Can you even IMAGINE?!? Going away on vacation and coming home with an unexpected baby? They had literally NOTHING prepared. We had 9 months to get ready and still didn't feel prepared. I can't even imagine the feeling of panic at looking in the back seat at a hastily purchased car seat with a baby on that drive home from what was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. YIKES!

And of course, following that show, there was a special on that gigantic family with 16 kids. And guess what, the mom's pregnant AGAIN! Jeesh. That couple is WAY too represented in the gene pool as it is!

If I Could Hie to Utah in the Twinkling of an Eye...

2008-06-03T18:03:00.000-07:00

I'm sure it would be considerably cheaper than our other prospects! Jeesh! We're now at the threshold of driving possibly costing us more than FLYING to Utah. Who could have seen a time when driving was decadent and flying was for the budget-class.

Our Jetta takes diesel, which is currently $4.859 here in Portland. $4.859!!! Can you BELIEVE that? And my grandfather said he would never move to Alaska because their gas cost TWENTY-FIVE CENTS! I can't believe that I'm reminiscing about those halcyon days of 2007 when gas was around $2 per gallon. Now we have to second-guess all our separate trips to the farmers' market, Babies R Us, our therapists, and IKEA and just go to Costco for all those things.

Anyway, what prompted this post was this solution that Deb just sent me: the Verdier! It drove here straight from the 60's by way of the Jetsons. It's retro. It's futuristic. It's solar. It's cool. It comes with a secret compartment to stash your marijuana. It's got it all! Check out their website here.

But since I don't have time to get that van before we want to go to Utah, I'm going to check Expedia and Travelocity to see if they offer last-minute rates for "Twinkling of an Eye"*. Unfortunately I have a nagging feeling that it costs 10% of my income.

*and for all the non-Mormons (and bad Mormons... you know who you are!) out there, this is a mangling of the LDS hymn "If You Could Hie to Kolob." If you want to know more about it, the process is quite involved. Click here to start. (But don't tell me I didn't warn you.)

Bagel adventures

2008-06-03T07:48:00.000-07:00

Being that this morning was... the morning, I somehow found myself at Noah's Bagels. After yesterday's disappointing visit (they were plumb out of chocolate chip bagels and fountain Diet Coke! We had to make do with a measly 20 oz. bottle instead of 96 oz. worth of refills from the fountain machine. I don't know how I stayed awake the rest of the day.)

Anyway, while savoring my bagel and ~~caffeine~~ beverage, a homeless guy came in, rummaged in the trash for an empty coffee cup, and helped himself to a free refill. Evidently he's a problem on the street and has been banned from Noah's, Starbucks, and some other stores because of doing stuff like that. Well, the manager got aggravated when he took the coffee cup and asked for a refill of his whole milk macchiato with almond. That was pushing it a little too far. All of this happened without me even noticing, until the cops showed up to escort him off the premises. I got the rest of the story from the manager. I was relieved to find out that I wasn't in danger of being thrown out for the fit I threw yesterday when my order wasn't EXACTLY what I wanted.

An outing with Lucy

2008-06-02T17:32:00.000-07:00

Today we finally had the wherewithal to go see the new Indiana Jones movie. I KNOW! Prior to this, the highlight of our coordinating trips has been getting her to her doctor's appointment with 2 minutes to spare!

Since Lucy sleeps something like 20 hours a day, we thought we'd better take advantage of it before she shifts into the sleeping only when it's inconvenient and staying awake the other 23 hours of the day mode. Since we were already pushing our time (how is it possible that just getting out the door with a pack mule's worth of supplies for a three-week-old infant could increase our departure time 400%?), we went to the Taco Bell near the theatre and quickly regretted opting to wait to get Lucy's hepatitis B shot until her 2-month checkup. Yikes! Fortunately I got a corner seat, which allowed me the opportunity to throw myself between her and any oncoming riff-raff. Speaking of which, while at the Taco Bell, I spotted what is surely the rarest of all the mullets: the two-tone! A woman with black hair had a mullet in which all the short hair had been dyed blonde. She looked like she was wearing a possum-skin cap... and not an attractive possum, at that! I'm talking about the kind of possum that looks all grizzled because it only digs in the dumpsters at Taco Bell. I couldn't take my eyes off it, and since I was sitting in a position to casually look in her direction, I was able to steal glances, and eventually this photo, of her the whole time we were eating.

We made it out of the restaurant without any communicable diseases (that we know of) and saw the movie. Lucy was pretty good, but of course during the loud parts, she tended to wake up, so I spent half the movie bouncing her in my arms. Still it was worth it. It felt like our lives weren't completely and irrevocable altered beyond recognition, just completely and irrevocable altered yet recognizable. Our next milestone in that department is to brave a trip to Costco with her.

(On a related note, what is up with businesses putting changing stations right next to the bathroom door rather than in an actual stall? Several people came into the men's room, opening the door to the jarring sight of a naked baby bottom and poopy diaper. I'm sure they weren't interested in getting nachos after THAT!)

Relief Society v2.0

2008-06-01T16:36:00.001-07:00

Being outside of Zion©, most of our friends aren't Mormon. While this has its definite advantages, it also has its share of drawbacks. And I'm not just talking about having to be the designated driver 100% of the time. Back in Utah, when someone has a baby, the Relief Society steps in and provides meals for the new family for a couple of weeks. Knowing this, one of our friends organized a similar meal drive for us and boy has it exceeded anything that our prior experience would have prepared us for. Growing up, when the Relief Society brought by food, it was basics like lasagna, meatloaf, or the like. Well, imagine our surprise when we started getting meals like the following:

Lamb stew with braised fingerling potatoes, creamy fennel soup, and sourdough bread

Falafel, tabouli, fresh pita bread, and roasted vegetables

Southern-style beans and rice with fresh-from-the-farmers'-market green salad

Salmon steaks with fresh green beans, garden salad, and ambrosia salad

Meatballs stewed in a cranberry sauce and GIGANTIC brownies

Grilled turbot with harvest grains, heirloom tomatoes, and fresh apricots and cherries

And I'm not exaggerating. In fact, I'm erring on the side of NOT exaggerating. I swear, at the end of this paternity leave, I'm going to be 15 lbs. heavier. I can't believe how fortunate we've been with great friends here in town. (And if you're one of the providers of this bounty, THANK YOU!)

Reports of well-restedness were too premature

2008-05-30T16:30:00.000-07:00

Well from the gaps in posting, you might have gathered that we've been otherwise occupied... and do I mean OCCUPIED! The first week or so, we actually got plenty of sleep, but in the past few days, boy has that changed. It's not that she's doesn't sleep--it's just she doesn't FALL asleep. After working for hours to get her to fall asleep, we're not too eager to risk waking her up by laying her down in her crib. The other night, I put her in a zip-up snowsuit so I could lay her down and not disturb her when I laid her down. That worked for her but not for me. Since the suit had a hood and since I'm a paranoid new-parent, I just KNEW the hood was going to smother her. I was constantly getting up to make sure she was still breathing and when I was able to fall asleep, I had dreams where I couldn't breathe, which woke me up to rush in and check on Lucy. Jeesh, now I know why people hire night nannies!

New milestone

2008-05-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

Well, our last doctor's visit marked a new milestone in my life. Lucy was getting her 1-week checkup, which included getting weighed (and by the way, she gained almost ONE POUND... yes a 14% gain in only 7 days! Although I'm thinking I could probably accomplish that feat if I lived off cream, too.) Anyway, when babies get weighed, they have to be stripped naked (which the fortunately don't require for adults... that would ruin my "I'm weighing my lead-lined pants" excuse). Well Lucy HATED this and right after the weighing, I, being the inexperienced father that I am, picked her up to console her, only to be repaid for my empathy with a dousing of urine all down my shirt!

Fortunately urine is sterile, or my germaphobia would have required that I drive home from the doctor's office shirtless. As it was, I totally forgot about the incident until I was taking off my shirt that night for a shower and realized that it was the urine-coated one. Despite knowing that the urine was quite benign, it still made me cringe.

WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME!?!

Training wheels

2008-05-15T10:51:00.000-07:00

Oy! Last night was our first night flying solo with the new baby. Prior to that, Margaret's mom was visiting, and (being a grandmother who couldn't get enough holding time with the baby anyway) slept in the same room as the baby. Our nights consisted of going to bed around 10 or so, getting up around 2 and 6 for feedings, and passing the baby back to grandma before going back to bed. People were surprised to see how well-rested we looked, but it was all a passing treat.

That WASN'T the routine last night. After staying up with the baby for several hours, with her drifting off only to be startled awake by the sound of dust falling on the carpet or something even LESS noisy, she'd by screaming again. I finally got her to sleep and then didn't dare move for fear that the slight vibration of me moving my hand from her back would start the fussing all over again. Needless to say, Margaret regretted that Diet Pepsi she drank late yesterday afternoon! Now we know that caffeine is a very fickle goddess.

