Let it Snow

Jarom and Emma and I made a snowman yesterday.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Paul provides awesome graphics as per usual. Thanks, Paul!

I like Christmas music. If you do not like Christmas music, vamoose. At this time of year my tastes broaden to include the likes of Burl Ives, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Gene Autry, and The Carpenters. I have been listening to traditional Christmas music on Pandora for a week or so and have enjoyed the music tremendously. Mostly. There are some songs, however, that attempt to stretch the boundary of what is tolerable - even to someone as broad-minded as me!

Let us take, for example, the tune I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus as performed by Perry Como. It starts out well enough as a cute little song about infidelity with a grizzled old elf, but at precisely 1 minute and 4 seconds into the song the whole thing turns markedly sour when the backing singers begin to chant in a schoolyard taunting sing-song voice "We know a secret. We've got a little secret. Nah-nah na nah-nah." I ask you! How does such an abomination of a ditty make it's way into an otherwise fine production? I used to sleep comfortably with the assumpion that such trite and childish musical inclusions were reserved to the Bachata music I used to hear in the Dominican Republic. Comfortable assurance has been supplanted by unease. Yes, unease. And dread.

Next I will criticize a song that perhaps several of you have heard before. If you want to express your appreciation for this song, get your own dang blog because I hate it! It is the Mannheim Steamroller recording of Deck the Halls. Can anyone guess why I would put so much effort into my dislike for this song? It is not hard to guess as the reason occurs 5 (five [that's F-I-V-E]) times therein. In preparing this blog entry I had to listen to the song all the way through to ascertain the precise number of occurances. Do you see what pains I go to in order to bring you, the fine reader of this blog, ideas from the cutting edge of my brain? If by now you have not guessed the reason for my euphemistic displeasure with this recording, it is that they do not play the correct note. And they do this as though it were intentional! Did you give them permission to do so? I assure you, I did not. Shame on you if you did. I want you to write on a chalkboard 500 times "I will never, no, not ever, again give permission to Mannheim Steamroller to brutalize another song for the duration of my existence whether mortal or otherwise and if I observe another individual in the act of providing such permission I will admonish and scold them on authority of Joel." Once you have completed this assignment, mail the blackboard to me. You will then be required to clean the chalk-laden erasers before you will be allowed to return to your seat. If you appreciate your current beratement-free state, do not post a comment here indicating any degree of fondness for this song.

Sasha, stop reading now. Last on the list of abominable Christmas songs is a little booger that squeezed its way out of the infernal depths of hell: Harry Connick Jr's recording of Frosty the Snowman. Hang on one moment, please. Well, I just listened to it again and decided that it isn't evil so I'll let it pass. Sasha, you can start reading again. In fact, never mind about me telling you to stop reading up there. You can go ahead and read this. I do not sympathize with the "Thumpitty thump thump" shout which occurs multiple times in this recording and the jazziness lends a great amount of no-thank-you-ness to the whole thing, but as I wrote earlier, it is not virulently evil and therefore not a contender for inclusion in this blog post. In fact, I'm just going to remove this paragraph entirely.

Ok, now it is Sherri's turn to stop reading. Stop reading now, please, Sherri. Seriously, I am not going to change my mind on this song like I sorta did on the Harry Connick Jr. one. So STOP. Everyone else, I'm not talking to you. Continue reading as though Sherri were nowhere around. If she insists on reading through this portion of the blog, ignore her! On we go. There is a song called "Mele Kalikimaka" which was made famous by the unmitigated Bing Crosby. Bing, I really enjoy a lot of your Christmas songs and your cherries are delightful. But this piece of sewage pushes my buttons. If you couldn't tell by the title of the song itself, the entirety of the song is based on a mispronunciation of the greeting "Merry Christmas". It doesn't help anyone that I have an abiding distaste for polynesian music of any sort due to my step-father foisting it upon us whenever we traveled along the grooved shoulder of the highway (you know, the grooves that are supposed to alert the driver to the fact that he is driving on them (the grooves) and not the freeway lane that he thinks he is driving on) for hundreds of miles on any given road-trip.

Ok, Sherri, you can start reading again, but if you start to misbehave, I'm cutting you out again. There you have it, folks. My sentiments, exactly. I hope you are never forced to choose between listening to one of these songs and something grody and terrible. It would be a tough decision. But if you are a masochist or feel that your "very poor Christmas music" tolerance is higher than mine, I have made these songs available on my FTP site under the "Jukebox\Christmas\painful" folder. If you do not have an FTP account, one can be yours for the low low price of $99.99.99 - Contact me for details.

