Does Max Hall have Jake Abs? Secret...

Hanging out at the Fleabag Hotel in Austin, watching Rush Hour 2 which was barely watchable the first time but manages to maintain its value with lines like "I will bitch slap you back to Africa" and "Do I look like Chicken George to YOU?!"

Speaking of movies, I saw New Moon with Sherri last night. I think I finally understand why so many women insist on loving these terrible movies. I call it the Langdon Factor. Angels and Demons was a brilliant book. It's one of the very few novels that I physically could NOT put down. I bought it at the SLC airport and read it nonstop through to Atlanta. I read it in the cab to the hotel. And I continued reading in the hotel room without changing clothes or unpacking until 10:00 p.m. when I finally finished. Then I talked to everyone I met about how incredible this book was. Imagine my dismay when I tried to watch this pathetic piece of HollycArp on the big screen. It is unwatchable. The acting is terrible and the plot is uninteresting. I didn't make it halfway through before turning it off. I realize now that Robert Langdon is a character that can't justly be played in a standard length screen production. The plot line, with all its intricacies, cannot be translated to film without sucking.

This is the problem with the Twilight films. It is a series of novels that, for whatever crazed reason, is beloved by romantic women everywhere. But the movies are epic failures. I sincerely hope that the novels were good....and I'm willing to finally concede that point if they indeed were well written. Call it mercy. Because the movies are terrible. Back out the cool wolves and the Italian Vampire Lords scene and all you have is a poorly-acted emodrama with chiseled Jake abs and lines like "you breathing is all I need" from a fiercely annoying Edward that should have kept his abs hidden. Homey, take some advice from an abless brother. If you ain't got it...don't flaunt it. So, ladies, consider this concession a small victory. The books might have been good but the movies are not.

Secret Deodorant may be PH balanced for a woman but that stuff is absolutely strong enough for a man. I forgot my Speed Stick in Austin and had to resort to the only thing available when I joined my bride and kids in SLC. Sherri's lovely floral Secret stick. I applied it in the morning then put in 14 hours of unrelenting physical manual labor loading trucks, packing boxes, and hauling furniture. I'm a big dude. I sweat like a big dude. My pits had to look like Richard Simmons' oiled-up body after Sweatin' to the Oldies. After a short and fairly restless sleep, I hit the shower the following morning only to find that Sherri's Secret was still fully intact and clinging to my caves like spackle. So I didn't reapply. I let it roll for day two of rigorous man work. The following morning I found the same result. Secret Spackle was still alive and well. I'm actually considering switching. I'll sluff off the fresh floral scent as a new fabric softener or something. It will be my little Secret.

Words cannot express how glad I am to be out of Utah and away from "The Holy War." BYU and U of U fans are intolerably annoying. I can't stand it anymore.

Memo to Utah fans. You are not the only people in the state of Utah that are entitled to your level of hate and vitriol. Your animosity and hate is astounding. It is ridiculous. It is childish and stupid. Let it go. If you refuse to let it go, then you should allow other people the same hate without getting monumentally butthurt over others' comments, i.e. Max Hall. Did he get carried away with his comments? Yes. Was he genuinely disgusted and hurt? Yes. Did he have cause to be pissed? Yes. Should he have STFU and let the scoreboard do his talking? Yes. But all that aside, he has just as much right to speak as you do...ambassador of the school or not. To refresh our minds and re-open the wounds, here it is:



The only Ute fans that have any room to be pissed are those that are actually open-minded enough to not loathe BYU. I challenge you to find me 10 such fans. Like Bigfoot and the Easterfreaking Bunny...they don't exist. If you think it and believe it, so can Max Hall.

Memo to BYU fans. Your program is tired and your team is boring. Your road is not the higher road. Any insinuation, lighthearted or not, that yours is "the Lord's team" is inappropriate drivel. There is no divine call to play for, or cheer for, the Cougars. Any hint that Utes are beer-swilling Babylonian pigs, therefore your team is the higher team, is nonsense. There's just as much boozing, partying and rabble rousing at Helm's Deep (thanks Dylan) as there is in SLC...except you people hide it in shame. Get it through your heads....God does not care about BYU winning or losing. He is a Texas fan. Hook 'em.

Rivalries are good. They are healthy. Hate isn't. But if you're going to hate, let the other side hate back.

