So, for those of you who don't know, I was pulled over a couple of weeks ago for "Failure to Stop at a Stop Sign." As T., C. and I were driving through Paradise, UT, which is literally a one stop sign town, we missed the only stop sign there.
I don't mean we ran through it, I mean that it was so faded to white that we didn't see it at all.
So, yesterday was the magical "traffic court" day. I went in with the idea that we could pay for the ticket, but knew that I had a pretty good shot of beating it. First of all, the sign was faded to white. Second of all, and I can't stress this enough, we took pictures of the faded to white sign. Those pictures cost us $0.49 to develop. The ticket would have cost us $95, and would have put points on my driving record. Lastly, I had never driven through Paradise before, so I didn't know that there would magically be a stop sign on the highway. So, gathering up my evidence, I went to the county court for my appearance before the judge.
After going the the metal detector and finding the right courtroom, I noticed that there were a lot of people just waiting outside. I figured that this was my clue to wait outside, too. I was wrong. I should have just walked into the courtroom. But everything worked out. By the time I went inside, I had to meet with "the prosecutor."
I told him my story, and showed him the photographs. Oddly enough, he agreed. He said something along the lines of "let me see what I can do" and then turned to this giant book that was on the table next to him. I can only assume it was "Baby's First Book Of Traffic Laws." After only a few minutes, he said "Yup, I'm convinced. I'm going to throw this out. And we'll call someone about replacing that sign."
That is when the choirs of angels started singing.
I still had to wait for the judge to show up so that he could officially throw the case out, but half an hour after the whole thing was supposed to start, I was strolling out of the court without being any poorer than I already am.
Moral of the story: always be willing to take your wife to remote locations to take pictures. She will then have her camera with her to take pictures of the faded-to-white stop signs that you will inevitably run.
I guess it had to happen sooner or later. I, like much of the interwebs, had to post about the most important news events of the day.
No, I'm not talking about the death of Ed McMahon/Farrah Fawcett/Michael Jackson/Billy Mays. No, I'm not talking about Mariano Rivera getting both his 500th career save and 1st RBI last night. No, I'm not talking about the Waxman-Markey bill (sorry Co-G). I'm not even talking about how the oldest living Medal of Honor reciepient just turned 100 (and apparently told death to stay off his lawn and stop making all that racket). This is potentially more important than all of those things.
Potentially. But only if you care about people.
A man in Preston, England got stuck in an elevator. Twice. He was trapped for about 30 minutes. He had a bicycle with him. End of news story. Really.
Now that is what I call concise reporting.
But at what point, after getting stuck in one elevator would you decide to ride the same elevator again. And now that he's been stuck twice, does he keep riding? These are all important questions that the general public demands answers to. So, Lancashire Evening Post, we demand follow up. Please, keep us posted. It's the right thing to do.
This is where I'm supposed to give my shout out to Michael Jackson. Um, no. Thanks, though. I'm not like that. Last week, I posted a song by the now broken up band At The Drive-In. While have been known to lament the loss to my wife, it is a bittersweet feeling. You see, they broke up into two bands, the first of which I'm posting this week, the second one will be next weeks song. So, for this week, I present Cut Your Ribbon by Sparta. This is the first song off their debut CD, and it makes me want to turn up the volume every time I hear the drum intro. I recommend you do the same. Happy Weekend!
So, I know there's a lot (kind of) going on in the sports world. It's Wimbledon, the College World Series, both the NHL and NBA drafts are upon us, and baseball season is in full swing.
But sweet merciful soccer playing heaven, did you see/hear about/read about/pray for the U.S. Men's Soccer team yesterday?
Right now in soccer-world, it's the Confederation's Cup. The U.S made it to the semifinals. That should be a shock enough. But that's not all. They beat Spain. The U.S. is going to the finals.
Let me reiterate. The U.S. beat Spain. Spain is/was the worlds top ranked team. The U.S. beat them 2-0. This is the first FIFA final that the U.S. men have made it to since 1916. Spain hadn't lost since November 2006. Spain outshot the U.S. 29-9? Oh, and did I mention that the U.S. lost the first two games of the tournament? Or that they were ranked 14th going in? Or that they were 1-7-1 all time when going against the number one team?