Wonders of modern medicine

2008-05-12T11:28:00.000-07:00

Well, after nine months of waiting, our little girl was born on Wednesday... right on her due date! (Which is a good thing, given how impatient both Margaret and I are. We even asked about induction two weeks before the due date... we were THAT ready!) It was quite amazing and lots of aspects of the delivery made me thankful for the marvels of modern medicine. Epidurals, induction accelerators, on-demand Diet Coke for the now mothers, and iced diapers for soreness. Yes, you heard me right... iced diapers. The nurses take the tiny newborn diapers, pour them full of clean water, then freeze them. Trust me in that all the women that had access to them right after delivery ABSOLUTELY LOVED THEM... probably more than their husbands at that instant. We were talking about how useful they would be to just keep on hand for all sorts of bumps and bruises, as they have the benefit of staying dry after they've melted. When I was telling this to my grandmother, she remarked, "And they would be great for new brides, too!" Well, yes they would. (And in this day and age, lots of teenagers, too!)

Anyway, we're home now, completely addicted to just staring at our little bee. She's AMAZING! She's very advanced for her age, too. She got yellow poo when she was two days old, when most babies don't get it until they are 3 to 5. Yes, high hopes for this little one.

Sacrifices

2008-05-05T08:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I passed a new milestone in my life. Margaret wasn't feeling up to venturing out of the house. Being THREE DAYS FROM HER DUE DATE really takes it out of her. But that didn't stop her nesting instinct, as she's been busy sewing liners, curtains, blankets, and reproduction 15th-century hoop-skirted party dresses. We'd bought some baskets at Ikea and she decided to dress them up with a custom designed flannel liner. Well, after making the liner, she decided that it needed something to finish off the piece and found some ribbon to go around the edge. The only problem was she didn't have enough ribbon for all the baskets and since she didn't feel like going out, that left me as the only option to getting some more... at the fabric store... BY MYSELF! Yes, I had to brave Jo-Ann Fabrics alone. I felt like the guy in Into the Wild. In fact at one point I was so overwhelmed in the yarn section that I almost gnawed my own arm off in panic. And to make matters worse, I wasn't given a specific item to buy; I had to use my own judgement and pick a color of ribbon myself. And just my luck, the store's valium bar for men was already closed for the evening. In the end, I just grabbed an entire rainbow of colors to bring back for Margaret to pick herself. Now we'll have so much left-over ribbon that we'll use it to tie our recyclables and floss our teeth.

And for the record, I never want to go to a fabric store unaccompanied ever again.

Obviously a product of the American education system

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

Check out this sign at the San Francisco protests against the Olympic torch.

Hmmm. Let's ask Jesse Owens.

Zoltar KNOWS!

2008-04-28T09:07:00.000-07:00

We rent our videos at the Hollywood Video down the street from us. It's a pretty eclectic collection they have there, too. They get all the counterculture documentaries and angsty gay films, which is what you'd expect on Hawthorne Avenue. What's more puzzling, though, is they carry all the latest Mormon comedies? What's up with that? And lots of times, those films are never in... not that we've tried to rent Mormons and Mobsters over five times but it's NEVER in. (Maybe it's how people are getting their Sopranos fix now that the series is ended.)

Anyway, Hollywood Video now offers a service called "Zoltar," which is a database that takes your previous rental history and offers suggestions of what you would like. We tried at and I was impressed, then mortified by some of the suggestions. Check these out:

Television
Arrested Development-good suggestion, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I've never seen this show but I think Zoltar got it right that I'd like it.
Big Love-All those Mormon comedies we rent must have tipped Zoltar off that we knew a thing or two about Utah.

Okay, now here's where it gets embarrassing. Check out these suggestions:

Comedy
The Prince & Me 2: The Royal Wedding-?!?!?! Wha? We didn't even rent The Prince & Me 1: The Formulaic Romance!
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen-Huh? I can't even imagine what would have prompted THAT suggestion!
Ella Enchanted-Okay, seriously! I think Zoltar thinks we're a fourteen-year-old girl. Rent High School Musical ONE TIME and look what it gets you!

On a brighter note, we can rent one of Zoltar's suggestions for free! I think we'll get ~~Win a Date with Tad Hamilton~~ Resident Evil.

Manna from heaven

2008-04-25T17:20:00.001-07:00

Can you imagine anything more glorious than being caught in a Diet Coke rainstorm? Check out this picture from the biggest Mentos-dropped-in-Coke explosion EVER! Although if it were me, I wouldn't have worn the raincoat and just looked up with an open mouth and a funnel in the hopes of drinking the sweetest rain in the history of rain! As it was, all those hooded raincoats makes the scene look more like some druidic sacrifice to Seltzer, the god of carbonation.

You can read about the event (including more pictures) here. And it happened in a town in Belgium where a good friend of our lives, so Pam, when you read this, let me know in a comment if you got in on the action or saw the Coke River flowing through Leuven.

In case you weren't feeling inadequate enough

2008-04-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

I ran across this quote today that made me feel like I really don't have an excuse to get things done:

Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein. — H. Jackson Brown

No pressure! So maybe I should commit to work on a couple of masterpieces, inventing nuclear bombs, feeding starving children... and sleeping with a slave.

Prepare to cringe

2008-04-23T08:40:00.001-07:00

Okay, not to be completely fixated on baby stuff, but yesterday I stumbled upon this video when I was getting the diaper change video and just had to share it. WARNING! This video may cause former or currently nursing women to cross their arms over their breasts, fall to the floor curled up in a ball, and mumble "they're mine... they're Mine... they're MINE" over and over--just a forewarning).

Speaking of which, that reminds me of a time in Norway when we were visiting a church member that was living with a guy. After talking about the law of chastity one time, the next visit she excitedly told us that for the past week whenever her boyfriend started getting amorous in bed, she crossed her arms over her chest and said no. I'm sure her boyfriend LOVED when we visited after that. This was the same member whose three-year-old wanted to nurse one time while we were visiting and so walked over to her mother and pulled open her snap button shirt for access. Oops!

By the way, I think a good rule of thumb is that if your child asks you to sit sideways so she can watch CSI while she nurses, it's time to wean her.

A glimpse into the future

2008-04-22T08:56:00.001-07:00

My uncle sent me this video of fathers changing diapers. Of course in his day (and I'm going by my own father here) men didn't change diapers. My own father would either endure the stench until my mom got home, carry me to my grandmother's house to get changed, or strip me down, hose me off with the garden hose, and let me run around naked... which reminds me of a time in Norway... but I'll write about that later.

How times have changed. Now men are expected to change diapers, help around the house, and take hormones so they can experience the miracle of breastfeeding themselves.

Ah the price of egalitarianism.

And I have to admit, my favorite clip in this video is the gassy baby that blows a cloud of baby powder into her father's face. Juvenile, but classic.

The perfect onesie!

2008-04-17T08:37:00.000-07:00

Check out this girls onesie. It's perfect for the new Hawthorne baby. Now if we can get patchouli-scented baby wipes and figure out a way to give a baby dreadlocks we'll be all set to walk in our neighborhood.

The official fragrance of church

2008-04-16T12:24:00.001-07:00

I wonder if this is only available at the Church Distribution Center? Hmm, let me see here. I'll just --click-- check their website --click, click, scroll, scroll-- Bibles, Bang curlers --scroll, scroll-- Pious jewelry, Precious Moments© figurines... oh here it is: Scents --click. What in the world? Only MEN'S fragrances? It says here they refuse to carry Matriarchy. What's up with THAT?

Three weeks and counting!

2008-04-16T08:52:00.000-07:00

Well today marks the three week mark before... you know. Twenty-one short days for me feeling the pressure to finish up all the last-minute projects and twenty-one long, drawn out days for Margaret feeling the pressure on her pelvic floor.

The plumber is coming tomorrow to finish the installation, which means we will be practically done and able to move out of the dining room. Phew! Just in the nick of time!

Moral dilemma

2008-04-15T16:15:00.000-07:00

Okay, I need some advice from the internets... and don't fail me. The fate of my soul is in your hands. So be gentle. Here's the situation:

About five weeks ago, I ordered the fixtures for the clawfoot bathtub online. I ordered the whole shebang, including supply lines, waste line, faucet, shower, shower ring, and soap dish. When I got home and showed Margaret the pictures, she pointed out that she wanted a shower with an additional handheld shower so we could wash the baby, water the plants, and spray down the bathroom to make a burst water line claim on our insurance.... I kid, I kid. We'd never water the plants in the bathtub!

Anyway, I called them the first thing the next morning and told them that I needed to confirm something or other with our plumber and could I put the order on hold. They told me that the order had already been packed but that they would hold it until I contacted them again. In the meantime, we found the fixture that we really wanted, so I called the first place back and cancelled the faucet, shower, and shower ring but left on the order the other things, which they said they would promptly ship. A few days later, a GIGANTIC box showed up on our front porch--much too big for two supply lines and a waste line. I mean, a LION would have fit in that thing! I opened the package and, lo and behold, the entire original order was in the box! At first I was aggravated, as I thought I was going to be stuck with the shipping costs to return it. Then I looked at the shipping invoice: it only had the modified order listed as the contents of the box. At the time, I didn't have the time to deal with the situation, so I just stuck all the boxes upstairs to deal with later.