The Heroic Goat, Blades FTW, Dust Mite Madness, and Homeless Sven

Max Hall is a hero. A win for Utah meant roughly $40 million dollars to the conference, $4 million of which would go to BYU. A win for BYU would kill the deal. So Mad Max, in his infinite wisdom, decided to deliberately throw the ball to red shirts instead of white ones. FIVE TIMES. Then fumble for good measure. And botch handoffs. Seriously, Cougars, what happened to your nards? Did the defense decide to load up on Ambien before the game? Max, my man, what is the deal with your helmet? Can you really see with it pulled down to your chin? You look like a weak, timid, pasty Darth Vader out there. You could have put me at quarterback, Collie at receiver, Unga at tailback, and our accounting department in the rest of the positions and we’d have done as well. Tricia in accounts receivable could have put more pressure on Johnson. Disgraceful.

I think wars should be fought with medieval weaponry. No more guns, tanks, Apaches, anti-aircraft missiles, or big red buttons. Let’s go back to the days of sword and shield, catapults, trebuchets, and archers. Too many people can die in the blink of an eye in this technology age. Let’s bring back the cavalry charge, the battlefield skirmishes, and the expendable French mercenaries. While we’re at it, let’s replace all existing guns in the country with bladed weapons and amend the constitution to have the “right to bear blades.” There would be far fewer hunting accidents and I wouldn’t expect to ever see the headline that reads “8-Year-Old Boy Tragically Killed by Errant Claymore at the Semi-Annual ‘Blade and Buckler’ Show.” It’s a lot harder to conceal a broadsword. Drive-bys would be much harder to pull off. There has to be something cold and impersonal about shooting someone. You have the luxury of distance and emotional disconnect. It’d be a different story if you had to get within 36” inches of the guy and best him with your rapier.

Did you know that 80% of the world’s population suffers NO allergy at all whatsoever? Naturally I have no statistical data to support this claim. In fact I found data that suggests that 54.6% of the US population tests positive to one or more allergens. I’d imagine that once you factor in the Chinese with their dietary standards and magical mystical zen-culture, that global number may drive down to the 20% suggested by my allergist. In any event, I’m malfortunate enough to be in the 1/100th percentile that suffers from EVERY allergy imaginable…year round including, but not limited to, grasses, trees, dust, dogs, cats, and sagebrush. Incidentally I am also allergic to green vegetables and work.

A teacher hands out completed term-end exams to her class. Bobby notices that he got a 75% on his test. This is a bit below his typical mark, but he’s ok with it since it was a gnarly test. He glances over at Sven’s sheet and sees the same 75% inked out in red. He’s a bit baffled. On the rare occasion that Sven is actually in class, he’s inhaling cigarette lighter fumes and trying to breathe fire while the teacher lectures. As Bobby looks around the room he notices that everyone in the class has the same 75% score. They begin to compare sheets and notice that their answers and scores are nowhere near equal, but they all had the same grade. “What’s the deal with this Mrs. Tidwell?” “Well, I averaged out your scores from low to high and came up with a mean score of 75%. This is part of our newly adopted ‘redistribution of grades’ initiative.” Mrs. Tidwell was drilled with over a dozen letters from angry parents.


Further, this anecdote was pulled from this blog:

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In a local restaurant my server had on a “Obama 08″ tie, again I laughed as he had given away his political preference–just imagine the coincidence.

When the bill came I decided not to tip the server and explained to him that I was exploring the Obama redistribution of wealth concept. He stood there in disbelief while I told him that I was going to redistribute his tip to someone who I deemed more in need–the homeless guy outside. The server angrily stormed from my sight.

I went outside, gave the homeless guy $10 and told him to thank the server inside as I’ve decided he could use the money more. The homeless guy was grateful.

At the end of my rather unscientific redistribution experiment I realized the homeless guy was grateful for the money he did not earn, but the waiter was pretty angry that I gave away the money he did earn even though the actual recipient deserved money more.

I guess redistribution of wealth is an easier thing to swallow in concept than in practical application.

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Personally, as a homeless “Sven”, I’m all about redistribution of wealth. Bring on the benjamins baby!

Dead Duck Delivery, Godzilla Snow Havoc, Unstoppable vs. Immovable, and Iocaine Tea.

