House Broken husband

Things I Learned From Running a 1/2 Marathon

2011-09-13T13:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's over. I ran the Spanish Fork 1/2 marathon last Saturday. I am still alive, but barely. My original goal was to not finish dead. I upgraded that goal to not finishing dead last.

I am proud to say that I didn't finish last. I out sprinted 3 old ladies pushing walkers during the last 1/2 mile of the race.

I finished in one piece, but my right big toe didn't. When I finally took off my shoes, the big toe was black and blue. I have no idea why, but it still hurts three days after the race.

Running is time consuming. Not only the hours spent running the marathon, but the time spent training.

The run was my handcart moment. At the 11 mile mark, I was done. I kept thinking that if the pioneers could cross the Sweetwater river in ice and snow and if they could trudge up Rocky Ridge weak and hungry, I could go another two miles.

Here are some things I learned from running.

1. Running is over-rated. I must have started too late in life because for 12 weeks, my body always hurt.

2. Running shoes are more expensive than tires for your car. They told me I needed special running shoes. They are only good for 300 miles. They cost as much as a new tire, but a tire lasts at least 15,000 miles.

3. I also learned when water is available, take it. I thought there would be water all along the course. There wasn't. I finished very, very thirsty and probably a little dehydrated.

Anyway, I finished. Not dead last and more importantly, not dead. That is more than I can expect when I finish this life's race. Here are some more photos.

This is what fat and old looks like after running 10 miles

2011-08-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

I am still on track to run a half marathon with my daughter Sep. 10 in Spanish Fork. Last Saturday our training regimen called for a ten-mile run. This is what old and fat looks like after ten miles.

Next Saturday it goes to 11 miles. We finally registered for the race and it had a disclaimer at the bottom of the form. It said, not recommended for old and fat men, but we will gladly accept your $35 entry fee anyway.

I will be glad when this ordeal is over so I can go back to living the life I was meant to live. I am referring to my life of drinking Dr. Pepper and eating Doritos while in my favorite recliner watching football. And trust me, $35 will buy a lot of Dr. Pepper and Doritos.

All the running groupies I met while being suckered in to buying some brand of shoe I have never heard of told me, "You must really be enjoying the endorphins produced by your running".

Those so called endorphins must be nesting with the swallows in Capistrano and haven't made it this far north yet. The only physical advantage I can actually see since running is that my rump is now tinier and more taut.

Big deal, as yet no Hollywood agent has approached me to see if I want to be a butt double for some movie star. To date the only butt calls I get are while driving in the left lane of the freeway while cruising at 45 mph.That happens to be 41 miles per hour faster than I am currently running.

We'll see what happens on September 10.

.

Losing Lard by the Buckets

2011-07-18T12:19:00.000-07:00

Time for a 1/2 marathon update.

I got on the scales two days ago and was surprised to find that I had lost an authentic 4-pound lard bucket of weight.

Maybe there is something to exercising that leads to weight loss. For those who weren't paying attention, my daughter and I are in training to run a one-half marathon on September 10.

We are now entering our fourth week of running. This week we have to go 5 miles. It seems to be working. I no longer have a desire for a big dump truck to hit me head on. I have now settled for a small Hyundai hitting me from behind to put be out of my misery.

As I mentioned before, misery loves company. My niece's husband has said he will now join us.

A guy can't run without some sort of goal in mind. Here's mine.

I haven't been able to wear this coat, let alone button it, for the last decade. It's not fashionable these days mainly because the lapels are as wide as my recently lost lard bucket. Hopefully, by the time I finish my running regimen, I can once again button this coat.

My wife thinks I'm crazy. She wants to know why I would even want to wear a 15-year old coat that I have to hide to keep her from throwing away.

It's a man thing. I have a pair of comfort pants that I have worn for 15 years. And now, hopefully I will have a comfort coat to go along with the pants.

By the way, my wife is in for a huge surprise. If after a 1/2 marathon, I accomplish my goal of getting into my favorite coat, I am going to go for a full marathon to see if I can get in to a pair of these.

My Daughter is Trying to Kill Me...

2011-06-28T19:28:00.000-07:00

Take a good look. You probably won't see me alive much longer.

This is how I looked today after running 2.2 miles in 90 degree weather. My daughter must need the insurance money because she has talked me into running a half marathon with her this September. She has a complete training regimen set up.

She almost cashed in early yesterday on our first day of running 2 miles. I thought I had died, but no such luck for her. I attribute my still being alive to a lifelong diet of Dr Pepper and Doritos. It's the food and drink of marathoners world wide. At least those who live west of I-15 in Orem.

I will admit that I also was ready to cash in today. At the 1.75 mile mark, I was hoping one of the big dump trucks on Geneva road would do me and my daughter a favor and hit me head on. It would have solved her monetary dreams and my misery.

Since misery loves company, here is the training regimen she has us on in preparation for the 12-plus mile run in Draper, Utah, sometime in September. By the way, that works out to be 2 miles for every decade I have lived.

Feel free to join us. Running that is, and not driving the dump truck down Geneva road.

Women Know Your Limits

2011-04-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my daughter passing the video below on to me, I am sending it on to you.

For those of you who have a more moderate view of women and are looking for that perfect Mother's Day gift, we suggest you check out a great idea here.

Authentic Amish Biological Byproducts from Intercourse

2011-04-26T09:44:00.001-07:00

I spent last week back East on a trip to Amish Country in Lancaster County, PA. Here is what I saw.

There were plenty of horses and buggies everywhere we went.

When you have horses and buggies, you also have a biological byproduct. That's when I came up with my new idea of selling Authentic Amish horse hooey from Intercourse. Look for it on EBAY .

My wife, who accompanied me on the trip, quickly pooh-poohed the idea. Next in line in my lists of ideas generated from the trip is to write a book about the ecumenical equality between the Amish and Mormons.

It occurred to me while shopping at a small grocery store one evening while in Amish country. I was standing in line behind a Amish man at the check out counter. I glanced down at my cart and it looked typically Mormon to me. There were chocolate chip cookies, yogurt, Dr. Pepper, Doritos and Hershey bars.

I felt kind of ashamed of my grocery stash until I glanced at the Amish man and his shopping cart. I had expected to see alfalfa sprouts, tofu and whole wheat bread. Instead I saw a box of Fruit Loops and a package of Twinkies.

That's when I came up with my book idea. My wife quickly and quietly hinted to me that comparing Mormons and the Amish using me and the man at the check out counter as examples was not a good idea. She reminded me that I am probably not the most mainstream Mormon she knows and that the man in the black clothes and straw hat in front of me probably belonged to the re-organized break-away Fruit Loop branch of the Amish Church.

I Get Gettysburg

I blame it on a California high school education and ego-centric personality. I had read about Gettysburg. I had studied about Gettysburg. But I didn't really "Get Gettysburg" until last week while standing on the same battlefields where real men shed real blood.

The fact that one of those men was the grandfather of my mother-in-law and the great grandfather of my wife, made Gettysburg a very poignant, meaningful and reverent experience.

We had a nice visit to our Nation's Capitol except for a little frustration in finding the LDS Temple. Mormon map reading says that if you get on the beltway, you can't miss it.

Unfortunately, Alice, the affectionate name I gave the woman who kept giving me instructions from the GPS in our rental car, wasn't as well versed as I was in Mormon map reading.

She somehow calculated that the best route from our hotel in Alexandria to the D.C. Temple was through downtown D.C. during rush hour.traffic.

Trust me, this was not a poignant, meaningful and reverent experience.

It quickly became that way, however, upon arriving on the temple grounds.

In defense of women in general and especially the one barking out instructions from the GPS, my wife kindly reminded me that "Alice" might have actually been "Albert" with a Viennese Boys' Choir voice.

I'm Officially Now a Tree Hugger!

2011-04-12T01:32:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, my wife and I visited the UK. We had a nice time, but I kept noticing a tree that I had never seen before.

I liked it and checked out a couple of nurseries over there to see what it was. I thought that if it could grow in London, it should be able to grow in Utah.

To make a long story even longer, I bought some seeds and planted them upon our return. The official name of the tree is Cordyline Australis. They are also known as Torbay Palms.

All of this has led to a new business I started. It's called HB's Frosty Palms.

You can check it out by clicking here.

My Almost Obituary and Viewing

2011-03-24T07:34:00.000-07:00

Based on what I expected to happen when BYU was making a run to the Final Four in basketball a few weeks ago, I thought it would be prudent to let my Cougar Sportsline subscribers know what to expect if it did happen. Below is my just -in -case obituary and to the left is a picture of how I envision my viewing.

Harold Brent Arnett

1948 - 2011

HB Arnett was born July 22, 1948 in Safford, Arizona. He passed away Saturday, March 26, 2011 in Orem, Utah in a fit of fantasy brought on by excessive euphoria. His passing was in keeping with his life-long promise of dying and going to heaven if a BYU basketball team ever went to the Final Four in his lifetime.

He lived what he described as a semi-decent life, but there are plenty of family and friends that still debate the part about his going to heaven.

He spent most of his adult life writing Cougar Sportsline, a weekly publication that has been described at worst as a revolting rag, and at best, as a weekly testament to his wife’s constant incredulity that anybody who held a real job and seemed normal would actually send and spend money to read what he wrote.

A viewing will be held at Sleepy Ridge Golf Course in Orem where friends and family will be able to fib and fabricate with impunity about what a good golfer he was.

Those in attendance at the viewing are encouraged to look for lost golf balls with the bold "HB" marking on them and return them to the family to sell. After deducting funeral expenses, mostly for Doritos and Dr Pepper, the remaining funds will be deposited in a trust fund set up in a random financial institution that doesn’t contain the name Arnett in it.

HB always figured that he lost close to 10,000 balls in his 40 years of golfing. At 25¢ a ball, that should at least buy the 1998 Subaru sedan he saw listed last week in Capitalist.

The car will be offered in Arnett's name to either Jabari Parker or Nick Emery, depending on which prospect commits first to BYU.

Interment will be in the lot behind the Arnett home where he will be buried beside two family dogs and three family cats who preceded him in death.

The last dog died when she was accidently hit by a baseball bat which Arnett threw last November when BYU gave away a sure win over Utah in football. In a last acquiescence to his final wishes, Arnett will be buried with a bag of Doritos and a six pack of Dr Pepper, as referenced above. He was sure those products would be available in heaven, but wasn’t so sure of their availability where he was headed.

Arnett's Cougar Sportsline newsletter will continue to be published by family members who remain behind. Current subscribers can expect to still read about BYU sports, but can also expect expanded coverage on crocheting, cooking and tips on how to cultivate culture despite being reared and raised by a crotchety old man.

