Our Snow is Better Than Yours.

I've been hearing around the digital cooler lately that people have been getting extraordinary amounts of snow in their living areas. It seems that everyone needs to brag about all the snow they're getting, especially those in Spokane who look down on us with their frosted over yet stubbornly upturned snow covered noses. If in fact you are looking for pictures of great snow storms then you have come to the right place. Provo has never been a city to be out-done. Provo coaxed snow from the reluctant sky and what spilled forth was a blizzard unheard since the time of the mammoth. It snowed 70 inches over night blanketing the streets in mountains of snow. That's right 113 inches of snow fell in Provo two nights ago.
Despite the futuristic design of our underground parking garage I was unable to get the Civic out of the parking garage while still adhering to the normal laws of physics. The only way to get out of the garage was with voodoo magic or by backing up to the end of the garage and gaining enough speed before I hit the ramp propelling me through the air. This, however, was very dangerous as the speed to get up the ramp was 6.8 miles per second which, as you NASA buffs know, is only.1 mps away from escape velocity. I would not do very well in space on account of the lack of oxygen, and when I say oxygen I mean the channel. But the truth remains that we were differently hit hardest. The streets were filled with snowy catastrophe. Since it happened later in the morning and our neighborhood doesn't have a high enough income level our streets were left unplowed the entire day.

Here is a picture of our ramp from our parking garage. The tire tracks you see were made by my car several hours earlier. As an interesting side note snow seems to be mostly made up of "slippery".

It snowed so bad in Provo that the Abominable Snowman was sighted. One blog had a picture of snow pile that had a car under it. Ha! This is a picture of the Abominable Snowman who ate a car outside our apartment.

Edward vs Chris Hansen

Why is it that if a 40 year old man were to have a relationship with a sixteen year old girl it is disgusting and perverted but a hundred year old vampire can date an underage sixteen year old girl and it is romantic? That's Dateline material.

Merry Christmas to all....

Suddenly again, I looked about the room for a clue as to what had filled our hearts with the pounding of a thousand ginger bread men singing carols and performing River Dance. I looked at our bedroom door and noticed something very peculiar for a door to be doing. Normally in the morning our door looks like a door but this morning it all manner of colors spilling over its edges as if they were all toppling over each other in a great race to be the first one to cheerily exclaim that our fortunes had changed with their arrival. I once again remembered the old Christmas poem, The Night Before Christmas. I began to throw open the sash and Annie realizing I had a picture frame in hand stopped me. After wrestling me into submission and stopping anymore sash opening incidents we came to the conclusion to open the door.

Slowly we drew near to the door. I turned the handle. With a slight pause I creaked open the door and entered our front room. Trumpets sounded and angels sung. My eyes were overcome with light and glitter. Before us was a room that was ours but
completely unrecognizable. Gone were the dead branches and sickly walls. In their place were lights of all colors and garland and tinsel. Gone was the defective tree and in its place was a tree of such holiday cheers that it would invoke Christmas vomiting of candies that only the heart could imagine. Santa had heard our plight and had sent the Incredible Hulk to decorate our house and bring Christmas to us for the entire month of December.

A Green Family Christmas Story (Green as in the Incredible Hulk?)

As I began my college internment I found that suddenly my Christmas season was horrifically slashed in a way that would make Jason Voorhees gape in astonishment. Before college I had at least a month of Christmas cheer besieging my senses, now I find it only lasting the brief period between the semesters, that two week period existing in the thin paradisiacal slice of reprieve from the mentally violent demands of the professors. I am married now so I thought that maybe this year I could attempt to extend that feeling of Christmas with decorations, the kind that go in a house.