This is David and Goliath stuff.
So, while I wish I could celebrate the soccer equivalent of the Clippers shutting out the Lakers, I have to be realistic. There has to be a reason that the U.S. won. That reason has to be robots.
I'm fairly convinced that a) the U.S. goal keeper is a robot and that is why he was able to stop 29 shots on goal, of b) the Spanish team is robots, and they all passed their warranty, and they malfunctioned during the game.
A word of warning: this post is all about the genius of my little girl. So, if you don't want to read about the life of a one year old, i.e. you have no heart and would kill a unicorn if given the opportunity, then this post is not for you.
Also, you'd be a communist.
For T.'s birthday, her awesome dad got her a Little People farm set. Complete with farmer, pig, horse, cow, sheep, and chicken. Her aunt also got her a little people set that had a panda, a giraffe, and a llama.
How sweet is a Fisher Price llama?
Anyway, we play with that farm a lot. If you open the doors, then it makes different sounds. And it has been a good way for T. to learn how to make animal sounds. So when you ask her what an animal says, this is her reply:
Sheep - 'Baa'
Horse - 'Baaaa'
Cow - 'Baa?'
Pig - 'Baa baa'
Chicken - 'Ba Ba Ba'
Panda - 'BAAAA' (very loud)
Giraffe - *Dumbfounded look
But my personal favorite is that C. taught her what a llama says. Whenever you ask her, the llama sticks out her tongue over and over. Funniest thing you'll see this month, I promise. Also, cool, a fish opens and closes her mouth over and over without making any noise.
You have to see it.
So, I'm willing to take this traveling show on the road. You pay for airfare and booking fees, and we'll be in a town near you. Who wouldn't want to see the cuteness of my little girl?
Ladies and Gentlemen, today I would like to take the time to talk with you about an epidemic that is sweeping the world. This is more serious that Swine Flu (but then again, so is the climbing number of attacks from laser sharks), more deadly than Monkey Pox, more realistic than Swine Pox, less made up on the spot than Monkey Flu, and more annoying than people who can't tell the difference between 'your' and 'you're.'
Seriously, if you can't tell the difference and are older than 12, kill yourself.
I'm talking about the rampant spreading, much like a virus, of Facebook quizzes. Facebook was created for four reasons: to reconnect with old friends, to make friends with people you never liked in high school as a way to try and be less of a douche, to stalk that cute girl via her pictures, and to create awkward situations when you don't accept your bosses' friend request.
Is there anything more strange than seeing a request from your boss?
But quizzes bring Facebook to an all time low. 'What College Do You Belong To?' 'What Would You Be In The Star Wars Universe?' 'What Decade Fits Your Personality Best?' 'How Many Kids Will You Have?' 'Which Disney Girl Are You?' 'What Stereotype Do You Fit?' As I type this post, my friends have decided to let me know via my news post the answer to those serious questions.
And that's just in the last 6 hours. When a majority of people are sleeping. That sucks when you can be infected in your sleep.
Now, I'm not saying that you can't take quizzes. I'm sure it's important to see what your 'True Theater Calling' is. Just don't post them to my news feed. Please. For the good of humanity. But I've got to run. I need to go and take a quiz to find out 'Are You A Potato?'
There are some times when you are driving that you can't make up for your own stupidity. Take for example that time that you were driving down the road and came to a car going the other direction. Then, they flashed their brights at you and you realized that you never dimmed your headlights.
It's not like you can chase them down to admit your own foolishness. That would just make you come across as crazy.
So, we admit our own faults and learn to deal with them. There is no way to apologize for most of our driving ignorance. Unless you have a blog. Then you can post it and hope upon hope that one day the person you slighted comes across it. This is one of those cases, however, like most things, it's not all my fault.
