Jim Gaffigan clip of the day: Christmas

We wish you a Merry Easter... er...Christmas!

For those that are new to the Cheese blog or those of you that may have missed my video of the First Grade Christmas program last year, please check this out:  (I am the one singing with the wig and the 90's denim jacket)

So, the question this year became: What is Cheeseboy going to do to top last year's Christmas program?  I thought about this question all summer long and finally, after much prayer and contemplation, I came up with an idea.  I would come out dressed as an angry Easter bunny and pretend to be mad that there is not an Easter program and that no one ever sings songs about me.  Ingenious!  And so, I present the 2008 Christmas program... (BTW, my Easter Bunny suit in no way fit my body.  Also, my thanks to Eric and Kerianne for videotaping this for me.)

My dad's Christmas story - printed in the Deseret News today!

My dad, Clark, won the "Christmas I Remember Best" story contest that the Deseret News holds every year.  Interestingly enough, his dad, my Grandfather, won the same contest with a different story about 20 years ago.  You may see my dad's story at: 

http://deseretnews.com/article/1,5143,705272958,00.html

This Christmas story takes place many years ago. It takes place at a time the world was healing from the Second World War. It was supposed to be "the war to end all wars." The soldiers who had been fortunate enough to return home were finding new sweethearts. Others returned to waiting wives and families. Still more never made it back but were remembered and missed as their loved ones now approached the Christmas season.
Everywhere new neighborhoods were popping up. Little two-bedroom homes of every color were made available to the thousands who only qualified with special loans for returning veterans.

It was in such a little neighborhood that the snow was falling softly on a little yellow shake-shingle home. All the other homes on the street were dark as the long winter night dragged through its last hours. But the little yellow house had one light burning in the bedroom where two parents normally would be fast asleep. Only tonight, the young mother was awake and alone. Alone, awake and very worried.

The war had been long, and those years had brought with them difficult times. Everyone left behind had sacrificed as gas was rationed along with many of the staple foods like sugar and meat. Some of these even disappeared completely as the struggling nation put an enormous effort to the war. These foods and other pleasures would soon be taken for granted again — but now they were still cherished as they became more available.

The few years since the war had offered time for healing as memories faded on the hurt and death the far-away enemy had inflicted on the nation. Christmas this year would be a time of peace. But now another enemy had taken this young mother's returning soldier away from her yet again. An enemy no one could see. One about which little was known but one that could cripple all that it attacked — knocking the biggest off their feet and even taking the lives of the strong, leaving behind only weakness and pain.
This enemy had been around for centuries but was at its height of destruction in the early '50s — later to be almost eliminated by a serum not yet discovered. If one was fortunate enough to survive this enemy, you might find yourself living out your days on crutches or in a wheelchair. The name they gave this enemy was polio, and this foe had put the father of this little family in the hospital. Tonight, he lay inside the metal cocoon of a noisy iron lung while it sucked in and out each life-saving breath.

Yet if you were watching through the window in the early darkness on this winter morning, you would see from the light of the small lamp next to the bed the young mother of two on her knees in the act of prayer. It was a cry to God for help. What was she to do? Would he ever be OK? Would he ever be able to move his arms again? Would he ever be able to walk? Would he even live through the week, and would he ever return to his new job?

It was not a job for one on crutches or a wheelchair. Being a policeman was hard work with many hours spent on your feet. You had to have the strength to wrestle the meanest drunk or pull someone from a car crash. Would he ever have enough strength return so that he could feed himself, walk or be a father to his young children?
The question of how they could exist weighed on her mind. How could they pay for food, the heat, the lights or give the two children asleep in the next room something for Christmas? Being so young, they would believe that Santa had forgotten all about them. It would break their hearts. The new little yellow house had a payment due each month of $110. That seemed like a fortune when her husband made less than $3 an hour at his job — and even if he did recover, the job might not be there.

