Ms. Catherine, Esq., J.D., LLC

Resurrected from a 3 month hiatus... almost...

2008-12-31T12:53:00.000-08:00

Apologies for falling off the face of the earth for the past few months. After a little Christmas vacation R&R, I almost feel like a human again... almost.

To celebrate my return to humanhood, I decided to do something I haven't done for months--exercise! I am lucky enough to have a buddy that engages often in hand-to-hand combat, and I figured he could teach me a thing or two about boxing. Unfortunately, buddy decided not to go easy on me despite my three-pronged explanation on why I was out of shape and should therefore be allowed to be a wuss. Instead, he suggested we do one minute sequences of "cardio-boxing". Seems easy, right? Haha. Ha.

First sequence: one, two, and three punch sequences associated with numbers. In other words, friend calls out a number, and I punch the (very heavy) punching bag with the associated punching sequence. Unfortunately, friend thought it was appropriate to call out "push-ups" a number of times during the one minute blitz and require me to drop and do 10 pushups. And by "pushups", I mean pushups on my knuckles with boxing gloves. Really? Oh, and friend was also kind enough to stop the one-minute timer during the interspersed pushup segments. Faaan-tastic.

Second sequence: one to four punch sequences, with the call for "defense"--which required me to drop to pushup position and then pop up and continue punching the bag. Unfortunately, my drop/pop wasn't fast enough, and friend decided to call "defense" after every punching sequence. An expletive may or may not have crossed my lips during that sequence.

Suffice it to say that after sitting on the ground with a defeated look on my face, friend and I compromised and made jumping jacks the occasional non-punching action during the next few minute blitzes.

While I will not bore you with the details of each workout, I will share with you the parting words friend and I shared as we walked out of the gym:

C: Um, I can't feel the pinkie or ring finger on my right hand. Does that mean I was doing something wrong?

Friend: Nope, that's just some nerve damage. Don't worry, you'll get used to it.

Interesting.

On a more positive note, I plan to purchase some boxing gloves for myself over the next couple of days. As much as I enjoyed scrubbing my hands and wrists with angry fervor to remove the *fragrance* that still remains, I think I'll opt for my own sweaty gloves next time.

BP1 & BP2, RIP. BP3, please don't join your friends.

2008-10-04T15:24:00.000-07:00

Help.

I am a plant killer. I've purchased a few plants in the past, and the people I purchase those plants from simply refuse to tell me exactly how often, when, and how much each plant needs to be watered. I blame them, and figure that my incompetence is really not my fault--my brain simply lacks to capacity to look at a plant, gauge its needs, and respond accordingly.

Despite my glaring weakness, however, I developed a love for fresh basil a few months ago--and immediately committed myself to changing my black thumb fate. After all, the thrifty (read: "cheap") person inside of me who refuses to pay $3.99 for 3 "organic" basil leaves at the grocery store is fighting the fat person inside who appreciates good, fresh food.

Solution: buy a basil plant ("BP").

BP1:
My first attempt was a tiny basil plant purchased at a plant nursery in Utah. After potting it (aka getting Chantal to pot it), I forgot to water the little guy. Apparently, BP1's puny set of 5 tiny leaves wasn't enough to draw my attention to it, and my lack of attention killed the poor plant. [Note: I bought a mint plant at the same time. I've heard that mint is like a weed, which breaks boundaries and refuses to be constrained. For all you mint-haters out there, know that no water does, in fact, kill mint plants as well.] I left the dead basil and mint plants out by my sink for a few weeks as a reminder to always-water-plants, and then threw them away when my roommates complained about the dead plants surrounding the kitchen sink.

BP2:
With the memory of BP1 firmly rooted in my mind, I then "upgraded" to a larger, already-potted basil plant at the Farmer's Market in SLC. I asked the seller detailed questions on how to maintain the plant--she responded in the usual non-committal, semi-informative style. I meticulously watered that plant, and said goodbye to it as it made its way cross country with Chantal (a plant lover/nurturer). During the move, that plant also went the way of the Earth, despite my frequent inquiries regarding its health and status.

BP3:
Chantal, feeling badly that my basil plant died during its cross country drive, purchased BP3 for me and realized that the plant shouldn't be watered as much as I watered BP2. Unfortunately, BP3 is pictured here--despite my constant care (and moderated watering), something is attacking my plant. I've tried a potion I found on the internet of boiled oil/garlic and water to try to fight the bugs... but my plant is still dying.

Anyone? Anyone?

Another banking article...

2008-10-02T19:57:00.000-07:00

I've been confused. This article on why the bailout plan would be a disaster rocks in clarity and logic.

Enjoy. (Thanks Jeff)

Uh oh banking...

2008-10-01T13:38:00.000-07:00

It took quite a while (and a few angry phone calls to customer service reps), but I am finally a functioning member of society again with working internet, cable, and phone! Unfortunately, I have also been able to catch up on the glorious financial state of our country over the past 24 hours or so. Although you are probably tired of hearing about our country's financial woes, check out this depressing (yet highly) entertaining passage from an article published in the UK.

"Try a different take. Yes, the West’s financial infrastructure is in severe distress. Yes, more banks are going to crumble. Yes, there will be a recession. But allocating $700bn (it would almost certainly turn out to be more) to a clean-up programme for toxic assets, in effect socialising the poison of private greed, has no merit other than to delay the inevitable. No amount of federal cash can rewind the X-rated horror video."

Sadly, I agree. My economics guru and buddy Jeff also seems to agree. And, have I mentioned that if I wanted to live in a socialized country I would MOVE?

Sorry to beat a dead horse. As a peace offering, visit this link for a free cookie!

A poll... to fold or not to fold...

2008-09-21T21:00:00.000-07:00

I would consider myself to be a pretty good aunt--I'm always willing to draw from my wealth of child-rearing knowledge when my sisters and brothers ask for advice on how to teach their kidlets. Who am I kidding... my child-rearing "knowledge" comes from watching Jon and Kate Plus 8 and occasionally playing with my nieces and nephews. Whatever. In any case, I was more than happy to receive (and respond to) the delightful email quoted below.

[Note: if you are easily offended by potty humor or general references to bodily functions, stop reading now for your own safety.]

"Hello family members,

A critical question - to fold or not to fold, that is the question.

Franklin and I have been having an argument over how to teach Kaitlin to wipe her bum (we apologize if you find the topic of this email embarassing) - so the question is - do you fold or wad your toilet paper? Franklin folds and I wad and we are wondering if we were taught this by our mothers and if our siblings are the same. Also, if you have children, what have you taught them to do?

Thank you for your cooperation.

Sincerely,
The management."

I submitted the following response:

"I say fold. Wadding is for barbarians. Goodbye."

Paige, my fake sister-in-law, replied with the following:

"Well, if Catherine really wants to know how everyone does it, then I say wad. Folding is totally superfluous."

Christina, my sister, responded:

"Sorry Paige, I have to disagree. When you wad, there are always anomalies in the wadding. Some places will be many layers thick while other layers will only be one layer thick. Invariably, your kid will have a single layer between his/her bottom and his/her finger/thumb . . . and the microbiologist in me just shudders to think about the microbes that the kid, who may or may not wash his/her hands after every bathroom visit, now has all over . . . .

Of course, that's just my opinion. :-)"

Amelia, my other fake sister-in-law, disputed with the following:

"I am all about how long it takes. Folding takes so much more time than wadding AND with a more rough surface I find that wadding wipes better. To prove my point I have to say that I never take more than one wad to wipe while I hear Justin pulling toilet paper up to FOUR times, and folding the paper to wipe. And no matter if your child's hand gets a little poo on it while they wipe, that's what washing hands is for. Plus, any mom has gotten pee and poop all over their hands a million times from changing diapers, so it really isn't that horrible to get a little bit of your own poo on your hand and then wash it right off. I actually believe that folding makes you more susceptible to getting wet. A folded piece of toilet paper with no air in-between folds gets saturated through way faster then a wad with air and scrunches and that's a scientific fact that anyone can test.

Basically wadding is the only way."

Lastly, my sister-in-law submitted:

"this is one choice that you give to the child. just tell them to deal
with themselves and then wash their hands.

shelly

ps kent refuses to dignify this poll with a response. there are way
better things to fight about."

I now submit the question to you... do you fold or wad, and if you are willing to respond... why?

Please don't get banged up...

2008-09-18T12:13:00.001-07:00

Please make it there in one piece...

Who says parents don't love and protect their children?

2008-09-13T22:42:00.000-07:00

My family frequents the Chinese Cultural Center near the Phoenix Airport for random Taiwanese meals, dim sum, and delicious Asian supermarket treats. During one of our recent visits, we were happy to discover that the CCC would be having a celebration for "Zhong Qiu Jie," aka "Mid-Autumn Festival."

After treating ourselves to an appetizer of scallion pancakes and strawberry slushies with boba (anyone who served in Taiwan should now be salivating...), mom, Ron, and I made our way towards the performance area to meet with my brother and his family. I quickly abandoned my plan of sticking with mom and Ron after mom began pushing/elbowing her way through the dense crowd in an effort to get to the coveted/mostly occupied seats in front of the stage. Refusing to associate myself with such pushiness, I cased the perimeter of short Asian people straining their necks to see the stage in a quest to find the rest of my family members. After a joyful reunion, we joined mom and Ron who had somehow cleared almost a whole row of seats.

The ensembles of young girls doing Chinese fan/ribbon dances were cute and entertaining. (Not pictured).

Emcee "Miss Chinese Phoenix" in her formal wear was slightly mockable (and we did mock), but also entertaining.

And then she ("Lady") took the stage. (See picture, above right).

After a short introduction on how Lady missed her mother and her home country, she started her solo. And by solo, I mean a BLARING, operatic version of a self-written Chinese song that represented an ode to Lady's mother and homeland. Three of Kent's children's hands immediately went to cover their ears. [Kent's resulting look of death directed at each individual child communicated the message that the ear covering was inappropriate/rude. They then promptly dropped their hands from their ears; the looks of pain remained on their faces].

At this point, I glanced to my right and caught a glimpse of the picture to the left--the mom, sitting on the ground with her son on her lap, was gripping her son's ears as hard as she could to shield him from Lady's unconscionable decibel level. I determined that I simply needed a picture of that loving gesture... and aimed my CB over at the mom.

Unfortunately, after the first blurry picture... I drew some [embarassing] attention to the fact that I was taking a picture in the middle of Lady's performance. Lucky for both you and me, however, the mom retained her vice grip on her son's ears and despite the girl over her shoulder looking at me like I was a retard for taking the picture, and a moment of desperation where I re-angled the CB to pretend I was taking a picture of my brother sitting to my right, I caught the photo you see above.

Then the lady launched into her second... yes second... song.

Of all the songs in all the world to choose, she decided to translate 'Edelweiss' into Chinese. Uh... that song SUNG WELL is already a little... taxing. As the sound quality bordered on offensive, I glanced to my left and saw mom and Ron in the positions pictured here. I apologize for my inability to capture a non-blurry photo of the moment... but my hand was shaking as I was laughing uncontrollably [but silently].

We decided to leave the performance area to stuff ourselves on Taiwanese food after that performance. I'm thinking that decision was for the best.

New blog address

2008-09-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

Due to all the psychopaths/cyber-stalkers out there, I'm changing my blog address in a couple of weeks to catherineconsult dot blogspot dot com. Come join me over there when you get a "blogger doesn't exist" message.

Brown paper--In or Out?

2008-09-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

I know, I know... I've turned into a blogging maniac. Unfortunately, I have been presented with great blog fodder through spending some quality time with my mom over the past few days. After all, she HAS recently stepped off the boat from Taiwan and is experiencing the re-acclimation to American culture that can be so painful after living in a foreign country for years. (Officially, my mom returned to the US on a plane, but since I have been assaulted with blasting racial generalizations lately, why not add a few of my own to the mix? Let's say she's fresh off the boat).

Please note that I do in fact have a great relationship with my mom. So, for all you haters out there, please constrain yourself from leaving comments on how I'm a rude/disrespectful child. Pshia.

In any case, we made a stop at In-n-Out Burger today. As I was focusing on my food and eating my fries like a squirrel eats nuts (fast forward to second 18 for the true demonstration), my mom looked at me with a confused look on her face and asked,

"Is this brown wrapper around my burger paper? Because I have been eating it and wondering why my burger is crunchy."

Not even my reaction to the scummy-looking 17 year old with a low-riding backpack slung over his shoulders who said "heeeeeyyy baaa-by!" to me as I passed him on my way to the restroom could compare to the laughter that consumed me after realizing my mom had eaten 1/4 of the paper around the burger. Poor mom. For the record, the brown paper wrapped around those burgers isn't rice paper... or any other form of edible paper. Oopsie.

Wii-tacular!

2008-09-09T10:05:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Shiloh (and her never-ending resevoir of patience and kindness), mom and Ron learned to play Wii Tennis yesterday. Here are some of the jewels from the treasure chest of mom's questions last night:

1. "Hey--how come my guy won't throw the ball up" (while trying to throw up a ball for serve with her non-wiimote-bearing hand).

2. "What did I do wrong? No, really. WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!" (after swinging 2 seconds too early/late).

3. "WHAT IS GOING ON? I CAN'T EVEN SEE THE BALL?" (before whacking Shiloh with great force on her backhand swing follow-through.)

4. "Ron, WE NEED THIS GAME. Let's go buy one tomorrow, since I can't exercise unless I'm inside with the air conditioning on!" (Ron then responded... "but if we get this game, will you ever let me play?")

Despite all the confusion and resulting physical injuries, mom had a fabulous time and was quite pleased that we were able to find a pharoah-like hairdo to attach to her mii and call her own.

Haiiiiii-YAH!

2008-09-08T11:33:00.001-07:00

Given my total laziness in blogging lately, I feel like I should report on some awesome story to mark my return to the blogging world. Unfortunately, the best commentary I can offer right now is the following [dreadful] experience and its associated moral lesson.

I visited my brother's ward in Arizona for the second week in a row yesterday. Since Shelly's services have been commandeered by the Primary, I was forced to brave Relief Society alone. As I was sitting pleasantly by myself reading my (English) scriptures, an uber-smiley member of the Relief Society Presidency ("RSP") in her late twenties approached me and said "HI! Are you new to the ward or just visiting?!" I explained that I was visiting my brother and his family (who she knew) before heading out East for a new job and was asked...

"So where are you visiting from? [.5 second pause] CHINA?"

Apparently, the English scriptures in my hand, her familiarity with my brother (who is not, in fact, from China), and our conversation (in what I'd like to think is pretty good Engrish) were not enough evidence of my American citizenship. As I tried to stifle the laughs that threatened to exit my mouth that remained agape, the RSP went on to say, "Well, I know your brother's family goes back there often... I just didn't know which members of the family lived back there."

Note: neither I nor my brother have ever been to China. In the four years my brother has lived in Arizona, he has visited Taiwan once with his family. He has made no other trips to Asia.

Moral: So I don't continue to threaten to use this story as the base of a testimony (which I actually considered as a fleeting thought), let me share the following principles with you:

1. If you meet someone with red hair, do not ask if they are from Scotland and/or if they play the bagpipes.

2. If you meet someone with Latin/Hispanic features, do not ask how they eluded the border patrol on their way into AMER-I-CAH.

3. If you meet someone with olive skin, do not ask if they are from China.

Talk about issues...

2008-08-12T10:20:00.001-07:00

Unfortunately, my commitment to eating my way through San Francisco prevented me from sitting down and watching the Beijing opening ceremonies. However, I remain as disturbed as can be about the Milli-Vanilli-inspired 7 year old that was presented as the face of the amazing singing talent to the right (the real singer deemed too ugly to represent China).

"This was a last-minute question, a choice we had to make," the ceremony's musical designer, Chen Qigang, said. "Our rehearsals had already been vetted several times - they were all very strict. When we had the dress rehearsals, there were spectators from various divisions, including above all a member of the politburo who gave us his verdict: we had to make the swap."

Apparently, the actual singer "simply did not portray the image that the Chinese wanted to convey to the world".

Poor little buck-toothed girl!

On the upside... three cheers for the men's 4x100 relay! I'm convinced that Michael Phelps is a fish. Or at least part dolphin.

A door is a door is a door...

2008-08-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

Location: Shakespeare Festival, Southern Utah University, Utah

Text: "Caution! This is not a door!"

Interpretation: Please grab the handle to the right and proceed through the resulting opening, as to avoid breaking your face on the plane labeled "not a door."

Location: Some "trendy" (aka sketchy) bookstore, Broadway Street, San Francisco, California.

Text: "I am the door"

Interpretation: Please proceed.

Note: While the lack of a handle can surely be overcome with some well-placed force, the door's location is perplexing... along the back wall of the bookstore... underground (in the basement)... with no apparent destination in mind. Given the unsavory environment of Broadway as a whole... I'm not sure I want to go through that door.

27 Going On 18

2008-07-24T15:20:00.001-07:00

Ok, I recognize that I've blogged about looking like I'm a teenager before. However, this story simply must be shared.

After writing a complaint and threatening to sue our cable/internet/phone provider Mstar (that's another story in and of itself but be warned... Mstar is run by a bunch of teenagers and is SO SHADY), I felt a need to de-stress.

The venue: Pioneer Day Festival in Mountain Green (small town in Northern Utah)

Location: Cotton Candy stand (because who doesn't want cotton candy at 10:30am?)

I joked around a bit with the girl spinning my cotton candy who happened to have cotton candy covering her forearm like a cast. Her little brother (who couldn't be more than 17) came over and started talking to me.

17: Hey--do you live around here?

C: No... but my roommate is from around here.

17: Oh--who's your roommate?

C: Chantal Cardon.

17: Oh. Ok. So... where are you... where do you go to school?

C: Oh, I already graduated.

17: Oh, I know that... but... do you go to Weber?

C: [quizzical look]

17: Oh... you already... graduated... from college...

Yes, that's right. I was hit on by a 17 year old who thought I was a freshman in college. I didn't have the heart to add that I had finished grad school, worked for almost 2 years, and went on a mission. Let's be honest--I felt sorry for the little guy. As for me... my birthday is coming up pretty soon here. I guess I shouldn't be so stressed that I'll officially be in my upper 20s if I still look like I'm 18.

IS IT ME?

2008-07-22T10:07:00.000-07:00

At 9am, I received a call from an unknown number. I generally don't pick up unfamiliar numbers for a few reasons--1. I hate telemarketers, 2. I don't want to waste airtime minutes on randoms, 3. I don't feel a need to talk to wrong numbers or random stalkers, and 4. If someone legitimate is calling, they can leave a message.

When the same number called for a second time at 11am, I decided to take a risk and pick up the phone. This is the conversation that ensued with the phone caller ("PC"):

PC: Who is this?

C: Uh, you called me. Who are you?

PC: Oh. Um. Well... here's the situation. Do you have a Blackberry?

C: Uh... yeah.

PC: Was your Blackberry lost or stolen?

C: No.

PC: So your blackberry wasn't stolen?

C: No.

PC: So here's the situation--my friend bought a Blackberry from his friend, and the number on that phone is your number. Verizon says that your number is on the lost/stolen phone list, so he can't activate it.

C: Well, I've had the same number for years.

PC: So you have a Blackberry?

C: Yes. I've had the Blackberry for about 6 months, and the phone number for years.

PC: So it wasn't stolen?

C: NO.