Dear person who I followed from halfway through Sardine Canyon to Logan, I'm sorry that we were following so closely. And, when it looked like we were going to pass you but didn't, there really was a good reason for that. No, I wasn't trying to have a race with your minivan at 15 mph over the posted speed limit. No, my baby wasn't vomiting up green chunks or rotating her head 360 degrees. No, we didn't really need to use the facilities and have a fear of pooping in public places ('triple p' for future reference)
We just wanted to see what movie your kids were watching in the back on your flip down DVD player.
This was important. I can't tell you why, but both my wife and I had an overwhelming urge to find out what was on. I promise we weren't stalking your family. Please forgive my insolence. Or, buy a bigger screen. Then it won't take as long to figure out.
This week's video taught me a few things. First, your lyrics do not need to make any sense whatsoever. Second, more bands need to go back to having giant afros. Third, it will always be good memories to cram about 10 of your army friends into a CHU (Combat Housing Unit) and going crazy while you blast this song. Always. I present to you "One Armed Scissor" by At the Drive-In. Happy Weekend!
Rather than post some boring facts about myself and what I've been up to, I decided that everyone needs to learn some facts about Polar Bears. Besides, you can only post so many times about studying for the GRE before your mind dwindles down to nothing.
-The polar bear is the world's largest land predators. They can be found in the Artic, the U.S. (Alaska), Canada, Russia, Denmark (Greenland), and Norway. Each of these countries either banned hunting or established rules for how many polar bears could be hunted within its own boundaries. These rules help keep polar bear populations stable. Today, 25,000 to 40,000 polar bears roam the Arctic.
- Baby polar bears are much smaller than human babies when they're born. They are the size of a rat and weigh little more than a pound. They can grow to full man size in a year if they have lots of food.
- Polar bear babies like to pretend like they can crawl up stairs, but really only put their arms on the landing and then thrust themselves up. They can only do this on the landing, and as of yet, cannot make it up more stairs.
-Male polar bears may grow 10 feet tall and weigh over 1400 pounds. Females reach seven feet and weigh 650 pounds. In the wild polar bears live up to age 25.
- If a polar bear was pulled over on Sunday afternoon in Paradise, UT for running a stop sign, not only would they not get a ticket, but they would eat the Sheriff's face off.
- Despite what we think, a polar bear's fur is not white. Each hair is clear hollow tube. Polar bears look white because each hollow hair reflects the light. On sunny days, it traps the sun's infrared heat and keeps the bear warm at 98 degrees F (when they're resting). Also, Polar bear fur is oily and water repellent. The hairs don't mat when wet, allowing the polar bears to easily shake free of water and any ice that may form after swimming.
- Not only do polar bears not have to study for the GRE, they don't even need to apply to Graduate School. Much like Chuck Norris, if they want to attend further education, schools just beg them to come.
- Polar bears have been known to swim 100 miles (161 kilometers) at a stretch.
- When polar bear wives need a new job to save their sanity, they get one, generally at a framing shop. Also, they eat their former boss.
- Polar bears have wide front paws with slightly webbed toes that help them swim. They paddle with their front feet and steer with their hind feet. Paw pads with rough surfaces help prevent polar bears from slipping up on the ice.
So there you have it. Who knew that the polar bear was such a fascinating creature?
Muggle - n. In the fiction of J.K. Rowling: a person who possesses no magical powers. Hence in allusive and extended uses: a person who lacks a particular skill or skills, or who is regarded as inferior in some way.
Blamestorming - n. A method of collectively finding one to blame for a mistake no one is willing to confess to. Often occurs in the form of a meeting of colleagues at work, gathered to decide who is to blame for a screw up.
Gaydar - n. A homosexual person's ability to identify another person as homosexual by interpreting subtle signals conveyed by their appearance, interests, etc.
Grrrl - n. A young woman regarded as independent and strong or agressive, especially in her attitude to men or in her sexuality.
Threequel - n. The third film, book, event, etc. in a series; a second sequel.
Mini-me - n. A person closely resembling a smaller or younger version of another.
Screenager - n. A person in their teens or twenties who has an aptitude for computers and the Internet.
Cyberslacking - v. Spending one's employer's Internet and email facilities for personal activities during working hours.
Lookism - n. Prejudice or discrimination on the grounds of apperance.
