Sunday, May 31, 2009

Yahoo #3

May 31, 2009

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The family has expanded. We've added another dynamic, which includes a new personality and new responsibilities. I know you have lots of questions, so just for you and our unknown future, I've prepared an FAQ. If you still have questions after reading the FAQ, please do not hesitate to contact me. I'm here for you.

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Is that YOUR dog? Yes. Got him Saturday (5/30/09)

Boy or girl? Boy. This makes the boy/girl ratio at our house 4/1 instead of the 3/1 ratio of Friday. I'm still the princess around here. Don't forget it.

Where did you get him? The animal shelter. The shelter's web site has been among the rabidrunner's surfing spots for a few weeks. On Saturday, the Spouse, Yahoos and I fetched a truck bed-full of dirt. This was for the pumpkin patch. Being as the shelter is conveniently within reach of the dirt firm, we stopped.

Do you feel pompous and bombastic because you got him from a shelter and thus saved him from an inescapable euthanization? Of course. I feel self-righteous about everything.

How old is he? 7 months. We're calling his birthday October 31, 2008.

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What kind of dog is he? A Hound X - which is shelter speak for Hound Mix. Prolly got some beagle or coon hound or basset hound or whippet (Devo anyone? I say whippet! Whippet good!)

Has he caught any rodents yet? No. Our hood is Celestial. There are no rodents in these parts.

Does he bark? Don't know yet. Waited at the shelter for an hour to hear him bark. The bark could be a deal breaker you know. After an hour of bondage (bonding, not the act of imprisoning) we decided to take him home without hearing a bark.

Does your extended family know yet? Nope - 'cept one. Consider this the lazy man's announcement.

What's his name? To protect his preciousness, we're going to keep his nom de guerre from potential internet predators. He'll be referred to as Yahoo #3. (Somebody gave him a name, we like it and he comes when called. It will stay.)

Is he house trained? The folks at the shelter say he is. Didn't make it through the night however.

Is there anything you don't like about him? He's black. Black dogs are hard to photograph. Similar to all those black tuxes at a wedding. Very challenging. Then you throw that big white dress in there and it's impossible to get detail on both the black and the white. It's a good thing tuxes don't have lace. I'm praying for a resurgence in powder-blue. And ruffles.

Does he sleep in one of those new-fangled kennel things that they use to train dogs these days? You betcha.

Do those silky soft ears feel as good as they look? Yes. Only better.

Is he a hyper? Nope. Wondering if he's all right upstairs. In his defense, our house is known to be a bit overwhelming. We're taking him to the vet tomorrow for a rabies vaccination (no rabiddog to go with the rabidrunner) and to schedule a neutering. There's a good chance that the de-nuttering will make him even more mellow. Is that possible? (Did you notice that I just asked a question in an FAQ!? You can't do that on the internet!)

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Do you get a tax deduction for him? I wish. Maybe Barry can help me with that.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Poor Little Guy

May 29, 2009

“I never get a break from piano.”

This was said at breakfast today. It was Yahoo #1, who lucky-fer-him, gets to have a repeat of my tortured childhood. Don't you feel bad for him? Forced to take piano lessons from a cute, hip and edgy virtuoso? He'd be better off in Malawi. Or Ethiopia. Or Newark.

(Poor little guy.)

His statement, however, was far from accurate. On weeks that include holidays (Memorial Day for example), the Piano Teacher holds a group class with theory games and musical treats. This is in lieu of a full-fledged lesson. This also means Yahoo #1 has two weeks to prepare for the next lesson (instead of one), that's two whole weeks for one week's work.

(Poor little guy.)

Being as this was the last week of school, there's a fair amount of excitement around. None of us can hold still let alone concentrate enough to do the necessities like brush the teeth and wear shoes that match. (Notice that I used us. I'm usually included in that thing called us). I decided to give Yahoo #1 the week off from piano.

(Poor little guy.)

Trouble is, he hadn't noticed, hence the “I never get a break from piano” comment. I looked at him then asked, “Why is it son, that you only notice discomfort?” He responded with something like, “It's not discomfort mom. It's the need to rebel. I must always be pushing a boundary somewhere so that I know where the edge is. It's similar to a baby in a crib. The baby will unknowingly work his way around the crib as he sleeps to know that he is safe.”

He didn't really say that. But then you knew as much. Once again, his adoring mother has put words into his mouth, which she does often, for the sake of telling a story.

(Poor little guy.)

I learned something today. Or rather, I thought about something for the first time. Is it human nature to notice moments of distress, hardship or malaise before we gladden ourselves by feeling pleasure, good fortune and relief? Do the annoyances of our lives overshadow calm and ease? Must the moment be free of unpleasantries to see joy? Do pain and malcontent prevent us from appreciating the good? Do I have unlimited access to a thesaurus? Am I reading too much Ayn Rand? Prolly.

