Bugs Don't Litter

One a day for all of May...

How come the only act of injustice to receive the pejorative title "bug" is for littering? And why in the world is it a "bug" to begin with? It sounds like an after-school public service announcement cartoon character. Larry the Litterbug. Don't be like Larry, he litters. Throw your trash in the trash can. Be like Timmy the Trash-in-Trashcan bug. Other criminal activities should have the "bug" suffix thrown in as well, I believe. Hey, don't be a Speedbug. Or a Shopliftbug. Or a Badtaxesbug. Or a Lie-to-me-about-how-your-chocolately-flattened-oval-sphere-things-don't-melt-in-my-hand-when-they-really-do bug.

(Patty) Melt in my Hand

One a day for all of freakin' May...

Yesterday I took it back to the proverbial old school and ate a few M&Ms. They were delightful and I can't tell you the last time I had plain, brown-packaged M&Ms. Of course, I pondered the whole experience. I remember growing up that I actually used to think that there were "E's" on them. Now I get it. They are Ms. Another thought - why in the world do they market them as "melting in my mouth" and "not in my hand." Everyone knows this is a blatant lie. M&Ms very clearly "melt in my hand." And I'm sure they melt in everyone else's hands as well. It is not the "melting in my mouth" bit that I have a problem with. This part is true - and quite rewarding. But the "melting in my hand" bit is the lie - and frustrating. I think they should have a new marketing gimmick. It should be, "M&Ms...I bet you don't know what the Ms stand for." Or how about, "M&Ms....They make you say Mmmmmm." Or maybe even, "M&Ms....You know you want some bite-sized, thinly candy-coated, chocolately-flattened-oval-spheres with "Ms" on them that melt all over your hands." Magnificent & Mouthwaterings.

B.F.E.

One a day for all of May...

I'm grateful that I have not heard the expression BFE in several years. This is an expression that really should never have been started. I mean, seriously people. How did BFE get chosen to express one's semi-frustration with long distance? Of all places - Egypt??? I am going to modify it....I think from now on it should be "Bare Foot Ethiopia." Or "British Freakin England." That's it. British Freakin England. It's the Freakin England, baby, I'm about to have me some fun.

My YouTube Debut

One a day for all of May...

Overlefts

One a May for all of day...

Tonight we had leftovers. And I love leftovers. Especially when the various leftovers are piling up a bit in the fridge and you have one banquet-type blow out. That is what we enjoyed last night: a leftover cornucopia of maddening proportion. I will provide a list:

- one slice of Digiorno pepperoni pizza
- calamari with dipping sauce (courtesy of Kathryn's corporate lunch)
- Tuscan salad with fresh chunks of fresh mozzarella (Kathryn's corporate lunch)
- rigatoni with meat sauce (again....Kathryn)
- blackened chicken from Saturday's date night at Cajun Queen
- crawfish etoufee (again....Cajun Queen)
- water to drink

It was truly a confusing cuisine. It was a beautiful buffet. It was a monster mash.

Half the Madness

One a day for all of May...

Wow. We are exactly one half way done with May Madness, the maddening self-induced project of composing one blog post a day for the entire month of May. And let me say, it has been quite mad. (Madness). So, with this post marking the half-way point, I thought I'd brainstorm about a few other "halfs" that "half" been meaningful to me:

Half-n-Half (the delightful coffee creamer)
Half Nelson (a schoolyard bully favorite)
Half Life (the time taken for the radioactivity of a specified isotope to fall to half its original value)
Halfway House (welcome to society...halfway so)
Half Empty/Half Full (the age old conundrum)
Half Caff (a specialty order at Starbucks)
Half-Handed Cloud (one of my new favorite bands: www.halfhandedcloud.com)
Half Monkey (zoological medical/genetic condition where a monkey is born with only the torso up)

Debit All to Heck

One a day for all of May...

Have you ever noticed how many freakin' times you have to hit various buttons on those debit card thingys at the end of the grocery check-out? I swipe my card. It wants to know "Credit or Debit." So I push "Debit." Then it commands me to type in my PIN. Ok, so I do so. Then it displays the total and wants to know if this is correct. Yes it is, so I push "Yes." Then it wants to know if I want cash back. I push "no." I'm surprised it doesn't have one more screen that asks, "Are you sure?" And the biggest headache is that you can't just hit the same green button over and over. You really have to pay attention and hit the green button, the "yes" button, one of those odd-side buttons that never really correspond to the thing you want to hit, etc. It takes me forever. I'm always stressed out too because I'm holding up the line and meanwhile the checkout person is trying to help me and walk me through it, messing with her own screen which inadvertently messes up the progress on my screen. This is only Reason #218 why I hate the grocery store.

Mother's Madness

One a day for all of May...

Today is Mother's Day. It is a day set aside especially for Mothers, Moms, Mums, Mommys, and Flooms. You know, Kathryn and I have had a change of heart concerning said day. We both thought that the day has always been an artificial, Halmark-created, American invention to perpetuate capitalism. But now that we've grown up a bit (Kathryn more than me) and have experienced more interaction with a number of little children around Charlotte, we have had a change of heart. Mothers are freakin amazing. They should get Mother's Day every day. They actually touch snot and "poopy." They deal with infants screaming in their ear. They have to spank cute little people sometimes. My hat is off to you (and my socks). Mothers of the world unite. Mothers Against Drunk Driving. May MADDness.

Kathryn Wins Argument

One a day for all of May...

Earlier this week, Kathryn and I got into bit of a "scuffle" over the breakfast table. It wasn't anything serious, just a discussion of sorts with both of us on two different sides of the issue. And it was so insignificant, neither one of us can recall just what it was about. However, the thing that we both remember was how the argument ended. At the height of the "scuffle" (not to be confused with skizzle), Kathryn said, "Yeah? Well, my mom is putting my childhood cat to sleep tomorrow." The argument was officially over. Kathryn laid down the "Dead-Childhood-Pet" trump card and ended it right then and there. I am now on the search for my own trump card in the hopes that it will end any "scuffle" with me coming out on top. I've thought about, "Yeah? Well, I had my wisdom teeth taken out when I was younger." But that doesn't seem to have the same umph (sp?) that hers does.

All Wood Diet

One a day for all of May...

It really must stink to be a termite. They eat nothing but wood. Now, that has to get old fast.

Double Digit May Day

One a day for all of May...

Congrats to Matt. We have moved from single digits to double digits. May 10. 10 whole days of May Madness. It only promises to get madder. To celebrate, I thought I'd brainstorm about other "doubles" I am fond of:

- Doublemint Gum (double the pleasure AND double the fun)
- Double Stuft Oreos (more is better right?)
- Double Dragon (best NES game invented...outside of Punchout and Mr. Coogie's Day at the Beach)
- Double Trouble (the handheld travel-game)
- Double Dare (the 80s Nickalodeon kids' game show where there was an enormous nose that the contestants had to comb their way through the snot (most likely 'gak') to find the desired flag)
- Double Monkey (the zoological medical/genetic condition where two monkeys are born stuck together)

Harmonizing Thugs

One a day for all of May...

Wake up! Wake up! I couldn't help but notice yesterday that Bone Thugs-N-Harmony has come out with a new album. It is called "Strength and Loyalty" with a few choice songs that include: "Bump in the Trunk," "Flowmotion," "Gun Blast," and of course "Bump in the Trunk Remix." Wow. I used to actually listen to these guys. Bone Thugs-N-Harmony? Help me out here people. How in the world does a group of "thugs" figure out that they can sing, much less harmonize? This goes back to my Boy Band question. This one is all the more puzzling because they present themselves as "thugs." But the "thugs" that I've seen around town are not gathered around burning trashcans harmonizing with each other. The whole image is a bit off-putting to say the least. Are these "thugs" arguing about which one is going to take the baritone or the soprano? How did they decide which key sounds the best for them as a group? They are essentially a "thuggish" glee-club from the streets. I miss my Uncle Charles yall.

It All Comes Down to This

One a day for all of May...

If you thought May was already full of Madness...oh...you don't know the half of it. In this month alone, there are several areas of my life that are climaxing and completing. For one, 24 will end in a few weeks. Jack Bauer will somehow save the day...but with 3 seconds left, some enormous catastrophe will happen which will hook us all into committing to another season. Furthermore, an American Idol will be crowned soon. However, that is going to be anti-climactic. We already know who it will be. On top of that, I have exams in a week or so, which will cap off a grueling semester. And our lease for our apartment runs out....forcing us to make moving decisions....which we have....and our new house is "supposed" to close this month, but that is a whole 'nother story. And if things weren't already out of control, the relentless pressure to produce a blog-a-day-for-all-of-May hangs over my head like a pregnant storm cloud, just waiting to unload and ruin everything I have so desperately worked for.

Nut Thins

One a day for all of May...

Kathryn and I recently purchased a box of "Nut Thins," not to be confused with its competing product "Wheat Thins." First of all, Nut Thins have "nu-thin" on Wheat Thins. I thought they were terrible. Crackers made from chopped up nuts. Terrible. Second of all, can we be a little original with the name? Nut Thins?? Seriously. What's next? Corn Thins? Rice Thins? Grain Thins? Clarinet Thins?? It's called a break, now give me one.

Hot House, Cold Water

One a day for all of May...