Frankenfood - n. Derogatory. A food that contains genetically modified ingredients.
Riffage - n. Guitar riffs.
Bouncebackability - n. The ability to recover from near-defeat in a competition; the ability to recover from a setback.
Prebuttal - n. A rebuttal for an accusation before it is made.
Ego-surfing - v. Searching the Internet for instances of one's own name or links to one's own website.
Meatspace - n. The physical world, as opposed to virtual.
What do all of these words have in common? Simple. They have all been recently added to the Oxford English Dictionary. Heaven help us all.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the LG Venus from Verizon Wireless. Featuring a pretty nifty camera for a cell phone, a touch screen on the lower 1/3 of the face, and an opportunity to go to your local Verizon dealer every three to six months.
I speak from experience.
My journey with this phone first began around Christmas time of 2007. My old phone was exactly that, old. It wasn't quite the brick of justice, but it would sure hold a charge for literally dozens of minutes. Maybe that's an exaggeration.
But 6 hours isn't.
So, like most of the public, I was duped into believing that every two years I needed a new phone. And, just at that time, there were these neat-o-keen television commercials that featured dancing silhouettes rocking out while they talked on the phone, texted, and generally lived a much cooler life than I was leading with my Star Trek communicator flip phone.
So, I went to the store and got the Venus. All was right with the world. Until about March. About then, the phone decided that texting anything more than a three letter response to someone was bunk. People just shouldn't do that. Oh, and I was down in Salt Lake when this happened. I sent a lot of 'yup,' 'yep' and 'nah'. So I took it into the store, and they said it was a 'software update' problem.
I didn't get the update.
So, they updated my phone, and sent me on my merry little way. Until about October. About then, my phone died. Straight up committed suicide. At least that's what the coroner ruled. And the poor thing was living such a tragic life that it didn't even leave a note.
What was I supposed to tell the children?
Luckily, the phone was still under warranty, so they replaced it for free. But then, again this March, the phone did that stupid text thing. Again a quick fix. But tonight, tonight was something special.
My battery decided that living was dumb.
It was fine. It was charged. I didn't drop the phone. Not in water, not on the floor, not in the mud on a driving adventure. When I plugged the phone in, it said that it was fully charged. When I unplugged it, the screen went black. Not even powering off.
I was being shunned by my phone.
So, long story short, we trekked into the Verizon store, and they didn't have the battery in stock. So, I'm now phoneless. I don't now how I feel about that. They are mailing me a new battery, and it should be here Thursday. We'll see how I survive without a phone. Wish me luck.
So, as you may or may not know, I am preparing to take the GRE at the end of the summer. This means that while I am not enrolled in any classes, my brain is still mush. Also, on top of studying every time I can tear myself away from the Playstation, I am also researching grad schools.
I'm cool like that.
But the thing is, there are a few options. Let me explain. For those of you who are unaware, I am wanting to go to school after a dual master's degree in History and Library Science. That way, I can work at some archives or at a university library somewhere and hide away from sunlight and human interaction. After having talked it over, C. and I decided that we should apply to four grad schools, just to cover our bases. My first choice, and one that I am definetly applying to, is Indiana University. Cost of living is similar to Logan, both programs are ranked in the top 25 nationwide, and my Advisor just sent another kid from USU there, and is willing to help me get into the program, too.
Second choice is the University of Maryland. Both programs there are also nationally ranked, plus, they have a lot of internship opportunities in Washington at the Library of Congress and the National History Museum. I'm a nerd like that.
However, the next two choices are fuzzy. There are only a few different Universities that offer the dual master's, so we narrowed it down. Cost wise, the other three are about the same. Cost of living is a bit different, but we figure we will be living on student loans anyway. So now, I turn it over to you. Your first question:
But even with one of those, it only leaves us with three applications. For our last one, since I really want the Library Science degree, it made it easier than trying to narrow down a history program. We also thought, well, if we're not doing the dual program, we can stay a bit closer to home and family. So, we looked at all the programs that were in the west. There were only seven. So now, assuming that I can get into all of these, where should I apply for just the Library Science program?
