Pecker, The Suicidal Pigeon

Somtimes, in the course of life, we are presented with situations in which we can save a life, or cause a death. And sometimes, it's just better to let something die. It's a fact my family knows all too well.

It was a crisp night in October of 2006. My family was gathering at my parent's house to carve pumpkins and tease each other mercilessly, as is our custom at all gatherings. My father and Ryan had gone outside to take in the night air, and keep it from getting into their lungs by smoking cigars. And then, off in the distance, Ryan saw something. My Mother's cat, with something in his mouth. It was Pecker.

Being the animal loving good Samaritans that we are, my Mom and I wrestled the bird away from the cat, and sat down to assess his wounds. One deep gash was all we saw. Eveything else looked okay. So, here was the moment of truth. We had to decide -- leave it alone and see what happens, which will most likely be death from infection, or try to save it. We went for the latter, and I poured hydrogen peroxide into the wound to flush out debris and kill any germs. I had no idea what I was doing to my poor mother.

It is now 17 months later, and Pecker is still alive -- and kind of a jerk. Shortly after Pecker was installed in a cage in my Mother's dining room we started calling him Bernice after Bert's pigeon on "Sesame Street." However, the fact that he will try to kill you if you so much open the door to change the papers quickly voided that decision. And Pecker doesn't just peck, he throws his whole body into it. His injury may have left him unable to fly, but he can flail, and he does it with gusto. He seems to especially like going after my Mother, which is strange because she is the one who cares for him. She feeds him, gives him water, keeps him clean, and makes life bearable. Of course, that may be why he dislikes her so much.

You see, we have come to the conclusion that Pecker is trying to kill himself. My Mother and Father will come home to find he has dumped his water bowl all over, or that he is upside down in his food bowl, or that his leg is caught in the bars of his cage. I fully expect that they will come home one day to find him fashioning a tiny noose. Of course, it probably doesn't help his mental state that he now lives under the same roof with the cat who wounded him, and that sometimes Smarty stares at him as if he would like to finish what he started.

So, here we are. My Mother doesn't like the pigeon, the pigeon doesn't like my Mother and most likely wishes he had gone off to the big coop in the sky a long time ago. And it's all because of me and Ryan. My Mother likes to remind Ryan just to ignore it the next time he sees a cat with a bird, and to keep Florence Nightengale (as she now calls me) away from it. Then she reminds us that pigeons in captivity can live up to 20 years, and that if Pecker outlives her, or causes her death, it's in her will that he comes to live with us.

If that happens we'll get him a very small gas oven, and rename him Sylvia. Finally, a happy ending.

Read more →

At Least It Quieted the Kid Down

Today's Story O' the Day is either an example of extreme cultural stupidity, or really bad parenting. Either way it still rocks. It all happened when a man tried to buy a leomonade for his son at a ballgame. Oh, and for those of you gasping at how outlandish this story is -- it really isn't. I had a friend who was a fourth grade teacher who on several occasions had to take wine coolers away from kids who had packed their own lunches and grabbed what they thought was "punch." Those were very happy days in the teacher's lounge.

Enjoy.

Hard lemonade, hard price

If you watch much television, you've probably heard of a product called Mike's Hard Lemonade.
And if you ask Christopher Ratte and his wife how they lost custody of their 7-year-old son, the short version is that nobody in the Ratte family watches much television.
The way police and child protection workers figure it, Ratte should have known that what a Comerica Park vendor handed over when Ratte ordered a lemonade for his boy three Saturdays ago contained alcohol, and Ratte's ignorance justified placing young Leo in foster care until his dad got up to speed on the commercial beverage industry.
Even if, in hindsight, that decision seems a bit, um, idiotic.
Ratte is a tenured professor of classical archaeology at the University of Michigan, which means that, on a given day, he's more likely to be excavating ancient burial sites in Turkey than watching "Dancing with the Stars" -- or even the History Channel, for that matter.
The 47-year-old academic says he wasn't even aware alcoholic lemonade existed when he and Leo stopped at a concession stand on the way to their seats in Section 114.
"I'd never drunk it, never purchased it, never heard of it," Ratte of Ann Arbor told me sheepishly last week.
"And it's certainly not what I expected when I ordered a lemonade for my 7-year-old."
But it wasn't until the top of the ninth inning that a Comerica Park security guard noticed the bottle in young Leo's hand.
"You know this is an alcoholic beverage?" the guard asked the professor.
"You've got to be kidding," Ratte replied. He asked for the bottle, but the security guard snatched it before Ratte could examine the label.
Mistake or child neglect?

Read more →

A Very Personal Massager

I was in Walgreens this evening picking up a reaching tool for my Dad since he can't really bend down and pick anything up for the next few weeks. I mean, he could try, but he would probably end up on his back like a turtle, and in a lot of pain. I know when I take it to him tomorrow he'll pretend like he doesn't want it, and may even act annoyed that I would think he was so helpless, but I figure that even if he never uses it Luke and I will have fun pinching each other's butts from a distance.

