Sunday, November 30, 2008

My trophy case is full of awards I have received from various Turkey Bowls throughout the years.

I still felt slightly ill on Thursday, so I missed our ward's annual Turkey Bowl.  It is the first such bowl I have missed since we moved here and it sounds like I was sorely missed.  At least -none- persons told me today that the team could just not move the ball without my tight spirals in the short game and my finesse on the long balls.  

Last year I was the most effective quarterback in the nation, throwing for two touchdowns and no interceptions.  I was highly efficient in the red zone as well, as I scored in 90% of my tries, not including field goals, as we did not have field goal posts.  

Last year, I was named Most Valuable Player award, given to the player that is considered to be the least crappy.  Had I not just made the award up, I surely would have won it due to my ability to get the "Special Teams" involved; and by special, I mean the guy with Down Syndrome and the various, uncoordinated 11 year old boys scattered throughout the field.  I have actually received the award longest punt, which would be true, except for the fact that I just made that up as well.

Why is it that an 11 year old can stand uncovered for nearly 45 minutes of game play and when you finally hit him in the gut with a super-sharp, spiral pass and he drops it because it "knocked the wind out of him", he "doesn't want to play anymore"?  Watching him fold over and fall to the ground in attempt to catch his breath is just another disheartening sign of the softness of today's generation.  Perhaps they just want to go home and play Madden 08 on the XBox?  Just one of the many downfalls of the Turkey Bowl.

Now, I would certainly say that we have one of the least athletic wards you have ever seen, myself included.  That is the great thing about playing yourselves - you never lose.  If we ever had to play a neighboring ward, I would put the Hillcrest Ward line as a 35 point underdog - unless, of course, we were allowed to "recruit".  

The Turkey Bowl has evolved through the years:  Thanks to global warming, the coats that were once used to mark the out of bounds lines have been replaced with sweatshirts.  I am just waiting for the year that it is warm enough that we can go shirts and skins.  I would not be reluctant to show off my Chewbacca laced body in order to distract the opposing team.  Perhaps they would mistake me for the mascot or perhaps they would just think I had a fur coat on?  Either way, next year I am taking off my shirt, even if we are not playing shirts and skins.  I need to check with Al Gore on the climate change projections for the next few years.

Some things have changed throughout the history of the Turkey Bowl: The 11 year old, uncoordinated boys remain, but now they are 15 and slightly coordinated. However, many of the 30 year old, uncoordinated white guys have changed.  What remains constant is a good cup of hot chocolate, a chocolate-chocolate doughnut and a fine ol' time.  Oh, and waking up the next morning with a stiff neck and the sorest butt cheeks of your life.  

Next year I am aiming for either the "Most Improved Player" award or the "Nicest Tight End".  I'll just have Cathi do the voting.  Or perhaps, "Most Corny Halftime Dance Routine".  (See below)  Imagine that dance, only shirtless!  (Or don't.  I know I probably wouldn't want to if I were you.) It's sure to take home the blue ribbon, if we were to give out ribbons for fake halftime shows.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Cheeseboy Dance Party 08!

If you are a boy that lives in our house, one of your favorite things to do is dance!  We have a dance party about once a week.  Here is a little slice of heaven, a piece of today's:

Like I said, no shame left.

Lincoln's Superhero Questions

Lincoln and I have been watching a dizzying amount of superhero movies as of late.  I have been trying to keep him abreast of which superheroes have specific powers, which are good guys and which are mortal.  We have watched Ironman, Hulk and Batman Begins in the last week and yes, I am one of those dads that is contributing to the delinquency of society by allowing my impressionable six year old watch incredibly violent movies.  In the distant future, when I have to bail him out of jail for bank robbery, we can blame it on Ironman, because well, that's just what we Americans do.

Given that Lincoln has very little understanding of superpowers, we have had a few funny conversations over the course of the movies.  I, of course, answer all of his questions with guesses, but act as though my answers are proven, scientific facts.  A typical question and answer session goes a little something like this:

Lincoln:  Dad, how does Batman fly?

Abe:  I think it has something to do with the material that his batwings are made of.  They allow him to soar through the air.  

Lincoln:  Why didn't the Hulk make one of those so he could fly?

Abe:  There wasn't enough material left to make one for someone as big as the Hulk.


Lincoln:  Dad, what does that light in the middle of Ironman's chest do?

Abe:  That keeps his heart going.

Lincoln: How?

Abe:  [Really, I have no clue] It has a magnet in it that keeps the metal from touching his heart.

Lincoln: Oh, but what does the light do?

Abe: It tells him that it is working.


Lincoln:  How does the Hulk's pants stay on when he gets really big?

Abe:  He's got some of those really stretchy pants.

Lincoln: Dad, the Hulk is HUGE though.

Abe: He must put on some special pants as soon as he turns into the Hulk.

Lincoln:  We saw him turn into the Hulk and he didn't put on any pants, dad.

Abe: Well, he just must be wearing stretchy pants that are made for really big people.

Lincoln: I want to be the Hulk for Halloween next year.

Abe: I guess we better go to the Big and Tall store then.

Lincoln: What is the Big and Tall store?

Friday, November 28, 2008

Black Friday is upon us.

Some things women do, I just don't get. For instance, this whole 'Black Friday' thing. Don't they know that retail stores are open almost every day of the year?  Some of them even holding what is referred to as "sales" - sometimes in the middle of the summer!

 I guess it's not just women that fall into the Black Friday trap. When I worked at Target, I noticed there was a good 20% of the line that were men - they most likely have been dragged out of bed to help fend off the crowds. I am sure most guys want to spend their day off waking up at three in the morning, driving to Target and standing in line with a thousand angry women.  It's the perfect post-Thanksgiving treat.

I saw today that a Walmart employee was actually killed today by an onslaught of people that actually broke down the doors. Are people really that eager to spend their money? Yes, yes they are. I witnessed it in the November of 97' when I was supposed to help "secure" the doors at Target. Had I not been quick on my feet, I could just have easily been the dead Target employee. It was in the November of 97 that I learned many of the sad realities of life. Well, not many, just this one. But, I remember that I learned it in the November of 97.  I am still not sure what the lesson I learned was.

I realize there are folks, and many friends of mine, that love the 4:00 AM shopping experience. I am just saying - I just don't get it. There is nothing in this world that I would ever wake up at 3:00 AM to buy, even if it is a $350.00 laptop. And even then, if they only have ten of them, who knows if you'll even get one? That is a sad trip back to the old minivan - knowing that you could still be in bed, but got up three hours ago to be told to go home.