Seeing the good is easier said than executed. All of those things - pain, hardship, misfortune – they're very real and very uncomfortable and very overbearing. It's work to overlook discomfort to see the good and the positive. And sometimes, in moments of despair and hopelessness, seeing anything good is down-right impossible.

The Yahoo and his unseen break from piano? Maybe that's human nature. Or maybe it's just the way he was raised....

(Poor little guy.)

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Self Portrait

May 28, 2009

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Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Violinist Nervosa

May 27, 2009

Most people sneak nervously into the restroom to puke. Not Ma. She sneaks nervously into the restroom to practice. Why the bathroom? Must be an urgent need to rehearse... or it's the only room available... or the acoustics are better (with all that reverberation from the porcelain).

Ma has Violinist Nervosa.


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Sounds serious, doesn't it? It's not. High blood pressure, on the other hand, is. Which Ma has inherited, thanks to obligatory genetics. She has also inherited that condition where bunches of gunky blood gets shoved into a brain vessel and causes grief. She exercises regularly, salts nothing and watches sodium like it's plutonium. With all that exercise and food watching, you'd think she'd be in the clear. Sadly, no.

Ma is currently undergoing a stroke-prevention conference at the hospital.

A few posts ago, I included a photo of my dear Ma. Somehow she received news of her new-found fame and gave me a call. She left me a warning on the answering machine. “Rabid. You're in trouble,” then giggled and hung up.

Next thing I know, she's calling me from the ER - with a 214 (systolic) over one hundred something (diastolic). “I'm also having Symptoms” she says. Symptoms with a capital S – as in Stroke Symptoms.

My first thought? I sent her over the hypertension edge by posting her photo without proper acquiescence! It's all my fault. Again!

Yes, you read correctly. Again. Six years ago, I called Ma while she was having Symptoms. The right (or was it left?) side of her body was numb-ish. Her vision was kaleidescope-ish. I said, “Call Moe and I'll be right over.”

In my signature fanatic frenzy, I drove to get her. Moe had arrived when I did and we agreed that I'd follow them to the hospital. Long-story-short, Moe was turning right and stopped suddenly - so as not to hit the punk-on-a-board in the middle of the road. Moi, following too close, didn't stop in time and crashed into the back of them.

Yes. You read correctly. I rear-ended my Ma while she was having a stroke.

After several days in the hospital, she came out of the whole ordeal relatively unscathed. The car, however? Not so much. Needed a new bumper, trunk lid, tail lights, lots of stuff.

Moral of the story, call 911. ALWAYS. Time lost is brain lost. Then you don't have to worry about crashing into the stroke victim on the way.

As of right now, Ma has escaped this particular episode stroke-free. They're running tests and whatnot to find tactics for preventing a stroke in the future. She's going to be just fine.

We, on the other hand will continue to practice nervously in the bathroom. And pray.

Camping with a Composer

May 27, 2009

Monday's Multiple Choice was a trick question. You all (including Anonymous - who claims to know me so well) picked Danny Elfman for my camping trip. I didn't ask who I'd have a sleepover with, I asked who I'd go camping with. Sleepovers and camping are very different.

I picked A) Michael Giacchino - mostly because I need some answers 'bout Lost.


(For the record, I'd pick Danny Elfman for my sleepover.)

Monday, May 25, 2009

Multiple Choice Monday - Music and Camping

May 25, 2009

Music can make or break any movie. If you don't believe me, go get yourself that Marie Antoinette movie. Great story, super-duper costumes, beastly music. On the contrary, go get yourself that Madagascars 2 movie. Sleeper of a story, down-right confusing at times, but redeemed nicely by the music. (Yahoo #2 calls it Madagascars, with the extra 's', instead of the proper Madagascar, so naturally it's Madagascars at our house)

Music can also make or break any camping trip. Country music for example. Which reminds of me of a good joke. What do you get when you play country music backwards? You get your wife back... you get your dog back... you get your house back... you sober up....

You'd think that a camping trip would be the best place for country music. I don't agree. Country music doesn't have a place in my house, let alone my tent (hence the never take it on a camping trip. Camping is technically a vacation and people shouldn't do or listen to things they don't like on vacation).

Incidentally, I should prolly refrain from blacklisting all country music - being as I have been known to listen (and enjoy) Johnny Cash, the Dixie Chicks, a Duh-Wite (Yokum), Slim Whitman and the like. But country music is just so danged goofy! You'd think that I'd like country now since they've all but burned those six-sizes-too-tight Wranglers. You'd think. Sadly, the designer jeans addition to the country scene didn't change anything. Maybe, just maybe... if they'd lose the hickish-I'm-uneducated-drawl... I might like it.

Well. Prolly not.

Today's Multiple Choice Monday is about the marriage of Music, Movies and Camping. If you could only take one Movie Music Master camping (as if you'd even get the chance at one movie music master, let alone limiting it to one), who would it be?

