I Wish the Justice System Worked Like This!

Happy Thanksgiving week, everybody!  Rather than bore you with an overly serious, sickly sweet message, I'm going to give appreciation to one of the things I'm most thankful for: the poe-lice, by going back in time to 1990, when cops, judges, and criminals were less afraid to express themselves.  The average John Q. Public thinks police work is all about crimefighting and tasings, but they forget about the musical side.  Cop Rock was canceled after only 11 episodes, and voted by TV Guide in 2002 as the 8th worst show of all time, but it's bequeathed memories that you will never forget once you've seen it.  I actually remember this show when it debuted (and had its finale) in my sixth grade year.  With the success of Glee 20 years later, we can make the argument that Cop Rock was a show before its time and was actually a terrific idea all along.  If that rationale doesn't convince you, here are a few of my favorite songs:

Rest assured, there is plenty more where that came from.  You were too good to stay with us for long, Cop Rock.  God rest you and keep you safe and warm.  Gobble gobble.

Reflections on the Past Decade

This is how I felt a couple of days ago when I passed my 10-year mark of returning from the mission. I know, it's really dramatic, and I'm still fairly young, but a decade is a significant fraction of one's life, no matter how old you get. I'm not quite ready to throw caution to the wind yet, but I can at least identify with the old bat above. At 100, or even once you hit your eighties, who cares? I'm sure I'll at least eat all the bacon I want, if not break out the hard liquor.

But back to the subject at hand. I've been back in the States for a decade. I'm not quite sure what to make of that. Every October 25 stands out as another anniversary in my life that I always take notice of, maybe because it's exactly two months after my birthday. I don't know if that's normal. But this year I'm especially reflective. I've done great for myself in the family department, and own a growing business in an industry I love. But all the same, I feel the need to check myself. I kind of feel like 21-year-old Aaron who was ready to conquer the world has morphed into a cynic with ongoing hot and cold faith issues. I'd like to get some of that youthful vigor and idealism back. I remember the drive and enthusiasm I had for the first two or three years home, but I don't know how to recapture it. I feel like I've become too well acquainted with the world and there's no way of really ever getting back to my innocence, because I've seen too much. And I know the goal in life is to grow and learn, even the hard lessons, but sometimes I wonder how some people are able to be so positive. I used to think overly happy people were obnoxious, but I've come to admire people who do that in the face of the same things I encounter in my own life.

Anyway, that's enough of that. I actually am largely happy with life. I have some really great things going for me. I just wanted to get some of that out. No one commented on my previous post, so I punished you by not writing for a month. But also, no one complained that I was gone, so if you're reading, go flog yourself a few times. Best of everything to you until next time.

Have a Laugh on Me

Okay, I'm still working up to doing the blog weekly. In case you were wondering, we're doing well here, healthy and happy. The baby is getting cuter. When he gets upset, he has a face he makes that, when paired with his wrinkly brow, makes him look like Benjamin Button, but all in all, he's quite fetching. I am a father of three, and so I know there is no such thing as an attractive newborn, and have seen no evidence to the contrary. At any rate, on Sunday the little feller will be a month old, so time moves on as rapidly as ever. We (especially Amy) are eager for him to find a schedule he likes and stick to it.

The following is from a comedian named Bengt (pronounced Bent) Washburn. I went to see him at a live show last month in Logan. I wouldn't call his stuff offensive, but it's not for everybody either. He's no longer an active Mormon, and lives in Germany with his Irish Catholic, smoker, Air Force wife (which he also riffs on heavily in his standup), but is not unfriendly to the Church in his act. And some of his observations, especially about the missionary days, made me laugh until my gut hurt. And I'm not someone who laughs out loud all that much. Those who know me best would probably tell you I usually just smirk at my own cleverness (lies!) and chortle a bit. It sure seems true that the freaks are most likely to let Mormons into their house. I personally entered the homes of weirdos you couldn't even make up. Anyway, if you like this, there's plenty more on YouTube. Hope you enjoy.

Presenting: The Little Nipper!