Okay, fast forward to last week when I was breaking down the shipping boxes for recycling. I noticed a giant neon sticker on the side of the shower fixture box that said, "INSPECT PACKAGE: AFTER 5 DAYS WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR DAMAGED OR LOST ITEMS" and I thought, "WHAT?" So if something gets lost and the hapless buyer doesn't tell them in 5 days, they're off the hook? That's messed up! Well, that got me to thinking, does it work the other way? Am I responsible for their lost items? Since their self-declared window of claiming loss is long expired without them notifying me, what claim do they have on this stuff? What am I supposed to do to minimize the cost to my eternal salvation yet maximizes what goes in my wallet. (Just kidding). Seriously, though, what should we do? We tried giving the set away to our friends the Burningman's, but they, sensing the bad karma surrounding it, declined.

I know I should just call the company and let them deal with it, but a part of me really wants to screw them for having a policy that probably has screwed a lot of people. So the next time you visit and we offer to let you wash your car with the beautiful clawfoot tub shower and faucet that is mounted on our driveway, you'll how it got there.

...seriously, though... what would YOU do?

...no, seriously... what should I do?

...dude, SERIOUSLY! I'm in a conundrum!

...hold me... uh, but don't judge me... I hate that.

Isn't it ironic, don't ya think?

2008-04-14T13:40:00.000-07:00

Okay, today at the gym, I'm watching CNN as their covering the develop story about the food riots breaking out... well, all over the place. Eight people have died in Haiti in various riots. Their food prices have jumped 87% since last year! Yikes! Egypt's bakers are selling flour on the black market and people in Asia are going hungry because the price of rice has skyrocketed. The headlines seem ripped from Mad Max. (Something that I've been thinking lately, anyway, since diesel is now $4.30 per gallon (!!!) here in Portland! We've cut back as a result... no more driving to the next-door neighbors house for us!) Any day now I'm expecting roving bands of pirates looking to steal gasoline and hearing about a Thunderdome set up just outside the city.

Anyway, with that story fresh in my mind, here I am at Taco Bell waiting for my usual order (soft taco, fresco-style; side of chips; pintos and cheese; and a large pop) when they call my number and they have a crunchy taco, pintos and cheese, and a side of Spanish rice. I pointed out the error and the woman took the wrong items (which hadn't been even opened at this point) and THREW THEM IN THE TRASH! People are literally DYING from not being able to buy food at the same time that people throw perfectly good food away. (Although in my defense, it really wasn't what I ordered.)

Gentle encouragement

2008-04-09T09:17:00.000-07:00

This morning reading a daddy blog (Daddy Types), I almost choked laughing reading the following post:

All your kid talks about is butterflies? Fine. Just run with it. They're just dinosaurs for girls. With the Butterflies of the World poster, your kid'll be the best damn lepidopterist this side of Vladimir Nabokov.

Rainbows? All you hear is rainbows? You can go the optical science route, sure, or hustle the kids off to MoMA & PS1 next weekend for the opening of Olafur Eliasson's show. I'm sure there'll be rainbows out the wazoo.

Now for the cream...
You say your kid's got a bad case of the unicorns and faeries? I'm sure it's nothing a few unsupervised screenings of Ridley Scott's Legend can't fix.

Ain't THAT the truth. I'm an adult and that show freaked me out! Shudder.

Anyway, I had to tell our friend Twink (who has a daughter in the danger zone of such things) and Margaret and both of them said the EXACT same thing, "Well what do you show them to cure them of a bad case of the princesses?"

Well? Weigh in, internets. What movie can traumatize the princess urge out of little girls?

Huh?

2008-04-07T08:07:00.000-07:00

I guess I REALLY don't know what a newborn baby looks like. And doesn't that just ruin your appetite for a Gordito Burrito from Taco Bell?

Sorry about the lack of blog posts. Our remodel is winding to a close. (The carpet was installed on Friday!!!) I spent yesterday assembling a crib that I had to repair somewhat, as the bars had a pesky habit of falling apart. THAT needed to get addressed, as I absolutely HATE it when my baby's crib collapses on her when she's in it! (And I'm sure she wouldn't be a fan of it, either!) I tested it by getting in it myself, and despite Margaret's estimates at how much the baby weighs, I'm SURE that I weigh more than twenty times the baby.

The Beverage of Satan

2008-03-31T09:44:00.000-07:00

I forgot to include in my post about the baby shower a little conversation that can only occur when you mix up a range of people ranging from Mormons to pagans--hey Janis!

Anyway, Leslie was talking about coffee and coffee liqueur and was within earshot of a 4-year-old girl from our ward. Upon hearing the profanity "coffee" she whipped around and told Leslie, "You shouldn't be talking about that!"

"Shouldn't be talking about what?"

"Coffee."

"How about liqueur?"

"Not that either."

Margaret told our friend, "She's Mormon" to which Leslie responded, "I figured THAT."

A shower with 30 other people

2008-03-31T05:16:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, we had our baby shower (which Margaret used as an opportunity to get this awesome maternity blouse that I had to include in this post!), and I have to say that our hostess Ber outdid herself. I knew she was going all-out when I was talking to her husband last week and he told me that she'd had the landscapers in to do some major work, she braved the crazy weather we've been having to pressure wash their driveway, and had been working on cultivating a hybrid rose variety that matched the official color of the baby shower. She had drawn the artwork for the invitation herself (and got HUGE points with me because my crow in the picture had a fauxhawk. Do you know how hard it is to draw a bird with a FAUXHAWK?!?--I'll give you a clue, it's harder than drawing a conscientious Republican.) Anyway, after hearing all that and knowing how much she was cooking for the event, and knowing that Martha Stewart was agape at being out-Martha'ed, we were REALLY looking forward to the party.

Also leading up to Saturday, we found out that our good friend Leslie was flying in for the event--from ATLANTA! Yes, she was so willing to come to the party that she was willing to leave the glorious South to brave the gray skies, unseasonal snow storms, and pasty-skinned populace that is Oregon in March! Now that's saying something!

Okay, now for the actual party. when we got there, Ber had made a flag with crows sewn on it that was flying over their house... kind of an homage to the Irish flag Margaret sewed for their baby shower that we hosted that you can read about here. (And now it's been almost FOUR years and that flag is still there--barely. Although it looks better than the shed it's covering even though it's an insult to Irish people everywhere.) We came in to find an bunch of friends already there and an AMAZING spread of food. I mean it was so impressive that Margaret took pictures of it. And not only was it artfully staged, Ber had even hand lettered placards describing all the dishes like "Buffalo hash served in a vintage Wedgewood tureen" or "Buffalo and pancetta quiche with handmade crust served in a Target pie plate." Yes, not one but TWO buffalo dishes. We honor their Irish heritage by serving Lucky Charms at their shower and they return the favor with delicious BUFFALO dishes to honor my Indian heritage. Color me sheepish.

There was also a cupcake-decorating station that our friend Stacey had baked HUNDREDS of cupcakes for. (In fact we even got to take home a back of 20 or so... which should last us until tomorrow, at least. And with all the frosting, candies, and other items to decorate them... all within reach of children, that particular station fueled the hyperactivity of every one of the kids at the party, much to the chagrin of all of their parents. I didn't know kids could move so fast until I saw one little boy whose mother was trying to keep him from all the treats, still manage to reach out and grab a handful of M&Ms. I didn't actually see his hand move, one second he was empty-handed, the next it was clutching 58 M&Ms. GREAT! That gives me something to look forward to!

In the invitations, Ber asked that people write a poem to read at the party. They were all really fun, including a verse-by-verse retelling of that 90's song "Don't forget the sunscreen" called "Don't forget the butt cream." Leslie recited this limerick she and Stacey created:

There once was a girl from Utah,
who couldn't get any cute-ah.
Though a bun in the oven,
may slow down the lovin',
but look at the size of those hoot-ahs.

I think we have next year's Poet Laureate!

There was also a contest to come up with an Indian name for the baby, which had some great entries, including Runs with Scissors, Tells Tall Tales, Dances Like Injured Heron, Shops at Ikea, and our favorite Running Nose (which has the side benefit of rhyming with our last name! It was meant to be!)

After visiting with some of our favorite people and gorging on too much great food and opening some amazing presents that we still don't have a room to put them into, as the remodel is STILL underway!, we stumbled home completely spent and with a bunch of leftovers and sense of gratitude to all our friends that made the party incredible and a sense of overwhelming relief that we didn't have to clean up after it!

Thanks Ber, Paul, Stacey, Brent, Janis, Leslie, Cheron, and everyone else who played a part in putting on this amazing production. We promise to let you hold the baby, change the baby, visit the baby, change the baby, rock the baby, change the baby, and change the baby ANY TIME you want.

The guy who both wears the pants AND has the babies

2008-03-27T09:03:00.001-07:00

Have you read about the Oregon guy who was born a woman, but became a man about 10 years ago and was legally male. He and his wife wanted a baby, but his wife had had a hysterectomy so the burden of creating life fell to the husband. He had had a double mastectomy and was on testosterone, but hadn't had any reconstruction... down there. Anyway, 4 months after stopping the testosterone therapy, he was able to be artificially inseminated and now they're expecting a baby. There was an article about the couple, including this Demi Moore-style nude pregnancy photo. (Although if you didn't know he was pregnant, you'd just think he had a very localized beer gut.) Talk about not fair. Here's someone who literally changed his whole person and yet easily got pregnant, while some women, who are taking all the right vitamins, getting plenty of exercise, etc. can't get pregnant at all.