A) Michael Giacchino (Lost, Star Trek, The Incredibles, Speed Racer, Muppet Monster Adventure)

B) Danny Elfman (Big Fish, Beetlejuice, Batman Returns, new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Chicago, Weird Science, Nacho Libre, Meet the Robinsons, Mars Attacks, The Simpsons Theme, Desperate Housewives theme)

C) Hans Zimmer (Madagascars 1&2, all Pirates of the Caribbeans, Mission Impossible II, Muppet Treasure Island, The Dark Knight, Batman Begins, The Simpsons Movie, The Lion King)

D) John Williams (Star Warses, Harry Potterses, Indiana Joneses, Jurassic Parkses, all the heavy-handed, over-dramatic stuff, Johnny appears to be sleeping with Steven Speilberg and George Lucas so he gets what he wants from them... Gilligan's Island, Gidget, Jaws, E.T., the list goes on and on...)

I want to know your opinion on this one. I will, however, grant extra credit to the first one to guess who'd I'd take.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

The Mighty Decomposer

May 23, 2009



This is Ma and Step-Monster Moe.

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They met 27 years ago while playing their respective parts in the Utah Valley Symphony. Moe played the seductive and very macho Viola. Ma played the effervescent and feminine violin. Moe drove a convertible MG Midget, wore designer jeans and spiffy leather jackets. Ma had a chattering Renault P.O.S. with a lime-green radioactive powdercoat. Moe had a thing for Mahler, Ma was fond of Mozart. They both adored Dvořák.

Ma and Moe were married 12 days after they met. Just kidding. It was 13. (Okay, kidding again. Not 13 but it was quick.)

Having been graced with luck (and possibly some other stuff), Moe was childless. On the other hand, Moe was handed some misfortune and fell in love with a woman who still had two kids at home. Girls. One on the cusp of puberty, the other pleading desperately for the lead in The Marriage of Figaro.

Moe has a secret weapon. Moe composes music. Moe also rearranges music, including string-quartet ensembles of the classics like, Love Me Do, When I'm 64 and In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.

There are many benefits of being raised in a family of music. One such benefit is you're forced to play a musical instrument. And by forced, I mean you're made to practice [the piano], made to perform [the piano], made to take [piano] lessons, and made to hear the droning of "When I was your age, I'd be in practicing the violin while my friends were off making-out with their boyfriends." Sounds rough, doesn't it? All that Making with no Out? Note, however, that I am unduly grateful for Ma's gun-point musical infliction.

Except when it comes to performance time.

The Older Bro has a son who decided to go on a Mission. We'll call him RabidMissionary. Last time the Older Bro had a son go on a mission, Ma played violin and Little Sister whipped out her richly polished opera. They blew away the congregation with their professional offering, while my humble little phalanges were barely able to supplement. With RabidMissionary embarking on the Mish, there would be a repeat performance - only this time with a brand-spanking new song.

This new song was Via Dolorosa, named after the street in which Christ walked to his crucifixion. I-tunes has 104 different versions - possibly 109 by now - 10 of which reek of head-thrashing irreverence. This is The Savior we're talking about folks. And don't get Little Sister started on the concept of Christian Rock. Just don't. It ain't pretty. It's like the uncorking of a 800-year-old bottle of Merlot.

"Bring it on," I told them. They e-mailed me the music, I printed it, taped it together nice and saddled up with the good ol' metronome. After three long measures, I knew I was in trouble. "This is too hard!" I cried, (and I really did cry). "I will never learn this in a week!"

Moe, caped in the glory of Sibelius, came to the rescue. He removed notes from this Everest of a piece and transformed it into a mole hill I could conquer. He added Ma's personally arranged violin and printed it with big, easy-to-read notes.

Now. If compose means to add notes, then decompose must mean to remove notes, correct?

Moe is the Mighty Decomposer.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Find Yourself a Geek

May 22, 2009

Whenever I have a discussion with a single girlfriend, I always give the same advice. "Find yourself a geek." I say. "Go over to the BYU, park yourself in front of the Harris Bee Fine Engineering building, and find yourself a geek. Get the one with the biggest glasses and the most pens in the pocket protector. Look for a big backpack too. That way you'll know they have a chance at being athletic."

Then I add... "You won't be disappointed. Promise."



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Wednesday, May 20, 2009

The French Dip

May 20, 2009

Today I found a folder full of papers written in high school. Most of them are bad. Actually all of them are bad. Lucky for you, I feel like sharing one of them. (It was so dang hard to type this as it was written. There was so much I wanted to change.)



The French Dip - October 11, 1989, 17 years young

The worst class I had ever taken was seventh grade English. The class was taught by an old bag with long crooked fingers named Mrs. Christopherson, who thought she was special because she was originally from France.

I'll just call her The French Dip.

English was The Dip's second language. She wasn't then and probably still isn't the world's brightest when it comes to the subject. Once or twice it had been rumoured that her French classes were among the bewildered; so how was I supposed to understand English when she couldn't even teach the rules of her own native tongue?