Arnett leaves behind his wife, Penee. If any funds are left over from the Cougar Car slush fund, those dollars will go to her for dating money to help facilitate a well deserved second chance at finding a husband who is kind, considerate, humble, wealthy, sensitive and loves ball room dancing.

If she actually finds such a man, you should also expect to see her died-and-gone-to- heaven obituary.

I Relate With Eddie Hong and Jimmer Fredette

2011-02-03T14:17:00.000-08:00

It's hard for the average guy to relate to the media mania that is currently surrounding Jimmer Fredette, the basketball scoring machine from BYU.

I'm probably one of the few that can understand how it feels to be a big scorer in a basketball game.

Fredette Fame...his and mine!

After playing as a freshman and sophomore in high school, the varsity coach at Palo Verde HS didn't have the same assessment of my game as I did.

That didn't stop me from scoring. After not making the varsity team as a junior, I signed up for the high school division of the Blythe City League and formed my own team. I called the team "Jaywalker and the Pedestrians".

I recruited four freshmen and told them they could be on my team...under one condition. They had to give me the ball all the time. See the Fredette similarity yet?

It worked. After almost 45 years, I still hold the Blythe City League High School Division scoring record of 106 points in a game.

Fredette may have had his ESPN Sports Center moments for lighting up San Diego State for 43 points, but I had my moment in the sun also. My scoring splurge earned me 1/2 inch of 6 pt agate in the weekly Palo Verde Times.

I can tell Fredette from experience that fame is fleeting so he better enjoy it while he can.

I can still remember suiting up as a frosh for the PVHS Yellow Jackets. One of my most vivid memories was making the road trip to Calexico HS to play the Bulldogs.

Calexico is on the California side of the Mexican border and sits adjacent to Mexicali, a pueblo of over a million people.

I got a taste of recruiting at an early age.

Calexico High School Back Court (Circa 1964) of Eddie Hong and Juan Jimmer....I once held Hong to just 53 points.

I remember playing Calexico and they pummeled us. Seemed to me that they were bigger and much more physical than we were. They also had very nice mustaches. We barely could spell puberty, let alone experience it as freshmen.

Anyway, after the game was over I remember showering and coming out to wait in the gym to load the bus and make the 100 mile trip back to Blythe.

I can still recall seeing some of those Calexico freshman we had just played, come out of their locker room and head up in the stands to pick up their wives and kids and then head back to Mexicali.

As the popular book said, all I need to know about mustaches, wives and winning basketball, I learned on the gym floor of Calexico High School.

Officially Old People

2010-12-14T00:15:00.000-08:00

We had a youth group from our ward come by our home last weekend and sing Christmas Carols. It was nice.

The following Sunday, the leader of the youth group cornered me in church and said that he appreciated our willingness to let the youth come and sing to us.

I said my wife and I enjoyed it. That enjoyment quickly went away when he told me that the youth chose our home because they thought it would be nice to go caroling to the old people in our ward.

We had the photo below taken along with other family poses this past Thanksgiving day.

This is what old people look like.

If you have a youth group that also wants to sing to old people, we are renting ourselves out for such occasions. We hope to have a Yellow Page listing soon under the name Singing to the Senile. Or maybe it is Big Ears and Years, we can't remember which.

Thanksgiving, Rodeo and Entreated

2010-12-06T10:54:00.000-08:00

We had the grand kids (all four of them) at home for Thanksgiving. The turkey was good, but the rodeo where they rode me to the ground was even better.

Now that Thanksgiving is over, I am working on becoming a better person for Christmas. I am trying to heed the scripture in Alma 7: 23 that says:

And now I would that ye should be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need, both spiritual and temporal; always returning thanks unto God for whatsoever things ye do receive.

It's been quite sobering to see where I am now and where I need to be to reach my goal. I am going to give it my best shot.

So far, I have hope because I am easily entreated. I make a 9 pm run six days a week to Mike's Chevron which is just a quarter mile away from my home.

I come home fully entreated with a Dr. Pepper, Milky Way and a small bag of Ruffles Cheddar Cheese and Sour Cream potato chips.

You have to start somewhere.

I did get some nice practice in patience and long-suffering just before Thanksgiving.

My wife wanted to redo the kitchen in time for the holiday. We got a late start and on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, with part of the family already here, I started painting the kitchen. My wife chose some kind of pale lime green. I said I liked it. Better yet, she said she liked it because she picked it out.

Wednesday morning, the next day, she woke me at 6 am and said that she didn't like the color and I needed to repaint. After an early morning trip to Lowe's, we bought more paint, this time an olive green, and I was back at it.

It was a total immersion into the patience and long-suffering I am trying to cultivate in my life. It actually turned out well and we all liked the new color of the kitchen.

By late Wednesday evening, however, I felt entitled to a double dose of entreatment and came back from Mike's Chevron with two Milky Ways, one big bag of of chips and a six pack of Bud Lite. Okay, just kidding. I don't drink beer, but had I been required to repaint on Thanksgiving day, I probably would have started.

Here's he color we ended up with.

I hope it doesn't drive you to drink.

hb

Now

Testosterone Therapy Isn't Cheap

2010-11-10T16:50:00.000-08:00

I'm officially an old man. I have lost hair, energy, muscle mass, distance off my golf drives and other things. I had a friend tell me that I should purchase some testosterone cream and it would solve all of those issues. The friend said that I needed to simply rub the cream on my body and I would be a new man.

I asked where it would be rubbed and who would be doing the rubbing. I passed on the cream and looked for a tried and true source of increased testosterone.

I bought a truck. Nothing says vibrant and virile and masculine and macho like a man and his truck.

I bought the truck in August. I got a great deal on it, but I soon found out that real testosterone therapy isn't cheap.

In September, my truck had its own testosterone and transmission issues. Ten days ago, it overheated because of a bad intake gasket. I tried rubbing some cream on it, but it didn't work.

The truck and I have a lot in common. Turns out, just like me, it had a cracked head.

Masculinity means money. I could have had a nice face lift for what it cost me to fix my testosterone transportation.

All is not lost. In the last three months, I have made 16 trips to the county dump. Sometimes I actually haul trash to the dump. There is something about a man, his truck and the dump that simply screams testosterone.

"I got it and you don't. "

If anything else on the truck breaks in the near future, I will have to revert back to the geriatric genre of no hair, no muscle mass, no energy, shorter golf drives and no more money to fix my truck and low testosterone levels.

Good To Have Her Home and Taking it in the Shorts

2010-07-26T00:53:00.000-07:00

It's been a nice two weeks. We picked up our daughter from the airport last Friday night. She served in the Washington DC South Mission. I shed a few tears when she left and shed even more when she returned. It is good to have her home.

We spent the previous weekend in Colorado for an Arnett family reunion at Lake Vallecito just outside of Durango. I took it in the shorts for the family.

We help fund the reunion by auctioning off donated items from family members. I sold the shorts off my back. Actually, they came off a part of my anatomy that is a little lower than the back.

These were my favorite shorts. My best rounds of golf have been played in these shorts. I had a deal with my wife that she would bid higher than anyone else so I wouldn't have to part with the pants. As a precaution, I had a backup pair of pantaloons nestled underneath in case my wife's bid came up short. No pun intended.

The winning bid was $15 and it wasn't from my wife. Instead of giving the shirt off my back for the family organization, I gave the shorts off my butt instead. It was worth it, but I haven't shot a decent round of golf since.

The Arnett's Got Talent portion of the reunion is a lot like our family golf tournament. None of us are any good, but we have fun anyway.

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Ok, my brother wants equal time for his act on the talent show. He can't beat me at golf, but he can sign up a storm.

Corn on the Cob for Breakfast and Father's Day

2010-06-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

I love Father's Day. It's the day when I can eat raw corn on the cob for breakfast and nobody tells me I'm weird. I can wear a plaid shirt with a striped tie and the wardrobe police don't issue me a ticket.

I can go to Church unshaven without anybody asking me why I didn't shave. If they do, I just tell them I can't shave because I broke out with a facial rash caused by excessive home teaching.

This is what a curmudgeonly corn-cob-chewing, unshaven, plaid-shirt-with-striped-tie-wearing dad looks like.

This is what the kindest, most loving, funniest and wittiest cowboy and father the world has ever known looks like.

Happy Father's Day Dad. Your family loves you and misses you terribly. You were a good cowboy and an even better man. Those two qualities will get anybody to heaven.

As Arnett's, we are proud of our Cowboy heritage and culture. It's rare to find someone who not only knows how to legitimately "Cowboy Up" but also step up to their patriarchal duties as a father. You were our role model and always will be.

Happy Father's Day Dad!

Howard Marshall Arnett died June 16, 1994. The following song was written and sung at his funeral by his son Jeff.

In my mind's eye

I can see him there

Sitting on top of the old black mare

With his hat pulled down, his coat turned up

Wind chill all around

The dusty sky and the morning haze

Can't dim my adoring gaze

In my mind's eye, In my mind's eye

Men of God of themselves they lend

Some stand out, some just mingle in

He never received much praise from men

But, he was everybody's friend

In my mind's eye

I can see him there

Leading us in family prayer

Then listening to our every care

Not saying much, just being there

In my mind's eye

Men of God of themselves they lend

In my mind's eye, I can see him there

Just to the right of our dear Savior

With his hands out stretched, he's motioning, my dear family

In your own time, come join me, and watch the life you lead

This man of God of himself he gave

Through wit and love, many souls he saved

We will miss him yes, grieve for him, no

Because this is not the end and he's still everybody's friend

If you are grandchild or great grandchild of Howard, ask your Uncle Jeff to sing you the song. It will be forever etched in your mind. This coming July at the Howard Arnett Family reunion would be a could time to ask.

The following pictures will show you what a real cowboy and a real dad looks like.

Here's Howard with the love of his life

Howard and his four boys

Howard and his only daughter

Missing our dad and miscellaneous photos

Movies are my Methadone

2010-06-20T19:52:00.000-07:00

Two and a half weeks ago, I shut off my television and satellite subscription. The reason for doing so is not important. What is important is that I discovered that I really do have a TV addiction.

The first week off television, I read books, did yard work and walked around the house looking for anything to eat. The books were okay, but the yard work just exhausted me. I needed something more to get me through the tough times.

That is when I had an intervention by my daughter. She gave me a Netflix subscription and said it would help me through my television withdrawal symptoms.

I call it my movie methadone. I'm off TV, but now I am addicted to movies. The good news is that my self-worth has improved. I don't feel nearly as guilty wasting time watching flicks as I did watching television.

I didn't know that you could choose movies from such an enormous selection and catalog and you no longer have to wait for a DVD to arrive by mail. Now you can just click on your computer and be watching instantly.