While I was in the store, wandering the home health care aisles filled with raised toilet seats and designer canes, I came across the item below. It's marketed as a "personal massager." Is that what the kids are calling it these days? It even comes with the different attachments! I'm just glad I know where to get my next bachelorette party gift. And at only $9.99? The Blue Boutique better watch out -- Walgreens is nosing in on their turf.

Read more →

Story O' the Day

As some of you know, I make my living in the news business. Yes, yes, it's all very glamorous. I have been doing this now for (gulp) 12 years, and yet, every day I am still shocked and amused by at least one story. And now I will be bringing those stories to you. Introducing a new feature here on LibbyLogic -- the Story O' the Day.

Today's story was so obvious it basically jumped off the page and slapped me. It features unthinkable cruelty, incest, and Austrians... Really, what could be better? Enjoy.

AMSTETTEN, Austria (AP) -- A man has confessed to imprisoning his daughter for 24 years in a windowless cell with a soundproofed door and fathering seven children with her including three who "never saw sunlight," police said Monday.
Josef Fritzl, now 73, also told investigators that he tossed the body of one of the children in an incinerator when the infant died shortly after birth, said Franz Polzer, head of the Lower Austrian Bureau of Criminal Affairs. "We are being confronted with an unfathomable crime," Interior Minister Guenther Platter said.
The daughter, who is now 42, had been missing since 1984 and was found by police in the town of Amstetten on Saturday evening after police received a tip. She and the children have been placed under psychiatric care in an undisclosed location.
Authorities on Monday released several photos showing parts of the cramped basement cell, with a small bathroom and a narrow passageway leading to a tiny bedroom. Investigators said an electronic keyless-entry system apparently kept the daughter from escaping from the cell, which was made of solid reinforced concrete.
After initially withholding Friztl's full name, police released it along with a photograph at a news conference Monday. Fritzl's identity was widely reported by media in Austria and elsewhere in Europe. He briefly appeared in court Monday in the city of St. Poelten, where he was to be held in pre-trial detention. "He admitted that he locked his daughter, who was 18 at the time, in the cellar, that he repeatedly had sex with her, and that he is the father of her seven children," Polzer told The Associated Press.
Three of the surviving children lived with the grandparents and were registered with authorities. The other three -- aged 19, 18 and 5 -- were confined during their entire lives to the darkness of their cell, Polzer said.
Hans-Heinz Lenze, a senior local official, said the suspect's wife apparently had "no idea" of what went on and was devastated. "You have to imagine that this woman's world fell apart," he said.

Read more →

The Smell of Hand Sanitizer and Overcooked Carrots

With the birth of my new nephew, and my Dad's spectacular knee injury, I have been spending more time in hospitals than usual as of late. In case you didn't know, hospitals suck. Yes, yes, the ones built in the past 14 years are more spacious, with light streaming through windows, and cafeterias meant to imitate farmer's markets and fancy restaurants, however, all of that doesn't make up for the fact that you are in a place dedicated to pain and suffering. It's like dressing up a pig. You may get her into the dress, but that doesn't mean you'll be taking her to prom. I mean, unless you live in certain parts of Utah, and then it's a requirement for 4-H. But I digress. It's time for this week's list o' five...

Five Things That Make Hospitals Miserable

1. The Smells There is always something unpleasant to smell in a hospital. Simply walking down a hallway exposes one to a cacophony of olfactory disturbances. Urine is always a constant undertone, though definitely not the worst smell there. That would have to be a tie between infection and unwashed sick people -- and both of those smells are present in a big way. Of course, all of it is topped off with notes of the hand sanitizer that is available on every wall and in every room that is constantly being slathered on by everyone in the building. Oh, expect at the hospital where my Dad was staying, where half of the sanitizer dispensers seemed to be empty. Yet, the smell lingered.

2. The Germs I am not a big germ freak. In fact, I believe that anti-bacterial soaps are responsible for making kids weaker, and are most likely a plot by aliens to make us more vulnerable for attacks. However, even I felt like taking a full body Clorox shower after leaving the hospital. The fact that my Dad's room was near the "monkeys with infectious diseases we can't identify" wing didn't help either.

3. The Nurses Now, I am sure there are some wonderful nurses out there. I know some, and both my Dad and my Sister in Law said they were taken care of by very competent and caring health care professionals. However, they must have all been on their lunch breaks when I was visiting. One of my biggest complaints was that a nurse could never be found, unless you didn't want them there. The minute that my Dad fell asleep, or my Sister in Law had visitors the nurse would come in to check blood levels, or give pain medications, or ask about bowel movements. Yes, they have jobs to do, but really, why do the embarrassing questions need to be asked before a live audience? Of course, if we needed a nurse because my Dad was in pain, or the baby's mouth was turning blue, one had to be sought out, and when found usually replied to the request for help with a curt "I was just about to come in." I would probably be just as rude in a similar situation, but that's why I chose a career where I don't really have to deal with people, especially needy ones.