PC: My friend can't activate his phone because the number is on that list, and we're in Illinois.

C: He's going to have to call Verizon and get it worked out.

PC: Well he already has a phone that works, but he just wants to get this Blackberry activate that he bought from his friend.

C: Yeah, I'm not sure what you want me to do about that. I can't do anything about it.

PC: Ok. Bye.

After 30 minutes, the same number called back again. I refused to answer, and received the following message: "Hi. My name is Tyler. You probably talked to my friend Colby earlier. Can you go ahead and give me a call about the phone? I want to clear up a few things and make sure this isn't your phone, so go ahead and call me back."

Um, buddy, if I lost a phone, don't you think I would have told you that when you asked? Also, HOW CAN THAT INACTIVE PHONE IN YOUR HAND be my phone if I pick up when you call my number?

So much for "buying phones from friends."

Breakfast this morning.

2008-07-22T00:08:00.001-07:00

I can't figure out why my stomach hurts. Isn't that weird?

This is what we call service?

2008-07-21T23:46:00.000-07:00

Location: Utah County Parks and Recreation Golf Course

Activity: Service FHE

Reason: Some doofus ("D") received a ginormous dirt delivery which, when topped with grass, would eventually create a nice driving range. After recognizing that the dirt was filled with trash, one might think that D would have rejected delivery or notified a superior that the dirt was clearly suspect. Instead, D proceeded to spread the trash-filled dirt all over the planned driving range area. Genius. Did you know that plastic isn't biodegradable? Further, did you know that all non-biodegradable materials must be removed before grass can be added to piles of dirt?

Result: We got to pick up the trash. And by trash, I mean the precious treasures pictured above. Like a billion of them.

One word: Scarred.

THIS is what I live with.

2008-07-09T00:06:00.000-07:00

This is a conversation I just had with my uber-righteous roommate ("R").

R: You shouldn't go with your boyfriend into a bedroom. Regardless of the situation (unless he's helping you pick out an outfit), people who are dating shouldn't be alone in a bedroom together.

C: Yeah, I don't see a problem with it. During college, I studied with guys in my bedroom all the time.

R: Were you dating those guys?

C: Yup. Don't think it's a problem.

R: [Grabbing Buttercup, the pear-shaped stuffed giraffe pictured here] Come Buttercup, let us pray for Catherine's soul.

America... land of the Engrish speakers.

2008-07-05T00:40:00.000-07:00

Happy Fourth of July! Besides a wee bit of almost-swearing while navigating through traffic, today was a great day. We spent quite a bit of time with our Asian friends who are in Utah studying English, and taught them a little about the significance of July 4th. More importantly, we made ourselves fat and happy via a BBQ, some BYU Creamery Kids Meals, a small water fight involving a combination of pool water and duck/walrus squirty toys, and a serious fireworks display in the street with some friends.

Our day was topped off by a little discussion about embarassing moments while learning (and incorrectly using) a second language. Chantal and I argued that Chinese is a very difficult language and that using the wrong tone typically causes you to be met with blank stares while the person you are speaking with is either wondering why you're so stupid, trying to figure out what the heck you are trying to say, or a combination of both. Chen*, however, countered with the argument that minor pronunciation mistakes in English can cause disastrous, embarassing effects. When we didn't believe her, she launched into her two recent examples.

1. Apparently, Chen was excitedly telling her friend about her visit to Las Vegas where she "played some slots". In Chen's defense, how many of you who know a second language know the word for "slot machine"? In any case, Chen unfortunately mispronounced the word "slots" by substituting the "o" in "slots" with a "u". Completely... different... meaning.

2. Chen's second embarassment came via an innocent Facebook status change. Chen is an incredibly positive, happy, and loving individual--while you could argue that the following is an unconventional Facebook status, Chen changed her status to "Chen thinks love tastes delicious." Unfortunately for her, however, "tastes" was misspelled, with an "e" replacing the "a". Oopsie.

Yeah, she wins. I guess English IS a hard language. For this and many other reasons, I am quite grateful to have grown up in America... where I learned from a young age to speaka the good Engrish.

* Name has been changed to protect the identity of the individual involved... c'mon now... if you talked about delicious "tastes" and playing "slots", wouldn't you want a little privacy?

Hi! I'm your friendly librarian! I have the IQ of a rat.

2008-06-25T13:47:00.001-07:00

Ok, I admit that title is a little harsh. Please suspend judgment until you've heard the whole story.

First, let me ask you--what do you think of when you hear the word "library"? Nice AC... shelves of books... free movies... little desks with internet hookups... free computers... all good things, right? Sadly, my good opinion of the local library has taken a serious turn for the worse today due to a little run in with a library minion, or "L" for short.

C: Can i check these out? I forgot my card.

L: Sure... do you have ID on you?

C: Yes. Right here.

L: Ok. Hmm. Did you apply for a card online?

C: No. I came in and got one.

L: Hmm. I'm just trying to figure out which one of these is you.

C: Can i see your computer screen?

[Note: There was only one person with my name on the entire screen. She could read my license, right? Take the high road, Catherine, take the high road.]

(Pointing to the only name that matched mine on the screen...) It's probably that one.

L: But if that were you, you would have had to apply online. Did you apply online?

C: N-O.

L: Hmm.

C: Can you pull up additional information about that account?

L: Yes. [click click. click.]

C: [foot tapping]

L: [click click. click.]

Oh here it is.

C: Yeah, that's me.

L: Really?

C: Yes.

L: So this is your information? Your address?

C: Y-E-S.

L: Well this account would have had to be set up online.

C: I did not set my account up online.

L: Hmm.

C: In any case, that's my account. Can i check out these books?

L: Well... if you set up your account online, you wouldn't have a card. You would sign up online, and then we would give you a card the first time you came in.

C: Well, I have a card. and I didn't set my account up online. It did expire at one point, so I had to call in when I couldn't log in to see my account from my computer at home, and someone at the library reactivated my account so I could log in.

L: Yeah, that wouldn't count as it being set up online.

C: Well, that bar code there... can you use that to check me out my books?

L: No. That bar code... yeah, that's not the same as your account number. I can't use that. You will need to bring in your card. I can put the books on hold for you for three days, though.

C: I live across town--coming back in the next couple days is going to be a hassle. Since you say your system doesn't show that I have a card, can you just give me a new card to use?

L: No, because if you already have a card, it will cost you $2 for a replacement card.

C: Let me get this straight. Your system shows that I somehow set up my account online, so I don't have a card. If that's the case, I'd have to come in and get a new card from you. But, since I told you I have a card at home, you won't give me a new card?'

L: Um... right.

C: THAT MAKES SENSE. THANKS, BYE.

Seriously? In any case, despite the run in with Madame L, I hit four different locations around town, saved a bunch of gas, and picked up the following items that nicely fit into my trusty dusty Camelback:

1. 4 packages of Udon (Who would can live without ready-to-make Japanese soupy noodles?),

2. A free Trek water bottle (Thanks, Starving Student Card),

3. 3 hard cover books (Weaseled out of the library by using Chantal's card. Take that, L.),

4. A head of napa cabbage (Why not?), and

5. Keys to my new bike lock.

All in all, I'd consider the afternoon expedition a success.

Blockity block block

2008-06-23T14:43:00.000-07:00

Some of you might know that instant messaging is my primary form of communication with the outside world. Who am I kidding? Anyone reading this blog should know that. [I really did mean to pick up your call last time... it just shot to voice mail so fast... and then the message got erased... and I had no idea you wanted me to call you back... stammer stammer...]

In any case, I was at work today, dutifully minding my own business when an instant message popped up. Note that I pride myself on not adding random friends to my Facebook friends list or chatting lists... and I've been known to block a person or two in the past (oopsie).

Stephanie says:
hi!!

Catherine says:
hi

[I held myself back from responding in the same very excited, double-exclamation mark form I was greeted with. It was a conscious decision.]

Stephanie says:
how are you?!

Catherine says:
good... you?

[At this point... I'm searching through my contact list to see if I can find any "Stephanie" or person at the listed email address. No dice.]

Stephanie says:
good!
ehh i'm alright

[Uh... am I supposed to ask her why she's just alright after that hearty greeting? Am I supposed to continue on to try to figure out who the heck Stephanie is?]

Stephanie says:
is that your new car??

Catherine says:
yup.

[Uh... is this person stalking me? Did I just disclose too much information? My license plate isn't shown in my profile picture, is it?]

Catherine says:
where are you now and what are you doing?

[In other words, who the crap are you, and why are you talking to me?]

Stephanie says:
awesome!

Stephanie says:
meeee

[What? Are we starting to speak like horses? I'm pretty sure that horses say "neeiiigghhh," not "meee".]

Stephanie says:
i'm still in stinky hot tucson, i'm @ home, & searching for a job! what about you??

[Ok. May day, may day. I really don't know anyone in Tucson. It's time to take drastic measures. Be bold, Catherine. Be bold.]

Catherine says:
haha, i'm sorry... but i don't think you are the stephanie i was thinking. how do i know you?

Stephanie says:
ahahahahahha

Stephanie says:
its stephanie espinoza

Stephanie says:
youre catherine green? right?

Catherine says:
still not ringing a bell

Stephanie says:
from cross middle school.

Catherine says:
haha no

Catherine says:
sorry

Stephanie says:
your last name isnt green?

[Are you a doofus? I just said it wasn't, and hello, my email address listed here on the chat window lists my last name... which is not Green.]

Stephanie says:
ahaha

Catherine says:
nope

Stephanie says:
ok

Stephanie says:
sorry

Catherine says:
sorry!

[Stranger, I assume politeness and obligatory apologies are appropriate here, even though you started chatting with me. I'll even add an exclamation point for good measure.]

Stephanie says:
haha its ok

Stephanie says:
idk how i got your email

Catherine says:
bye!

Stephanie says:
weird ok well peace

[Result: BLOCK. And another one bites the dust.]

As a sidenote, my settings are such that I should have to approve anyone who wants to chat with me before allowing them to IM me. Where was the breakdown here? Mr. Gates, will you please resume your post and fix my MSN troubles? Do you really think that starving children and health epidemics are more worth your time?

It's not your momma's trail.

2008-06-22T12:30:00.000-07:00

South Fork of Provo Canyon = Nemesis

Paige (my semi-sister-in-law and then-roommate) took me on my first mountain bike ride about 4 years ago, shortly after completing her spring term mountain biking class at BYU.

Let's review.

Paige: buff, nicknamed "thoroughbred" (like a horse that can run and jump at super-human levels), and at one of the many peaks in her fitness level after recently completing an advanced mountain biking class at BYU.

Catherine: out of shape, working at least 55 hours a week, and mountain biking for the first time.

As you might have guessed, despite my fiercly competitive spirit, I gave up from heat exhaustion and general body death around mile 1.5. Since that fateful afternoon four years ago, I have attacked that same trail about 4 times... only to be turned back around somewhere in the middle of the trail out of exhaustion as the mountain laughs in the background.

One request: before you decide that I'm a pathetic loser, check out the trail description at utahmountainbiking.com, Utah Valley Trails, Windy Pass Trail. Among the highlights:

"Starting at 5700 feet altitude, you'll climb 3300 vertical feet to the pass. Out-and-back, it's 13 miles round trip. Because of narrow trail, loose rock, and injury potential, I'm rating this trail advanced technical, very strenuous aerobic."

"This is not an easy trail. I'd reserve this trail for an advanced rider (with good rock-surfing control) who's looking for a climbing challenge. If that's you, go for it."

"It's not your Momma's trail."

Despite this being advanced technical, strenuous, a climbing challenge and... all on all... not my momma's trail, Chantal and I attacked the mountain late last week as our first attempt to conquer it this season. [Note: the picture above does not come close to doing justice to the steepness of that section of the trail]. Shockingly, the result was a success, despite the fact that our success was tainted by the billion wormie guys along the trail who descended from the trees surrounding us. Chantal might not have classified the ride as a success, as she had to jam on her breaks, scream, and stop to try to get all the cobwebs and worms out of her face and off her body more than once during our descent. The picture above and to the right is of Chantal's handlebars after most of the cobwebs and all of the little worm guys were removed during a break in the descent.

Personally, I maintain that a tainted success is a success nonetheless. South Fork, take THAT!

Waffles, Wiffs, and Wii

2008-06-17T10:04:00.000-07:00

I was given the option to start working part-time this week at my company. Two words for you: WOO HOO! In the poetic words of Ross, "I will take it."

Yesterday was my first day off, and the following was my "agenda":

10:00: Roll out of bed.

10:00-11:00: Make and consume Williams & Sonoma waffles in the shape of Mickey Mouse's head.

11:00-11:30: Drive through Trapper's Loop to a mountain biking trail called "Green Lake."

11:30-12:45: Take "Green Lake" by storm, cruising for 3 miles of steady uphill. (We would have gone longer, but we ran out of Gatorade.)

12:45-1:15: Shower to remove dirt, mud and chain grease.

1:15-1:45: Eat lunch. (My first Boca Burger... you'd think that a meatless hamburger would be nasty. Result: Surprisingly, not bad.)

1:45-3:30: Drive home.

3:30-7:10: Play Dr. Mario for Wii against random strangers via WiFi connection. (Note: my Mii's name is 'winner'. Could I be any more of a target?) Watch random shows on TLC to "rest" from my difficult morning.

7:10-7:30: Bike over to the church.

7:30-9:00: Play in the ultimate wiffle ball championship. Engage in trash talking after striking out at my first "at bat" (which, for those of you who know me, makes me a really happy camper. I LOVE being bad at sports!). Luckily, I redeemed myself.

9:00-9:30: Visit teach.

9:30-10:30: Watch more Jon and Kate Plus 8, What Not to Wear, and of course, play more Dr. Mario. My score is above 6,000 now. I'm still waiting for you to challenge me.

11:00: Sleep.

There's nothing like a hard day of work, is there?

Speaking of Purple People Eaters...

2008-06-10T08:11:00.000-07:00

Meet: The One-Eyed Purple People Eater.

We made this little dude into a rocket for the purpose of blasting him up and across a giant lawn.

Please disregard the fact that I look like I'm twelve, and focus instead on TOEPPE's special features including:

1. One giant green eye, complete with yellow, curled eyelashes. (I tried to put the eyelashes far above his eye where an eyebrow would be, but was told that eyelashes should border the eye. Good to know.)

2. Pink shorts with yellow polka dots. (Note that after this picture was taken, we removed the purple from between the legs of the shorts. We can't have TOEPPE being indecent now, can we.)

3. A single horn, which looked more like a hat than a horn... which was then changed into the horn trifecta pictured here.

Result: Apparently, filling him with water and blowing some type of gas mixture up his bum really makes him fly... because despite his non-aerodynamic shape, he flew quite nicely.

Challenge Extended...

2008-06-09T12:11:00.001-07:00

My life has changed for the better.

Enter: Dr. Mario Online Rx for Wii.

While Chantal may have loudly protested the "Chill" soundtrack incessantly blaring through the house as I tried to destroy all the viruses on the screen (for... ahem... hours...), I could not believe my good luck when I discovered that Nintendo has released this upgraded version of Dr. Mario.

I extend a challenge to anyone reading this with a Wii--pay $10, download the game, and let's BATTLE!

Thank YOU, Purple People Eater.

2008-06-04T11:22:00.000-07:00

As I chase my 10th and 11th "Kirkland Extra-Strength Non-Asprin Acetaminophen" consumed in the past 4 days with a slice of bbq chicken pizza, I feel a twinge of appreciation that my company recognizes its effect on employees and provides Costco-sized bottles of Tums, Acetominophen, and Aspirin in our break room. There is nothing more comforting than a company that anticipates its employees' needs, right?

iToilet

2008-06-02T14:51:00.000-07:00

Can you remember what life was like in the dark ages before the invention of iPods, Zunes (which I hear suck, by the way… go back to your mothership, Microsoft), and no-name mp3 players? I can’t. In fact, I can't remember a time when I started a conversation with a stranger instead of ducking my head down with my proudly-displayed white headphones protruding from my ears.

I am happy to report that the convenience and seclusion afforded by mp3 players has been taken one step further—landing in a bathroom near you.

“Toilet Tunes gives you privacy and ambience in the bathroom automatically using patent pending wireless technology. Toilet Tunes consists of two components, a digital sound machine and a wireless sensor that easily attaches to any toilet. The sensor is waterproof, washable and guaranteed to stay on. The high quality digital sound machine was created by European designer Lukasz Bertolli. It’s* sleek soft lines compliment any bathroom or guest bathroom at home or the office. It offers a choice of music or nature sounds, including Jazz, Latin Guitar, Modern Pop, Ocean Waves, Mountain Stream or Soothing Rain.”

In other words, European-designed privacy and ambiance in the bathroom + listening to the soundtrack from High School Musical while doing my business = a $100 value for only $29.95 + $9.95 shipping and handling?

What a steal of a deal! With THAT kind of a bargain, I will never again be tempted with "facilities" such as those pictured here, located along the hiking trail at Cinque Terra. Using the bathroom without sounds of a mountain stream or soothing rain... why, that's practically barbaric. And, who WOULDN'T want to hear a latin guitar while doing their bi-ness?

*Note to Toilet Tunes copy editor… “it’s” means “it is”.

It is time to up YOUR [insert car name here]

2008-05-28T14:39:00.000-07:00

This is the second time I've received an email telling me "It is time to up [my] IS". I have always been a true believer in deferring to car dealership spam. As a result, I am, of course, considering getting into debt for and/or spending my life savings on the following:

1 - 19" forged alloy wheels - $4,092
2 - Brake upgrades - $3,237 (front) $2,677 (back) 3 - Lowering springs - $934
4 - Performance shocks - $1,375
5 - Sway bar kit - $601
6 - Rear chassis brace - $481
7 - Quick shifter kit - $406
8 - Carbon fiber engine cover - $887
9 - Performance air intake - $561
10 - Performance exhaust - $1,576

$16,827? What a STEAL!

Two quick questions:

1. Could someone please tell me what all this crap is?
2. Where oh where can I get the SWEET orange paint job shown here? Black is so 2007.

Indian technology at its best

2008-05-25T20:31:00.000-07:00

This is India, the country to which your call gets routed when you have a computer issue or problem to be "resolved" by customer service. 3 cheers for outsourcing to decrease costs!

Tuned in

2008-05-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

iTunes = genius. Seriously.

I firmly held to my "don't sign up for iTunes" platform for years... until last night. As Ryan Seacrest foreboding-ly announced, "this years' performances will ONLY be available for download until TOMORROW night at MIDNIGHT", I found myself frenetically trying to determine if that Seacrest's version of "midnight" was EST, CST, MST, or PST. Being unable to come up with a good answer to that question, I threw care to the wind, broke out my laptop, and furiously started searching for my Idol contestants' most memorable performances of the season.

$10.89 + tax, 11 quickly downloaded songs, and thirty minutes later, I silently thanked iTunes for letting me add "songs" to my list of "unreturnable items that can be purchased from the comfort of my own home, as quickly as an impulse can form". I salute you, Mr. Jobs.

Aside from that, I feel inclined to share Karen's conspiracy theory that the entire competition is rigged, and Archie has not only been "in it to win it", but "pre-selected to win it" by the evil producers of the show who can think of no better lines to feed Randy via teleprompter than "you could sing the phone book, dawg". (Seriously? I think that's three weeks in a row, dawg.)