With so many movies to choose from, it was hard to decide what to watch. I decided to choose a movie the same way I read the Old Testament. With Leviticus, Deuteronomy, Numbers etc, I just read the chapter headings until I find a story I can understand and people I have heard of. Same with movies. I just read a quick synopsis of the story and plot. If it catches my interest, grabs my attention and meets my parameters of prudish principles, I click and watch.

My tastes in movies is a little left of eclectic. That said, I am recommending two movies I watched in withdrawal.

Mr. Keane is a baker and he drives a bread truck. His wife died. She committed suicide. Jumped off a bridge. He is down and depressed. He randomly comes across a car accident and is introduced to the Marilyn Hotchkiss Ballroom Dancing and Charm School. You'll have to watch the movie to see how a car wreck eventually leads to the Cha Cha. While learning to dance he meets a woman. As a child, the woman's stepfather used to throw her out of his boat and then try to run over her. It should come as no surprise then that she has a wooden leg. It adds to the irony of a bread truck driver and peg-leg dancer finding romance at a ballroom dance studio.

Speaking of peg legs, I am including a gratuitous photo of Peg-Leg Pete. You can see him on Mt. Timpanogas from my front porch. He will be the subject of a future blog.

He is the guy at the right of the photo in the coon-skin cap and left prosthetic leg.

Back to the movie. My favorite line was uttered by Marianne Hotchkiss when she told Mr. Keane, the bread maker, "Dance is a very powerful drug Mr. Keane. If embraced judiciously, it can exorcise demons, access deep seated emotions and color your life in joyous shades of brilliant magenta that you never knew existed. But, one must shoulder its challenges with intrepid countenance if one is ever to reap its rewards." Click Here, Dance and Charm School to see previews of this film.

This next movie, Kinamand, was made in Denmark but features a Chinese family. It makes the English subtitles a little interesting. I think there might be a little swearing in this film, but because it is done in Danish and or Mandarin, I am not sure and don't care.

Here is the basic plot. A Danish plumber is leading a mundane life. He refuses to go on a cruise with his wife of 25 years. She leaves him. They eventually divorce. The plumber closes his business, sells his wife's furniture and starts eating dinner every evening at a Chinese restaurant.

The owner of the restaurant asks the plumber if he will marry his sister so she can get a permanent Danish visa. He does. He eventually falls in love with his pseudo immigration wife, only to have his ex-wife reappear and want to re-unite.

This movie is billed as a comedy, but it actually is a decent romance and becomes a tear-jerker when the Chinese wife dies suddenly from a pre-existing heart condition.

This is not my usual Bruce Willis Die Hard fare, but I liked it. I give it a rating of three out of four doses of methadone.

The best sub-title line of this movie was, "Do you want egg rolls?" I did mention that my movies tastes are just a touch eclectic, didn't I?

Click Here for the Kinamand trailer. For those who are subtitle challenged, don't watch. In this trailer, they are speaking Danish and Chinese, but the subtitles are in Spanish. Good Luck.

The Long and Short of Lawnmowing and Blogging

2010-06-13T16:49:00.000-07:00

Blogging and mowing the lawn are almost the same. Eventually the time between mowing and blogging becomes so long that you are forced to do both again.

I mowed my lawn this past weekend and am now again starting to post on a regular basis on this blog.

I haven't posted since the BP oil spill in the gulf. That seems like as good a reason as any, so I am making it my official excuse for lack of blogging. I have been too busy the last 47 days consulting around a table with BP on how to resolve their most recent spill. At least that is how I remember it in my dreams.

The following video should tell you all you need to know and why it seems like a good time to get back to mowing the lawn and blogging.

History of Hair....Mine!

2010-04-30T19:07:00.000-07:00

Pinning the Tail on an old Donkey

I've always wanted to wear a nice short, well-groomed ponytail.

So far it hasn't happened. If I had one in high school, they would have beat me up.

If I had one at BYU, they would have booted me out.

If I had one while on an LDS mission, they would have sent me home.

If I had one while serving in Bishoprics, it would have been a 12-day dabble instead of a 12-year stint.

Once they release me from working in the temple and once my wife and I serve a mission, I should finally be home free with the hair.

I can hardly wait, and neither can my hair. The whiter my locks become, the less there is of them.

Here is my history of hair, sans potential ponytail.

The comb-and-go look at age 15.

At 17, a little dab of Brylcreem was nice, but Crisco was better.

Mainstream Mane at 30.

At this stage of life, the race is on between my hair and hopes of a ponytail. It should be a photo finish.

Missing Person and Pop Alert

2010-04-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

This is a photo my daughter Sydnee took and submitted for a contest to be on a label of Jones Soda. She was one of the few selected and the photo is currently in use on a Jones label.

Here is the actual label. Here is our problem.

We can't find Jones Zilch Black Cherry Soda in Utah County. We have tried and would love to get at least a couple of six packs with this particular label for family memorabilia.

If you happen to see any Jones Zilch Black Cherry at your local market, please email me.

I would like to know where it is available.

Thankfully yours,

A former Dr Pepper drinker and current Jones Junkie...hb

Can You Sneeze in a Foreign Language?

2010-04-15T08:47:00.000-07:00

I caught myself sneezing yesterday. Ah-Choo, Ah-Choo, Ah-Choo!

It got me to thinking. As an English-speaking sneezer, is sneezing and saying Ah-Choo culturally learned or is it a universal language?

What do Mexican sneezers snort when sneezing? Ah-Chimi-changa?

What about Chinese who suffer from allergies? Is it Ah-Chow Mein?

And what about Afghans? When they sneeze would I hear Af-Ghani-stan?

I've never really paid attention to the language of sneezing until now. I am going to apply for a Federal grant to study it. I think $3 million would do nicely.

To get a head start on the federally-funded project, if you happen to be Mexican, Chinese or from Afghanistan, could you please call, identify your nationality and sneeze into the phone?

All sneezes will remain strictly confidential.

If the study proves that sneezing is culturally learned, my next federally-funded study will be to scrutinize the sneezing differences between politicians and the public.

My personal research assistant. This particular nose is bi-lingual and bi-nostril.

Because politicians of both parties consider themselves to be superior in sneeze, and in some cases, sleaze, they Ah-Choose not participate in the health care program they have deemed just dandy for their constituents.

That federal grant will gag the public to the tune of trillions.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed about sneezes and sleazes in Congress are the opinions of myself, a certified sneezer and geezer and do not represent the opinions of thoughtful, respectful and responsible adults.

I have already gone through that phase of life. It was vastly overrated.

Forty Dollars, Forty Years and Car Insurance

2010-04-13T10:22:00.000-07:00

My daughter, on the right, gets home in late July from serving in the Washington D.C. South LDS Mission. She has served well and we are proud of her.

I, on the other hand, returned home from the Chilean Mission, forty years ago. My parents sent $43 per month to keep me out there. I think they were sad to see me come home (just kidding). It was cheaper to keep me in Chile than it was to pay for the additional cost of car insurance when I was home and driving.

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I didn't take any pictures or keep a journal while serving for 27 months. I regret that. I only have one photo of a missionary companion. I don't know where it came from, but the photo above is of me and Elder Elwes. If I remember correctly, he was from Ceres, California.

Okay, you are now excused and can quit reading. The rest of this post is for my own benefit. I thought I had better put down on paper and post, the areas where I worked in Chile and the names of the companions with whom I served.

Before getting to Chile, I spent three months in the old Language Training Center on the southern end of the BYU campus. I can't currently remember the last name of my LTC companion, but it will come to me. I do remember his first name was Terry and he was from Thatcher, AZ. For now I will call him Elder Terry from Thatcher.

I also remember that during our last month at the LTM, which was in December, they were short on rooms so they put our district in the old Calder Motel, down on 300 South in Provo. We had to walk back and forth early in the morning and late at night.

Since I was reared in the desert heat of California, I have never been able to tell my children that I had to walk to school in the snow, but I can truthfully tell then that I had to walk to the LTM in snow. It was truly a cultural and climate shock.

Once in Chile, I had 11 companions. Four of them were for only a few weeks each during transitional transfer periods. I can't remember the names of two of the four, but can still see their faces.

Here are the names I do remember. Elders Whitehead, Rasmussen, Samsel, Romney, Elwes, Rattray, Smith, Burr and Conover.

I will always remember the places where I served: Nunoa, San Felipe, San Miguel, Vina del Mar, Temuco and Vallenar.

As far as my current missionary situation goes, it will be cheaper to get my daughter home and back on our car insurance program, than to keep her in D.C.

Times have changed.

Capsizing and Cougars Capturing National Championship

2010-04-08T06:13:00.000-07:00

I watched a show last night about the scientific advances that have been made in reading people's minds. It also detailed the research that is being done in reading brain waves to allow people to control mechanical devices simply with their minds. It was interesting.

I have decided to let you have a try at reading my mind and brain. See what you can decipher and decode about what I was thinking when this snapshot below of my brain was taken late last night.

This is a multiple choice test.

a. I need to eat more fish oil if I want to control the world with my mind.

b. I hope people don't think I'm pea-brained.

c. I can't believe people actually read this blog.

d. If the guy in the video below can get elected to Congress, nothing is impossible and BYU can certainly win another national championship in football.

Celebrating With Chapeaus

2010-04-06T18:09:00.000-07:00

One of our family traditions during the Easter season is to have an annual Easter Bonnet Parade. Pictured above is my creation for this year's parade.

Here is a sampling of other adult offerings in Easter Bonnet attire.

We have a good time in this annual family celebration which includes an Easter egg hunt, hat parade and brunch.

While bonnets and brunch are nice and enjoyable, we always take time to remember and miss those family members who started this family tradition and are no longer with us.

It always helps me reaffirm my belief in the hope and promise of each Easter season and all that it represents and celebrates.

I'M A FOUR-DANCE KIND OF A GUY

2010-04-01T19:53:00.000-07:00

I don't like to dance. That is probably due to the fact that I am not a good dancer. My wife, however, is very good and loves to dance.

Consequently, early on in our marriage, we had to come up with a workable compromise. Here it is.

I agreed that I would take her to dances. All she had to do was tell me how many dances it would take for her to be happy. She said four and agreed that after I met the quota she would be amenable to leaving the dance any time after those four forays on the floor.

I was thrilled. At the next dance, I quickly completed my allotment of dances and was ready to go home.

That's when I learned that even compromises have to be re-compromised. The four-dance rule is still in play, but those dances now have to be rationed through at least an hour or more at the dance. I also learned that any additional floor time over the four-dance limit is worth major bonus points.

After 30-plus years of marriage, this system still works. Pictured below are my latest four dances at my niece's wedding last Saturday night.

One dance down, three to go.

Two down. Halfway there.

Dancing with my granddaughters.