We went to a store called Mich, which apparently used to be Michaels until they decided it was classier to leave the “aels” lights burnt out on the front of their store. There we thought to indulge our season’s appetites on tinsel, mistletoe, holly, and all the trippings and trappings our baskets could carry. Turns out Michs also decided it was classier to not have many Christmas decorations. So we ended up getting some lights and a broken wreath. Slightly dejected we returned home with thoughts of icicle lights, tinsel and fake snow filling our minds hoping that maybe, if we thought about it hard enough, there would be a Christmas Miracle. We put up are fake tree that night. It stood a pathetic 8 inches tall and in spite of being a fake tree had managed to turn brown. We grabbed some dead branches from outside and hung them about the apartment in hopes that it would appear garland-ish, it did not. In fact, it looked very much like dead branches. We went to bed that night wondering what we had done to anger the Santa deities.

Early the next morning Annie and I woke up for another day of no Christmas cheer. Something was different though. Neither of us could tell what exactly had changed, maybe something in the air or maybe it was something inside of us that spoke of endless adventure and countless gumdrops. Then suddenly I remembered the old poem about the night before Christmas and I quickly threw open the sash. Unfortunately we did not have a sash and I had merely thrown a potted planted across the room. My mind raced, what could be different, what was this feeling that we felt and more importantly who put it there? Was it a super spy or maybe it was Superman, or maybe it was something entirely different like the incredible Hulk.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Thanksgiving Thanks

As Thanksgiving rolled around this year I tried to look past the festival, the trappings, and the veneers that constantly pull at our attentions, distracting us from the true nectar of the holiday. It is during this time that we should remember how Thanksgiving all began and why it means so much. 5,000 years ago our ancestors were freed from the Nazi’s by the Native Americans who then taught them how to grow turkeys. During this holiday we are urged to look back and be grateful for the things that bless our lives, things like the evolution and advances of modern physics regardless of Lauren being around. As I pondered this special time of year I decided to blog a gratitude list. I would feel so ungrateful if I did not make a list of all the reasons why people are grateful for me. This list was originally difficult to generate. What first came to mind was that I am awesome, but that begs the question why should others be grateful that I am awesome. Eventually, exhausted and lying on the bathroom floor, I decided to go back to the beginning and list why others are grateful.

1. I’m by no means what I would consider a ‘good-looking” guy, but I’m easy on the eyes, people like that.
   
2. I don’t spit when I talk.
   
3. I almost never smell bad.
   
4. I’m very courteous during occasions of high-social saturation making me perfect for Balls, champagne tastings, and Red Carpet Occasions. In fact I tell a joke that has been known to evoke boisterous chuckling.
   
5. I’m the kind of awesome that doesn’t make people feel uncomfortable but makes them think, “Hey, I could be awesome someday too.”….but really they can’t.

A Train Ride...(Through Time?)

As the economy settles into its recession people look for a cheaper way to do everything and for us that meant taking the train from Provo to California for Thanksgiving. Normally when I would tell people this they would then give me a look and repeat quizzically, “the train?” as if I had just informed them that we would be traveling by horse drawn carriage or hot air balloon. I must admit that at first it seemed odd to me too. I didn’t even know trains still existed in most of America. Trains seemed like an artifact from the past long extinct and only spoken of in children’s books and stories about the old west. But as we stood in the Provo train station (the station was more like a well tended trash can) the giant train lurched to a stop and settled itself before us. It stood there as if it had just raced through a time warp from an era when men carried six shooters and terms like "sam hill" still existed. I half expected to see the train doors open and cave men to emerge with well trained Dodo birds at their sides. Thankfully this did not happen. Cave men are very territorial and I would be hard pressed to defeat them and still board the train on time (which was unfortunate because I had just done some Tae-Bo and about 300 crunches and was ready for a fight.

The train was chrome and had a contemporary style as if it were trying desperately to prove it was modern but only had the effect of elderly gentlemen wearing some baggy jeans, a pair of lugs and s FUBU sweatshirt. Had this area of Provo been anything more than a barren patch of dirt the train would have seemed out of place. I stood at the door of the train and wondered what would happen to me upon entering. Would I be taken up in an Orson Wells or Jules Verne type of adventure through time, or maybe even find myself at the center of the earth fighting a giant squid? I entered. There was no squid or time warp, but there was a hobo on the roof with some hot chocolate for me, well I don't think he meant for me to have his hot chocolate but it was a bit cold up there so I did get to have some hot chocolate and get in that fight I wanted.