The EW.com American Idol cynic who reports on the show seems to agree with Karen, and presents the following for your consideration:

"And so while I could blather on incessantly about how American Idol needs to crown a hip, radio-ready winner like Rocker David, fans of Little David could just as easily (and very correctly) counter with the fact that tonight's finale was a vocal tour de force for their boy, a tidal wave of glory notes, runs, and misty eyelashes that only the most horrible kind of cynic would try to deny. (Sorry, haters, I'm not volunteering for that kamikaze mission.)

It's weird, my current lack of fighting spirit. Maybe after 41 episodes, I'm too Idol-ed out to rail against Simon Cowell for essentially standing on his seat and reconfiguring last season's Idol coronation theme into ''This Is Archie's Now.'' Maybe after getting repeatedly punched in the face by the episode's overzealous boxing metaphor, I can't get up off the mat and make note of the fact that Randy had been hand-stenciling his ''I'm an Arch Angel 4EVA'' poster for the last several weeks. Heck, even Ryan got in on the action tonight, with a ''Well said, Mr. Cowell'' only seconds after Simon declared the evening a knockout for Archuleta. (Et tu, Hostbot?)"

What do you think?

On another, more embarassing note, I was just at the copy machine whistling and singing Jason Castro's "Somewhere Over the Rainbow"... in what I thought was a soft voice... when someone sitting closeby started laughing and said, "Hey Catherine... Whatcha singing?"

I might actually need to start taking responsibility for all these embarassing experiences and awkward situations that I'm finding myself in...

Pee-O'd

2008-05-19T12:49:00.000-07:00

This morning I was proud of myself for taking the high road when I avoided swearing at the big truck that drove by and threw up a rock that chipped my windshield. I found myself wondering why my luck had taken a sudden turn for the worst lately.

When my boss and I went to eat lunch at the Chinese dive we frequent in Draper, my fortune cookie suggested that my luck might be improving--I was happy to learn that "I will never need to worry about a steady income."

However, my luck again took a turn for the worst when I struggled to disembark from my boss's SUV after lunch while carrying a few papers, my leftover hot and sour soup, a mechanical pencil, and the styrofoam carry out container with my leftover rice and entree. My boss was examining the interior of the car parked next to him, and asking me what I thought about it when, suddenly, I started feeling a suspicious warmth in an unmentionable area of my body.

I looked down... and saw that the broth from my entree had flooded the lower half of my shirt and strategically placed crotchal-area of my pants. Good thing I'm wearing grey today, eh? Grey hides dark liquid SO well.

In any case, please be informed that the heat blowing from my space heater is doing shockingly little to dry my pants while I sit here with stickiness all over my legs and other sundry areas. Also, you may be asking yourselves what the best part of this story is... as I sit here, in my work clothes, hiding behind my desk.

Personally, I think the fact that I SMELL VERY STRONGLY LIKE KUNG PAO SHRIMP will help me make lots of progress in breaking Asian stereotypes. What do you think?

Pride goeth before the fall

2008-05-17T09:35:00.000-07:00

Have you ever tried to hug asphalt? Have you ever thought to yourself... "I wonder who would win in a fight... hot asphalt or skin?"

For all of you inquisitive minds out there, rest assured--I, and my skin, have the answer to your questions.

Wendy and I took our longboards up the canyon on Friday afternoon for what we thought would be a nice, relaxing ride. I was apparently overly-confident as I approached the first hill... and decided to try to ride down it instead of wussing out and walking down. Unfortunately, the hill was significantly longer and steeper than I had anticipated.

Halfway down the hill, my board started shaking back and forth. This is the conversation that ensued in my brain.

"Hmm. My board is shaking. That can't be good."

"Yes, but I'm already halfway down the hill... I'm picking up significant speed, but I wonder if I can just take it to the bottom."

"That would be one alternative, but I've fallen when the board starts uncontrollably shaking before... that doesn't feel good. The faster I get, the more my fall will hurt."

"In any case, I have to make a decision... like... now."*

That's right, readers. There are many voices in my head.

As experienced boarders would tell you, what I should have done in that situation was try to get my right leg off the shaking board, drag it against the ground, and thereby slow the longboard down. Instead, however, in a rush of pure intelligence, I decided that jumping off the board would be the best alternative.

The following events ensued:

1. My board traveled away from me for a distance of about 30 feet (at very high speeds).

2. I crashed onto the ground and slid across the asphalt on my left leg and knee, the back of my left hand, and my right palm.

3. I lied motionless for about 15 seconds, until I could gather my senses, then turned onto my back (thereby removing my skin from the hot asphalt), and yelled "C-A-T-A-S-T-R-O-P-H-E".

4. A scantily-clad female runner approached steps ahead of Wendy, having heard my skin scraping against the ground and my yell... only to realize that I was laughing at this point (out of pure embarassment) and that there was nothing that she could do besides run the 60 feet to retrieve my longboard and ask if I was okay.

After a quick photo shoot of my injuries (first priority, of course), I summoned the energy to actually stand up and found a water source to wash out my wounds. The blinding stinging that ensued conveniently helped me locate all of my yet-undiscovered wounds. How nice.

Luckily, my car came with a First Aid kit (which the car manufacturer cites as evidence of how much it cares about its customers) with a "cleansing wipe" containing high alcohol content that feels GREAT against open wounds, and tweezers... an integral instrument for my longboarding buddy to removing rocks that are imbedded in wounds and broken skin.

I am sad to report that there has been a fatality--my much-loved watch pictured here, while recognizable, is unrepairable. On the upside, the deep gouges into the face of that watch protected my wrist from getting completely destroyed; therefore, despite my current state of mourning for the watch, I recognize that its sacrifice was valiant.

In conclusion, I know how it feels to hug asphalt. I also know who wins the asphalt v. skin war. Take my word for it, and listen to the voice in your head--the one that calmy reflects on past experiences and tells you to SLOW DOWN.

Asphalt, 1. Catherine, 0. Skin, -10,000.

*Author's note: I don't actually suffer from multiple personalities disorder.

To all non-law-abiding Toyota and Lexus Drivers

2008-05-16T09:57:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I am a law abiding citizen.

Despite that disclaimer, however, I must pose the following question: do any of you get frustrated with the incessant seatbelt warning dinging that is standard on all newer cars? Do you really believe that the increasing frequency of the dings and their offensive loudness when you're going 2 mph out of your driveway make your ride safer?

I do not. I will monitor my own seatbelt wearing, thank you very much.

And, despite my car manufacturer's promise that the seat can tell the difference between the weight of groceries and a small human being, the car has been wrong on at least one occasion so far.

Therefore, on my first maintenance check, I pleaded with the service guys to remove the dinging from my car. Both the assistant service manager and service technician said that they would be unable to remove the dinging because "it's a safety feature". In my head, I grumbled about stupid lawyers and people suing car dealerships for removing safety features. Boo.

In any case, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Enter: Google, in all its magesty. (Thanks for the tip, Sharon). Apparently there IS a fix online for all Toyota and Lexus drivers:

1. Turn the key to the ON position (press Start 2 times, foot off the brake for IS250 drivers, or turn the key to the second accessory position right before starting the ignition with a normal key)

2. Cycle the odometer with the trip reset button until the ODO is displayed (not trip A or B)

3. Turn the ignition to the LOCK (OFF) position (or turn the car off and remove key)

4. Unbuckle the driver's seatbelt if it was buckled

5. Turn the key to the ON position (press Start 2 times, or turn the key to the second accessory position). When the dash lights have come on, press and hold the trip reset button and count for 30 seconds

6. While still holding the trip reset button, buckle the driver's side seatbelt

7. The odometer display should read "b ON" or "b OFF". Toggle the beep OFF with the trip reset button

8. The process should be completed when you unbuckle or turn the key off

In the poetic words of Gwen Stefani, "Woooo hoooooo. Yeeeee hooooooo."

Car troubles

2008-05-14T08:55:00.000-07:00

1 - Yesterday when I went to Costco to fill up my car, I took a look at the gas prices and said (apparently too loudly) "Uuugghhh! So painful!"

Everyone within 15 feet of me turned around to look at me. Oopsie.

2 - This morning I dropped my car off to get serviced. I asked the service guy if he could get someone to drive me to work. He told me he'd give me a loaner vehicle instead because he didn't want one of his "lot technicians" taking three hours to drive me there and back (and thereby avoiding his alternative duty of washing cars) because "the customer wanted to go to breakfast and then I got stuck in traffic"...

I was pleased with the service guy until he asked me "are you 21"? Really?

On an unrelated note, either I'm going crazy or there really is elevator music that's descending into my office from above.

First ride of the season...

2008-05-12T10:18:00.000-07:00

An accounting of my prior three summers:

S1: Working from home under intense pressure, long hours (including more than occasional work at 11pm), and serious intellectual stress.

S2: Working at a "family-friendly" firm in Seattle, billing people for 6-minute increments of my life, and commuting 2 hours a day.

S3: Working full time while studying for the bar and breaking out in shingles.

I recently found myself wondering why I was consistently out of shape and slow during the "fun, relaxing" summer months. Answer: see above. Duh.

However, I am turning over a new leaf. I will only be working a single, 40-hour per week job this summer. What a novel concept! As a result, my plan is to break out of the "out of shape and slow" mold... and actually have some fun playing outdoors during the next few months.

This past Saturday was the first installment of fun outdoorsy activities... mountain biking! After unsuccessfully attempting to navigate two trails that were beyond our skill set (note: walking while pushing mountain bikes up steep, narrow mountain trails is not fun), we actually found a fun mountain trail. We were quite proud that we were able to take this picture at the top of the mountain that we had just climbed on our trusty bikes (note: picture has now been removed under protest from one of the individuals pictured).

After we had navigated our way down the mountain, Chantal and I were riding smoothly along a paved road. Sharon, imitating a rabbit, was bouncing up and down on her pedals on this paved road... and succeeded in destroying her shin when her foot slipped off the pedal and her shin scraped all the way down that long rabbit-like bounce. Who would have thought that bouncing up and down on [metal, jagged] pedals isn't always a good idea?

If you ask her how she got this beautiful injury, she will report that she got it "while mountain biking." However, between you and me... I'm pretty sure biking in third gear along a paved road doesn't quite qualify as mountain biking.

Flash it like Beckham

2008-05-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

After seeing Beckham from the third row behind the LA Galaxy's benches on Saturday night, I have decided he photographs very well. I wasn't overly impressed by the soccer star/model. Additionally, for the first thirty minutes of the game or so, I thought he was a pansy who didn't try very hard (especially in the midfield).

Then he got the ball close to the goal.

I now realized why he gets paid so much--that man can shoot. My mouth dropped open on both of his goals... as he bent the shots around walls of people on a perfectly-placed (with a whole lot of speed) shot into the upper left corner of the goal. Wow.

However, as I was surrounded by Loyalists (season ticket holders for the ReAl Salt Lake team), I still enjoyed (and joined in) with the fans screaming a combination of the following:

"Beckham, take off your shirt!" (many times throughout the game).

"Princess Beckham, you suck!" or, "Good work, star!" (when he would lose the ball and/or make a bad pass).

"Beckham, the Lakers suck!" (because, apparently, he and Posh frequent games).

My personal favorite which came after Beckham was hotly disputing a call with one of the unpopular refs of the match: "Beckham, why are you yelling at him? HE'S ON YOUR TEAM!!"

At halftime, one fan on the front row dared to yell "Beckham, you suck!" as he was leaving the field. Another fan from row 4 (who was decked out in ReAl gear and a mainstay of the section with his frequent heckling of opposing players) responded, "Wait now... don't say that. We know that's NOT true. The Lakers? Now they suck. That ref? He also sucks. But c'mon... you can't say Beckham sucks." Clearly, ReAl fans only yell true, fair insults at the opposing team.

However, we apparently crossed a line while Beckham was alone and close to our sideline during the second half, while most of the action was occuring on the opposite side of the field. A number of fans yelled, "Beckham, where's your wife?!?!" after which he proceeded to lift up the right leg of his shorts to an unmentionable height, then pick his bum. As my section broke out in laughter, we attributed that action to another reason why Beckham is so highly paid. Not only is he a soccer player and a model... he's an entertainer too.

Oh, and for the record, after the match ended, Beckham did take off his jersey and give it to a fan who was screaming of her undying love for him for the length of the match. I guess he was listening (and amenable to) our heckling. Good to know.

And then 12 hours in Venizia...

2008-05-02T11:08:00.001-07:00

Agenda: St. Mark's Basilica, Bridge of Sighs, Realto Bridge (what's with all the bridges, really?), night "bus ride" around lighted Venice.

Highlights:

After arriving via train from Florence, we wandered around Venice for twelve hours until the night train to Rome left at midnight. We weren't overly excited, as we had heard nothing but complaints that Venice was overrated and overpriced. However, with our noses buried in our trusty GPS, we set out to explore every touristy spot, as well as every alley of the city... and were actually quite impressed.

Particularly notable was our people-watching experience at St. Mark's Basilica... vendors everywhere try to sell little packets of pidgeon food, and courageous tourists feed the gluttonous pidgeons for the sake of a good photo op. This older Asian couple pictured above (no relation... and no, not all Asian people are related) proved to be quite entertaining as pidgeons would land on the heads and/or any available appendages of both husband and wife, while pecking uncontrollably at any available food source.

To the left is a shot that Chantal takes credit for (though I pointed the good photo op out). We were also lucky enough to have a relaxing, three course dinner on the canal with night taxi boats driving by as we ate and rested our aching feet.

Now on to Florence.

2008-05-02T10:49:00.000-07:00

Agenda: Uffizi Gallery, fake David, Ponte Vecchio bridge, another big-a duomo (green this time), and the bronze doors.

Highlights:

I was very excited to see the Ponte Vecchio after seeing my CFO's awesome picture of the bridge taken the last time he was in Italy. While this picture spares you from the shot I took of the bridge shortly after leaving the neighboring Uffizi Gallery (where the sheeting rain distorted the image quite well), I figure that you can make your own accurate weather forecast by looking at the bright, cheery clouds in this picture. I'm pretty sure that the rain intentionally followed us around Europe.

Nonetheless, we pressed on, saw the green duomo (which was surprisingly also "under construction" in the form of a massive cleaning requiring a great deal of scaffolding with not one cleaner in sight... tax evasion? Anyone? Anyone?), and all the other sites on our list of fun/agenda above.

Despite the many cool sites, my favorite picture from Florence is to the right--on a small Florence street, with personalities evident as Chantal very Vanna Whited-ly shows off Europe's finest, and I... attack the car.

Cinque Terra.

2008-05-02T10:10:00.000-07:00

Agenda: Stay along the Italian coast in the famous "five cities" for a couple of days and take a "relaxing stroll" along the national park trail that connects them.

Actual quote from Chantal: "Yeah... the time in Cinque Terra will be really relaxing... we'll just be hanging out along the coast of Italy and doing that walk."

Highlights:

Walk? WALK? My strong senses of reality and justice require that I report that this "relaxing stroll" is actually a 7.5 mile climb/hike in very rocky, steep terrain. Some of the stairs are covered in green (see picture, left). Other stairs are bare and rocky, with no green (not pictured). However, despite any variety in foilage growth patterns, the stairs in all their rocky glory go on and on and on. And then you turn a corner, and they go on some more.

In any case, that "leisurely stroll" was arguably worth it for the amazing views of the ocean/cities that we got from above while on that trail. It would have been nice if I had been smart enough to wear waterproof pants on that hike, or bring an umbrella. It would have been even nicer if it hadn't started pounding rain while we were between cities two and three (Vernazza and Corniglia), with nowhere to go but up some more rocky, and now slippery, stairs. Regardless, soaked legs, destroyed calves and all... Cinque Terra is beautiful.

Additionally, I learned what a cat kingdom might look like if cats took over the Earth--in the middle of two cities, we saw a little family of three cats, a small tent set up for them, and a few feeding bowls. With no other humans in sight and the middle-of-nowhere locale, I found myself wondering where these cats (and their camping gear) came from.

Milano, the city. Not the Pepperidge Farm cookie name.

2008-05-02T09:44:00.000-07:00

Agenda: big-a duomo, fried cheese place, gelato, galleria, opera house.

Highlights:

Milano duomo--huge and imposing with scary goth-like statues. Also, it's always under construction due to Italy's law that although churches aren't tax exempt, buildings that are under construction are. I guess people get used to the eternal scaffolding.

Chantal, during the noteworthy gelato-buying adventure (see blog, below). She willingly took one for the team and approached the gelato-selling van with her backpack strapped on and her goal firmly in mind. I was impressed at her ability to hold her own against the pushy italians, and I appreciate her commitment to our pact to eat gelato each day in Italy. Mint chocolate chip gelato never tasted better.

Picture Report: Interlaken

2008-04-29T08:33:00.000-07:00

I have been a shell of a human for the past week. Despite my best efforts, I have been unable to convince anyone (including the sun that all of a sudden won't set) that 7pm is an acceptable bedtime. As a result, I usually take a short nap after dinner to give me enough energy to last until my "reasonable" 9:30pm bedtime. I'm living on the edge, friends. That's right, living on the edge.

On the upside, despite my clearly weakened and exhausted state, I haven't yet been fired from my job for excessive vacationing or diminished mental acuity (aka "stupidity"). I can't complain--life is good.

I finally compiled and arranged all of my pictures on Sunday, which I am now prepared to share with the world (that's you). Above, you see a shot taken from a street in Interlaken with a pretty budding tree in the foreground and the Alps in the background. Interlaken = gorgeous. Well, let's be honest. Most of Switzerland = gorgeous. We got to know the streets of Interlaken well... as we wandered around in search of food.

And, as if that weren't enough, we also learned how to stop a smoke detector from doing its job (detecting smoke) from the handy dandy display on the ceiling in our room. I live to learn.

What's YOUR prime concern?

2008-04-29T08:00:00.000-07:00

Some report I was listening to on NPR this morning reported that "paying for gas" was the prime economic concern for Americans... other concerns such as paying for food, paying the rent/mortgage, and finding a well-paying job fell behind "paying for gas" on the worry scale. Interesting.

Conveniently enough, I also fell upon an interesting article on MSN Money Central today addressing the oft-asked question, "Is there something that consumers can do now to immediately drive prices down?"

I am sorry to report that the answer to that question is "no". Apparently, "as with weight loss, there is no quick fix, and the only answer is predictably not sexy: Consume less. Choose fuel efficiency, car pools, public transportation, your legs. With time, an across-the-board, consistent drop in demand should equilibrate prices." Steven D. Levitt, author of Freakonomics (which tops my list of book favorites, by the way), called the recurrent one-day boycott idea a "new low in economic thinking." So a recession AND a new low in intellectual thought? Awesome.

In other words, to decrease gas prices, we should all promise to stop joining those popular Facebook groups that call for boycotts of gas on specific days, sell our Hummers or gas-guzzling SUV (if we can), and take a walk to Walmart to do some grocery shopping. I'm in.

I don't do this... promise.

2008-04-23T14:16:00.000-07:00

Last pictureless blog

2008-04-22T15:12:00.000-07:00

My blog has become quite drab without any pictures lately. Nevertheless, I will press on... I'll get my trip pictures uploaded eventually.

Ancient Rome, Italy: Ancient Rome is cool and deserved its own day of endless walking. The Colloseum was my favorite part of the trip. However, that visit solidified my opinion that the Roman Empire was destined to fall as all art, memorials, buildings, etc. represent that the civilization was concerned only with power, prisoners, and war. Silly Romans. Additionally, pretty much any life, bodily, or attitude ailment can be cured with a single dose of goodness from Rome's famous Gelateria. How I miss that place.