So, last Friday, September 3, at 12:03 p.m., Emmett Lamond Orgill emerged reluctantly, but alertly, and immediately wailed about the cold. Here are a few pics, as I promised before. For those of you who don't know, we named him after Doctor Emmett Brown of Back to the Futurefame. (No, not really. How stupid do you think we are?) Emmett was a name that Amy has loved all along and took awhile to grow on me. But the Lamond part sealed the deal for me. With Seth, we used the middle name Pulham as an honor for Amy's late grandmother, whose maiden name was Pulham, a family that I don't know well but seem to be great people who have lived good lives. On this one, I wanted to pay homage to my late grandfather, Kyle Lamond Rigby. We kicked around the idea of using Rigby and Kyle, but settled on this. So he has a very old-school name, but not so old-school that he'll get mocked.

Anyway, special thanks to our families, especially my angel mother, who stayed with Jackson and Seth Saturday afternoon into Sunday. We are really happy to have the little tyke home, although he's getting circumcised in a little over an hour and will likely be pissed off about it. We are totally in love with him, and with the NFL season also starting tonight, what else can a man ask for? I'll be back again in a few days. Take care.

Looking not-so-happy to be here, just a few minutes after getting squeezed out. Those lips couldn't get any poutier.

New big brother Seth. He already functions as kind of a big little brother to Jackson, so I'm thinking he'll be ready for his new role.

All scrunched up and squishy. I keep trying to straighten him out, but he's like a Slinky.

My mom enjoying grandbaby number six. That number has tripled in just over a year!

Transitions, Fetus Update, and a Glowing Movie Review

I've let the summer get away from me. Honestly, it feels like July just started, and now here we are at the end of August. Here is a quick summary: cursed the heat, made a bunch of improvements on the house, Amy grew larger with my spawn, became happy as temps dropped and football season came upon us, and turned 31. Anywho, I am so very happy that fall is upon us. I don't know how anybody can have another favorite season. I can appreciate each for what it is, but September through November is perfect as far as I'm concerned. And to kick things off this year, on Friday, we're scheduled to have Amy induced with our thirdborn. I'm really happy about it even though I know we're about to be outnumbered. We're probably going with the name Emmett, which took a while to grow on me but Amy loves. It seems to go well with the names of our other knuckleheads, Testikov and Superfly. I actually have had several thoughts percolating for a while for upcoming blog posts, but they'll have to wait a bit longer. I'm sure the next one will involve the little nipper.

In the meantime, though, I'd like to give a major endorsement to a low-key movie that is in theaters now, in hopes that someone will be persuaded to go see it. I love finding hidden gems, and it's even more rewarding to my snobbery when I catch one while it's in theaters. A lot of people bitch about Hollywood making all trash, or not having anything new and interesting. Get Low is the perfect example of why that is not true. Based on a true story of a backwoods recluse in 1930s Tennessee who threw himself a funeral party while he was still alive, Get Low stars Robert Duvall as Felix Bush, whose legend has grown to almost Tall Tale proportions over the forty years he has holed up. He hires the local mortician, played by Bill Murray, to spread the word, and invites one and all to come share stories they've heard about him. It sounds quirky, but somehow the movie is pretty accessible for just about anyone old enough to get it, and combines comedy with poignancy, and features a great soundtrack with contributions from Alison Krauss and Oscar-winning composer Jan A.P. Kaczmarek. And honestly, Duvall and Murray should be enough for any movie buff. Four stars. Please go see this if it's playing in your area. With that, I take my leave of you. Until sometime this weekend, toodle-oo.

Funny stuff from Nick Frost

Those of you who know me well know that I love British humor (I guess I should spell it humour). From Monty Python to Spinal Tap to Jeeves and Wooster to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to Hugh Grant to Ricky Gervais, I have great appreciation for the comedy brought west from our friends across the pond. In recent years, I have come to love Nick Frost and Simon Pegg, the creators of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz. I just stumbled across a couple of Frost's snippets on YouTube that I laughed my butt off at. Women will probably appreciate the Man Cold even better. Who knew that the wussiness of men was so universal?

Bizarre Injuries

I've decided I'm getting serious about blogging at least on a weekly basis. It's only been thirteen days since last time, so I'm getting better. It promises to be a strange mix of whatever's on my mind. This week has been strange due to a couple of oddball injuries in our family. Last Saturday, I was injured by a buffalo wing to the eye. No, Amy didn't chuck it at me, although she is getting feistier as she suffers with heat and child. I was just minding my own business, eating peacefully, and as I pulled it away from my mouth, a piece flew off into my eye, somehow making it underneath my glasses. I was more embarrassed than in pain, until I opened my eye and felt the burn of the buffalo sauce. It took some rinsing with cold water and a few minutes of extra care until I recovered, but let that be a warning to ya.

