Mr. Bluuuurg

I have a question. Why does everyone take the “hannes” out of Johannesburg to leave just the Joburg? Sure, Jo can wake you up in the morning, and it can be a great dinner to “Eat At”, but it’s pretty generic. And Burg sounds smug. I expect some old butler in a starched out tuxedo to look down his nose at me to say that “Mr. Buuuuurg” will see me now. Hannes, on the other hand, sounds completely gnarly, like a soccer player that is so good he only needs one name, or a compliment given to a guitar player after a sweet riff, or even something Brody would have said while plummeting to his death at the end of Pointe Break. “Vye-uh con Dee-Os Brody, that wuz utterly hannes, man”. Johannesburg without the “hannes” seems like a PBJ without any PB or J, just two dry pieces of wheat bread. Maybe when people ask me about my brother, I can leave off the Jo and the Burg and just tell them that he is on assignment in Hannes. That would be fun, kind of like licking the double stuff out of an Oreo. And then when they look at me and say, “Party on, Wayne”, I can look back and say, “Party on, Garth”. Hannes would be my vote, if there were votes for such things.

Hello Nurse! (I hope.)

So I’ve had this weird thing going on with my throat, so my doctor referred me to an ENT. I went to my ENT appointment on Tuesday and it turns out I have an ulcer on one of my vocal cords from acid reflux. Who knew? I don’t even get heart burn. Anyway, that’s nothing to really write home about, other than the fact that he put a fiber optic scope up my nose, around the corner, and down my throat to check things out and I felt like I was Neo from the Matrix. That and he gave me some pills to take. I hate pills! Yesterday I was able to get one down, but this morning I went through about a liter of water and the only thing that happened was the pill started to dissolve in my mouth and I spit it in the garbage and I had to pee four times before lunch. I hate pills! Yes, I’m using the word “hate” about pills. Why couldn’t he prescribe me some shots, or even some suppositories? Ugh.

That’s not the real story though, so I better stop stalling. The day after my appointment, someone from the doctor’s office leaves me a message asking me to call her back. Thinking it was some issue with my insurance, I called her back, but she didn’t have an official medical request at all. But instead, she asked if she could set me up with her friend from the office. She then proceeds to tell me how wonderful, and marvelous, and fantastic this girl is, just like anyone who ever sets up anyone with anyone does. While she’s shpealling off her resume to me, I’m putting two and two together in my head.

“What in the world”, I thought to myself, “this girl who I’ve never even met and just happened to notice me in the office yesterday went through the trouble to pull my file, check my marital status, and then call me up out of the blue. There are several possible causes for such an outcome. First, she could have thought it pathetic to notice me whimpering in fear at the thoughts of Morpheus plugging me into the Matrix, and took pity on me to boost my confidence. Second, her friend is Ugly Betty and this girl calls up every guy between the ages of 25 and 54 that checks single on their medical history. Third, whoever her friend is happened to mention to her that she thought I should comb my hair and decided to play a prank on her friend. Fourth, she happened to notice my posterior tautness and since she’s married wanted to have a vicariously good time with this hunk. –pause in thought– Nah, there’s probably only three possible causes for such an outcome. But still, that’s pretty flattering that she would want to set me up even though she only knew me by sight. I better say yes. Here’s hoping her friend looks like Trinity”.

Yea, I know, that’s a lot to process in a thirty-second phone call, but that’s how my mind works: mock speed in comparison to my tongue. So when it was finally my turn to open my mouth and voice my thoughts, all that really came out was, “Umm, sure, huh, huh”. I ended up calling her later that night and she seemed nice enough. But, I’m going to Las Vegas this weekend to watch the Utes play UNLV, so I told her that I would call her again when I got back in town to set something up.

For those of you that doubt the number of blind dates I’ve been on, let this serve as evidence, even complete strangers who I’ve never even said hello to will find a way.

To be continued . . . maybe . . . if you’re lucky . . .