Naples and Pompei, Italy: Erupting volcanos are quite destructive, and create some disturbing castes of people who were killed quickly then buried in ash. (Sorry, but it was kind of a dreary trip to those places.)

In any case, I'm back from my rockin' trip.

Lessons learned include:

1. Air quality is severely affected if every person around you chain smokes an endless amount of cigarettes,

2. Knowing the general sleeping/store closing schedule of your town is integral if you don't want to make meals of smashed Cheese Nips, tap water, and beef jerky,

3. It is safe to assume that any drink you are "treated" to on the house will contain copious amounts of alcohol,

4. Bathrooms on trains will not smell of waste when "flushing" causes such waste to dump directly onto the track and air from the moving train to blow up the toilet opening,

5. Making out at public places including: any plot of grass or bench with a view of the Colloseum, the Trevi fountain (especially at night), or on any Metro train is a totally appropriate activity, and

6. Avoiding pickpocketers is easy if you recognize the threat, change your walking speed erratically through the Metro station, move to the side to let the potential pickpocketer pass, and, when all else fails... stare him down with beady Asian eyes.

Pictures will be forthcoming.

Blog for Suzy, wife of Owen.

2008-04-17T13:13:00.000-07:00

I've been reprimanded for not appropriately keeping up with my blog, despite two important facts: 1) I cannot possibly write entertaining blogs about my crusades around Europe without appropriate pictures and commentary, and 2) I am going to need my brother to perform surgery to stop the hand tremors caused by typing on the tiny keys of my crackberry. However, in a spirit of loyalty to Suzy and the blog world in general, here is a quick list of lessons I have learned from the random cities I have visited over the past week or so.

1 - Zurich, Switzerland. Flying into Switzerland sure is nice. However, when the first thing you do upon disembarking the plane is shell out $220 for train tickets within the country, I'm going to admit... you are left with a bit of a bad taste in your mouth.

2 - Interlaken, Switzerland. Bongo-like drums can accompany piano and vocal solos at any hour of the day or night. 1 am is a prime concert-starting time, and any casual inquiries from weary travelers may be adequately dismissed with the comment 'welcome to the world of backpacking.' Precious.

3 - Grimmewald, Switzerland. The Alps rock. Snowboarding on the Alps might have been even cooler, but taking pictures and wandering around the Park City-esque resort town can be quite relaxing.

4 - Lucern, Switzerland. The combination of a charming city, random bridges over water scattered throughout town, and Swiss chalets on rolling green meadows against the backdrop of lakes and the Alps in rural towns outside the city limits are breathtaking. However, if you think you will not have to buy a $6 McDonalds milkshake after eating a teeny $150 'dinner', you would be wrong.

5 - Milan, Italy. Visiting the main tourist sites in Milan over the course of 3 hours and with a 22 pound pack strapped to your back is totally possible. However, chances are good that you will be laughed at by a number of Italians in the process (see prior blog).

6 - Cinque Terre, Italy. The 5 cities nestled in the Italian coast are awesome, picturesque, and so worth the hike. However, if you do choose to do the 7 mile hike between all 5 cities, you will face a ridiculous (- ridiculous, + charming) amount of rocky stairs, which are better managed when rain is not pouring down all around you (lack of rain comment is not based on actual experience).

7 - Florence, Italy. The Uffizi Gallery has some pretty great paintings and sculptures, though I must admit... the painted and sculpted women from whatever period was represented in the Uffizi cannot be considered even mildly attractive according to modern standards. The Ponte Vecchio bridge is pretty, filled with hoity toity shops, and perfect for buying a charm of none other than a miniaturized Ponte Vecchio bridge.

8 - Venice, Italy. Boats as taxis and ferries as busses? Venice is a must-see city. However, if you think you can get your daily gelato fix at 11 shortly before boarding a night train to Rome and not freeze to death while waiting in the train station until midnight, you are once again, sorely mistaken.

9 - Rome, Italy. No tourist experience is complete without getting pickpocketed on your first ride on the Subway, then waiting on the floor for almost two hours outside your locked B and B for the manager to arrive, while fending off stares and angry words by old Italian women living in the same building. Welcome to Roma.

10 - Vatican City. The 'Garden Tour' actually gives you a detailed tour of the whole city, which basically houses the Pope and his entourage. St. Peter's Basilica is the largest, most ornate piece of artwork I have ever seen, and Michaelango's La Pieta is amazing, though now housed behind bullet-proof glass and therefore hard to catch on film because of a stupid, rowdy tourist. Oh, and the Sistene Chapel? Worth the aching feet, endless droning of the tour guide, and seven million other pieces of art you must first wander through and view.That's a report of the first ten cities... just a few more before my feet have any chance of returning to normal size.

Europe Adventure: Part Two

2008-04-13T16:10:00.000-07:00

Today I have done a couple of notable things including: 1) riding on the train for around 8 hours from Lucerne to Milan, then from Milan to Monterosso in Cinque Terre, and 2) wandering around Lucerne (a very pretty city) and Milan (also pretty, with a huge duomo with more statues affixed to it than I have ever seen in my life, some of which are quite creepy) with my 22 pound pack strapped to my back.

While riding on trains, I have found myself anxiously engaged in one of two activities--reading an entertaining Bill Bryson novel, or trying to prevent my head from bobbing too much and waking me up from my unconscious stupor via a sharp head jerking motion when the train brakes, accelerates, or moves in general (flashbacks to student life anyone?). According to that book published in 1998, the average American uses a car for 93 percent of all trips outside of the home. As a result, on average, all walking during the course of the week adds up to 1.4 miles per week, or 350 yards a day. I am sad to admit that my normal movement is probably less than that, as my steps are limited to walking from my car into work, back to my car, and random errands in various shops around town.

However, I have become a temporarily changed woman. Despite our long travel times today, we still managed to log around 15,000 steps, or 6 miles-ish in the course of wandering around Lucerne and Milan. Because of that increase in activity and the fact that any eating establishment without the primary goal of intoxicating patrons deems 6pm an appropriate closing time, I have seriously adjusted my eating habits. I now try to cram as many calories as possible into every meal.

Accordingly, we stopped for gelato after lunch in Milan today. My mint chocolate chip gelato purchased from a van beside the duomo was excellent. However, I did learn that if an American wearing a giant backpack tries to pay for gelato with Swiss Francs, that payment method will be rejected, the three men serving up the gelato will stop service for a couple of minutes to discuss that event and laugh at the silly American, and the pushy crowd trying to order their gelato will also temporarily stop pushing to point and gesture. Awesome.

European Adventure: Day 1

2008-04-11T13:10:00.000-07:00

Forgive me in advance for any typos or grammar mistakes. I am currently "functioning" on between eight and nine hours of sleep acquired over the past fifty four hours. (The mouth of anyone who knows me well should be gaped open at this point.) Oh also, I should be coming down from my Provigil-induced high (what I like to call "legalized speed") at any time, which prescription drug is designed to keep narcoleptics awake during the day. I plan to chase the Provigil with a dose of Lunesta pretty soon...

In any case, I am of the opinion that Americans used to be able to travel in style... and even feel rich when traveling abroad. However, due to our weak economy and falling dollar, Americans have recently fallen to the bottom of the food chain. Welcome, my friends. It is a pleasure to be bottom dwellers with you.

I am 'pleased' to report that following our arrival in Zurich, Switzerland at 9am this morning, we traveled to Bern to do some sightseeing and eat lunch, Interlaken to check into our hotel and take a look around, and Thun to visit a castle in weather that could only be defined as 'blowing rain' by that point. Still running on 'just arrived in Europe' adrenaline, we then proceeded to spend an hour looking at authentic Swiss Army knives for Chantal's special Swiss purchase.

Little did we know... Interlaken shuts down at 6pm, even on Friday nights. And that, my friends, is the time we started hunting for dinner.

For a moment, you will have to suspend reality and the fact that I am traveling with a successful doctor and teacher, typing this blog on a $400+ iPaq and $100 bluetooth keyboard, both of which were electronic toys purchased by the doctor for this Europe trip. Upon rejecting wholly ubappetizing entrees suggested by our tour book for 'budget-minded travelers,' we proceeded to wander around town... in the rain... endlessly. One would think 2 or 3 grossly overpriced restaurants would have dissuaded us from our search and sent us back to our hotel room to eat our beef jerky and cheese nips.

Instead, two and a half miles later (as measured by Chantal's pedometer), we walked into McDonalds cold, wet, and dejected, only to find that a Big Mac meal cost $11. Of course, our conscience required that we reject that choice for dinner for our first night in Europe. To make a long story shorter than it could be, we all returned to our hotel slightly shaking from the graceful combination of sleep deprivation and hunger with 5 chocolate bars, a box of chocolate madelines, two cream puffs, 2 hazelnut yogurts, and the fixins for ghetto-fabulous sandwiches purchased from a local supermarket.

Lest you think my cheapness was the overriding factor here, let the record show that when the hunger shakes ceased and I asked my travel buddies if we should have just forked out the cash for dinner, they answered 'no!' together, loud and clear.

Day 1 of European Adventure. Complete. Bring on day 2.

The apple will fall far from the tree. Hopefully.

2008-04-07T10:25:00.000-07:00

Update:

After reading the quadrilaterial quiz blog below, my very, very smart and math-minded buddy ("MMB") had this conversation with me:

MMB: I am going to suffer the same way my parents did.

C: What do you mean?

MMB: Well, I would ask them for help and they would say "I don't know. I don't do that anymore." Then I'd ask, "Mom, Dad... how do you expect me to be smart when you are so dumb?" It's going to come back full circle. I'm not going to have a clue how to answer those questions for my kids.

Our rising generation is in trouble. Well, at least my and MMB's future kids are...

Exploited!

2008-04-04T14:09:00.000-07:00

As the best roommate ever, I often help Chantal grade her 5th and 6th grade students' papers. For the record, I'm all about efficiency and saving the underpaid teacher's time--I say, have the kids exchange papers and help you grade them immediately following the exam. Any 10-11 year old smart enough to try to get a potential tattle-tale classmate to collude with them in favor of a higher grade deserves a good grade anyway. But, I digress. Back to the subject at hand.

A couple of days ago, I mistakenly took up Chantal's challenge to take the 5th grade "Quadrilateral Quiz" she was writing. I like to think I'm pretty good at math, having suffered through a calculus-based Econ major. However, my ego suffered a major blow as Chantal refused to tell me exactly what a "rhombus" was before I took the quiz. My mistaken assumptions proved fatal as I answered the following questions:

True of False:

1._____ A rhombus is always a parallelogram.
2._____ A square is always a rhombus.
3._____ A trapezoid has two pairs of parallel sides.
4._____ A rectangle is sometimes a square.
5._____ A rhombus has four ninety degree angles.

What am I?

6. I have two pairs of parallel sides that are all the same length. I have at least one right angle. What am I? _________________________________

7. I have one pair of parallel sides. I have two acute and two obtuse angles. What am I? ____________________________________

8. I have two pairs of parallel sides. My sides are not all the same length. I have no right angles. What am I? _____________________________________

9. I am always a parallelogram. All my sides are the same length and I have no right angles. What am I? ___________________________________

Short Answer

10. What is the sum of all the angles in a quadrilateral? _______________________

Needless to say, I... ahem... failed. Further, my (logically flawless) argument to Chantal that I had not recently reviewed the subject matter fell on deaf ears.

The following day, Chantal reported my score to her math class, and told them that if they could beat my score, they were smarter than an attorney. To add insult to injury, she then handed the test out to all her fellow math teachers and relayed that same message to them. I am glad all of Westridge Elementary knows that I am a doofus who failed a fifth grade math quiz.

Yes, that's right. I have been exploited. I wonder if I could sue...

Life as an heiress is hard

2008-04-03T07:48:00.000-07:00

Once again, I've chosen the wrong course for my future. Boo. Here I am, worrying about rising gas prices... as Paris Hilton clearly doesn't suffer with the same concerns.

Here is her schedule taken from photo a couple of weeks ago:

"TUESDAY March 18
TRAVEL - LAX to London

WEDNESDAY March 19
TRAVEL - London to South Africa

FRIDAY March 21
Good Charlotte Concert (Johannesburg)

SATURDAY March 22 - SUNDAY March 23
Safari (Cape Town)

MONDAY March 24
Good Charlotte Concert (Cape Town)

TUESDAY March 25
TRAVEL - South Africa to Germany (Munich)

WEDNESDAY March 26
TRAVEL - Munich to Istanbul

THURSDAY March 27
Judging Miss Turkey 2008

FRIDAY March 28
TRAVEL - Istanbul to Germany
Good Charlotte Concert (Saarbrucken)

SATURDAY March 29
TRAVEL - Saarbrucken to Cologne
PA - Wetten Das (time TBA, via private jet)

SUNDAY March 30
TRAVEL - Cologne to Prague
Good Charlotte Concert (Prague)

MONDAY March 31
TRAVEL - Prague to Budapest"

Can I sign up for that schedule? Maybe Paris should write a "Becoming an Heiress for Dummies" book!

Got gas?

2008-04-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

I filled up my new car for the first time yesterday. My dad will be coming to pick up the Civic this weekend, which means I'll have the privilege of driving this premium-fuel vehicle everywhere. I'll be honest... I'm a little scared.

Fifty-two dollars and fifteen gallons of premium fuel later, I find myself wondering why our government is providing subsidies to large oil companies. These giant corporations justify the subsidies by arguing that they "allow" the corporations to allocate funds to research and development. Um, maybe I was sleeping that day in Econ 101, but isn't that what "profit" is for?

In any case, I say recession shmeesession and proudly upgrade myself from laughing out loud, to yelling... "what the freak!" everytime I go to the gas pump. How glamorous.

Et tu, BYU.

2008-03-28T10:44:00.000-07:00

Back during my law school days, the administration brain-washed us--apparently, we would be constructively stealing from the school if we neglected to give just one measly dollar to BYU's Annual Fund. After all, every dollar that we contributed was matched with FIVE dollars by an alumni! As you may have guessed, the law students embraced the administration's urging and turned the whole Annual Fund donation idea into a war among classes. [Law students? Competitive? NEVER!]

Each class, separated into 1Ls, 2Ls, and 3Ls, had a competition to see which class had the most "school spirit" and could have the highest percentage of the class participate. I think the winner was awarded a BYU creamery sheet of brownies or some other random [worthless] prize. By what would be considered my 3L year, I was incredibly busy and rarely at the law school--however, I still received an email from my class representative, asking that I donate at least $1 to the Annual Fund. Waiting 24 hours before responding was clearly too slow for the impatient sender of my email... and my own $1 donation was trumped by some psycho in the class who donated $50 on behalf of 50 members of our class who weren't quick enough with the $1 donation. I thought it would end there.

Some of you might know that I accepted an offer to work at my current company, which was then rescinded during my Christmas vacation after graduation. Luckily, everything turned out better than expected with that situation. However, it gave rise to the following conversation. [AFT = Annual Fund Telemarketer]

C: Hello?

AFT: Hi, Catherine! My name is AFT. I'm calling on behalf of BYU's Annual Fund! I see that you made a donation last year, and that you just graduated from the law school here!

C: Yeah.

AFT: Well, we thank you SO MUCH for your donation last year. And, we're wondering if you would be able to donate this year.

C: Well, I have no money because my job offer has just been rescinded. So, I'm unemployed with a whole bunch of debt that I have no money to pay.

AFT: [stammering] I'm ... sorry to hear that ...

C: Sorry. Goodbye.

Surely, it would end there, right? I was wrong again.

Apparently, "encouraging" students to donate is a ploy to get student information into the Annual Fund database... for yearly calls requesting donations to this Annual Fund. Just this week, in fact, I received another call while I was engrossed in an episode of American Idol.

C: Hello?

AFT: Hi, Catherine! My name is AFT. How are you doing today?

C: Fine.

AFT: I see here that you graduated from BYU! How did you like that?

C: Uh, it was fine?

AFT: I see that you were in the college of Family Home and Social Sciences. That's the school that I'm in too! What program did you graduate from?

C: [realizing the commercial break was quickly coming to an end] Econ.

AFT: That's great! What a great program! What have you been doing since you graduated?

C: Um, I'll tell you what--my wallet just got stolen, so I have no credit cards. If you call me in a week, I WILL GIVE YOU MONEY.

AFT: Well, that's great! Actually, we can send you out a pledge form...

C: That's fine. Ok... thanks...

AFT: ... But we need to get an amount you want to pledge!

C: Okay. Put me down for [dollar amount].

AFT: That's great! Now let's verify your address... and do you have a certain college you want this donation to go to?

C: [thinking... LET ME GET OFF THE PHONE.]

Is it me or could I have filled all that information out myself? In any case, I am now prepared. I wonder if I can program my CB to BLOCK all 801-422-**** numbers. It's definitely worth at least looking into.

What's in YOUR wallet? (and is mine hiding in there too?)

2008-03-27T12:03:00.001-07:00

At the risk of detracting attention from the post below (please continue to vote. I still have faith that my choice will win out in the end)... I am sorry to report that I have lost my wallet. Well, actually, I tell people that it was stolen (could be true), which definitely makes me feel less dumb about my current money-less status.

However, let us commiserate for a minute. If you have ever been blessed enough to lose your wallet... and been SMART enough to keep a spare check in there in case of an emergency, you realize the pain and suffering that goes along with trying to identify everything that was in your little money pouch, verify your identity to your card companies, replace your driver's license, and close your checking accounts... with no identification or record of your card numbers.

I present the following questions to you, Mr. Corporation who has my account hostage:

1. How am I supposed to provide my debit card or credit card number to you if I cannot find my wallet? You know that number you're looking for? Well, it's printed on my lost card! Your silly minions got me to sign up for e-statements to save you the $0.41 per month that it costs to send out my paper statement... and when I sign into my account online, you block out my card number. What do you want from me?!?

2. Why, oh why, will you not respond to me jamming "0" or yelling "operator/representative!" into the phone over and over? Since when did you think that "I'm sorry, that is not a valid response. Please choose from the following menu..." was a customer service-oriented response?

3. How am I supposed to present to you two forms of picture-ID when all of the ID in my wallet has been stolen? S-t-o-l-e-n. I-no-have-it.

On the upside, because identity theft is so rampant nowadays, it has become quite easy to add a "fraud alert" to your credit file and stop those theives from opening up a Mervyn's card in your name. Additionally all these phone calls have allowed me to quickly determine which companies have decided to cut costs by sending my call to India.

Mr. Corporation, let me say this: please, oh please, just give me my new piece of plastic so I can join the rest of America and overleverage myself while paying you an exorbitant interest rate. Is that really too much to ask during this recession?

He must decide, he must decide... even though I made him up he must deciiidddeeee

2008-03-26T20:41:00.000-07:00

Please, help me. My roommates and I fundamentally disagree on the answer to the following question--is this Rhino:

a) Running because he wants to look like the unicorn, or

b) Running to get in shape to be with the unicorn.

So far, I have asked three people what they think, and all of them have disagreed with me. I still maintain faith in my position, however. Therefore, the question is... what do you think?