Pancakes (Episode 2)

Mad Libs

Check out my new Mad Lib generating
mechanism
And you all thought I just sit around all day long.

PS: Send me your mad lib templates and I'll add them to the mix!

True Story

Hello, I'm Joel. I have a shirt which features my favorite cartoon fellow: Homestar Runner.

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One day I decided to sell my hair. So I got it all gussied up and took a picture of me in it.

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Then I turned into this kitten which I named Sharky Malarky. This was not my day!

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I eventually turned back into me. Things were looking up. Then several small children invaded my home. I explained to them about the fine line between reading and dreading but, as children often do, they assumed I was making stuff up. The smirks on these children's faces were just waiting to be wiped off and with prejudice. I lined them up and badgered them (No photo available).

---

That's when I got lost in the spooky woods. Why do these things always happen to me?

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A crow fluttered down into the roadside pile of corn. I swear he wanted me to punch him in the beak cause he would not shut up! And he flapped those wings until I wanted to cram them down his maw. Which I did. It was time for a break! How much longer would I have to put up with this Hobbledy-gobbledy? Not much, it turns out.

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I was sent to prison for my unkindness toward the crow. But they didn't give me a cell. They just left me in the prison yard overlooking The Strip. I know this sounds fishy.

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Then they gave me some Whoppers.

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I escaped unscathed and triumphant. No one can keep me down.

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Then I turned into this bunny which I named Eliza Maniza. Rats.

Pancakes (Episode 1)

Cowboys

Here is a classic episode from times of yore. It is a recording that Gordon and I made in an attempt to quantify our idea of what a cowboy is and does. Please enjoy the digital availability of this recording

Nanette is Randy

Nanette and Myself

After returning home from the magical Idaho reunion, I went down to my basement to look for some tapes or other remnants of packages sent to me by my Ida-hoes. I found lots of letters, but no tapes. It seems to me that Paul and I sent them significantly more packages than they sent to us. But there were four of them and only 2 of us, so they probably remember it differently.

Proof

I did find numerous letters which were generally filled with pleas for more letters. Several letters in a row from Nanette were noteworthy in that she temporarily changed her name to Randy. She offered no reason or explanation for this change of name. It simply was. Nanette was fond of sending me artwork and

School: Douglas!

I was fond of receiving it. In some of the artwork, she labels drawings of herself as Randy. In the picture above you will see "Randy" playing football with Gordon. Was there really someone named Mona who had a red jeep? Why does that sound so entirely unfamiliar, Randy? I am in love with the sharks hiding behind the trees, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting picnickers. In addition to these outstanding memories, I found an envelope which had numerous drawings in pencil on the back. One of those was particularly entertaining to me. Nanette! err.. Randy! What the heck goes on in that noggin of yours?

I am a father

My children adore me. This is evidenced by the mounds of candy they gave me on Sunday for Father's Day. I think the source of their love and adoration of me is this:

After returning from the Priesthood session of General Conference in April, I told my children that President Hinckley had revealed the 14th Article of Faith which states "Fathers are always right."

At first they did not believe me, but at my insistence and with President Hinckley's words to back me up they eventually came to realize.

I am constantly giving my kids reasons to appreciate me: I help them come up with good names for their stuffed animals like "Xena, Warrior Princess - Temptress of the Nile"; I invite them to accompany me to the top of the nearby mountain to slay the dragon and make dragon steaks whenever we are faced with the decision of finding something to do; I make pancakes for them on Sunday mornings.

Rapids Ahead

Summer fun has begun

One of our most treasured summertime activities was known as "Shooting the Rapids." It all began one day when Paul and I were walking in front of the Orem Public Library. It was hot and there used to be a sizable ditch that ran the north and west edges of the library property. We thought that the ditch resembled a water slide and so we jumped in and were not swept away. We had to do most of the ambulating ourselves by scooting along. We were somewhat refreshed, though the rocks which we passed over were not the most enjoyable. We returned on a handful of occasions to enjoy this free water slide. We invited several others to join us, but they were more sane than we were and chose to refrain.

On one excursion we decided to make the ride as long as possible. So we followed the ditch to it's source and enjoyed several more yards of fun. We began to wonder where the water was coming from and that's when the Orem Irrigation Canal caught our attention. We immediately jumped in and floated for many feet before we realized it would be severally more enjoyable if we had something to float on. We acquired some inner tubes and went back to the canal where we floated for a while, but what we realized was that we had to get out every time the canal ran under a street. We weren't low enough to ride under the streets. And many of the streets were fenced off which meant we would have to climb out of the canal, climb over a fence, run across the street, climb over another fence and then back into the canal. Another hitch in the program was that after riding a ways on the canal we would end up several miles from home. We would usually walk home but it was very time consuming.