TAG

So, there's this new thing called "Tagging", all the kids are into it these days. Apparently, the more popular you are the more "Tags" you receive. Since Annie and I are the most popular people we know we assume it must be a error that we have not been "tagged" (everyone must be assuming that everyone else is "tagging" us). The fans must be dying, even craving to know the deepest desires and tastes of our hearts sorted into neat categories of 5 and we must oblige. Here follows the first set of categories:

5 places I go over and over

1. The bathroom.

2. The Couch

3. The television room because it’s been a whole 7 hours since the last time I heard any news on who Obama might possibly have maybe insinuated could be receiving some sort of cabinet position.

4. The frame aisle at Target. I know its weird right? There’s just something so reassuring about all those happy people in the stock photos in the frames.

5. A place where everybody knows my name. Ya know. It’s just; Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot. Wouldn't you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go Where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same You wanna be where everybody knows Your name.

5 favorite books

1. Memoirs of a taxi cab

2. “Black Bart Roberts and How He Conquered My Heart: the True Story of How the Fiercest Pirate of the Caribbean Won the Love of a Dancer”

3. Yeti: A True Love Story

4. Cups, Glasses and Mugs! Has the World Gone Too Far?

5. Nigerian Princes and You

5 favorite movies

1. My first three are the first three Twilight books. They are not out yet but I know I’ll just love them more than anything when they are out.

2. My fourth favorite movie would be the live recording of the Broadway musical “Beauty and the Beast”. I find that the movie version sold out.

3. And my fifth favorite movie would be the music video for “Everything I do” by Bryan Adams. I know it’s not a movie but it should be and it is at the end of one.

Now, I’m not normally a man of indulgence but today I was feeling mildly to moderately saucy and thought I would make some fries. I used to make fries all the time when I lived in Honduras and thought that the technique would naturally translate to the United States. With a quick flourish of the knife that would make trained assassins jealous I sliced the potatoes and set some oil in a pan on the stove. I first noticed the problem after the oil had been cooking for a bit, the pan was smoking. The smoke was not very thick but it was consistent enough that I worried about the fire alarm going off. It was at this point that I thought maybe throwing the fries into the oil would calm the smoke. The theory behind this, of course, being that the oil was asking in its own way for something to cook. Turns out that was the wrong idea. I’m familiar with smoke. I’ve seen smoke before. I see smoke coming out of fires and cigars and chimneys, so imagine my surprise when thick fog like smoke started pouring out of the frying pan. I checked with my internal list, Chimneys, fires and cigars. Nope, the frying pan was not supposed to be smoking. The fire alarms screamed their disapproval and made us fully aware of how many neighbors we have. The following is a picture of the smoke filled kitchen after it had dissipated somewhat.
However this was preferable to the time when we burnt some bacon and accidentally brought the fire demon Slagdor of the Pits to our home.

The White Album

Following is a list of songs off of the Beatles White Album that are absolutely worthless:

• Wild Honey Pie
• The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill
• Piggies
• Why Don't We Do it in the Road
• Revolution 9

Food that is made

Just so everyone knows, Annie made some sort of chicken the other night that was so good it would cause the ancient gods of Greece to slay one another for no more than a lick of this modern ambrosia. It was very, very, very good.

In The Land of Disney

As we ventured through California Adventure Annie and I could not escape the call of Disneyland like a sailor drawn to the shores of a siren’s island. Disillusioned we stumbled from the park and found before us the gates of Disneyland gleaming like beacons for the wanderer. Atop the entryway sat pumpkins shaped like our favorite Disney characters. Goofy sat above the door with his tongue rolled out of his mouth like a red carpet inviting us to a day of child-like pleasures. Our first order of business was to get a Fast Pass to Space Mountain.