Thanks. Now, tell your friends. Tell them to tell their friends. I need opinions. And feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you voted for and why.
For this week, I present to you Tokyo Police Club. "Tessellate" is a gut wrenching tale of a school fight and the control room that rages inside each of us. Or something. Mostly, this song has what Strongbad would call "the claps." It makes me happy. Enjoy!
I work at a very emotionally intense place. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, check out our ever so professionally done website here. Most of the people I work with are heavily invested in their jobs. Therapists, Clinical Directors, Program Directors, Supervisors and "Line Staff" all spend their days hoping for some sign of change brought about in the lives of the youth we serve. It can be hard work, so every time we get an escape, we take it. Generally, that escape comes in the same form.
Fantasy Sports.
Every year that I have worked there, the Clinical Director has set up a Fantasy Football (read: Basketball, Baseball) league and invited people to play. Again, that email invitation has come. Again, I have accepted it.
But it's important to remember where we work.
Because of the population of the individuals with whom we associate, we find ourselves looking for the dirtiest clean names that you can find. And part of the fun is finding a picture for your team logo. And this year, I found the perfect mascot.
Hence the Grandpa Huxtable looking character at the top of this post with the three dachshunds hanging out of the neck of his clothing. I'll give you a moment. It really shouldn't take long.
That's right: Sweater Puppies.
So, this year, you are looking at the proud owner of the South Virginia Sweater Puppies. How big a deal is this? Well, our draft isn't scheduled until August 14. I guess this is just our way to prepare for the long escape.
I literally have nothing to post about. My self imposed 10:00 posting time is looming ever closer, yet all I have are bits and pieces or randomness, none of which would constitute a full post. For example:
My friend Co-G posted about debt slavery. I like slavery (the topic, not the practice) but I don't want to bore people.
The Magic beat the Lakers last night. Set the record for field goal percentage in the finals, yet barely hung on to win. Also, the Penguins won last night forcing a game seven back in Detroit.
T. woke up around 4 this morning and I held her in the chair in her room until about 4:45. Normally, I would be pissed if someone woke me up that early, but I kind of just deal with it when it's her.
I have been reading a lot of webcomics lately. I don't know why, but I feel like I'm more individual if I do. None of that Garfield or Peanuts. It's like it something that's just for me even though I know it's not.
Why is it that some of the people who are on Facebook don't realize that when they take a quiz or something, they can just skip to their results. They don't really have to request that 5 of their friends take the same stupid quiz. And I really don't have to be one of those friends.
Pandora Music rules.
I like to eat leftover pizza for breakfast. But I don't like to warm up leftover pizza. It has to be cold. Am I the only one?
See, no coherent blog post in there. Just a bunch of random, empty brained fluff. And now, it's all yours! You are welcome. And sorry this post just didn't have any zing. Tomorrow, I vow to do better.
What better way to recount yesterday's two main adventures than by sharing with you the cold hard facts.
Adventure One: 5 - The number of passengers in my car when we decided to go get ice cream. 3:2 - The ratio of regular cones to kiddie cones that we ordered from the drive-thru. 4 - The number of times that I heard the grumbly voice on the other fumble as he repeated back my order. 2, 16 - The numbers in dollars and cents that my order came to. 1 - The number of the window where the grumbly voice told me to pull forward to so that I could pay. 1- The actual number of windows at the restaurant. 8 - Time, in minutes, that we waited until anyone came to the window. 6 - Cars waiting behind us while we waited for someone to bring us our ice cream. 11 - Total number of ice cream cones that I saw people make through the window that were not brought to us. 2 - Number of cones that were brought to us after our initial eight minute wait. 3 - Minutes we waited until the rest of our order (i.e. three more cones) came to the window. 0 - Words spoken to us by anyone who came to the window. 0.000245 - Time, in seconds, that it took the girl to slam the window on us, take her copy of the order receipt and throw it away. 0 - Amount, in dollars and cents that anyone asked us to pay for our ice cream. 7 - Times that my wife and I exchanged befuddled looks with each other. 30 - Time, in seconds, that we waited at the window, with nobody coming, until we decided that it must be free ice cream day. 47 - Times that my 12 year old sister-in-law repeated something about it must having been free ice cream day during our 5 minute drive home.