During my time at Target, I spent most of my time in the stock room. It was a great job for those like I that enjoy large, extended periods of time zoning out and doing mind numbing activities. If I could have made $40,000 a year in that stockroom, I would probably still be there, scanner in hand, trying to locate the women's hair brushes for the third time in one day. Unfortunately, besides the pay, there was one drawback to this job: If the store got extremely busy, we were required to help at the registers. This happened once in the six months that I worked at Target - Black Friday, November of 97.

Now, if you had me as your checkout person during that hour that I ran a register that day, you were in luck. I know that there were more than two people that I did not scan their checks and a couple that got away without their credit card going through. But, what did they expect? I had no idea what I was doing and the manager was pushing, pushing, pushing us to get people through those registers. The 20 minute training I had received four months previous just was not cutting it. I actually remember running out of single dollars and giving someone 15 quarters as change.

I hope that Walmart moved those old greeters out of the way when they opened the doors this morning. Perhaps they could at least give them a 20 foot high pedestal to stand on so they could at least smile and wave at the customers. However, that would be quite a reach down to stick a smiley-face sticker on a kid. Perhaps the greeters are just used as extra "security" during Black Friday. You know, patrolling the place with a badge and a nightstick.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

What I am thankful for...

Cousin Tim for inspiring this guy -

See Jordan and Dad - told you He was there.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

My attempt to be cool by wearing Heely's

Yes, I own a pair of Heely's.  I will admit it.  No, wait, why am I admitting anything?  I am proud of this!  They are great fun and I feel like a kid when I wear them.

I have been practicing and I am pretty close to being able to pull this off:

I'm not saying I could do it now, I'm just saying soon...

The first time I put on my Heely's I feel backwards onto my caboose.  It would not be the only time.  The shoes come with a training video that strongly suggests you wear a helmet and pads when riding. Of course, I am too cool for that crap.

Now, I understand that some of the old farts in this world have become annoyed and irked by the kids wearing these duds, flying up the grocery store aisles and creating mischief of this and that.  To these fogies I say - what is more annoying... a kid with two wheels in their shoe that cruises smoothly through a store, OR a one MPH electric cart that takes up the entire aisle?  

Yeah, that's right!  So get off my case bout my Heely's old man! You have no idea what it's like to be a kid nowadays.  You turdwads need to just get off our backs. 


Song of the Day: Bloc Party - Banquet

One of the first "new"bands I started listening to, these guys make me happy.  They were featured on Guitar Hero and kinda exploded - and deservedly so. Check out this fantastic song.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

The holidays remind us of the greatest gift ever given to mankind. (It's not what you think... It's just the gift card.)

I am a lazy bum.  I think that is why I am so into giving gift cards.  There are three benefits: No thought, very little action, and everyone loves getting a gift card.  

As a lazy person, gift cards are really the way to go.  However, the worst part of giving a gift card is actually going out and purchasing one.  I hate having to warm up the car, find my wallet and actually put on socks. 

I get so frustrated when I am forced to put on socks; you have to pull them up your legs and everything.  I wouldn't hate putting them on so much if there wasn't so much pulling and straightening.  You've got to make sure that seam is just right, otherwise at sometime during the day you have to take off your shoe and fix it, and that's even more work.  Sometimes your sock has one of those stretchy strings.  I hate those things!  You pull and pull and it keeps getting longer and longer.  Pretty soon you have a turniket cutting off the blood supply to your foot.  No thank you.  I think I will just stay in.

I have considered just ordering gift cards online, but I am too lazy to actually pull out my credit card.  I mean, pulling it out, making sure the numbers match, putting in that security code thing - that is a lot of work.  By the time my order goes through, I could already be at the closest Barnes and Noble. By the way, I have received a gift cards from Barnes and Noble before and I never know what to get.  I mean, I get all my books for free from a place called "the library".  I look and look and always end up getting 35 bookmarks and one of those adorable puppy calendars. 

One time I gave a very thoughtful gift card to someone - $20.00 to the Olive Garden.  The person was very gracious and he laughed when he gave me my $20.00 gift card to the Macaroni Grill. We wondered what the point of it all was and agreed that the next year we would simply swap $20.00 bills.  The following year, to make things extra special for him, I gave him ten 2 dollar bills.  He was overcome with joy and wept abundantly.  

I would love to get gift cards as a stocking stuffer.  As a matter of fact, I would love to get an entire stocking stuffed with just gift cards!  Gift cards are actually not that great a stocking stuffer, for the stuff-ER, because they are so small.  However, it is an excellent stocking stuffer for the stuff-EE.  If you are the stuff-ER then you might want to stick with oranges and deodorant.  Actually, the best stocking stuffer might actually be socks; a stocking full of socks.  They are bulky, cheap and most people need them.  I guess people without feet don't need them.  For these people, the best stocking stuffer might be leg warmers.

A recent study says that 60% of people are hoping to receive a gift card as a gift this season. I also read once that 20% of gift cards are never actually used.  I also read that 100% of gift cards are used by Cheeseboy.  I know you have also read that as well, because it is in the sentence you just read.  So if you are wondering what to get me for Christmas, I will give you three hints: 1) It's plastic 2) It rhymes with "lift hard" 3) It looks a lot like a library card, but it has a company logo on it, rather than a library name on it.  

I hate putting on socks. 

BYU post game film session (staring Hitler)

Okay Steve, you forced me to post this.  However, this is GREAT comedy.  Even if you are a BYU fan, you have to admit it's pretty clever.  

My apologies for posting two videos in one day, but this is just too priceless to pass up.  My favorite line: "Don't worry, I hear that Phantom is playing at the Venetian."  Ha ha! Perfect zoobie line.

The Hakka is not for white guys.

I found this commercial to be funny and very appropriate given the circumstances of Saturday's game. (For those that did not know, the Utes players took offense to Cougars doing the Hakka on their field and "forced" them to stop and almost created a brawl.  Bronco said that they "ran out of time" and that is why they did not do it.  Anyone that was there knows that was clearly not the case.)

***Warning - this video is certainly not for the easily offended.  If you are offended, do not blame me because I posted the warning.  Once the warning has been posted, I am held blameless.

Monday, November 24, 2008

A sad tale about a man, his stomach and a disturbing episode of Oprah.