The house had been decorated for Christmas with hand-me-down tinsel and lights. The young mother had asked for the used paper sacrament cups from the church. She covered them with tin foil and hung them like little silver bells on the scrawny Christmas tree.

Even the tree had been a gift from a neighbor who knew how little they had and what they were going through. This kind neighbor had hoped this holiday symbol would bring to memory some Christmas cheer from better years gone by. He hoped the sweet smell of pine might be a welcome breath in an atmosphere of despair. He, too, had remembered bleak Christmas pasts in his own home. He had recalled the Christmas when he had been out of work during a long strike at the copper mine. He hadn't missed the lunches he had sacrificed to buy this little tree, and he would always cherish the look of joy and relief on that young mother's face when it was delivered.

There were others who had empathy for the mother in the little yellow house. One was the tall, burly owner of the local grocery store with the wavy hair and the deep, booming bass voice. He had known the family for the short time they had lived in the new little yellow house. They were much like his little family, young — excited about life and the community in which they now lived.
The store owner had grown to like the big policeman who often came shopping with his wife. Maybe this was why he had done something he had never done before when the mother had shown up with a child's wagon loaded with empty pop bottles she had collected from neighbors and friends to buy a few groceries. He had suggested to her that the store needed someone to bake fresh cakes that he could sell in his little O.P. Skaggs grocery store to other customers. So several times a week she would appear with more empty bottles, buy flour, sugar, cocoa and other groceries to take home. Then the following day bring in rich chocolate cakes just warm from the oven. It was his little secret that when other customers showed up shopping to redeem their empty glass bottles, he would load them up again for a late night drop on the porch of the little yellow house. And the cycle would continue.

And this night the little yellow house was slowly being covered in the soft, fluffy snow that had fallen through the wee hours. Soon daylight would come up like the curtain of a stage, revealing a winter wonderland scene much like those depicted on the few Christmas cards taped to the refrigerator. Every branch of every tree was covered in white as the dawn revealed the tiny neighborhood in a world of light and shadow.
Which would it be for the mother of the little yellow house? The light of hope that all would be OK or the shadow that nothing would ever be the same again? Today was Christmas Eve, and the little Christmas pine had nothing under it but a few foil covered bells that had fallen from their hooks.

Like every good Christmas story, there should be a happy ending. But why were there two police cruisers pulling up to the driveway of the little yellow house so early this morning?

The neighbor across the street had been up early getting ready for the carpool that would take him to the copper mine. Through the window he had seen the two police cars come with lights flashing but no sirens only to stop across the street. Surely news at this time of the morning could not be good news.

The young mother's heart was racing as she walked to the front door to answer the persistent knock of the four policemen standing outside. They had just come from visiting their co-worker at the hospital and wanted to be the first to bring the news. Things were looking good. The doctors had not been there, but they had observed their partner and friend was now out of the big iron lung machine and breathing on his own. Oh, he still had little use of one arm and leg, but with time they assured her that even that movement might return.
And there was one thing more. A big box in the trunk of one of the cars was removed and carried through the front door finding its final rest under the Christmas tree. "It was just a little something for the children from the other officers," they had explained. Everyone had chipped in a few dollars for a few toys, but now a second box was brought through the door filled and overflowing with cans of food. When asked they had said, "It was no big deal. Just a little gift from the boys." Nothing was mentioned about the real sacrifices that were made those weeks before to be able to fill these two boxes.

This Christmas story was not over. It would still be many months before all was back to normal for the family of the little yellow house. There would be months filled with physical therapy and painful healing. But the thoughtfulness of all that was done for that little family will be remembered a lifetime. I was one of the children in the next room fast asleep as my mother sent up a prayer to God so many years ago. A prayer that the healer of the sick, the one who could make the lame to walk and the blind to see would also look down and remember another father going through some earthly trials. It was even this Only Begotten who had said, "Even if you have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me."

Even though it was so many years ago, it is the Christmas I remember as the best.