I had to laugh, though, when talking to Janis about this. When I showed her this picture, she responded, "If I was going to go to the trouble of changing sex, I dang for sure would not do the crappiest part of being a woman: childbirth!" Classic! (Of course her absolutely HORRIFYING birth experience playing absolutely NO role in her making that statement.)

Baby registry

2008-03-26T13:42:00.000-07:00

Here's something I think I'd like to add to our baby registry, but curiously neither Babies R Us nor Target carries them. Jeesh!

Speaking of baby registries, Margaret and our friend Cheron went to Babies R Us to register and it took THE ENTIRE DAY! Who knew that the list of things one absolutely needs to properly care for or accessorize a baby with is over 1,500 items! And every one of them is important and if you don't get it it means you don't love your baby as much as the parents who did buy the Gentle Rock Chair System 4000 with aromatherapy and chromotherapy for optimal cognitive development in a 4-day-old baby. I'm just glad it's the twenty-first century, where our heated wet wipe dispensers are electric and connected to the internet to order refills automatically via Amazon.com. And our poor pioneer ancestors had to heat their disposable cucumber-scented wet wipes over an open flame made from buffalo chips.

Anyway, after a complete day of being there, Margaret came home completely drained of life force and just collapsed into bed early that night. A couple of days later, we went back together, as she had to ask me about a baby carrier. After looking at about 312 of the various options, I was ready to leave and she reminded me that she had to look at all the options of EVERYTHING! And if you're wondering how many different types of organic cotton short sleeved white onesies with snap bottoms there are, a close guess would be 497! (By the way, we picked out option 322: Organic cotton grown in the highlands of Kenya beneath Mt. Kilimanjaro, irrigated using canals dug by trained meerkats , harvested by baboons, and handwoven by Tsutse villagers, then transported via a camel caravan to Nairobi where they are shipped via non-motorized boats all the way to America. They also carried the ones that used cotton watered individually by trained elephants blowing water from their trunks, but we wanted to stick to the irrigated ones... you know, because of our Mormon roots.

Those crazy Scandinavians

2008-03-25T08:27:00.000-07:00

Having Scandinavian roots and serving a mission in Norway really cemented my affinity to extreme northern Europe. When I lived there as a 19-20 year-old, the things that struck me were things that someone my age would notice. Things like, gee, they don't have homelessness here. Or hunger. Or poverty. Or pollution. You know, the little things. I'd read that the Scandinavian countries were the best countries to be a parent, but I didn't really know what that entailed, parenthood being far off on my horizon. Well, I've recently been reading daddy blogs--yes, I'm reading frickin' DADDY BLOGS, okay. Stop giving me grief! Anyway, one of them is from a guy in Sweden. Yesterday he posted about the day care system there and I was literally dumbfounded. Here's his post, because you have GOT to read this:

Kids here in Sweden are not allowed at day care before 12 months of age. Many, like our son and daughter, have started at age 18 months (by choice). It's possible to hire a nanny privately but I don't know a single person that has done so. There's no reason to do so since every person, mother of father, has the right to paternity/maternity leave at almost full pay for about 18 months. People here are spoiled and don't realize how great of a benefit this is. I call it parent and family heaven.

Everyone has the right to the same day care, public or private. You can choose any school you like. Cost is exactly the same and all regulated by government (sounds scary but it's actually fantastic). You're guaranteed a space for your child by giving 3 months of advance notice. Like any other modern country there are schools with different educational directions. Our kids go to a school with a Montessori inspired approach. Cost for full time care, 7:30-5 pm is $200 per month. Half for the second child. Part time care, 30 hours a week like we do, is $140 per child and half for the second. This includes everything you can possibly think of. Diapers, food, snacks, excursions, and supplies.

Funny thing is every family receives a $200 monthly check (per child) until the child is 18 years of age. It's not income dependent. Those checks may be used for anything, it's up to the parents. So great day care is basically free, or a profit for us. We dump the kids $400 into their accounts and the kids will get this little starting capital when they turn 15.

Taxes are a little higher here, I do pay about the same income tax as in NYC and a little higher than Mexico City. Difference is you get nothing for the money in those two other places while benefits here are amazing. A few examples are a safe society, no pollution, free high quality day care and schools (all the way through university), and plenty of paternity/maternity leave.

How much does day care/pre-school cost the government? The total cost for all costs in school up to age 6 is roughly $5 billion a year. That's including everything. Converted for the larger population in the U.S., the cost would be roughly $150 billion a year. That may sound a lot but after seeing the differences I'm totally convinced the cost absorbed by government is a phenomenal investment. Kids growing up in a healthy day care/school environment with parents who are at work without worrying about their child's crappy and expensive day care are given a great base to stand on. I'm sure the benefits are small at a young age but the payback comes as our lovely kids grow up.

What do you get for $150 billion? It's a large chunk of money, roughly the same as the cost of war in Iraq for only one year. It's not as simple as comparing the two but it's indication of what you get for that kind of money. And perhaps more importantly, it's also a sign of priorities. Education nowhere near the top of priorities has very negative long term consequences, something we're starting to see today in U.S.

Can you believe that? I can't believe those silly Swedes. They think that family values means ensuring excellent child care for every child in the country and giving parents the resources they need, when in fact family values means denying gays marriage rights.

Seriously, though, how does one go about getting a job in Sweden?

Acceptable pink

2008-03-21T12:00:00.001-07:00

After receiving a comment to the last post, here is a list of acceptable pinks, in no particular order:

Pantone 178

Pantone 169

Pantone 698

Pantone 699

Pantone 700

Pantone 705

Ralph Lauren paint "Icelandic Poppy" VM37

Ralph Lauren paint "Hallard Barn" VM38

Ralph Lauren paint "Pink Chiffon" VM39

Ralph Lauren paint "Salmon Pink" VM50

Ralph Lauren paint "Key Largo" IB54

Okay, this isn't an exhaustive list, but you get the picture. Essentially, I'm trying to avoid this:

Yeah!

2008-03-21T09:52:00.001-07:00

Okay, knowing that we're having a girl, we've already started getting inundated with pink stuff, which is starting to drive me crazy. And I can only brace myself for the inevitable Disney Princess phase that essentially looks like a whole line of merchandise that has been covered in bubble gum then puked on with Pepto-Bismol. That said, I did see this onesie online that I would consider, despite that it's pink. But it's IRONICALLY pink, which is a huge difference.

Seriously, check out all the kids stuff the next time you go to the store. Like I read in a blog recently, what possible purpose is there to have a gender-specific blue or pink kid's digital camera, chair, or lace dress? Well, maybe it's okay for the last one, because most little boys will only wear a blue lace dress, but you get the idea. I can see the necessity and reason for gender-specificity in some things, but why extend it into every facet of a child's world? Sorry Jill, Thomas the Train is for boys. Uh, uh, Petey, flowers are for girls. No, no, Susie! The presidency is for boys. Jeesh!

The Spirit of Christmas Long, Long Ago and Far, Far Away

2008-03-20T14:37:00.000-07:00

Nothing says the birth of Christ like a statuette of Darth Vader wearing a Santa hat and building a snow Death Star. See! Even Darth has a softer side. Wouldn't you just love to play outside on a cold winter's day with Darth? Then afterward coming inside and reading the Nativity story out of the Bible.

Great quote

2008-03-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

I read this today and couldn't help but pass it along:

"We've tried to have patience. Some of us have also tried patience's little helper, Xanax."

Ah, Xanax. I've never tried it, but I have friends who swear by it. In fact I once witnessed someone mix, contrary to the explicit instructions on the bottle, Xanax and alcohol. That was an interesting night at the ballet/downtown fountain/picking up clothes strewn at the freezer section of a 7-11/sitting in the police precinct. Needless to say, I'll stick to Diet Coke with a Diet Coke chaser. Man, that stuff will MESS YOU UP, but you'll still be dressed and have a clean police record in the morning.

Yee Haw!

2008-03-13T11:53:00.000-07:00

Outdoor Life magazine just named my hometown (or at least the town nearest the hamlet where I grew up) of Lewiston, Idaho the #2 best city for hunting and fishing. (You can read about it here.) Not that I do either. In fact if it were up to me to have to kill things to eat, we would most likely be vegetarians.

Anyway, this comes as no surprise to me. Growing up, lots of the guys in high school had gun racks and gun mounted on their trucks that they drove to school, you're hard pressed not to see the hides of various animals drying on peoples houses, sheds, etc., and dogs trolling the streets with an elk hoof clenched in their jaws. Yes, it was quite the metropolitan upbringing there in Idaho. And to top it off, we got to miss several days of school every year during the county fair to show our animals! (And yet we NEVER got to miss school for the symphony, opera, or the Gaugin exhibit... namely because you'd have had to drive to Seattle to got to any of those things, and if you were going to drive THAT far, you'd be more likely headed to the Blue Mountains in Oregon to go hunting or to Montana for the Belt Sander Racing Grand Prix.)

The immortal words of MC Hammer

2008-03-12T11:57:00.000-07:00

After having experienced perfect strangers coming up to her and touching her belly, I've found the perfect t-shirt for her:

Yes, the words of MC Hammer come to the rescue once again.