When I woke up this morning, my belly was flipping around like a dolphin on an underwater tire swing. I attempted to teach but after one hour of struggling with a group of six year olds, I felt as though my tummy was going to explode through my esophagus. I told my Principal and he arranged for the PE teacher to take my class for the rest of the day.

I was however, able to accomplish the following tasks during my day in the doldrums:

Slept for 3 hours.

Listened to sports talk radio for two hours in bed. Got to rehash the entire game over and over.

Watch part of Oprah's special on pleasing your man.

I started to feel a bit better and attempted to go to my second job. I was promptly sent home for looking to pale. I told my boss that I am just a very white person. I then attempted to dance for her to prove it. Dancing with an upset stomach is in no way a good idea. Besides, my boss is not white and she could see right through my pathetically lame whirlybirds.

I am not sure what is causing my stomach to squeal, but I can give you a rundown of the food I ate this past weekend:

Friday night: Crown Burger - Cheeseburger, fries - lots of fries, soda. While playing games that night - a messload of M&M's, candy bars and more soda.

Saturday - Turkey, mashed potatoes & gravy, sweet potatoes, cinnamon apples, salad, rolls, pie and a bunch of other stuff - and that was just BEFORE the game. That night I had a turkey sandwich and more M&M's.

Sunday - More turkey, a goober-load of clam chowder, three rice-crispee squares and a giant ice cream sunday.

I am not positive, but I have the feeling that my diet this past weekend has something to do with my tummy troubles.

Song of the Day: Queen - We Are The Champions

Sunday, November 23, 2008

My open letter to the uber-cool guy that sat in front of me this year during the Utah games.

There is a man in this world that I feel deeply connected to, but have never said a word to.  The man that I refer to is the guy, about my age, that sat in front of me this year at the football games.  I do not know his name, nor do I want to, but in the off chance he comes across my blog, I would like to leave him this memo:

Dear guy in the red shirt that sits in front of me at the Utah games,

It was a pleasure sharing this joyous year with you.  We never spoke, but we clearly were connected, you and I; connected on so many levels.

You give a solid high five.  A very solid high five.  Firm, tough, connecting every time.  I feel impressed to tell you that your high five connections are solid; solid like a rock.

There were two different occasions that we may have hugged: the Sakoda kick in the Oregon State game and the touchdown pass during the TCU game.  In fact, I am fairly certain we hugged at least once.  Our section was going so bonkers, I am not sure who I was hugging, but I am confident one of the lucky souls was you.  Further, please excuse my hands that tend to wonder when I hug strangers.  And finally, thank you for snapping back into reality before I and refusing my kiss.  I would have regretted that.

I'd also like to tell you that I think you are hilarious.  The way you turned around and yelled at the BYU fans sitting behind me that "IT'S OVER!  IT'S OVER!" while Kruger was still running down the field with the ball was priceless.  Also, as the game was coming to a close, I found you very comical; the way in which you were taking pictures of all the sad BYU fans.  Somehow, you were able to locate the mopiest looking zoobies in the stadium.

I would also like to apologize for the time that you turned around to mock the BYU fans with your hands in the air.  I mistakenly took your gesture for a request for a high five.  I felt awfully foolish for slapping your closed fist.  Nevertheless, you were very understanding and gave me a do-over, this time connecting on the almighty, highest high five I have ever had.  You, my dear sir, are the definition of class.

Although we have never conversed with our mouths, or notes, or even sign language for that matter, I feel that we connected this year as brothers united in UTE-dome -  and I enjoyed every second of it.

Your best stadium buddy, 


PS. Great high fives.  Real solid.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Sweet, sweet victory. I will savor this one.

The last two BYU games have been the two most painful I can ever remember.  I am so sick of hearing the following two quotes:

"Harline is still open."

"4th and 18."

As a matter of fact, there was some Y zoobie carrying a huge sign with those quotes on them through the tailgate lot before the game. What a bozo.

Well, it didn't take a miracle this time.  My living right paid off.  In fact, while I rushed the field, I was sure to take a picture of the following sign:

I got to the game an hour early and just soaked it all in.  Unfortunately, the only other people in my section there that early sat directly behind me and happened to be Y fans, or zoobies as they are commonly referred to.  As I sat there, they were sure to spout off such gems in my ear like, "I hope we see Hall to Collie all night long." Or, "Just wait until the U fans get here, we are going to be sprayed with beer and sworn at.  (Neither of these things happened, of course.)  

I did in fact speak with them for a bit.  They were nice enough, but the funny thing is that they dropped $125.00 each to see their team get creamed.  $125.00!  The only thing funnier is the 30 year old 5 rows behind us that paid that much AND painted his face blue.  That was just sad.

My favorite part of the evening was when the zoobies started filing out with 6 minutes left in the game.  The crowd gave really let them have it as they made the walk of shame.

My second part of the game was before it even started.  The BYU players started to get in line to do the Hakka.  The Ute players took exception and forced them off the field before they could do it.  It was absolutely brilliant.  I hate the Hakka, especially done by a bunch of dorky white guys at BYU.

The game itself was intense, but really not any more intense than the Oregon State or TCU game.  The Y fans behind me asked me if we always stand for the big games and I informed them "only for the big ones." 

- Oh, and by the way, never, ever let a BYU fan tell you that Max Hall is a better QB than Brian Johnson ever again. Ever.  (Exhibit 1 and 1a - 5 interceptions.  Better yet, the next time a zoobie tries to quote Harlie's still open or 4th and 18, just hold up five fingers - one for each INT.)

Rushing the field was fine, but a little anti-dramatic.  It was more like "walking down the stairs to the field, where I was greeted by grandpas that had already made it down." 

Alas, I am exhausted.  What a ride this has been this year.  For me, this year is even more satisfying than 04 for four reasons: 1. The schedule has been more difficult. 2. The games have been more exciting.  3. We don't have as much talent as 04, but we have more heart.  4. In 04, we did not need revenge over the cougars, but this year revenge was so sweet. 5. It has been 4 years since we last won the MWC.

Honestly, this year I would have been happy with a conference championship and a victory over the Y.  The BCS and the perfect season has just been gravy.

I am so tired.  Tired but relieved.  Oh, and vindicated. 

I wonder how long it takes to get blue paint off your face?  

And Tim, was that you in the Jesus costume and the sign that said, "Jesus loves U?"  I read you were thinking about doing it on Utefans, so it was either you or you inspired someone else to do it.