Racking up bonus points.

I WANT TO WORSHIP AT WENDY'S

2010-03-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

I've heard a lot of sermons from the pulpit during my lifetime. Some have been very inspirational, uplifting and edifying.

Seeing a good sermon is more rare. I saw one yesterday and doubt I will forget it anytime soon.

I took my daughter to the airport yesterday to catch a flight to Phoenix. We left with plenty of time to spare because she had to make a stop at an appointment she had before heading to the airport.

We got to the appointment and it had been canceled. Since we had plenty of time, I told her I wanted to get something to eat.

I pulled off the freeway looking for a fast food restaurant. If you pull off any freeway in any city, chances are that 50% of the time, you are going to land in a less than upscale part of town. That's where we ended up, but I spotted a Wendy's and went inside to order a BLT Cobb Salad.

There was just one guy in front of me. I put him in his late 50's to mid 60's. If I had to stereotype a guy down on his luck, this would be the guy I would pick.

He was unshaven, poorly dressed, mumbled his words and kept his eyes lowered to the counter. He ordered a burger, fries and soda and handed the young girl waiting on him a credit card.

It came back as declined. The girl, who looked all of 16, called her manager. He looked all of 22 or 23.
He ran the card again and it came back as declined. The manager asked the man if he had another way of paying.

The man didn't say anything, but just shook his head no. Without hesitation, this young manager reached into his pocket, pulled out his personal credit card, swiped it and told the man to bring in some money the next time he came in.

I was impressed. For someone who undoubtedly has heard more sermons than this kid about doing good to my fellow man, it wasn't me reaching for my wallet.

When I approached the counter to make my order, I told the kid, that I saw what he did and complimented him for his charity.

He just said, "You know, the funny thing is that most of the people I help usually do come back and pay the money."

I saw this sermon with my own eyes and it was better than any other sermon I have heard in a long, long time and one that I won't forget for a long, long time.

I'm Having a Multinational Face Makeover

2010-03-18T02:15:00.000-07:00

I am a channel surfer and the other day I came across a station on my dish called Brazilian Butt Lift. I admit that I clicked on it out of curiosity and strictly for research purposes.

I wanted to see what the difference was between a Brazilian Butt Lift, a Definitely Defined Danish Derriere and a Russian Rear Reduction.

Turns out, there is not much. They all want $39.95 for a DVD. That is the ultimate rear reduction coming directly out of my wallet in my back hip pocket.

I passed on the Brazilian Butt Lift. The fine print said I would also need a new fork lift to help levitate my bulky Brazilian backside. The total cost is more like $27, 537.

I did do some other cosmetic change research, however. It looks like my face is a prime candidate for a multinational makeover.

Here's what is on my agenda. I am getting some new Lithuanian lips, will try some Estonian ears and a Belize brow extension. In addition I am considering a new Czechoslovakian chin, a smaller Namibian nose, Hungarian hair plugs and caps for my teeth from Tunisia.

I think I am excited. The picture above is my before photo. Below is the after photo.

I think they call this the Brazilian Burt Lift.

Walking on the Other Side of the Tracks

2010-03-16T12:58:00.000-07:00

I had another one-lard bucket walk today. See two posts ago for the definition of a one-lard bucket walk.

I have lived a good ghetto life. When people talk about East LA, I tell them that compared to East Blythe it's no big deal. You don't live on Acacia Street or South Fifth, without it impacting your life...for better or worse. In my case, I like to think it was for the better.

If Orem has a ghetto, I'm in it. Not only do I live west of I-15, I also live on the other side of the tracks. I'm a ghetto guy and proud of it. Based on what I saw today on my walk, I might start giving ghetto tours. There would be the all expenses paid tour, the 1/2 day tour complete with lunch and the lifetime tour that includes a nice burial plot next to the tracks. For example.

I found this card this morning. Honest, a ghetto guy don't lie. It was next to the rail road tracks. See what I mean about an all expense paid trip?

With your card, you could have a nice 7-Eleven lunch. According to this receipt I found today, a Bahama Mama German Sausage sandwich and Cheetos were on the menu.

There are other menu choices on the ghetto tour. One tasty item is Chicken a la asphalt.

We may be ghetto, but we still believe in good dental hygiene, as evidenced by this dental floss found on the road today.

This is a road side flower. It is part of the ghetto burial tour and is included with your plot next to the tracks. I actually took a picture of a raccoon that didn't quite make it across the tracks, but was persuaded by those who are more sensitive and less ghetto than myself (Yes, there are all kinds that live across the tracks. It's a good thing that I am married to such a person), to pass on the postmortem picture of the raccoon and go for the flowers instead.

This will probably be my last ghetto post. With the newly found card next to the tracks, like the Jefferson's of TV sitcom fame, it looks like I may be movin' on up in life.

Honesty Disclaimer: I really did encounter all of the pictured items, plus much more on my walk this morning. It was an actual credit card, but one of those that are mass mailed to almost everyone and one that hadn't been activated. I took it home, cut it up and threw it away.

I also took the dental floss home for my personal use. It has a nice minty flavor with just a hint of the BF Goodrich tire taste coupled with a whiff of road kill raccoon mixed in.

Copernicus and Galileo Got It Wrong

2010-03-13T06:56:00.000-08:00

Five hundred years ago, this guy, Copernicus, got it wrong.

So did this guy, Galileo, who supported Copernicus' heliocentric theory that the sun was the center of the universe.

The microwave oven is actually the center of the universe. I found this out first hand when ours quit working last week. The sun may have its place in photosynthesis, solar eclipses, global warming and other trivial stuff, but without a microwave, there is no popcorn, cheese crisps, oatmeal, burritos, leftover taco casserole, steamed corn in a bag or nachos.

Who needs the sun? That is what light bulbs are for, but how do you live without a microwave?

Losing Lard While You Look

2010-03-12T11:02:00.000-08:00

Here's the deal. Today was a one lard-bucket day.

Now that the weather is warming up, I am getting back to my walking/jogging/running regimen. My goal is to drop 10 pounds and 20 points off my blood sugar levels.

A walk is considered a 1 lard-bucket day. A jog is a 2 lard-bucket day and a run is a 3 lard- bucket day. I figure I am only 50 lard buckets away from reaching my goals....as long as I quit eating what is in the bucket.

In the American spirit of voyeurism, upon which most of today's television fare is founded, I am going to be snapping a few pixs on my 1 lard-bucket (walking) days and will post what I see.

It won't be interesting, but then again, neither is most of what is on television.

Have a look while I lard away on my first-of-the-season two-mile one-bucket lard walk.

Here are the voyeurism views for today.

I need to buy this so I would have something with which my pink sweat shirt could finally color coordinate.

The 11th hole at Sleepy Ridge. It's a four iron, lob wedge and two putts on my good days. Better yet, it is only six monster drives away from my front door.

This is what a human lard bucket looks like. Now you know why I need the pink scooter and a good pair of nose-hair clippers.

This is where I attend Church. It is only 4 1/2 monster drives (4 1/2 blocks) from my house.

This is where I used to attend Church. It is only a pitching wedge away from my front door. I believe in revelation and inspiration, but still struggle occasionally with the doctrine of gerrymandering.

And finally, this is what each post will include to keep me lard less and motivated.

Hitch Hiking Says a Lot About the Man

2010-03-12T06:49:00.000-08:00

My previous post was about a new book, You Say More Than You Mean, and indicated that certain gestures indicate how we will act and respond to others.

Turns out the book is a best seller. I want in on the book business. My working title is You can hitch hike, but you can't hide.

For example, take a look at the hitch hiking photo above. What does it say to you? Here are a few hints. This guy is not very smart. Why would you be standing on train tracks trying to bum a ride when you are more likely to be run over by the train than get a ride?

Is this a guy or gal? Based on the pink sweat shirt, you might say it's a woman. Based on the fact that I took the picture, I say man.

It obviously is an insecure man. You can tell by his fingernails being bitten to the quick. This man is either very poor or obsessive compulsive. The poor is based on the frayed sleeves of his sweat shirt. The obsessive compulsive is base on the fact that in every photo we have seen in previous posts of this man, he is always wearing the same sweat shirt.

So here is what we know. This guy is insecure, introverted and in need...of new blog material or a new sweat shirt.

Here's another picture that shows my insecurity. I took this shot in hopes that it would be artsy and I could be as good of a photographer as my niece.

The beauty of this shot is not in the composition, but in the fact that I only had to step out my back door, walk a couple of hundred yards and shoot it. If you don't like the photo, you have to at least love the blue sky in mid March in Utah.
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For real photos, check out my niece. She doesn't need the business, but I need the suck up points.

Safety and Emission Tests For Motor Vehicles and Men

2010-03-08T23:11:00.000-08:00

I spent a good part of yesterday afternoon getting a vehicle tested for safety and emissions as required by the State of Utah. It passed.

But what about me? As a has been who can actually start receiving a Social Security check later this year if I want, do I pass the safety and emissions test?

That fact that I actually drove to the testing station and back home and didn't hit anybody or anything should say that I am safe enough.

In a waiting room full of other patrons looking for help with their automobiles, it became readily apparent that while seating was at a premium, I was sitting all alone. Nobody wanted to sit next to me. There were a few who approached, but quickly turned and looked for other seating opportunities.

Based on that evidence, It appears that I also satisfactorily passed my emissions test.

I'M TRYING TO BE A BETTER HOOKER

2010-03-04T10:13:00.000-08:00

This is me demonstrating the power move of hooking. It has nothing to do with golf.

This is my daughter (on the left) and her companion. They are serving as missionaries in the Washington DC South Mission of the LDS Church.

They have contacted a former agent for the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms Bureau and started teaching her. It has been difficult setting up more teaching appointments, however, because this lady is on a promotional tour of her recently released book entitled You Say More Than You Mean.

To see why I want to be a better hooker, check out her recent appearance on The Today Show.

WHEN TO PLANT YOUR TOMATOES

2010-03-02T21:24:00.000-08:00

Here's my tried and true tip for the best time to plant tomatoes. I always wait until the temperature outside matches my I.Q. As seen on the remote thermometer in my office , it is only 38 degrees outside. That means I have to wait another 36 degrees before I plant. When the thermometer says 74, it will match my intelligence quotient and it's go time. In case you are wondering, I.Q.'s are determined by dividing a persons mental age by his chronological age and multiplying by 100.

Here's another tomato formula you can use. Always plant more than you need or want. That's because at least half will die or freeze. It is called survival of the fittest. It is true that a few sub-select tomatoes will slip and sneak through the survival seine. The same isn't true, however, for low I.Q. growers of such who have tried to inflate their intelligence quotient numbers to impress others. It won't work because somewhere, sometime, you are going to have to be able to spell what you planted. Temeato, Tumuto or Toomateo. That's my story and my I.Q. and I'm sticking to it.