Eventually we came up with the idea of riding air mattresses. This solved the problem of having to get out each time we came to a street. Now we could lay flat on our bellies and glide underneath the streets. It was always an exercise in agility under the streets. We would have to steer out of the way of dangling spiders and webs and press our heads down into the air mattress pillows to keep from scraping our heads.

One time we decided to go under a street head first on our backs. This prevented us from being able to avoid spiders and such-like. When we came out the other side we both jumped up with a serious case of the heebie jeebies. I asked Paul if I had any spiders on me and spun around for an examination. He declared me spider-free and as he began to ask me if he had spiders on him I watched as an enormous spider crawled up his leg, across his stomach and started making it's way toward his neck. I could only point at it as it moved it's way upward and my slack jaw made Paul realize the treat he was experiencing. He dropped into the water and splashed around trying to get the spider off of him. We don't know what kind of spider it was but we had seen black widows on previous excursions. We were taking no chances. Except for the one where we went head first on our backs under a street.

This activity, as stated previously, came to be known as "Shooting the Rapids." Each time we would drive over the Orem Canal I would feign loss of control of the car I was driving and pretend it was due to the severely rapid waters we had just crossed over. We would yell "Watch out! We're crossing the rapids!" The water was very not rapid, by the way.

By the time Paul had his driver's license we were getting in the rapids at the point where it initially came out from under the road and exiting at 1200 north. That's something like 2 miles as the crow flies. We developed a system where we would both drive to 1200 north and leave my car parked by the canal. Then I would get in his car and we would drive to the beginning of the rapids, ride the rapids to 1200 north, get out of the canal and eat the "Lahlberries" (which I think were actually blackberries) that were growing at the bank of the canal there, then get in my car and drive back to Paul's car. This usually took several hours and was very relaxing and enjoyable.

The last time we shot the rapids was on the night before school started one year. After midnight. It was unpleasant. The canyon wind was blowing. We only got about 5 blocks before we gave up and walked home. We were very wet and cold as we walked a long long way back home.

Nights-time Monkeyshines (Part 3)

External Features (1 - Head 2 - Thorax 3 - Abdomen 4 - Spiracle 5 - Anal clasper 6 - Prolegs 7 - Segment 8 - Thoracic legs 9 - Antenna)

It was summer and it was late afternoon. Paul and I wanted to hike up to a secret waterfall that we knew of and with complete disregard for the fact that darkness was approaching fast, Paul grabbed his "Hunter Dan" hat and we were off. We picked up our friend Sarah Preston and made our way to the trail in Provo Canyon. We had enough forethought to bring along a Coleman lantern but since we spent most of our scouting years making fun of other people instead of learning anything useful, we couldn't figure out how to light the thing. There were some college students at the park at the base of the trail and they tried to help us get the lantern lit and they were incapable too so we felt much better in our ignorance and inability. We decided to make our way up the trail by the failing light.

The hike was enjoyable and we didn't have any difficulty following the trail up to the waterfall. We reached the falls and played around and enjoyed the scenery until it was dark. Then it started to get a little chilly and we decided to make our way back.

It was some time later before we realized we were not on the trail. It turns out the trail up to the waterfall is not as visible on the way back for some reason and we had wandered into the brush. We decided to try to light the lantern once more to see if we could find the trail. That failed so we lit the next best thing which was Paul's "Hunter Dan" camouflage hunting hat. That was good and proper, not to mention helpful. It burned and rained down dripping blobs of petroleum based textile until the flames reached Paul's fingers and he quickly extinguished the hat.

Near the base of the mountain we were on is a railroad track which spans the length of the mountain. We realized that if we continued down the mountain we would eventually find the railroad tracks and we could follow them until we found the park where the car was parked. We crawled through branches and brush as we moved downward. We incurred scratches and branches in eyeballs. It got darker and darker as we continued to not find the railroad tracks.

We were very nearly resigned to living on the side of this mountain for the rest of our days when we finally came upon the railroad tracks. We felt that we had gone quite a ways north in our meanderings so we headed south along the tracks for several hundred yards until we came to an impenetrable bush growing on the tracks. We had worked so long and hard at finding the tracks in the first place that we were absolutely not going to leave them even for a moment to circumnavigate this bush. Since we weren't entirely certain that we were going the right way anyway, we turned around and headed back along the tracks in the opposite direction. After a couple of miles in the northward direction we felt certain that we were definitely not going the right way. So we turned around and walked back a couple of miles plus several hundred yards to the impenetrable bush. It turned out not to be so impenetrable. We pushed easily through the bush and were filled with hope when we saw afar a streetlight that we believed to be in the parking lot of the park where we left the car. We hurried onward and eventually we were safe back in the park with the college students who were enjoying a large bonfire.