Another pic from the game - 

Friday, November 21, 2008

A rallying cry to Utah fans everywhere!

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that the University of Utah is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dreams of Ron McBride and Urban Meyer are still alive in our time, who still questions the power of our defense, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around the stadium in numbers this University has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Ute fans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red fans and blue fans.

We are, and always will be, the University of Utah!

It's the answer that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day. 

It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date, at this defining moment, change has come to Utah.

**The above is an exert of Obama's victory speech. I took the liberty to edit it as needed to fit the occasion. You will notice any changes I made to the speech in red.

Who am I sir? A Utah man am I! A Utah man sir, I will be till I die.

Go Utes!


We shall be elven kin.

Thank you Ike for finding this fun project for us to do.  There are some familiar elves in there.  See if you can recognize them.  (Hint, one of them is an Epperson.)

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Thursday, November 20, 2008

The second most embarrassing moment of my life and a story to get my mind off the big game.

I have been told that there is no way that I could have as many stories about my life as I have shared on the old Blog O’ Cheese, but it’s true.

I am convinced that most people have quite a few interesting stories, but the way in which they tell them makes them not quite as intriguing as they originally thought. My life stories are dull and slouchingly uninteresting. Nevertheless, I try and add a little cornstarch and nutmeg to help them become compelling enough that my readers will actually finish reading the post. That is quite an introduction, but I shall attempt to provide a story that is both my #2 most embarrassing moment (After the poop my pants story.) and the story of my first kiss.

Now, my friend Steve can and will verify this story, although his memory of it will obviously not be as clear or as thorough as mine. So I ask of you Steve to at least verify that this story absolutely did occur during our fragile 16th year of life. (Perhaps it was my 17th year of life, but I am not yet ready to admit to the world that I did not kiss a female until my 17th year of life; or a male for that matter. Wait, wait... not that I kissed a male after my 17th year of life or at any other time during my life! What I am trying to say is that this is the story of my first kiss.)

I had always been fidgety and awkward with the ladies. Wait, hold on, let me rephrase. I WOULD have always been awkward and fidgety with the ladies had I had the guts to actually speak to them. In fact, I don’t believe I even went on a date the for the first eight months I was “allowed” to date. Ha ha, even saying the word “allowed” makes me laugh now. I can assure you that my parents had no trouble keeping me from dating before I was sixteen years old. In fact, had I suggested to my parents when I was 15 that I would like to take out a girl, I am sure they would look at each other in disbelief and laughed.

It’s not that I didn’t think about girls or wish to date them. It is just that my entire life I had played a roll that had worked well for me: that of the “moronic goofball”. I was the perfect laugh a minute freak show, and I was invited along on many excursions simply to provide some comic relief, which I was happy to do.

When I was seventeen, I began to become wary of my girl problems. I had several bad experiences on the few dates I had gone on. I wondered if I would ever get a date with an attractive female that would not be considered a “pity date for the funny guy”. Needless to say, I was more than a little surprised when my dad came home from work one day and informed me that he had met a girl at my school that had a “crush on me”.

As he told me her name, my brain turned inside out for some sort of image, some idea of who this person was. For the sake of the story, I shall refer to her from this time forward as “F.P.”. I could not picture this girl for the life of me and I was fairly sure I had not even spoken to her. The truth is that my dad could have told me the name of any girl in our school and I could have been fairly confident that I had not ever spoken to them.

I turned to my trusty yearbook and located her photo. She was decent enough looking, but sure enough, I had seen her but not spoken to her at any time. However, I knew my friend Steve was good friends with her and getting to know her would not be a problem. I also knew that knowing that this girl liked me already and that she was halfway attractive made my anxiety levels soar to newfound heights. If I was holding an anxiety hammer at the county fair, and I slammed it down, the bell would have surely have rung on “neurotic loon-bucket”.

I recall getting up the courage to speak to her after class one day. As you may know, when I get nervous, my hands sweat like a warm popsicle. I am not sure what my opening line was, but I am sure there was plenty of sundering, slobbering in that frail, thin body of mine. Yet, for some odd reason I can’t explain, she continued to talk to me and even requested that I call her. A girl had never asked ME to call HER. This was new, hollowed ground I was treading.

It is at this point of the story that I must tell you a little about F.P. At our High School we had what was referred to as HTVS, or Highland Television Station. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, a student produced newscast would be broadcast throughout the school with the latest on everything from Pep Club to the Rodeo Club. It just so happened that F.P. was an anchor, no THE anchor girl on the newscast. You shall see how this is relevant to the story at a later point - and it’s relevant - oh so relevant.

Well, as we got to know each other, I held way off on my usual turd-brain routine and pretended to be a normal guy - which was of course, difficult. Things soon became very clear that she was, for whatever reason, very interested in me. I had never actually attended Homecoming, nor did I have any desire to attend, but I found myself being pressured into going - by her friends of course.

I did not know much about proper dance etiquette or how to even dress, but one thing become enormously clear for me that night: I was going to get my first kiss. There was only one problem: I was not sure how to accomplish this task.

After a couple quick dances, our group was off to Classic Skating, where we had the entire rink reserved. We did a bit of skating, but I knew the time had come to bust a move - at least the best way a geeky, pimple-faced sixteen year old knew how to bust a move. I looked around to find a place where we could be alone to no avail. Finally, out of the corner of my eye, I could see the “party room” that was usually reserved for the birthday parties of six year olds. I pulled myself together, swallowed hard and found myself saying the following words:

“Can I kiss you?”

To which she replied, “Here?”

To which I responded, “Yeah sure, here.”

To which she replied, “Lets go somewhere where we can be alone.”

To which I replied, “Uh..okay.”

We walked quickly to the party room. I am more than certain quite a few in our party saw us escape to this secluded place. Once inside the party room, she was not content. She wanted the lights turned off AND the door locked. I was not sure what she had in mind, but whatever it was, she did not want to be seen. The problem was that there was not a lock on the door nor was there a light-switch.

She made due the best she could by pushing a large garbage can in front of the door and telling me to “close my eyes”. She was clearly more experienced at this than I.

I am not afraid or ashamed to admit that I had no idea what I was doing. I was not sure if I should be pecking, smooching or opening my mouth. What occurred during those 2 minutes can only be described as a haze of slobber, uncoordinated bungling and, ultimately - discomforting agony. This lovely moment may have continued for at least seconds more until the garbage can fell over and we heard giggles. My first kiss had come to an abrubt end.