I think it would be awesome if a tasty animal would occasionally die of natural causes in my back yard. I don’t have the machismo required to actually go out in the wild and whack the animals myself, but it sure would be neat if they would naturally travel to my back yard to die. I’d also wish they would show up already gutted and plucked/skinned, but I have tough-guy friends that I could probably talk into doing that for me in trade for a case of cookies, and I don’t want to get carried away anyhow. And if I really wanted to shoot for the stars I’d hope to have the dead animal gutted, plucked, filleted, seal-packed, and magically placed in my freezer. But hey, if you shoot for the stars and miss you might just hit the moon. I’d settle for the fresh dead animal.

What in the ever-loving holy hell is wrong with Utah drivers this time of year? People, we live in a state where it snows EVERY FREAKING YEAR. In a matter of months you tardlets have managed to completely forget how to operate an automobile in rain or snow. The first snowfall is as if Godzilla has set upon our city and mass hysteria breaks out. “What is this? *gasp* Oh no. NOOOOOO! Wetness is falling from the sky?! Lord in heaven, let it not be so. AAAAARRRRGGHHHH! God is weeping over our impending deaths! Drive dammit! Drive for your liiiivvveeesss!” And cars start maniacally swerving and spinning out of control. Then magically, one week after the first heavy rain or snowfall, people adapt and start driving normally again. Folks, this phenomenon we call “precipitation” happens every…single…year in our state. The rules and safe-driving practices that applied in January also apply in November. May through October shouldn’t be a sufficient period of time to make you forget what snow is.

Ever since "The Dark Knight" I’ve been giving an awful lot of thought to the concept of The Unstoppable Force and the Immovable Object. By definition, an unstoppable force is just that…unstoppable. Nothing, no matter what, in any circumstance can keep that force from continuing on its path. Likewise, an immovable object is equally impossible to manipulate. No matter what force collides with that object, the object will remain unmoved. So what would happen if the unstoppable force were to meet the immovable object? Would it be an epic battle worthy of Neo and Agent Smith in the final Matrix movie where the shockwave and subsequent fallout of the event would destroy everything in its path? Would the entire Universe collapse onto itself? Would an alternate reality spawn from the epicenter, creating a bizarre yet familiar existence with purple skies, orange seas, and razor-edged cliffs on all sides? Or what if the event were entirely anticlimactic and absolutely nothing happened? This is the kind of spacey concept that can keep me thinking (and drooling) for hours… a force that can’t be stopped meeting an object that can’t be moved. One would have to win, effectively negating the entire existence of the other. Or would it?

I’ve also been thinking a lot about the familiar analogy of the half-full or half-empty glass. We optimists tend to look at the glass as half full. Every cloud has a silver lining. You pessimists see the glass as half empty. Every silver lining has a touch of grey. But how do we know the glass even exists? And what if the glass were full of iocaine powder juice and a large enough swallow would kill you right where you sat? All of a sudden the optimist becomes the pessimist and the pessimist the optimist. Less is more and more is less. But regardless of outlook, pessimist or optimist, never get involved in a land war in Asia and never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line.

Random Thoughts on Election Day

I voted today and it was the most anticlimactic experience of my life. For more than two years we as a nation have been upended over this election. I’ve learned there is nothing more divisive than a presidential election. I’ve seen candidates’ religions, ethnicities, families, character, age, judgment, and fashion called into question. Seriously folks…who the holy freaking hell cares about Sara Palin’s wardrobe? I realize John McCain can’t lift his arms past his chest. Yes, I know Obama’s middle name is Hussein. Mitt Romney is a Mormon? Where are his horns then? He must file them down. We’re told to get out and vote because the future of humanity relies on our voice. It is our god-given right and DUTY to vote and American civilization depends on our hitting the polls. The universe will collapse on itself if it doesn’t happen! Yet such a crucial event consists of giving my last name to the guy in the flannel shirt and handlebar moustache, taking my voter card from the lady with the glass eye and floral-print mumu, and touching a computer screen for 90 seconds. The culmination of two years of irrational arguing and mudslinging was a grand total of 4 minutes of my time.