The other day we couldn't help but notice that the house was...how do you say....unbearably hot. The AC had been "running" while we had stepped outside for a bit, but it turns out that it was really only "blowing" sticky, hot air throughout our apartment. We called the maintenance dude out to fix it. After tinkering with it for 30 minutes or so, he apologetically informed us that there was no hope for our AC unit and it would have to be replaced....which would take a few days. Ok, fine. There is nothing you can do. We will wait in the Amazon-like swamp land of our apartment sauna for a few days. I went upstairs (which of course is soooo much hotter than downstairs) to wash off the sweat that had been gathering, and it turns out our hotwater heater was busted. Or so we thought. Maintenance Man flipped the breaker and failed to flip it back....but we didn't know that at the time. All we knew was that we could either stand in a freezing shower or a muggy sauna. So that is what we did. We alternated back and forth all night long. Kat slept for 30 min in the cold shower while I slept for 30 min in the hot bedroom. And then we switched. Back and forth. Miserable.

Man Vs. Wild

One a day for all of May...

Last night I found myself watching "Man vs. Wild," a delightfully insightful program on the Discovery Channel where a lone man (and camera crew) treks across the African Sahara with nothing but a knife. He gives you all of these survival tips as he goes - how to determine whether or not a carcass is safe to eat on, how to avoid being killed by hippos, how to find certain plants to burn for insect repellent at night, etc.. It was all very informative. And quite helpful....well, only if I ever happen to find myself alone in the middle of Africa with nothing but a knife (and a camera crew).

Butter Organic Peanut

One a day for all of May...

Kathryn and I are getting into organic peanut butter, you know, the healthier, more expensive stuff that you have to stir each time you use it. But we are concerned as we head down this road. We are slowly becoming Peanut Butter Snobs, which means that we would not be able to partake of the other typical brands of pb (Jif, Peter Pan, Peanut Happiness, etc.) One problem with this particular brand of snobbery is denying yourself something so universal. Kathryn brought up a good point - "What if you are on a camping trip or something and for whatever reason, you can't eat the meat they are cooking, you know, it is too rubbery or something...And so they say, Ok, we'll just fix you a PB and J....what do you do then? You can't eat that either." I think she has a point. Becoming a peanut butter snob means that there may be a situation in life where you have to go hungry over returning to the generic, now-plastic-tasting, name-brands of peanut butter that don't require you to stir before every use.

Meaty Salt

One a day for all of May...

In Bible studies over Christians being "the salt of the earth," I have always, without exception, heard that "salt was used as a preservative." The Bible study leader makes some sort of remark like - "Because they didn't have refrigeration back then, they had to use salt to preserve their meat." I have never thought much about that. I always just assumed this was the case. But this morning, out of the blue, the questions were summoned. Ok - so did "they" just completely smear their meat with salt? And then did they let these salt-coated meat hunks just sit there in the sun all day? And what did this meat taste like when they did decide to cook it? Was it so unbearably salty? I can't see how it couldn't be. Eating meat back then must have been absolutely terrible. You better eat it when it is nice and fresh because if you decide to wait and eat it in a few days, your meat totally just got saltified nasty style. Gobs and gobs of salt. Mountains of salt. Tlas.

Obviously Oblivious

One a day for all of May...

Kathryn sometimes takes sleeping medication to aid in her sleeping. This morning she was reading the "Possible Side-Effects" on the prescription bottle. One read: "May cause drowsiness." She calmly said, "Wow, I sure hope so."

May Madness Begins

Here we are. The first blog post of many more to come. One a day for all of May. That is the slogan. Absolute madness.

I am curious to know how all these boy bands got together. You know, N'Sync, Backstreet, 98 Degrees (terrible name), New Kids, Boyz II Men, etc. I am pretty sure they just got selected individually and grouped together by some upper ups in the music biz. But how did they select these guys? Did they drive around and do auditions - American Idol style? I never saw any advertisements for auditions in Dallas growing up that said - "Who wants to be in the next boy band?? Come audition for instant success!" So then I start thinking, maybe these guys were actually friends growing up. Somewhere out there is a group of buddies who are all attractive, musically talented, and they can all dance in unison. But even with that, I am curious to know how a group of guys par excellance ended up together on their own. Perhaps these questions can be characterized into the "age old" category...unless VH1 puts out a series called "How Boy Bands Became Boy Bands."

What a terrible start.

May Madness

You have heard about March Madness. I'm sure you have. If you haven't, then you have issues.
But you most likely have not heard about May Madness. This "madness" is a bit different for two reasons:
1) May Madness is not in March
2) May Madness has nothing to do with college basketball

The Madness of May will be more or less a publicity stunt/personal challenge for me as a blogger. I pledge to blog once a day for the entire month of May. Nothing big. Nothing long. Just the first thought of the morning. I will wake up, go to the computer, sign in to the blogger account, and write. Every morning. All month long. Madness.

I was reading about a musician who wrote/recorded a song every day for an entire year. It was an album of 365 songs. I really liked that idea. Seeing how I could never do that as a musician, I thought, I could certainly do that as a blogger. But certainly not for an entire year. So I limited myself to an entire month. Madness.

Therefore, keep your eyes peeled...stay on the edge of your seats....eat some pop-tarts....because May Madness approaches. And it is going to be maddening. And May-ening.

IRS = I'm Really Stupid

I love getting mail. I'll be the first to admit (maybe a close second) that I check my email periodically throughout the day. I love being the first one home at the end of the day to be the one to gather the various envelopes and coupon booklets from our little mail box. I love personal letters to me the most. Especially from our government.

The IRS wrote me a personal letter today. They kindly informed me that I did my taxes incorrectly WAY back there in 2005 and they want to "settle up." Unaware of just what my friends over there at the IRS were talking about, I recruited a friend (Brent Corbin) who knew a little bit more about their lingo. And in fact, it turns out that my government friends were right after all and that I did owe them a bit of money. I was glad to write that check today. I drew a smiley face on it. I wanted to let them know that I appreciated their meticulous attention to detail.

But here is what I don't understand. They sent me this "letter" with the various boxes that they had information for and compared those boxes with what I filled in. So, they have all the information they need. They have all the forms, files, data, and information available to them and they just compare their numbers with mine. Mine, apparently, were wrong. But why did I have to give them my numbers in the first place?? They already have them. If they are simply comparing the "right" answers (theirs) with mine, why not save a step and just have their, right answers? What is the point in me giving up an entire weekend of my life to crunch numbers, comb through confusing forms, and come up with some document that they already possess? Is this just some elaborate civil test of my ethics? I honestly don't understand the point.

But again, I obviously don't understand the whole system anyway, given that my governmental friends are kindly sending me personal letters that essentially say, "Pay us what you owe now or we will severely screw up the rest of your life."

Punching the Spike

You don't hear too much about punch being spiked anymore. I think that was an 80s fad. Come to think of it, it was more like an 80s television/movie fad. I watched plenty of sitcoms where a beloved character inadvertently finds himself/herself at a party, pours a few glasses of red fruit punch from a large bowl, and only finds out later that the punch had been, in fact, spiked. I think the character somehow ran into his/her parents while still inebriated, got a stern talking to, and the moral of the story was - don't go to parties where they have punch (because there is always a chance it could be spiked). This was a big deal in the 80s. It was the fall back episode if you ran out of ideas. It was - Let's put so-and-so in a situation where he has to drink red fruit punch...and we'll have somebody spike it!

I can count on one hand how many parties I've been to in my entire life where there was actually a bowl of punch available. Why did these people in the 80s think that we drink punch so much? It certainly is not my go-to beverage. Has anyone ever spiked something other than punch? Would anyone bring a funnel and siphon the liquor into a 2-liter of Sprite? Why is punch the only drink vulnerable to being spiked? Furthermore, who would want to waste their own money by buying a bottle of liquor and dumping into a vat of punch? Is the pay off really worth it to see all of your buddies get schlitzed? I don't even know if the act of punch-spiking is a devious-mean thing or if it is a let's-get-this-party-started thing. My memories of 80s sitcoms and movies aren't clear enough.

All I know is, the next time I am at a party where there is an enormous tub of red fruit punch, I'm going to leave the party immediately, hit a local liquor store, come back to the party, and straight up spike it. Someone has to keep this tradition going. I fear that it is dying out with our generation. Or maybe nobody drinks punch anymore, you know, because it is so disgusting.

Year in Review

April 8th, 2006. An entire year has slipped by since we exchanged our vows. Kathryn was beautiful and has only gotten more so. I, on the other hand, think that was the best I may ever look. And it wasn't that great. Our friends and family made the long hike out to Memphis, TN to be witnesses for our covenantal union. We danced all night. We ate like kings. It was a long and exhausting weekend. I was forced to get on stage and freestyle rap at my own reception. Aside from that, it was a wonderful time. The worst part about it was the lack of time to spend and catch up with everyone.

After 365 consecutive days of married-life, here are some stats/lessons learned upon looking back over the year:

- I think I have only shaved 3 or 4 times since we got married. I'm not lying, I'm just very, very lazy.
- The envelope system worked for about 1.5 months for us.
- I've learned that I enjoy folding laundry. It is my favorite chore.
- Kathyrn is a really good cook.
-Thank you notes don't make you grateful. They actually upset you that people gave you stuff that you now have to thank them for. They remind me of the Mosaic law - they are good but when they meet with me they are sin-intensifying.
- Corporate America is very scary. People are certainly not as kind as they are in the world of ministry and service.
- I'm thankful Kathryn loves to have fresh muffins/cakes/baked goods around often.
- The pollen in Charlotte is plague-like. Allergies have been dreadful.
- Kathryn is better at fighting than me.
- We love to grill (thank you to the groomsmen).
- One thing that has made marriage somewhat easier - We eat dinner together every night and we go to sleep together at the same time.
- On that note, I steal covers.
- We love to do Sudoku's together.
- Kathryn enjoys exercising and being outdoors much more than I do. I would be content to sleep all day.
- Kathryn has acquired about 40+ nicknames from me over the past year. My personal favorite: "Poop stain."