Adventures of a Power Ranger

2008-03-24T14:49:00.000-07:00

This weekend, went snowmobiling at a place about 30 miles east of Park City, aka "the boonies." The first thing we saw when we pulled up was a beautiful fleet of snowmobiles. Behind that fleet was a giant tent-like structure with an "office" inside (aka a cash register used to precisely determine your ability to pay, then suck all discretionary funds from you), a fake fire in the middle of the room, and a wide array of helmets, goggles, snowsuits, gloves, etc. After donning our sweet helmets, I commented that we all looked like Power Rangers (good guys), while Tom held true to his theory that anyone riding a snowmobile looks like a bad guy. Despite our differences in opinion, we made nice and hopped on the same snowmobile for our adventure.

Before departing on our guided, two hour snowmobiling adventure, I briefly considered using one of the two Port-a-Potties next to the office. However, my queasiness and hatred of all things unsanitary got the best of me, and I determined that I should be safe for the next 2.5 hours or so.

1.5 hours later, we stopped at a scenic outlook. The tour guide mentioned that we could sit inside the "lodge", which was more than slightly suspect and had an interesting 'aroma', or use the "bathrooms" on the side of the lodge. By "bathrooms", the tour guide was referring to the single Port-a-Potty ("chamber") conveniently dumped to the side of the lodge. Grudgingly, I got in line, and tried to pep talk myself into entering the dreadful chamber. When I had only a couple more people in line in front of me, I exited the line, told Tom "I can't handle this emotionally," and excused myself.

Seven minutes later, I found myself returning to the now very-short line, and realizing that using the chamber would be my best alternative given the circumstances. When it was my turn to enter, I realized that the "door" of the chamber was immobilized by piled snow. That meant that you could neither widen the entrance to enter the chamber, nor close it whilst accomplishing the task at hand. [I wonder if a fat person could sue for insufficient and discriminatory facilities.] Additionally, the chamber had three different signs on the outside:

1 - "No parking" within 22 ft or 7 meters, for which I suppose I should be grateful for (given the privacy provided by the open door),

2 - "Clean Portable Restrooms" where portable is certainly true and "clean" is certainly a lie, and

3 - "Hand sanitizer inside", which is also fundamentally untrue.

Let the record show, however, that I am a woman of much strength. I shed all clothing articles that could possibly hang down or inadvertantly become immediately disposable after making contact with the chamber's interior, squeezed my way past the door and two protruding screws whose purpose was to shred any unsuspecting skin or clothing with which they made contact, searched frantically for the promised hand sanitizer, and washed my hands with snow after the deed was complete.

Who would have thought that the most adventurous thing I'd do on a snowmobiling adventure expedition would be to use a Port-a-Potty?

What kind of weed do YOU like?

2008-03-21T11:05:00.000-07:00

Actual conversation my friend (F) had with her 5-year old daughter (D):

F: What do you think of those boys?

D: [frankly] Those boys are bad. They smoke weed.

F: [taken aback] What? Do you know what 'weed' is?

D: Mooooommmmmm.

F: Do you?

D: Yes.

F: It's drugs.

D: [shocked] Really? I thought they just picked grass and smoked it.

Alas... the rising generation. Learning so early about weed. Warms your heart a little, doesn't it?

GIVE ME A NAPKIN.

2008-03-19T19:33:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been eating at a food court in the mall when you suddenly realized that you desperately needed a napkin?

Have you ever wondered how much more fun life would be if it were a musical?

Wonder no more, my friends, and realize that you are not alone. The following video [click on that video link... watch it... you will NOT be sorry] comes from the rockstars at "improveeverywhere," with the following description:

"For our latest mission, 16 agents staged a spontaneous musical in the food court of a Los Angeles shopping mall. We used wireless microphones to amplify the vocal performances and mix them together with the music through the mall’s PA system. We filmed the mission with hidden cameras, mostly behind two-way mirrors. Apart from our performers, no one in the food court was aware of what was happening."

Genius! If anyone wants to stage one of these "spontaneous" musicals, please advise--I am SO IN.

CB. The saga continues.

2008-03-18T13:17:00.001-07:00

I'll be honest with you--I missed my CB when I was in Taiwan. 8 days completely devoid of the cheerful tones that welcome emails and text messages into my life... my old school ringtone not going off for days... actually waiting until I was in front of a computer terminal to respond to emails. I felt like I had practically returned to the dark ages. [Shudder] Despite my apparent removal from my ultra-hip and modern life during that trip, however, I made sure I stopped in my mom's office to respond to work emails at least every 36 hours.

Next month's agenda: Europe. 12 days. 8 days of "vacation" from work.

Eager to remain out of the dark ages, I found myself calling Verizon's Global Department yesterday in an effort to determine my options for my CB Pearl. Brian of Verizon mournfully informed me that since my CB isn't a "global edition phone", I would be unable to get global service. I could consider a rental phone at the rate of $15/day or a global satellite phone ranging from $11.50/day to $75/week, which does not even include charges for phone calls. Believing that my "availability" certainly could not demand that type of premium, I sent the following message to my boss:

"I called Verizon to price out getting email access on my trip to Switzerland/Italy. Verdict: insanely expensive. And, given that I’m backpacking, I’m not going to have a laptop on me. My trip will last 12 days. Are you going to die? Any other suggestions?"

That email spurred the following serious discussion today:

B: "You lazy, why can't you just carry a computer around Europe?"

C: "Uh... buddy? I'm going to be bringing like four shirts for my twelve day trip. I'm so not carrying my laptop."

Boss conceded the point, and asked if I would consider stealing the CFO's new i-phone instead. Always guided by my moral compass, I turned Boss down. We then turned to our head of IT as a last resort, who once again came through.

Good news: I will be borrowing a currently-inactive CB 8830, world edition, and upgrading to a world data plan for my 12 day trip. Wait, what does CB stand for again?

Status Check

2008-03-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

comic link

Facebook ("FB") has changed my life.

Initially, I firmly fought joining this social networking website. I pretended to take the moral high-ground by alleging that Facebook was like all the other scandalous and/or silly networking sites on the web (think: MySpace). When it comes down to it, however, perhaps I was truly dissauded by the fear of not having any friends on the site and thereby being dubbed a "Facebook loser". *Gasp*

However, I will admit--the potential to legally stalk individuals while remaining untraceable trumped my moral high-ground, and I joined up.

Now that I have been fully integrated into the FB community, I realize how GREAT Facebook has been in accelerating relationships! Before FB ("BFB"), relationships had a much longer winding up period.

BFB: When my roommates or I found a potential crush ("PC"), we would be forced into complex operating tactics to determine the relationship status of our PC. We would offer up a friendly smile, strike up a "casual" conversation, or... if dire and risky measures were required... break out the "touch the elbow" tactic. Such risky measures, of course, would be followed by the requisite, severe over-analysis regarding the magnitude and content of the response we received from PC. On certain occasions where the response continued to be ambiguous, we would resort to the middle school-esque tactic of cornering one of PC's roommates or friends, swearing that individual to secrecy, and asking if PC was, in fact, single. However, we have taken the leap into a new generation, friends. Introducing: After FB ("AFB").

AFB: FB has introduced something revolutionary--relationship status. Not only can we now specify our own gender (which has become increasingly useful given modern gender-neutral names and the blurred line between what constitutes an acceptable man and woman), but we can also use FB to profess our relationship status to the world! The following categories are available:

1. Single
2. In a Relationship
3. Engaged
4. Married
5. It's Complicated
6. In an Open Relationship

Setting aside for a moment the PCs who list their status as "single" when their current significant others would in fact disagree with that status, and those PCs who leave just enough ambiguity on their profiles (in the form of opposite gender flirtatious wall posts and/or photos), the world is now a safe place for the elbow tactic. Go ahead. Trust that profile. Make a move.

When in France... or in China...

2008-03-12T11:37:00.000-07:00

I have been known to be overly dramatic on a prior occassion or two. Friends who know me well will recognize such frequently-used phrases as: "I'm going to poke my eyes out" and, more frequently, "I am going to die" and/or "Please, kill me."

Recognizing the potential effect such phrases could have on my success as a missionary, my oldest brother reminded me before I left for Taiwan that I would need to keep the death references (or requests) to a minimum, for fear that my overly-anxious companion would call the mission president and report my suicidal tendencies.

Mayor Gerard Lalanne of Southern France would scorn my flippant attitude--in response to a full cemetary and an unsuccessful attempt to adjoin private land that would extend the cemetary, Lalanne executed the following threat:

"[a]ll persons not having a plot in the cemetary and wishing to be buried in Sarpourenx are forbidden from dying in the parish... Offenders will be severly punished."

He followed up his decree with stating, "It may be a laughing matter for some, but not for me."

Don't mess with death. Or France. Or Lalanne.

Clearly, this is no laughing matter. But, for those of you who want to go out in a blaze of glory, I hear China's terminating technology is pretty good.

Wanted: Camoflage Sweaters

2008-03-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

Last I checked, tigers eat other animals... like pigs. Luckily for these little guys, their ironclad camoflage prevented them from becoming dinner at a zoo in Thailand.

Lesson learned: camoflage works. Just make sure that you find an appropriate sweater for the camoflaged animal when you're trying to introduce a serpent or rodent into your dog pack.

[Also, for all you cynics and myth-busters out there, I'm pretty sure this picture is not photoshopped.]

Finally pulled the trigger...

2008-03-07T11:17:00.000-08:00

I am happy to report that I finally made a decision, with the encouragement of a SMOKING deal! Who says recessions are all bad? Now I just have to come up with a name for my new friend. Feel free to cast a vote.

Jaw-dropping (but not-at-all-technically-saavy) features that rock:

1. Push button start with a techie electronic theft deterrent system (the car sounds so cool when turning on),

2. Paddle shifters (not that I know how to use them, but they sure look cool),

3. Heated and cooled seats (though the cold feels a little bit like wind is being blown up your shorts),

4. Touch screen navigation/GPS, complete with full color backup mirror (maybe I'll actually be able to find my way out of a parking lot now),

5. Light that gradually pools from the car doors when you approach the car (to avoid the travesty of, say, stepping in a puddle),

6. Smooth ride that almost makes you question the possibility of quick acceleration, then really good acceleration when you actually push down on the gas.

There really are too many things to report at this time, so I'll keep the list at 6 to avoid too much boredom for my readers. And yes, I'll insert details in small quantities later on down the line :)

I opted for black on black. Admittedly, less practical. But so sleek.

It's gettin' hot in here...

2008-03-06T10:59:00.000-08:00

The following is a conversation I had with my boss sometime around lunch a couple of days ago. We pride ourselves on our communication and clarity:

Boss: "Catherine... could you come in here for a second?"

[Catherine, on her way out the door to the water cooler with cup in hand to calm the spicy pasta taste in her mouth, pauses at the door of B's office.]

Catherine: "Sure, what's up?"

B: "Can you review this email on my screen to see if it's offensive?"

C: "Hold on a second... my mouth is on fire. Let me get some water really fast."

[C, upon returning to her office, sees Boss wandering around and looking quizically at her computer.]

C: "Ok, I'm back. My mouth is okay now. Let's look at that email."

B: "Ooohh. You said your MOUTH was on fire. I thought you said your MOUSE was on fire. I came in here wondering how you were going to put out the fire by dunking it in water."

[Note: I use a laptop. I don't even have a mouse].

You call THIS Spring?

2008-03-04T08:51:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, Chantal and I blissfully left Provo without our coats (where the then-current temperature was in the 70s) and headed North for her pre-birthday celebration. The weather channel had reported that a storm would be blowing through our area on Saturday, but the 77 degree weather suggested that the meteorologists, once again, were wrong.

By the time we ran some errands in Salt Lake City and made our way past the wait into the Cheesecake Factory in Sandy, two hours had elapsed. Apparently, the storm (in all its fury) had also chosen to arrive by this time, dropping the temperature to 34 degrees, and causing a massive hail/snowstorm outside the protective covering of the factory. Unfortunately, I looked down at my choice of footwear and rued the day I decided to ignore the weather channel.

Running from the Cheesecake Factory to the car, then from the car into the theater to see Jumper (which, by the way, is an entertaining but frustrating half of a movie with tons of loose ends), my shoes proceeded to absorb all the moisture humanly possible within a 5 minute time frame.

If only I had these handy dandy toe umbrellas. Sigh.

Baby mops

2008-02-29T10:28:00.000-08:00

Following the discussion on First Amendment rights and cyberlaw, let us now turn our focus to child labor laws. This little round-headed Asian child is pretty cute, eh? Unfortunately, cute doesn't pay the bills.

"After the birth of a child there's always the temptation to say 'Yes, it's cute, but what can it do?' Until recently the answer was simply 'lie there and cry', but now babies can be put on the payroll, so to speak, almost as soon as they're born.

Just dress your young one in Baby Mops and set him or her down on any hard wood or tile floor that needs cleaning. You may at first need to get things started by calling to the infant from across the room, but pretty soon they'll be doing it all by themselves.

There's no child exploitation involved. The kid is doing what he does best anyway, crawling. But, with Baby Mops he's also learning responsibility and a healthy work ethic."

Any guesses as to where this magazine comes from? The Engrish is too good to be from an Asian magazine, which makes me to wonder... why is an Asian boy the poster child for child labor?

I value my edumacation

2008-02-28T13:53:00.000-08:00

You would think that four years of undergrad and three years of slaving away at law school would be enough to develop a marketable skill set, right? On the contrary, I am informed that the costly, three year education that I endured merely lifted me to a jumping off point. To maintain my certification as an attorney, I have officially been sucked into the world of "Continuing Legal Education" (or "CLE", for those in the know).

I attended a CLE luncheon today on cyberlaw, aka "intellectual property in an online environment". After being entertained by new terms such as typosquatting, cybergripping, and cybersquatting, the speaker presented a case that served as a turning point in the world of cyberlaw.

Peta ["Peta I"], or the "people for the ethical treatment of animals" is a well-known animal protectionist group with over 1.8 million members. As stated by their website, "PETA focuses its attention on the four areas in which the largest numbers of animals suffer the most intensely for the longest periods of time: on factory farms, in laboratories, in the clothing trade, and in the entertainment industry. We also work on a variety of other issues, including the cruel killing of beavers, birds and other "pests," and the abuse of backyard dogs." Peta I proudly pictures Pamela Anderson on its homepage--how could it not be a legitimate organization?

During the course of the valiant quest to conquer those four areas, however, Peta I failed to register the domain name "peta.org". Michael Doughney, sensing a window of opportunity, created a website hosted at peta.org called "People Eating Tasty Animals" ["Peta II"]. Apparently, Peta II endorsed views contrary to the vegetarian, pro-animal and anti-hunting viewpoints of PETA I. Doughney defended himself by explaining that his organization and website should be considered a parody under the First Amendment.

Unfortunately, the judge found that Doughney's use of the Peta mark was commercial, as it prevented visitors from reaching Peta I's website. And, as an unnecessary slap in the face, the court stated clearly that Peta II was not a parody.

I am neither a tree hugger nor a hunter. However, c'mon now--who could say (with a straight face) that Peta II doesn't qualify as a parody?

Break from Blogging

2008-02-27T08:07:00.000-08:00

I'm back from my pseudo-break from blogging. After taking a little trip around the world, fighting with jet lag, and returning to work entirely too quickly, I am proud to report that I feel almost human again. Almost.

Here are some highlights from the trip:

Unfortunately, my preference for taking relaxing vacations was trumped by Monica, who likes to see everything she can in the shortest amount of time humanly possible. [Gratefully, however, she did allow us to take some breaks without which I would have d-i-e-d.] In fact, all the walking we did gave me so much exercise that I didn't experience my anticipated 10 pound weight gain. Lest you think my trip was a total waste, I am proud to report that my cheeks did, in fact, get quite a bit chubbier during the course of the week.

At the same time, much of our speed walking/running came in the form of trying to catch trains and busses (and then folding our bodies in a way to allow us to fit in said vehicles). Let the record show that traveling in Taiwan and taking mass transit isn't the most relaxing way to travel--note Monica on the left, smashed in and ducking between people for this photo op. I guess asians do like living (or at least traveling) in small spaces.

YeLiu Geopark, otherwise referred to as the Goblin Valley of the East. Check out the sweet rock formations behind us, which have been formed by years of wind and water erosion. Unfortunately, the excitement of this trip was dampened by two things: (1) the long bus-ride-o-death at unsafe speeds up a windy mountain road, causing carsickness that was repeated on the way down , and (2) the "exit" to the geopark which brought us into a market filled with fish carcasses and other assorted sea-originated products that smelled less than desireable.

Shopping! It has been a long time since I last stepped foot into a Taiwanese supermarket. We loaded up on treats made by Asian and US Manufacturers that are only distributed in Asia including Oreo wafers, peach yogurt mentos, chocolate almonds, cuttlefish chips, buddah milk, spicy pea crackers, mango hi-chews, etc. [Lest those things sound gross, let me reassure you... a large portion of my life revolves around eating. I self-proclaim myself as one with good food taste.] Also, note our cart escalator approaching its exit in the picture to the left.

We then went shopping for electronics (where we would always play the 'pirated or not' game), traditional Chinese clothes (where the salesladies kept trying to convince me that the jackets I was trying on were 3/4 or 4/5 sleeves, either because they were trying to close the sale or sensing my impending doom and shattered self confidence over SO not being Asian-sized), and large original paintings of Asian landscapes.

Shopping at night markets four or five times clearly deserves its own category. At the time we took this picture at the famous Taipei-area Shi Lin market, it was considered 'not busy', as opposed to a couple of hours later when we shoved our way out. Assorted goods purchased at the night market included a Totoro massage/beating stick (a stick with a stuffed Totoro on the top for hitting the sore spots on your back), some personalized leather bracelets, Pumas not sold in the states, and fake le sportsaq bags. I was glad to be accompanied by my mom, who is a MASTER bargainer, though I almost felt bad for the vendors.

EATING! I accumulated a list of about 30 things I needed to eat during my seven day stay in Taiwan. As a result, I stuffed myself daily, and only repeated a meal once--it seemed merited, given the enormous size of the amazing hot pot buffet. I am sad to report, however, that two items on my list--lu wei (random items cooked in broth)and kao rou (BBQ)--were missed during the visit. I passed a number of street vendors selling those items, but as a pansy, I could not get over the clear lack of any sanitation of the carts. Sad. (Shown in the picture is "buddah head fused with pineapple" on the left, and "wax apple" on the right, which my mom calls 'temple fruit' for obvious reasons.)

To close out this report, it seems appropriate to include one of the last pictures I took... in a bathroom stall... at the airport. I apologize that the picture is blurry. However, I turned my camera's flash off so that an unsuspecting bathroom user wouldn't be shocked (and appalled) by a flash going off in a stall. This "emergency pushbutton" was located to the right of the toilet. What is this button for? And, if I may ask, who will be summoned when this emergency button is activated? I suppose I will never know. Tragedy.

So that, my friends, is a brief overview of the events of the past week. My stretched out stomach is grumbling. I'm off to feed the beast.

Creepy Toothpaste

2008-02-19T23:11:00.000-08:00

Taiwan is FULL of great things to eat, which may or may not include what is shown in this picture of a fish market near Taipei. Unfortunately, my clandestine picture-taking (as to prevent anyone from chasing me out of the fish market) resulted in a fuzzy picture that doesn't quite give justice to the grandeur of the products. Please note, however, that the gray mounds in blue trays are different types of miniature dried fish, and the red/yellow/orange piles are assorted fish carcasses and parts.