METHANE, MASSIVE AND MAKING ME MAD

2010-02-26T19:37:00.000-08:00

I popped this picture atop the home of a Montana rancher. I call it a methane vane. Not only does it tell you which way the wind is blowing, it also tells where you should stand to make sure you are down wind of the adjacent corrals full of methane producing mooers.

Here's another memento of Montana and the same rancher. He had plenty of these round, massive sandstone rocks around his yard and ranch.

This one weights at least 500-600 pounds. I know, because I had to move it one time.

Forget Montana, this is a pet peeve of mine that occurs all across the country. You stand in line for at least a half an hour to get waited on. While waiting, or even worse, once you get to the head of the line, the phone rings and the salesperson immediately spends almost ten minutes helping a potential customer on the phone while you, a real customer with real money ready to spend are right there in front of them.

After driving to the store and standing in line for a long time, I think I deserve a little more respect and help than some random call in. The next time it happens, look out. You won't need a weather vane to tell which way my massive methane wind will be blowing.

I Hope To Sell This Reality Show to a Cable Network in Uzbekistan

2010-02-25T16:04:00.000-08:00

My handlers (daughters) have told me that my blog is not visual enough. They say I need more photos and video.

They say I would be surprised how many weirdos are out there in cyberspace who are lurking and looking for old men like me.

So here is my first attempt at my own reality show. My girls tell me that if they can have a reality show about young punks on the Jersey Shore, I can have one about an old man that doesn't wear socks, showers only twice a week, and still dresses like a punk from the Jersey Shore.

If you are a cyberspace weirdo, please seek help. You can see below by my first voyage into video reality what counseling, therapy and meetings have done for me.

Lard and Lord of the Flies

2010-02-23T05:27:00.000-08:00

I consider myself to be a better restaurant critic than a literary critic.

Lord of the Flies is a good novel by Nobel Prize winning author William Golding, but don’t confuse it with Lard of the Floors, which is my credo when it comes to ranking and rating Mexican Restaurants.

It is all about the lard and the floor.

There are only two things you have to look for in choosing a good Mexican restaurant..

If you walk in and find a nice hardwood floor, you can be sure the food will likely be very gringo. Nice tile floors are also generally a dead giveaway that your dining experience will be more Disneyland than delicious.

The best Mexican food can usually be found in restaurants with dirt floors. It guarantees authenticity and taste. Because of health regulations here in the US, however, a compromise is necessary. You won’t find dirt floors, so look for the next best thing. Mexican restaurants with plain concrete floors are a good sign.

Before being seated, ask what brand of lard the restaurant uses. If they brag about not using lard, they are not Mexican. I graduated magna cum lard, so I know what I’m talking about. You want your Mexican food cooked with lard.

If you want your Mexican food from a drive-thru, ask around to see if your Mexican friends know of someone who makes home-made tamales and then drives through neighborhoods selling them door-to-door. In most instances, they turn out to be great tamales.

The best tamales I ever ate came from South Tucson and were made fresh or bottled by my Grandma Rose Clifford. Her Green Corn Tamales brought tears to my eyes while eating them and still make my eyes water just reminiscing and remembering them and her.

One last caveat: I doubt that William Golding ever had a burrito or tamale in his life. Consequently, don’t confuse Lord of the Flies with Lard and the Floors. Your dining experience should never include lots and lords of flies hovering over your lard-laden re-fried frijoles.

Tonto, Tight Pants and Other Winter Olympics Thoughts

2010-02-18T10:36:00.000-08:00

The Lone Ranger has nothing on me.

For those who aren’t familiar with the Lone Ranger, he and his Indian sidekick, Tonto, were part of an early television series aptly called the Lone Ranger.

Who knew that this trivial TV show would spawn some serious academic study? There are scholars that accuse the Lone Ranger, and the creators and writers of the series, of being biased and politically incorrect towards Tonto. Most of those allegations are because of Tonto’s name. In Spanish it means dumb or stupid.

The defenders of truth and the Lone Ranger say that Tonto had the last laugh and line because he called the Lone Ranger "Kemosabe". Those same scholars say that Kemosabe is a loose Spanish translation of qui no sabe. That means he who knows nothing, or, in other words, clueless.

All scholars on both sides of the Lone Ranger debate agree that the Lone Ranger’s pants were too tight for his time.

Others believe that Kemosabe is from the Yavapai Indian dialect of Arizona and is a derivative of the word “Kimmsaba” which means “One who is white”.

That sounds more plausible to me based on my own personal experience.

Years ago, I worked at a feedlot with a Navajo Indian named John Shepherd. He was a pleasant and charming guy from Tuba City, AZ. We struck up a friendship and he said he would teach me to speak a little Navajo.

He taught me to say Bilaganna do-yah-shon-da. I thought he was teaching me to say, “Good morning, how are you?” It turns out John wasn’t as “Tonto” as I had originally thought.

Bilaganna do-yah-shon-da, when translated, means “No good white man".

John Shepherd is no longer around, so here is my Navajo translation for one least one Winter Olympics Sport.

"Bilaganna blades-yah-glory-da" means "Dumb white men in pants too tight".

"Bilaganna Bob-da-Costas-yah" means, "Dumb white man on TV who talks too much about dumb white men in pants too tight".

"Bilaganna couch-yah-potato-da" means "Dumber white man yet who listen to Bob-yah-Costas and watch men in pants too tight".

And finally, "Bilaganna hb-yah-arnett-da" means "Dumbest of all white man writing blog about other dumb white men talking and watching other white men wearing pants too tight".

Results And Revenue Are Not Typical, But The Re-fried Beans Are

2010-02-13T10:56:00.000-08:00

I watched a piece on the local news last night. It was a segment on how bloggers with passion are making money doing what they love.

They obviously didn’t interview me - either because I have no passion or because I am not making money.

It reminds me of the Taco Bell commercial that ran recently. It featured a woman who claimed that she lost weight by eating strictly from TB’s lower-calorie “Fresco Menu”.

She says she lost 54 pounds. I was excited until the disclaimer at the end of the ad said, “Results may not be typical.”

The same phrase applies to blogging. I’m sure there are bloggers making money, but I am also sure, “Results may not be typical."

In the spirit of full disclosure, my current blogging revenue stream is plugging along at close to an average of 67 cents per day.

Results may not be typical, but I figure with a little human growth hormone, some anti-aging cream and a Jack LaLanne juicer, I should be able to last another 40 years.

I’ll do the math for you. At 67 cents per day, times 365 days, times 40 years, I will have made $9782 blogging before I die at the age of 102.

That is why I have changed my blog name to Housebroken husband. I am trying to broaden my market to include women who already have housebroken husbands or would like to know how to train one. I think it is a huge market. If it isn’t, I can easily change the name to going broke husband.

Thanks for visiting the blog. I’ll see you at Taco Bell, where the “results may not be typical”, but the re-fried beans are.

A LACTATING GOAT AND RIDING THE BUS WILL MAKE ME RICH AND SKINNY

2010-02-11T10:34:00.000-08:00

We have bought in...almost.
We are going to be a public transportation family...maybe.

With a Front Runner train station and a Bus Rapid Transit hub scheduled soon to be in operation just a couple of hundred yards from our back door, we are weighing the pros and cons of becoming a public transportation family.

The station and hub are still at least a year away from being a reality, but the construction is under way. So is the analysis of our involvement in public transportation.

It will be an all-or-nothing decision. If we opt in, we will be all in. That means we get rid of our cars and jump on board the train and bus.

The first benefit of dumping our vehicles is the money we will save every year. There will be no car payments, no insurance payments, no expensive gas to purchase, no yearly emissions and inspection costs or taxes and licensing fees to pay. In ten years we could be rich.

Like most things in Utah, it is hard to separate Church and state and this issue is no exception. Becoming a public transportation family has Church ramifications.

Without vehicles, it is highly unlikely that you would ever be called on to serve as scoutmaster or work with the young men or young women in your ward.

How are you going to haul them to scout camp, girl's camp, Lake Powell, the Green River, Colorado River, Yellowstone, the beach at San Diego, Dodger Stadium or Las Vegas to the MWC basketball tournament if you don't own a car? You can decide for yourself if that is a pro or con for being a public transportation family.

If you have a truck and sell it to go strictly bus and train, you would also remove yourself from the moving matrix of your ward. You could still volunteer to help, but it is difficult to get your neighbor's mattresses and stoves on the bus. Again, that could be a plus or minus of public transportation as it pertains to your church activities.

Now to the skinny part of bus and trains. Without a car, there would be no late night runs to the convenience store for Dr. Pepper and Doritos.

Ice cream would have to go. You can still purchase it at the store, but by the time you get on the bus, go through two transfers and arrive home 1 1/2 hours later, it is melted and a moot point.

Going through the drive thru window at IN-N-OUT Burger is also not an option, unless you charter your own bus.

Back to grocery shopping. You can save money by turning in your Costco card. Bulk and big items don't do well on buses. You can probably reasonably expect to get two plastic bags of food on the bus for each person. That means you will have to adjust.

You don't want to waste your bags on big jugs of milk. It would be better to purchase powdered milk or buy a lactating goat and keep it in your back yard.

You can still buy all the bread you want, but would have to crush and crunch it at the store to make sure you can efficiently use your available shopping bag space. The same method would work with Twinkies.

Even if you are not a gun advocate, you would need to purchase one. That is because it is easier to have a couple of chickens and a goat in your back yard than it is to buy eggs and milk at the store and carry them home on the bus.

You would need the gun to shoot your neighbor's dog and keep it from killing your chickens. Don't worry about making your neighbor mad. He will probably already be upset with you for asking to borrow his car 12 times in the last two weeks.

If you do need a car occasionally to get to a doctor, dentist, movie, massage parlor or tanning salon, just call your home teacher. That is what they are for. It's in the handbook. Look it up.

One potential drawback of public transportation is the lack of privacy. Don't worry. We have thought this one through. Just don't shower, shave or use deodorant for three days before boarding the bus and you will have all the privacy you want.

Your romantic inclinations may take a hit, however. My wife has already told me that there will be absolutely no necking or making out in the back of the bus.

The ultimate test of the value of public transportation is in the parking lots.

Just go to the headquarters of the government agencies in charge of promoting and providing public transportation and check out their parking lots. They are full. If public transportation is such a great idea then why do the administrators of those agencies not use it?

If you want to know how this turns out and if we do decide to sell our cars and go strictly bus and train, give it a year and then board any bus in Utah. If you see a guy who hasn't showered, shaved or used deodorant sitting alone with melting ice cream oozing from a grocery bag and a lactating goat at his side, be sure and say hello.