Good year. One down. Lots to go.

Double Chocolate Cookie Crisp???

I love walking down the cereal aisle at the local grocers. It brings back so many memories of a childhood long ago when I actually ate rainbow-colored, sugar-frosted, freezer-dried marshmallows for breakfast. So any stroll down the cereal aisle is a casual stroll down memory lane.

My trip to the grocers yesterday had an impact on me, however. I saw a new kind of cereal out - Double Chocolate Cookie Crisp. Think about that for a second. Double Chocolate Cookie Crisp. This is the new and improved version of the otherwise famous "Cookie Crisp." The original version was simply a bowlful of minature chocolate chip cookies. That is already pretty shocking. You're feeding your kids a bowlful of cookies for breakfast. That can't be good. And the brilliant minds over at General Mills decided to step-it-up, as it were, and make a new and improved version. But no, they didn't come out with "Cookie Crisp: Whole Wheat Cookie Dough!!" or simply "Crisp: Where are the Cookies??" or "Wheat Crisp." No, they said, "Let's stuff more chocolate and sugar into our cereal that is already a bowlful of chocolate chip cookies. Double Chocolate Cookie Crisp? Seriously people. Why don't you feed your kid a couple of Snicker bars for breakfast. Or just let them have a few spoonfuls from the sugar jar. The kid who eats a bowl of doubly dipped chocolate chocolate chip cookies for breakfast is going to need medication to stabilize him for the first few hours of his day and will then need more medication to get him through his pending debilitating sugar crash. Do we really need "Cookie Crisp" to be "Double Chocolate??" Seriously, people.

http://www.generalmills.com/stream_image.aspx?rid=15614

Television, TeleTubbies, and Telemarketing

Kathryn and I have spent the past few days in Charleston, SC celebrating our one year anniversary/Spring Break. One of my favorite parts about vacation is the all-you-can-watch-cable television in the hotel room. We have rabbit ears on our television at home. With aluminum foil crunched up on the ends. We get 2 channels. And one of them is a bit fuzzy. So endless channels of television is a treat for us.

After the initial first sitting of media-ized gluttony, I began to think about how absolutely terrible a number of shows are that were a regular part of my upbringing. For example - I remember regularly watching The Munsters and the Adam's Family reruns growing up. Looking back, I can't help but be puzzled by the decisions of television executive programmers. Who thought that a sitcom based on the domestic issues of a haunted, monster nuclear family was a good idea? And who was it that came along and said - that is such a good idea, let's create another show like that, only this time it will involve some members from the extended family - Uncle Fester, Cousin It, etc. The more puzzling question may be - why did we watch these shows? How were they at all relatable?

And who came along and thought that Golden Girls was a good idea? Who said - Let's make a show about the sex lives of four single senior citizen women? Yep, I watched that show too. And why in the world could Zach Morris stop time? We haven't made nearly as big of a deal with that as we should. That is absolutely crazy. Stopping time? So Zach Morris has supernatural powers??? Seriously.

Who's The Boss? Pushing the gender roles with this one. How does a tough New York Italian go from playing professional baseball to working as a live-in housekeeper? Not buying the premise. Who's the Boss also capitalized on the sexual escapades of a senior citizen woman, Mona, who was Angela's (Judith Light) mother. I just don't get it.

Full House. Ever gone back and seen those reruns. Sheesh. 3 single grown men living together in an enormous house in San Francisco raising 3 girls together. The plot was simple: Put a relatively normal though neurotic clean freak (Danny Tanner) together with a wild, out of work very bad comedian (Uncle Joey) mixed with a babe-chasin, long-haired, rock and roll wanna-be (Uncle Jesse) and let the hilarity ensue. Terrible, unbearable acting. Predictable, serious moral lesson moment at the end accompanied by orchestra. The producers cast two people for one part.

So many bad shows.

Medication Transportation

Though I (Kathryn) rarely make an appearance on this family blog-site, I felt the urge to comment on a CNN.com article that made the "frontpage" news. Did anyone see that the FDA made a statement on how sleeping pills cause sleep-driving? Surely the writers didn't intend to make us cleanly substitue "walking" with "driving", I thought to myself. Surely, they're meaning to convey something about how these pills cause takers to fall asleep at the wheel, or something like that. I read on.

The FDA has received a dozen or so reports of how users of sleeping pills have a tendency to wake-up in the middle of their slumber, walk, find their keys, find the door, and go driving. The word that gets me is "tendency". What is it about these pills that make the automobile so attractive? Why isn't the phone more attractive? We've all heard of drunk-dialing. Apparantly, people taking sleeping pills may also call someone during their nightly wake-session. But only a couple of people have done that. The overwhelming majority of sleeping pill users are heading for their cars.

I admit that I occasionally pop the pill. And now Matt is actually considering hiding my car keys.

Sbarro and Sleep

The other day I was in a conversation that forced me to raise this question: Why do you only find Sbarro Pizza joints in malls and airports? I've never seen a free standing Sbarro Pizza. They are always in the food court area, usually next to some Asian food option. Why is this? Do Sbarros have some sort of deal with the malls and airports? Are they not allowed to conduct their business outside of these facilities? Or perhaps they are too timid to compete with the corporate monsters like Pizza Hut, Papa Johns, Pizza Shuttle, etc. The same question might could be posed to Cinnabon or Auntie Anne's (those cinnnamon, pretzel places) as well.

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I have recently become more self-aware of my sleep philosophy. I’m sure everyone has one; I’ve just never been fully in touch with my own. It has always been there, as I’m sure yours is there too, hidden and subconscious. I challenge you to begin to discover what it might be if you haven’t already. My sleep philosophy is this: I don’t do anything excessive in the middle of the night that might potentially impair the rhythm of my sleep. To articulate: If I can help it, I don’t get up in the middle of the night to use the restroom because I fear that by getting out of bed, walking around, doing “my thing,” and returning to bed, will throw off my whole sleep flow and I won’t be able to slide back into sleep easily. So if I wake up in the middle of the night and feel the need to relieve myself, I fight the urge and return to sleep. Pee can wait till morning. Unless of course it can’t…and sleep is thus sacrificed. Same thing with getting a drink of water in the night. Though Kathryn will adamantly disagree with me on this one, I also resist the urge to pull covers on top of me. My argument: I may do this subconsciously throughout the night, that is, yanking and pulling the heavy covers from one side of the bed on top of me, but if I wake up chilly and the covers are not on me, I fear that the energy required to grip, pull, and move heavy covers will throw off my sleep. It will get my heart beating faster which will require more time to slow back down. So I sacrifice the yanking and opt for a chilly night’s sleep. That is my sleep philosophy. I don’t involve myself in any superfluous energy spending (unless of course it is absolutely necessary) for fear that it will throw off my sleep flow. What is your sleep philosophy? Any takers?

Our Refrigerator is Running (So Why Don't You Catch It?)

The tiny numeric dial in our refrigerator is set at 5 right now. It goes from 1 to 9 and it indicates that "9 is the coolest." 5 seems about right. Not too hot. Not too cold. Right there in the middle. I don't know how it is on your frige but apparently this lone dial also controls the freezer. And I'm not entirely sure how that is supposed to work.

All that to say...5 is not quite working for us. Sometimes I open the freezer and what used to be popsicles are now mushed up hunks of goo sealed in a plastic sack with a wooden stick floating on top. And today I opened the frige to have a pre-dinner chips and salsa snack and the bottle of salsa was frozen solid. I'm not making this up. We had to microwave the salsa. Oh, and the celery. We pulled out the celery tonight and it was all bubbled up and nasty looking. It looked as if it had come down with a terrible bout of acne since we last saw it. Then we realized that it was frozen and the water inside the celery stalk had expanded and was busting through its cellulose-skin prison.

I am not even going to attempt to understand it. All I know is: 5 is not the right setting. Melted popsicles. Swollen, frozen celery. I am not going to microwave my salsa anymore. The only problem is...I don't know which way to turn the dial. Do I turn it in a direction to get it colder? That doesn't seem smart. Gallons of milk will begin exploding. Do I turn it to get it warmer? There goes any chance of ice cream, popsicles, and oh yeah...ice.

Chuck Daddy Cheese

This is Charles. He is my friend. He lives in Kansas City. He listens to music from musicals. He calls pizza "pie." He thinks of names of older women in his free time (Carol Hathoway was one).

Congenial
Happy
Affable
Realistic
Laughing
Exciting
Silly

C-Rule in C-Lotte

This is Clint. Clint is my friend. Clint lives in Oklahoma. Clint plays the ukulele. He eats frozen fish sticks.