Until this year I had never heard about this Fast Pass, but know this, it is a gift from Heaven. Apparently a Fast Pass is a ticket you can get that makes you better than other people. You get the ticket and when it is your time you are able to skip nearly to the front of the line. The Fast Pass gives you the ability, nay, the right to mock those that have been deemed lesser, the stand-by, by the Fast Pass gods. With the Pass in our hands we then made our way to Pirates of the Caribbean. There were so many families with young children that it really wore Annie’s arms out shoving them over to secure our quick passage through the throngs.

We spent countless hours dipping into the thrills of Disneyland. Exactly seven hours later we found ourselves at a crossroad. Annie and I were both exhausted. Annie was tired from walking all day and pushing children and my right leg was aching from a nasty fall I took off the Haunted Mansion. Both bone weary from the day we sat down to decide if we should stay for the fireworks. It was now around 7:30 and the fireworks were scheduled for 9:30 and we really wanted to see them but at the same time we also left the park making it impossible to watch them.

Worm Holes, The Force and Dinseyland

California Adventure

Over the next few blog entries we will attempt to relate the stories of our most recent trip to Disneyland. Annie and I drove all the way down to Orange County last Wednesday for the purpose of vacationing in Disneyland for two days. And when I say “all the way down” I really mean we descended into a nightmare of freeway and exhaustion. Somewhere on our drive down I-15 we slipped into a sort of reverse worm hole. Time and space itself either sped up and consequently slowed us down or time and space slowed down dragging us with it. I’m not sure how it works but I do know we spent roughly 37 hours in the car, which is unusually long for a 9 hour trip. However, just before sanity cracked we finally arrived at the Lowe family house.

Annie being afraid she is next.....she was

Upon awaking the next day we found a small blue bird singing outside our window. Pleased by this little fellow and the cheer it brought us we thought it would be great to keep that cheeriness with us throughout the day, so we cooked it and ate it for breakfast. Off to Disneyland we went. Now, Annie and I love Disneyland. It is such a wonderfully separate place from the world. We parked in the Timon parking lot and took the odd little shuttle to the park. Our shuttle arrived there faster than it normally would have due to the $10 I slipped the driver. With our stomachs full of cheeriness and our travel quickened we stepped off the shuttle to the Star Wars theme blasting through hidden speakers. I immediately began to feel my body tingle with the force.

While thusly tingling we purchased our tickets and began our excursion by entering California Adventure. Annie and I had never been in this park and the secrets and delights held within tickled our collective fancy. We entered the park excited and ready….oh how misguided we were. California Adventure is….lacking and there was some disappointment. But we’d spent so much money on it and we love Disney so we had to find something cool about it. Sort of like when you make fun of someone and then your friend says that they are dating that person so then you have to find some cool things about them but really that person is just pretty lame, it was like that. We mostly wandered aimlessly looking for the oasis of fun rarely offered in that park. In short the park has potential it just needs about $1 billion and 4 years.

The Wreath

Saving the world..losing a soul

As of two weeks ago Utah was rebelliously ignorant to the fact that it was October and time for Fall. Annie and I thought of what we could do to convince Utah that it needed to get on board. We performed a ritual of ancient Druids and some Native American dances but Fall still would not come. Eventually we decided that if we did not do something soon Fall would never come, and then winter would be missing and the polar ice caps would melt. Like a burst dam ice water would flow into the Atlantic and freeze the warm currents flowing from the south. This would then cause more ice to form in the oceans and reflect even more sun light back into space creating more glaciers and eventually another Ice Age. With the survival of the world now on our shoulders we thought we could trick fall to come with guile.