4. The Food Hospital food is the brunt of as many jokes as airline food. There is a reason for that. Every meal I saw was among the least appetizing things I have ever seen. And I think they purposely leave them in the warming carts for as long as possible, so that the gravy has time to solidify (gravy is on everything) and the pudding has time to liquefy. I kept offering to bring in real food, and my Sister in Law took me up on it, but my Dad actually ate the meals. I think he saw it as some kind of penance, though for what I have no idea.

5. The Fear of Ass Exposure Hospital gowns are now more modest and wrap all the way around a patient. However, that doesn't mean there aren't bits and pieces still hanging out all over. They can (and do) get scrunched up, leaving the hapless patient exposed for all the world to see. I saw more old man ass in the past three days than any person should ever have to see in a lifetime. I mean, unless they photograph old men's asses for a living. But that's a very specialized industry.

You know what would make hospitals more bearable? A bar. It would relieve stress, give family members a place to gather, and would be a cash cow for research funds. Yes, there would be the risk of doctors drinking on the job, but if pilots can do it, why can't they? And think of the funny name possibilities! The Laboratory. The Pharmacy. The Blood Bank. I really think this is an idea that could catch on. After all, the smell of pina coladas can cover a multitude of sins.

Read more →

He's Not An Investigative Reporter...

My Dad is having surgery today to reattach his left quadriceps to his knee. The News Director asked one of the producers to pick him up a get well card -- a move I strongly objected to on the basis it would make him feel worse, and make my life a little more miserable. No one cared (I actually think my objections only solidified their resolve) and the card began being passed around the newsroom. About two hours after people started signing it the card ended up on my desk (sometimes they forget we're related) and I decided to take a gander at what other people had written. And then I saw it. One of the reporters, who will remain nameless, had written "Tommy, kick some ass and stack 'em ten high. Happy Birthday!"

We decided to leave it. It may be the only thing that makes my Dad smile during all this crap.

Read more →

A Day at the Farm

It has been a very long week, with very few highlights. One is that I got to go out to dinner with my girlfriends, which was a much needed stress bustes. There is just something about being those ladies that refreshes me and feeds my soul. Of course, the four bottles of wine and the amazing chocolate pudding we had may have had something to do with lifting my mood as well.

The other thing that I really enjoyed this week was a trip to the farm with Luke. We went to get rid of all of my healthy bread, and to see if any baby animals were roaming around the grounds displaying their cuteness. The only babies to be seen were ducks and chicks, which are cute, but not as crazily adorable as say, a piglet. Still it was a good time, and I took some good pics.

Okay, they're pretty cute. You should have seen how the other
ducks ran over them to get to the bread. Totally steamrollered.

Loved the tractors, even though they were right next to the cow pastures
and the wind was blowing the pungent scent of manure right up our noses.

Pigs at a trough? Or free food in the news room?

Luke thought this was a playhouse -- until he saw the seat.

Read more →

New Additions

Last Thursday I had the pleasure of meeting my new nephew Kaedyn -- 20 minutes after he was born. I was supposed to be there for the birth, but I-15 traffic and his mother's birthing hips conspired against us. It's probably better this way, since if I had been there I would feel the need to remind him of it every time I saw him until he was 20 -- especially if he was with his friends or a girl. Instead I'll just flash naked baby pictures and wipe schmutz off his face using my spit. Of course, I will also always have gum and will buy him a toy whenever he wants, so it evens out.

For those of you who haven't been around a new new baby, it is unbelievable how small they are. Really, it's hard to believe that they don't have to grow ears or something, that they are actually fully formed and just really, really small. Yeah, I know there are some big babies out there (hi Wendy!) but for the most part they are super tiny. I actually had to go out and buy some preemie clothes for Kaedyn because all of the newborn stuff was too big. Yeah, he'll burst out of it in a about a week and a half, but for right now it works, and the nieces are already eying the little outfits for their dolls.

Kaedyn is a rock star as far as the other nieces and nephews are concerned. They all want to hold him, and look at him, and are willing to put on layer after layer of hand sanitizer in order to be around him. This is Ashlyn at the left taking her turn. Luke is especially smitten. The day after Kaedyn was born I took him to the hospital with me. Now, he has only met Ryan's sister a handful of times, and is usually pretty shy around her. No more. Now, she is Kaedyn's Mom and the coolest person in the universe. He spent the entire weekend drawing her pictures and thinking up what kind of gift Kaedyn would like. Transformers were at the top of the list. He is also already planning all the things he wants to teach Kaedyn, like sitting, and criss cross applesauce. Of course, he will have to fight for face time with the other kids, especially Ashlyn, who seems to consider herself Kaedyn's social secretary.