Perhaps these random food products are what gives rise to Taiwan's superior dental hygiene products. Despite the fact that Colgate is an American brand, the toothpaste makers seem to add a little somethinge extra to their Taiwanese product line.

May I please ask, what is the "'Dentist-Like' Ingredient" that creates "smooth & polished teeth"? Given that phrasing, I can only think of a couple of alternatives:

1. Ground up dentists, injected straight into the toothpaste, or

2. Individuals posing as dentists (thereby qualifying them as only Dentist-like), also injected into the toothpaste.

Hmm. I've been using this toothpaste for the past few days. I wonder if the Sweeney Todd-like ingredient is contributing positively to the strength of my pearly whites.

Unveiling

2008-02-13T13:38:00.000-08:00

Vote via comment: pretty or not? I haven't decided yet, and I could use some input.

[The good news is that this will be available with two new options: diesel fuel or awd.]

Wheeling and Dealing

2008-02-12T15:12:00.000-08:00

I have always been a fan of servicing my car at the dealership. I realize that this choice causes me to pay a price premium for similar services that might be offered elsewhere. However, in my opinion, a dealership is motivated by the incentive to keep your car running well to encourage brand satisfaction and loyal customers, while a random "garage" or "auto body service shop" has an incentive to wreck your car and require it to need more repairs.

Unfortunately, I recently discovered that I need to replace the brake pads on my car. I spoke with the local Honda Dealership regarding this process:

C: "At my last service, you informed me that I need to change my breaks. Can you tell me how much that will cost?"

HD: "It depends--do you have to replace your front brakes or back brakes?"

C: "I don't know--your service report just said I need to replace my brakes. What's the chance that I have to replace both at the same time?"

HD: "Well, that's pretty likely. In total, replacing both the front and back brakes will cost you around $440."

Following this phone call, I called Big O Tires, where my roommate had her car's brake system replaced a couple of years ago.

C: "Can you give me an estimate for replacing my brakes? [Gave car specs]"

BOT: "Do you have to replace your front brakes or back brakes?"

C: "I'm not sure--how likely is it that I have to replace both at the same time?"

BOT: "Not very likely--the front brakes typically wear out faster than the back brakes. If you bring your car in, we can give you an accurate estimate. However, pricing is at $119.95 per axle."

C: "So, that's like... $240 for the whole thing. Are there any taxes?"

BOT: "Just sales tax."

Following Suzanne's advice, I then called the Honda Dealership to see if they could come anywhere close to matching the estimate for brake repair that I received from Big O Tires.

C: "You gave me an estimate, and I also got an estimate from Big O Tires. Is there any way you can match that estimate?"

HD: "Unfortunately, [pause] we can't for brake repair. We're already doing it at a discount."

Really? A discount? Off of what price?

I guess Big O it is.

Diagnosis: too much carving

2008-02-11T14:00:00.000-08:00

I finally took the plunge--I dropped $50, strapped on bindings, and let a fiberglass board speed me down a mountain. Thanks to the lessons from Tom, and his and Wendy's patience, I can now carve... again. However, I am now paying for that day-o-fun in the form of a shattered body as exhibited by the following symptoms:

1 - Shredded triceps. Using soap dispenser pumps when washing my hands now takes incredible effort--it takes intense concentration and essentially the weight of my whole arm (instead of a simple flexing of my tricep) to apply enough pressure to get some soap to dispense into my hand.

2 - Penguin walk. Due to the exhaustion of my quadriceps, I cannot lift my feet more than a few inches off of the ground--I therefore walk by shifting my weight from hip to hip and waddling forward.

3 - Immobilized neck. I cannot turn my head from side to side while in a reclined position, nor can I lift it without assistance from my hands.

4 - Red chin. Apparently, the rubbing against the inside of my jacket... as well as the friction caused by sliding across the snowy hill... have created a very raw chin.

5 - Sore bum and knees. Lots of falling. Bruises. Everywhere.

On a positive note, I did not break any bones. I was happy to be sliding down Utah's "greatest snow on Earth" (even face down, head first) instead of icy hills somewhere on the east or west coast.

Let's have three cheers for Utah snow! Ow. Ow. Ow.

*Disclaimer: Picture not representative of actual snowboarding experience.

Fortune (-Fortune) Cookies

2008-02-08T11:24:00.000-08:00

Our company ordered in Panda Express for lunch today. I still regret mocking my roommate at BYU during my sophomore year (yes, that's you Jack-ay) for loving Panda Express so much... and then she made me actually try it... and my attitude changed. That MSG-enriched, processed food is pretty good (as long as you're not expecting actual Chinese food).

In any case, I was quite happy to see the big basket of fortune cookies that accompanied our meal when I went to grab my lunch. Sure, associating those cookies with Chinese food isn't quite ethnically correct... but those little cookies sure are tasty.

I'll admit... I grabbed a handful of the cookies... and made off like a little chipmunk from the Purple People Eatery (yes, that is what our CEO named our cafeteria). However, my "fortunes" are making me question my current path in life:

1 - Your mind is filled with new ideas. Make use of them.
2 - Avoid unchallenging occupations--they waste your talents.
3 - A wise lumberjack always has a sharp saw.
4 - A partner can help you in your efforts to get ahead.

I assume that these fortunes dictate the path my life should take, right? The logical conclusion is that I clearly need to stop being a silly attorney and wasting my talents--I must have some awesome ideas for sharpening metal in the deep recesses of my mind, and I think I'm going to jump head first into starting my own tree-cutting business. Anyone want to partner up with me?

To be [a moron] or not to be [a moron].

2008-02-07T11:51:00.000-08:00

I choose--to be a literary moron.

Sometimes I wonder if I should hide my many "weaknesses" from the world. However, despite the fact that most of the people around me seem to like [or pretend to like] and understand [or pretend to understand] Shakespeare, I haven't quite decided if my inability to comprehend Shakespeare can be classified a weakness. I'll let you be the judge.

I watched A Midsummer Night's Dream last night--apparently, this Romantic Comedy written sometime in the 1590s might have been considered pretty entertaining if I hadn't been asking myself the following questions:

1. Why can't I understand a word these people are saying?

2. Why do we keep switching between two seemingly unrelated stories--one with some strange love triangle + 1 female castoff in high society, and random dancing fairies in a forest? [Understand that the stage props never changed... and I seriously had no idea how the two stories were connected. As a result of this confusion, I actually thought A Midsummer Night's Dream might be a series of short plays. Turns out I was wrong.]

3. What is so funny about the stupid donkey mask on the dude's head?

Unable to answer the above-mentioned questions, I relegated myself to [rudely] chatting with Lyndsay on my Crackberry by shielding the blinding light from the screen with my program, and covertly trying type with the phone close to my body. I excused this behavior by accepting Lyndsay's offer to send me a summary of the play--thereby justifying the entire conversation by my desire to understand what was happening onstage.

To those of you who understand Shakespeare, I salute you. If I could only be so lucky...

Vote for Mitt's Healthcare Policy. Please?

2008-02-06T11:24:00.000-08:00

Warning: the following will not an entertaining blog. Sorry. Gotta speak my mind every once in a while.

I am disturbed by the notion of national health care for a number of reasons.

1. I am selfish and don't want to increase my premium drastically in order to compensate for others' failing health or age. [Talk to me after I've contracted cancer or some other really expensive disease, and I'm sure my opinion will change. I'm not pretending to take the moral high ground here.]

2. I don't believe that nationalizing health care without a solid plan to materially decrease costs will somehow result in a net benefit to anyone but the old and/or unhealthy, whose healthcare costs currently reflect their usage.

3. I lived with socialized healthcare in Taiwan--prescriptions are overprescribed, quality of healthcare is crap, and waiting times are unreasonable.

Recognizing the possibility that one of the current frontrunners in the Democratic race could take the White House soon, I checked out Obama's website for the first time--I vaguely remembered his platform on health insurance being less painful than Hillary's. A portion of his platform on health care follows:

"The Obama plan will create a National Health Insurance Exchange to help individuals who wish to purchase a private insurance plan. The Exchange will act as a watchdog group and help reform the private insurance market by creating rules and standards for participating insurance plans to ensure fairness and to make individual coverage more affordable and accessible. Insurers would have to issue every applicant a policy, and charge fair and stable premiums that will not depend upon health status."

Just because Obama uses buzz words and tries to appeal to our emotions by saying that we'll have similar plans to current government workers and senators doesn't mean that will actually happen. Insurance that is provided for everyone regardless of health status can be classified as "guaranteed issue" insurance, which will inevitably cause privately purchaed premiums to rise. Check out the average premiums in the 5 current guaranteed-issue states including New Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, Maine, and Vermont, versus individual coverage for the same demographic in other randomly-selected states including California, Utah, and Florida. The difference in monthly premiums is shocking and, to me, unacceptable.

My suggestion would be aligned with Mitt's approach:

Use A Free Market, Federalist Approach To Make Quality, Affordable Health Insurance Available To Every American

1. Deregulate State Markets. Encourage states to eliminate the cumbersome insurance regulations that drive costs up and providers out of the market. [I'm all for making this type of national change. It's called national market competition. I like it].

2. Fix The Tax Code. Level the playing field by making all health care expenses tax deductible, eliminating the special treatment afforded employer-provided health plans. [Why am I encouraged by the tax code to use my company's more expensive insurance instead of similar coverage with a cheaper premium that I can take with me even if I quit my job?]

3. Stop The Free-Riders. Use some of the money currently spent on providing expensive "free care" for the uninsured at emergency rooms to instead help the truly needy buy private insurance. [AMEN. Stop using the expensive ER as your primary care, people.]

4. Reform The Medical Liability System. Institute federal caps on non-economic and punitive damage awards to eliminate frivolous lawsuits and bring an end to the practice of defensive medicine. [Agreed, even though I might be out of a job. Medical malpractice rates are out of control, and let's be honest--lots of people aren't going after "fairness" or "just compensation" in these suits.]

5. Promote Innovation In Medicaid. Give states flexibility to spend their Medicaid dollars in whatever way they find most efficient and effective. [When was flexibility ever a bad thing?]

6. Bring Health Care Into The 21st Century. Improve quality and enhance transparency by introducing the same competitive forces that drive innovation in other sectors of the economy. [Shocking. Look at Lasik eye surgery--because it's not paid for by insurance, free market forces actually operate and drive the price down. Competition is good for the consumer.]

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: "My plan would allow people to purchase private insurance, not government insurance. No government-managed health care and no increase in taxes." (Tim Rohwer, "Romney Visits Bluffs," Council Bluffs Daily Nonpareil, 3/23/07) [Aren't we all about the federal government staying out of our business and regulating the daily course of our lives?]

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: "But we say let's rely on personal responsibility. Help people buy their own private insurance. Get our citizens insured, not with a government takeover, not with new taxes needed, but instead with a free marketbased system that gets all of our citizens in the system. No more free rides." (ABC, Republican Presidential Debate, Des Moines, IA, 8/5/07) [Personal responsibility--a novel concept, instead of paying the government a bunch of money in taxes to take the responsibility for you.]

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: "Conservative principles have the answers for health care. I think I'm going to be able to demonstrate to you today the conservative principles of personal responsibility and free market dynamics and choice and personal care – these kinds of elements allow us to reform health care in such a way that we can solve the problems that America faces in health care without having a government takeover, without having socialized medicine with all its drawbacks and all its weaknesses." (Governor Mitt Romney, Remarks At The Florida Medical Association, 8/24/07) [Amen.]

Think about it. I'm sure there will be people who disagree with me--if I've been misguided, let me know. I'm open to legitimate arguments.

When you can't go snowboarding...

2008-02-02T13:22:00.000-08:00

The last time I really went snowboarding was before my mission (yes, friends... 5 years ago). In an effort to actually enjoy the (*^*& snow that has been falling incessantly in Utah, Wendy has gone skiing quite frequently this year. Despite the fact that I bought new boots and bindings at the end of last season and anticipated actually going snowboarding this year, I have still been hesitant to take the plunge by buying an expensive lift ticket, expending a bunch of energy, and tumbling down a mountain.

However, my desire to head up to a ski resort is now renewed due to today's afternoon activity. When you can't go snowboarding... what do you do? You build a ramp in your [very short] front yard, strap on your snowboard... and... go.

[And yes, you do hear me saying... "ahhhh, I'm scared... Nooooo! I'm going to die... Aaaaaaahhhh". Also, notice Wendy's concern for my well being after I crash onto the cement sidewalk. I'm touched.]

Gun Control (or lack thereof)

2008-01-31T12:10:00.000-08:00

I'll be honest with you--it has been a hard week. Luckily, my roomates and I had previously scheduled an outing on Wednesday night that served as a welcome, somewhat dangerous, and surprisingly expensive distraction... shooting!

CJ and Mark took us shooting with three guns chosen from their large collection... an AK-47, a Glock 23, and some other small handgun with a name that eludes me right now. Chantal and Wendy had both been shooting a number of times before yesterday, but I had only been once.

As would be expected, we had remarkably different responses to the experience:

I'll admit that I am a self-proclaimed wuss, but I still think everyone should should cut me some slack--growing up in New Jersey, the only people with guns were criminals or cops. I didn't make it a practice of hanging out with those groups of people during high school. As a result, gunshots firing make me jump, which doesn't make for a very steady hand. Despite my tough-looking face in this picture and the number of bullet holes that I put in the guy (check out the spot between his eyes in particular), I was quite uncomfortable during our stay at the shooting range.

Wendy enjoyed her formal lessons given by both CJ and Mark. Mark, who has been through the Police Academy, stood by Wendy and gave her exercises [ie: two to the body, one to the head, two to the body, one to the groin], to Wendy's delight. Additionally, Wendy was pretty excited about shooting one-handed and felt like a thug as she rotated her right arm and hand by 45 degrees and unloaded bullets into the defenseless sheet of paper. For such a small girl, she had surprising power and accuracy. Don't mess with Wendy.

Chantal, shown here shooting the AK-47, got progressively more excited (and less cautious) over the course of the evening. She initially chose the "shapes" target, to avoid the appearance that she was shooting at an actual person. As she gained confidence, she moved the sheet further away from her, and counted the number of bullet holes that penetrated the paper after each round (often coming to us exuberantly and yelling so we could hear despite our protective earmuffs... "I only missed ONCE that WHOLE ROUND!"). The night was capped off well when Chantal decided to try out Wendy's thug-style, one-handed shooting with the small handgun--she commented that it was hard to aim just as CJ and Mark alarmingly mentioned that 4 of her bullets had skimmed along and damaged the shooting range's wall. Oopsie.

As a result, we might not be invited back to the shooting range... I think I'm okay with that.

What do YOU do for a living?

2008-01-30T10:00:00.000-08:00

Credit for this amazing photo goes to my chemical engineer-turned-anesthesiologist buddy Nick. Given the nature of our capitalistic society, I generally assume that the amount people get paid is roughly equivalent to value they add to society or to the people they work for. However, this photo makes me question that basic assumption... how many of you would be willing to shell out $50-65 for the solution to a partial differential equation? I definitely would not.

Therefore, the question must be asked... what do people in different professions actually get paid for? (Keep in mind that few individuals in the top tax brackets are reporting their actual incomes.)

Orthopaedic Surgeons: $388,784
Job description: operate power tools to break your bones and re-fuse them, while not being able to diagnose a common cold or fix a squeaky kitchen sink.
[Sorry, brothers... I still love you.]

Anesthesiologists: $302,724
Job description: shoot you up with proven drugs at proven levels to knock you out, while reading a book or newspaper during your surgery.

Entry level Attorneys: $86,677
Job description: push paper, proofread, and perform as a research and writing monkey; if the attorney shows exceptional promise... they might speak with you during their first few years on the job.

Sanitary Engineers (known in my childhood as "garbage men"): $58,646
Job description: ride around on a smelly truck most days of the week picking up your nasty trash that takes great effort to even move from the garage to the curb on a [gasp] weekly basis.

Paramedics: $37,455
Job description: be the first on scene to look at the bloody mess you've made and try to keep you alive.

Elementary School Teachers: $48,788
Job description: educate you and convince you to stop playing outside to do homework and, later in life, educate your kids and convince them to put down the remote or xbox controller. [Chantal will take exception to this figure, as the Provo first year teachers' salary is below $30k]

I'll let you make your own conclusions.

*All salaries quoted at 50% level from salary.com except Sanitary Engineer, where data comes from payscale.com.

Attention: law school applicants

2008-01-29T08:53:00.001-08:00

I've been posting entirely too much lately--it's almost as if I don't have a life. On the contrary, after reading a number of articles recounting the terror that typically ensues after law school graduation, I realize how lucky I am to actually have a life a year out of law school. Allow me to share from the latest article sent to me by a caring (or perhaps cynical) friend to illustrate.

The article, entitled "Who Says Being a Lawyer Has to Suck?" starts out by telling us about Grace, 31, who has a resume any prominent law firm would "salivate over"--1. Phi Beta Kappa as an undergrad, 2. graduation with distinction from Stanford Law school, 3. prestigious clerkship with the Ninth Circuit her 3L year, 4. first job at one of San Francisco's most elite law firms, and 5. Fulbright Scholarship to do research at Oxford secured during her first year at the firm.

Despite her appearance as any law school's golden child, Grace describes her associate experience in a tone that would frighten even the most ambitious masochist:

She describes the nearly three years she spent as an associate as the loneliest time she could imagine. She used to think she was lucky to not have a life – no boyfriend, no kids – because at least she didn’t have to feel guilty about working about 80 hours a week. The other associates were no consolation. Everyone fought so valiantly to prove they did have a life outside the firm – that they knew the latest events in Iraq or what had happened on last night’s Grey’s Anatomy – that lunch had become a pressure-filled hour of one-upmanship. The final straw was when she looked at every single partner in her office and decided that, even though each of them earned around $1 million a year, there wasn’t one whose life she envied.

“You take the best and the brightest our country has to offer,” she now says, just two months after deciding to quit her job, “and subject them to mind-numbing drudgery for all hours of the day, year after year…” Here her voice trails off, and she looks like she’s about to cry. “I hated it when people would ask me what I did because it was so boring even to talk about.”

When Grace told her firm's partners that she was quitting to do something else, most whispered that if they only didn't have the mortgage or family, they would also quit. This, along with the following staggering statistics reported in the article, casts a shadow on our "prestigous profession":

1 - Merger mania has created cutthroat firms with 1,000-plus attorneys and worldwide ambitions. Partners are under extreme pressure to bring in enough business to generate over $1 million each year in per-partner profit. Smaller firms scramble to compete for clients and rainmakers or be bought up for big profits. In the mayhem, the hours for associates have gone from intense to insane, and the brass ring of partnership that used to make their enslavement palatable is becoming more difficult, if not impossible, to attain.

2 - In one year alone, 2005, one in five associates in the nation up and left his or her firm. Of associates with about five years’ experience, an astonishing 78 percent are no longer with their original firm (up from 60 percent in 2000). These attrition rates are the highest ever recorded.

3 - In 1958 the American Bar Association estimated that “there were only approximately 1,300 fee-earning hours per year.” That amounts to a roughly 40-hour workweek, plus two Saturdays a month. By 2003, however, about 28 percent of associates were billing more than 1,950 hours. Today, associates at top Bay Area firms often bill upward of 2,200 hours, and some as much as 2,600. In order to hit 2,200 hours, a person has to be on the job from 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. every weekday and seven hours on Saturday twice a month, with three weeks of total time off a year.