We decided to create Halloween decorations and fool Utah into thinking it was Fall. To do this we knew we would have to create something diabolically Halloween so Utah could not see through our clever ruse. Annie and I, soaked in our creativity, poured all we could into creating the Halloween wreath. It is a wreath of skulls, chains and hate. Its center is a gaping maw that silently screams with the forbidden curses of the lost kingdoms of the world. It was created with death and chain and a trip to Michaels. But to give it life it required a soul…my soul. How my soul was given you may ask, and it is a simple answer. I went to Michaels and helped pick out items to decorate our home, half way through I knew my soul was given to this creation. I found myself uncertain in this world of crafts and projects. I saw other couples with the wife leading a decorative hunt and the husband in a dejected following position. Upon passing a couple the man stopped and noticed that I was not following but at times leading our particular hunt for crafts. Embarrassed I then told him that I was only there to beat up the girls coming out of the cake making class so I could feast upon their new creations. Clever. In the end we brought home all of the nefarious components needed to create the wreath and Fall/Winter has finally arrived here in Utah. So when the world does not fall apart remember that I went to Michaels, I picked out “cute” things and I sold my soul to create the relentlessly evil wreath that has invited the seasons back to Utah.

Who Does this Fly Think He IS

It is quite unsettling to find something that finds itself (or thinks itself) above its station. This is the very situation with our friend the fly that has taken residence in our home. It has often been left to animals to torment men and woman for their regrets and misdeeds as well as represent their basic fears and defeats. However, there are certain animals that are gifted with these responsibilities and the fly is not one of them. It is a great offense that this fly thinks itself above its place in the world and torments when in reality it has not the right. For example, it would be utterly silly to name Poe's work the "Conqueror Worm" the Conqueror Fly. And I certainly know of no fly that could instill in me such a dread as a raven could upon uttering "Nevermore". In short this fly in our home is made grotesquely annoying with its arrogant attitude assuming the roll of an animal far more dreadful and supreme in its torment of mankind. Following is a list of animals that with perfect honesty can torment man:

The Raven (nevermore)
The Worm (That the play is the tragedy,"Man", and the hero the Conqueror Worm)
The Snake (they are creepy)
The Turtle (but only in New Mexico)
The Pig-Monkey (not traditional but those things are freaky)
Cthulhu (Half squid half space god, brownie points for anyone who gets this one)

Fly in the House

I don’t know what more I can say than the title has already said. There is a fly in our house, one fly. It has been in our house for about a week now. I would like to be able to give a more specific time period but the days have all run together in some sort of marathon for the damned. It is thoroughly maddening to have a spot of black horror fly across my vision every few minutes and then disappear. Both Annie and I have desperately sought for a way to rid ourselves of this flying death that pursues us. At any given point in the day either Annie or myself will suddenly explode into bouts of epileptic arm waving. Startled by these insane antics the other will ask what ails him or her and will quickly realize that it is that cursed orbiting of the devil fly. It is even worse when it wreaks havoc upon our ears. The constant buzzing has accompanied my every waking moment leaving blunt-trauma induced comas as the only reprieve from the madness. How the fly entered our apartment is still a mystery known only in the vilest circles of Hell. If this were the extent of the story it would not be one of such woe, but there is more. This fly is more than a fly. It would be simple enough to kill it except…..IT NEVER LANDS!! The Fly is constantly airborne as if fueled by our hate for it. As a last resort Annie and I have thrown out all of our food hoping that with nothing to eat the fly will soon starve. But seriously, this fly is driving us insane.

DUCK POND PT II

The two of you who read this blog may be wondering what happened at The Duck Pond. I know it was cruel of me to leave such tales unanswered but I suppose it happened. When last we met I had begun throwing balls of wadded up bread at ducks. As I was doing this I began to hear a distinct whistling sound. It was a similar sound yet foreign at the same time. The best way I know to describe the eerie vibrations resonating in my ear is to say that it sounded almost exactly like a half cat half parrot made up entirely of whistles flying past my ear. Or better yet it sounded like a whistle screaming past my ear. As I looked slightly to my left to see what the sound was I noticed a ball of bread flying past me at a speed nearing light. It is an obvious question for you to ask how I was able to see an object zooming at the speed of light. It is a valid question. Through the low atmosphere the bread flew, ripping apart atoms like a baseball through a bird. The life expectancy of the bread ball’s flight was soon seen to be very short indeed as it came to a sudden halt with a loud thud.