About the author

Clark Yospe of Centerville was born in Tooele and reared in the Glendale area. He attended South High and graduated from the University of Utah in journalism/communications. He has been married to his wife, Emma, for 35 years. They have six children and six grandchildren. Yospe enjoys U. sporting events, fly fishing, golf and travel.

Top 10 Blog O' Cheese posts of 08!

In traditional fashion, as is fashionable this time of year, I present another year end countdown.  Given that I enjoy giving myself awards, this countdown is the first annual top ten posts of the year - as chosen by me.  So, may I present (drumroll please) the top 10 of 08 as voted by myself:

10. Marathon? COMPLETE! [September 1] Not the funniest of posts, but perhaps my most proud moment of the year.  Plus, I enjoyed all the pats on the back I got from people.

9. If I could leave sticky notes around any LDS chapel - [September 8] - I came home from church one Sunday very irritated and this post was the result of that irritation.

8. What was really running through my mind when I first kissed Cathi [July 20] - I really went for the "ahh" factor here and really pulled it off.  I also pulled off my portrayal of myself as a bumbling oaf.

7. My new Indian name is "Poop-in-hand" [October 11] - A short but funny post about the day that Calder pooped into my hand.

6. Pants shopping with a woman [July 28] - Funny for every man because it is oh, so true.

5. Cease to Exist Order - Christmas Edition [December 23] - I took on that horrible "Christmas Shoes" song and won!

4. I am a frail, frail man. [March 27]  A detailed look at my ongoing battle with being a hypochondriac was one of my first and proved to be one of my best posts of the year.

3. Training for a marathon [April 22]  I begin my training by telling the story of the time I pooped my pants while jogging around the park.

2. Mormon Youth Treks are LAME! [April 6] A controversial look at what most people think, but are too afraid to say.  This post brought on wrath from a bunch of angry "Trekies" that I have never met.  It was sure fun to write though.

1. Which drugs were ingested during the latest episode of Yo Gabba Gabba? [October 8] This post was entertaining enough, but when actual cast members started defending the show on this very blog, it put it's entertainment value over the top.

Now it is your turn to vote.  Please vote in the poll for best Cheeseboy post of 08.  

God bless you and may God bless us all, Tiny Tim.

Cease to Exist Order: Christmas Edition

I hereby issue a cease and desist order for the following Christmas things:

1. The Little Drummer Boy as sung by Michael Bolton - Now I am not sure that it is really Michael Bolton singing, but it sure as hell sounds like Michael Bolton when it hits the Cozy 106.5 every 35 minutes or so.  Thanks for ruining a perfectly good song Michael... again.  

By the way, while I am on the topic of Michael Bolton: Samir: Why don't you just go by Mike, instead of Michael? Michael Bolton: No way! Why should I change it? He's the one who sucks.

2. The "Christmas Shoes" song -  Thankfully, I have not heard this song very much this year.  Last year it was like Christmas Shoes were falling from the FM 100 sky.  If there is a more cheesy, ridiculously lame Christmas tune, I'd like to hear it... or rather, please, for the love of all things holy, don't let me hear it!.  I HATE THIS SONG!  Every time it comes on the radio I instantly change the station.  The only other song that has this effect on me is any and every song Toby Keith sings.  

**What frustrates me is that this boy's mother is dying and he thinks that the only thing that will make her happy is a pair of shoes?  Who is this mother, Paris Hilton?  Kid, get on your bike and get your butt home!  You're mom is dying!  Further, do you think when she meets Jesus he is really going to care about what shoes she is wearing?  If that is the case, I want to be wearing my Heelies when I go - that is if heaven has smooth, hard floors.  With my luck, heaven would be carpeted.