Adventure Two: 16.9 - Distance in miles from the South Blackfoot, Idaho exit on I-15 until the I-86 Westbound exit. 2 - Number of lanes traveling Southbound on that stretch of highway. 2 - Number of Semi-trucks that it takes to clog that stretch of highway. 75 - Posted speed limit on I-15. 60 - Average speed of the two semis that were blocking the reset of traffic. 46,239 - Exact number of times that you can mumble curse words under your breath so that your wife doesn't hear you. 6 - Times that it seriously looked like one of the trucks was going to pass the other. 457 - Ways that I envisioned a horrible car accident involving both drivers. 1 - Cars that caught up to us and had to endure the same torture of us. 329 - Times that I wished I was back in a certain Middle Eastern Country so that I could have a machine gun mounted to the top of my vehicle. 50 - Caliber of weapon that I wished it was. 16 - Miles that the trucks traveled until one of them passed the other. 15 - Time in seconds that it took me to pass the trucks when they finally made it possible. 1 each - Number of fingers that I extended out of our sunroof and directed towards the trucks.
For a few reasons. First of all, we are at my in-laws place to see our new nephew. L. was born Friday. Nothing like a newborn to remind you how much your own child has grown in a year.
Second, I am trying to juggle posting this with entertaining T. with a Sterilite full of grandma's toys. Hooray for Little People!
Last of all, I left my happy lappy at home so I am writing this all on my iPod touch. So there's that. Isn't technology awesome?
Anyway, short and sweet is always a good thing, right? So I leave you with this: Tacos Rule.
One last story about visiting my folks and then, I promise I'll get back to the really important job of complaining/rambling incoherently about the general stupidity of humankind. Now, while I was down there, the night of our Birth-iversary party, my uncle got sent to the store, and he volunteered me to go with him. Not that I minded very much. After all, my uncle is only about a year and a half older than me. How is that possible?
Well, we are Mormon...
Anyway, our trip back from the grocery store took longer than people expected it to. They asked if I was going to blog about it. I told them sure. So here it goes: We went to the store. We went too far east while heading back from the store before we turned north. We got stuck at a light. Then we made it back.
Thrilling, huh.
But yesterday morning is when the really earth shattering discoveries were made. My aunt and uncle came over to my parents house for breakfast. My wife had made some pancakes. We ate them. Then, my aunt decided that she was going to make some more. I like food, so I was all for it. But then the unthinkable happened. She started pouring the batter onto the griddle, but there was hardly any coming out. These pancakes were entirely too small. Forget 'I Stayed At The Holiday Inn And Am Eating Their Complimentary Breakfast' pancakes, forget 'We Are Out Of Batter And This Is The Last Pancake' size pancakes, she was making 'I Recently Took Communion For The First Time And Am Comfortable With Food The Size Of Wafers' size pancakes.
Seriously, T. took one look at those pancake and scoffed.
But that's when inspiration struck. People do not want little pancakes. In a society where we get super duper Big Gulps and jumbo size our fries, we don't even want regular size pancakes. What we need now is Mancakes. Pancakes for the human garbage disposal in all of us. Pancakes that are so big that you can only cook one at a time on a camp griddle. And when you are at a restaurant, no more of those dainty cups full of a tablespoon of syrup. We need our own carafe just for the syrup. That'll give you a sugar high that will counteract the sleepy-time effects that a Mancake will give to the population at large.
So, we're still at my parents' house this morning. These past few days have been good. I have been able to catch up with my grandpa, aunt and uncle from Arizona. Last night was the Birth-iversary party. Was it good? Well, there was food. So, that's always a plus. I'm sure that C. will be posting some cupcake pictures soon. But being 'home again' has given me time to think.
I was an awesome kid.