Dell Schanze ran for governor on the Libertarian ticket. Somewhere in the galaxy a star has imploded, a baby seal was clubbed, or an angel had its wings ripped off. This man is hardly fit to BELONG to a society, much less govern one. It's ironic that the only person in the state that craves media attention and photo op moments more than Superdell is our current governor, Huntsman. Bring back Norm Bangerter dammit.

I’ve decided once and for all that I WILL NOT read Twilight. I know I know, ladies, I told you that I would. I bought into your whole, “you can’t bash a book you’ve never read” bit. I figured I would read the book with a highlighter in one holster and a .357 in the other one (in case I actually started to like it) and would call it “research.” This author was being compared to Jane Austen and even Dickens in one discussion I had. But the more I think of it, the more I know that I most certainly do not have to experience something firsthand in order to understand it. I’ve never swallowed shards of broken glass, but I’m pretty sure it would be bad for me. I’ve never lit my head on fire, but I’m relatively confident it would suck. Likewise, I don’t have to read Twilight to know that it is a book for women. It totally misrepresents the true nature of vampires and werewolves and insults their ferocity and hatred for humans. And that freaking Edward is making it impossible for millions of men worldwide to meet the new expectations of their lovers. No, no, no, no. I’m sticking to my guns and moral compass on this one.

All rules are off when driving alone in a car. Propriety and decency mean nothing. A 90-year-old Asian woman just cut you off? Let the bird fly. The more lush and flowery the vocabulary the better. Frustrated? Put in some Tool and bang that head or fire up Dr. Dre’s “The Chronic” and let loose the F bombs. If you’re with someone else, normal societal rules apply and you need to be courteous to your fellow auto drivers with the gentle tones of Karen Carpenter soothing your soul. But when alone, give in to your inner badass.

Taco Bell boycott begins today. I have resolved to not touch my lips to Bell food for one year, starting right now. A very large group of us went there for dinner on Halloween night and the Mexican teenagers running the joint must have wanted to trick us instead of treating. Orders were messed up and the food was terrible. “No duh” you might be saying, but I’m not comparing TB to other (better) GhettoMex restaurants. I’m simply holding them to their own standards. I usually know what to expect when I walk through those doors, but on this particular night they really went out of their way to make our experience suck. Tables were sticky, floors were dirty, chips were uber-stale, meat tasted like cat, etc. Barf.

The Cynic and The Optimist

I am officially through with politics. It brings out the worst in people and I never feel good after discussing issues. It’s quite similar to how my gut feels after an afternoon at Golden Corral. The bipartisan politician is a mythical creature, like the unicorn or Frumious Bandersnatch; it just doesn’t exist. I certainly have an opinion on issues, but I’ve always been taught that opinions are like butt holes…everyone has one and most of them stink. So from this point forward I’m going to keep my pungent opinion to myself.

In doing some quick blog evaluation, I’ve come to realize that I may not be the person I thought I was. I generally look at myself as an optimist. I tend to look for silver linings and hold to the notion that things will work themselves out in the end. But this blog would suggest the exact opposite. I seem to be pretty cynical, sarcastic, and sometimes mean and depressing. The glass isn’t half full. It’s questionable the freaking glass even exists, and if there is a glass it’s probably a Dixie cup filled with some noxious chemical created to kill reproductive organs or cause one to break out in eyeball hives. So to establish my true optimistic self to the world I shall now make a short list of things I love and believe strongly in. Things that identify me:

I believe people are generally good by nature. I don’t underestimate the efficiency with which society can take a good person and completely break his soul and poison his purpose (look at Barbara Streisand), but in general I believe people are good and I look for that goodness in everyone.

I love a good afro.

I like scented candles. In fact, I’ve been toying with the notion of creating a line of scented candles just for men. “BBQ Ribs”, “Freshly Cut Grass”, “Fried Chicken”, and “Fireworks” are some sample scents.

I like me a good Jane Austen movie. I won’t read the book, but Pride and Prejudice on screen is frankly impossible to not enjoy. The humor is sharp, the characters are real, and the A&E Eliza Bennett is the most perfectly cast character in the history of film.