And my two suggestions were met with skepticism and dismissal:

If someone touches your belly, grab their crotch. When they react in surprise/horror, just tell them, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it was inappropriate touching day."

Have a t-shirt printed with "I have leprosy."

Daylight Savings Time

2008-03-12T08:42:00.000-07:00

I think that daylight savings time is just a conspiracy by the caffeine providers in this country to drive up demand. I swear getting up just that ONE HOUR earlier feels like I may as well have to get up at 2:30. Thank heavens for bottomless refills at Noah's or I would be screwed.

And to make matters worse, one of my coworkers had her last day on Friday and I got an email from her after I inquired on her transition to non-work life + daylight savings time. She replied that when she eventually got out of bed, she had to worry about making coffee, what kind of omelet she was going to make, and getting ready to watch The View. Arg. Now I know how Margaret felt our last semester at BYU when I was just there biding time. (I had an extra semester left on my scholarship, but was done with my classes, so I just filled my schedule with whatever so I could stay in Provo with Margaret. I'm sure that the scholarship wasn't designed for such abuses, but whatcha gonna do?) I only had classes on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, giving me a 4-day weekend every weekend for the entire semester. And my Wednesday schedule started at 2:00 pm. I was always trying to get Margaret to go out at all hours of the day and night, as I didn't have to worry about getting up before noon, while she was trying to cram four years of schooling into three. Needless to say, Margaret didn't get as much sleep that semester as I did. In fact she's still trying to catch up on sleep a decade later!

Rumor mill

2008-03-10T09:53:00.000-07:00

After that last post, I noticed a large uptick in the number of comments from the internets. And over the weekend, we got calls from our family about the birthing education class "outbursts." Evidently word travels fast! My favorite was from my mom. She responded to my "Hello?" with "I heard about Margaret causing a ruckus in your class... she's going to be such a good mother!"

Here we were thinking we needed to read tons of books and have a crib that a baby can't fit her head through the bars where it turns out all we need is sarcasm. And with that as the criteria, we're going to have the best parenting skills EVER!

Rabble-rousers

2008-03-07T11:40:00.001-08:00

Well tonight we're off to our next childbirth education class. (Nothing says "exciting Friday night" like childbirth education... I'm sure everything will be back to normal after the baby is born and we can go out on Friday nights and stumble home on Saturday morning when the sun comes up. Right? RIGHT?!?)

Last week's class was an eye-opener. Not only did we realize that we were actually quite versed in childbirth technique, nomenclature, and logistics (you can't come from a Mormon family and NOT be!), but some of the people in the class were COMPLETELY CLUELESS! One person asked about the safety of walking around while she was in labor because she was worried that her baby would just fall out of her. I responded, "You should only be so lucky!" Margaret got targeted by the teacher (who is a little hardcore on the natural EVERYTHING) as a trouble-maker right off. Someone in class asked what kind of formula the teacher would recommend in case of low milk production or some other problem. The teacher looked horrified, replying, "You don't even want that in your HOUSE! It's like having cookies in the house while you're on a diet. If you have formula, you'll just end up using it!" To which Margaret spoke up: "And THAT would be the END OF THE WORLD!" (I wasn't in the room at the time, being that they'd separated the genders at that point, but I imagine that line being uttered completely dripping with a level of sarcasm that only a decade of living with me could have trained her for. Does my heart proud!) Later, after being told by the teacher that women only are in ACTUAL pain only two and half hours of a fourteen hour labor. (She was only counting the 30 to 60 seconds of pain from contractions, etc., saying that between them, a woman was FIIIIINE!) Well, Margaret had to speak up again, saying that that was like saying, "Here, let me punch you in the face. You'll only feel the strike for one SECOND!" Needless to say, the teacher wasn't amused.

I thought it was awesome. Plus, anything we can do to spread the word to the more inexperienced people in the class that using pain medications doesn't mean a woman has "failed" is fair game. (Actually, I don't even feel I have a say in THAT matter. I didn't give Margaret the right to tell my dentist not to give me anesthesia when getting a filling, and I'm not about to tell the doctor how much pain she should go through.)

Good ol' Portland

2008-03-04T10:24:00.000-08:00

Walking to catch the train this morning, I was treated to the sight of angels walking the street. Yes, ANGELS! And the kind of angels that you are likely to make it to the Celestial Kingdom, namely young, toned, athletic, flexible angels. What are they doing here on earth, you ask? Evidently they're on loan to the Cirque du Soleil here in town, so if your prayers to win the lottery are a little slow coming through, it's because God's call center is a little backlogged from being understaffed at the moment.

American workmanship

2008-03-03T16:51:00.000-08:00

On the way to the gym ~~to just sit in the hot tub~~ do my 4-mile sprints and 250 pull-ups, I saw this sight. If I've told people once, I've told them a thousand times: don't make turns in an American-made car. You never know when a wheel is going to come off one of those suckers from the G-forces involved in a 90º left-hand turn going 10 MPH!!

Construction injury

2008-03-03T10:21:00.000-08:00

After working all weekend on getting the moulding up, I finally sustained an injury. Was it from the circular saw? Noooo. Was it the air compressed nail gun? Noooo. Was it the orbital sander? Noooo. Was it playing with rewiring some outlets? Noooo. It was... wait for it... a gash on my hand sustained when I was reaching for some frickin' SANDPAPER and I ran my hand into a piece of moulding!

I'll post some pictures this week. (Of the construction progress, not my horrible mangled and disfigured hand.)

Pet Peeves

2008-02-29T07:57:00.000-08:00

In today's paper, there was a list of some guy's pet peeves and I just had to reprint them here (without permission, of course):
My Pet Peeves by Dan Liebert

When my opera cape gets caught on homeless people's junk

Bad art in motel rooms, especially bad performance art

When a can of cheap peas says "Pea Color and Size May Vary" and inside there's just one giant blue pea

Barbecue restaurants with happy pigs on the sign

Those foreign guys on the subway who pretend to read newspapers written in gibberish

I've been all over the world and have lived among every kind of culture and I can say, without any hesitations, that the most ignorant, rude, selfish, and self-centered people on Earth are babies

To that list, I'll add a few of my own:

When people offer a blessing on some high-fat, high-sugar dessert and say "bless this food that it will nourish and strengthen our bodies"... unless you expect the dessert to transform into carrots or tofu, you might want to skip that part of the rote prayer.

All the people who make American Idol the top-rated show on TV

People who use the verb "believe" to describe their opinion on evolution or global warming. If you don't "believe" in gravity, what would happen? Yep, you guessed it, GRAVITY would still be holding you to the earth. (Which reminds me of a story my grandmother told me about a man on a tour my grandparents were on in Switzerland who, when asked if he wanted to see the glaciers on the Alps, responded, "I don't believe in glaciers.")

People who read my blog but never leave comments. What's up with THAT?!? I need feedback, people... unless you're withholding comments in an attempt at quality control. (You aren't, are you?)

Getting high

2008-02-26T10:33:00.000-08:00

I can't believe how much I've had to paint in the past week. Four rooms, and one of those rooms getting FIVE coats of paint!!! (Although three of those coats were the wrong color.) Anyway, I knew I was getting a few too many paint fumes when I stood up after squatting down to paint near the floor and when I stood up, I started seeing stars--and they kept circling in front of my eyes for more than a minute! That "Flour Sack White" just killed some of my brain cells! And I think it destroyed the neurons that stored The Thirteen Articles of Faith because I can't remember a single one.

After all that exposure, I've become desensitized. I guess I'll have to move up to something harder to get a fix--like wood filler putty.

And this is why I'm losing my hair

2008-02-21T11:24:00.000-08:00

Well, yesterday the bathroom flooring was installed. Leading up to this, we agonized over the color, finally deciding on "Pale Sage" from Restoration Hardware. Before the flooring was installed, it looked great. Afterward... not so much. You know how sometimes if something is just a LITTLE bit off, it looks more terrible than if it were a LOT off... like Hillary Swank? Well, that's what happened when we went into the room right after the installation. The sage color turned out to be more blue, which clashed with the walls. Since the vanity and cabinet are being installed tomorrow, and I was too lazy to trim out the new cabinets, yet too anally retentive to let it slide, I only had last night and today to repaint it a matching color.

So, for about the 1,350th mile driven between our house and Home Depot, I took our flooring sample, a Martha Stewart "Designing with Color" book, and the Restoration Hardware swatch to use for comparison. After at least a 1/2-hour deliberation, between "Relaxing Green" and "Shimmer." (And WHO comes up with these names?!? One of the ones we saw recently was "Mystic Unicorn." If you couldn't see the swatch, you would have no idea what color that might be.) I finally settled on "Relaxing Green" hoping that the name would bring me some measure of relaxation over having to shell out ANOTHER $30 for a gallon of bathroom paint. I got it home and I wasn't even halfway done before I realized that this color was horribly wrong. Thinking that maybe I just needed to see the completed room, I gritted my teeth and pressed on, getting more and more agitated. When I was finally finished, I could hardly stand to look at it. I have no idea how someone whose JOB it is to determine printing colors could get it so wrong. The color turned out to look more like the weird turquoise from Baskin Robbins' "Daiquiri Ice" ice cream! I stewed all night and am now faced with the prospect of shelling out ANOTHER $30 for ANOTHER gallon of paint. $90 will hopefully be the charm.