I am Looking for Either a Good Lawyer or a Good Pair of Stiletto Heels

2010-02-09T05:31:00.000-08:00

I am going to sue the city in which I live for a blatant case of butt bias.

How dare they build their sidewalks in such close proximity to my hind quarters?

It is a definite discriminatory design flaw and an affront to by back side.

It is obvious to me that sidewalks, in their design and construction, favor tall people over short people.

When a short person is walking side-by-side with a tall person and both slip on ice or snow, the taller person has more time to react and protect his posterior before hitting the sidewalk than I do as a short person.

Something needs to be done in the name of fairness and equal buffer zones for the backsides of us short guys.

Hopefully this class action suit will force municipalities everywhere to build separate, but equal sidewalks in cities across the nation for tall and short people. Our rear rights are just as important as those of taller people. The fix is fairly simple. Just build separate sidewalks for short people and make them 8-12 inches lower than the existing sidewalks that favor tall people.

It is painfully obvious to me every time I take a stroll in the mall that all back sides are not created equal, but regardless of the range of rears, it is only fair that there should be equal derriere distance separating all men and women from the cruel concrete below them.

I am hoping that short people across the country will join me and make this a national cause. I can easily envision a new Federal agency to protect the rights and rears of short people across America. We could soon have two DOT cabinet positions Not only could we have the Department of Transportation, but the Department of Tush also makes a nice acronym. Both agencies could use the same stationary and help lower the national deficit and sidewalks across America for short people everywhere.

My wife says I am delusional and could solve the problem by wearing stiletto heels. Then I would have to sue not only for discrimination, but the pain and suffering inflicted by those heels.

A Canine Courtship and the Song That Saved My Marriage

2010-02-06T17:05:00.000-08:00

Here is a Video Valentine for my wife.

When my wife and I were dating, I had a little problem with her dog during our courtship. This song saved the day, but not the dog. We were eventually married and have lived happily ever after. Just kidding about shooting the dog. Didn't happen. Made it up. The happily ever after, however, is true.

It was the only way I could find to use this particular song on the blog. It was written by my brother Jeff. It was a tribute to either love or his Labrador. I am still trying to figure out which one.

I Hate My Hands, Any Suggestions?

2010-02-05T08:01:00.000-08:00

This is the standard pose for most men when standing in front of a crowd. It is the hands-hanging-down-by-the-side mode.

As a man, I can tell you it is an awkward feeling. I currently have an ecclesiastical assignment that requires me to stand in front of a large group on a weekly basis. I don't have to speak, but my arms do the talking for me. They shout out, "Hey, look at my stiff and awkward arms hanging straight down."

To help men everywhere with the same awkward arm problem, here are several other poses and postures you can try.

The Arms Crossed

This lets people know that you are cool and relaxed. Even if you aren't, this pose helps hide any unwanted underarm stains on your suit.

The Fireman's Carry

This pose comes in handy if you are expecting a fire in the building and you anticipate having to carry people outside. Of course it will require someone looking and standing exactly like you to complete the fire rescue drill that you learned 35 years ago. An alternative name for this pose is the "Crotch Coverer".

Touch My Elbow ...This pose serves no useful purpose other than to prove your flexibility and that you can touch your elbow. A more useful pose would involve touching your nose. More on that later.

The Cradle...A nice comfortable pose. At my age, it also comes in handy for catching any inadvertent drool.

The Stress Reliever...Discovered centuries ago by men as the perfect pose for relieving stress and anxiety. Nothing says nonchalance like hands in pockets. Occasionally you will find old gum or candy you can use from another occasion when you were also feeling nonchalant and non-attached to the occasion.

Rub The Ring...If your wife is in the audience, this is a subtle signal that you remember that your anniversary is just around the corner, but you still have no clue what to give her.

Hands Behind Back...The classic pose for some men, usually those with a criminal background who are used to being handcuffed.

Thumbs in Belt...This is a hard pose to understand, unless you are a man. It usually signifies that you are suffering abdominal stress and looking for a way to relieve it. In courser company, this is usually referred to as gas.

Hands on Hips...This is for men who still think they have a nice waistline and want to show it off. For the rest of us, it is a fantasy pose that lets us imagine we have some kind of power and authority.

Yearning for a Yacht...I call this the Jack Kennedy pose. He used it often when speaking in public. Try this pose and you might be able to envision yourself on a yacht instead of in your canoe. For that dream to come true, it will require the purchase of some deck shoes to accompany your pose and around $6.5 million dollars for the yacht. I suggest you start with the deck shoes first.

I Could be Mafia...This is good for intimidating others. They won't be able to tell if your tie is crooked or you are reaching for a gun.

The Pat Sajak...Perfect if you have aspirations of becoming a game-show host or a television anchorman.

Will Rogers...The humorist never met a man he didn't like and also knew how to discreetly scratch any itches on his backside.

Napoleon...This only works if you are short, French and named Bonaparte.

Pardon the Pick...This pose only works if the group in front of which you are standing, is small, has no cell phone cameras and you don't care what they think of you.

Lamentations of a Laughlin Lounge Singer and If Susan Boyle Can Do It, So Can I

2010-01-30T16:02:00.000-08:00

I always thought I could have made it as a lounge singer in a Laughlin, Nevada casino. Apparently I was the only one who thought that way because I have had numerous people tell me that I can't sing.

Those lounge singing aspirations asphyxiated long ago, but received a little mouth-to-mouth resuscitation with Susan Boyle's sudden splash. The fact that she could make it big with just one song and one appearance on "Britain's Got Talent", has rekindled my hopes. If she can dream a dream, so can I.

I have pulled out some old lounge singer video to get your opinion. Should I keep my dreams and voice locked away or head to Laughlin and the less-traveled road? I will let you be the judge and determine my dreams and destiny.

Check out the video and then reply in the comments section of this post and let me know what you think.

Your comment options are:

You remind me of an amalgamation of Michael Jackson, Alan Jackson, Jackson Brown and Stonewall Jackson.

Go to the public library and check out the book, "Lipsyncing for Dummies who still have Dreams".

Don't quit your day job. Wait, you have never had a job so you have nothing to lose.

Laughlin would be a good place for you. They are always looking for good lounge help. You could make a lot of money waiting tables there.

Don't give up the dream, just the voice.

HB, you look like Susan Boyle, but that's where it ends.

State of the State, Union and my Palms

2010-01-29T10:34:00.000-08:00

I listened to the recent State of the State address given by Utah’s governor. It sounded like Governor speak to me.

I listened to most of the State of the Union address, until it dragged on past my bedtime. What I heard sounded like President speak to me. That means it was too long, too aggrandizing and too stimulating to the economy and not stimulating enough for me.

Now we come to the State of the Palms speech. I get to write this one.

Some of you know that since last March, I have been growing palm trees in my back yard. They are mostly Torbay Palms, Chinese Fan Palms and California Fan Palms.

Most of you also know that I am undertaking this palm project in Utah, home of the beehive and below freezing temperatures. Palms and frost don’t do well together, unless you add a third element; a greenhouse or garage. I have a greenhouse, but it quickly became too small for the project. I am now using my garage.

Trust me. I have a future business plan, which doesn’t require any Congressional stimulus package, but will require connubial approval. That may not be easy because my wife is still Speaker of the House.

Regardless, the palms are surviving. I can’t say as much for my cars. Since the garage is full of palms, the cars are on the outside looking in this winter.

They don’t mind as much as I do because I am the one who has to go out early, start the vehicles and scrape the ice and snow off the windshields.

I have already been informed by the Speaker of the House that the garage will be off limits next winter. I will need a bigger greenhouse. That isn’t the issue. Where that greenhouse will be built, however, is.

Actually I am part of a stimulus package. If UDOT, Mountain Land Association of Governments and UTA get the stimulus funds they applied for last year, it will mean that my house, and others in the neighborhood, will be knocked down to accommodate the transportation plans they have in mind.

We expect to be stimulated out of our abode of 30 years, so we are currently working our way through the alphabet for future and potential places to relocate. We are now on the letter “B”. So far, Biloxi, Butte, Buffalo and Bay City have been eliminated. I am holding out for Blythe, Calif. I grew up there and it has all the essentials I need. Good golf with cheap green fees. It also has heat and lots of it.

As the relocation debate proceeds, my wife and Speaker of the House reminds me often, “I hope you and your second wife will be very happy there.” That pretty well sums up the State of my Union.

My Mexicali Music Menu and Ten Cent Tacos

2010-01-22T10:16:00.000-08:00

Most of the time, I need musical help. In church, at concerts or other programs where music is performed, I usually lean over to my wife and ask, “Was that any good?” She then will give me a very subtle nod or shake of her head.

There are occasions when something is so good, that even I know it. I respect music and movie critics and other people’s opinions, but have learned that if I like it, it is good enough for me.

If I like a movie, I will see it multiple times. If I like a song, I will download it and listen to it incessantly.

I only have six or seven tunes on my IPod at any time. I don’t know if they are any good, but I like them, so they must be.

To prove how shallow and unsophisticated my music tastes are in tunes and tacos, here are the latest six songs currently on my IPod.

A Whiter Shade of Pale…Most people have never heard of Procol Harem. It is Latin for "If you chance to meet a frown, do not let it stay. Quickly turn it upside down and smile the frown away". I first heard this group many years ago on a trip to Mexicali. They were as good as the 10 cent tacos I bought off the street. Neither made me sick.

I Gotta Feeling…I had never heard of The Black Eyed Peas until my daughter told me I would like this song. I do.

You Make My Dreams…Like me, it isn’t all bad being a has been, as evidenced by Hall and Oates and this has been song.

Sweet Home Alabama…Lynyrd Skynyrd is classically trained in red neck music. I am classically trained in listening to it.

Independence Day…The only negative to this Martina McBride tune is that Sean Hannity has corrupted it by using it as a rejoiner on his radio show.

Insensitive…This Jann Arden song keeps me in touch with my feminine side.

Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress…I liked the Hollies in the 60’s. I still like them in the next century.

Batting Average and Blood Alcohol Level the Same

2010-01-17T02:04:00.000-08:00

1965 International Harvester Travelall...

Out of high school, I went to BYU on a BBB scholarship. If you could Breathe and Bring a check for tuition that wouldn't Bounce, you were in.

After just one semester, I couldn't write another check that wouldn't bounce, so I went home and enrolled at Palo Verde College in Blythe, California while I waited for an LDS mission call. PVC was one of the many California Community Colleges (Juco). When I enrolled, it was the smallest of the CCC system with only 250 students.