I believe hunting is wrong…FOR ME. If you want to go out into the wilderness to murder and butcher animals then feel free to do so. I have no moral issue with it. I’ll clean/gut the fish and cook it up with some salt and lemon, but I can’t catch and kill it. I’ve hunted before. I’ve killed rabbits, birds, and I drilled a deer in the hoof with an arrow once. The deer casually glanced my direction, snickered and bounded off into the trees, but I hit that mother. Each and every time I’ve killed something my heart has screamed in agony and I’m sure an angel lost its wings somewhere. Have you ever seen a fish swallow a hook? Saddest thing ever. I just can’t do it.

I believe in absolute truth. Perception may be reality to an individual soul, but perception IS NOT reality in the grand game of life. There is purpose. There is truth. There is right and there is wrong. There is action and consequence. And I actively look for truth in everything.

I am insanely patriotic. I’ve lived outside of our country and I know firsthand what the world thinks of America, and the general opinion is not kind. But I know what went into obtaining and securing this country, and I will not discount that sacrifice and effort. My freedom was paid for in blood and I am honored to stand beneath the red white and blue. My pride swells when I see the flag fly or soldiers in uniform.

I believe in God as a Supreme Being and creator. I believe He is keenly interested in what I do.

I believe there is such a thing as BAD music. This ties in to my previous point that perception is not necessarily reality. I cannot stress how strongly I feel about this. Too many times I’ve had this discussion with friends and family. I’ve softened a bit over the years, but my general stance remains solid. Memo to all of you: Just because you LIKE something does not mean that it is good. To qualify as good music, the song must have any one of the following: 1) talented and creative instrumentation/musicianship, 2) poetic writing or lyrical content, or 3) beautiful vocal quality. If your song has any one of these three, then I cannot tell you it is bad music. If your song has two of the three, then it’s a fantastic piece of music. If your song has all three, then you are looking at a true rarity. But people, there absolutely ARE instances where music lacks all three. Creed, Lifehouse, Hoobastank, Barry Manilow, William Shatner, Alan Jackson are all examples of music that completely sucks. You may like it, but it doesn’t change the fact that the music is most heinous. Truth.

I believe in crying during a movie. Doesn’t have to be sad. Doesn’t have to be happy. If a movie, or a scene in a movie is truly great, the best way to show approval is to shed tears. Examples: ET finally going home, The Terminator giving the thumbs up sign as he is completely submerged in the boiling hot molten metal, Kate watching the doors close as Michael Corleone is welcomed as the new godfather, Marlon finding Nemo, and Rocky bellowing for Adrian. Manly men of the world, it is time for reform. Let loose your inner beauty and allow the estrogen to course through your vessel. When a film moves you, cry.

I fully realize this short list puts me at risk of seeming shallow. But these are a few things that make me who I am. The cynic and the optimist.

Random Thoughts on a Friday

Clay Aiken is gay. Shocking. I realize this may come as a blow to people, but seriously folks…let’s pay attention. Did you not see the bright red leather pants he performed in on Season 2? No? Ok, how about his perfectly feathered Liza Minelli lettuce? Fine, then the mascara HAD to clue you in, right?! Look, if you didn’t see this coming then you should be hit over the head with a shovel. Your gaydar is entirely broken and useless.

Why do politicians think we are stupid? Instead of talking to us, intelligently vocalizing what they are going to do for my country AND HOW, they feel the only way to win the election and push the conservative/liberal agenda is to completely demoralize and humiliate their opponents. I don’t care so much about parallels to Barack Obama and The Antichrist as I do a SPECIFIC plan to get our boys out of Iraq and a SPECIFIC plan to distance ourselves from foreign oil. I’m not terribly keen to know about Sarah Palin’s witch-hunting pastor or John McCain’s ancient body, ready to death rattle and drop dead at any given moment. I’d much prefer to hear anything remotely intelligent that DOESN’T have to do with military. McCain is really starting to irritate me now. No-showing Letterman and stalling debates are devastatingly poor choices. Put all this partisan groin-shotting aside, and let’s talk about how the lot of you are going to fix my country.