Courageous
Likeable
Intelligent
Nice
Tall

I Don't Mean to be Mean

'I mean' is the new 'um.' Everyone uses this little grammatical air-filler and no one even recognizes that they are doing it. In the 80s and 90s, the air-filler was 'like.' While it got pawned off on Valley Girl stereotypes, everyone used it to fill out their otherwise dull sentences. "So I was like going to the store and I like bought an avacado." Somewhere along the line of time, "um" took over. ("Um" can be substituted for its close cousin "uhh.") If you ever can't think of what to say next, throw a little 'um' in there. Maybe the motivation was because the thought of silence was too unbearable. Too awkward perhaps. Or perhaps we fill up the dead space because we don't know what to say next but we want the "floor" still. In other words, we don't know what to say but we don't want the person we are speaking (or not speaking) with to interject with something. We want the opportunity to speak even though we have no idea what to actually say. So we say 'um.' But now, 'like' and 'um' have been replaced with the preface of all prefaces: I mean.

"I mean, I was thinking that I would clear up this ear infection, I mean, maybe this Tuesday or Wednesday." I use this all the time. Why? Is it for the same reason as the 'like' and 'um' above? It doesn't really feel like a space filler. It is completely extraneous. It is this little preface stuck in there over and over. I mean, what is it that we are prefacing? Do we really want the other person to know that I sincerely mean this? Maybe it means, 'Listen, I REALLY mean this, so pay attention.' Or perhaps the emphasis is on me. 'I, me, Mr. Howell means this, so pay attention.' Unfortunately 'I mean' means neither. I don't know what it means but it doesn't mean that. I don't mean to be mean but 'I mean' means nothing to me, and yet I use it more than anyone.

Literacy is Overrated

Of all the songs to be memorized by the American populace, why in the world was it Baby Got Back?

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Kathryn randomly said this at the kitchen table the other day, "We should try chewing food up for each other sometime." It is utterances like those that confirm that she is the one.

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How do children, who believe the whole "stork theory" concerning babies, make sense of their mother's bulging stomach? How does that reconcile with a bird swooping by and just dropping a baby down from the sky?

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I'm no chemist, but how does blowing on food cool it down? Especially when you consider that your breath is hot?

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For some strange reason I've been thinking through the lyrics of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' as of late. This song makes no sense to me. Rudolf, for whatever reason, has a red glowing blemish of a nose and is completely marginilazed within his little reindeer culture. The others "laugh and call him names" and forbid him from joining them in their "reindeer games." (What would a reindeer game look like? Odd. Simply odd.) So Rudolph is this total loser. Ok, fine. So far so good. And then Santa comes along and chooses Rudolf to be the frontman of his sleigh, mostly because Rudolph's enormous blemish of a nose can be used as some sort of headlight. And so Santa's utterly pragmatic selection of Rudolph causes all of the other reindeer to have a change of heart. They suddenly "love him" to the point that they actually "shout with glee." Furthermore, they announce that Santa's selection will "go down in history." What could possibly account for this change of heart? Santa needs a new headlight and now suddenly Rudolph, the biggest loser in all of reindeerdom, is the big man on campus? How could he be so hated one moment and so loved the next? If I were one of the cool, hateful reindeers, I would think that his being Santa's headlight would be reason for more insult. I don't know. Maybe that's just me.

Pizza: It's Remarkableness or Lack Thereof

Pizza is so casual, so trite, so "been-there-done-that." It takes one really freaking amazing pizza to really stand out in your memory of a life-long pizza consumption. I think that is because there is really nothing to it. A little dough, a little sauce, throw some cheese on top, maybe a little meat and veggies, and there you go. Not brain surgery. Therefore in order for someone to say, "Wow, that pizza is REALLY good," the pizza has to actually be REALLY good. Down below you will find a list of pizzas that I can remember as being noteworthy. They stood out for some reason or another. They were remarkable enough to rise out of the metaphorical dough of 'just-averageness,' to stand out as something truly worth writing home about. I decided to also include in my list pizzas that were so horrifically disgusting as well. For certainly those stand out too.

1. Papa Johns. True, it is fast food pizza, but good grief. Amazing.

2. NY Pizza in Norman, OK. Thin crust, greasy, NY style pizza. Can't explain it. But some Italian in the middle of Oklahoma can cook some amazing pizza.

3. The 'seafood pizza' I had with Russ in Cordoba while we were touring Spain. This stands out due to its inclusion in the horrifically disgusting department.

4. Mellow Mushroom. Love that crust. What in the world is it?

5. Bagel Bites. I grew up heating up those frozen minature bagels with the little cubes of pepperoni on top. And my mouth still waters thinking about them.

6. Square pizza lunch day in the cafeteria. Nothing like pizza, corn, a little individual carton of milk, and a Star Crunch for lunch.

7. Coach's Bar-B-Q Chicken Pizza in Norman, OK. Again...I don't know what is going on in Norman with their pizza. But this pie will melt your soul.

That is all that I can think of for truly remarkable pizza, both good and bad. What stands out to you as remarkable pizza?

Big Foot has Big Feet

I normally hate shopping at the local grocer's, but not today, thanks to the friendly folks at Weekly World News. These are the professional journalists that publish those black and white tabloids that you look at in the check out aisle. Don't pretend like you don't read the headlines. I know you do. If you happened to catch the latest edition, you would know that Big Foot has recently gone on a diet. And it was quite successful.

On the left half of the front page was a bloated, dejected, and obese Big Foot. He was holding his ballooned, hairy stomach with a pitiful look of disappointment across his bearded face. It read: BEFORE 800 lbs. On the opposite side of the page was a much slimmer, much more enthusiastic Big Foot. He was showing off his trimmed midsection with his hands on his hips and he was smiling wide for the camera. It read: AFTER 650 lbs. In a large, bold font, the text ripping across the top was: "Big Foot Diet! He loses 150 lbs!" (and here is the kicker...) "It can work for you too!!"

I found this humorous enough to actually lift from its spot on the magazine rack and flip through it (there was only one copy left). I feel like the editors of Weekly World News deserve my time with this headline. I've seen the front pages about Bat Boy, impending apocalypses, and Satan-shaped clouds before, but nothing has demanded my attention like this one. Here they are trying to sell me a diet program by appealing to its success on Big Foot. They deserve nothing less.

My question is - How large do you really have to be to resort to the Big Foot diet? At what point is that even an option for you? When Jenny Craig, Atkins, and South Beach doesn't cut it, is the last option honestly the Big Foot Diet? Certainly, there is something inbetween. I'm curious to know what is even involved with the Big Foot diet. Just what was that mythic monster cutting back on? No more eating of humans? No more wildlife? Tree bark? And how in the world is that going to apply to ordinary folk like you and me.

I should of read the article to find out. My attention was diverted when I opened it up with a different article about a message from the future. Supposedly there will be a ground breaking story on Mars in 2023.

Butter, Chicken, and Middle Fingers

As a 16-year old, my buddy and I invented this game to play with our new-found freedom of driving without parents in the car. We drove around Dallas with the mission of seeing how many people we could get to flick us off. We would keep score and everything. This usually involved interactions with other drivers at stoplights. We would look out the window to the adjacent vehicle and make faces at them. Simple as that. And if the timing was right and the other driver happened to be in a particularly bad mood, we would get the finger. And we would laugh and giggle (and snicker) and keep score. Wow, that was 10 years ago now that I think about it. Sheesh.

I was reminded of this the other day when I was driving around and repenting of my road rage. I got to thinking what it might be like to try and revive the old game. Here I am, a 26 year old "adult," married, attending grad school, and all that and driving around, intentionally trying to get people upset with me enough to communicate with me very bad things through their fingers. Would that be inappropriate? Probably immature. And actually, probably sinful. But man, it would be fun.

Maybe to redeem the game, I could drive around and see how many "thank you" waves I could get. You know, instead of making people angry, I could intentionally try to make them thankful. I'd let in anyone who wanted in my lane. I'd politely swerve out of the way when people cut me off and I'd smile and wave at them to communicate, "Hey, that's ok. I'm not upset about that." Maybe then people would appreciate my driving sacrifices for them. And they'd raise their hand to me to let me know they were grateful. Redemption in action. The same hand raised from 10 years ago, only with all five fingers in the air.

Ins and Odds

People who are concerned with their language prefer the expression "T.O.ed" to ticked off. Now, whether or not "ticked off" is an expletive is not the reason behind this observation, though I do not think "ticked off" is vulgar in any possible way - rendering the Wal-Mart style, edited version of T.O.ed moot. The point that I want to make is that T.O.ed is not a proper correlation to ticked off. If you are going to edit the expression, you should say T.ed O (ticked off). Nobody is "tick offed," therefore nobody should be T.O.ed. And certainly not P.O.ed. They should be P.ed O.

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Horse shoes? Think about this. Why do horses need shoes? Now, I am no equestrian, but I really can't think of any good reason why they would need to nail on those iron-wrought bars onto the bottom of their hooves. Is it to make the horses more comfortable? Do they prefer to walk around on iron rather than grass? Is that what makes the clip-clop sound? I'm not sure, but I can't think of any other animal that we staple or glue on shoes to the bottom of their feet. Why horses? Confused, I am. I wonder if these are the "gift horses" everyone is warning me about.

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Kathryn loves chocolate. Occasionally, for whatever reason, I call her a chocoholic. Then I got to thinking about it. People add on the suffix "oholic" to just about anything to make their point that the person is doing x in excess. The famous one is "workoholic." But this makes no sense. It is all derived from alcoholic, where the actual word "alcohol" has "ohol" in the root word. Now, bear with me here. Think of it like this. Alcoholic = Alcohol + ic. The think that makes someone who drinks alcohol abusive is adding the "ic" on the end, not the "oholic." For some reason, half of the alcohol word got carried over into all these other words when we add "oholic" on the end. So a "workaholic" is really someone who abuses alcohol at work (or, I guess, someone who abuses work while drinking alcohol). A "chocoholic" is really someone who abuses alcohol with chocolate (or someone who abuses chocolate while drinking alcohol). So I guess the proper way to call Kathryn what I really wanted to call her is chocolateic. And all you hard workers out there, don't be demeaned in letting people call you workaholics, you are simply a workic.