Even more strange was the next day. We came home from church and Jackson immediately fled to the backyard as he is wont to do, and after changing clothes, Amy went out and found him completely dirty from playing in his favorite spot just under the deck. She threw him in the shower, and as time went on his upper lip started swelling. And I'm talking comic-book proportions, like the scene in Hitch where Will Smith eats shellfish and his whole face starts puffing up. He looked like a platypus, but he showed no signs of pain, and was in fact in above average spirits. We called the pharmacist, I made a quick Sabbath excursion to buy some children's Benadryl, and it took two days for the swelling to completely subside. We found out later that what happened was that he'd been stung by a bee on the inside of his lip. How that happens I have no idea, but of course it had to be the autistic son who can't communicate. Here is a shot of the damage:

Anyway, I've been no stranger to bizarre injuries in my life. My all-time favorite was when I was a missionary in Cape Verde (a small island country in West Africa), and hurriedly got out of the shower when I heard a ruckus which I knew could only mean the guys were in hot pursuit of a mouse. As I did so, I scraped my leg against the jagged edge of a bidet (a porcelain plumbing fixture, popular in Europe, that is situated next to the toilet, with a nozzle that squirts your unmentionables as an alternative to toilet paper). I bled profusely and allowed one of my missionary cohorts who was semi-trained in first aid to stitch me up rather than going to the local hospital where I figured they'd probably amputate my leg with a rusty saw. I still have the scar, but came out of it much better than the mouse, who was literally torn in half when my fat, hairy companion tried to stomp him and lost his footing, sliding across the floor with the upper body under his foot. Now that I think about it, that was a pretty colorful day, and that was just the lunch break. Anyway, I'd love to hear any stories you may have of bizarre injuries. I'm tempted to prematurely declare Julia Munns Burdych the winner, since I know about one particular owwie that you couldn't even make up, but I'll wait a few days and see if anyone can top it. Okay, go!

Note to FIFA: Your Sport is Not Worthy of America

Congratulations to Thpain for their victory over the freaky-deaky Dutch.  With the World Cup now over, we can all now move on to football season.  I mean real football, if there are any pantywaist soccer lovers among my readers.  As far as I'm concerned, June and July are by far the worst months in sports, especially when the Lakers are in the NBA Finals. I'm close to renouncing the NBA as it is, but the Jazz have kept me paying attention for this long, and I'll continue following for at least one more season before the almost certain lockout, then I'll switch over full-time to college.  You know it's bad when you can actually script most of the next year or so.  Next June, it'll be Lakers-Miami, which will cause most of the country to wish both teams could lose, then the collective bargaining agreement is up, but with the current situation untenable, barring a miracle, there will be a major impasse between owners and players that will cause SportsCenter to be overrun with stories on a work stoppage instead of actual sport.

But I digress.  Four years ago I was sucked into the World Cup when Portugal, the country of my mission, took fourth place, and this time around, I expected that I might start giving a crap at any time.  I kept my eye on it virtually the entire time and saw nothing that captured my heart or imagination.  Today's championship game, which I tuned into for a few minutes out of sheer curiosity, was a 0-0 tie until the 119th minute.  It's complete and utter hell, and I don't see how the world can be so wrong about anything.  In Europe and South America, for even a mildly interesting match between two local teams, the streets are empty.  Vacant.  Deserted. So I can only imagine what it's like when the stakes get high.  Spain will probably be hung over until Thursday.

For years, it's been said that America is poised for soccer to break away and garner the same gigantic interest that our other sports generate.  They've been saying that for at least thirty years, despite the fact that most of our guys couldn't even sniff the top leagues abroad.  Major League Soccer?  Please.  At best, MLS is a low-level minor league on the international scene. But this year, the U.S. did show some major improvement and captured the public attention for a moment.  I personally think this was just a hiccup, and most of us won't give soccer a second thought until 2014, but that won't stop the conversation.  For a more detailed view of why I believe soccer will never gain the ground its supporters hope for, articulated as well as anything I could ever say, read Sal Paolantonio's How Football Explains America.