Hollywood needs to butt out of politics. Yes, I’m aware this is a free country and freedom of speech is encouraged. But as a matter of principal, Hollywood elite should stick to entertaining us and not soap-boxing their political views. Matt Damon’s interview regarding Sarah Palin’s inability to lead due to lack of experience was disgusting. To assume that someone would be a poor leader based entirely on inexperience is a terrible fallacy of thought. Look at some of our local leaders. How tragic would it have been if someone told Randy Horiuchi that he wasn’t electable because he didn’t have any experience when he first sought public office? Hey Matt Damon…where would your career be now if your script for Good Will Hunting had been turned down because of your COMPLETE lack of experience in writing and your mediocre performances in School Ties and a few Kevin Smith films? In my not-so-humble opinion, expounding on political issues as a famous Hollywood figure is a biased abuse of position. Too many uninformed idiots out there will think “hey, Matt Damon is HOT, therefore he must know what he’s talking about…Sarah Palin is a moron!” And talk about a pot calling a kettle black, (zero pun intended there) Barack Obama has been under fire from day ONE because of his lack of experience in political leadership, from conservatives and liberals alike. And this doesn’t just apply to democrats. Chuck Norris endorsed Mike Huckabee. The few that don’t think Chuck Norris is the fighting God of Beard are terrified of being roundhouse kicked to the face. He had to have pulled in many thousands of votes for Huckabee. Votes not earned because of his policy or his character, but because the Texas Ranger liked him.

Sette Bello has the best pizza in town, period. End of discussion. The Pie doesn’t even hold a candle to Sette Bello. Even though types of flat focaccia-type food items have been around for many centuries, the pizza as we know it was born in Napoli, Italy. Sette Bello is one of 15 pizza joints outside of Napoli that has been certified as “vera pizza Napoletana”, or “real Napoli pizza.” The ingredients are imported, the oven is special, the wood is authentic. I lived in Napoli for 13 months of my life, where I ate pizza at least once a week. Ladies and gents, the pizza at Sette Bello is legit. My personal favorites are the margherita and the Bianca.

Is an XBOX a learning tool or a useless time sink? The answer is yes. When Talmage was 4 years old he was beating platformers like Banjo Kazooie and Mario 64 without even being able to read. That’s something that I couldn’t do with a 200 page strategy guide. I firmly believe that gaming systems promote learning in kids. They fine tune reaction speed, decision-making, problem solving, and teamwork. They require rational and sometimes creative thought. Given the right title and the right environment, video games make kids smarter. That said, Talmage often plays for three straight hours. I’m convinced he would play all day long if given the chance. But the longer he plays, the harder it is to get him to stop. The harder it is to get him to stop, the meaner he is afterward. It’s a thin red line.

Random Thoughts on a Plane

I’m sitting on a plane right now absentmindedly watching Garden State, which incidentally is a fantastic movie with an epic soundtrack. But my mind wanders. I just left Chicago where I was attending the NRA tradeshow. No, not the National Rifle Association. I wouldn’t be able to take a single step at THAT NRA show without the silent alarm sounding, alerting the gun-toting powermongers that a hippie kid had invaded their building. This was the National Restaurant Association show, where we replace the heat-packers with pound-packers. No guns or weapons of any kind. Just love handles and grease. On the whole it was a great show and a nice opportunity to get some face time with current customers and future clients alike.

I love free association.

What is the deal with Twilight? You know…the book about vampires and werewolves that fall in love with each other and with humans. Does the author not understand that vampires and werewolves freaking HATE each other? In my world vampires and werewolves tear human beings’ throats out. They don’t fall in love with them. Furthermore, everyone with the remotest understanding of vampire lore knows that a werewolf is no challenge to a vampire. An entire clan of werewolves can be annihilated by a single vampire. Will I see the movies? Of course. If I can sit through Pride and Prejudice many times over then I can handle a ridiculous film about loved-up vampires. I will not, however, read the books. I have standards.

Why are Americans so indulgent? At this NRA show we would cut our 4 oz cookies into fourths and fill entire baskets. Attendees could walk by and sample a variety of delicious cookies. But every once in a while I would have someone ask to take a complete wrapped cookie “to save for later.” Totally fine. No problem. However, on numerous occasions someone would step into my booth and fully empty our clip racks of cookies. Dozens of them. Without asking or caring. That would be like me going to the Coke booth that gave out tiny cups of Coke and asking them to fill my ghetto-ass 64 oz mug with Pepsi. Memo to the Clampets of the world. Don’t hide behind nice clothes and hygiene. Throw on your greasy Dickies, tattered jeans, and soiled wife-beaters. Untuck your mullets from your hats and take off those shoes that just HAVE to be cramping your funky filthy bare feet. Take out the partial dentures and break out your backwoods possum-eating vocabulary. “Awwww shoooot, I done seen a humdinger of a cookie over yonder, y’all mind if I snag ‘er?” You are fooling no one. I see through your double negatives and future perfect tense. You are hicks. Take the bloody cookies. Yer kin gotsta be hungered. Embrace your redneck heritage…don’t hide it.