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I saw a Chia Pet in the store the other day. Has anyone ever actually owned one of these "pets?" How is this company still in business. Ch-ch-ch-chia!

Donkey Kong: The Key to the Meaning of the Universe

Today I had the pleasure of baby-sitting Caleb, the cutest 4 year old little lad you possibly have ever seen, for the afternoon. His mother is bursting-pregnant and so I volunteered to take him around town for the afternoon. We had a delightful time. First, we dropped by the public library where we combed the shelves looking for books on cars, coyotes, volcanos, and dinosaurs. Then we stopped by the local Dairy Queen and each had a little cup of ice cream. I ate mine. He decided it would be better instead to smear it all over his face, his shirt, and his pants. We walked across the street to a little pizza joint that happened to have one of those old school arcade machines, you know, the ones where you drop in quarters and they let you play for a few turns? It was one of those classic ones - where you could either play Ms. Pacman, Galaga, or Donkey Kong. Caleb gave Ms. Pacman a few runs but inevitably got cornered and subsequently killed by those roaming, neon ghosts (Blinky, Inky, Pinky, and Sue). We stuck around a little bit afterwards to watch the arcade self-run through various levels of Galaga, Donkey Kong, and Ms. Pacman again.

Caleb was fascinated by Donkey Kong. I think it may have changed his life. For the next 20 minutes, we had one of the most stimulating philosophical conversations I may have ever had. He fired questions at me left and right. It was relentless. He was plagued by what I perceived to be a simple plot and his little brain would not stop until he had sufficiently figured it out and what it all means for him, his family, and the universe. Our conversation went something like this:

"Who is that guy at the bottom?" Mario. "Why is he climbing up those ladders?" He is trying to get the Princess back. "Why does he want the Princess back?" Because Donkey Kong has her. "Why does Donkey Kong want the Princess?" I don't know. "Does Donkey Kong want to eat her?" He probably does. "Does he want to eat her for breakfast?" I bet he probably wants to eat her for lunch or dinner instead. "Why is Donkey Kong throwing those barrels?" He's trying to stop Mario from getting the Princess. "Why does Donkey Kong want to try and stop Mario?" I guess Donkey Kong wants the Princess all to himself. "Why is Donkey Kong so bad?" That is a good question. I'm not sure. "Why does Mario have two hammers?" I guess two is better than one, right? "How can he climb up the ladder with two hammers?" (I thought this was the best question he asked) - Wow, I don't know. I guess it would be hard to climb up the ladder while holding a hammer in each of your hands wouldn't it? "Why does Mario want the Princess?" He wants to save her from being eaten by Donkey Kong. "Does Mario want to eat her?" No, he wants to take her to the Candy Cane factory. "Who is that at the bottom?" That's Mario.

And on and on we went. I think our conversation ended with Caleb deducing that Donkey Kong kidnapped a woman of royalty to appease his carnivorous appetite, while a jumping, Italian plumber scaled multiple ladders to retrieve her back and take her to the North Pole where Santa was so that she could take her mind off the traumatic and perilous event. And somehow that made sense to him. Although with all of his inquiry, he failed to ask, what I thought, was the most important question, namely, what does a big, barrel-throwing gorilla have anything remotely to do with a donkey?

Onions + Fun = Geometrical Madness

I can't think of anything more repulsive than the thought of eating onion flavored, deep fried snack chips. But that is exactly what Funyuns are. Why in the world would anyone want to eat onions, raw and by themselves (by the handfull) as a mid-day snack? I went to the Funyuns website and they have this paragraph included to describe this zany product:

"Funyuns Onion Flavored Rings are a deliciously different snack that is fun to eat. These playful rings have a crisp texture and are packed full of zesty onion flavor. Next time you're in the mood for a snack that's out of the ordinary, try Funyuns Onion Flavored Rings."

Oh, I see. Please forgive me, Funyun people. I didn't realize that Funyuns were "fun to eat" and "playful." I wasn't thinking about them as entertainment. I was only thinking about how gross it is to eat crispy, zesty deep fried onions at 3 in the afternoon.

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Off brand, generic, non-name brand cereals always entertain me. They usually don't come in boxes, but bags. They have a different cartoon mascot. They usually taste a hint different. But other than that - the exact same. Well, of course for the names. And that is the best part. You want Apple Jacks but can't afford them - just go with Apple Zings. You want Corn Pops but don't want to shell out $5 a box - go with a bag of Corn Bursts. Can't keep up with Golden Grahams? Go with Honey Graham Squares. Now, I have not made up any of these fake names. I promise. Go to malt-o-meal's website and see for yourself. Other wonderful off-brand names of comedy include: Scooters (Cheap Cheerios), Cocoa Roos (Cheap Cocoa Puffs), Cinnamon Toasters (Cheap Cinnamon Toast Crunch). Malt-o-Meal started it all by my observation and other companies have hopped on the bandwagon - exploiting well-known cereals by making them the exact same, giving them an extremely similiar name, but putting them in a bag. Kathryn came home from the grocery store the other day with Food Lion's generic brand of Crispix, and get this, the name was Crispy Hexagons. I am not lying. I am looking at the box right now. Crispy Hexagons. What in the world kind of name is that? Is there any ounce of creativity involved? At least with "Apple Zings" you get a small dose of imagination and creativity. But Crispy Hexagons? That is just telling us at the most basic metaphysical level what it is. How will that sell on the same shelf with intriguing and ominous Count Chocula? Or adventurous and exciting Fruit Loops?

Crispy Hexagons? Good grief. I wonder what their name is for their fake Cheerios? Crunchy Round Things with a Hole In It? What about their version of Fruit Loops? Fruity, Crunchy Round Things with a Hole In It? What about their fake version of Frosted Flakes? White-Sugar Dusted Wheat Leaves? Give me a break. Crispy Hexagons? A second grader could come up with that name. Actually, now that I think about it...do second graders even know what Hexagons are? Just who is this cereal appealing to? The geometrical elite? The educated upper-class? But then you have to think, if they are going after the Wall Street Fat Cats, they have to know that these big wigs aren't shopping at Food Lion nor are they interested in generic-brand cereals. Quite a delimma these Crispy Hexagon people have.

Deck the Stalls

I can't believe I was tricked for so many years. With every passing Christmas, I honestly thought that an obese, bearded caucasian broke into my house not to steal stuff but to leave stuff. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not seen through all the clues? Looking back, I at least thought I was capable of making sense of things, of deducing truth from the information I was given. But I guess not. Aside from the obvious indications that this whole Santa thing isn't true (you know, the claim that one man could single-handedly visit EVERY Christmas-celebrating house in the world in one lone night...not to mention that an obese individual would chose to enter into a house through the chimney), I have since had time to see more clearly.

Let's start with the whole cookies and milk thing. You know the scoop, before the kids go to their bedrooms, they leave out some cookies and milk for Santa and when they wake up in the morning they discover only some crumbs and a milk-film-lined empty class. If Santa has broken into your house to leave some goodies for you, he isn't going to waste his time with a couple of stale cookies and a luke-warm glass of milk. No, he would go INTO THE KITCHEN and find the good stuff. Ice cream, cake, maker's mark, wheat thins, I don't know, whatever Santa enjoys. Why fill up stomach space with meager cookies when you have access to the entire pantry?

Then you got the chimney entrance thing. Aside from the obvious (chimney - thin, Santa - fat), most people will have their chimneys going in wintery December, you know, flaming hot. Santa should know this. It is cold in December (except in Baton Rouge). Fires will be going. He should instead enter through the air conditioning unit. No one will be using that. But the burning, flaming fire place? Come now.

And of course you have the ongoing "e" debate. You are familiar with this - Is Clause spelled with an "e" at the end or not. There is no consensus on this. Some spell it Claus. Others Clause. And this is excluding the wonderful movie trilogy starring Tim Allen. What are children to do with this?

Down south (in Mexico) the folks there don't use a Bible. They use Santa's Bible. They honestly think Santa was the author. Ever seen one of their Bibles? It is titled "Santa Biblia." I guess that means Santa's Bible. This is just one more proof that the whole Santa thing has evolved to out of control proportions.

All in all, it is obvious to see that this whole Santa thing is a farce. And everyone has been tricked. We simply bought into it all wholesale. Speaking for myself, I must have been caught up in Santa's jolliness. It is obvious to see why Santa would be so jolly. He does nothing for an entire year. He sits bak and digests, I suppose, and lets his army of elven slaves build his products. Then he works one night out of the year. One 12 hour shift and the rest of the year is vacation. Not to mention that one 12 hour shift is littered with "milk and cookies" (translation: cake, bourbon, wheat thins, etc.) And let's not forget about that sweet red and white suit of his. Anyone would be jolly (or merry) to be rocking that. You know Santa is riding dirty. But even his jollity or merriness will convince me anew. I am forever scarred. And scared.

Milk Malaise Explained

In case you read the previous post "Milk Mania", but failed to read the comments, this blog post is for you. If you failed to read the previous post "Milk Mania," this blog post will make absolutely no sense to you. Either way, do enjoy. Here is a note from my unnamed friend (Dave Kulp) who was responsible for putting us in the milk malaise.