Christopherson left my seventh grade year in frazzlement. I often found myself using le instead of the word the, and my mom was certain that I had caught a cold because of the nasal sound in my nose. Christopherson was awful; when she was upset at my class for acting the way seventh graders are expected to act, she would scream answers in French and calmly state the questions in English. I didn't have a clue what was going on, but I decided to call it brainwashing.

Seventh grade was a bad year for English.


*************

As illustarated above, one can see that I gave characterizations to inanimate objects early. The teachers would try to make me change it, but being the rebellious free spirit that I are, didn't wanna. For example, there was a big, fat, red "huh" written over the top of "her French classes were among the bewildered". I really want to write this teacher now and tell her that there is a socio-economic class called The Bewildered and the members of the French Dip's French and English classes belong in it. There's a Save The Bewildered movement going on as we speak. With a song and everything.

We are the world
We are the bewildered
We are the ones to make a brighter day
By writing English

There's a choice we're making
Our English teacher is fakin'
Parle vous Francois
Don't mean, "Do you speak English"


From now on, when I write bad, I'm gonna blame it on The Dip.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Multiple Choice Monday - Spouse

May 17, 2009

Spouse.

Sometimes Spouse deserves his own sentence - complete with it's own paragraph and period. Because he's great? No. Because he's my soul mate, love of my life, my schnookums? Nope.

Spouse deserves his own own one-word sentence because he is annoying and clever all at the same time. Do you see the similarity? A one word sentence is annoying and clever all at the same time too!


Which brings us to the multiple choice:

A) Spouse is Cleverly Annoying (annoying all the time but caked with clever).

B) Spouse is Annoyingly Clever (clever all the time but frosted with annoying).

C) Spouse is only Annoying.

D) Spouse is only Clever.

E) We should get a dog.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

3 is a Magic Number

May 19, 2009

The past and the present and the future.
Faith and Hope and Charity,
The heart and the brain and the body
Give you three as a magic number.
- Schoolhouse Rock's 3 is a Magic Number


It's true! 3 is magic.

At mile 13 of my adventure in Ogden, I stopped running. The body felt great (other than the bottoms of my under-calloused feet), but the mind was mush. MUSH, I tell you. For the first time in my pilgrimage as a runner, I didn't want to finish a marathon. All that training? Who cares! Spouse? He'll understand. Yahoo's? They just want to get home to play with friends.

I made plans to quit and find the Shame Train.

Then I remembered that this marathon isn't just about me. This marathon is a matter of international relevance.

Let me explain. Spouse works with some engineers in India. In an effort to become more acquainted, Spouse has started a blog with the idea that all can post pictures and stories to document what happens in their personal lives. To give insight to the personality, perhaps (and you thought engineers didn't have personality!)

Last week Spouse told them about wheat. More specifically, he explained the process of preserving thousands of pounds of wheat in white buckets. Pictures of this modus operandi were included. He also posted a close-up of some homemade bread – 'cause at our house, that's the point of wheat.

So there I was, at mile 13 with a mind of mush, making plans to grab the Shame Train, when I remembered Spouse's plan to document the insanity of marathon running for his friends in India. He'd been taking pictures non-stop. We took pictures of Yahoo #1 reading as he walked and the aftermath of the carbo-loading meal (complete with multiplication logic on a napkin). Spouse even had plans to reveal photos of us letting the Yahoos fly Supermans from bed to bed at the hotel (don't tell anyone).

Ogden 2009

Ogden 2009


Ogden 2009


Ogden 2009



Ogden 2009

This is a matter of international relevance! I thought to myself. I must finish! In the interest of world peace (or something like that), I must finish!

And so it was, at mile 13 with a mind of mush, that I slammed back a vodka-flavored powergel, chased it with red sodium-injected kool-aid and started to run again. I must finish this marathon for my inspirations in India: Utkarsh, Abdul, Chetan and Nasiruddin.

13 miles later, I grabbed the Yahoos to run with me. 3 of us finished the last 385 yards with a time of Three 3s (3:33).

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I cried for 3 minutes - because that's what I do at the end of marathons these days. All of that pain and accomplishment brings out the humility and gratitude like nothing else. I'm grateful. For a family, for freedom, for a mind, for a body that works, for strength, for weakness, for being a wife and mother, for struggles, all of it.

For the first time, I wiped a brow in relief for not finishing faster – 9 seconds to be exact. For 9 seconds (3x3), would have given us two 3s and a 2.

3 is a magic number.

Friday, May 15, 2009

The Ogden Playlist

May 15, 2009

I'll bet you think I name all my playlists after cities, right? Nope. Only cities I run a marathon in. Here's the scoop. I just found some great running playlists from people posting them on their blog. Thot I'd share back.... and to make the google hitlist I better type marathon playlist a bunch of times. Marathon playlist, running playlist, Ogden Marathon Running playlist, rockin' marathon playlist. (Think that's enough?) Marathon Playlist Marathon Playlist Marathon Playlist (that should do it!)