Are European men aware that they look gay? Is that honestly high fashion? I saw no less than a dozen Italian/French/Dutch dudes that looked like variations of Austin Powers. Seriouly…a cravatte?! One such Dutchman approached the booth and asked for a “serviette.” I misunderstood and replied “I’m sorry sir, we’re all out of Soviets.” I really thought he was trying to be funny. Homeboy, conjure up some pride and call them NAPKINS. Testosterone is ashamed of you.

Why is there such an intense separation of classes among Italian restaurants in SLC? On one end of the spectrum we have The Olive Garden. The vast majority of Americans have no idea how terrible this restaurant is. There are no comparisons I can make. Calling it The Arctic Circle of Italian is far too kind. A more appropriate comparison would be to the half-eaten sandwich found in the dumpster outside of the Magna Mervyns. Which I would much rather eat than anything on menu at the Olive Garden. On the low end there is also Francescos and Fazzolis. There is one singular mid-range joint…The Maccaroni Grill. Beyond that the jump is ridiculous. Tuscany, Baci, etc. Fair food at retarded prices. What is the problem with getting GOOD Italian food in Utah without donating a kidney to afford it? Is our market that bad for a good Italian joint? I’ve stopped hoping for actual local faire. At this point I’d settle for a good chain, alla Maggianos. I’d sell my soul to have a Maggianos in Salt Lake.

The DI will always smell funny. No amount of disinfectant or facility remodels will fix that. I’m not sure if it is the merchandise or the bodies of the workers. Not sure that I care. All I know is that it smells like piles of old people’s dead skin cells in there. And yes, I went to a DI lately. I wanted a fox-fur stole.

I cannot get over how teenagers can text as skillfully as they do. The dexterity and speed with which these kids can type on a cell phone is inhuman. It reminds me of Rain Man counting toothpicks; this is the stuff of idiot savants. I have a friend named Blake that I would pit against anyone…ON A COMPUTER. He texts markedly faster than I type. And I’m above 70 wpm. I have youth in our neighborhood that text without looking. I have one question though. How long before our young people sacrifice the English language to the gods of Textopia. Studies show, surprisingly, that high school students’ essay scores are NOT suffering from textspeak. But I highly doubt that will maintain. It is just a matter of time before kids start turning in papers stating things like “idk wut da prob is, wtf. iirc u bbl.” Printed from a cell phone.

Utah truly is “the wild west.” I spent some time with Derek and Heather at their new home in Gurnee Illinois, just outside of Chicago. It didn’t seem real…almost like I had jumped into one of Bert’s sidewalk chalk drawings in Mary Poppins. Their neighborhood was charming. It was quaint. It was gorgeous. There wasn’t a single yard that was not meticulously maintained. The neighborhood had its own park, beautifully kept. This is in addition to the 30 acres of hardwood forest within the neighborhood. Oh, and did I mention the three small lakes with all sorts of creatures living on and around them? Grayson’s school is the size of Fashion Place Mall and it is home to 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grades only! When the bell rings and school ends, kids don’t run out like crazed Samoans to Chuck-a-Rama on a Sunday after church. They wait until their buses arrive and are escorted by the faculty to their buses. Abbey’s school is roughly the size of my high school and is for kindergarten and preschool only. How is such utopian bliss accomplished? Through regulation. You cannot mow your lawn and haphazardly throw your clippings into the trash or green waste can. You have to bag it. In a special bag. And then mark the special bag with a special sticker. The place is buttoned down tightly. Not everyone will agree that it is a better system. In fact it sounds much like socialism in some respects. Which would I prefer? Considering the abortion of a yard maintained by two of my neighbors, I’ll take socialism. I’d move to Gurnee in a heartbeat. $9K per year in property tax? Erm, no thanks. I’ll take Utah and my Sanford-n-Sons neighbors. Yay capitalism.