Matt,
Okay...here is the deal...Have you ever seen a movie where someone is on government food stamps? I always wondered what kind of stamps they were do you send away for free cheese or what? Or maybe you listen to the rap stylings of the roots who speak of "toast in the oven with government cheese bubblin." Now I like cheese as much as if not more than the next guy...and what is not to like about free cheese. So...A question I have had for most of my life is how does one gain cheese through the current government system...Where can i get said stamps...The Post office never seems to understand my request for a roll of the stamps that get me the free cheddar.
Recently we found out the deal. Becasue of the lack of money i am making by being a student we are now on WIC through which we recieve food stamps. We have come to find out that they are not stamps at all! They are more like coupons, and each coupon lists exactly what you can get free...Basically they take care of Baby formula, eggs, juice, peanut butter, MILK, and yes CHEESE!!!! Jackpot! Last month we were away from home for 10 days, then upon returning we had just bought milk (duh!) so our milk coupons were stacked up and had to be used before expiration. Thus the visit from the Milk Fairy. We got the free milk and passed along that which had been purchased through poor planning on my part!
Just so you know at all times we have 2 gallons in our fridge. 1=Whole milk for Benno, and then a 2% for Celia. Things get really nuts when Mary buys Skim for herself. When that happens basically the whole top shelf in the fridge is lactose...What a wild world...Thank God for Government cheese.
Sincerely,
Dave

Milk Mania

It was last Tuesday, I believe, though the exact day is rather inconsequential. We had just returned from the grocery store (Food Lion - which is a somewhat scary image if you think about it) and we were loading up the various items in their respected places in the kitchen. One of those various items was a gallon of 1% milk. We were in need of milk, obviously, so we stocked up. A whole, fresh gallon of pure, snow-white, liquid lactose awaited us.

Later that afternoon, a friend of ours stopped by the apartment. This is a friend that I will not name (Dave Kulp). He (being Dave Kulp) had too many milk gallons himself for some reason, and basically dropped a fresh, unopened gallon (skim milk) on our doorstep. Refusing to deny anything free, I brought it inside and placed it in its new home - right next to the other unopened gallon of milk.

So now Kathryn and I have a big problem on our hands. All of this milk must be taken out before the expiration date. The countdown had begun. Sweat beaded on our foreheads. Everything suddenly got tense. It was like a domestic version of 24.

We first made instant pudding, knowing that pudding used a good bit of milk in it. It required two cups - barely denting one of the gallons. We started eating cereal for breakfast (I normally eat a bagel). I would come home for lunch and have a glass of milk with lunch, something I don't think I have ever done in my life - but have certainly seen this done on television for macaroni and cheese commercials (and I think, Home Alone as well). Needless to say, it was not a pleasant experience. Chalky, thick milk and mustardy turkey sandwiches with jalepenos on them is not a good mixture. Moving on...Every night after dinner we would enjoy some cookies or cake or whatever baked goods were around the house with a tall glass of milk. We had two sets of friends over - and we both offered our guests as much cereal as they wanted in the morning as well as the offer to top off their pint of milk throughout the afternoon. We have done everything possible to get rid of this milk. And as I type this, in the fridge still sits two towering gallons of milk, each half-empty.

Now as I think about this, said friend above (Dave Kulp) could have been doing the exact same thing we are. He, for whatever reason, had acquired too much milk. Perhaps one of his friends dropped off a free gallon and my friend (Dave Kulp) was smart enough to know he couldn't possibly pound down two gallons in a week and a half, so he just kept passing along this orphan gallon of milk. And perhaps the guy who passed on the gallon to my friend (Dave Kulp), had the milk passed along to him as well. This gallon of milk could have theoretically been passed all over the larger Charlotte metroplex, concluding its journey with its arrival at my doorstep - and I was the only one stupid enough to take it in and break its blue, plastic seal. My friend (Dave Kulp) could have been suffering under the same plight that we are. He could be up to his ears in milk, dreaming about it, having a glass three times a day, peeing white, feeding it to stray cats, boiling milk "just to see what it does," and using it as moisturizer. But no, he opted to casually and comfortably enjoy his one gallon and pass along the insanity to me. Blast. Foiled again.

Here's the moral: Never accept free, unopened milk from anyone. And if you do, instantly give it to someone stupider than you.

Christmas Card Bloopers

Here are some outtakes from taking a Christmas Card picture. I wanted at least one of these to be our Christmas Card. Let's just say I was voted down. So here they are for all to see - Our Christmas eCard (or if you are rockin the Mac, our Christmas iCard.)

Exam Salad Sandwich

Upon preparation for my history of Christianity 1 class, I noticed that those church folk didn't make things too easy on us. Everything in the same period starts with the same letter. Why does it have to be this way? In the first few centuries of the church, it dealt with such heresies as Marcionism, Montanism, Monarchianism, Manicheanism, Modalism, Mythraism, Monophysitism, and Monothelitism. Now, why in the WORLD do they all start with M? Couldn't they have made it a little easier on us? Then you get to the 11 and 1200s and everybody is named Peter - Peter Abelard, Peter Lombard, Peter Waldo (my favorite). Again, throw us a bone people.

And don't even get me going with all the Gregories. Gregory the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, etc. Good grief. Somebody break out of the mold. Give me a Tim in there somewhere. How about Gregory the 9th, also known as Sammy? Help me out here people.

The thing that fascinates me about heresy in the early church was that the bulk of the heresies had to do with denying Jesus his humanity. They assumed that Jesus was so uber-God that he could not have also been truly or fully human at the same time. Its interesting to note that we deal with a much different heresy today. Critical scholars assume Jesus was truly and fully human, but nothing more. It is funny how the tide changes.

Pray for me. I am in the height of exams. 3 down. 2 to go.

Thankful for my Sister's New Computer

Cartoony Kathryn.
Mushroomy Matt.

A Manifesto of Sorts

We went up to Washington and Lee this weekend in Lexington, VA to visit Kathryn's old school. There is an actual intersection of streets there: Washington and Lee. You simply walk up Washington Rd. until you hit Lee Way (or something like that) and you are standing at Washington and Lee. I made a LOT of jokes about that. Everytime we were at that intersection I'd say, "Hey Kathryn, guess where we are? We are at Washington and Lee." She wasn't too amused. And after the 10th time I did it, I was more amused with her non-amusement of it.

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They should call it Thanksgorging. Because that is what I will be doing in a few days - Thanksgorging.

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I was looking at a recipe yesterday and the recipe called for a "sprig" of parsley. Is that a made-up word? Sprig. Sounds like something I would make up. I think it is a combo of stem and twig. It isn't big enough to be a stem, but too big to be a twig - hence sprig. Maybe people who only eat sprigs can call this week Thankssprigging, instead of Thanksgorging. Happy Thankssprigging.

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We drove through a snow storm yesterday. I can't remember the last time I saw snow. It has certainly been a while.

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Why are raisins so disgusting? I like grapes and wine, but am not a fan of the raisin. And don't get me wrong - I love dried fruit. Just not the raisin. I would rather Thanksgorge on sprigs than raisins.

Whole Lotta Shakin' (and Noddin') Goin' On

While reading an article this morning, I came across a sentence that left me a bit confused. It read, "Now, if you are a parent, you are probably shaking your head." I've heard the expression 'shaking your head' before, but I always get tripped up as to whether it means moving it back and forth to respond negatively or moving it up and down to respond affirmatively. I asked Kathryn what it meant when I read it. She said that when you shake your head, you are actually moving it back and forth (side to side). It means you disagree. She said there was a distinction between nodding and shaking. Nodding = yes. Shaking = no.

But herein lies the confusion. When I "shake" someone's hand, I grip it and then gently shake it up and down. Not side to side. When I "shake" a bottle of orange juice to stir up the pulp, I shake it up and down. Not side to side. When I shake a rock out of my shoe - up and down.

Ahh but when I shake a package to see if I can tell what its contents may be without opening it...I shake it side to side. Not up and down. And when I make homemade milk shakes, I stir up the milk and ice cream with a spoon by going from side to side. NOT up and down. When I shake someone from their sleep - I try to rouse them by moving them from side to side. Not up and down.

And then there are certain shakes that don't go up and down OR side to side. They go sort of back to front. Like when I shake my fist at someone. And there are certain shakes that I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Like when someone tells me that something will happen in "two shakes of a lamb's tail." Now that is just simply odd.

With all this shaking going on, how am I to interpret a line in an article that reads, "If you are a parent, you are probably shaking your head"? Is that back and forth shaking? Side to side shaking? Back to front shaking? Lamb-tail-shaking?

And furthermore....what is nodding all about? I can nod in approval. I can also nod off to sleep. But can I nod an orange juice bottle? Can I nod a rock out of my shoe? Can I drink a milk nod? Can I nod a lamb's tail?

It's the Freakin' Weekend, Baby I'm About to Have Me Some Fun

Our weekend was action packed. You could say it was "action-stuffed," even. Or maybe even "action-loaded," like extra cheese pumped into the crust or something.

