A while ago we bought a little plastic tool set for Jonah. It was purchased at Hammond Toys in the Cottonwood Mall. How that place stays in business I'll never know. All of their employees are 13 year old boys with early-onset acne and the inability to count change. Anyway, the tool set was about $1 and clearly made by retarded monkeys in Cambodia. Was that insensitive? Anyway, the tool set is called "Tools Set: Funny & Safe." If the fact that the toys will not only make you laugh, but keep you safe is not enough to send you to your nearest Hammond to get your own, here are some other selling points from the box: "Superior Materials" and "The Best Welcome Gifts For The Children." Where exactly have the children been that they need a welcome gift? Are we welcoming them to the world with "Tools Set: Funny and Safe?" That might be good, because no one loves safety and humor more than infants, but this Superior Materials product is for ages 3 and up.
On a completely unrelated topic, but in the same vein of "silly things that I found funny," the other day I was calling home from work. Because I work in Park City, it is necessary to dial a "1-801" before dialing my home phone number. Somehow, I accidentally dialed "1-800" instead and got this message: "Thank you for calling Peggy's Precious Heros. Please leave a message." What, praytell, are Precious Heros? My wife thought they were sandwiches. I thought they were defunct super-heros. I guess we will never know until one of my faithful blog readers calls the number, leaves a message and gets a response.
And in closing this completely random blog, here is a very special text message I received on my phone the other day:
Hey bud, Hope the east coast is treating You well. Last I saw You things were rough with You and your girl. I Hope It all worked out. Peace. d swiss.
Now I don't know who d swiss is. Nor do I know why he can't capitalize. Maybe he thinks I am deity, because of all the capitalized "You's." At least he is looking out for me and my girl. Things with us have been real funny and safe since I got back from the coast. Thanks for your concern, d swiss. Your a pal.
7.18.2005
7.16.2005
The city on a hill
As I have previously mentioned, I am now working for a lovely little retail store that will remain unmentioned, but we will call Dan Taylor. And said job finds itself in a lovely little community called Park City, high up in the mountains. Park City is home to the 2002 Winter Olympics, and a bunch of overly-wealthy hippie type people who LOVE to shop at Wild Oats and have a lot of plastic surgery. To be fair, a lot of my employees are Park Citians, and they seem like nice enough people. They just have more money in the "New Jazz CD" part of their budget than I make in a year, but whatever. Working up there has brought me to some interesting conclusions about the denizens of this mountain hamlet.
1. They can't drive. Maybe they are dizzy from all that driving on canyon roads. Maybe they are giddy about the new flavor of Tofu at Wild Oats. Maybe they are pissed because everything there is so expensive. But regardless, they swerve and stop in weird places and back up inappropriately and try to make their Subaru's hit my Subaru. (Oh, and everyone there drives a Subaru. EVERYONE! It's pathetic!) (Oh, I also drive a Subaru. It is silver and named Suki after the lovable best friend on the Gilmore Girls. I love Suki. The character and the car.)
2. They don't wear shoes. Now don't get me wrong. I hate wearing shoes as much as the next guy. But here are two of the places I have seen people not wearing shoes: The Chevron and Wendy's. It makes my feet itch just to think about it. CHEVRON AND WENDY'S!! Except for a toxic waste dump, and a field of poo, I can't think of anywhere where I would rather be shoeless. Can you imagine the germy bits of frosty and mealy tomatoes that are on the floor of the Park City Wendy's? Gee-Roce!!
3. Um, I forgot what the third thing about Park City was.
5. There is a whole lot of that "Grumpy Old Man Married to Much Younger Woman With Boobs That He Paid For" situation going on. Today, one of those couples was in my store. We sell some lovely skirts that come with a ribbon belt that the plastic surgeryized woman was trying on. The man stopped me and said. "Clearly, you are not meant to wear this ribbon with this skirt. Clearly, it is only decoration."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Well, this ribbon is only meant as decoration. When you wear the skirt, you aren't supposed to wear the ribbon." (Notice how he isn't asking me any of this. He is telling me. And notice how he really thinks we just tied some ribbons around some skirts to make them more attractive to purchase, like they were a gift from your friend Ann.)
"Actually, the ribbon is meant to be worn with the skirt. Ribbon embellishments are a big trend right now in women's fashion."
"Well, I see that the skirt has belt loops. You are really supposed to wear a belt with it. It is absurd to me that anyone would wear a ribbon around their waist."