Things went well for the rest of the evening, although F.P. did seem a tad aloof. I could have cared less; I was on cloud 9. No, what is the cloud after 9? I want to say 10, but that seems too obvious. Who labels the clouds anyway? Whatever cloud comes after 9, that was the cloud I was on - for my virgin lips had tasted of the sweet nectar of forbidden green apple lip gloss for the first time.

I returned to school the following Monday with a spring in my step and a whistle in my whistle. I reported to first period class to watch my new “girlfriend”...”report the news”. Surely, I would be the king of the school for at least a week.

I first knew something was wrong when I could see the co-anchor smirking at her. As the opening music faded, he looked at her and said, “Hey, F.P. how was Homecoming?” Now, most the folks in my first period class were aware that I was F.P.'s homecoming date and I suddenly felt the pressure of their stares beating down on me. The anchor continued, “I heard about the Classic Party Room! How was it?”

There is something about a bunch of females staring directly at you and yelling, “WOOOOO” that will make a nerd like I, crawl under the desk and even below the floor tiles. Now when the average jock, Joe Cool, gets a reaction like this, they generally high five their buddies and smile at all the ladies in the room like they could be next. Not I. I turned bright red. Then I turned more red. Then I just sat, red, until the whoops and hollering subsided. Yeah, I was cool. Cool as ice.

F.P. never again wanted anything to do with me. She was just in it for the one NCMO (as those at the Y like to refer to it as) and then I was tossed aside, like the poor self esteemed dork that I was. Plus, without a doubt, my unique kissing style threw her for a loop. You know it takes a special lady...

And there you have it - the story of my first kiss.

I have no shame left. If flew out the window with my poop story.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Things I would rather do than go to a BYU Football Fireside the night before a game.

It is nice that BYU football players put on a nice Fireside for the spiritual growth of the youth in Utah county.  I, however, prefer my youth to get their spiritual growth elsewhere.  I would never allow Lincoln to attend one of these functions.  I would tell him to wait until Morgan Scalley gives a Fireside.  Giving it much thought, I was able to come up with a list of things I would rather do than go to one of these BYU football promotional Firesides:

1. Finish the last 18 months of Max Hall's mission that he was not able to complete himself due to "health reasons" which he miraculously overcame to play D1 college football.

2. Spend a week in Fresno with nothing but $5.00, a baseball bat and a sleeping bag.

3. Eat another 99 cent shrimp cocktail at The Golden Nugget in Vegas.  (Not a good idea.)

4. Name my next son "Bronco".

5. Make out with one of the "regular" coeds at the BYU Creamery.

6. Attend a Clay Aiken concert with nothing on but a sleeveless vest and biker shorts.

7. Poop my pants while running. 

8. Take an elbow from Haffa.

9. Console John Beck when he has one of his crying fits.

10.  Attend any other fireside, given by anyone else, ever.

Jamba Juice is for the fruitees!

I just experienced my very first Jamba Juice and I must say, I think I checked my manhood at the door.  

It began when I won a $5.00 gift card from my second job. I have never been more ecstatic to win anything in my entire life.

My experience began with the jazzy, intoxicating tunes of the new David Archuletta album blaring in my ears as I entered the establishment. With that nonsense at unbelievable decibels, I could barely think as I stared up at the big board.

Selecting a Jamba is not as easy as it seems. First, you must select your combination and then you must select a free “booster”. Of course I stood there, stone faced, with arms crossed, trying to put the appropriate combination into my lame brain. I finally decided upon a bizarre combination of pineapple, mango and peach that sounded half edible.

My order went as expected. The manboy that took my order had bangs longer than my wife’s and he undoubtedly had just been picketing against Prop 8. His posture was poor and he leaned heavily on one leg as if my order was the least important thing in the world at that moment. Apparently I passed his snobbery test because my order actually did go through. I did feel like a total idiot when I asked for what is really called a “Ma-Ma-Ma-Mango”.

I waited for my fruity Mo-cocktail on what had to be an eight-foot high stool. It took me 45 seconds to even climb up that thing. I realized right then and there that this was not my kind of place. The uppity attitude by the eight-dollar an hour workers, the BMW’s in the parking lot, the pastels clashing against brighter pastels, it was all too much. If I were a drinker, I would definitely be a beer and pretzels man all the way; not some fruity martini with an umbrella sticking out of it. Yes, I am sure I have paid my last visit to the land of the Jamba.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Some basic questions I have got to get answered.

Why don’t clowns buy roomy minivans?

Are the moccasins I made at scout camp American Indian approved?

Can you measure flour with a bra, since it based on cup size?

Will knowing how to boondoggle help me in any other area of my life, other than when I actually boondoggle?

Who delivers baby storks? Stork Gynaecologists?

Do modern day pirates have prosthetic wooden legs?

When will I stop being embarrassed to have to sit in something called an “Eagles Nest”?

In what year were staples invented?

What would happen if I wrapped a microwave oven in tin foil?

Does the security in Lego Land have to assemble their weapons every morning?

If you put a slinky on an escalator, will it go forever?

Do you believe in life after love?

Why is Bronco Mendenhall such a weirdo?

Monday, November 17, 2008

Living right is much tougher than I thought. It will be worth it though.

I am fully invested in living right this week to further my quest for perfection. (Notice my very spiritual picture for today's entry. I am feeling it today!) Thus, I have made the following changes - for this week only:
I have visited my home teaching families three times already. Honestly, I think they are getting a little bit tired of seeing me.

I have begun traveling 10 miles below the posted speed limit.

I am not watching any TV shows that are rated anything worse than TV-PG

I have stopped shooting cats in my front yard with a BB gun.

I have stopped watching Dancing With The Stars because of the scantily clad women, especially that old lady with the cleavage.

I have forgiven Oprah for not returning my calls and emails. Tyra - You are not off the hook.

I have stopped making fun of orphaned midgets - I mean "little people".

I have been shaving everyday to stay in line with my own personal honor code, including my armpits. (Not sure if this is really necessary, but I did it, just to be sure.)

I have quit cold turkey on cold turkey. I now only eat oven baked ham; kosher of course.

I have fasted 4 hours a day, every day between the hours of 8:30 and 12:30. (Breakfast and lunch. Except that one time when I accidentally ate a Twix because I was hungry.)

I have not once “budded” in any line. (A common problem for First Graders, and their teachers.)