Unless, that is, FIFA's governing body, along with all others involved in the sport, adopt these rules, as suggested by Bucky in today's Get Fuzzy comic.  Bucky Katt is a hilariously antisocial, hostile, and ignorant character, but I feel that in this case, his suggestions would vastly improve the many and varied weaknesses of the game that the world has been so obsessed with over the past month.

1.  Put one of the forward's grandmothers in a dunking booth that drops her into ice cold water whenever his team takes a shot that misses the open goal.

2.  No cleats.  Everybody wears those lead-soled Frankenstein-type boots.  (That should make #1 more interesting too).

3.  All the substitutes are knife-wielding monkeys.  Except the back-up goalie.  He has a slingshot.

4.  All the refs are MMA fighters and every time a player falls down and fakes an injury, the ref steps in and administers to that player the very injury they were faking.

Okay, people, tell me you wouldn't watch this, and that it wouldn't make the matches infinitely more watchable.  Does this not just reek of common sense to rid us of the things that are most contemptible about soccer?  Bucky Katt for President!

P.S.  An interesting note: soccer enthusiasts, especially Brits, have long gotten on America's case about using the word football for our own brutal, far superior game.  But did you know that the term soccer actually originated in England as an Oxford "-er" abbreviation of the word association?  So they're bitching at us for using a term that they created.

Real Men Wear Pink

Once upon a time, from 6th through about 9th grade (approximately 1990-1994), I was a pro wrestling fan. Not just a fan, but a fanatic. In fact, you could say my obsession became a significant tool I used to survive junior high purgatory. Despite (and possibly because of) shameless gimmicks and ridiculous storylines, I was hooked. Call it moronic, call it fake, or stupid, or juvenile; you could never say it was boring. And one of the greatest ever to grace a leotard was Bret "Hitman" Hart. He brought actual skill to the ring to a sport where theatrics reign supreme, during an era where steroids were starting to get out of control (more on that later). I somehow got nostalgic about this era of my life a few months ago, and started searching for books on the subject. I got Davis County Library System to order Hart's autobiography, brilliantly titled Hitman: My Real Life in the Cartoon World of Wrestling. And in May, I read all 600 pages of it. That's right, this is the great book I alluded to earlier.

Anyone familiar with pro wrestling knows that it's as real as it is fake. There's only so much you can do to cushion yourself from the impact of piledrivers and suplexes (and turnbuckles and chairs). But the wear wrestlers' bodies take in the ring is just a start. In fact, if you Google the phrase "dead wrestlers," your computer will start to smoke like Snoop Dogg at Mardi Gras. There have been some high-profile casualties in the business, but many others, even famous ones, that have not generated much publicity. The media doesn't care because, at the end of the day, the general public doesn't care that much about a fake sport with scripted endings, even when there's a list of wrestlers who have died before the age of 50 - and the list is more than 70 names long. But if it were any other sport, those figures would make for a major scandal. Pro wrestling has grueling schedules, brutal physical punishment, and a tacit understanding that performance enhancers are okay. There is no off-season. There are no pension plans for retired wrestlers. The industry chews these guys up and spits them out, then their bodies give out and they die.

At any rate, Hart's insights into that industry are part of what made this a thinking book for me. But really, it only takes a paragraph or so to realize that even if you were an uppity reader, picking the book up out of sheer snobbery, Hart is a person of great intelligence. I got the wistfulness I was looking for, especially the first half or so that focus on the early days working for his father's company, Stampede Wrestling, along with many others who would later become stars when wrestling had its heyday in the 1980s and 90s. And it went a long way for me that Hart doesn't attempt to make himself look perfect. He is completely forthcoming about his extramarital affairs on the road (which were many) and use of steroids (much more moderate than most of his contemporaries). Imperfections notwithstanding, I came away with an enormous amount of respect for the man behind the Hitman persona, and can't recommend this book highly enough.

To end on a lighter note, the following is an homage to the pro wrestling wardrobe designer, from perhaps the most clever, hilarious advertising campaign of all time, Bud Light's Real Men of Genius. Enjoy.

Daaaamnnn, that is tasty!