"Well, when you take the skirt home, it is your perogative to wear it with or without the ribbon, or with a belt, or with a fiery serpent tied around your waist. And seriously, what woman to you know who wears a skirt with a belt?"
So maybe the last thing I said didn't really come out that way. But hey, leave the fashion to me. You take care of paying for the botox and being grumpy.
All in all though, it is a delightful place to work. It isn't as hot there, the air is nice and clear, it's quite beautiful and Suki the Subaru fits in nicely.
1. They can't drive. Maybe they are dizzy from all that driving on canyon roads. Maybe they are giddy about the new flavor of Tofu at Wild Oats. Maybe they are pissed because everything there is so expensive. But regardless, they swerve and stop in weird places and back up inappropriately and try to make their Subaru's hit my Subaru. (Oh, and everyone there drives a Subaru. EVERYONE! It's pathetic!) (Oh, I also drive a Subaru. It is silver and named Suki after the lovable best friend on the Gilmore Girls. I love Suki. The character and the car.)
2. They don't wear shoes. Now don't get me wrong. I hate wearing shoes as much as the next guy. But here are two of the places I have seen people not wearing shoes: The Chevron and Wendy's. It makes my feet itch just to think about it. CHEVRON AND WENDY'S!! Except for a toxic waste dump, and a field of poo, I can't think of anywhere where I would rather be shoeless. Can you imagine the germy bits of frosty and mealy tomatoes that are on the floor of the Park City Wendy's? Gee-Roce!!
3. Um, I forgot what the third thing about Park City was.
5. There is a whole lot of that "Grumpy Old Man Married to Much Younger Woman With Boobs That He Paid For" situation going on. Today, one of those couples was in my store. We sell some lovely skirts that come with a ribbon belt that the plastic surgeryized woman was trying on. The man stopped me and said. "Clearly, you are not meant to wear this ribbon with this skirt. Clearly, it is only decoration."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Well, this ribbon is only meant as decoration. When you wear the skirt, you aren't supposed to wear the ribbon." (Notice how he isn't asking me any of this. He is telling me. And notice how he really thinks we just tied some ribbons around some skirts to make them more attractive to purchase, like they were a gift from your friend Ann.)
"Actually, the ribbon is meant to be worn with the skirt. Ribbon embellishments are a big trend right now in women's fashion."
"Well, I see that the skirt has belt loops. You are really supposed to wear a belt with it. It is absurd to me that anyone would wear a ribbon around their waist."
"Well, when you take the skirt home, it is your perogative to wear it with or without the ribbon, or with a belt, or with a fiery serpent tied around your waist. And seriously, what woman to you know who wears a skirt with a belt?"
So maybe the last thing I said didn't really come out that way. But hey, leave the fashion to me. You take care of paying for the botox and being grumpy.
All in all though, it is a delightful place to work. It isn't as hot there, the air is nice and clear, it's quite beautiful and Suki the Subaru fits in nicely.
7.11.2005
When the cat is away.
So my wife has taken my son and gone to the lake. Actually, I am joining them tomorrow night after I finish working for THE MAN! And by the man, I mean a lovely, classy, twin-set wearing entity named Ann Taylor. But anyway, THE MAN is making me miss the first part of the family vacation. They left this morning and then I will leave tomorrow night and join them. Naturally, I am trying to sew some wild oats while they are gone and party all night long. Any by sew wild oats I mean do some chores around the house and the yard.
So far I have mopped the kitchen and mowed the lawn. Two jobs that are IMPOSSIBLE to do with a 15 month old around. When I am mopping the kitchen, he tries to run through the room, which causes him to slip and cry and then the mopping stops. And if I am mowing the lawn, well heaven help us. Jonah, the aforementioned 15 month old, LOVES the great outdoors. He would live outside if we would let him. So if I ever go outstid to mow, he throws a fit at the injustice of it all. How can there possibly be SOMEONE outside and he not be included? Does he not like to eat dirt, too? Is there sun enough for all of us? Did I just see a rat swim by in the canal in the front of the house? (These are the thoughts I imagine he has. And the answer to the last one is yes. Rats do live in that canal. Big, long, wet ones.) So then my wife brings him outside, but then I get paranoid and think of all of the horrible things that could happen with me mowing the lawn and him 40 feet away. Needless to say, not a lot of lawn mowing gets done.