I have hugged everyone I have seen wearing a Bluetooth, and that's not easy!

My iPod is currently filled with hymns - and only the ones that have been missionary approved. Oh, and I have some Janis Capp Perry on there too. Love that lady!

I have not cursed once. I have Provo-ized all my anger words. I love saying "Fetching fetch!"

The American Red Cross called and although I will not be giving blood this week, I made them a firm promise that I would in the near future - (When the sign up sheet comes around in EQ again.)

I hosted an Elder’s Quorum dinner group and invited everyone assigned to us - even those I don’t like.

I shoveled our neighbor’s walks.

I have stopped practicing polygamy.

This all better pay off on Saturday cause this week has totally sucked. But hey, whatever it takes, right?

Sunday, November 16, 2008

And so it begins...

For those of you who may not know why I hate BYU so badly, please read the following article to get you up to date on my deep seeded hatred.

It goes without saying, but I hate BYU.

Mind you, I have several friends that are BYU fans and most of them are the most levelheaded, friendly folks I know.

I still hate BYU with all my might, mind and soul.  

Nevertheless this week begins; perhaps my least favorite week of college football.  I can't stand listening to sports talk radio this week as the callers on both sides of the rivalry are filled with the most insidious, plebeian, self loathing malice I have ever heard.  I dread talking to the obnoxious BYU fans I know because I know they are just going to spew off some nonsense in an attempt to anger me.  Fortunately, as I have previously stated, I don't know too many of these types of fans. 

The Utes can't lose this game; they just can't.  Losing this game would create such misery and disdain in my life, I just couldn't bear it.  I am tired of losing to these self-righteous jerkwads.  I am especially tired of losing on some fluke play that should have never happened in a million years.  Losing this game would mean three years in a row and the beginning of an official "trend."  No, losing is unacceptable.  

So BYU fans can start calling me a drunken Ute fan or a swearing whoremonger and all the other stereotypes I am used to.  My mind is on one thing only, winning back the "magic" and doing my best to live right this week. Victory is the only option.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Oh, it's on!

And I thought MY job was tough.

When I tell people what I do for a living - teaching First Grade - the most common reply is, "Wow, I could never do that.  You are a better man than I."

Well, tonight we hosted a Elder's Quorum dinner group.  One of the invitees asked me what I did for a living.  When I informed him what it is I do, he responded, "REALLY?  REALLY?  That is really noble of you.  What you do is so difficult, I could never do it.  That has to be one of the toughest jobs, you must have so much patience, I really admire you.  I just know I could never do it."

I was thankful for the compliment, but I responded with a simple question:   "Aren't you a mortician?"  

Friday, November 14, 2008

The Cease to Exist Order for this, the fourteenth day of November, 2008.

Items that are currently on my cease to exist order.  You have 30 days to comply.  You have been warned.

1. Yo-yo gas prices.  Are they high?  Are they low?  Do I need to buy a Prius or a Hummer? I thought we were running out of gas?  If that is true, shouldn't it's value be going up right now. I am not complaining, I just want to know what the deal is.  

2.  Television advertisements for erectile disfunction medications.  Look, I don't need to hear about the problems associated to having a 4 hour long erection while vegging in front of the TV at midnight - with milk pouring down my chin, as I eat a hearty bowl of Lucky Charms.

3.  Rotating tires.  Why do I have to always worry about rotating my tires?  Can't they invent self rotating tires.  If they can make a self cleaning oven, they can invent a self rotating tire.  And don't tires rotate themselves anyway?  Isn't that kinda their job?

4. The odor that creeps into my car every time I drive I-15 north into Davis County.  It is an awful stench right on the border of Salt Lake and Davis County.  Anyone know what the heck that is?

5. The folks that sit on the table when teaching an Elders Quorum lesson to prove they are relaxed, cool and casual.  What this tells me is, "I spent 20 minutes preparing the lesson this morning and I want to look relaxed enough to hide it." I know this happens in every ward. Oh, and the next time I teach Elder's Quorum, I am putting doilies and frilly cloths on the table.  I noticed the women in Relief Society do this to "set the mood."

5. People that volunteer to read from their "scriptures" in Sunday School.  Their "scriptures" being some sort of tiny, handheld electronic device.  They force us all to sit there like porched chums while they use that tiny, plastic pen to scroll to the next verse. I have a question for people with these - If you lose that piece of crap plastic pen, is your whole device broken for life?  Does it come with a "backup" plastic pen, just in case?  If the pen does break, does that then excuse you from your scripture reading until a new, plastic pen can be obtained?  The next time I am called on to read in Sunday School, I am going to say, "I can't... lost my tiny black pen thing."  Of course, I will be holding my real scriptures on my lap.  (Sorry Brent.  I didn't mean you.  In fact, I think your electronic device is larger than the ones I am referring to.)  However, I do wish the church would come out with a set of scriptures with a built in solitaire game.

6. Spending more time searching for a video at Blockbuster than you do actually watching the video.  Fortunately, we don't spend much time at Blockbuster anymore, but I recall the days when we would stand and stare at the wall of new releases for what seemed like hours looking for the perfect film.  Alas, the perfect film always ended up being something like "Little Nicky" or "Surviving Christmas". 

7. Christmas music on the radio that started at the beginning of November.  (Sorry Lori, but it's true.)  Christmas music should not be allowed to begin until the day after Thanksgiving; and yes, I know there is a station that has Christmas music every day of the year.  Santa needs to have this station shut down immediately.

8. Bluetooth devices.  Anyone that wears one is a 100%, grade A - moron.  (If you are wearing one now, why in the world do you need to talk on the phone while you read my blog?  And if you do in fact have that need, then why do you need to do it "hands free"?  Are you too lazy to hold a phone to your head?)  Several times I have thought people were talking to me in public when they were really talking to their cell buddies, and then I am the one that looks foolish when I answer their questions.  I find myself APOLOGIZING TO THEM! "Oh, excuse me... I apologize.  I thought you were talking to me."  Why am I the one apologizing?  They are the ones that are the dimwitted twits that have to do all of their communicating over a 2 inch mouth doohickey.

9. Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch.  Oh wait, this one has already ceased to exist.

9. Stupid lists of things people hate.

10. Joe the Plumber.  

Song of the Day: Pela - Lost the Lonesome

Thanks to my buddy Dan for hitching me up with this amazing band from New York City.  They remind me a little bit of Okkervil River and The National.  Anyhow, this video here combines three of my favorite things: rock, the Amish and medicine.  Enjoy.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

The benefits I receive from losing arguments.