In an effort to find color ideas that matched our flooring and the marble countertop, I googled "carrara marble shade of green" and found a blog with the perfect shade of green (at least in the online photo). It was on a home restoration blog that dealt with a guy restoring an old home. He listed the specific paint names he used in his other projects, so I thought, "SCORE!" Alas, the perfect color he used consisted of some leftover light green mixed into some leftover dark green he had. DENIED!

At this point, white walls are looking pretty good!

Gone with the Wind

2008-02-20T09:39:00.000-08:00

Check out this cabin in Norway. Its roof is literally gone with the wind. It's so remote that the only way to get to it is a two-hour ski trek, so it's not as if someone came by and stole it, in fact the materials were helicoptered in when it was built. After a skier who had passed it contacted him to let him know that the roof was missing, the guy went to see for himself. Yikes! You can read the entire story here.

While not so extreme as a missing roof, our remodel project is slowly driving us insane. It took us almost three weeks to come up with the colors we liked. I think it's the curse of graphic designers, who have the ability to make microadjustments to color values, hues, and shade at the click of a mouse. Committing to a wall color and, after hours of work, realize that the shade is just a TAD too dark is enough to send me over the edge!

¡Viva Mexico! Day Eight: The Startling Conclusion

2008-02-15T09:29:00.000-08:00

Well, we've finally reached the end of our Mexican vacation recap. Since our flight left Cancun at 3 pm, we decided to use the morning to, what else, sit next to the pool! It was a complete bummer, though, to have to pack up and prepare to leave. It's surprisingly easy to get used to only having to worry about where you're going to go out to eat for lunch and dinner, if you have enough sunscreen on, and whether you should swim in the ocean or the pool that day. But alas, since we haven't won the lottery (despite numerous attempts), we don't have the luxury of that lifestyle for more than a week at a time.

Anyway, the last bit of sunning ourselves was time well spent. We were even more frantic to absorb as much ultraviolet radiation than we were the day before. And if you look closely at this picture, you can see that I even got to sport my new Mormon Hawaii swim trunks which made Will want a pair even more. (And they were a vast improvement over a pair of 1950's swim trunks I found at a vintage clothing store that look cool and all, but were made before modern... umm... containment technologies. I was constantly having to be careful how I sat down or got out of the pool, and fortunately the only person I accidentally flashed was Margaret... at least she was the only one who said anything. And after how oblivious people were to the couple HAVING SEX in the pool, I'm sure they didn't notice.)

Finally the appointed hour arrived and we cleaned up and boarded a taxi to the airport. This picture shows us smiling, but rest assured we were crying on the inside. We got to Cancun with plenty of time to spare so we ended up browsing all the shops for last-minute trinkets and smelling all the ~~authentic Mexican~~ American chain restaurant food and getting progressively hungrier and hungrier. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer and broke down and bought a "Family size" pizza at Domino's Pizza (although in America we usually don't call a 14" pizza "Family Size." We call it a "Personal Mini Pizza"). The pizza and two medium pops cost 224 pesos... $22!!! I guess they could charge whatever they wanted... we were captives at the airport with a four-hour flight offering only pretzels to look forward to.

Eventually our flight boarded and, as the doors were sealed, I proclaimed to everyone in the group, "It is finished!"

¡Viva Mexico! Day Seven: (Continued)

2008-02-14T09:20:00.000-08:00

Last night I realized that I'd forgotten three other things on our pool day. The first was during the Mr. Mayan Palace competition. If you've ever watched MTV Spring Break, you'll know that a staple of poolside activities is the random competitions that the hosts organize. I never really understood the allure while watching it on tv, but after sitting by the pool for 5 hours, you're ready for a little diversion. The day before there was the Miss Mayan Palace competition, where 5 women competed for the crown, having to do a variety of activities including push-ups (and the entertainment director said "regular push-ups, not Mexican push-ups"... and we found out that a Mexican push-up is where you raise your pelvis up and down instead of your chest. I'll have to say, Mexican push-ups are much more interesting!), kayaking in the pool, blowing up and popping a balloon, and doing three sexy poses. The Mr. Mayan Palace competition was similar, with push-ups, a belly flop competition, and a sexy dance. Both events drew crowds of people floating in the pool to watch, which is where the first of the things I forgot happened.

During the Mr. Mayan Palace competition, with 50-75 people floating in the pool watching the contestant, all eyes on them, a completely shite-faced drunk lady barely made her way through the pool without drowning. All of the sudden, she barfs into the pool and the crowd draws back in horror. The emcee tried to play it off and say that it was just sunscreen in the water, which didn't sound too convincing when it was accompanied by a pool worker rushing over with his clean-up kit! After the biohazard release, the drunk lady dragged herself up the pool ladder right onto the contestant area. Of all the places to do this but at the very place where half the pool is watching! I guess it made sense to the drunk lady. Anyway, this completely sucks all the attention away from the contest and on the crazy drunk lady who needs help just to get out of the pool. Fortunately she won't remember a thing, but we all will!

The next thing that I'd forgotten about was the cool swimsuit I found at the resort store. When we first spotted the entertainment host wearing the brand, which was called "Mormaii," I pointed out to Will that was a combination of "Mormon Hawaii." Well, while waiting for the restaurant to open that night, we browsed around in the store and found they carried that brand, which is from Brazil. I found a pair that I really liked and finally convinced myself to buy them. Will really liked them, too, but they didn't have his size, so he just assumed he could buy them online. Turns out that not everything is available online. After much web surfing, Will will have to fly back down to Mexico to get himself a pair of them.

The last thing I completely forgot about was the very thing I had talked up for the previous few days: the perpetually all-over each other couple! How could I have spaced THAT? Anyway, after waking up from a poolside nap, I noticed that Margaret wasn't on the lounge chair next to me and Will and Deb had gone back to the room for a snack. Thinking that Margaret was in the pool, I got in to look for her. When I got in and started looking around, I noticed the lip-locked couple in the waterfall that connected to parts of the pool. The guy was sitting directly under the waterfall with the girl sitting on his lap as they passionately made out. But something seemed strange, which caught my attention. It was then that I realized that the girl was rhythmically bouncing up and down. I couldn't believe it! They were having sex, in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowded pool! Once I realized what they were doing, I frantically looked around for Margaret, as I had to show SOMEONE else! Of course she wasn't in the pool. Shortly after the couple finished up in an orgasmic conclusion (and I still have no idea how the people closer to them didn't notice what was going on!), I saw Margaret walking up to the pool. She'd been in the bathroom and missed the whole show! I had to sprint over and tell her what had happened, and when Will and Deb got back to the pool and I recounted the story to them. I'm still bummed that I was the only one to see what had happened. Needless to say, we only swam in the upper section of the pool after that!

¡Viva Mexico! Day Seven: Bliss

2008-02-13T09:39:00.000-08:00

The last full day, we decided to just completely and totally and muscle-meltingly do nothing but sit in the sun next to the pool. I never thought I was the kind of person who could do that from sunrise to sunset, but I've been proven wrong. It was GLORRRRIOUS! We were up for sunrise to stake out a prime pool location, ate lunch delivered to us poolside, and the day's highlight, drank cocktails at the swim-up bar. It was so cliché we had to try it before we left. We waited until happy hour, when the drinks were 2 for 1, but were still aggravated that the non-alcoholic versions were the same price as the full-octane ones. Below is a picture of Margaret, Deb, and me at the bar enjoys a "Miami Vice," (although should the virgin version be called a "Miama Virtue?") which consisted of a layer of piña colada, a layer of strawberry daiquiri, and a layer of mango margarita. Margaret and I ordered ours first and when Deb and Will swam up to the bar, Deb asked what we were drinking. I said, "It's a layer of piña colada, a layer of strawberry..." at which point she didn't care what came next, she just said, "that's what I want."

After enjoying the Miami Virtue, Margaret decided that the best layer was the piña colada, so we each ordered one to drink back on our lounge chairs. Below is my favorite picture of the vacation: our baby helping her mommy drink a piña colada hands-free! We'll teach her how to make a decent shaken martini after she's born. (And yes, it was a VIRGIN piña colada... jeesh! I can't believe you would have thought otherwise!)

By the end of this day, it was a little bittersweet. We were frantically trying to absorb the last few rays of light we could, knowing that we had to leave in the morning and not only head back to the wet and dreary Portland weather, but also our house that was ripped apart for a remodel AND our jobs. At least we could look forward to getting back to Taco Bells in the US.

¡Viva Mexico! Day Six: El Sea Worldo

2008-02-12T06:38:00.000-08:00

Okay, past this point in the vacation, there were no more bouts of sickness, puking, or sunburn... it was all smooth sailing from here on out. The day after the fateful trip that felt like much, much more than a three-hour tour we boarded a bus to head to the Yucatan's answer to Disneyland, Sea World, the Riviera, the Polynesian Cultural Center, the San Diego Zoo, and a five-star restaurant... ALL ROLLED INTO ONE! We were guardedly excited, as being billed so highly, we didn't want to get our hopes too high only to have the place turn out to be like Atlantic City.