While some people have an exact order for songs at certain check points (or miles), I like mine random. It turns the end of every song into a mini adventure - because you have no idea what will play next!! See? Exciting.


Paralyzed - Rock Kills Kid
I need a Freek - Too Short
Touch Me I'm Going to Scream, Pt 2 - My Morning Jacket
Kiss & Tell - Bryan Ferry
Walking On a Dream - Bryan Ferry
Major Tom - Peter Schilling
Jai Ho - A.R. Rahman
Millionaire - A.R. Rahman
Aaj Ki Raat - Sonu Nigam
Ringa Ringa - A.R. Rahman
O...Saya - M.I.A.
Throw It On Me - Timbaland
The Way I Are - Timbaland
I'm Shipping Up To Boston - Dropkick Murphies
Man With No Country - Flogging Molly
The Sunnyside of the Street - The Pogues
Like Clockwork - The Boomtown Rats
Magnificent - U2
Shambala - Three Dog Night
Super Rifle - Gogol Bordell vs. Tamir Muskat
Alex on the Spot - Hans Zimmer
I Like to Move It - will.i.am
Once Upon A Time In Africa - Hans Zimmer
The Traveling Song - will.i.am
The Final Countdown - Europe
Mahna Mahna - Cake
Sleepy Tigers - Her Space Holiday
Parts of Speech - The Weather MacHines
Alfie - Lily Allen
Knock 'Em Out - Lily Allen
Take What You Take - Lily Allen
Friday Night - Lilly Allen
15 Step - Radiohead
Go All The Way - Perry Farrell
Spotlight - Mutemath
Full Moon - The Black Ghosts
Enter Sandman - Metallica
Breakin' Dishes - Rihanna
Disturbia - Rihanna
Don't Stop The Music - Rihanna
Shut Up and Drive - Rihanna
Red Election - Bottom of the Hudson
Don't Go - Yazoo
Situation (US 12" Mix) - Yaz
Teenage Witch - Eels
The With - The Cult
Shiny Shiny - Haysi Fantayzee
London Bridge - Fergie
One Step at a Time - Jordan Sparks
Just Dance - Lady Gaga
Let it Rock - Kevin Rudolf ft. Lil' Wayne
Hot 'n Cold - Katy Perry
Everybody's Got Their Something - Nikka Costa
Switchback - Celldweller
Good Luck Chuck - The Dandy Warhols
Disappear - Sunny Day Real Estate
Fight Song - The Republic Tigers
Give Arm to It's Socket - The Republic Tigers
No More Drama - mary j blige
Love Me or Hate Me - Lady Sovereign
Milk Shake - Kelis
Twighlight - The Raveonettes
Love In a Trashcan - The Raveonettes
Epic - Faith No More
Fight For Your Right - Beastie Boys
Go Speed Racer Go - Ali Dee and the Deekompressors
When the Dawn Breaks - Narcotic Thrust
Ease the Pressure - The Beloved
The Beautiful People - Marilyn Manson
We Care A Lot - Faith No More
Bohemian Like You - The Dandy Warhols
We Used To Be Friends - The Dandy Warhols
Boys Better - The Dandy Warhols
Crack Cocaine Rager - The Dandy Warhols
Head - The Dandy Warhols
Mis Amigos - The Dandy Warhols
Mission Control - The Dandy Warhols
Holding Me Up - The Dandy Warhols
Sunburn - Muse
Micro Cuts - Muse
Bliss - Muse
New Born - Muse
Map of the Problematique - Muse
Supermassive Black Hole - Muse
Hysteria - Muse
bezzi - Cansei de Ser Sexy
Come Back Clean - Crystal Method
Slipstream - Crystal Method
Don't Pick It Up - The Offspring
Pretty Fly (For A White Guy) - The Offspring
Divided By Night - Crystal Method
Dirty Thirty - Crystal Method
Drown In the Now - Crystal Method
Smile? - Crystal Method
Sine Language - Crystal Method
Double Down Under - Crystal Method
Black Rainbows - Crystal Method
Blunts & Robots - Crystal Method
A Little Less Conversations (JXL remix) - Elviis Presley
Route 66 (Beatmasters Mix) - Depeche Mode
Personal Jesus (Pump Mix) - Depeche Mode
Love Today - Mika
Mammoth - Interpol
In Your Room (The Jeep Rock Mix) - Depeche Mode
Hero - Jars of Clay

Thursday, May 14, 2009

@#$@#%@#%@#%@#%

May 14, 2009

I'm getting pretty dang fed up with people thinking their time is more important than mine.

FED UP.

Thanks for listening. Carry on.

Look - No Black Toenails!

May 14, 2009


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(Photo taken 4/19/09)

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Pork Relations

iMay 13, 2009

I have a friend who's owned several PR firms. Being an aficionado of all things running, one might think this post's accronymal reference to PR would stand for Personal Record, but it doesn't. It's doesn't stand for Party Race either.