4 - Associates, who bitterly see how their labor is billed out at up to 10 times the rate of their salary to allow their partners satisfy the hunger for higher profits, are each expected to pull more hours, morale be damned.

5 - Even when associates are able to grind out the hours and make full partner, they find it rarely delivers the golden prize it once did. “The power and prestige of being a partner is completely gone,” says Albert. “A partner is only as good as the money he or she brought into the firm last year. If you’re not a hunter, meaning you don’t bring in clients, you better stay really good friends with some hunters or you’re out of luck.” It is becoming increasingly a part of business for partners to lay each other off.

6 - In a 2001 study, 71 percent of female and male graduates from the nation’s top five law schools reported experiencing serious conflict between their work and their personal lives. And when male lawyers in their 20s and 30s were asked if they were willing to take lower salaries in exchange for more free time, 70 percent said yes.

In response, I thank my lucky stars for my attorney job, which requires no billable hours, allows me to work 9-5 with 18 days of vacation leave a year, and provides a 25cent candy/soda/snack machine for those "tough days". I will take it.

Tribute

2008-01-28T11:22:00.000-08:00

"I am no longer a young man filled with energy and vitality. I am an old man. I'm given to meditation and prayer. I would enjoy sitting in a rocker, swallowing prescriptions, listening to soft music, and contemplating the things of the universe. But such activity offers no challenge and makes no contribution. I wish to be up and doing. I wish to face each day with resolution and purpose. I wish to use every waking hour to give encouragement, to bless those whose burdens are heavy, to build faith and strength of testimony."- President Gordon B. Hinckley.

President Hinckley is a rockstar. I mean that with all sincerity and respect. After passing away yesterday, I'm sure he's on the other side running around, bonding with his wife, meeting his predecessors, and making everyone laugh. I am particularly grateful for his efforts to face every reporter with his characteristic humor and candor, while making the LDS church seem like less of a cult and more of a respected religious organization around the world. His personality will be irreplaceable... I'm just glad we were blessed with his leadership, hard work, and presence for so many years.

I need all wheel drive Xo(

2008-01-27T16:58:00.000-08:00

The inevitable has finally happened--my driveway (aka solid sheet of ice) has finally caught up with me. Early this morning while not fully awake, I intended to skid my car down the driveway as usual. However, after cutting to the left too much, I found myself unable to straighten my car out while unsuccesfully spinning my wheels on the icy driveway. Hoping that I'd still be able to skim by on the shoveled portion, I then proceeded to back up and get stuck in the snow bank to the left of our driveway. A lot of wasted gas, a dose of futile pushing of the car by Chantal [yes, in her dress and heels], and some serious revving of the engine in both 'drive' and 'reverse' later... I abandoned my car from the passenger's side door, since the snow pack made it impossible for me to open the driver's side door.

Luckily, my buddy Tom and his Chevy Silverado came to the rescue after church. Since it was apparently impossible to attach towing cables to the little metal hook beneath my back bumper, Tom attached his rope/towing mechanism directly to my rear axle. [Despite his caution and care, I wonder if I should be worried by the sheer number of times Tom's said something like: "Man. I hope we didn't wreck anything on your car. If it starts making any rattling noise, or if your car starts driving sharply to the right... you have to promise to let me know." Uh, Tom? If my rear wheels fall off during my commute, I'll be sure to let you know.]

In any case, I made myself quite useful by using my digital camera to get a photo and video documentary of the towing process, while Tom set up and supervised to ensure that my rear axle wasn't ripped off, Chantal pushed my car, and CJ operated the truck. Meanwhile, Wendy entertained herself by tossing snowballs to a neighborhood golden retriever that came bounding into our yard at this inopportune time.

All I can say is that there is something amazing to be said about trucks and their functionality. And, contrary to my prejudice against American cars in general, American trucks rock. Oh, and I need all wheel drive.

Crackberry. It's like a strawberry, but faster.

2008-01-24T12:48:00.001-08:00

Following the example of an unfortunate email that I received lately from an angry girl carrying an illegitimate child, I now abbreviate "baby" to "bb" when typing, texting, or instant messaging (which pretty much covers all of my preferred methods of communication). However, since "bb" is already taken, the recent acquisition of a pretty Blackberry leaves me without an easy abbreviation for the device that was going to be named "strawberry" until marketing execs thought that name sounded too slow. I've finally settled on "cb", short for "crackberry", a nickname for Blackberries that I have quickly come to understand.

Wikipedia, our source of all truth and knowledge, explains the nickname: "The ability to read e-mail that is received in realtime, anywhere, has made the BlackBerry devices infamously addictive, earning them the nickname "CrackBerry"."

It's true friends... this thing is addictive. I've been chatting, changing my status on Facebook, and emailing people pictures taken on this thing entirely too much. I have a sneaking suspicion that if my work-sponsored cb is taken away (because I decide to change jobs, not because I'm abusing the privilege), I'll "need" to buy my own cb for myself.

On the upside, my work has assumed liability for my personal Verizon contract and transferred my old number to my shiny new cb. Therefore, I have no cell phone bill for the first time in ... many, many years. Life is good.

Hi, sexy.

2008-01-23T08:02:00.000-08:00

In response to a mortgage foreclosure debate and with a desire to express his opinion, a Maryland man (who probably considers himself to be an active and engaged citizen) looked up and called the number listed in the phone book for the Governor's Office. A woman answered the phone and greeted him by saying "Hi, sexy."

Fortunately, secretaries at political offices around the nation have not merely decided that this is an appropriate way to greet callers. Apparently, the number for the Governor's Office is misprinted in the latest edition of the telephone book (as well as an earlier edition, which means the misprint has been there for two years)--the printed number connects with an adult phone service. Oopsie. Let's hope that Maryland citizens are using more modern technology to contact their state leaders, and that the Governor's Office isn't ringing as infrequently as this guy's experience would suggest.

Me v. Winter. This is war.

2008-01-21T09:39:00.000-08:00

This winter has been the worst ever. It seems like the weeks that I park outside are directly correlated to the snow storms and ice sheets which assault my car (and spirits). However, this morning's commute was especially fun and included the following:

1. Sliding down my snow-covered, solid ice of a driveway in reverse with the fear that someone would drive by at the same time.

2. "Driving" for 3 miles which started as solid, stopped traffic on the interstate, then "accelerated" to bumper to bumper traffic. Total travel time for the 3 miles = 55 minutes. Total travel time for the 25 mile commute = 90 minutes.

3. Facing the 100 meter long, inclined, completely unplowed driveway to our new building with trepidation.

4. Putting my car in park on said incline (complete with parking break) behind a Mitsubishi Mirage stuck in the snow, and a Saturn sedan which tried to pass the Mitsubishi on the left. The Saturn then also got stuck in the snow... thereby completely blocking the 2-lane driveway to my building. Tire chains solved the Mitsubishi's problems, and my Civic (with a whole lotta gas) ended up making it up the hill. Good Civic.

5. Making it into the "parking lot" by accelerating to the end of the indented snow, then looking to the left... if I parked in the spot to the left, I'd be stuck in the snow. Then I looked right... if I parked in the spot to the right, I'd also be stuck in the snow. Shocker. So, I gave up and put my car in park, perpendicular to all the other cars in the "lot" and abandoned poor 'ol Civic right then and there. [To my surprise, when I came out of the building, there were two cars parked next to me, also perpendicular to all the other cars. I'm such a trend setter].

In any case, after arriving home, I decided to use the *&(*^ snow which created such a headache in the morning for my own entertainment. We made an igloo. Then, realizing our igloo was too small for all of us to fit in, we made a fort. The logical next step was to make a pathway so that the warriors in the igloo could get to the fort for battle. Please note the cleaned up penguin who stands as sentinel over the fort/path/igloo kingdom.

Pleased with our efforts, we then drank hot chocolate in our fort. Take that, Jack Frost.

How do I sign up for THAT job?

2008-01-17T08:40:00.000-08:00

I have recently been trying to figure out what my ideal job would be. I hate when interviewers ask you where you will be in five or ten years--apparently, my response is supposed to indicate whether I have goals or something. I'm pretty sure I've never actually given a good (much less accurate) answer to that question. Regardless, I've found the perfect job for me.

The Associated Press ran a story this morning about Anthony Armatys (only 34 years old) of Illinois who accepted a position with Avaya in Basking Ridge, New Jersey, but then rescinded his acceptance before he started working. A system error caused checks to be deposited in Mr. Armaty's account from fall 2002 to March 2007, when the company finally realized the error. During that time, however, Armatys collected $469,000 in pay and even had the gumption to withdraw $1,900 from his company retirement account administered by Fidelity Investments.

Free $400k+? I will take it.

[For the record, Armatys is being charged with theft by deception and awaiting extradition to New Jersey with bail set at $50,000. Details, right? And have I mentioned that I'm proud of my home state?]

Always Something There to Remind Me

2008-01-15T11:31:00.000-08:00

My friends know that I pride myself on being a relatively effective consumer complaint letter writer. I am beside myself with joy when I receive a response letter from a manager that both addresses my concern and gives me a reason to remain a loyal customer. Most recently, my success was marked by a letter with the following: "Please find the enclosed coupons for two free gallons of Dreyer's ice cream. We apologize for any inconvenience you may have experienced by purchasing a mint tingle gallon of ice cream that was mistakenly packaged without any chocolate tingle."

However, putting my pride aside for a minute, I realize that my attempts at writing these consumer complaints do not come close to the verbal stylings of Wendi from Texas. The following is an actual [censored] letter from an Austin woman sent to Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. Forgive me for posting the entire letter--an abridgment simply wouldn't do Ms. Wendi justice.

[Warning: any males who become uncomfortable in discussions of feminine products should stop reading now.]

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.

But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from 'the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's [censored] into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you [censored] kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?

FYI, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

Pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bull. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,
Wendi
Austin, TX

Lemmings and kittens

2008-01-11T10:39:00.000-08:00

USA Today reports that American Idol is starting next week--the producers are wary after the show's first ever decline in viewership last year (allegedly due to the lack of personality and talent of the finalists) and poor attendance during the Idol tour. In addition to being giddy about the Writers Strike that prevents us poor couch potato Americans from being able to watch scripted shows, the producers are making the following adjustments:

1. Letting singers play musical instruments during their performances in the first combined gathering of audition survivors,

[Translation: trying to convince the viewers that these contestants actually have a shred of musical talent]

2. Visiting finalists' hometowns and interviewing family and friends earlier in the process to help viewers get to know them faster, and

[Translation: trying to sway viewers' votes to make the voting even more producer-controlled than it already is, and finding a sob or glory story that fits every viable contestant]

3. Adding an hour to the Hollywood Round and a possible "where are they now?" segment to highlight earlier Idol performers on top-12 results shows.

[Translation: finding a way to appeal to either the viewers' senses of (1) jealousy, by showing the utter failure of previous contestants, or (2) pride, by showing the success of previous contestants, thereby validating the time, money, and occasional techie [illegal] dialing schemes of viewers that go towards supporting their favorite Idol]

Apparently, the "secret weapons" of Idol are the highly watched episodes during the first few weeks where viewers are baffled by the showcase of American singing talent while Simon Cowell provides a number of entertaining soundbytes. When the judges faced complaints that they were being too harsh on contestants, our favorite Simon responded, "Sometimes we say things that maybe we shouldn't, but we're not drowning kittens."

As long as they continue to refrain from drowning kittens, I'll be tuning in. I'll see you there.

Update: Season 5 winner Taylor Hicks was dropped by his record label. Shocking.

Day off work

2008-01-10T16:29:00.000-08:00

I took another day off of work today. Well, technically I "worked from home" today. I suppose that would have been more productive if I could actually get Microsoft Outlook to connect and download my new emails. Sigh. However, let the record show that I dutifully remained inside when Wendy invited me to make a snowman with her. Had I known that she was really going to create a snow penguin, I may have been convinced to shirk work and join her. For the record, I heart penguins. Also, Wendy is having a hard time adjusting to being back in Utah after her long Christmas break in California. Poor girl.

Pay for your own dang self. You too, Hillary.

2008-01-08T11:21:00.000-08:00

I work in the health insurance industry at a company with a commitment to help customers understand consumer-driven healthcare while better spending and saving their healthcare dollars. As luck would have it, healthcare and health insurance are pretty hot issues in the current presidential campaign. While I don't pretend to be an expert on our political candidates for President or their platforms, I do claim to know a thing or two about health insurance.

On the way to work a few days ago, an analyst on NPR reported trends in voting for different demographics in the recent Iowa primary--apparenty, in the democratic race, younger voters favored Obama, middle-aged voters were split between Obama and Clinton, and elderly voters strongly favored Clinton. Clinton's support is easily explainable by the dollars she throws into ads directed towards the eldery, as well as her policy stance on health insurance.

[Disclaimer: I do not claim to be an Obama supporter. I am, however, a Hillary hater.]

Clinton supporters are attacking Obama for not proposing a federal mandate that every American buy health insurance--Clinton's proposal, on the other hand, prohibits insurers from giving price breaks to the young. What does that mean to us? Well, chances are good that if you are reading this blog, you're probably relatively young. Young people, aged 18-34, generally need minimal amounts of health care ($1,500 a year, on average, according to a Commonwealth Fund study). In most states (with New Jersey [I'm ashamed] and 4 others being the exception), your health insurance premiums are directly tied to the payout a health insurance company expects to make on your behalf. Therefore, if you are young and healthy, you'll have a significantly lower premium than someone older or with health issues.

In other words, Clinton's mandate "would force the young to subsidize the heath tab for the middle-aged generation. This subsidy would come on top of the payroll tax younger people already pay to support today's Medicare recipients. This is contrary to a fundamental American principle. This nation has always believed in making life better for its children, not exploiting them". (For more info: The Truth About Mandatory Health Insurance, Betsy McCaughey, WSJ, Jan 4, 2008).

My response? I'll show YOU exploiting. Call me selfish, but I say... Hillary, pay for your own dang self.

Love me, but don't show me

2008-01-07T14:14:00.001-08:00

Last year while I was Christmasing in Arizona, my brother and his kids introduced me to High School Musical. My life, at that moment, changed forever for the better. I am proud to report that my brother's family pulled through again this year, and introduced me to something equally as grand as High School Musical--Sons of Provo (whose starring cast I will refer to as "the boyz").

You might recognize the frontman, Will Swenson, from the Singles Ward... or, if you are more spirichally in tune, you'll remember him as Captain Moroni from the CES seminary videos. Will does not disappoint in his performance in Sons of Provo, which recounts the rise and fall of the biggest LDS Boy Band that never really was.

While I recognize that sitting through the whole movie might be difficult for some, selections from the lyrics of three of my favorite songs written and sung by this boy band simply must be shared with the world via this blog.

Recognizing the unique dating patterns of Provo (the location for this movie), the Boyz sing about the difficulties we face as we try to remain on the straight and narrow during courting, and the unreasonably long length of time during which we're expected to hold strong:

Love Me, But Don't Show Me
These two weeks together have been the sweetest of my life,
My hearts prayer was answered when you agreed to be my wife.
Your love's like a cancer, girl, cuz I got no resistance,
There's only one answer girl: You got to keep your distance!

Love me, but don't show me.
I want our wedding night to be right.
Miss me, but don't kiss me.
If we start to makin' out girl, You won't be wearin' white.

After each date with you, I'll fight with all my might,
To treat you like a gentleman, and shake your hand goodnight.
I'll breathe in your perfume; it's fillin' up my lungs,
But don't you even start to try to use the gift of tongues.

Moving on, the Boyz serenade us with a moving ballad about the sweet spirited girls we all know and love:

Sweet Spirit (a ballad)
She... doesn't turn your head when she walks down the hall.
She... may not be the slender beauty fair and tall.
She... has some acne scars that populate her skin.
But she has beauty emanating deeply from within.

Ooo, sweet spirit, You're so.... [dramatic pause] niiiiiccceeeee.
You may not appear it, But your soul's a pearl of great price.
You're such a good person, Sincere and true.
You'll never hear her cursin'
You're such a special person,
I hope your looks don't worsen,
Or you'll never say... [another dramatic pause] "I dooooooooo."

And, lastly, the Boyz present a song which causes us to reminisce about many-a-testimony that have been shared in our singles wards:

Spirichal As Me
I like to take notes in Sacrament Meeting
But I'm not just some regular guy.
I've memorized the names of every Prophet and Apostle
And I've never told a lie.
When I'm eating lunch in the school cafeteria
I bow my head and pray out loud.
I'm so humble and meek,
And possessing such heavenly qualities makes me proud.

Maybe, someday, You will see
You could be as Spiritchal as me.
And maybe, someday, We'll just see
That you could be as Spiritchal as me.

I relate every topic to my mission, And the baptisms I had.
When I think of how lost Some people are, It honestly makes me sad.
If you follow my lead, let me be your example,
Then maybe someday you'll be, As virtuous, lovely and of good report- As spiritchal as me.

I'm so bless-ed for living like I do
Spreading my light to people just like you.

Realizing that the true magnitude of these lyrics simply cannot be felt without the beautiful musical stylings that are to accompany the words, let me extend this invite: if any of you were as moved by these lyrics as I was, feel free to contact me--my brother was kind enough to give me the blessed DVD as a Christmas present, and I would be more than happy to watch Sons of Provo with you. Again and again.

Christmas "vacation"

2008-01-02T09:31:00.000-08:00

My Christmas was quite entertaining and included ice skating, family bonding, gingerbread house making, steak and dim sum eating, racquetball playing, pedicuring, movie watching, etc. Unfortunately, my vacation was also marred by a cold I caught shortly before Christmas, and a virus that invaded my body about 5 days ago before I had gotten over the original cold. I'd like to pay tribute to our capitalistic society which has made the following product inventions possible:

NyQuil. Anyone who has had the opportunity to take this stuff knows of the blissful coma it can create. Unfortunately, I am told that NyQuil can be addicting and affect your sleeping patterns, so I have been trying not take it two days in a row. I am sorry to report that despite my diligence, NyQuil has recently lost its effectiveness--last night after taking 2 Advil Cold & Sinus and then tossing and turning for a few hours, I finally gave in and took another NyQuil. It took me another 2 hours to fall into an altogether too-conscious sleep.

Select Comfort Intralux Pillow - Contour. This pillow is pretty much the awesomest thing ever made for head comfort. And, especially when you're stuffed up to the point of not being able to breathe, the contours in this pillow open up your airways much better than normal pillows.

Halls Cough Drops. This picture (with "Sugar free" prominently displayed across the front of the package) is not illustrative of the non-sugar-free cough drops that I in fact purchased. However, as great as these drops have been on soothing my throat and attempting to manage my cough, I regret that decision to buy sugar-filled cough drops as I have slept with cough drops in my mouth for the past two nights. I suppose a trip to the dentist to drill out cavaties is yet another happy result of the virus that plagues me.

With that said, if anyone can give me an effective suggestion for controlling my cough at night so I can actually get some sleep, I would be forever grateful...

Cookies for sale

2007-12-20T17:45:00.001-08:00

So, my niece Natalie is actually quite cute, and well behaved for your average almost-four year old [pictured at age 2 to the right]. Her vocabulary and ability to formulate sentences is also well beyond her years. However, I've realized that hanging out with adult roommates and business people all day has not helped me relate to kids in a kid-friendly manner.