Sitting on the bus, guess who should get on but the couple fused at the mouth! We had to sit behind them once again as they kissed, mooned at each other with lovey eyes, and stroked each other's face. We were surprised that they came out of their room in the first place! (And no, this isn't the story I'm referring to from the previous post about why you should remember me talking about this couple... it is just to serve to set the stage for what happens the next day.)

After a 30 minute bus ride complete with PG-13 show, we arrived at the park, called Xcaret. (Will and I continued to call this place "ex-carrot" until it finally sank in that the correct pronunciation is "ish-ca-RET." Who knew?... I mean other than the Spanish-speakers.) After just 10 minutes in the park, we realized that the place was everything that it promised. I mean it was really, REALLY amazing. Just inside the gates we saw some domestic animals, iguanas, deer, and got to hold some parrots... and that was just on our way to get to the underground river float. That turned out to be quite incredible. We got our neon pink life jackets and descended a series of paths and tunnels to get below ground level where there was a nice, 62º river. We got in and the current carried us through tunnels, occasionally opening up to jungle above us or a recreated Mayan village. In fact we even got our picture taken with a Mayan Jaguar Warrior! (I'm sure his real Jaguar Warrior ancestors are rolling in their graves, but, hey, it made a great photo-op!) Near the end, we even got to float through a mangrove swamp. It took about 45 minutes to float from the start to the end, where the river empties into the ocean. We got out and just stayed in our swimsuits to dry them off, as that's what everyone else was doing. We felt like little kids running around like that, but I guess it added to the enjoyment.

After the float trip, we got to see some dolphins, sharks, and manatees before getting to the sea turtle enclosure, which was impressive. Unlike American zoos and water parks, there weren't any guard rails or barriers so we could just climb down the edge of the enclosure and pet the gigantic turtles, which we did. Also in the sea turtle enclosure were some sharks. Deb and I overheard a little girl pointing at the sharks and yelling "¡Mira! ¡Mira!" and we assumed that "¡Mira!" was the Spanish word for "shark." When I asked Margaret, our resident Spanish expert, she laughed and told us that "¡Mira!" is the command form of the verb "to look." Oops. Although that knowledge didn't keep us from calling all the sharks we saw after that "miras."

After seeing a bunch of other stuff like a butterfly enclosure, Mayan village, colonial-era village, and some pumas, jaguars, and panthers, we went see the caballero show. There was a restaurant along one side of the arena and we thought that it would be a perfect way to see the show without being crowded by a ton of people AND we could eat. The restaurant was a Mexican buffet that was meant to highlight all the different cuisines of Mexico. Once we all got our first tastes of the food, we completely ignored the horse show. The food was unbelievable. No gorditas, chimichangas, or nachos there! We had fresh, made-on-demand tortillas to make a whole host of different traditional tacos including barbecue beef, mushroom, mole chicken, green chili pork, and my personal favorite barbecue lamb. There were all kinds of enchiladas, including one with mole sauce instead of regular enchilada sauce, and refried beans with roasted corn stirred into it that changed how I will ever enjoy refried beans again. The salads were all interesting, including prickly pear, cactus, and ceviche that had both shrimp AND octopus. THEN we got to the desserts... lots of cakes, puddings, and candies. They even had my favorite drink that I discovered in Mexico City: cafe de olla which is equal parts coffee and cinnamon and delicious. We kept going back for more and more and more. We ate so much we all felt sick afterward, but not regretting anything. It was one of the most memorable meals in my life... something that I doubt I'd ever get at an AMERICAN theme park. (Not to disparage hockey puck-like hamburgers or anything.) We knew the meal was special when several hours later we were still talking about it and wishing that we'd eaten more. And then again the next morning, remembering the foods we'd eaten and wishing we were back at the restaurant. Yes... it was REALLY THAT GOOD!

After the meal of the gods, we got to the grand finale of the day. There was a show that featured the cultures of Mexico. The first half included a Mayan culture extravaganza including a ceremony, an exhibition game of that sport the Mayans played by hitting a ball with their hips and the losing team was executed (although in this version, the winning team just got a giant necklace and a dog.) That was followed by an exhibition of a sport that makes ice hockey look like croquet: FIRE hockey. Yes, two teams of men dressed only in loin cloths and headdresses run around barefoot with sticks bat around a rubber ball THAT IS ON FIRE! Don't step on THAT! It was pretty impressive. After the conquistadors came and brought Catholicism to the area and destroyed Mayan culture, the show shifted into various musical and dance traditions from around Mexico. It was really cool to see the variety and intensity of all the dances and songs. A couple of the drum-based numbers were so loud and rhythmic that the baby was kicking Margaret so much she was having to constantly shift herself to keep from getting hurt! The show concluded with a tribute to Mexican patriotism, where we learned the appropriate response to the cry "¡Viva Mexico!" as every time the announcer said it, the crowd screamed back "¡Viva!" That became our cry of agreement for everything... It IS useful, for example: "This Diet Pepsi is great!"... "¡Viva!"

As we stumbled back to our hotel after an entire day at Xcaret, we were so thankful that America has similar places that can showcase its rich and varied culture... like Universal Studios, Olive Garden, and factory outlet malls.

¡Viva Mexico! Day Five: Thar she blows!

2008-02-11T08:15:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend to celebrate our birthdays, Margaret and I went to the Oregon coast. (I know... how decadent to go from the Atlantic coast to the Pacific in the space of 5 days, but we've got to get all the travel in we can before May 7.) We were staying in a small coastal town and the two seafood restaurants near our B&B were the Sea Hag and the Blow Hole. We'd already eaten at the Sea Hag on a previous visit, so for my birthday dinner, I thought eating at a place called "The Blow Hole" would be pretty memorable. Sadly, though, the name was more memorable than the food. For example, the house dressing was "Marionberry hazelnut honey mustard." What kind of combo is THAT?

Well, speaking of blow holes, let's continue on to day five of our Mexican adventures, shall we? This was the day that we were going snorkeling on the reef off the coast of the Yucatan. We were pretty excited and both Margaret and I were feeling pretty good, so we didn't think that we were going to have any problems. In fact, I felt good enough to have quite a bit of breakfast, including cereal, yogurt, and a maple-pecan flavored milk box. There weren't any newlyweds all over each other on the bus out to the boat launch, so the trip was pretty uneventful. When we got there, we were all fitted with snorkel gear and we boarded the boat and headed out to the deep reef portion of the trip, which consisted of two dives--a deep and a shallow dive. The water was great and when I first got in, I felt fine. Now let me preface this next part with the fact that I never get car sick, sea sick, air sick, or motion sick, but something about looking underwater as I'm slowly rocking and watching the sea grass wave back and forth COMPLETELY nauseated me. Oh my gosh, I felt sick, but I toughed it out as I'd paid for the frickin' tour, I was going to ENJOY it! And what we saw WAS enjoyable. We saw tons of fish, a big sea turtle, a giant spotted lobster, and annoying Americans who didn't listen to the guide and kept stepping on the coral and sea fans ruining the ecosystem. Despite all the cool stuff we saw, I was EXTREMELY relieved when the guide brought us back to the boat for the trip to the shallow dive. I'd hoped that once I'd gotten out of the water I'd feel better.

Will snapped this picture en route to the shallow dive. And while it isn't my most flattering photo, it captures how I felt PERFECTLY! I briefly considered not going on the second dive but again I thought, "I PAID for this, for the love of God, I'm doing it!" I was okay for a bit, but maybe ten or fifteen minutes into the dive, I couldn't stand it anymore. I couldn't even concentrate I felt so nauseous. I decided I'd finally gotten my money's worth and could head back to the boat. Well of course by this time, we were 200 yards from the boat and I had to look forward to a long slog back feeling completely sick. (Okay, here's the part where you'll see why I brought up "The Blow Hole" in the beginning of the post.) Just as I'd started back to the boat, I started to throw up... and up.... and up! I guess between all that motion and all that dairy I had for breakfast was a losing combination. In hindsight, I was glad that I was so far from the boat and the group that no one saw me in my shame. After my stomach was completely devoid of contents, I actually felt a lot better and finished off the dive with the rest of the group. (I was really intent on getting my money's worth!) I found out later from a co-worker into diving that throwing up in the open ocean is called "chumming the fish" although I didn't have the wherewithal to stick around and see what kinds of fish my humiliation had attracted.

By the time we got back to shore, I felt fine and was even able to eat the provided lunch. Which, by the way, was great. They even offered drinks. We all ordered virgin piña coladas, which were excellent. Ours were the first to be made, but when we went back for seconds, we could tell that the blender hadn't been rinsed out, as it tasted a wee bit alcoholic. But just enough to settle my stomach.

After the lunch and with a buzz that only non-drinking Mormons can get from alcohol residue in a blender, we headed back and spent the rest of the day by the pool recovering from the dives. That night, we got the final gift from that fateful trip... Up to this point in the trip, Margaret had been religiously slathering herself with sunscreen, but only on her front, since she couldn't lay on her stomach as she is great with child. As she was getting dressed for bed, she noticed how the backs of her legs were hurting and discovered that there was a way for her to lay on her stomach... floating around snorkeling. After two straight hours of exposure without sunscreen, she got so sunburned on the backs of her legs that she was miserable most of the night. Oh well, now she has extremely tanned backs of her legs!