As if a baby wasn't enough for the week, we also had a wedding in the family. Ryan's brother decided to marry his girlfriend Lisa -- in Roosevelt. For those of you not familiar with Utah to get to Roosevelt you basically go to the edge of civilization and turn left. I mean, yes, it could have been worse, he could have gotten married in Beaver or Santaquin, but this was still far away. Three hours each way for a two hour wedding? Good thing he's family.

Actually, the wedding was really nice, and not just because Lisa's family are from the Philippines and make food that is so good it makes me weep. The little girls were having so much fun in their flower girl dresses, and seeing Ryan horse around with his brothers always gives me a feeling of joy. And I love being catty with my sister in law Heather more than I can say. It drives Ryan nuts, but I just remind him that we can make fun of other people or we can make fun of him, and that usually shuts him up. He still shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but he's quiet. I think he almost bit his tongue in half though at the wedding -- there was just so much Heather and I had to say about Roosevelt. For instance, yes, that is a large elk head nosing into the picture at the right. And he wasn't the only dead animal hanging around. Get it? Hanging around? They were mounted on the walls? God, I am funny.

The day after the wedding my Dad fell and royally biffed his knee, leading to another family event. I would write more about it, but then he would file a cease and desist order against this blog. Let's just say he's been very grumpy and doesn't enjoy jokes about his condition. So, I guess this entry will have to be all about Ryan's side of the family. I can't wait until 20 years from now when we have to do one of those big Olan Mills portraits with different colored shirts to identify who belongs to who -- like the FLDS families in Texas. I dibs blue right now. And I get to sit next to Kaedyn.

Read more →

Eh

The recent disappointment of the Alien Vs. Predator sequel has me in a bit of a funk. I wanted it to be something I played for my grandchildren, the way my Mom tortures Luke with "The Way We Were." And no, it doesn't matter that he's only four. But I can't even see playing "AVP: Requiem" for any young person, even for kitsch value. I had such high hopes. Sigh. Well, at least it inspired a top five list...

Top Five Things That Should Be Awesome, But Really Suck

1. Gizmos You Buy Off of Television Everyone has one in their closet -- even Lieberman (hello, cake pans), but no one ever talks about it. Mine is the amazing Pampered Chef handi-chopper. Yeah, it's handi -- if you want pieces of onion that are way to big or strawberries that are mush. Oh, and if you really like to clean crevasses surrounded by razor sharp blades that can't go into the dishwasher. I should have known that anything that was $19.95 was probably not worth it. I mean, not like the exercise DVDs I ordered for $69.95. Those make decorative and very amusing coasters.

2. Sex in Water Okay, my mother reads this blog, so I'll keep it short. Water is not a good lubricant. Yet, movies try to portray it as the sexiest thing around. I could go into how I found this out, but I won't, for the sake of my mom.

3. Rock Concerts I may be the only one who has this view, but rock concerts never are as good as they should be. First, they cost a lot. Second, you are never as close as you think you should be, so you end up watching the jumbotron, which is just like watching a concert video, but more expensive. Third, people at rock concerts generally suck. I mean, really, the guy who wears the band's t-shirt too their concert? Yeah, he's lame. And fourth, they never play what they what you want them to play because they are "artists." Yeah, artists who made all their money off the one song everyone is waiting to hear.

4. Street Festivals There is only so much pottery and so many hemp bracelets a person can buy. After that, it all just blurs into a big burned chicken skewer and nag champa incense haze. Yet, Ryan and I go to at least two a summer. I guess we're just looking for the perfect set of wind chimes.

5. Changing Your Hair Color In tenth grade I dyed my hair red. No, not red, burgundy. Oh, and I had recent cut it short. Yeah, I looked lovely, and just like every other woman (or man) who has ever thought a change would do them good and done something unthinkable to their hair. I heard a lot of "oh, your hair is different" comments, followed by nothing but long, stony silences.

You know what else should be awesome but really sucks? The ending to this blog post. Ha, ha.

Read more →

Even More Awesomer

I think we can all agree that the best movie of all time is "Alien Vs. Predator." So, you can imagine my delight and surprise when "Alien Vs. Predator: Requiem" came via Netflix this weekend. The only thing better would have been if the sequel to "To Kill A Mockingbird" had appeared in my mailbox -- and in it Scout fights aliens.