As I was sitting on the couch with my laptop working away, Natalie was eating "cookies", aka sucking on small plastic links. She allegedly doesn't understand my distaste for spit. In any case, Natalie proceeded to tell me about her cookies as she brought her bowl of spit-ridden plastic dangerously close to me. This is the exchange that ensued shortly after Natalie dropped the bowl:

N: "Can you help me get them?"

C: "No. They have your spit all over them."

N: "It's just water, you silly goose. Do you want a cookie right now?"

C: "No thank you."

N: "You get what you get. Don't throw a fit." [as she drops the spit-ridden piece of plastic on me.]

The plastic lodged itself in my pants. I am defeated. However, someone else who preceded me must have also been defeated... what three year old can already say "don't throw a fit?"

Victory is MINE!

2007-12-18T13:46:00.000-08:00

Don't you love it how customer service reps who make $6 an hour (and, more often than not, can't speak fluent English) go on power trips, fight with you, and say repeatedly "there's nothing I can do?" when you've been wronged? I've learned very quickly to say "may I please speak to your manager?" Unfortunately, I think the big companies have caught on to my little game, and hired a whole army of individuals who make $6.25 an hour with the title "Manager."

Let me explain. I have a Washington Mutual savings account. I almost closed my account shortly after opening it (as Pattie did) when my initial deposit was held for longer than the federally-mandated maximum. However, due to their 5.00% APY interest at the time on their e-savings account, I convinced myself to be patient. On a different occasion, one of my coworkers complained to both WaMu and me about their holds on his deposits--apparently, when he went into a branch to deposit money into an account, the money was made immediately available. However, when his wife went into the same branch and deposited the same checks (signed by him) into the same account, the money was subject to a 2-3 day hold. After he talked to a number of different WaMu representatives and accused them of sexism, the money was magically unlocked.

Fast forward today: I recently got charged an "excess activity fee" of $10.00 by Washington Mutual. I called the customer service number and asked (nicely) what that was for--apparently, if I make more than 6 transfers out of my savings account, I get charged $10 for "excess activity". Having never been informed of this "$10 fee", I figured a quick conversation would remedy the problem as I'd be given a "one time courtesy credit for being a good customer." That always happens, right?

Unfortunately, the first level customer service rep was of no help, so I asked to speak to her "Manager". Manager Jason (who actually sounded like he wanted to die and hated his job the whole time while he was on the phone with me... shocking) told me that the fee was federally-mandated, and that the bank could not and would not credit my account back. After some worthless discussion with Jason, he suggested that he could have a "Senior Manager" call me back within 24 hours. He hung up on me just as I was asking him to tell me his last name.

Senior Manager Jaime called me back today, and I discussed with her my situation. Following the same script, Senior Manager Jamie also told me that while she appreciated my business, the fee was federally-mandated and could not be credited to my account. I expressed my shock and indicated that in working with many different banks in the past, I had never run into a situation where the bank refused to credit back a fee that was, for all material purposes, undisclosed. She once again faulted her inability to credit my account on the "federal mandate".

In response, I explained that I work in an industry that deals extensively with Federal Banking laws. I asked her to point me to the regulation the WaMu employees seem happy to reference and blame for their inability to give me my $10 back. As she was skimming the member agreement and trying to give me a page that the regulation/policy was on, I indicated that I was not asking for the page of the member agreement that referenced her fee, but the actual regulation upon which she was basing her communication with me (I was careful not to call it an "argument"). Additionally, I asked Senior Manager Jamie if the $10 fee that the federal agency was so intent on charging me was in fact returned to that federal agency. She said that a portion of it was. [So false.]

After a few minutes of searching, Senior Manager Jamie triumphantly said "it's based on Regulation D". I then pulled up Reg D and asked her to explain where the Federal Mandate was within that section. Senior Manager Jamie then asked if she could put me on hold to see if there was anything else they could do for me. A few minutes later after I had skimmed the regulation and someone else's angry blog in response to WaMu's $10 excess activity fee, I was informed that since I had no other charges on my account and since I was a good customer, Senior Manager Jamie's manager, (I assume that would be Senior Senior Manager, right? Or maybe this even rose to the DIRECTOR level!) allowed her to credit my fee back even though, as a policy and because of that federal regulation of course, WaMu never credits back that fee.

As a sidenote: Regulation §204.2(d)(2), which defines a savings account, indicates that "the depositor is permitted or authorized to make no more than six transfers and withdrawals, or a combination of such transfers and withdrawals, per calendar month or statement cycle (or similar period) of at least four weeks, to another account (including a transaction account) of the depositor at the same institution..." If the depositor (me in this case) violates that, the bank must either:

"(a) Prevent withdrawals or transfers of funds from this account that are in excess of the limits established by paragraph (d)(2) of this section, or

(b) Adopt procedures to monitor those transfers on an ex post basis and contact customers who exceed the established limits on more than an occasional basis."

Interesting. Ex post basis totally sounds like charging me $10 at the close of the cycle, right? And... I'm assuming that my one incident counts as a "more than occasional basis" which prompted WaMu to "contact me" by charging me, right? Excellent logic. I'm glad WaMu is so intent on following Reg D. It's a good thing that WaMu's Senior Senior Manager chose to credit the $10 back to me.

Also, for those of you that may not know me so well, you might be asking yourselves, "well, was the $10 really worth it?" For all those that know me well, let us all speak at once... "TOTALLY!"

Professional Eater? Anyone? Anyone?

2007-12-17T11:47:00.000-08:00

I have this unconquerable obsession with good food... luckily, my friend Wendy shares in the obsession and can relate to me. A couple of nights ago, I distracted Wendy from studying for finals by listing out the best things to eat in Taiwan. She added some food items that I had forgotten, and we compared our lists for over an hour.

Wendy then realized that she should change majors and professions (who wants to be an engineer anyway?), to which I suggested that she become a food scientist or nutritionist. Not satisfied by these suggestions, Wendy instead expressed her interest in becoming a professional eater. [I thought she was making that up too.]

Apparently, the participants in the International Federation of Competitive Eating, or I.F.O.C.E. as it is better known, are lobbying to have competitive eating be recognized more widely as a sport. The photo on this post is known as the "Black Widow" of competitive eating--her records include:

1 - 11 pounds of cheesecake in 9 minutes in 2004
2 - 8 pounds and 2 ounces of Weinerschnitzel Chili Cheese Fries in 10 minutes in 2006
3 - 9 pound "Big Daddy" cheeseburger in 27 minutes in 2006
4 - 44 Maine lobsters (11.3 pounds of meat)from the shell in 12 minutes in 2005
5 - 552 oysters in 10 minutes in 2005

She's 40 and weighs 105 pounds. How is that biologically possible? And, how do I sign up for that metabolism?

After you, madame.

2007-12-13T08:58:00.000-08:00

The guys in our ward hosted a dinner for the girls--complete with sparkling cider, a catered meal, and different individuals stationed to greet us, open our car doors, and escort us to our tables.

When Chantal and I pulled up to the church building and parked in the pre-designated area, we were startled by a guy running towards us in the dark through the parking lot at great speeds. Apparently, his job was to open our car doors for us in a very gentleman-like fashion.

Unfortunately, Chantal didn't respond well to the surprise. Since her car has a manual transmission, she proceeded to pull up her parking break very quickly and jump out of the car before recognizing the friendly face coming to open our door. In her haste, Chantal also proceeded to lock the doors of her car before slamming her door shut. I, on the other hand, recognized CJ, and closed my door while still in the car so that he could do his job of opening my door for me. After I unlocked the door and CJ let me out of the car, I shut the door.

I noticed something strange, however... apparently the keys were left in the ignition and Chantal never turned off her car in her flight. Luckily, my slow reaction to the man running towards us in the dark parking lot was a good thing, since without that, Chantal would have locked her keys in her car with the car still running. I'm pretty sure she was slightly embarassed as she headed towards her car to turn it off and take the keys out of the ignition... with CJ watching us in confusion.

Forward Ho.

2007-12-12T13:53:00.001-08:00

Have you ever clicked "reply" to a forward recounting personal information that you knew your friend wasn't supposed to share with you... and instead of replying to the person who forwarded you the email, replied to the sender who was then irate that his/her information was being forwarded on to random people?

I have definitely experienced the bad end of that stick with personal emails; for the first time in recent history, I have been the unintended victim of someone else's lack of attention to detail while clicking "forward" on an email in a work setting.

Working with insurance companies is, in general, a nightmare. The attorneys who choose to work for insurance companies (present company excluded, of course) have this insane OCD attention to detail that is unparalleled in any other profession. Every 't' must be crossed, and every 'i' dotted... and each step of every licensing and application process imagineable must be detailed and accounted for.

Generally, our company will be performing services for one of these insurance companies (we'll call them "ABC Insurance Company" or "ABC" for short). I have had the breathtakingly fascinating opportunity to create a series of attorney opinion letters that explain how we really are qualified and licensed to do what we say we can do--from every perspective imagineable. I have a pretty good working relationship with our "Relationship Manager" (Bob) who handles most of the wheeling and dealing between our company and ABC--we even engage in a bit of sarcastic banter from time to time. What I did not anticipate, however, is that my sarcastic banter would be unintentionally forwarded to the opposing party.

After I wrote a letter detailing what had been explained to ABC innumerable times, I was quite happy when Bob forwarded me a response from ABC stating the following:

"We can consider this issue closed. Thanks for working thru this process to make everyone comfortable with the licensing piece. Talk to you soon."

My happiness turned to panic-slash-frustration-slash-surprise-slash-disbelief, however, when I scrolled down to the bottom of the email and noticed my original text to Bob on the stream that was sent to ABC--

"If you EVER had ANY lingering doubts that we needed to be licensed as a TPA in order to perform the functions outlined in our contract with ABC, let this letter be your guide. I realize the letter is extremely repetitive, but ABC doesn't seem content with anything more efficient and less detailed."

Oops. I guess I won't be getting a job with ABC in the near future... it's a good thing they're only our biggest client.

Trashed

2007-12-07T14:25:00.001-08:00

Despite vacillating back and forth over whether or not to blog this experience, I have decided that this story simply must be shared with the world notwithstanding the effect it has had on my pride.

I have always considered myself to be a relatively athletic person. I fought tooth and nail during high school to be able to play field hockey, since my mom mistakenly thought that cross country was the only appropriate sport (in time commitment and intensity) for her children. Until I became out of shape and slow, I was also pretty good at basketball. And, to this day, I still pretend to be an outdoorsey person, though my New Jersey version of outdoorsey-ness does not compare to the hard core granolas that grew up in the Mountain West. In short, I have been under the mistaken impression that I am coordinated.

Then, there was "the incident".

After purchasing a new queen sized bed set, I carefully read the instructions that were attached to the mattress--Serta suggests that I throw away the plastic that protects the mattress and box spring immediately after removing it. Always one to follow instructions, I proceeded to roll up the plastic into a big ball. I went into the garage with the equivalent of a tank top on, since I didn't want to get any dirt from the plastic on my white sweater.

Let me explain the logistics behind throwing the plastic out.

1. Our garage has three cement steps down from the level of the house to the base of the garage.

2. A plastic bannister is built on each side of the cement steps for "safety".

3. Our garbage can sits to the left of the steps and plastic bannister, and opens perpendicular to the steps. Therefore, when we want to dispose of our trash, we open the door to the garage, stand on the steps, lean over the bannister to the left, open the trash can, and throw the garbage out.

4. The garbage can is provided to us by the city--it is one of those huge black cans with a square top. The hinge mechanism on the backside of the can attaches the lid to the trash can's body.

Realizing that the big ball of plastic would take more effort to dispose of than a normal grocery store bag filled of trash, I firmly planted my feet on two different steps. I then proceeded to lift the lid to the trash can with my left hand, and throw the plastic ball in the garbage with my right. Though we had just emptied the trash can a couple days earlier, the plastic ball remained at the top of the garbage can. Thinking that something was artificially causing the plastic not to descend to the bottom of the can, I realized that I'd need to apply force to the plastic ball.

To do this, I leaned over the bannister and continued to hold the lid up with my left hand. I shifted my weight to my right hand to push down on the plastic. Unfortunately, the silky top I was wearing had no friction against the plastic bannister, and my feet were not level or steady. I lost my balance quickly when the plastic gave way faster than expected--my belly proceeded to scrape against the banister [there is still evidence of a "banister burn" all the way across my stomach]. My right hand continued to descend into the garbage can, which was followed shortly thereafter by my entire upper body. Being halfway into the garbage can, with my legs clearly detatched from the ground, my right armpit got lodged against the edge where the garbage can meets the lid [once again, there is still evidence of this "incident" in the form of some serious redness in that unfortunate area]. Lastly, my left hand of course came crashing down, which caused the lid of the garbage can to slam down, and crash onto my lower back which was, by that time, at the top of the garbage can.

Quickly, with my pride hurt, I removed myself from the garbage can, ran into the house, and lied on the ground to wait out the stinging pains. You'd be surprised how much pain this incident caused me on many different levels.

In the poetic words of my friend and confidant, "I got owned by the trash can."

The very hand-crafted labor of love

2007-12-04T13:39:00.000-08:00

Wendy, my roommate and avid longboarding fan, has asked me to go longboarding with her many times. Historically, I have denied her without fail for two reasons:

1. Longboarding is for punks, and I ain't no punk; and
2. My only real longboarding experience was a tragedy. I was heading down the Provo Canyon trail at night a couple of years ago in pitch black darkness, by light of my headlamp. On that fateful night, I couldn't figure out how to stop. As it turns out, being able to stop is actually pretty important to the whole longboarding process. I finally gave up and coasted down the canyon by sitting [not standing] on the borrowed board. Unfortunately, that sitting position did not prevent me from accelerating to unnecessary speeds, which of course caused the board to shake, which then led to me tumbling head first into the mountain along the trail. Ow.

Needless to say, I have had solid reasons to avoid longboarding altogether. However, being a good roommate, I finally gave in one night recently and used Wendy's borrowed longboard to coast down Provo Canyon. Wendy (always the great teacher) taught me how to slow down and stop quite effectively, which has opened up a new world of possibilities to me.

Having coasted around the neighborhood and down Provo Canyon a couple more times since that night, I quickly realized that I need to buy my own longboard. Being the technical enthusiast that I am, I proceeded to choose a longboard solely based on how pretty I thought the board was. Thanks to Nick and his connections, I got quite a steal of a deal on this pretty board. Note that this board is quite special--each board is custom made by a Barfoot employee, in a process that is apparently "the very hand-crafted labor of love."

To my dismay, I received the board on Friday and haven't been able to ride it yet because of the mound of snow, rain, and ice that has been dumping all weekend in Provo. I also dare not board down my driveway, considering the fact that it is a solid sheet of ice resulting from our lack of shoveling.

On the upside, look forward to future posts reporting my injuries that are sure to follow. Oh, and while I can change my preferences for activities, I cannot change my principles as quickly. I still think longboarding is for punks, which makes me a punk, I guess. At least that's how I explain the dirty looks the neighbors give my roommates and I when we've gone cruising around the neighborhood on our cool boards.

Transportation woes... solved.

2007-11-29T10:11:00.000-08:00

For all of those out there who are suffering from sleepless nights and trying desperately to find the perfect Christmas gift for me, look no further! (Lyndsay--credit to you for this spectacular find.)

I am sure many of you are aware of my amazing sense of direction. On more than one occasion, I have stopped somewhere along a four-way intersection to get gas, and found myself lost as I exited the gas station. As a direct result of that phenomenon, I have also flipped many an illegal u-turn in my day. That aside, I am a firm believer that if I move at a slightly slower rate of speed, chances are good that I'll be able to orient myself better and develop a better sense of direction.

Enter: The Bicycle Forest Treadmill Bike [Deluxe]

I know what you're thinking... a treadmill? PLUS a bike? Yes, my friends. This invention really is THAT good. Amazingly enough, the rugged design of this Bicycle Forest allows me to "bike" through evergreen forests and along country roads. While my commute in the snow, on an interstate highway, and up steep hills that cut around mountains might be slightly more taxing than the evergreen forests contemplated by this bike's design, I am confident that this invention will make the perfect commuting vehicle. Additionally, as the video states, the Bicycle Forest also allows me to be outside in nature, while still "protect[ing] myself from dirt and other contaminents commonly found on the earth's surface". All I can say is... wow.

Now, I know what you MUST be thinking--there is no way that this sort of perfection can be cheap, right? If you order now, you can purchase this for only 2,500 Canadian dollars! Unfortunately, our exchange rate has taken a beating lately (seriously? Canadian dollars are worth more than US dollars? Who should we be speaking to about this?). But, don't let a shabby exchange rate stop you. Just watch the video below--and let that be your guide.

The Bike Forest Video Extraordinaire

Note: if you do end up purchasing this for me, make sure that you "add some bling bling to an already sweet ride with a pair of deuce extreme spinner rims. Fo shizzle." I'm pretty sure that comes on the "Deluxe" model.

Catherine, Comedian or Bum.

2007-11-26T14:21:00.000-08:00

I spent some time with Kent and his family over Thanksgiving. We enjoyed a combination of family bonding activities--good food & shopping. After stuffing ourselves silly daily and finding quite a few steal-of-a-deal purchases, we got to the occasionally-discussed topic of what I should do with my life.

Keep in mind that Kent is the oldest child. According to birth order studies, he is the natural leader, take-charge person, and most financially successful sibling. Most Presidents of the US were first borns (including George W. himself)... and while I don't think Kent aspires to any type of political candidacy, he definitely fits the bill of an oldest child.

On the flip side, as the youngest child, I am allegedly the dreamer type who wants to change the world, as well as the most financially irresponsible member of the family. (Apparently, positive net worth isn't necessary to change the world. Good to know.) And, amusingly enough, most famous comedians are youngest children... though I don't consider myself to be a comedian, I am told that I definitely have characteristics of being the youngest child.

Imagine my surprise when, after I expressed disatisfaction with my current social situation, the outcome of that conversation was Kent pointing out that I have no expenses. What follows, of course, is that I should just take a few months off, bum around, live somewhere for free (or cheap), and get into a new and possibly more interesting social situation. After all, I have the rest of my life to work, right? I countered with the argument that I am in my upper 20s and need to concern myself with funding my 401k and doing other adult-like things. I was negated by not only Kent, but also his wife, sister in law and brother in law.

So, now I am in the process of considering saving up some money, taking off a few months, and bumming around. I wonder if that's a bad idea. And, uncharacteristically youngest child of me, I wonder if I can handle that decision that seems to be so irresponsible. I suppose you only get to be young and free once, right?

Gobble gobble

2007-11-20T14:28:00.000-08:00

Following up from that bad-attitude-Halloween post, I figure I should probably spread a little holiday cheer. I actually like holidays... despite my family's opposition to celebrating them. Who doesn't like the combination of fat happies, family time, presents, and paid time off work?

This past weekend, in order to fully demonstrate our above-mentioned holiday cheer, we created a small turkey army. The process was intense, and some turkeys had to be incubated in the fridge for a long period of time in order to survive. This problem was compounded by the fact that there was melted chocolate EVERYWHERE. I am sad to report that all turkeys weren't so lucky--a few of the turkeys got into a battle, which resulted in a fatality. (See picture, left)

As for the fate of the remaining 40+ members of the turkey army: half were consumed at our ward Thanksgiving party, and the other half will be consumed by Chantal's family on Thanksgiving. Barbarians.