3. Guilt trips by people ringing bells - Sure they act friendly and they have that dopey smile on their face, but secretly they are thinking that I am a cheap, trumpery, two-bit loser that can't afford to throw a dime in their rotunda of broken dreams.  Listen bell people, if I had a dime for every time some Joey with a bell asked me to throw him a dime, I would have a lot of dimes.  And IF this was the case and I actually did receive a dime from a "magical dime fairy" for every time I saw a bell ringer asking for dimes, I would be more than happy to give the bell ringers the extra dimes.  I mean, who wants a pocketful of dimes while you are trying to shop?  I guess if I was wearing my cargo pants and wanted to buy a calzone later it would be okay.

4. Blow up lawn ornaments - These have faded a bit in recent years, but could there be a more lazy way of decorating your front lawn?  "Honey, unroll and plug in the lawn ornaments - I'll be sitting here on my yuletide a__."  Nothing says joy and merryment of the holiday season like an 8 foot, blow up Homer Simpson adorning your flowerbeds.  Now, if the blow up lawn ornaments had a "jumphouse" for frolickers like I to jump in at will, I would take this item off my Cease to Exist order.  Maybe a plastic slide that comes out of the front of it?

5. Songs that aren't really Christmas songs trying to pass as Christmas songs on the radio. A.K.A. "My Favorite Things".  As you can see, I am very annoyed with Cozy and FM 100 right now.  They are on warning - they could both be on my next Cease to Exist order.  And if Cozy 106.5 is so "cozy" then why is it that I am always listening to it while fighting crowds, parking lots and traffic and I am never listening to it while drinking a hot cup of cocoa while sitting next to the fireplace?  Cozy, my a*@.

6. Advent calendars with doors that swing outward.  Not sure why this annoys me so much - it just seems to me that the doors should swing inward, like you are entering into God's love.  Just seems so much more "Christmasy" to me.  I mean, we need to keep the reason for the season in mind.

7. Different takes on the "12 days of Christmas" song -  I can't stand that "Hanging up the Lights" version!  Every time I hear the regular version now, I think, "Hanging up the lights".  Well, some of us LIKE hanging up the lights, jerkwads!  (Not me, of course I hate hanging up the lights... I am just saying somebody has to like that crap.)

8. The Adam Sandler Hanukkah song - FM 100 - I realize this is the only Hanukkah song you have in your library and you are just throwing it in there because it makes your office types laugh, but would it kill you to play a little "Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel"?  I mean, after all, they made it out of clay.  It would be more than just a token courtesy for us few Jewish folk that live in the valley.

9. People that want my phone number when I buy stuff - Now this is not necessarily just a Christmas thing, but it annoys me nonetheless.  I am buying a pair of slippers and a bag of rice, are you going to call me to see how things went?  What if I give them a fake number?  Are they still going to let me buy their crap?

I will say that this would be a perfect pickup line if I were single though: "Can I get your phone number?"  "Sure, but can I get yours first?"  

I leave you with the poetic and beautiful lyrics to "Christmas Shoes".

Sir I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry Sir?
Daddy says there's not much time
You see, she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes will make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful
If Momma meets Jesus, tonight.

An afternoon at the Deseret Book Starbucks

We walked through a Deseret Book the other day during the chaos of the shopping season and I noticed quite the oddity- a bakery.  Deseret Book now has a bakery??  It's about time someone put all those Mormon recipes to use.  What was most strange about the bakery was that it looked very familiar - hmm, almost like a Barnes & Noble coffee shop.  Of course, coffee was not being served; rather a frothy cup of hot coco and a pound cake.

(By the way, I received a lovely thank you card from Barnes & Noble for my recitation at their store and for saving Christmas for them.)

The fake coffee shop of course caught my attention and I became curious as to what is Mormon over-the-counter "medication" is being distributed on a daily basis.  Surprisingly, the Deseret Book Bakery does not carry the following food items:

BYU Creamery ice cream

Funeral potatoes with a hearty Wheatie crust

Temple cafeteria rice pudding

Jello

Food storage jelly on toast

I did think it a bit odd that they carried rum cake.