In many circles, PR stands for Public Relations. Today's post is about Public Relations that involve Pork - Pork Relations, if you will.

Now back to my friend of many PR firms. She is very good at the PR thing. Most of her public relating has to do with pushing software, but she does dabble in other markets.

After I developed a friendship with this PR Empress, I began to pay attention to news items that get a lot of attention. Mostly I try to determine if the top new story was found by the news organization or if a PR firm was hired to squeeze that news into the mainstream.

An example? The Swine Flu.

What PR firm was hired to push this one? And more importantly, what terrorist organization hired them?

***********************

P.S. How on earth did you all let me forget about Multiple Choice Monday? Shame on you!

Monday, May 11, 2009

Carbo Diem

May 11, 2009

(Special note to Megan: This post talks about meat. Copious amounts of meat. If you don't want to read about meat, I suggest you skip me this time. No hard feelings.)

3 hard-boiled eggs
1 Kellogg's Protein water
2 handfuls of almonds in the buff
10 slices of over-processed and over-salted turkey breast with a spreading of cream cheese and a sprinkle of green onion
Another handful of almonds in the buff
2 small dishes of sugar-free jell-o (complete with bluhhck after taste)
2.5 bratwursts, smeared in classic yellow, then a spoonful of more classic yellow, sucked through a straw
1/2 a can of green beans
Another Kellogg's Protein water

This is what I ate today. Well-balanced, wholesome and tasty? Hardly. Tomorrow's menu will be more of the same. Maybe I'll change it up a bit with some salmon and a chicken breast. Wednesday will be a protein smorgASSbord too. Prolly some steak. Petite Sirloin with pepper.

Why all the protein and no carbs? It's this silly thing I do before a marathon. Deplete the carbohydrate stores by eating mostly protein for a few days, then load up on the taters and rice. The theory (emphASSis on theory) is that once you deplete your carbohydrate stores, the body will panic and store more than normal when you start eating carbs again.

Have I done it before? Yes - 12 times now. Does it work? Sure (unless you talk to Spouse). How does it work? Great question! You always have the best questions, don't you?

Ready for my hair-brained theories?

Theori-atrical reason it works #1: It's all in the head. You think it works, therefore it does. I believe the medical people call this a placebo.

Theori-atrical reason it works #2: It's hard as hell. Makes you weak. Makes you tired. Makes you ornery. Makes the marathon seam like a piece of cake in comparison. Oh... cake? I... want... cake...!

Theori-atrical reason it works #3: No carbs? No energy. No energy? You sit around a lot and rest. The more you rest before a marathon, the better you feel.

Theori-atrical reason it works #4: It keeps the weight off when you start loading carbs for the race. In theory, you drop a few lbs eating greasy brats then gain it all back when you start eating. Makes it a wash. Without the carb depletion, you might start the race with extra weight. Extra weight on race day is never good.

That's why I don't wear make-up.

Friday, May 08, 2009

I Find Myself...

May 8, 2009

I was watching a news show the other day. As usual the reporters were discussing a controversial topic - one in which they have an agenda to push but work really hard to appear objective. What was this controversial topic? Don't remember. The news station? Don't remember that either. What were they wearing? Didn't notice.

I do, however, remember an interview with some lady via satellite. It was an awkward interview - one where precious TV seconds lapse as the questions and answers go back and forth. The woman was asked for her opinion on the controversial subject (that I've since forgotten) when she replied with, “Blah blah blah – klutzy pause – blah blah blah for women like myself who find themselves pregnant.

What the? FIND yourself pregnant?

Did she wake up the other day, green with nausea and scream “I find myself pregnant! I lost myself for a while but when I found me again there's a baby growing in there. How did this happen to me?!“

At first, I thought, “You idiot. Anytime you FIND yourself with a whats-it in your whoo-hoo, there's a possibility you'll FIND yourself pregnant.” But then I thought, “You genius. FINDing yourself in a situation is the perfect loophole for dodging personal responsibility."

I find myself a drunk who cannot hold a job. I find myself the mother of two who wants to run away because I find that my kids cannot FIND their shoes. I find myself with $30,000 of credit card debt. I find myself with a messy house. I find myself married to an abusive dickhead (not Spouse – jimmy). I find myself naked in a hot tub fool of monkeys. I find myself uneducated. I find myself 400 lbs. I find myself typing this trash while Yahoo #2, still in the PJs, finds that cartoons will turn his mind to mush.

You don't get to find yourself.

You make decisions. Every day. And
where you are, right now, at this very intense or peaceful moment, is a result of all those decisions.

Think of what you'll find in the future.

Thursday, May 07, 2009

RabidMissionary

May 7, 2009

Remember RabidClimber? He's now RabidMissionary.


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Click here for more!

Want one of you and/or yours? Holler!