One of the reasons that I was awesome was because I was able to convince my parents to get a non-mammal pet. That's right, I had a turtle. But here's the deal. While it was only a little box turtle and it didn't make much of a mess, one of the things that I remember most was that for whatever reason, when we lived in 'The Big Red House,' that turtle held a prominant spot in the house.
We kept it in the living room.
No joke. Once we moved to Idaho, my parents had me keep it in my room, but until then, it sat just past the lamp in the tank above the little bookshelf. One of the reasons that I remember this is because one day, I had a friend over. This friend was holding my turtle. For whatever reason, they lifted my turtle over their head. Tim peed on them for a good solid 5 seconds before they made any move.
This turtle had attitude.
Once we moved, Tim kind of took a back seat in our house. He was moved to my room. Again, he sat on a bookshelf. This time, he was right by a window. And there, he lived out the rest of his little turtle days.
So, we're at my parents. It's our 3 year Anniversary and T. is 1 year old. All today. So, this post will be sappy. And directed towards the two most important people in my life. You all get to read it and suck it up.C: 3 years ago was the best day of my life. You became my wife. I have loved you more and more every day that we are together. You put up with a lot, and throughout all my constant ramblings about finances, school, and work, you still find a way to love me and make me feel like my little problems are the most important. You can always bring a smile to my face and there is nobody else who I would rather spend time with than you. I love you.T: I can't believe how fast this year has gone. When you came into our lives, we knew that nothing would ever be the same, but I never knew it would be this good. All the diapers, the feedings, the tears and screaming at 3 in the morning, the teething, the snotty noses. All of those are worth it when I get to look into your face and see you smile that wrinkly-nosed smile. I love you both more than a silly blog post will let you know. Thanks for letting me be a part of your lives. Happy Birth-iversary.
This blog will serve dual purposes. First, to let you know how awesome I am and what I did over the weekend. Second, it will serve as a way to give a third consecutive blog shout out to Norte.
Hooray Norte!
Anyway, this Saturday we all met at Norte's place for some Burgers, Victor Borge, and Valkyrie (B. V.B. & V.). The burgers were delicious. Norte has this sauce that, for lack of a better title, I will just call the sauce. It was amazing. It was sweet, yet had a little bit of kick.
The Sauce will rock your world.
Next, we watched a PBS special on Victor Borge. If you don't know who that is, then youtube that ness. Seriously. Here. I can wait. I recommend the Page Turner as well as Phonetic Punctuation. When I was growing up, my parents had a couple Victor Borge performances recorded off of PBS, so it was good to reminice about the happy times.
Yes, my childhood had happy times.
Finally, after a quick jaunt for some ice cream at Charlie's, we made it back to our place to watch Valkyrie. Remember, I am a student, husband, and parent. On top of that, I work full time. So, I know that this movie was released around Christmas, but now that it's on DVD, we could finally rent it and see it. The history nerd in me liked the movie. But, it had Tom Cruise, and he is what I like to call SuperCrazyOverTheTopPsychoNutsBatFlappingInsane. Overall, the movie was good. Not to give it away to anyone who hasn't seen it but is going to, but (SPOILER ALERT) Hitler survives their asassination attempt. However, one thing that bugged me was their accents.
They Weren't German.
You see, I took a few years of German in High School. I went there for a bit on a Student Exchange. I just finished my second year of German in college. If there's one thing I know, it's english spoken with a German accent. So, to get by without using crappy accents, they just didn't try. Tom Cruise spoke regularly. Most of the other Nazis spoke with a British accent. The only one that they tried to portray with a German accent was Hitler.
I guess they didn't want him to be anything but German.
As a side note, later on today, C., T. and I are headed south to my parents place for "180 Reasons to Celebrate." Tuesday will be T.'s first birthday. C. and I will have been married for 3 years. My aunt will be turning 30. My uncle, 47. And if my great-grandma were still alive, she would be turning 99. All on June 2. So, there may be a blog tomorrow, they may not. All I know is that I feel old.
So, for those of you who don't know, I was pulled over a couple of weeks ago for "Failure to Stop at a Stop Sign." As T., C. and I were driving through Paradise, UT, which is literally a one stop sign town, we missed the only stop sign there. 