Eagerly I awaited the wonderfully pleasing sound of a duck squawking with indignity and taking flight from the insane balls of bread raining upon it with such fury. It was not the sound of a duck I next heard, but it was little Charlie’s sound of sudden shock and pain as he realized that a surprisingly fast moving waded-up piece of bread crashed into his thigh. In that moment I realized that the near speed-of-light bread ball spoken of early had not hit a duck at all but hit poor Charlie. I genuinely felt bad for him but then realized I may be in a bit of trouble myself. At this very moment not only were the ducks planning a malevolent counter attack against their bread throwing nemesis but Lindsay looked up at me, the last known bread throwing offender. At this same moment my own wife Annie looks over at me too. I became aware of the very real possibility that everyone thought it was me who had thrown that bread, and with the absence of a grassy knoll what other conclusion was there?

At this point I began to see the fires of sudden death flare up in Lindsay’s eyes as she planned her revenge for the one who caused the bread pain to her youngest child. So in this moment let us pause to consider the current predicament I am in. Frozen in motion Lindsay tries to tend to her son and kill me with her eyes, my wife is stuck in the act of villainizing me with her stare at me as if I were the culprit and the ducks are slowly maneuvering towards me with an attack group. It is a tense moment indeed. However, it quickly comes to an end as the father runs to his child and quickly begins to apologize for hitting him. At the end of this whole ordeal I am still slightly awed by the incredible speed Brian was able to throw a ball of bread at. Now I know I promised mutants, and there were mutants, but I have let this go on long enough.

Day to Day

After researching countless blogs we have realized that we have not been keeping with the strict responsibility of blogging. Now is the time to correct this issue. Do I suffer the slings and arrows of blogging mediocrity or take up arms against it and in doing so end it? A profound question that seems more and more applicable the less and less sane I find myself. In decorating our apartment Annie and I were forced to confront a very serious question; how? “How”, a daunting word but a word nonetheless and one that must be answered. So what does one do to make their wall extract, brutally if necessary, the appropriate “Ooos” and” Ahhs “.

My mind began to turn. “What is a wall?” I asked myself. I thought of the word “wall” and began thinking of words that rhymed; “mall”, “stall”, “tall”. But none of these worked. Then I thought “ball”. Well we could cover the entire wall with balls. Not quite what I wanted but I was getting closer. I could feel it closing in. There just beyond the reach of my mental orbit was the answer, beating like the heart of a corpse buried beneath the floor boards. Annie then suggested we adorn the wall with paintings. For the life of me I could not understand what paintings had in common with the word “wall”. I gave her a nod that suggested it was a possibility while secretly I wondered how much she really grasped the concept of decorating. Then it struck me, album covers. Yes ,it was perfect. Now there are those of you who may wonder what album covers and a wall have in common, but therein lies the genius.

At first glance one is left perplexed and without any reasonable connection. Then to our joy an invited guest , most likely in mid sentence, will smile and, rising from his or her seat, give the verbal indication of approval and delight: “Ahhhh” or perhaps even an “Ooo”. For you see album covers are perfect. What have they in common with walls you ask? Only Michael Jackson’s famed album “Off The Wall”. Or perhaps Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”. And was it not one of the greats that poetically chiseled into our minds that the words of the prophet are written on the subway walls? Walls and album covers….you may now “Ooo” and “Ahhh”.