I'm back. I haven't actually been away at all, but I guess I haven't had much to say. At least, nothing nice. In theory, April and May are two of my favorite months because of the milder temps and fields of green. But for some reason I am noticing that for the past few years, spring hasn't been much fun. The past three Mays in particular, I have trended toward depression and poverty. This year it was largely related to a number of people not paying me, but poor is poor, right? I don't think there's any rhyme or reason to May being a sucky month, but I am looking forward to starting a new month tomorrow. I did have a few bright spots, and I'll tell you about those. Actually, the first one you'll have to wait a few days for. I read a book I really enjoyed and got me thinking, and that deserves its own post. Second, my family has been great dealing with me. I really like Amy. She's such a good listener and so understanding about the struggles my business gives me, and even the ones I bring on myself. Lastly, I ate one of the greatest burgers I've ever had, the Smokehouse Bacon Burger from Salt City Burger Company (seen above). They cook the bacon right into the beef. The bun is much better than average, and the fries are delicious. So when you have a good book, a good woman, and you're eating well, life can't be that bad, right? Back in a few days.

Paging Seymour Butz...

In honor of April Fool's Day, here is another survey. What is the greatest prank you have ever seen and/or pulled off? Despite my appreciation for almost all humor, I have always been pretty uninventive when it comes to pranks, and I'm a little jealous of people with that ability. The first problem is that I am a horrible liar, and I think pranking is kind of ancillary to that. My brother Vance has no such limitations, however, and when he was a missionary in Korea, he had one companion in particular whose bed he would sew shut and whose personal items he would glue/tape to the chimney, just for amusement. I am a big fan of anything that doesn't do any real damage, so hearing about dumb, easily done things like that always makes me smile. I also recently watched a few minutes of VH1's Greatest Pranks Ever, and although some of them crossed the line, most were so well-staged and elaborate that even the most austere man (or woman) can appreciate them on some level. Here are a few of my favorites, in descending order:

5. Charles Barkley reading from a TNT teleprompter and calling himself a dumbass.

4. A college-age girl getting into a cab whose driver runs over a guy and then drives off, culminating in the victim hobbling over and pulling the driver out for a beating.

3. Fat junior high-ish kid setting up a beer stand and being mostly unharrassed by adults, even getting some college kids try to place an order and eventually having an old super-uptight lady tell him off and earning a comparison to Hitler.

2. Elijah Wood almost breaking down in tears when a cop interrogates him after he throws a can with a put-out cigarette into a trash bin and then it explodes on Ashton Kutcher's Punk'd.

1. A very elaborate joke on the show Scare Tactics being played on a girl working at an urgent care facility where a man brings his wife in to give birth, and it quickly escalates to a priest showing up, Satan's very creepy baby being born and committing murder fresh out of the womb, and the girl refusing to worship him. Really, it has to be seen to be fully appreciated. It was voted #1 on VH1's list and for good reason.

Anyway, I now give the floor to you. Be sure to invite your friends!

I've Been Naughty...

So, if anyone is wondering about the progress of my HCG diet (which judging by the comments on last week's update, nobody is), I've been busted.  After resuming the diet following last week's post, I spent the last 4-5 days eating basically whatever I wanted.  The damage actually isn't too bad; I've lost a half pound or so and gone down slightly in my BMI.  I visited my nutritionist, Maeli, today, and she chided me mildly and ordered me to buy a digital bathroom scale so I can see my progress.  Initially I thought not having it around would help me to focus on how I feel instead of only the numbers, but how I feel is usually hungry, and seeing my progress may be enough to keep me faithful on the weekends, which are the real challenges for me.  I am determined to get back on the stick and ride this thing out for another couple of weeks and at least be down 20 pounds.  My big concern, which I anticipated even before starting the diet, is conference weekend.  I don't think there's anybody reading this who needs the explanation, but just in case, every April and October, Mormons sit around the house for virtually the entire weekend and watch the old men who lead the church deliver sermons and inspirational messages on TV (those who are stalwart enough to resist boating or camping in favor of 8-10 hours of good solid religion).  It's usually a pretty big weekend for eating, since that goes along with sitting around, and in fact after the Priesthood Session, every fast-food place in Utah gets a gigantic rush just after 8 p.m.  So, the trick this time is going to be not cheating, or cheating only minimally.  Thursday I will have a survey post up, and a brief update of my pre-weekend weigh-in.  Until then, I wish you all Godspeed.

I Feel Hungry...