The first day of the new semester, I saw Chick Rodriquez, a former high school classmate. He asked me two questions. "Arnett, is that you?" and "Do have a baseball glove?" I replied yes to both questions. He told me to bring the glove to school because I was now on the PVC baseball team and we were headed to Barstow for a game the next day.

I must have been an answer to their prayers because when we loaded up the old International Harvester Travelall (the world's first SUV) the next morning, I counted just nine guys, including myself and Rodriquez, who was a player, coach and driver.

They stuck me in right field and I went 0-for-6. We lost. I blame it on the lack of a bull pen. After the game, we again loaded up the van and headed home. Before we hit the road, however, we made a stop at the local Barstow Safeway store. Rodriquez tossed me the keys and said, "Arnett, we'll be right back and you are driving home." They all went in the store and came back with two quarts each of Coors beer, the official team beverage of PVC baseball.

Turns out that I wasn't recruited for my glove, but because they needed somebody whose blood alcohol level and batting average were both .000. I made the trip the following week to Victorville, and then later suited up at home against College of the Desert from Palm Springs. My blood alcohol stayed the same, but unfortunately, so did my batting average.

That's when they told me that they would rather cut down on their post-game consumption of Coors than have a right fielder that could only drive the van, but couldn't drive the ball out of the infield.

I have no regrets. I am still the only college letterman of all my siblings and the jc credits all transferred back to BYU after the mission.

I Have One Favorite Team, One Favorite Wife, One Favorite Cereal and One Favorite Library Aisle

2010-01-16T14:15:00.000-08:00

I have one favorite team and it's the BYU Cougars. I have one favorite wife. It's the one I am married to. I have one favorite cereal. It's Corn Chex, or any reasonable facimile of same. I have one favorite aisle at the public library. It's in the fiction section in the basement and is the aisle that lists authors from Ca to Cr.

It has been a very good year for me and my favorites. My Cougars won big in football. They are winning big in basketball. I don't care about the other sports. My wife has been very good to me. This is her 34th consecutive year of treating me better than I deserve. Somebody should write a book about her.I have shelves stocked and stacked with Corn Chex.

I have spent the last year reading from the same library aisle. I like mysteries with big tough guys that can beat up anybody in the world and know how to escape from water boarding, drowning, fires, shootings and parachutes that fail and still get their hometeaching done.

My favorite character is Jack Reacher. He just roams the country side without purse, script or clean clothes. Somehow, when his clothes get dirty or aromatic, he finds a little purse and buys some new duds and throws the old ones away. When he does shave, it is with a machete.

Joe Pike is just as tough, but he doesn't speak. He communicates with grunts and big guns. Myron Bolitar, is a former All American basketball player that blew out his knee and became a private investigator. The ladies love him. It must be the name.

I relate to these characters because I imagine that if I had been born with the name Myron, I would have either played the accordion on the Lawrence Welk Show or been a tough guy who could speak with a grunting dialect and had clothes that stunk. Wait a minute, that was me in high school, except for the fact I didn't have a girlfriend, couldn't beat anybody up, or play the accordion.
Maybe it's time I moved on to the next library aisle.

HB Can Also Stand For Hat Baron

2010-01-15T12:33:00.000-08:00

I have a pretty good collection of hats. Most of them were free, but there are some that I thought enough of to actually purchase. Above you will see my money hats. I bought the big wide brimmed straw hat in Benson, Arizona because I saw a guy with a huge handlebar mustache wearing one and thought the hat and hair on his lip looked cool. I bought the straw driver cap in London off a guy I met in the London subway. I had to chase him three stops before he would consent to sell it to me. I can't remember where the others came from but they are all in my list of top ten hats. If you see one you like and ever see me in the London subway, I might consider selling you one.

Bronco's Board and Conan's Curl

2010-01-11T21:54:00.001-08:00

It's no secret that BYU football coach Bronco Mendenhall is an avid surfer. He and his board have been to California, Mexico and Costa Rica. One place Bronco has yet to surf is off the coast of Conan O'Brien. Betcha Bronco would love to ride in the tube under O'Brien's impressive curl.

Carne Asada and Church Concession to Cheerios

2010-01-09T11:28:00.001-08:00

I just returned from helping clean my church. Things have certainly changed in the church cleaning business. In the glory years of church janitorial duty, you could almost receive academic credit for cleaning the pews. That's because the church I attend is the only church I know where, during services, picnicking on the pews to pacify one's progeny is part of the culture and custom of the church.
In previous cleaning experiences, you would explore between the cushions and it would be like a Mesopotamian archeological dig, with emphasis on mess-o. Finding Fruit Loops meant that the Smith tribe had previously occupied this site. Cheerios fragments meant the Jones tribe had been sighted and documented. Crackers and cheese remnants was a step up the tribal food chain and indicated the Fosters had passed through the area.
I don't mean to be critical because my tribe also used to picnic on the pews in order to promote peace and quiet during services. None of us ever heeded the advice of the U.S. National Park Service which says, "You pack it in, you pack it out". Times have changed when it comes to church cleaning. That is because it appears to me my church has made a concession to Cheerios.
The newer church buildings now have pews that have a one-inch opening between the seats and backs of the new-style pews. My church is adamant that no members fall through the cracks, but there is now no problem with Cheerios and other food items falling through the pews and on to the floor.
This is a benefit for picnickers from other congregations that share the same building and meet after our group. They can now use some of the fall-through food as appetizers before unpacking their own picnic baskets. Real cleaning of the pews is a lost art. Now instead of digging for artifacts, a simple and quick vacuum of the carpet will do quite nicely.
It could be worse. My dad told me of a family where he grew up years ago in Southeast Arizona that were ranchers and big proponents of the beef industry. They didn't have Cheerios, but brought raw hamburger to church and fed it to their children during meetings. They must have liked their reverence rare. I don't usually associate church services with salmonella, but what do I know? When it comes to picnics on the pews, one man's crackers and Cheerios is another man's Carne Asada.

Disclaimer

This post should not be construed as an endorsement or lack of endorsement of Cheerios, Fruit Loops, Honeycombs, or the National Beef Council. It also neither an endorsement or lack of same for any of the picnic propensities of families in past, future, and current congregations in which I have resided, currently reside, or may reside. Further more, I apologize in advance to any whose religious leanings involve raw hamburger or any other forms of red meat.

I Know Who and Where The World's Most Interesting Man Is

2010-01-07T11:56:00.001-08:00

I don't know the name of Dos Equis XX "Most Interesting Man in the World", but I think I know where he is. I have some sort of tracker device on this blog. I don't know how it works, only that it was free and my brother-in-law suggested I use it. It tells me how many hits I get etc. The only thing I really like is that it also has a map of the world and shows me where people are coming from. I understand the hits from the Western U.S. Those demographics correspond with my Cougar Sportsline newsletter subscriber data base. What I can't figure out is who the foreign visitors are. I have had visits from people in Serbia, Hong Kong, Italy, Ukraine, Sicily, England, Germany, Chile, Australia, Argentina, Peru, Costa Rica, Guatemala, India, and most recently from Jordan. I have wondered just who these people are because everybody has a story and I would love to know theirs. I will share my story later and it will be in 30 words or less. True to my role model, Jim Rockford (the TV detective), I have narrowed this mystery down to one of two possibilities. Either these foreign hits are members of Congress on a "fact finding junket" or "The World's Most Interesting Man" is on the move. I choose to believe that I am tracking the MIM as he scampers around the globe looking for other interesting people and blogs. Again, I would love to know the stories of these people in those countries, but meanwhile here's my story and I am sticking to it. I was born with a club foot (actually true) and it spread to my head (May or may not be true, but it could explain some of my most bizarre behavior over the years).

Is This Heaven?

2010-01-05T06:06:00.001-08:00

In the movie Field of Dreams, which is set in Iowa, the character John Kinsella asks, "Is this heaven? I've passed through Iowa. It's nice, but it's not heaven. I found it in Texas and posted pictures of what heaven looks like.
My social media manager says I need to branch out and try to appeal to women with this blog. Maybe sharing my favorite recipe will help.

SHAKEN, NOT STIRRED

Buy a 2-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper. Open. Take a big swig. Put the cap back on tightly. Shake vigorously. Slowly open again, but gently, so fizz and spray don't escape. Wait a few seconds and then remove cap again. Take another big swig. Replace cap and shake again. Carefully remove cap and take another swig. Replace cap and refrigerate. Now you have a great bottle of "aged" Dr Pepper that is "Artistically subtle and artfully demure". I got that line from a Woody Allen movie in which he was describing catsup, but it also applies to "aged and agitated" Dr Pepper. This is an especially delightful drink to serve with fish. I have tried it with halibut, but found that it goes better with fish sticks. Enjoy!

My School Uniform

2010-01-03T22:15:00.000-08:00

When it comes to clothing, I am not known for my sartorial splendor. I like to wear what I call my comfort pants. They feel good and give me a sense of confidence. I would wear them everyday if I could. Most of my comfort pants are cut off at the knee.
I probably have close to 50 T-shirts, most of which I either found or were given to me. I don't use the food storage method of dressing. I seldom rotate and replenish.
I have a public education so never wore a school uniform, except in college. I was in my ultimate comfort zone as an undergraduate. My sophomore year, I stumbled upon a pair of adult Cub Scout pants that were exactly my size. I found them at a thrift store and wore them almost daily. Just before I graduated, they finally fell apart. It was a sad day in my college career.
Another trip to the thrift store yielded a great pair of bowling shoes. They were comfortable and made me feel confident. I have never been one to wear my feelings on my sleeve, but for several semesters in college, I did wear my IQ on the back of my shoes. It was 9 1/2.
I was actually in the T-shirt printing business in college with my partner and roommate. I had all the seconds, misprints and rejects I ever wanted. When it got cold, I had a nice green v-neck sweater. I didn't like it much until I cut off the sleeves. It instantly became part of my college comfort uniform.
My kids are always asking me what I want for Christmas and my birthday. They never believe me when I tell them I want another pair of Cub Scout pants and some size 13 bowling shoes. My feet haven't grown, but my IQ has.