State Fair

I went to the Utah State Fair on Saturday night. It was a surreal experience for me, since I didn’t even realize that they still had State Fairs. I felt like I was stepping back in time. There were all kinds of little amusement park rides, art exhibits that I didn’t bother to look at, a bunch of booths selling what you can only find at State Fairs and swap meets, and stages with people playing musical instruments, the kind you usually see people sit down to play, but that night were standing up and playing while kicking their legs out to the sides. There were games that you could play to win stuffed everythings, tetherball poles set up everywhere, and pony rides for the kids made out of real, living, breathing ponies. The roar of a tractor pull filled the air, but for some reason we could never find where the noise was coming from. It wasn’t loud enough to drown out the incessant jabbering of thousands of people though. Buildings upon buildings were filled with animals, all of which were tied up just right so that as you walked by all you really looked at was their rear ends. It stunk. I didn’t like the animal part of the fair, especially the pigs. They just laid there in their filth, covered in flies, and did nothing. And the line was slow, so I just stood there with my nose stuffed down the collar of my tee shirt. I couldn’t believe that when I came to the end of the line they were trying to charge me to see a pig that was supposedly the largest in the world. No thanks, a few small pigs were more than enough.

But my favorite part of the fair was the food. Everywhere you looked (accept in the pig tent) they were serving food. And the best part was that everything you could order was either served to you in a cup, a bag, or skewered on a stick. And almost everything that they served was covered in batter, plunged in a big tub of sizzling grease, and served to you within seconds of removing it from the pool without any time to let it drip dry. Kids everywhere were holding on to sticks with grease dripping down to their elbows, with mustard all down their faces, and cotton candy in their hair. And parents felt free to smoke near the carousel and double fist cups of beer while meandering down isles of neon plastic trinkets that in no way would still be working by the time their owners made it back to the car. Nope, there was definitely no “Over 18” or “Smoking” area at the fair. Personally, I had a large frozen lemonade, a fresh dipped corn dog, a pork-chop-on-a-stick, fresh cut fries (which came from a bag, rip off), and a deep fat fried Snickers bar. I didn’t even know that deep fat fried Snickers bars even existed. But it was so good, with its melted chocolate and nougat engulfed in a greasy hot pocket of freshly fried batter. At the same tent they had deep fried Oreo cookies, deep fried Ho Ho’s, and deep fried coca-cola, which I think was just coca-cola flavored batter. The guy doing the cooking was dipping the treats in the batter with his bare fingers, which almost made me look over my shoulder for the health inspector, but then I realized that this alternate reality from a time long past didn’t care about health inspectors, so I just decided to enjoy in the fun. As I walked away from this all-American good time, with a raging all-American stomach ache, thoughts of all-American stereotypes filled my mind.

Dump Truck

dump truck

–noun
a usually open-topped truck having a body that can be tilted to discharge its contents, as sand or gravel, through an open tailgate.

–verb
outplaying to a great degree the opposing team of a sporting event in all aspects of the game, usually resulting in a blowout.
















Okay, so the noun came from the dictionary and the verb is my own creation. However, I have heard the term used on Sportscenter, and it is the best word I can think of to describe what I witnessed at Rice Eccles Stadium on Saturday. It was the highest ranking team that the Utes have beaten in like 30 years or something. The scene was quite a party. I had so much fun.

PS – Here’s a picture of me at the tailgate before the game. I was pretty happy considering I thought I was going to be walking into a slaughter. And well, I guess it was a slaughter, but in the other direction. I was much happier walking back to the car afterwards.