So, that's me after one week of HCG.  Mission accomplished!  Okay, I know a tub of goo like me is in no danger of looking like a meth addict, and I'll probably never be as dreamy as Christian Bale, even the disgustingly skinny version in The Machinist.  But I did lose seven pounds.  Even better, my body fat dropped from 27 percent down to 25.  And that was with a major 2-day hiccup! On Saturday, I jumped off the wagon when I had no work to distract me, and then Sunday, Amy was throwing up everything but the kitchen sink, and I started to have stomach trouble and suspended the diet for another day.  Had that not happened, it would have easily been ten or twelve pounds lost.  Now that I've seen some results, it's strengthened my resolve to be good for another week (which was getting iffy).  I thought that not weighing in regularly would help me to keep my focus on feeling better and not just a number, but if I'd have had a scale in the house, it might have stopped me from ransacking the chips and making myself a bagel Saturday afternoon.  Anyway, progress has been made and I'm extremely happy considering this weekend's lapse.

The biggest surprise of the week was how easy it was.  I was hungry, but I really didn't feel like I was starving.  A few days in, my stomach felt a little flatter and I felt trimmer.  Eating oranges became a delicious treat, and diet soda (which I have hated for a long time) tasted amazingly sweet.  And my energy was a lot better without all the sugar I'd been taking in the previous week.  I'd still prefer not to be on this thing, but I am looking forward to getting all up in Gina's face as she swallows another mayo-slathered fried Twinkie whole. She'll be so proud.

Anywho, just checking in.  I'll try to put together another survey before the start of the weekend.  Until then, think skinny thoughts and enjoy all the wonderful things I can't have.

Just Call Me Fatty McButterpants

I've known this day was coming for a good six months. Tomorrow I start the three-week HCG diet. Most of my marriage I've been around 225 pounds, but I gained a bit whilst in New York last summer, and a couple of weeks ago, I weighed in at 240. Then I drank soda almost every day last week and ate a ton of sugar, and got all the way up to 243, and 27 percent body fat. For my height and age, that is starting to get into some bad territory. Not orca territory, but I've seen the writing on the wall. The HCG diet has you on 500 calories a day for three weeks, and 500 very specific calories at that, and taking HCG and a couple of other supplements every day to help control appetite and maximize results. I was able to get a nutritionist on trade, and she swears that you don't feel hunger if you are consistent in taking the supplements and that it is much easier to keep the weight off by using her services instead of trying to do it by yourself. But I'm kind of eager to test my mental toughness. I might not feel that way in 24 hours, but I have every intention of succeeding, and plan to keep the world in the loop via the blog. Before long, I may be the runt of the family. Vance is pretty hooked on Mountain Dew and is all domestic, while Gina has gotten hooked on fried lutefisk. Anyway, tomorrow is Armageddon, hence the choice of music. I am sticking with this thing no matter what.

I did, however, abort the moustache. I let it grow for five days and it was getting fairly noticeable. The thought of being seen by clients and prospects was too much for me to take. If I were a computer programmer, I would do this, and get away with it. Computer programmers and web designers are supposed to look like slobs. I don't know how to trim facial hair that is that long, so it hurt like a bitch to take off. I guess that's what I get.

Lastly, some of you have mentioned that I failed to crown a winner for the Embarrassment Olympics. The consensus, between Amy and I, at least, was that Julia's moment was the most spectacular. I was totally in that moment and have played it over and over in my mind to cheer myself up, partly because I have a brother-sister relationship to Julia and take joy in her humiliation, and partly because she is kinda special, so she deserves a prize. About that, though, after ordering a box full of the Scarface keychains, I found out that virtually every line has one or more F-bombs. I traded for them using the Trading Floor my company's software provides, and figured there would be a "Say hello to my little friend," and a "Say goodnight to the bad guy," among others. Nope, it's basically eight very vulgar phrases. So we may need to come up with a replacement prize. If I don't find a good trinket, perhaps we can host your family for dinner at my house (after my three weeks are up). Anyway, I've gotta figure it out. Congratulations, Julia, on being super-clumsy to the point that people openly wonder if you are retarded. Anyway, until next time, I bid you toodles...

Dude, Where's My 'Stache?

I've been bored lately. The winter can't go fast enough. Amy spent most of January and February curled up with morning sickness, and it's been no fun. Obviously, in her normal state Amy can hardly keep her hands off me (who could?), but out of sheer boredom, yesterday I was inspired to grow a moustache for at least a week or until she is feeling 100 percent. So I dedicate this moustache to you, babe.