We were actually braving the festive bookstore crowds to purchase a few undergarments at the neighboring store.  I found it very odd that when I purchased my underroo's they asked to see my recommend.  When I payed with a credit card they then asked to see my ID.  Now maybe I am a little naive, but shouldn't the recommend be a more authentic and authoritative form of ID than my driver's license at a church owned store?

One other thing of note: I find it interesting that in 30 years, the "scripture case" has not changed one iota.  They still have the same selection, same engraving option. - You would think they would have changed a little bit.  Maybe a nice tiger print or a trendy camouflage pattern? Maybe a scripture case with a little pocket on the side to hold your miniature scriptures?  Or, perhaps a case with a cheerio pocket and a pouch for wet wipes?  I'm just brainstorming here.

 I would like to create cute, little scripture case for those that carry their scriptures on their PDA's.  That way they would have something to carry their PDA's in to church on Sundays.  Maybe a little loop for a handle?  It's actually very practical.  

For a brief second I felt badly for cougar fans. (Don't worry, I am over it.)

I did something I never thought I would do last night - I cheered for BYU... just a little.  I am not sure why or how this happened.  My brain has never been so upside down and whippidy whoppidy.

This was the first time in my entire life that I have ever had any sort of sympathy for the boys down south.  I have always believed that watching BYU lose is almost as satisfying as watching Utah win.  Nevertheless, I kinda, just kinda, wanted the cougs to pull this one out.  I think my mindset changed after the Utes humiliated them and put them in their rightful place.  

It's a little bit like dumping the prom queen for a supermodel.  You wish the prom queen well, but in the mean time you are headed to the Sugar Bowl with Kate Moss for the second time in four years!

When it was all said and done, I have to admit, it was slightly satisfying seeing those pansies walk off the field once again with their heads down.  I got a strong feeling in my heart that things were again right with the world - Utah on top and in a BCS bowl game and the cougars at home with their weekend ruined.  Somewhere John Beck is shedding a tear... again.

David Hasselhoff + BYU fans= true love forever

I just found out that Mr. David Hasselhoff will be singing the national anthem at tonight's Las Vegas Bowl and I am sure BYU fans are ecstatic.  I wonder if they asked him to speak at their fireside last night as well?  I'm sure he could give a great talk on the still small voice - of a talking car.

Think of Hasselhoff's career highlights:  He rode into the night as the Knightrider, saved thousands of lives as the oldest living life guard on earth, is a much beloved singer for Germans and single handedly brought the Berlin wall down, and has found more American talent than Simon Cowell wishes he could find. 

And now finally, as a capstone to a remarkable career, he will enlighten and entertain 30,000 Mormons while saluting America at the same time.  Steve Young, Wiford Brimley, David Archuletta and the Osmonds - be weary, the Mormon people have a new revered and cherished idol and his names rhymes with "shaved masselmoff".  

After he sings the national anthem, I fully expect Mr. Hasselhoff to intercept a couple Max Hall passes - he is just that good!

The story of my work wives.

Well, it turns out that I might just be a polygamist - or more appropriately, an unwilling polygamist.  I have acquired a couple work wives that I just can't shake myself of.  There are a couple women at my school that regularly, yet accidentally, call me their husband's names.  "Hey Wayne, did you get those copies run off?" And so it goes...

The first couple times this occurred, I laughed it off and told them, "I know I am handsome, but I am no Wayne", or "Did you just call me Terry?  I wish I was Terry!"  It wasn't until the 4th or 5th time that they referred to using their husband's name that I realized - I had officially become their work husband.

I am flattered that these women trust me enough to mistake me for their spouse. However, they are both in their late 50's and I am beginning to wonder if it is their age playing games with their mind or if I really do remind them of their beloved spouse.  

Given that I am really the only adult male these women interact with at school on a daily basis, I can see how I could be mistaken for their husbands.  Nevertheless, things got really awkward the other day when I bought a soda and one of the ladies told me that I needed to be careful about my blood pressure.  She also once reminded me to put on my coat before going out in the cold; said I would catch a cold.