For those of you who haven't seen the first movie (heathens), it ends with an Alien/Predator hybrid popping out of the stomach of our fallen hero. The second movie picks up right where the first one left off, with this unholy hybrid bursting into the world, and then heading back to earth to kick some ass. It's target? A small Colorado town that was obviously built somewhere in Northwestern Canada to save on production costs. Luckily for the unwitting residents of the town, a Predator hunter is on his way to save them. Or kill them. Either works, really.

He's so angry.

They never really tell you the name of the town, but I would have to guess it's called something like "Sterotypeville." Really though, that's the best thing about this movie. From the first moment a person walks on screen you know if they are going to live or going to die, so you don't accidentally get attached to someone who is Alien food. Well meaning but slightly clueless Sheriff? Gone. Ex-con trying to make good? Totally okay. Good looking high school asshole? Deader than dead. Recently returned female U-S solider? She'll live until the end of time. Her husband? Worm food. Oh, and of course, all of the people who wander into dark places or try to play the hero when the Alien/Predator hybrid first starting wrecking havoc are not long for this world.

Of course, because they want to make you care a little for all of the characters they try to put together a bit of a plot before the real bloodshed starts. The soldier has a child who resents the fact she's been gone. The ex-con was once a cop and the Sheriff's best friend. The good looking bully is dating the true love of the poor and put upon pizza delivery boy. Yeah, it's all very touching. In fact, Ryan found it so moving he started talking back to the screen. "You're the parent, work on the relationship," he said during one scene with the soldier and her kid. I had to then remind him that this kid doesn't go to his school, and most likely would end up as a cape for the Predator by the end of the film for speaking unkindly to an Iraq war vet. Ryan has had a long week.

By the time the Alien/Predator hybrid (or Alitor) starts facing off with the avenging Predator half the town is dead and the other half isn't interesting in acting like they care. It's at this point the scriptwriter decided that all was lost, and that it would be best if the National Guard just nuked the whole town. Well, the idea did help "Cloverfield" make millions. The whole town goes up in a mushroom cloud as the survivors lift off in a helicopter, praying there will be an "AVP:III" and that they will be in it.

My only real problem with this movie is that they start changing the rules. No longer was a face sucker needed to breed Aliens, the larger Alitor could do it by himself. And there were multiple Alitor births. I guess one screaming worm thing popping out of someone's stomach wasn't considered scary enough for today's discerning audience. That's all well and good, but I found it to be a gross violation of the genre. What's next? Using guns instead of swords in "Romeo and Juliet" and setting it in Mexico City? Oh, wait...

What it all comes down to is yet another sequel that doesn't live up to the original. It's a story George Lucas, and now the Strauss brothers know all too well. You can't recapture the raw passion of a great movie over and over again. It's why "Ishtar" never had a sequel. Oh, but wouldn't that have been glorious...

Read more →

Very Sneaky

It has been snowing (yes, snowing) off and on in Salt Lake for the past two days, so tonight for dinner I decided Ryan and I needed a little comfort food -- namely BLTs. About 15 minutes before Ryan was about to walk through the door I began laying out the bacon in the broiling pan, while it was still in the broiler under the stove. While I was working I caught a flash of gold out of the corner of my eye, and looked over to see that one strip of bacon was missing -- and that Sally was looking very pleased with herself.

She is not sleeping with me tonight.

Read more →

Little Pitchers

Luke is almost five, which means he now understands pretty much everything any adult says around him, and is able to repeat it back at a moment's notice. I'm not just talking about obscenities either, although he's been doing that since he was two, but actual conversations and facts that he never would have picked up nine months ago. It's really kind of interesting, and kind of scary. All of a sudden my family and I have started watching what we say around him, lest it come back to haunt us.

My sister Amanda, Luke's mother, was the first to learn the lesson. She and Luke were up at my Mom's one Sunday afternoon when the boy walked into the kitchen and announced that they were going home because Grandma was "driving (them) crazy." My mother asked why she was driving Luke crazy, to which he replied "not me, my Mom said it." Ouch.

He doesn't look like this any more.

Luke is more than a mere parrot too. He takes time to percolate on things he hears, only to pop up with them at different moments. Take today: Luke and I were in the pool, floating him on his back, when he looked up at me and said "why did you have an ultrasound?" Bam! I'm in the middle of a conversation about reproductive technology with a 4-year old. Of course, this comes two days after he asked me why I wanted "good eggs," so I had a pretty good idea what my mother and sisters had been talking about when I wasn't there.

And he doesn't just get stuff from the people around us. We now have to be careful what we watch around him. The news is off limits because he will hear about crime, and then fret about it happening to someone he knows. A 7-year old girl was kidnapped a few weeks ago, and it was all over the news. Luke started saying things like "Did you hear about the girl who was missing? She's in heaven now." He's also been freaked about the FLDS raids in Texas, convinced that officials can just come in and take kids from their parents. And, of course, since he's a Mitchell, he's a worrier, so we know he's thinking about it a lot more than he says. That's a lot to carry on such little shoulders. So, now we're all getting better about turning off the news when he is around, and explaining that he does not have to worry about kidnappings, or Child Protective Services, because neither will be coming for him.