Unfortunately, virtually nobody appreciates a good moustache any more, and there are very few who can pull it off aside from cops and former porn stars. It makes me wish I had lived through more than four months of the seventies. I mean, everyone had one then. It was sexy; so help me God, it was sexy! And it's the only full-length facial hair I can pull off without looking like Joe Dirt. So here is my ode to the fashionable look of yesteryear and its many varieties.

Now, you can't tell me that's not cool. Daniel Day-Lewis abides. And he created two movie icons, Bill the Butcher and Daniel Plainview. I can only wish I were that awesome.

Okay, the handlebar. It only works for cowboys and bikers, but this guy is bringing sexy back.

And of course, the walrus. This doesn't work for me since my sideburns are sparse, but I would love to try it. There are so many possibilities. From Ned Flanders to Goose Gossage to Ron Burgundy, the world is much more manly with moustaches. Let us not forget.

The Embarrassment Olympics

This post is brought to you in honor of the Olympics, which I haven't watched a minute of except for a few minutes during the opening ceremonies wondering why k.d. lang was performing "Hallelujah" and wondering why k.d. lang was the biggest star they could get to perform.  Then I saw Steve Nash, and I was like, "Oh yeah!  They have to use their people!"  I mean, after ice hockey and Alex Trebek, what has Canada given the world?  Anyway, I haven't done a survey in almost six months, and I think this one is gonna be a humdinger.  I am even offering a prize.  I want to know your most embarrassing moment.  The winner gets their very own Tony Montana talking keychain.  The contest lasts through the end of the month (which is Sunday), so tell your friends.  I want at least twenty entries.  They don't have to be regular visitors to the blog, or even know me.

I have to say, I'm kinda hard to embarrass.  If I do something outrageous that wasn't on purpose, I do a pretty good job of laughing about it.  But that wasn't always the case.  I was pretty self-conscious growing up.  The story that comes to mind happened when I was 14 and our church took a waterboating trip to nearby Willard Bay with all the young men and women.  I took my turn, and I felt the wake ripping my trunks off, but was unable to let go because another kid was using the same tube and had his arm across mine.  Eventually we wiped out, and we switched off.  The leader who had been driving asked, "Do you want to get in?"  I remained silent and sat there just kinda drifting and hoping they would forget about me and let me drown with dignity.  Making things worse was that my number one junior high crush was in the boat, and the water was cold, so if she got the full monty, I wouldn't be at my, ahem, best.  Then a lady drove her boat up holding the offending trunks up and asked the passengers if they belonged to someone there.  I became a punchline even for those who hadn't witnessed it.  As years have passed, I've developed the ability to laugh at my own expense, even more so than I do at others.  But I still want to laugh at you, too.  This is a celebration of pain and humiliation.  Ladies and gentlemen, the floor is yours...

A Movie Worth Checking Out

I really dig Jeff Bridges. And I love authentic country music (not to be confused with most of the crap that comes out of Nashville), and Western movies and Old West lore. It just so happens that Bridges has two roles within a year of each other with a Western theme (the next one being a remake of True Grit). Crazy Heart has been the only movie on my radar for quite some time. I did eventually cave to the Avatar hype, and found the hullabaloo maddeningly but predictably overdone. And today, for the second President's Day in a row, I took off a few hours early for a matinee. It's not exactly flying under the radar, since Bridges is the favorite to win the Oscar for Best Actor next month, so I won't try to pretend I discovered it like Oprah, and I won't be too long-winded, but I will recommend it, and provide you with some music from Ryan Bingham, who wrote most of the film's music (which was sadly unavailable on Playlist; Google The Weary Kind or watch the Crazy Heart trailer to hear the theme song), and who I've been familiar thanks to my cowboy friend Kyle. At any rate, I wasn't sure how to feel about the film's ending at first, since it's not the standard predictable neat finish, but after marinating a little, I think it was perfect. At any rate, I hope everyone got plenty of nookie over the Valentine's weekend. Have a great short workweek, and see you soon with a survey I have been putting together. Invite your friends! Ciao.

P.S. Just one interesting side note. Colin Farrell plays a country singer in Crazy Heart. And amazingly, he pulls off not only the accent, but the singing. So, major props to our favorite drunken Irish lout.

Ever Feel Like This?