My Drive Home Last Night

Well, that was a fun little reception put on by Chicago GSB. How cool that I already knew both of the second-years from my trip back to Chicago last fall. This made me want to reapply. I’ll have to think about it. I think I was so excited that I probably sipped down four glasses of water while I was sitting there. Speaking of that, maybe I should find a bathroom before I leave. Nah, I’ll wait until I get home. Typhoon eh? Not too bad, I’ll have to remember this restaurant. The Olympic fountain is under repair eh? What a shame, now I won’t have to watch little kids giving themselves an enema. Pfttt. Why did you park on the opposite side of this place? Now you have to walk two blocks. I need to go. I wonder if there is a restroom along here somewhere. Dang, no such luck. Now where did I park? Oh yea, down two sets of escalators. There is that green POS. I really need to go. Maybe I should just go against the wall before I get in my car. What? Are you serious? You’re not a hobo! Get in the car! This makes no sense. How did I drop down two levels in this place, but now I have to ascend through seven levels to get out? I hate this parking garage. Don’t they know I have an ever expanding grape fruit of a bladder that is pressing against the back side of my belt? Oh great! A line to pay. That wasn’t too bad. It’s a good thing I had a parking validation and didn’t have to pay. Now let’s get out of here. Oh good, one light to go and I’ll be on the freeway. Why is this thing not changing? Does it really know my predicament and wants to be cute? Go ahead, light, stare at me with your beady little red eye. It doesn’t bother me. Oh my word, this is ridiculous! You better change light! I’m serious! If you don’t change I’m going to get out of my car and give you a beating! Oh wow, you’re making me mad now. Light, you don’t want me to get out of this car! Oh, you’re really getting me mad now. I’m undoing my seat belt. I’m serious light! You don’t want me to open this door light! Okay, I’m reaching for the handle light! On the count of three I’m going to open the door and then you’ll be in real trouble light. I’m not even kidding! You better change light! You don’t want me to get out of this car! One… Two… Green! You’re lucky that I have to go or I would get out of this car and give you a beating just out of principle. Ok car, let’s go! Wow, what a night to have a car that does zero-to-sixty in fourteen minutes. I just had a 1972 VW bus beat me up this ramp. Okay, I’m on the freeway now and I’m cruising. I’m starting to sweat. Are you kidding? I can’t believe I just had to wipe off my forehead. Oh my word! I really don’t know if I’m going to make it. What are my options here? I could pull over and pee in the emergency lane. You’re not going to do that, come on now, just bite the bullet. What if I pulled off and used a gas station? That’s even worse than the emergency lane. I’ll just drive faster. Move you stinking minivan! I can’t get over. I can’t believe I can’t get around this minivan. Move! Oh my word! I swear I’ve been driving for 45 minutes and I’ve only made it to 33rd south?! My knee is shaking. Why can’t I stop my knee from shaking? I seriously can’t stop my knee from shaking! Out of the way Uhaul! Move it or lose it! Why does my jaw hurt? I think I must be clenching my teeth. Too late to think about that now, I’m starting to get double vision. Try singing a song to take your mind off it. Sing. Sing a song. Sing out loud! I’ll be there! . . . . What’s the use, not even Neil Diamond can help me out of this. Oh finally, my exit. Look truck, I’m not missing my exit! If I have to cut you off I’m getting over! Okay, I made that. What on earth, I made the tires squeal going around that corner?! I didn’t know that was possible in this car. My leg is seriously going to stomp a hole through the floor. Whoa, whoa, whoa! I think a drop may have just come out! I’m in serious trouble here. Finally! The gate to my complex. What’s the code again? Hurry gate! Hurry! Okay, just park the car, leave the engine running, and go! Wait, I need my keys to get in the house, go back to your car and get them. Where’s the door key? Where’s the door key?! I’m running in circles in my front yard while I look for my door key! I’m shaking. Where in the world is the key! Why is it so dark out here?! There it is! Come back and shut the door later! I just jumped up those stairs in three strides. Zip! Oh my, the sweet sweet Niagara of relief, the Nile of reprieve, the meandering Mississippi of liberation! I’m teetering. I should use my off hand to brace myself against the wall. Ah, much better. Oh yea….. What’s this? That’s the first time it’s given me an intermission. But what do I do? I’m already in the bathroom. Oh good, here comes Act II. Whoa, I just got the shivers

Spamalot

I went and saw Spamelot last week with my mom and I loved it. It was seriously cracking me up! Thanks to my mom’s season tickets, I’ve seen quite a few Broadway shows over the years, and this one was one of my favorites; this one, and the one with all the Trombones are probably my two favorites. I don’t remember the trombone one’s name. Anyway, Spamelot, which is based on the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail, is better than the movie. My favorite part was when the power hungry father is trying to talk his gay son into getting married. Whoever the actor was for the part of the gay son had hilarious mannerisms and body language, which made the funny dialogue even better. I’ll try to type out a piece of it, as I remember it.

Power Hungry Father (in a clenched fist growl): Don’t you understand that if you get married you’ll be king?
Gay Son (in a soft, high pitched, apologetic, drawl): But I don’t want to be king.
Power Hungry Father: But if you get married, we’ll double our lands!
Gay Son: But I don’t want land.
Power Hungry Father: And you’ll be rich!
Gay Son: But I don’t want to be rich.
Power Hungry Father: Well, what do you want?
Gay Son: (The lights change color as the son looks far out into an unseen distance) I want to sing! (And then he breaks into song at the utter disgust of the Father.)
Power Hungry Father: Oh stop that will you?!

It doesn’t sound that funny when you read it, but mix in this guy’s rapid elasticity and fluttering fingers and it was classic!