It was at this point that Paul realized his keys were missing. These were the keys that we needed to start the car that would take us back home. There was a hole in the pocket of Paul's sweat pant-like pants and the keys were long gone. We began scouring the park where the college folk had tried to help us light the lantern in the hope that they had fallen out before we actually went up the mountain. The friendly college persons helped us look but to no avail. The keys were not there. The college students offered to take us down to the Bridal Veil Falls gift shop to use a pay phone to call for help. They were very thoughtful and kind. Paul used the phone to call home and his sister Robin answered. Paul explained our predicament and Robin kindly responded by hanging up on him. Thanks, Robin! You are a treasure.

Fortunately our college age friends were still nearby and they offered to take us home. We were very grateful and accepted their offer. As we were being taken home I began to feel things crawling on me. All over me. When I grabbed one of these things it turned out to be a caterpillar. There were many and they were crawling in my hair, on my arms and on my legs. I repaid the kindness of the college peeps by leaving a pile of caterpillars on the passenger side floor of their car. It was the least I could do.

Camelot (It's only a model)

I suppose it was a rather impressive stump

There is a place near the south end of Utah Lake called King Arthur’s Round Table. It is an outdoor location where boy scouts can go to pat each other on the back while reciting the scout oath, I believe. It consists of a large wooden stump, as I remember, and does little to preserve itself in the memory of those who visit. I have been there precisely no more than once.

Paul and I went along for a ride with our friend Mary and some other people. We were told that we were going to King Arthur's Round table and we had thoughts of ham and jam and spamalot and other delicacies and wonders that would be very much worth our while. It sounded like an exciting place to go and we were intrigued. I recall that we were listening to Erasure: The Circus as we drove to our destination. Remember that key point. It will come into play later on in this narrative.

We arrived at King Arthur's Round Table and as I think about it, maybe the place is called Camelot and it merely consists of the round table in a field. Which table consists of a stump. OK, we're going with that then: It was called Camelot. We arrived at Camelot and as is probably anticipated after reading this far we remained quite unimpressed. I pressed our hosts for information on Camelot and precisely why I was expected to be impressed, hoping that perhaps it would be revealed that some historical or magical event had taken place here. Alas, it was no more than a stump in a field. Our hosts sat down at the Round Table and talked about how neat this place was while Paul and I went exploring to see if we could find anything to make the trip be less wasteful of our time.

We encountered an irrigation gulley with a wooden log spanning it acting as a bridge. I went across first then picked up a large branch with which to cause Paul's imbalance and potential eventual fall into the ravine. He appreciated and backed off to find a branch of his own to defend himself with. Once he found one it became important to try to dislodge each other from atop the log. With only as much as 5 feet to fall this game was neither dangerous nor long lasting.

We spotted some nearby cows and decided we would approach them and see what events developed. As we neared the cows Paul stepped in a warm, fresh cow pie. Sensing its moistness, he inserted his branch into the cow pie and flicked it upwards in my direction. Goodness rained down upon me. It was my turn to be appreciative. I scooped up a handful of a nearby moist cow pie and hurled it at Paul. While I had several spots of dung spread across much of me, Paul now had a large mass sticking to his shoulder. The appreciation escalated from there and for several minutes we each sought cow pies warmer and fresher than each pie hurled heretofore. It was not long before we were both covered in fresh, minty manure. But even after the cow pie fight, the appreciation was not over.

We returned to our friends at Camelot and explained what the green splotches and stains on our clothing were. Mary was hesitant to allow us back into her car for the trip back home. Even after we agreed to turn our shirts inside out she was not entirely pleased with us. For some reason.

In summary, go to Camelot often and hard.

Montgomery Q Teaser

And how!

If you would like this historic gem restored to some semblance of digitizationability, raise your hand. Better yet, send a message to Paul. His skills outweigh mine in the ability to restore this priceless memento. I have sent him the scans of the original artwork. Now all that remains is for him to exercise his talents. Visit his blog by clicking here and leave a comment for him urging him to invest some time in the restoration of the original story that warmed so many hearts. I feel certain that the overwhelming popularity of my blog will help see this through to fruition. Pleas and gifts may be useful in persuading him.

Paging Dr. Rosenheight

EEE!