It really is amazing to watch him grow. I have no idea what he will do, or say, next. But I know that if it involves the word "fuck," the phrase "I'm going to kick your ass," or any anti-Republican rhetoric that I will most likely get blamed.

Read more →

Where Vegetables Go to Die

I am a very healthy grocery shopper. I am not a very healthy eater.

I love walking through the aisles of the produce section, looking at the bright colors and absorbing all of their shiny promise. I pick up and squeeze apples and oranges, carefully inspect mushrooms before putting them in a bag, and always check the crispness of celery and asparagus. And then I take them home and put them in the crisper to rot. Oh, yes, I may cook a handful of asparagus here and there, or I may take an apple with me to work so it can see another refrigerator before it dies, but for the most part vegetables and fruits are usually scraped out of my fridge weeks later with a cursory nod to what could have been. There are really only two exceptions to this rule -- sweet potatoes and spinach, and both of those can be cooked into oblivion in dishes I already know I like, usually something Italian or Indian.

I have tried to side step the death of fresh produce in my fridge by buying frozen, which is said to be just as healthy, but cheaper and longer lasting. This led to the presence of five bags of sugar snap peas in my fridge. Really, if the apocalypse comes, I can make stir fry for everyone. There are also half bags of brussel sprouts and green beans and numerous packages of "steam and eat" mixes. All have freezer fur on them three inches thick. It's gotten to the point where I have to throw something out to put in more Haagen Das. Maybe I just need to get one of those big chest freezers. Then I can store vegetables and ice cream. Or at least more ice cream.

Whole grains have also been a sticking point for me. I am a carb addict, so you would think it would be easy for me to substitute whole grain bread for normal bread, or whole wheat pasta for white. There's only one problem -- that stuff tastes like cardboard. What is the point of substituting high fiber bread for bread I like to eat if I have to slather it with butter, mustard and cheese just to make it palatable? I know, it's more than just a question of calories, but damn. Yet, that hasn't stopped me from buying numerous loafs of bread and boxes of pasta marked "heart healthy" and "high fiber." As I type this there is a loaf of "double fiber" bread on my counter just waiting to be fed to the seagulls at Liberty Park. So, if you're planning to be in that area after Thursday you might want to wait to wash your car.

I have thought of just skipping buying the healthy foods, thereby saving myself money at the store and guilt later on when I throw the stuff out. But I can't! What if I run into someone I know? Or someone who looks like someone I want to know? I can't let them see me with a cart full of nothing but pasta, snack chips and beer! And I feel so good buying the healthy stuff, making up little plays about the person I will morph into once I start eating well. I look so pretty, and wear such stylish clothes. That fantasy has to be worth the extra 20 bucks a month, right? Of course right.

Okay, Ryan is going to be home in a few minutes. I have to go put the cheese powder in and take the tater tots out of the oven. Cooking is hard.

Read more →

When I Was 22 I Thought 34 Was Old

A couple weeks ago our friend Ben sent out an e-mail inviting all of us to go see the comedian Daniel Tosh in concert. We're all pretty hip, and enjoy the gift of laughter, so a lot of us said we would go. Then Ben informed us the concert didn't start until 11 o'clock at night. I should have known something was up then, since it was also on the grounds of the University campus, but instead I girded my loins and said I would still attend -- as long as I could take a disco nap during the day. Most everyone else dropped out, citing kids or parole officers. I should have realized they were the smart ones.

You see, Daniel Tosh's performance was not just a random concert planned at the U. It was part of "The Grand Kerfuffle" -- the annual student body festival that basically revolves around being young and able to stay up for hours sustained only by caffeine, ecstasy, and the belief that death is only for people over 30. And that brings me to this week's list of five:

Five Ways Being Around College Kids Makes Me Feel Not Just Old -- But Decrepit

1. They Called Ryan "Mr. Hoglund" Well, not really, but they would have if Ryan were that kind of teacher. Yeah, we ran in to at least five kids Ryan has taught. And these kids weren't just freshmen either, they were graduate students. Every one of them started out their conversations in the same way -- "Hey Ryan, what are you doing here?"

2. They Were Taking Part in Weird and Disturbing Activities When I went to the U the annual spring festival was called "Mayfest" and usually included lots of booths where you could buy tye dye and hack sacks, and featured at least two reggae bands. Oh, how times have changed. The headliner of this years fest was a band called "Shiny Toy Guns" that play (according to their website) music that is electronica/indie/rock. Huh? Does that include banging on pots and pans? And the big event at the end of the festival was a "foam party." For those of you unfamiliar, it is exactly what it sounds like, a big pit filled with foam where kids dance and do other things I don't want to think about. I'm just hope the foam was less soap and more of the contraceptive variety.