I have never once won an argument with my wife. Over ten years of marriage and I am still waiting for my first victory. She is always calm, rational, levelheaded and logical. I, on the other hand, argue solely on emotion, which in turn makes me a rambling and slobbering mess; I make absolutely no sense and my closing statement is generally something along the lines of, “Oh yeah, well, we’ll just see!”

Let it be known that we have very, very few arguments. In fact, we might actually hold some sort of record for fewest disagreements between a married couple in the history of man. I can't even remember the last time we didn't see eye to eye, but it has been several months. However, occasionally we will have a difference of opinion or two.

It is because of my nauseating ten year losing streak that I must get a point in here and there, just to even things up. Because Cathi knows I “allow” her to win 100% of the arguments, she lets me get away with just a few minor things. Examples of our marriage levelers:

It is a well known fact that I generally have control over the remote.

The ratio of country crap music to good rock music in the car must be equal to or exceed a 30 to 70% ratio, unless the country music is Brad Paisley or The Dixie Chicks, in which case, we move the ratio to 35 to 65%, due to the fact that those are barely tolerable..

I get first dibs on leaving a boring Sacrament meeting to take out a crying kid.

I help in the household chores, but only the ones I want to do. I enjoy working the floors, but have a phobia to the restroom. Could be horrific memories from my days as a night custodian.

I am allowed to attend 6 football games a year, guilt free. Well, almost guilt free.

Now, given that the above items have become an addiction of sorts, I will continue to lose arguments to maintain our balance. Not that I wouldn’t trade it all for a single victory, because I certainly would. The problem seems to be that she is always right.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

I ALWAYS pick the eating establishment. ALWAYS!

Whenever we go out to eat, I am almost always the person that selects the destination. ALWAYS! No matter who we go out with or the price range we are looking at, I am always the only one with any cajones to stand up and say where I want to go. Here is a rundown of how these overwhelmingly frustrating conversations usually go:

Cathi: So, where do you want to go to dinner tonight?

Me: Hmm, I always choose. Someone else can choose.

Cathi: Well, I don’t care where we go.

Me: I don't care either. Well where does friend/relative want to go?

Cathi: I don’t know. Let me call them.

[Calls them.... they are waiting on the line.]

Cathi: They say they don’t care where we go.

Me: Well, I always choose. I am not choosing again. Did they give you any ideas?

Cathi: No, they say to have you choose.

Me: [pulling out my hair] I ALWAYS CHOOSE! Someone else needs to choose.

Cathi: [Back on the phone with them.] Abe says someone else needs to choose.

Cathi: [Back to me.] They say they really don’t care. They say wherever you want to go is fine, Abe.

Me: UGH! Okay, tell them I want to go to the Macaroni Grill.

Cathi: [Looking at me with a dissapointed stare] I don't think I want something that expensive, Abe.

Me: Well, you asked me what I wanted!

Cathi: [sighs] Well, let me ask them. [asks them]

Cathi: They say they don’t want something that expensive.

Me: Fine. How about Noodles & Co.

Cathi: They say they just went there the other night.

Me: [Making the shoot myself in the head sign with my fake finger gun] Fine, I am not choosing. Why am I choosing anyway? I told you I am not choosing.

Cathi: Hold on. [Talks to them on the phone] They say Noodles & Company is fine.

Me: What? No, no. They just went there. No, we can go somewhere different. Let’s just go to Training Table.

Cathi: Mmm. That sounds good to me.

[Back on the phone]

Cathi: They say that Training Table will be fine.

Abe: Are you sure, because we could go to Chinese or Café Rio?

Cathi: Hold on. [Talks on the phone] Well, now they say Café Rio sounds really good. Do you want to go there Abe?

Abe: Oh geez. What in the flying crap! (Actual text edited for sake of my mother.) I don’t know. I don't care! Whatever. I am not picking.

Cathi: Well, they are waiting for you Abe. They say it's your call!

Abe: My head is going to explode! Why am I the Godfather of going out? Alright. Training Table, but next time someone else has got to pick!!!

The next time we go out the entire cycle repeats itself, but we end up going to Café Rio. It is the dinner waltz that I dance so beautifully.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I am the Karaoke Overlord, but I am need of a little help.

For as long as I can remember, I have held the ancient oriental art of karaoke close to my heart. Well, perhaps not as long as I can remember, but ever since 1994. (I have some memories of before that year, but they are fading and fleeting.) It was in that year that my friend Steve and I stood on a stage in the 49th Street Galleria in front of our entire graduating class and belted out every word of the eleven minute long, ever immortal “Stairway of Heaven.” The DJ forced us to cut it short when we started swinging the microphone stands around at about minute 8. I have never shied away from a karaoke mike since.

Allow me to indulge you with a brief rundown of my karaoke escapades:

I won first place in a karaoke contest on a cruise to the Mexican Riviera. Actually, I am not sure if I actually won. I remember singing Copacabana and a couple of Neil Diamond songs and being presented with a plastic cruise ship trophy. The details of the performance have really been swept away in the mists and pleasantries of my mind. My memory of this event is like a neon light on a foggy dance floor; it shins brightly in my mind but the details are sketchy like unanswered questions. Perhaps a family member that was in attendance can verify if I in fact won a contest for my ridicules rigmarole? And if I did not win, what exactly was it that I obtained a plastic trophy for?

Alright, I am really done indulging you now. I realize there wasn't much to that jovial trip down memory lane, I just wanted to make it perfectly clear that I am THE karaoke overlord and that I have a plastic cruise ship trophy that proves it.

Since the time of my gut-wrenching, tear-dripping performance on the lido deck that day, I have captured the fancy of many a eager karaoke spectator. I have performed my magic at many gatherings and plan to do so again in the near future.

As I type these words, I know I need to take things to the next level. (As far as my karaokeing goes. I am in no way ready to go out of my comfort zone in any other area of my life. I take that back, I may actually take my couch sitting to the next level during the Christmas break, but I will worry about that when the time comes.) By next level, I mean I need to up the ante. I have a large gathering coming up known as the “Faculty Christmas Party” in which I have several ideas that I am currently working on. However, in order to fully pull off my plan, I will need the following items:

1. A bedazzled vest.
2. 8 colorful bandanas
3. 32 ounces of hairspray
4. 3 bottled waters
5. An electric guitar
6. A miniature trampoline.
7. A small stage (large enough for me to stand on) made of legos, perferrably just yellow and red legos.
8. Lip balm (sparkly)
9. A woman’s pant suit.
10. Corn syrup.