What I love the most about when Jonah is outside (and when I am not mowing the lawn) is that within 3 minutes of him being out there, he has a stick in one hand and a rock in the other. Once he has those two crucial items, he will run around the yard indefinitely. He doesn't really do anything with the stick or the rock. He doesn't hit them together much, or poke things, or throw them. He just carries them around. Don't you remember that though? Being a little boy and how many possibilities a stick in hand meant? Granted, many of you are women, and therefore don't remember being a little boy (unless you have a dark past we don't know about) but I think you catch my drift. A stick meant you could do ANYTHING. I used to really hope when I was younger that my Mom would get called as the Ward Music Director, because I imagined when they gave you that calling they also handed you a box of those cool slim wand that you would lead the music with. I wanted one of those wands so bad! I don't know why, really. I guess it looked something like a magic wand, and well, it was a stick.
When I see Jonah with his stick and rock my heart melts a little bit. Sometimes I don't really think I am well equipped to be the father of boys (and we have another one on-order right now!) I know a lot more about fashion and recipes and floral arrangement than I do about football or being tough. I am not tough (and for the record, neither is my son. He spent a large chunk of his life afraid of grass and towels) but I also want to raise boys that are. Not in a mean way. Just in the way that they will be respected and looked up to and be the champions of the underdog.
Anyway, I guess this blog should have some sort of clever ending that wraps it up nicely like "I guess I better teach Jonah how to use that stick and that rock." I don't want him to USE the stick and the rock. I really hope he turns out a little like me. Just a little bit more coordinated. And with a basketball scholarship to pay for school. And a degree in the Culinary Arts (so that I can force him to live my dream.) I'd be a little annoyed if he was a grunting, smelly obnoxious boy, which he probably will be a bit of too. Good thing I will have taught him so much about grooming.
PS. SO THERE! TWO BLOGS! What do you think of them apples?!
So far I have mopped the kitchen and mowed the lawn. Two jobs that are IMPOSSIBLE to do with a 15 month old around. When I am mopping the kitchen, he tries to run through the room, which causes him to slip and cry and then the mopping stops. And if I am mowing the lawn, well heaven help us. Jonah, the aforementioned 15 month old, LOVES the great outdoors. He would live outside if we would let him. So if I ever go outstid to mow, he throws a fit at the injustice of it all. How can there possibly be SOMEONE outside and he not be included? Does he not like to eat dirt, too? Is there sun enough for all of us? Did I just see a rat swim by in the canal in the front of the house? (These are the thoughts I imagine he has. And the answer to the last one is yes. Rats do live in that canal. Big, long, wet ones.) So then my wife brings him outside, but then I get paranoid and think of all of the horrible things that could happen with me mowing the lawn and him 40 feet away. Needless to say, not a lot of lawn mowing gets done.
What I love the most about when Jonah is outside (and when I am not mowing the lawn) is that within 3 minutes of him being out there, he has a stick in one hand and a rock in the other. Once he has those two crucial items, he will run around the yard indefinitely. He doesn't really do anything with the stick or the rock. He doesn't hit them together much, or poke things, or throw them. He just carries them around. Don't you remember that though? Being a little boy and how many possibilities a stick in hand meant? Granted, many of you are women, and therefore don't remember being a little boy (unless you have a dark past we don't know about) but I think you catch my drift. A stick meant you could do ANYTHING. I used to really hope when I was younger that my Mom would get called as the Ward Music Director, because I imagined when they gave you that calling they also handed you a box of those cool slim wand that you would lead the music with. I wanted one of those wands so bad! I don't know why, really. I guess it looked something like a magic wand, and well, it was a stick.
When I see Jonah with his stick and rock my heart melts a little bit. Sometimes I don't really think I am well equipped to be the father of boys (and we have another one on-order right now!) I know a lot more about fashion and recipes and floral arrangement than I do about football or being tough. I am not tough (and for the record, neither is my son. He spent a large chunk of his life afraid of grass and towels) but I also want to raise boys that are. Not in a mean way. Just in the way that they will be respected and looked up to and be the champions of the underdog.
Anyway, I guess this blog should have some sort of clever ending that wraps it up nicely like "I guess I better teach Jonah how to use that stick and that rock." I don't want him to USE the stick and the rock. I really hope he turns out a little like me. Just a little bit more coordinated. And with a basketball scholarship to pay for school. And a degree in the Culinary Arts (so that I can force him to live my dream.) I'd be a little annoyed if he was a grunting, smelly obnoxious boy, which he probably will be a bit of too. Good thing I will have taught him so much about grooming.