3. I Fell Asleep And I wasn't the only one! Five us went, and I saw at least three other people in our group nod off at one point or another. If you think about it though, we all had put in a full day at work and only one of us had gotten a disco nap. All of those kids probably had at least one class they slept through, and I bet they can all drink caffeine after 6pm without feeling jittery or having digestive problems. I'm glad I enjoyed (and enjoyed, and enjoyed) coffee in my 20's because it is not my friend now.

4. Nothing on Campus Looked Familiar I cannot believe how much the grounds of the school have changed in the past 12 years. The bookstore is different, the library is different, the student union is different, the grounds are different. The only thing that looks the same is the Performing Arts Building, and that should have fallen down years ago. The changes made me feel nostalgic, which is just a fancy word for old.

5. One of Them Called Me "Ma'am" As I was sitting down I tripped, and wasn't able to catch myself, and I fell onto the kids in front of me. One of them turned around and said "are you okay, ma'am?" Enough said.

Yeah, I know, I write a lot about how old I'm getting. And yeah, I know there are millions of people older than I am who don't want to hear it, because they've gone through it before me and didn't complain half as much. Well, great, they deserve medals for stoicism. But I will not be going "gently into that good night," but instead will "rage against the dying of the light" (I learned that poem in college). Of course, once the light is gone I will be going to bed. I need at least eight hours or I am useless...

Read more →

What I Am Doing Today

We just bought a new coffee table at IKEA. Now I am trying to put it together before Ryan gets home from his trip to Wendover -- for the sake of our marriage.

So, Mr. IKEA spokesman, you say putting this thing together will be easy? Something tells me you might not be telling the truth...

Read more →

It Don't Come Easy

I have now been back on Weight Watchers for two months and have lost exactly nothing. Yes, yes, I also haven't been trying that hard, but I figure if I am paying a company $16.95 a month to make me feel bad about myself and everything I put in my mouth I should get something for it -- like a tote bag.

In the midst of thinking about how I now have only two months to get into swimsuit shape, and roughly need to lose almost a half pound a day in order to do it (that's possible, right?) I started thinking about other things that at first glance appear to be easy, but then turn out to be much harder than anticipated. And so, without further ado, I give you this week's five things.

Five Things That Shouldn't Be So Damn Hard

1. Losing Weight You eat less, you move more, weight comes off, right? Wrong. Because if you aren't eating the less of the right things, and exercising in the right way, the weight will come off so slowly that you will give up and eat an entire pan of brownies just to stop from shaking. And how is it that food that doesn't even look appetizing normally suddenly becomes irresistible on a diet. Nachos with five day old fake cheese? All of a sudden they look like Godiva chocolate studded with caviar. Even Sally's dog food starts looking tasty. Kibbles AND Bits? That lucky bitch. And diets always include advice about how eating fruits and vegetables can help, because they have negligible calorie counts. Yeah, they also taste like fruits and vegetables. When I am hungry, or stress eating, a big bowl of kale just isn't going to cut it. I mean, unless it's chopped into tiny, tiny pieces, made into pasta and topped with lots of butter and cheese. Then I could eat it.

2. Finding Pants That Fit This is a universal complaint from every woman I have ever met, no matter how tall, short, fat, or thin. it is almost impossible to consistently find pants that fit, are comfortable, and don't cost three million dollars. Everyone has to have them altered, or live with legs that are just a tad too short or long, a waist or butt that is slightly too big or small, or take out a second home loan to afford them. Men's pants come in every waist size and length imaginable, yet women usually have seven size choices, and three length choices. What it you aren't "short, regular, or long." Think about that, you Old Navy bastards.

3. Blogging Really, what should be easier than writing down what's in my head at any given moment? Oh, wait, that's right, if I did that I would be arrested. Instead I have to process it through the small filter in brain (yes, I have one, it was installed last month), argue with myself as to whether or not what I am writing is funny or/and important to anyone but me, spell and grammar check it (not easy considering I have the attention span of a toddler) and then sit on my hands waiting to see if anyone reads it. Oh, and if anyone is going to be annoyed/offended by it. No wonder I always drink while blogging.

4. Hanging Out With Tara This isn't just because Tara is difficult to get along with. I mean, she is, but that's part of her charm. No, this has more to do that she moved to California for a boy and now sitting around eating pizza and drinking wine while watching pointless television involves one of us taking a plane. And then we feel like we're "visiting" and have to do "important things." I have tried to get Sally to fill in for Tara, but she doesn't like wine and isn't all that bitchy about what celebrities are wearing. It's just not the same.