¡Viva Mexico! Day Four: Decadence

2008-02-08T09:02:00.000-08:00

After our exhausting day shopping, we decided to play it safe and spend an entire day just sitting around the pool. Now I've never done that in my life—usually I get bored and want to do something... ANYTHING... other than just sit in the sun but something about the Mexican sun, being warm after months of dreary weather in Portland, and the prospect of getting enough vitamin D from all that sunlight glued me to the lounge chair. Plus, having access to the second largest pool in Latin America didn't hurt, either. Seriously, I've seen LAKES smaller than this pool! It was multi-tiered with waterfalls connecting it, islands of palm trees, and enough lounge chairs around it to allow a small city to bask in the sun. It took almost 10 minutes just to walk around the thing.

Given that we were planning on exposing ourselves to potentially lethal amounts of solar radiation, we literally doused ourselves with so much sunscreen that I'm surprised that we got any color at all. (The SPF 75 that I bought in the Bahamas last year came in handy... it was like spreading white latex paint on our faces.)

Aside from going back to our room for lunch, our entire day was spent reading and lazing by the pool. There is definitely something to be said about a day made up of, "ahh, I'm so warm," ... "ooh, now I'm too warm, I think I'll get in the pool," ... "oops, stayed in too long and now I'm a complete prune; I'd better get out." Repeat 10 or 12 times.

Looking back, I'm wishing we'd have spent even MORE time doing nothing. Doing nothing here in Portland is nowhere NEAR as fulfilling.

¡Viva Mexico! Day Three: Are we still in America?

2008-02-07T13:58:00.000-08:00

Well day three of our Mexican adventure started with Margaret and me feeling like we could venture more than ten feet from a toilet. We decided to throw caution to the wind and head into the nearby town of Playa del Carmen (where we would be more than 15 miles from a decent toilet). We wanted to see the beach there (hence 'playa' in the town name) but on a more pragmatic point, we were in dire need of groceries and Playa has, wonder of wonders, a WAL-MART! This was one of the ways that we knew that the Yucatan Peninsula had been discovered by the Americans. When we stepped off the plane in the Cancun airport, we were confronted by signs for Outback Steakhouse, Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville, Olive Garden, and Hard Rock Cafe. There were McDonald's and Burger Kings everywhere. And there were tons of morbidly obese tourists.

Anyway, we took the bus into Playa and while on the bus there was a couple who were either 1) sloppily kissing one another, 2) gazing into one another's eyes, or 3) restraining themselves from ripping off their clothes and having sex right on the spot. The reason I bring this up will be evident in a future post.

When the peepshow was over and the bus arrived in Playa, we got out right at this amazing church. Unfortunately it was one of the few things in the downtown area that was authentic. We headed to Wal-Mart to buy sunscreen, since it had been seized by the Department of Homeland Security (Hello! Don't they know it's not sunscreen that kills people... it's the SUN that does that!). After getting some beach supplies we headed to the beach and sunned for a while. Our beach experience came to a close when the family next to us had a baby that pooped her pants and the mother just stripped her down and rinsed her off in the ocean right in front of us! I prefer my trips to the ocean WITHOUT e. coli, thank you. Upon seeing that, we decided that it was time to go buy our groceries. To make our American experience more complete, we stopped at McDonald's on the way back to the grocery store. I got a vanilla milkshake, which turned out to be the perfect thing to get, as my stomach couldn't have handled much more than that.

At the grocery store, we went crazy, getting all these cool Mexican fruits and vegetables... including a papaya the size of a small watermelon (which unfortunately turned out to be completely overripe and inedible), interesting Crystal Light (although it's called Clight in Mexico) flavors that you can't find in the US like piña colada, horchata, and guaraña. (We made the guaraña while we were there and still don't know what it was, but it was good. I hope it wasn't something like ground lizards or something). We saved the bread purchases for the final stretch, as they looked so good. To buy bread in the bakery, you grabbed a big platter and some tongs and just picked out what you wanted. We got a bunch of rolls, some little breads, treats, a couple of cakes, and a cookie-thing. When I brought it up to the counter, she counted out all the things and put the price tag on the purchase... 21 pesos! WHA? We were dumbfounded that all that bread cost $2, which prompted Margaret to go back and buy a bunch more bread. After checking out and being too heavy-laden to get back to the bus stop we decided to just take a taxi back to the resort, where we spent the rest of the day by the pool recovering from our excursion. It was GLORIOUS!

¡Viva Mexico! Day Two: The Burning

2008-02-06T09:04:00.000-08:00

Day two of our Mexican trip opened up with Margaret feeling too sick to get out of bed and me feeling a strange gurgling in my stomach. Within a 1/2 hour of waking up, I'd decided to go back to bed, getting up only to dash to the bathroom. What a way to start a vacation! Eventually I decided we needed some food in us if we were to successfully fight off the virus or whatever, so I headed outside to get some Sprite and crackers. (I know, think of how much money we were saving by eating 10 pesos of food per day!)

Anyway, when I stepped outside, I saw these low black clouds and instantly thought, "Great... not only are we sick but there's a torrential downpour coming." Only it wasn't an imminent storm... it was the hotel's new lobby on fire! I dragged Margaret out of bed to check it out and we wondered if we'd get any discounts on our room, as we'd specifically requested non-smoking. (We didn't.) As it turned out, it didn't affect the resort that much, although the store was closed for a while so I couldn't buy any food until the fire was completely out. I hate when I'm inconvenienced like that!

Eventually I got our food and we spent the rest of the day convalescing in bed, anxious for the next day to be better than this one. I swear, at that point we thought between the norovirus and the hotel fire we'd brought some seriously bad karma to Mexico and were kind of cringing to find out what the rest of the week would bring.

Update: Margaret just reminded me that in addition to the Sprite, we also were drinking Pedialyte since we were getting so dehydrated. We mixed the two for cocktails... since we were in the tropics and all.

Viva!

2008-02-05T08:02:00.000-08:00

Oh my gosh! Mexico was AMAZING! Although it didn't start out that way. Gather round, internets, and listen to this story of tragedy and woe that was redeemed into something GLORRRRRIOUS.

Our trip started with Margaret not feeling well. At first she attributed it to having to wake up at the ungodly hour of 4:30 am to get to the airport in time. By the time we met up with Margaret's brother and his wife in Denver, she was declining fast, and by the time we got to Cancun, she was really sick. I'm talking vomity sick, too, not just the I'm-not-able-to-be-sustained-by-peanuts-on-a-four-hour-flight sick. We arrived late and were accosted by all these seemingly shady "tourist services" guys telling us that a taxi to our resort was going to be $20... PER PERSON! We thought that a little steep, especially since they were all mule-drawn. We finally found a bus service that wasn't going to our resort but was going right by it. When the bus finally came, we were disappointed as it was an air-conditioned motor coach with some Mexican telenovella playing on the three tv screens. We wanted something more authentico... like people carrying chickens, the roof loaded down with cargo, and a traveling mariachi band. On the bus, Will and Deb started the panicked lookout for the resort to make sure we didn't zoom past it and be stuck in some town at 10:00 at night and end up spending the night in a room at a cheap Mexican brothel (Only 25 pesos per hour if you just want a bed... hooker, bedding, and locking door are extra). We were glad they were watching, because Margaret wasn't doing too hot and was looking forward to finding a bed and sleeping for 18 to 24 hours. Will spotted the resort and could tell the driver had forgotten about stopping as he hadn't even taken his foot off the gas. He slammed on the brakes and pulled over a ways past the entrance. At this point, we had to wheel all our luggage along the side of the freeway and eventually dash across it. Yikes! We finally got checked in and avoided the predatory time-share salesmen actively seeking to ruin our vacation. Margaret dropped into bed, not to be seen for more than a day. We had made it... barely.

Tune in for the next installment, which includes me waking up with rumblings in my own stomach, the hotel burning down, and the biggest swimming pool I've ever seen in my life.

Remodeling

2008-01-27T10:26:00.000-08:00

In case you didn't capture the extent of our remodel, here's a picture of our bedroom seen from the hallway. Hopefully by the time we get back the drywallers will have put in nice, smooth, new walls and haven't robbed us blind.

Craziness

2008-01-27T06:14:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the distinct lack of posts lately. Not only are we preparing for a baby, but add to that rushing to tear out every wall in our upstairs, pull out all the carpeting, replace a toilet and vanity, and move everything downstairs so we can live in the living room for a few weeks. THEN, if that weren't enough, we had to prep for a week-long vacation to Mexico. I'm on the plane now, posting from my iPhone, but depending on the Internet situation where we're staying, the next post will be our vacation pictures.

Jumping on the bandwagon

2008-01-18T08:03:00.000-08:00

Now that we're having a baby, it seems like all these celebrities are jumping on the breeder bandwagon, too. First there was Britney Spears' little sister, and now Matthew McConaughey. The news was in the paper this morning, along with this excerpt from his website where he made the announcement: "Wish us the best, keep us in your prayers, and God bless evolution."

I think I want the phrase "God bless evolution" on a bumper sticker!