PS. SO THERE! TWO BLOGS! What do you think of them apples?!
7.10.2005
Sweet, sweet technology
I recently received an iPod for my birthday. For those of you who don't know what an iPod is, then crawl out from under that damn rock! My is sleek and beautiful and shiny blue. It is even engraved on the back. More on that later. I got this iPod as a birthday gift I think mostly to shut me up about when I would ever be able to get one. I was convinced I would find some way to get one for free from a contest or a promotion or from my famous rock-star brother-in-law. I don't have a rock-star brother-in-law, but my friend Chris does, and that is how he got his iPod. Spending that much money on something that just played music seemed impossible, but a boy can dream, right? But I never tired of talking about it, and since my wife did tire of hearing about it, she took pity and got me one as a birthday gift.
What I love about my iPod is that it is like the soundtrack to my life. When I am listening to it, simple, every day events are punctuated by song that is sometimes poignant, but usually odd. For instance, I work in Park City, so every day I commute up lovely Parley's Canyon. And for some reason, almost without fail, my iPod plays "Lost in Love" by Air Supply. I know iPod doesn't consciously choose songs to match the situation I am in, but then why, pray tell, does "Lost in Love" play in that canyon? When those dulcet tones whisper "Carry On..." in my ears the surrounding seem even more beautiful. And then today, when I was mowing my lawn iPod chose to play Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman." Now if my life is a movie, and my iPod is my soundtrack, why am I every woman while riding a power mower? Is it a message about the empowerment of women, iPod? Then why am I the woman?
The other thing I love about my iPod is that it is my ticket to be anti-social. You see, I kind of hate people. Not in a sociopathic kind of way, but in the way that most people (except all of my lovely friends who posted messages on my first Blog. Oh and the rest of the Lunchdate slackers. And my family.) bug me. My ultimate pet peeve is when I am standing in line somewhere, say waiting at the bank, or to get a deli sandwich and some "person" in front of me says, "Don't they have anymore workers that can help out?" or "I love ham!" Why do we have to have a conversation, just because we are standing in line together? I once considered having cards printed up that read "Thank you for you comment/question. Please note: our proximity in line does not make us friends. Please don't say any more." That I could hand out whenever one of these chatters brought up the price of postage. But iPod has solved all that. When those little white headphones are plugged in, you are golden. No on can talk to you! I recently flew to California, and instead of worrying if the old woman sitting next to me was going to ask me if I was "going or coming" I just plugged myself into the sweet whisperings of Rufus Wainwright and Howard Jones.
What I love about my iPod is that it is like the soundtrack to my life. When I am listening to it, simple, every day events are punctuated by song that is sometimes poignant, but usually odd. For instance, I work in Park City, so every day I commute up lovely Parley's Canyon. And for some reason, almost without fail, my iPod plays "Lost in Love" by Air Supply. I know iPod doesn't consciously choose songs to match the situation I am in, but then why, pray tell, does "Lost in Love" play in that canyon? When those dulcet tones whisper "Carry On..." in my ears the surrounding seem even more beautiful. And then today, when I was mowing my lawn iPod chose to play Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman." Now if my life is a movie, and my iPod is my soundtrack, why am I every woman while riding a power mower? Is it a message about the empowerment of women, iPod? Then why am I the woman?
The other thing I love about my iPod is that it is my ticket to be anti-social. You see, I kind of hate people. Not in a sociopathic kind of way, but in the way that most people (except all of my lovely friends who posted messages on my first Blog. Oh and the rest of the Lunchdate slackers. And my family.) bug me. My ultimate pet peeve is when I am standing in line somewhere, say waiting at the bank, or to get a deli sandwich and some "person" in front of me says, "Don't they have anymore workers that can help out?" or "I love ham!" Why do we have to have a conversation, just because we are standing in line together? I once considered having cards printed up that read "Thank you for you comment/question. Please note: our proximity in line does not make us friends. Please don't say any more." That I could hand out whenever one of these chatters brought up the price of postage. But iPod has solved all that. When those little white headphones are plugged in, you are golden. No on can talk to you! I recently flew to California, and instead of worrying if the old woman sitting next to me was going to ask me if I was "going or coming" I just plugged myself into the sweet whisperings of Rufus Wainwright and Howard Jones.
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