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

Magic Money Boom-Boom

May 5, 2009

Dear Mister President,
(and Mister Reede and Miz Pool O'See and Mister Oral Snatch and Mister Math's Son)

Has it occurred to you that the economic boom-boom of the last decade is a result of Magic Money*? Has it occurred to you that maybe this Magic Money Boom-Boom has unjustly overinflated our standard of living? Has it occurred to you that maybe the American people need to scale it back a little? "Sacrifice,"** if you will?

Or do you intend to perpetuate this economic crisis by dumping more Magic Money into our economy?

Just curious.



* Magic Money is money spent that doesn't actually exist. Examples include: a loan that you are unable to pay back, a loan to pay off another loan, a credit card with an abusively large limit and the billions you intend to spend without "raising taxes." Rrrrrrriiiiight.

** “Everyone in this chamber — Democrats and Republicans — will have to sacrifice some worthy priorities for which there are no dollars,” Obama said. “And that includes me.”

Monday, May 04, 2009

Multiple Choice Monday - T Plus 6 Months

May 4, 2009

As of couple of days ago, I discovered that I really, really, really like writing multiple choice questions. I should have been a teacher. Multiple choice is where it's at... all those options to one measly problem.

To embrace this new-found passion, I will dedicate Mondays (from now until I get tired of it) to a predicament, quandary or impasse. And more importantly, the many heinous options for solving the predicament, quandary or impasse.


April 30, 2009 was T Plus 6 Months for the Consumer Cleanse. I have made it 6 whole months. (In case you're new around here, I'll recap. This Consumer Cleanse began when I realized I'm consuming unnecessary crap and vowed to excise the self-fulfilled consuming for the duration of one year. This means no clothes, gear, gadgets, electronics, magazines, books, home furnishings, etc. Running shoes, makeup and music for myself were listed as buy able. I could still purchase gifts and necessities for family members and friends.)

I know what you're thinking... you're thinking, that plus should be a minus, as in T minus 6 months. In this situation, however, that minus hasta be a plus because I have more money in the bank now. (Might only be a dollar more, but it's more nonetheless.)

Through it all, I've learned a bunch about myself. You want in on my knowledge?

I'm an emotionally impulsive spender. I buy useless crap to distract myself from the immediate emotion. Hungry? Buy something you don't need. Depressed? Buy something you don't want. Anxious? Buy something that needs dusting. Giddy? Buy something ugly. Forlorn? Buy something to watch. Bored? Buy something cute to run in. Overwhelmed? Buy something to read. Excited? Buy something to wear to the prom. Angry? Buy a weapon.

I buy stuff because it's cheap. Oh look, a sweater on sale. Buy it. Add it to the 30 you already don't wear. Look. Pretty jewelry. It's cheap. Don't have anything to wear it with, but who cares! It's cheap!

Shopping is a big fat waste of time. Don't get me wrong. I love to waste time. I'm wasting time right now. The other day, I spent a good two hours aligning that goofy show Lost to the Twelve Sons of Jacob (Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher, Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph, and Benjamin ) - complete with character comparisons and scripture references. Typed myself up a real nice report. That was entertaining. Shopping is not. Shopping involves money, parking, rudeness, people who don't smile and whiny kids (even when you don't take your own). The topper? Aside from calculating that 30% off, shopping lacks intellectual stimulation.

With six months under the belt, I must admit a couple of cheats and display the greatest temptation. Cheats: I bought Spouse the 4th season of Lost - as a gift - because I couldn't wait for Netflix. (Renting it from Blockbuster would cost more than buying it, by the way). I bought headphones when mine broke. I bought a pair of skanky shorts in Florida so that I could eat in a restaurant. (We were 2 hours away from the hotel and all I had was a wet swimsuit. The shorts have since been donated.) I bought a book (essential to my mental well-being) because the library didn't carry it.

The greatest temptation? This sweatshirt:


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Darth and I are tight. We have similar personalities.



Now for the multiple choice: With six months of somewhat-consumer-free living, what should I do now?

A) Keep on going. It ain't so bad.

B) Quit. It's spring now. Like Spouse says, "They always have such cute things in the Spring."

C) Sneak out, blow a few and don't tell anyone.

D) Exclude Emoticon Photography from the consumer cleanse. Buy the Canon 5d Mark II and a 50mm 1.2 elle you ess emme. Can you say full frame (CMOS sensor) and wide open (aperture)? Say it. Full frame and wide open.

E) The blog needs a facelift. Buy a customized header from Megan at Knuckle Headers.

Saturday, May 02, 2009

(Girl)Friends Who Run

May 2, 2009

I have some fine friends. I have some friends that are finds. All of my friends have quirky qualities that set them apart from the masses. Qualities that make 'em extra special.

Today I'd like to pay tribute to the friends I run with who are of the female gender. (To be concise and save the poor keyboard from an overuse injury, I could have said pay tribute to my running girlfriends, but today's post may turn out to be an exercise in wind-baggery. Might need extra oxygen.)