Blue Badge of Courage...or Stupidity

2010-01-03T20:58:00.000-08:00

After high school and one year of college, I went to live in Chile for two years on an ecclesiastical errand (That's code for a Mormon mission). Great country, great people and great memories...I think. I never took a camera and while there I never took any notes or wrote anything down. Forty years later, it was the dumbest thing I never did.
I still get occasional flashes of faces and events, but don't have any documentation that allows me to put names and places to those faces and events. I am not yet too senile to remember that I was in Santiago for almost a year, Vina del Mar for six months and Temuco for five months. I lived in a couple of other areas, and thankfully, I did forget those places.
I do have one memory that has remained vivid in my mind. I have the documentation in my drawer. It is a 40-year old sock. I have posted pictures of the actual sock and two other items that are salient to the story I am about to tell.
I bought the sock while purchasing luggage and clothing before leaving for Chile. The luggage and the rest of the items are long gone. They never made the return trip with me back to the U.S. I continued wearing those socks until about 10 years ago when my wife threw them away. I was able to salvage one before the trash man came. It is my lone revered recuerdo of Chile.
It's time for the sock story. We had a paseo (recreational activity) at the beach for a few hours. It was sanctioned and it was sunny. I remember rolling up my pants to walk on the sand and then sought out one of the big rocks on the beach for a little siesta in the shade.
When I woke up, the shade was gone and my ankles were severely sunburned. We returned home and it was business as usual until the next day. While sitting in another person's home, I looked down and saw my now famous socks. They looked and felt like blue balloons.
No big deal. It didn't hurt. When we arrived home later that night, I took off the socks and got ready for bed. I found a needle and popped the blisters. Still no pain, until the next morning when I awoke with my ankles stuck to the sheets. Separating the sheets and ankles was painful.
I'm no doctor, and there were no Holiday Inns in Chile, so I did the next best thing. I wrapped my ankles with toilet paper, put on my socks and shoes and hit the pavement for our daily rounds. When we arrived home that night, my socks were dry, but the toilet paper was stuck to my ankles.
We had no shower or tub. We did have a sink and a water closet. I wasn't flexible enough to stick my feet in the sink, so I just stuck them in the WC, gently shaking them for a few seconds until the paper dissolved. I rewrapped them before going to bed and then did the same procedure again the next morning and evening. This routine went on for a few days until the blisters dried up and I no longer had need of the WC and TP.
I look at my sock now and view it as my blue badge of courage. My wife calls it my blue badge of luck and lack of hygiene.

Ringing In the New Year

2010-01-01T22:14:00.000-08:00

It's been thirty-plus years since I have worn any rings on my fingers. I wore a wedding band briefly after my marriage, but lost it at the golf driving range two weeks after the ceremony. I found it later, but then quit wearing it because it made my golf grip feel weird.
I tried again a few years later, but either my left finger was on steroids or the ring was cheap gold and shrunk in the clothes dryer. The last two decades it has been sitting in my wife's jewelry box.
Just before Christmas, two things happened. I was bequeathed another ring that belonged to my deceased father-in-law. It was beautiful and big. My wife also reminded me that my feel-good grip had not improved my golf game after 20 years and if I wanted to get a better grip on our marriage, it might be a good time to start wearing the wedding band and her father's ring.
I immediately had both rings re-sized, but had to resort to wearing a sling on my right arm to help support the big digital display. Even a bigger problem is that big rings don't go well with short and stubby fingers (See accompanying photo for proof).
It was probably SSS (Short Stubby Syndrome) that kept Lady Catherine de Berg of Pride and Prejudice from becoming a piano proficient, but I thought it was TWF (Tightly Wrapped Fingers) that was my handicap.
I had always assumed that I was adopted and that my birth parents were dyslectic Chinese who got it backward and wrapped my hands and fingers tightly as an infant instead of my feet. Genealogical Googling, however, revealed that my digital deficiencies were DNA induced and not made in China.
I thought I had the perfect solution for elongating my fingers. During the holidays, whenever family and friends wanted a closer look at my new rings, I began asking them if they would mind pulling my fingers. That didn't get the result or reaction I had expected.
The rings are set in stone, or is it stones set in rings? Either way it is a done deal. They aren't coming off again. Consequently, I am now investigating finger implants.
I am not unfamiliar with implants. I know all about dental implants for lost teeth and I already have gut implants. I had the procedure done a few years ago to better fit in with my current church peer group. Their piety is only matched by their paunchiness. My implants didn't do much for my piety, but it immediately raised my paunch profile of compatability, respectability and visibility.
The only downside is that it has curtailed my life-long passion for the Polka. The saline-solution gut implants make embarrassing sloshing sounds while I shuffle, slide, kick and step my way across the famous polka parquet floors of the world.
If you know of any proven solutions for SSS (Short Stubby Syndrome), this is one ring-wearing, paunchy polka dancer that would be interested in hearing about them.

Lettuce Begin

2010-01-01T21:55:00.001-08:00

I love pondering the deep philosophical issues of our day. For example, what if the government began mandating that all children born in the U.S. after 2011, had to be named after either a vegetable or fruit? I hate to start a fruit frenzy, but I already have dibs on several fruits and vegetables for future use of my future grandchildren and great grandchildren. I have also registered other names that I hope to eventually sell to celebrities.
You can go to www.rhubarb-radish-rutabaga.com to register your own names. Just so you know and won't be disappointed, these are the names I have already secured.
For My Personal Use
Celery is my first name choice for a girl.
My second choice for a girl is Broccoli.
Leek is my top pick for a boy.
Shallot is second in line for a boy.
In case I have a great granddaughter born below the Mason/Dixon line, I have registered Aubergene (egg plant).
For those that are looking for the vegetable equivalent to Billy Bob or Tubba Bubba, I have already locked up Corn-On-Cob.
If I have a great grandson that is destined to be a college football coach, I reserved Mango.
I also reserved Chard and Cress as bi-gender names. They work well with either boys or girls. They could also serve nicely for twins.
Celebrity Grandkids
If Oprah Winfrey ever produces progeny, she can have her first granddaughter named after her...Okra Winfrey.
For Tom Cruise, I have already locked down tight Tomatillo Cruise.
For Jay Leno and his potential grandson, what about Lentil Leno?
If you can cast a blind eye to our cultural bias towards names and take taste out of the loop, there are many names of fruits and vegetables that actually are quite lyrical.
If you have any picks for names from the fv list, let me know.

Bob and Zeta

2009-12-31T21:17:00.000-08:00

Years ago, my dad and his brothers had a farm that hugged the Colorado River in Southwest Arizona. if you could find it on a map, it was called Cibola.
They carved it out of a wilderness of Mesquite, Tamarack and Palo Verde trees. They weren't the first frontier farmers to land there.
Bob and Zeta Bishop (pictured with this post) were a brother and sister that had homesteaded in Cibola many years before.
They had a truly rustic lifestyle and were very reserved and reticent, except with their family and a few friends. My dad was a friend. As a matter of fact, he was everybody's friend.
When I was about 10-11 years old, I was with my dad while he was visiting with the Bishops at their homestead. We were invited to lunch. The house wasn't much but a wood floor, walls and a roof that had open rafters over the kitchen table.
Did I mention that Bob packed a .22 pistol on his hip? I can't remember much about the meal. I think it was fried chicken. I was more enthralled with the conversation between my dad and Bob.
I was completely mesmerized when, while eating, a big rat rumbled across the open rafter above the table. Without any fuss or commotion, Bob pulled his pistol and shot the rat. It landed next to the table. Neither my dad or Bob missed a beat or morsel of their lunch. It was like somebody had asked for the salt to be passed. No big deal.
After further review and introspection many years later, maybe it wasn't fried chicken that we were eating.

Health Care and Hothouse Tomatoes

2009-12-30T21:27:00.000-08:00

As a bona fide has been, I am all for health care reform. I am at the age now where my future health care is a lot like Laramie, Wyoming. Laramie isn't the end of the world, but you can see it from there.
Same with my health. It's not bad now, but I can see the future and it looks a lot like Laramie. Optimistically, I am hoping that health care issues will be resolved for the good of all. Realistically, I have a feeling that health care will more likely resemble my hothouse tomatoes.
This past summer, I grew some great tomatoes. It was my best crop ever. I attribute it to growing the tomatoes in fabric grow pots. In October, when it started to get cold, I came up with the great idea of moving the tomatoes into a small hothouse/greenhouse in my backyard that I have had for a few years.
The theory was that I would have tomatoes all year long. To make the theory work, I placed two space heaters in the greenhouse to keep the tomatoes toasty during cold and freezing weather. The heaters basically ran and heated the greenhouse 24/7.
It worked like a charm. When the freeze and cold weather came, my tomatoes continued producing blossoms and fruit. I was an agricultural genius and could see our family giving fresh tomatoes to neighbors for Christmas.
It was the greatest idea I ever had...until the electric bill arrived. Turns out that all of those tomatoes we were eating in November and December cost us $12.67 apiece.
I immediately pulled the plug on my pots and terminated the tomatoes. My wife and I could have bought airline tickets to a beach in Mexico and picked up a bushel of tomatoes to bring back on the return trip and it would have still been cheaper.
My hothouse was a great idea, until the electric bill arrived. It might also be that health care reform is a great idea, but wake me when the first bill arrives.
Meanwhile, I am trying to be much nicer to my kids. I make sure they have all the tomatoes they want (now bought at Albertson's) just in case they end up being the only health care I have.

Mullets, Mascots and Making Money

2009-12-29T01:31:00.000-08:00

I was reared in Blythe, California and attended Palo Verde High School. One of my good friends was Richard Klamian. His nickname was Bosco. We both played on a few of the school's sports teams and always had to travel 100 miles or more to find other teams to play.
As kids, we thought we were isolated. In hind sight and as an adult, I now realize quarantined would be a more appropriate description.
Regardless, on the bus trips to Yuma, Indio, Coachella and Brawley, Klamian and I would huddle in the back of the bus and play Mascot Money. We would rotate, asking each other nickel, dime and quarter questions about team mascots and nicknames. A nickel question would be something like, "Name the UCLA mascot." A dime money maker would be, "What is the nickname of Southern Mississippi?" The quarter jackpot question would be, "Blue Hens is the mascot of what university?"
Klamian, who later became the chief odds maker at the Stardust Hotel Sports Book in Las Vegas, was a one-of-a-kind guy. He passed away a few years ago from a brain tumor, but I still have very fond memories of our friendship and golf outings in Vegas.
As high school punks and partners, I always had an advantage on the bus trips because I was playing with house money. I knew that even if I lost a quarter or two, I could get it back when the school fed us after each game. We always had the same meal; chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, salad and iced tea. I could always count on Klamian or some other teammate to buy my tea from me and restore my mascot dignity and dinero.
The high schools we played probably had the most eclectic mascots that I have known or heard of. We played the Yuma Criminals, Indio Rajahs and the Coachella Arabs. Ours was the most mundane mascot of the bunch; Palo Verde HS Yellow Jackets. Feel free to use those mascots if you ever find yourself in the back of a school bus looking for a little extra spending money.
It won't be too long before there will probably be a Hannah Montana High School built somewhere in this country. The perfect mascot would be "The Mullets". A picture of the future mascot can be found above.
Trust me, it is guaranteed to be at least a dollar question and Klamian would know the answer if he was still alive. I would gladly pay that and more just to have another match of Mascot Money in the back of the bus. I miss him.