I do not think that Cathi will be jealous or one bit nervous when she reads about my work wives, nor should she be.  One day, however, one of these work wives will fix my tie or ask me to pick up my things and she will realize that someone else is vying for her job.

Pooping bandit update - part III

Here is the latest on the pooping bandit situation:

During our Christmas party today I received some fascinating news from one of my room moms.  On the day that the pooping bandit struck, she was checking her son out early during our lunch hour.  While they were getting his backpack in the First Grade area, a stocky older boy came out of the First Grade bathrooms.  The mother said when he saw her, he was shocked and ran quickly away.  Clearly we have our pooping bandit.

Upon hearing this news, I informed the boys that the DNA tests have come in and the cops have informed us that the poop belongs to a boy between the ages of 10-12, and is not that of a First Grader.  They seemed to be relieved, but I informed them that the investigation will continue, but the focus will now be on the older boys. I told them that they have 6-8 DNA checking robots working on the case, but the robots need to be reprogrammed to deal with poop from an older age group.  Plus, some of the robots need updates so that they will have those bendy arms so they are better able to hold the stool samples.  I will keep you updated as to the situation.

By the way, still no word from Gephart.  I understand; he is really busy getting gotten.

The new ride at Disneyland - Great fun for the entire family.

For those of you that may have visited Disneyland recently and missed out on the new ride in California Adventure - you missed out on one heck of a ride.  

The ride is really more of a video game.  However, it is as an addicting a video game as you will find.  

I know what you are thinking: "Yes, but I don't want to wait in a long line."  Well, the ride was so great, we waited in the line not once, not twice, but six times!  (Our line was about 30 minutes.)

Half an hour wait - definitely worth it.  45 minutes - probably.  An hour is pushing it.

Anyway, the way the ride works is that while you are in line you get some killer 3D glasses that Calder referred to as "sunglasses". Check out these lookers:

Upon entry into the ride, you are placed facing two other passengers with a gun in front of you.  The gun has a cord that you pull on it's backside to shoot various objects.  The ride then takes you through a series of 3d screens.  Each screen had a different "fairground game" for you to compete in.   For example, in one screen you shoot darts, one screen you launch a ringtoss and one screen you break plates by throwing baseballs.  

Now, this may not sound all that fun yet, BUT there is more.  There are certain targets on the screen that give you more points and launch other interactions.  For example, on some screens if you hit a moving target, a gush of air squirts right in your face.  On another screen, if you hit a certain balloon, water sprinkles in your face.  It is the best kind of fun!

Finally, on the dashboard of your cart there is a computer screen that not only keeps track of your points but your accuracy percentage.  At the end of the game there is a screen that shows the high scores of the day and the month.  We noticed that the high score of the month was around 415,000.  For much of the trip, I held our families high score at 152,000, but on our LAST RIDE, Cathi beat my record by about 3,000 points.  I was introduced to frustration once again.

If this just sounds like kiddy fun and games, get this:  This became one of the top three favorite rides of Cathi, myself and both of my parents.  If the line wasn't so long, we would have probably ridden that thing over 50 times.  (They did have a separate line for single riders that averaged about ten deep that we would have taken advantage of if it were not for the little ones.)

Is our bear nativity set a tacky, yet adorable symbol of holiday love or is it slightly sacrilegious?

Currently, my favorite Christmas decoration that we have in our home is a nativity set made entirely of bears.

Anyway, this nativity is tacky, gaudy and a bit idiotic.  Nevertheless, there is something quaint and charming about the thing.  Despite it's imperfections and obvious potential to offend,  it is the centerpiece of our festive abode.  We can't bear to part ways with it.

I present to you the Cheeseboy family nativity:

After hours of staring at this thing, I have started to wonder if it is something more than just quaint and tacky; I am wondering if it is just a tad bit blasphemous.  Allow me to explain...