This is a pretty good depiction of me in January.  The whole month pretty much sucked.  And most of it was due to sickness.  Not my own, but Amy's morning sickness.  Yes, yes, we are with child.  Anyway, we've been through this twice before, but I swear it wasn't this bad.  Amy has just been lying in a puddle of her own drool for most of the year.  And I've had to do a lot more around the house.  And there's no throwing the boys (who are the people responsible for most of the Ground Zero our house has become) into the backyard to play, because it's winter and we just have to be, like, responsible parents.  It's such a crock.  I feel bad because I haven't risen to the occasion willingly.  I have made some strides with my business, but my mood has been foul, and I'm past ready to get this behind us, but fear that February will be more of the same.  So here and now, I'm vowing to at least make myself better.  Crossfitting regularly to get into shape (which I am finally motivated for now that I've fallen in love with basketball again), waking up at 6:30 on weekdays, and I might even start blogging on a regular basis.  Today is actually one year since I started this thing, and this is my 54th post, which isn't awful, but I had only done nine in the past six months.  I am amazed I even have 4-5 followers anymore.

On the bright side...

We dumped our dog.  I know, it sounds cruel to take such delight in it, but anyone who ever met Ike knows that he's super-needy, to the point that he had become like an unwanted child. He was basically dumped in our laps when we bought our house, and the thought of having a dog was really fun for a while.  He was great at playing and lap-sitting.  But the last month we had him, I could barely restrain myself from getting medieval on him.  Not a good thing.  I really tortured myself over it, feeling like a failure because I've always been such a dog-lover, yet had such strong impulses to punt the wiener dog, and thought dumping him would be a failure, like a divorce from a valued family member.  I felt guilty about never falling in love or bonding strongly with him.  The only conclusion I can come to is that getting a pet, for me, has to be a conscious decision, unless we're talking about one charming mothereffing pig. (Those of you who have seen Pulp Fiction may appreciate this).  In almost a year and a half, Ike never calmed down or shut up, was constantly pestering and begging, and couldn't handle being by himself.  I assume the breed has a lot to do with it, something we didn't research until after we had him.  The original owners dumped him for the same reason, but I always figured we could accommodate his needs and that he'd be a welcome addition.  He is now four years old and has bounced around to at least three different homes.  I wish him well, but also say good riddance. I'm taking the next three years off to concentrate solely on my other demanding creatures, and then we'll see what happens.  At any rate, see you again soon with another survey or amusing anecdote.

Adolf Hitler Stars as Sam Fox, Elders Quorum President

Happy Martin Luther King Day! Whether you're working today or not, this is just a little piece of humor for anyone who doesn't mind humor involving the mastermind of the Holocaust, or poking fun at Mormon culture. I found it funny and hope you do too. On the commentary following the original post on YouTube, everybody weighs in on why it's offensive and I mean everybody. You've got the bitter ex-Mormons, super-sensitive politically correct blowhards who think that Adolf should never be made light of, and the extremely pious LDS who find it a horrible tragedy that anyone could find humor in someone not getting 100 percent on hometeaching. Don't be shy about expressing your own opinions. Anyway, have a great day, wherever you are.

Getting Beaten With the Ugly Stick

Okay, this is really mean, but earlier today I saw an ad for ANOTHER Sex and the City movie, and I just can't stand it anymore.  Not just the movie (although that series always sent me running and screaming), but the question I have never dared ask in a public forum until now is: Does anyone out there find Sarah Jessica Parker even a little bit attractive?  As a ten-year old, I actually thought she was kind of cute in Flight of the Navigator, before anyone knew who she was, but she seems to have gotten exponentially worse up to the trailer for her latest movie, which has me convinced she might be in my personal bottom 2 percent of all people on earth for comeliness.  The changes don't appear to be drug-related like Lindsay Lohan and other formerly hot A-listers, and I'm not talking about the normal effect of aging on the body; I think Helen Mirren is still pretty hot at 64.  I am generally pretty reserved about calling people ugly, but for over a decade, Hollywood has been trying to tell me how hot she is, and it's really messed with my head.  Is there anyone else who belongs in this category?  I find all of the Sex and the City skanks to be fairly unattractive, but SJP belongs in her own stratosphere.  I hate to devote an entire post to this, but I need to know if there are people I know who actually disagree with me, and if so, what is it that makes her irresistible?  Is it the horsey face?  Her bony frame?  Or the gigantic mole?  Anybody?