Friday: I went to a men's retreat with my church in Black Mountain, NC. It was a great time to be had. Made me think, made me feel, made me vulnerable. The interesting part about it was actually getting there. The retreat center was two hours away from Charlotte, around Asheville. When we ended up in Tennessee, we knew we had missed a turn somewhere. When we stopped to ask where I-40 was (the next turn that we were looking for), the grizzled old man at the diner told me it is about 100 miles away. Needless to say, our 2 hour trip turned into a 6 hour tour through the mountains of Tennessee. We arrived to the retreat center at 8, missed dinner, and were thoroughly frustrated. But the retreat turned out to be wonderful.
Meanwhile, Kathryn and a friend of hers were house-sitting (The concept of house-sitting warrants a blog all to itself. Is house-sitting really necessary? Come on, people). The parents went away for the weekend and left their 17 year old son behind to take the SATs on Saturday. No big deal. Easy cheesy. Kathryn and her friend got ripped out of sleep at 3 in the morning by the college kid (the older brother) who decided to drive home that night from school and didn't happen to have a key. I'm not sure whether or not he knew his parents were out of town that weekend. Everything worked out fine that night, it just freaked out the girls to hear yelling and pounding on the door in a big weird house they don't know at 3 in the morning.

Saturday: I arrive from the Men's retreat that afternoon and meet up with Kathryn. We bring some food over to the house where we are "sitting" and sit down to a nice, quiet dinner while the 17 year old is in the back house watching football with his two buddies. The older, college brother had told Kathryn that morning that he would be heading back to school that afternoon. So we had the place to ourselves. Or...so we thought. As we sit down to eat, we hear a thud upstairs. Not knowing the particular sounds of the house, we ignored it, only to hear it again. Someone was certainly in the house. We cautiously went upstairs to locate the noise, only to find the college kid in his room...with a girl. And yep, he answered the door in only a towel. Not good. We gave him a stern talking to, only to discover that the poor girl's father had just had a heart attack. So we couldn't be overly upset. We sent them on their way. Then Kathryn went out to the back house to check on the 17 year old. His two friends had somehow mutated into 15, girls included, with a mini-fridge stuffed with Miller Lite. We cleared out the beer, threatened to shut down the party, and received a lot of not-so-friendly looks from the high schoolers. The party ended at 12:00. The next day, both boys apologized...I think when they realized that we would be updating their parents about all of the events.

Good grief. We were supposed to be HOUSE sitting. Not TEENAGER sitting. I think we have learned the hard way that when we accept house sitting gigs from here on out that we must demand that the only thing that will be sat upon will be the house. No naked teenagers. No parties. No beer. Just houses.

Forwards and Backwards

Everyone gets ridiculous forwards from people. Be it your aunt, your not-so-close friend, or your friends' parents. For me, it is my mother likes to forward me things. We are close enough to where I can calmly tell her to stop on many occasions. To her credit, she has cut back - especially on the cheesy Christian forwards that beseech me to forward it all of my friends less I lose my eternal security. But she did happen to send one that was not only humorous but blog worthy. Here tis:


Why do we press harder on a remote control when we
know the batteries are getting weak?

Why do banks charge a fee on "insufficient funds" when
they know there is not enough?

Why does someone believe you when you say there are
four billion stars, but check when you say the paint
is wet?

Why doesn't glue stick to the bottle?

Why do they use sterilized needles for death by lethal
injection?

Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but
ducks when you throw a revolver at him?

Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

Whose idea was it to put an "S" in the word "lisp"?

If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?

Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you
use the bubbles are always white?

Is there ever a day that mattresses are not on sale?

Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator
with hopes that something new to eat will have
materialized?

Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times
with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it
up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum
one more chance?

Why is it that no plastic bag will open from the end
on your first try?

How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light
fixtures?

When we are in the supermarket and someone rams your
ankle with a shopping cart then apologizes for doing
so, why do we say, "It's all right?" Well, it isn't
all right, so why don't we say, "That hurt, you stupid
idiot?"

Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something
that's falling off the table you always manage to
knock something else over?

In winter why do we try to keep the house as warm as
it was in summer when we complained about the heat?

How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?

The statistics on sanity are that one out of every
four persons are suffering from some sort of mental
illness. Think of your three best friends -- if
they're okay, then it's you.

Randomology #643-648

New design for a new "me." I'm calling this my Fiona Apple stage. It's the new me. I'm Fiona Apple.

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I just finished a bottle of shampoo. I have no idea how long this bottle has lasted me, but I want to guess that it was in the measurement of years. And don't get me wrong, I do bathe (contrary to popular belief). I must have gotten thousands of uses out of this lone bottle. I started another bottle last night. I told Kathryn that I am going to keep a running tally to see how long this one will last. So far: 1 use.

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How come people put mustard on sandwiches AND hamburgers, but they only put ketchup on burgers? Why doesn't ketchup carry over into the sandwich category like mustard does?

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iPod. iTunes. iLife. iRaq?

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This morning Kathryn had to use the scrapey thing on her car to remove ice from her wind shield. Good grief, it is getting cold here. This certainly isn't Louisiana.

Christian Snobbery (and Hob Nobbery)

It has come to my attention that there are certain “snobberies” within the Christian community. Well, I suppose these snobberies would exist in any group of people, but the group I am most familiar with would be the Christian community. Snobberies…Little obsessive hobbies that we pride ourselves on and enjoy displaying our knowledge of. Whatever niche it may be, we hone in on it and feel good about putting other people down who are not quite as advanced in that subject as we are. A few examples:

Christian Beer Snob – These may be the most pervasive and the loudest of Christian snobs. For some reason they prefer the darker brews to the lighter. They hate anything domestic and even have nice little names of mockery for them (“Butt wiper” comes to mind for Budweiser). They hate macro-breweries. In fact, the only thing they really like is some weird, never-heard-of-it-before, Belgian and German dark brews that were produced in the basement of some monastery and come in larger, differently shaped bottles. These beers taste absolutely disgusting to the average beer consumer, but to their advanced and sophisticated tastes – it is the only real beer available. Everything else out there is a sell-out. Christian Wine Snobs and Christian Liquor Snobs could fit under this category as well, I suppose.

Christian Coffee Snob – These are less frequent than the beer snobs, but like them, they prefer their drink dark. Folgers, Maxwell House, and any homegrown, domestic, macro-produced, grocery-store-selling grounds are no good. They call that “brown colored water.” The real coffee has to be imported from some small, South American village where they privately grow their beans (organic, dark, bold, coffee beans). Depending on the degree of Coffee snobs – Starbucks is at worst Satan and at best tolerable. But most coffee snobs secretly like the coffee (they say that it is simply “ok”), they just hate the Starbucks culture. They would never order a frappuccino. The darker, the bolder, the better.

Christian Literature Snob – Don’t be confused, these people don’t prize themselves on “Christian literature,” no, no, they are Christians who happen to prize themselves on anything but Christian literature. They quote things from authors and books the average reader has never heard of and claim that these pieces of lit are the greatest things ever. And you have to read them. Ever tried reading one of these books that the Lit Snobs recommend? Try getting through the first 50 pages. They’re about as entertaining as watching dust collect. But they will assure you that it is the greatest piece of literature ever composed, touching the depths of human emotion (boredom).

Christian Music Snob – There are several different molds of the Music Snob. Some are Classical Rock Snobs and claim that the newer stuff can never compete with the old. Some are Indie Snobs, until the entire world went Indie and now they feel a bit insecure, hoping to find their identity in a different genre. Then you have the Real Music Snobs – people mentioning old school Jazz and country musicians from the 20s and 30s, people who only listen to vinyl, who have never even heard of Dave Matthews. These people scare me. There is a whole host of Music Snobs and they are by far the most predominant of the Christian community – there is a Snob for every conceivable genre and era.

Christian Movie Snob – These Snobs scoff at mainstream, blockbuster, Hollywood pictures. They prefer B films, no, C films. If it is foreign, it already has a head start against homegrown films. The more subtitles, the better. If it is black and white, even better. Does it have a never-heard-of-before foreign director? Now we are talking. The content should be abstract and confusing, looking absolutely meaningless and stupid to the average viewer, but to the Movie Snob, these movies far surpass anything else. They appreciate the lighting, the cinematography, the angles, the symbolism, and other ridiculous things that no one else pays attention to.

Christian Snobs are sort of like Christian Gnostics. Whatever field of expertise they camp on, they invest their heart and souls and discover the secret element that allows them to appreciate the thing more than your average, run of the mill consumer. They are the elite. They have the key to understanding. “Oh, you didn’t catch that can of peas on the table in the foreground, that was a symbolic foreshadowing of the protagonist’s plight against his childhood memories. Oh, that’s too bad you didn’t catch it. It really unlocks the story.” Or perhaps you’ve heard, “You don’t like that? You didn’t catch that peppery, almost cherry, hint on the back palate?”

I’m somewhat of a blend of all the above – too insecure to not want to be an expert in something and too lazy and scatterbrained to invest and commit to any one field. But I suppose if I had to choose, it would be the Coffee Snobbery. Hate that Starbucks (but secretly love it).

Which one are you?

Mascots and Have-nots

While reading the news this morning, Kathryn and I came across a few more articles pertaining to the Tamil Tiger rebel group in Sri Lanka. Kathryn said something to the effect of, "Finally, a terrorist organization with a mascot."

I agree.

It's about time those radical, political, militant rebel forces out there go by something other than those weird, unpronounceable names. They need something a little more down to earth, something a little more collegiate. How about the Hezbollah Eagles? Or the Al Quida Yellowjackets? Or the Hamas Oilers? Or the Taliban Sooners?