There is also a recurring song throughout the play, as there seems to be with all plays, that emphasizes the show’s underlying theme. This one had a punch line of “never fail, find your grail”. Through its overtly gushing attempts at inspiration, the show tries to convince the audience to play to its strengths, or find its individuals callings in life, or do what it enjoys, or however you want to label “it”. Something the gay son had obviously found. I like inspiration that encourages me to follow my heart, perhaps because I get tired of the world telling me of the mold I have to fit in to be successful, or perhaps because I find it exciting to get and follow that inspiration, even though others or even I may not understand it at first. But anyway, I found the show funny, entertaining, and inspiring. I recommend it.

Gram-Pa

My grandpa is a man of few words, and I like that about him. I visited him on Monday with my mom. At one point he was talking with my mom, and while pointing at me, he said, “I always thought this one would be a good Father”. I was taken back and I’ve thought about what he said. Sure, I have a ten-year-old mentality and maturity so I can relate well to kids, I spent a good portion of my childhood on a trampoline so I know how to give a good bounce, and I got most of my clothes for free so I don’t mind getting home and finding that my pockets have been filled with spaghetti. Heck, half the time I fill my own pockets with spaghetti for a mid-morning snack. But does all of that make me a good candidate for fatherhood?

I look at my own father and think of the qualities that made him excel at the position, and I think that he was a good provider, was a good disciplinarian, and he always treated me with respect, as an equal. Good grief, I don’t do any of those things! I talk my more successful friends into renting me space in their homes because I can’t afford my own, I’m a total pushover, and I ask my own nieces and nephews for advice because I look up to them so much. Seriously, I’ve sat in my brother’s back yard and watched my two nieces fight, pulling hair, scratching, and hitting. And instead of breaking it up, I sat between my two nephews and took bets on who I thought might win. I’m sure at that point of the fatherhood hiring process, I would have been thrown out of the interview. I don’t know if my father knew everything about being a dad, but he must have been doing something right. I mean, I didn’t turn out too well, but look at my brother!

Nonetheless, I liked it when my grandpa said that about me. And I’ve concluded that the emphasis of his statement should be on the “would”. I’m clearly not a good father now, but potentially I could be. I find that motivating. For isn’t that the true and most noble form of motivation; to have someone else notice great potential within you that you haven’t yet been able to notice in yourself? In my own experiences, that is how God has been able to motivate me. It’s wonderful that Grandpas so often have a divine manner of doing things. I know mine does.

Pocatello Speed Trap

I drove to Idaho Falls yesterday with my mom to visit my grandpa. It was a fairly leisurely drive, not much traffic. After two and a half hours of driving, I needed to use the restroom and the rest stop right before Pocatello was closed, so I thought I would pull over in Pocatello and use a restroom at a gas station. As I reached the top of the hill the southbound side of the freeway was closed and they had both directions of traffic merged onto the northbound side. Suddenly a cop passes me going the opposite direction. I look up in the rearview mirror and this guy is fish tailing his way through a Rosco P. Coltrane U-turn in the dirt and gravel on the shoulder of the highway and I think to myself, “He can’t be getting me, I’m barely moving. Oh wait, I’m going 75 mph, but still that’s not bad. What’s the speed limit here, 65 mph? There are some orange barrels around, maybe its 55 mph. Oh crap, that’s 20 mph over. But what does he care; I’m the only one on the road right now. No harm no foul. I’ve just been driving for a long time and didn’t realize how fast I was going”. But sure enough, here comes Mr. Flashy. “Are you kidding? He can’t be getting me. I wasn’t doing anything reckless. 75 mph?” The exit was right there, so I pulled off and into the gas station parking lot. Through the mirror I could see him put on his tasselly flat brimmed hat, get out of his car with his hand on his gun in fear that I might be a member of AlOreIda, and do a quick spit shine on his silverbadged superman mark of honor. I rolled down my window and gave him my license.

Rosco: In uh ‘urry?
Me: No, not really.
Rosco: You comin’ up from Utar?
Me: Yes. (While thinking to myself “What does that matter?”) We’re going to visit my grandpa in Idaho Falls for the day.
Rosco: Registrayshun ‘n prewf of inshurence puhleeze.
Me: Huh?
Rosco: Uh sed, Registrayshun ‘n prewf of inshurence puhleeze.
Me: Come again?
My Mom: Here you go officer.