THE DUCK POND! (exclamation mark intended)

What can be said about the Duck Pond? To those of you who ask this question and are possessed of the notion that a duck pond has ducks and ponds and nothing else I can pleasantly offer you a tale of pain, mutation and bread. Some of you may notice that I have given The Duck Pond the eminent crown of the proper name because two weeks ago it transcended a mere pool of filth and feathers and became an event. A few weeks ago Annie, myself and Lindsay-Brian family decided it was about time to visit The Duck Pond. I think the desire arose more from the fear of Sam’s violent reaction to our furniture and the parents need to feel free to breath with a languid rhythm. To The Duck Pond we went. For brevity’s sake I will skip the tale of the journey itself. Before us now lay the very pond I have spoken of. It was less than I expected yet somehow more. The Pond was small and it certainly was worked upon by ducks but they seemed mild and lazy. Yet the murky water obfuscated the vision and tantalized the brain with wonders of the sea. Half an inch below the water was a complete mystery and any idea I had previously held that ponds and lakes were disgusting immediately left me as I realized the filth in The Pond was not a tribute to bacteria, algae and animal droppings but rather it held the same magical properties as a cardboard box or a mysterious magical door that could lead to outer space or a clean Wal-Mart. I had been standing at the edge of The Pond thinking about the very essence of life and realized that as I stood there pondering existence I was missing the chance to throw balls of bread at ducks heads. The bread was handed out, and when I say bread I really mean the bakery that Brian brought along. I began to see how accurately I could throw a ball of bread at a duck. As I did this something happened…something that cannot be contained within this blog entry. Thankfully it can be contained in the next one.

Rock Politics and Star Politicians

And McCain says Barrack Obama is just a rock star.
This is a picture from Obama's speech at the Democratic National Convention ....And this is a picture from Beatlemania......

Vote for Barrack Obama, because Mick Jagger isn't on the ballot.

Blurry Photographs and the Edge of Insanity

Annie and I were taking our daily walk past the duck pond when we saw something horrible. Annie pulled out her cell phone and took a picture of the image. It has been forever imprinted on the forefront of my nightmares. The following is the picture that Annie took.

The Beast

Excitment Pommels the Green House

As mentioned in the poetically eluding title exictment did stir up the Green home thanks to the Olympics. As some of the more ecumenically aware may already now the XXIX Olympic Games have begun. I was originally fervently opposed to the most recent Olympics due to the adult rating it has attached to its title but so far have found nothing of an unsavory sort and have therefore redacted my previous judgements and have found the Games tantalizingly enjoyable. Annie and I have spent the weekend in a very partiotic atmosphere cheering on the various U.S. athletes as they strive to not shame us and themselves. At one point Annie and I became so intoxicated with athletic euphoria that we decided to have a race. This; however, ended with Annie bleeding profusely through the left ear and myself awaking some time after dark in a vacant lot about six mile from our apartment with no recolection of the last 4 hours.

After that we decided to leave the competition to the Olympiads and settled for eating dinner and watching the rest of the games. Sunday we of course went to church and upon returing home ate sandwiches. This of course was sumpremely thrilling and left us in a state ready for a nap...which we took. After that we watched some more olympics, especially that swimming that is always on. That Michael Phelps sure seems to be the bees knees. Left exhuasted from the excitment of the day we went to bed less than thrilled with the start of the new work week.

I Am Blog and So Can You

Annie and I have decided to start a blog, and this is why: My alarm is set to wake me at 7:20 in the A.M., yet I have never, no not once, woken up to my alarm. Most mornings Annie or I will receive a call around six in the morning from a friend or family member begging to know what our day will entail. Annie being the kind person she is will put them on hold and quickly begin to discuss with me what our day will be like and how to present it in a paragraph including music and pictures to which I respond with a new language I have constructed comprised of a series of complex grunts and mumbles that to date have no translation.

If this were all, my life could continue in good conscience, but it is not. My e-mail inbox is full of e-mails from friends and family begging, pleading for a snippet of our lives or a morsel of our adventures. I ask myself: is it right to keep our lives from the world? With such a clamor asking, no, crying out “we want to know, we need to know” can I as a Christian, as a human, as a member of AAA silence these voices with anything but the truth? I cannot. Long paragraphs detailing our every thought will finally be released. Soon every human soul can know how many hours we worked this week or can be regaled with stories of events so exciting that the edge of your seat will be the new back of your seat.