5. Writing Lists Who is really good at lists? I mean, even grocery lists are filled with peril. I cannot count the number of times I have written out that we need three kinds of mushrooms, and forgotten to put down we need milk. And then I assume that everything must be on the list, so I don't think independently. This has resulted to several return trips to Smith's wearing pajamas. And pro/con lists? Those just send me into a manic depressive, OCD rant. On minute I'm deciding if I should buy capri pants (and I shouldn't -- see #2) and then I'm wondering if I was somehow responsible for the Holocaust. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.

Okay, I'm exhausted. I have just made a list, on a blog. Tara is come to visit tomorrow. Now I have to go work out so I can fit into my pants tomorrow... Damn, life sucks.

Read more →

Non-Sequiturs

This has been an odd weekend filled with family visits and random sights. For instance -- do you know where the following picture was taken? A farm? A petting zoo? Haiti? No, no, and thankfully, no. It was taken outside of my sister in law's house in Riverton. You can build a multi-million dollar development in the country, but that doesn't mean it isn't still country...


Then today we were driving home from Riverton after a family lunch when we saw the following on the freeway. At first Luke thought we were talking about a real walrus on a truck, so the statue was a disappointment. But it got me thinking -- we live in Utah. It is landlocked. Why would anyone want a sculpture of a walrus?


I pretty much expect to see a unicorn tomorrow.

Read more →

Twitterpated

Is Libby Logic just not enough for you? Do you want to know what I am thinking every second of the day? Well, then Christmas has come early, because I have just found Twitter.

Now, when I first heard about Twitter I shunned it. It sounded like yet another MySpace, Friendster, LinkedIn bullshit thing. I hate those things. If I want someone to be my friend I will go to dinner with them, not add a three year old, well photo shopped picture of them to a list. However, then I discovered something about Twitter that is unlike the other "networking" sites that makes it not suck -- it doesn't smack of effort. You just type in short answers to the question "what are you doing" and then send it to everyone who cares. It's a revelation.

No longer will I have to agonize on how to craft a long blog post around one funny thing Luke said. No longer will people have to wonder if I am having pizza or pasta for dinner. I can document every moment of my life without really saying anything at all! And I won't have to actually pretend to care about my friends to find out what they are doing. Phone calls? Done. Visits? Done. As long as I get a hundred characters a day from them I will consider my job as a buddy done. And it will all be for your reading pleasure.

I am sure there are some of you out there saying "isn't this a little self indulgent and vain?" Well, yes, it is. So what? Haven't you realized yet that life in America is all about finding meaning in nothing and over analyzing everything we do? We have no natural predators. We are well fed and filled with ennui. Our only contributions to the world now are political bullying and Internet videos. And I am happy to be a part.

Let the navel gazing begin.

Read more →

When the News is Bad

Ryan and I always joke that when I am having a bad day it means the world is having a good one. No, this isn't some kind of "I started to cry which started the whole world laughing" kind of thing, it's just that when things are going on in the world it makes it easier to do my job and write the news -- and usually the things happening aren't exactly pleasant. Of course, there are "bad things" that are more enjoyable to write about than others -- political scandals, for example. God bless Eliot Spitzer. But there are some "bad things" that are just unpleasant and stomach turning no matter who you are, or how many minutes of a show it fills -- like the death of a child. For the past two days we have been dealing with such a story.

Hser Nay Moo was a 7-year old Burmese immigrant was last seen at her family's apartment in South Salt Lake Monday night. They found her body last night in another apartment not far from where she lived. Police say she was likely dead before her parents even knew she was missing. They say that so that people don't feel bad, so that they don't think they could have done something to save her. But every time I think of it I just feel a little more sick, and sad that a girl trying to find a better life with her family instead wound up dead.

Ryan knows I have been stewing about this story, and today asked me if it might be a good idea to see a therapist to talk about work stress. Um, no. First of all, I have a therapist, and we really try to keep our relationship from getting personal. She gives me drugs, I give her a check, and we don't talk about our private lives. It works for both of us. Also, if I did want to talk, why would I want to talk about work? I don't even like to talk about work while I'm at work. No, I think the way I handle the impact of a heartbreaking story like this is fine. I just squeeze it into a small ball of resentment towards the human race and push it deep down inside of me, and wait to see what will happen later on.

Okay, that was a little flippant, but still better than the standard response from people in the business. Most say "I separate my life from what I report." Oh, yeah, because that is really possible. Now, I know this business is filled with heartless people who would sell their mothers for a good sound bite, but I don't think anyone can remain untouched after reporting on tragedy after tragedy -- not even the people at FOX. I know this story, like others before it, and I'm sure many to come, will eat at all of us for a while. So, we'll all hug our families, and lock our doors, and try to remember that most people in the world are good. Because the belief that these "bad things" that populate the news are aberrations in daily life is the only thing that makes it bearable. Well, that and booze...

Read more →