I do not think that God intended baby Jesus to ever be portrayed as a bear.  If he wanted him to be a bear, he would have made him a bear.  The same goes for Mary and Joseph - probably meant to be humans.  

If Mary had been a bear, she probably would not have been carried by a mule as mules are generally scared of wild bears.  Even if she did ride a mule, I doubt it would have been able to carry the full weight of a Grizzly Bear.   Mary Bear probably would have just walked. 

Grizzly Bears are not native to the Middle East.  The idea of it is just silly.

Finally, it is a well known fact that bears are a threat to society, mankind and the entirely universe. They are commonly referred to as Godless Killing Machines.

So, my faithful Cheeseboy readers, should we rid ourselves of this sinful monstrosity, perhaps burning it and burying the ashes in the backyard by the dead fish?  Or, should we laugh it off and keep it as a cutesy, albeit - corny reminder to keep things fun at the holidays? Please provide your advice in the comments.  Bear in mind that your comments will be read by the Cheeseboy empire.

Time to GET GEPHART! (My email to the man in regards to a recent problem I have had with Harmons))

An actual email I sent to Get Gephart (gephardt@kutv2.com) tonight at 10:45 PM

Dear Mr. Gephart,

I have watched your segments for years on - 2 News, "Fresh Air" - and I have never had need to "get" you.  However, as times change, so do my needs and I am officially "getting Gephart".

For many years our family has become accustomed to purchasing candy from the bulk bins at the local Harmons Grocery Store.  In the past year or two, Harmons has rid their stores of such bins and we are relegated to purchasing regularly packaged candy.  When I questioned a Harmon's employee about the situation, he stated that he was "not sure why they don't have them anymore" and that "I have only worked here four months."  Yeah right! 

I would like to know the reason why the bins were eradicated.  I have a few theories that you might be interested in:

• They were using the bins to traffic drugs in and out of the store.
• The bins were littered with rodent dung.
• The plastic the bins were made of had cancer causing agents (chemicals, compounds, etc.) in them.
• The sour peach rings were being sliced by underpaid, orphan children from China.
• Someone found a toe in the milkduds.

I am not saying that any or all of these violations actually took place.  However, given "Tony's" vague response to my inquiries, I feel that this is very much deserving of a Gephart investigation,

I am not trying to tell you how to do your job, but may I suggest throwing a few cameras in Tony's face and pressing him real hard about how long he has really been working there.  He knows something; I can just feel it. (Tony is the guy with bad acne and the spiky hair.)

Please Mr. Gephart, please help us get our bins back.  We miss our candy watermelon slices and those fake sweet tart things.  

Thank you for all you do to protect us Utahns from the greedy, corporate giants and online scammers.  I, for one, am deeply grateful.

Regards,

Cheeseboy

When I get a response, I will post it to the blog.  I am sure that I am not the only one disappointed in Harmons for their shabby service as of late.

Song of the Day: The Postal Service - Nothing Better

My favorite song by one of my all time favorite bands.  Just the mood I am in today, I guess.  There were lots of different videos made by youtube users, but this was probably the least annoying.

While I was looking for a video, I found this pretty good version of Nothing Better done by a choir -  I thought it was pretty good; thought I'd share it with other PS fans...

My left ear.

My students were so loud today, my left ear started making a crackling sound.

My left ear makes a crackling sound when I hear loud noises.

My left ear makes a crackling sound because I think I ruptured my eardrum as a teenager.

I ruptured my eardrum because I thought it would be funny to put a couple of drumsticks in my ear canal and run around.

I fell down the stairs with two drumsticks in my ear canals.  

A trickle of blood from your own ear canal is something no person should ever witness.

A couple years ago I told my doctor about the crackling sound in my ear, she said, "Oh, that stinks. I am sorry to hear that."  No advice, no further tests.

Moral: Never put drumsticks in your ear canals while running down stairs.