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.

University Mall - Part 3

Don't hit me, chicken!

By far our most productive excursions to the mall were those that involved taking pictures there. We would find particular joy in going into places we were not allowed to be and taking our pictures there. One such place was a photo studio. No one was around, so I jumped on the stool in front of the background and Paul took my photo (very professionally, too). We were terribly worried about what an employee of the place would do if we were caught. We didn't understand grown-ups very well in those days. We found a door that said Authorized Employees Only and promptly

A bathroom, not girls and pizza, was among the unexciting things we discovered behind the "Employees Only" warning.

entered only to find stacks of boxes and maybe a forklift. I guess maybe we thought there would be a big mall employee party going on with pizza and girls and soda. There was not and we left. Photographic evidence still exists of the time when we found a sign on a bed in the furniture department at ZCMI. "Plush and Firm" read the sign encased in an acrylic stand-up frame. Upon reflection we realized that the sign applied equally well to my backside. So we took a picture of my backside with the sign below it as if to caption.

By Request - Part 2

The day have finally arriven!

There you has it. Enjoy!

By Request - Part 1

It was a cold winter evening. I was wearing my fine denim trenchcoat of which I was very fond. Paul also was appropriately dressed for the weather. We were on our way to Albertson's grocery store to develop some Kodak disc film and post an item for sale on the community bulletin board at the entrance to the store.

There was in our neighborhood a man who lived on a corner who was reputed to confront people who cut across his lawn. As we approached his house Paul said "Watch this!" and made a snowball. It was very firm. Wisely, he threw it directly at this man's large front window which, when struck, vibrated terribly near the point of shattering. I shouted something along the lines of "Holy crap!" and we both bolted down the street, continuing toward Albertson's but at a much more hurried pace.

Boog For Sale.

We arrived at Albertson's, posted our for-sale bulletin and purchased some terribly cheap canned goods to take over to the nearby Little Caesars Pizza Pizza to exchange for crazy bread during some promotion they had going which we took advantage of at least once per day. Next stop: the film center to drop off my state-of-the-art film for processing. Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder spinning me around and I was face-to-face with this man whose window Paul had nearly shattered with an ice-ball. Let's call him The Interrogationator since I think that's what Paul called him. He has a real name but I don't know what it is and The Interrogationator suits me.

He started his accusations by telling me that he knew I was the one who had thrown the snowball at his window and did I know how he knew? Because he had followed me and he recognized my trenchcoat. I told him he had the wrong guy. I did not throw any snowball at any window. He said he knew I was lying, and to prove it he told me that he was a detective on the Orem police force for 30 years. I said that was fine with me, but I still didn't throw a snowball at his window or any other. Meanwhile, Paul was making his way casually toward the exit. Apparently The Interrogationator wasn't such a great detective that he noticed TWO! people running away from the scene of the incident. The Interrogationator noticed that I had my wallet out and demanded to see it. I refused. The lady working the film center looked at me sheepishly, embarrased for me that this guy was making such a scene. He told me that he could have me taken to the police station for questioning. I told him that I doubted that he could but even if he could he wasn't likely to. He made several more officious statements that were meant to intimidate me and I told him that if he was going to do something about it he ought to get on with it cause I had to finish filling out my film-deposit envelope.

Finally The Interrogationator left and I finished depositing my film. On my way out the door I saw the Interrogationator talking to Paul outside by the pay phone. He was telling Paul not to worry, that he wasn't angry with Paul, but that he knew I was the one who had thrown the snowball. He regaled Paul with several tidbits of information about his experience as a police detective and after that he left. But the thing he left most was an impression of his excellent skills in detection. Then we got our crazy bread.