Do the Tamil Tigers have cheerleaders? Do they chant, "Go Tigers, Go Tigers, Go!!!" as they invade innocent lands and oppress innocent people?

I think these terrorist/political groups should establish an intramural sports league. I'd buy tickets to see the Eagles play the Oilers. I would even try and snag some courtside tickets for the Sooners vs. the Tigers.

But I wouldn't cheer for them. I'd bring one of those big, giant foam finger things. Only mine wouldn't be the pointer finger.

Budgeting with Bush

I am currently writing my very first blog entry. I can't tell if it's an inevitable stage, like walking or riding your bike, or if it's the beginning signs of a spiraling down. As George Costanza was convinced that every moment in life "could be a show," so Matt thinks every thought in life "could be a blog". So here I spiral...

I recently read an article about women with the highest salaries in the world. I then jumped to the thought of the President of the United State's salary. He makes $400 thousand a year, which looks like a quarter compared to some of these techies out there. I was confused and even a little angry. Doesn't the President hold the highest, most respected seat in all the United States? No, I don't want him and his family to have enough money to create their own reality TV show, but this discrepancy seemed a little ridiculous.

Then I started having a little fun with my ponderings. For real. Why does the President need money? "Yeah, I gotta fly out to visit the Prime Minister of Malaysia...Shoot...We didn't budget for this...eerrrr...we'll have to cut back on groceries next month." Or maybe at a dinner with his cabinet. "Y'all, seriously, I've got this one! What do you think they pay me for??" I don't know much of anything about the specifics of the President's salary, but I'm having a hard time coming up with things he actually has to pay for. Tuition? Would his daughters' institutions really charge the President for their tuition bills? Or the power bill for the White House...who pays for that? I honestly doubt it's GWB. I can see the daughters shopping with that money. I can see that. But my mind doesn't venture much further.

555-DUMB

Whenever I am watching a television show or a movie or sorts and somewhere in the action, a character reveals a 7 digit phone number, my initial reaction is, "I can't believe they gave the entire number. What if some stupid prankster-kid out there dials it and it turns out to really be some poor, unknowing person's phone number. And what if like 500 people around the world have the same idea and start calling that phone number? Wouldn't the poor, unknowing person be able to sue the television show or movie for televizing their phone number? Shouldn't they be held responsible for the harassment? The poor, unknowing person would have to change out their phone number. It would be a huge mess. They'd have to send out one of those mass emails that says, "Hey my phone number has changed. From now, on call this number..." And then you'd have those people out there that got the email, but didn't immediately update the phone number in their cell phone and 3 weeks down the road they'd try to call the poor, unknowing person and not be able to get in touch with them. They'd call and call and only be met with the obnoxious tonal sound and the robotic-lady voice informing them that the number has been disconnected. Relationships destroyed. Legal alligations made. Compensation. Responsibility. Culpability. Drama. All because a television show or movie decided to disclose some fake number they made up."

And then after a while, once I calm down, my secondary reaction is, "Who would actually call one of those numbers? What type of prank would that be? What would they expect to hear on the receiving end? Do people really do that? I mean, seriously. That's ridiculous. Why would anyone reach for the phone, dial it up real quickly (or perhaps rewind the show if they missed it - assuming they had TiVo or a DVD/VCR player), and make the call? That's just stupid."

And then after a longer while, once I get revved up again, my thirdary reaction is, "Maybe I should do that. Just to see what happens."

And I invite you to do the same.

Donuts or Doughnuts?

If I was a police officer, I think I would be just a little insecure about going into donut shops wearing my uniform. Do cops even go in there anymore? Is the stereotype still legit? It is, at least, in every one's mind, but do you really find cops sitting at a table by themselves in the old Krispy Kreme, passing the time with a chocolate cruller? I must admit, it has been a long time since I have actually gone into a donut shop, so I can not be the voice of experience on this one. But all that to say - suppose I was a police officer...go ahead, suppose it....I think I would feel a little stupid going in to a donut shop. Wouldn't the cashier make a subtle joke or something? Would the rest of my cop buddies tease me if they found out? "Oh, Officer Howell, we don't go into donut shops anymore. That was so 1993."

Why are cops known for their obsession with donuts? I still remember the opening scene from Die Hard 1, where the black guy from Family Matters is a cop in a convenient store buying some goodies and donuts. (By the way, he played a cop on Family Matters too. That's just bizarre. Does this actor only play cops? Carl Winslow.) And you know it is in other movies. Especially good 80s and 90s flicks. I don't doubt it was all throughout Police Academy, but I don't know. I haven't seen those flicks in a LONG time. But for whatever reason, Hollywood wants you think that our police officers love a good hunk of fried dough. But who doesn't? Why are cops the only ones getting stereotyped? Surely there are other professions that eat more donuts than cops. What about donut bakers? They are back there all day, probably eating donuts. Or what about loiterers? Certainly those that loiter in donut shops should be stereotyped more than the coppers.

Making this world fatter one person at a time...

Awkward Photos (Part 2)

For Corbin again...

Trident White: Whitens Teeth and Helps Prevent Stains

We recently purchased some Trident "White" chewing gum. Gum is always a handy item in case one is looking to have a chew. Besides, Trident White is sugarless. And it whitens teeth as you chew it. And it helps prevent stains. With all of the benefits included, it was hard to pass up. We gladly paid the 85 cents for a cool rush of Trident flavored chewing gum that aided in the whitening of our teeth.

Once we got home I read the back of the package and took a closer look at the fine print. It reads:

The great tasting way to a whiter smile!
Chewing 2 pieces of Trident White sugarless gum after eating and drinking helps:
-Prevent stains
-Strengthen teeth
-Whiten teeth in as little as 4 weeks

Ok. Let me get this straight, Trident White people. I need to chew 2 pieces of gum after every time I eat? I would say that it is fairly accurate to assume that an average person eats 3 times a day. So the Trident people expect me to chew 6 pieces of gum every day? Excessive. Then it goes on - it will whiten your teeth if you do this for 4 weeks straight! So in order to really experience the "white" part of Trident White, I have to relentlessly chew 6 pieces of gum a day for 4 straight weeks.

I've done the math. That is 168 pieces of gum. Only after chewing 168 pieces of gum do you get your whitening results. And if 12 pieces of gum come in one package, you have to buy 14 packages of gum. Surely this much gum chewing can't be good for you. Assuming they are 85 cents a package (I'm not sure....could be more or less), that is going to run you close to 12 bucks. Just on gum alone. You could buy a CD for that.

So there it is people. Do you want whiter teeth? You can have them. It will only cost you 12 dollars, 4 weeks of time, and 168 pieces of gum to chew. Stupid.

Greek Week: Sneak Peek

3 weeks, 20 chapters, and 227 vocab words later, I have survived Greek 1. Endless hours forcefully cramming bizarre paradigms and strange vocabulary into my skull are over. No more daily quizzes. No more third declensions. No more memory clues to help remember tricky words. No more afternoons spent plugging away on workbook excercises when I could be tossing a frisby in the park. No more dreams about me studying (it is true, I did have several dreams....nightmares). It is over. Yes, it is over. And I have the scars and battle wounds to prove it.

I'm very excited to be finished with Greek 1. And I really am going to enjoy the 5 WHOLE FREAKING DAYS I have before Greek 2 starts. Good grief. It just doesn't stop. 5 days. That's all I get. And then the insanity resumes. More vocab. More quizzes. More translations. More weird memory clues. More afternoons spent. More dreams.

I Grilled the Grill

Summer time marks the season of lemonade, bathing suits, sun burns and hotdogs. For our household, it marks the season of near disaster. Yesterday I was given a simple assignment - Grill two chicken breasts. It was about 7 in the evening, we had just enjoyed a wonderful meal outside on the back porch, and Kathryn was in the midst of preparing some chicken/pasta dish for the week's worth of lunches. She needed two chicken breasts grilled. We have a grill. This shouldn't be that hard. But of course....disaster.

I turned on the gas and lit the three igniters (sp?) - so far so good. Let it heat up. Give it a good ten minutes or so. Nice and toasty. Kathryn sat outside and I swept the porch while the grill heated up. We enjoyed our last few moments of an insanity-free evening. After a few minutes I opened up the grill to check on the progress and as soon as I lifted the lid, thick, cobalt smoke came billowing out. Balls of flames were consuming the insides. And then I saw what had happened. I had left the black, plastic scrapey thing in there from the previous use. Laffy Taffy-like, strings of burning plastic, stretched between the lid and the grates creating what looked and felt like the jaws of some monster you'd find in a low budget horror film. Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire....in fact, great balls of dripping oil-like fire that was once plastic, er..solid plastic.

For some reason in the moment of terror and desperation, I managed to kindly ask Kathryn if I could borrow her glass of water. (She said yes.) I tossed it onto the inferno and quickly turned off the igniters (sp?) and the gas to the troubling chorus of hissing and wheezing as the strands of black plastic cooled down. 2 hours later I evaluated the damage and discovered that plastic cools down to a solid that is just about as hard as it was before it liquified. Now I have chords of frozen plastic threaded between my grill grates.

There is no help desk phone number for this kind of problem. This problem does not make the FAQ list. Now we're left on our own to decide: do we spend money replacing grill parts and/or grill or do we take a chance with that first burger, marinated and seasoned with toxins? Tough call. Honestly. Tough call.

[Written by both Mathryn]

Sammy + Lily = Silly

This is my new nephew. And my new niece. Their names are Sammy and Lily. They are babies.