Tape recorders were a mainstay in my juventud. That means youth. Paul and I would record several things a day including a story entitled The Follow Along Storybook of Great Worth featuring a likable fellow by the name of Montgomery Q. That's a story for another time, though, cause the story I want to relate at this juncture is about a time when my family was visiting my grandmother in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Gordon and I were splendid brothers to our younger siblings. They enjoyed us. To further esteem ourselves to them on this particular occasion, we pretended we were psychiatrists or some other unspecified doctors of dubious renown. Among the therapies we practiced were:

• Threatening to rub sunbreeze under the subject's eyes to gauge his reaction.
  
• Mocking the subject's failure to read words correctly.
  
• Asking the subject how he would react in a given hypothetical situation and repeatedly dismissing each response explaining that his reaction would not work.
  
• Requiring the subject to spend time alone in a room talking to a ceramic eagle, telling it the subject's feelings and thoughts then bursting into the room and deriding the subject for talking to a ceramic eagle as though it could hear and understand.
  

You can see that we were on the path to total stardom and it is merely a twist of fate that neither Gordon, nor myself are employed in the mental health profession at this time.

Fortunately for the scientific community, we tape recorded the entire scheme. Parties interested in nominating me for the Nobel Peace Prize, please contact me for details.

One of the subjects we allowed to participate was my younger sister, Tiffany. She was probably 4 or 5 years old at the time. Perhaps 3. We permitted her to spend a great deal of time in a room with the ceramic eagle and she imparted to it more wisdom than can be crammed into a phone booth or multivitamin. Here is the actual recording:



Some of the knowledge she endowed us with that day:

• You're going to understand your life until it is wheat.
  
• And while I know it, I'm just going to enter from the enfrone side.
  
• I want you to take off the light and never turn it on. Just for a while. For my career, because... and that's a promise.
  
• You're gonna see what it is, or not it is.
  
• Gonna be is the style. Any kind of style, that's the style that's gonna break.
  
• I just listen to myself to be my other night... ware.
  
• You're NEVER gonna need me, but I'm never gonna need you. See, this is the whole "entertise" and I don't think that's right. But it is right.
  
• And while I know it, I'm just gonna talk thru the mico..ph..cone and it's gonna be the last ember.

This recording brings joy and understanding to all who will but listen, won't we?

Word!

Lamgun, that's a fine looking creature.

Here are a few of my favorite "words":

Irregardless - This word means EXTRA regardless to some people.

Mischievious - The more vowels the merrier, right? From now on let's all say mischievaeiouys.

I Could Care Less - This is not a word but a phrase, of course, but it's up there near the top of my favorite things to hear people say. If you could care less, then by all means, be my guest and care less. Maybe then I wouldn't have to hear you talk about it anymore.

Up your nose with a rubber hose - Another phrase. I am so sick and tired of people telling me this. Especially every one of you reading this blog! Stop saying that! It's so childish. Yes, I'm talking to you!

Newt Gingrich - What does that even mean?!

What I've been doing

All aboard.

The large number of complaints I have received from people expressing their displeasure with the lack of updates to this blog . Wheretofore, I shall now unveil to you. It is not another incomplete sentence but it is something. Your pleasure it is to behold: That's Life featuring a logo by our very own Paul. If you feel any compunction to create an account and play this enthralling game, use the name "TheSneak" as your referrer and you will receive a 1000 clam bonus. Clams=money. Then refer all your friends and associates and enemies and have them use your name and you'll get 1000 clams for each of them what signs up. It's Fast. It's Fun. It's Ambidirectional. Say it with me now.

Nerds Cereal

This is Paul. Honest.

Paul always had good food at his house, at least compared to mine. So when he came over with a box of Nerds breakfast cereal (yes, breakfast cereal based on the candy called "Nerds") he quickly became enamored of me begging some off him. When his love reached its peak he handed me a handful of some tiny berries from a bush we had passed. They resembled the breakfast cereal remarkably in the dim light of evening and I popped them into my mouth. Chewing them was pleasure and I thanked him profusely.

Paul later came up with several unique methods to not share whatever he was eating, including eating things that fell well short of "appetizing". For lunch he would eat Peanut Butter and marshmallow sandwiches with blackberry syrup. He would always drink warm soda and be certain to backwash the entire first mouthful. Our buddy Matt Campbell one time tried to prove Paul's efforts futile by eating a scrap of food out of Paul's very craw after it had already been chewed and grossness. This served to make everyone present retch. Go ahead and keep that margarine and eggnog sandwich Paul. I'll be over here scrounging change for a chocolate cookie.