Thank goodness my mom speaks Pocatello. Rosco then heads back to Mr. Flashy. At this point I’m thinking to myself, “He’ll look in his computer, notice that I’ve never had a ticket, and give me a warning.” But sure enough, after a considerable amount of time, much more time than is really needed to fill out a three-by-five form, he nails me for the full amount, and then begins a sermon that I only understood two words of: n’kay and Rooster. I could read between the lines that he just hated out-of-Staters. He then tapped the car and said, “Yew Druv Sayf Nah”.

Drive Safe?! I’ve been taking smack from friends, family, casual acquaintances, and complete strangers for years for my conservative, ten-and-two, too afraid to get in the fast lane, check your blind spot, pray before driving to the corner, extra reflectors, wait for Titanic-sized openings . . . . ah, forget it, I need to pee. There, that’s better . . . let people cut me off, never run a yellow, check left, then right, then left, then right, then left again style of driving, and you tell me to drive safe? I couldn’t believe the smugness. This guy clearly must have been a hall monitor as a child. Either that or he had a quota to fill. If so, I hope my contribution helped him with job security, or to reach his bonus for most tickets handed out for the day. To you, Corporal Rosco of Pocatello Idaho, I commend you for being a champion revenue earner. Whatever, I guess we all have a mortgage to pay.

The rest of the day, I safely set the cruise a couple miles under the limit and watched like a hawk for any change in the allowed speed. At one point, I swore I saw an RV flip on its lights. I’ve never been so happy to cross a State line. As we hummed through a very similar construction zone in Ogden, as the speed trap I was caught in near Pocatello, we were doing 65mph in bumper to bumper traffic, and I looked over and noticed a Utah Highway Patrolman helping a lady fix her flat tire. He had no tasselly hat, just rolled up sleeves. I noted to my mom that that is what a cop should be doing, not flagging down harmless accidental solo flyers to boost the municipal budget.

Happy Holidays

When I was a kid, I remember I used to love Christmas. There isn’t a lot about Christmas when I was a kid that I actually remember, and maybe that, because it was so simple, is why I enjoyed it so much. I remember I would agonize over what I would put on my Christmas list and then once I had given it to my mom I would torture myself with thoughts of a larger than life individual dressed in red maybe not giving me what I had asked for, even though it was something completely small, like a couple of plastic GI Joe dolls. Then I remember running to the advent calendar every December morning to put an ornament on it. Once the day finally arrived, we would have a nice dinner, open a present on Christmas Eve, and then finish off our other gifts on Christmas morning. And that was it; perfectly dumb.

Now that I’m older and Christmas rolls around, I usually scratch my head for a whole month trying to figure out what to ask for as presents, and bang my head against the wall even more trying to figure out what to buy for presents. I already have everything and everyone I know already has everything. Why do we still do this gift thing? It’s the end of the year, so I’m swamped at work. I’m required to go to a hundred Christmas Parties, several of which I’d rather streak through than actually attend. And it’s dark and cold outside. Basically, Christmas has lost that simple hang out with the family and be a kid for a day feeling, and has become a big steaming pile of stress. I’m usually too busy running around with my hair on fire to actually remember what I’m supposed to be celebrating. Bah humbug! The highlights of my Christmas Days over the past several years have been watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy with my mom and playing some Euro board games with my broseph.

But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still have a day filled with anticipation and excitement. It’s a day that I can’t seem to concentrate on what I should be thinking about, because my mind is filled with dancing sugarplums. It’s a day that I don’t really feel guilty for daydreaming all day at work when I should actually be working. Weeks before I agonize over my wish list and then torture myself with thoughts that I might not actually get what’s on it. The night before it I can’t sleep because I’m tingling with adrenaline. And I can’t seem to wipe off that goofy grin from my face all day. Indeed, my favorite day has migrated counterclockwise by four months to late August to the start of the College Football season. It’s a day that you can just have a big meal, relax, dress up in goofy clothes, laugh, jump around in circles, hug complete strangers, cheer on larger than life individuals dressed in red, and act like a silly little kid. And that’s it; perfectly dumb.

Happy Holidays to everyone, and to everyone a good game! Go Utes!

PS - Having your QB and RB go down with injuries in the first half of the first game is like waking up Christmas morning, opening your gifts, and getting nothing but socks. You're kind of bumbed, but its still a great day!