So why pay tribute today to the girls that I run with and not the boys ('cause they're just that - boys)? Why not the friends down the street ('cause I do that a lot), or the friends I meet for Tilapia and Tea on Tuesdays ('cause that's my dad)? Why not the intelligent blogging buddies that I've acquired ('cause I'll do that next week)?

Today I pay tribute to the Girlfriends Who Run because I've returned from a delightful half marathon jaunt to the metropolis of Hurricane City. I went with a running girlfriend. We were gone 25 whole hours. It was a good 25 hours and now I have a fer-sure pass to the St George Marathon - yipee.

That's not the only reason, however. (As always, some history is required. I'll get started.)

In most foot races of mileage in the teens or beyond, school buses are required to get you to where the race starts. Takes hours. Flashbacks of youth will remind of days when you're forced to listen to the bus driver's 8-track collection of Hootie and the Blowfish or the Carpenters (or Hank Williams Sr, or.... you name it!)

After any bus-to-the-start-o-the-race ride, it's customary to relieve yourself. Actually - fluid and/or waste evacuation is a requirement of the human body, so customary isn't quite the right word. But due to pre-race jitters and whatnot, most feel the need to drain the digestion right before undertaking a race - even if it isn't truly necessary - thus making it customary. (No pun intended on undertake, by the way. Most do finish without dying so an undertaking complete with an undertaker is rarely needed. Notice I said most. Bwah Hah Hah Hah.)

Incidentally, I'm having some serious trouble with spelling today... spelled botty instead of body. A sure sign I ran hard enough because a good run kills brain cells. Like dope. Or hi fructoes korn seerup.

Where the heck was I going with this? Oh yeah, waste evacuation.

While in line for the pleasantries of the portable potties I gave a good grin towards my travelling companion (her name is Downhill Diva because she's wicked fast on the downhill.) At that moment I was filled with gratitude for my running buddies of female orientation.

What quirky qualities give reason for this gratitude? Let me tell you!

Girls who run are tough, good-to-go and leave the prissy at home. They refrain from remarks of stink while in line for the loo or a crowded restroom. (Isn't that the purpose of restrooms? For housing stink? Why make a comment about it? I mean seriously. The only thing worse would be to go home and blog about it.)

Girls who run ignore the passing of odoriferous gas and and find ways to mask each other's "noises". They know how to use the wilderness to take care of business - all without making a big deal about it.

These girls can blow a nose without tissue or stopping, spit like cowboys, and leave a biodegradable deposit behind a bush when necessary. They have been known to spin their own cotton-poly-wicking-blend during a 10-mile run using the wool from six sheep and some margarine. They're tough. They're resourceful. They leave their puritanical propriety at home.

Feeling prudish, finicky and genteel? Come a' running with me! I'll have you blowing farmers, spitting and farting in no time.

Your momma will be so proud.

Friday, May 01, 2009

Multiple Choice Parenting

May 1, 2009

Hypothetically, let's say your 11-year-old son figures out how to google images and uses this newly found talent at his elementary school's computer lab. (Googling Images is where you go to http://www.google.com/, search for something and click on Images. Try it some time, it's fun!)

Let's say, hypothetically again, that this same 11-year-old knows how to clear his screen fast. When the teacher (equipped with a computer that displays all student activity in the lab) is away helping another student, he can run amuck and restore his screen super-hero fast when the teacher gets back to her desk.

Suppose (all this is hypothetical of course) that your son typed in a word of question, say "lesbo" then took a gawking gander at all the fun images. Maybe there's a substitute there that day, maybe not. He calls 9 other boys over to join in - even had some type "lesbo" on their own computers. One of those 9 boys recognizes the inappropriateness of the situation and blows the whistle. Maybe the police are called and maybe two of the ring-leaders are charged with distribution of pornography.

Was this the first time? Not likely. (Hypothetically however, there's a viewable history on the child's computer which might hypothetically answer that question for us.)


What do you do? (Here's the multiple choice part of the post)

A) Acknowledge that your child knew better, establish a natural consequence of serious relativity and require that your child apologize profusely.

B) Beat him to a pulp.

C) Teach 'em more tricks for finding porn on the internet.

D) Call the KSL Doug Wright show and blame the school for not having "filters".



Let's talk about filters for a minute, shall we? This hypothetical mom claims the child typed a few words that "didn't work" but was able to type "lesbian". She didn't hypothetically elaborate on what words didn't work. According to a hypothetical source in the classroom however, the word was "lesbo" not "lesbian". Hypothetically, one can conclude that "lesbian" was being filtered but "lesbo" was not.

My full name (first middle maiden) is the same as a popular porn star. Image google my full maiden name and you'll get a suprise. See - I'm saving you from yourself at this very moment by not telling you what my first middle and maiden are. Saving you. 'Cause porn is that hard to find.

At this point friends, I challenge you to list all forms or references to "lesbian". We can add them to the list of unusable words at the school.

This will save the poor hypothetical child from finding porn ever again.