If you have any of these items, please donate them to the cause, which means just give them to me. There has also been a trust fund set up at any Zions Bank branch.

I will do my best to tape the performance and post it on the Blog O’ Cheese, but there is just no way I can do it without these items, or at least a monetary donation for these items. Which reminds me, does anyone know how to set up a trust fund at a bank?

Monday, November 10, 2008

I have waxed spiritual, waxed political, waxed philisophical, but today I wax wax-ophical.

In my past, I have waxed spiritual, waxed political, waxed philosophical, but without a doubt, the worst waxing I have done is that of my back.

I am not sure what possessed me to wax my back hair. Granted, I am a very furry man; however it wasn’t as if my back hair was getting caught in the zipper of my dress - and there certainly were not any midgets sneaking up behind me and giving it a hard yank. I didn’t even realize I had back hair until noticed it during my morning shirtless, dance twirls in front of the full size mirror in our bedroom.

Again, I am not sure what possessed me to go through with this shameless stunt about 2 years ago. It could have been several things: curiosity, an inclination for pain, my infatuation with Olympic swimmers, the fact that we would be going to Raging Waters the next day. Well okay, I can pretty much narrow the real reason down the last thing I mentioned. Certainly, I did not want to pull off my shirt at a public swimming pool and have a magical back hair wand waving at the masses in the breeze. I wanted to save my shirtless, public gross outs to the doctors office. No, I had a strong desire to be smooth, silky, eye candy for all of the ladies to enjoy at the pool.

I don’t recall the entire ordeal, but I believe that I caught my beloved wife swallowing quite a few laughs while I squeeled out in horror. Several recent movies have made light of this “procedure” in recent years, but I promise you, not a single one does it justice.

The wax involved is much more “bee’s wax” than say, “candle wax.” In fact, the best way to describe it is, “honey that has been left out for a couple weeks.” In what could have been one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life with my own wife, Cathi spread this concoction on my back using what appeared to be a large popsicle stick. As she swerved the stick back and forward accross my lower back, I could feel my hairs begging - no pleading - for their very souls. Little did I know that the actual spreading would be the least of my worries.

As the moment of truth finally arrived, I found myself lying on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. Apparently Cathi had done this several times as she applied just enough pressure with the bandage into the goo. She didn’t warn me, didn’t count down, didn’t even say “now!” - She simply yanked. As she pulled, I experienced what I like to refer to as “the white light”. I saw myself walking down a tunnel towards the light and in the very distance I could see several of my ancestors. I was home.

I was not there long as Cathi soon brought me back into reality as she yanked the second “wrap” off my back. Unlike the wimps in the movies, I did not scream, did not swear or even yelp. I let out a simple but elegant squeak; much like a small rodent would make if a mousetrap fell on it’s neck. The sound I made could also be described as the same sound a small dog makes if you step on it’s tail. No, it was in fact too painful to bellow; too tormenting for a single curse word. It may have been (besides the two broken legs, being hit by a car and a couple other experiences I have yet to share), the single most painful experience of my life.

I know what you are wondering, “So how was Raging Waters?” Well, I am not sure, but I think that I caught several ladies sneaking peeks at my finely crafted, glassy, sleek back. Although, it could have been because the bottom of my back was still bright red from the beating it took the night before. I’d like to say that at least my beloved Cathi appreciated my waxing. In fact, I believe she did, but only during the waxing.

What can be learned from this torturous, compromising situation? Plenty: 1. Never manwax your back. 2. Always finish a job you start. 3. Make good use of the popsicle stick provided in a waxing package. And... 4. If you choose to manwax, allow your wife to do it as it will allow her to take out most of her aggression on you. She will be flush, loving and guilt ridden for several days afterward. (In fact, you may want to have her manwax you right before football season starts.)

My response from the patent people...


What you are trying to do would fall under the Trademark category. A trademark protects words, names, symbols, sounds, or colors that distinguish goods and services from those manufactured or sold by others and to indicate the source of the goods. You would need to contact the Trademark Assistance Center:

The department you have contacted only handles patents.

Chris (EBC)

What you are trying to do sounds like a copyright. A copyright protect works of authorship, such as writings, music, and works of art that have been tangibly expressed. The Library of Congress registers copyrights which last for the life of the author plus 70 years.

Thank you,
Patent EBC

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Now that my son stars in the show, I love the Primary Program even more!

Today just so happened to be the primary program.  I love the primary program.  It is the one meeting that I am guaranteed to not fall asleep in.  It is the one meeting that there is always a chance of something crazy happening.

 There are three things that go into a good program: An adorable sunbeam that can't say her R's, a touching story from an older kid about the Holy Ghost, and of course, a very loud, very proud singer in the front row. I am fortunate enough to have my son provide #3 for the ward to enjoy.

Lincoln has been practicing the songs at home for the program for a couple of months now.  He will shout out the lyrics with the greatest of self-glorification.  His joyful ballads were not toned down a single bit for the program.  He yodeled the child songs with the most piercing pizzazz ever heard in a primary program.  We noticed that everyone in the congregation giggling and then turning around to look at us to see our reaction.  Most of the time I simply smiled and shrugged.  

What was most impressive about Lincoln's singing was his facial expressions.  His face and lips bent and contorted to every note.  He proudly did every planned gesture and sometimes even created his own impromptu gestures.  His performance was a show stealer.  He is going to make his dad proud and become a superb karaoke singer someday.

Calder was in his old world during the meeting, as usual.  However, every time Lincoln would stand and sing, his eyes were glued to the stage.  We would say, "Lincoln is going to sing again." and he would perk up and listen.  Yet, every time we would warn him, Calder would sarcastically say, "They're singing... again?!?!"  Since when do two year olds understand sarcasm?

Saturday, November 8, 2008

My email to the US department of patents regarding patenting my name.

I sent this email to the US office of patens and trademarks today. (  I will post their reply when I receive one.

Dearest Patent Friends,

I would like to have my blogger name, "Cheeseboy" trademarked.  More specifically, I would like to have my entire slogan, "Cheeseboy - The defender of the cheese and all things holy" trademarked.

I have been contacted via my pager by "shady" blogger folk that would like to steal my name.  I fear for my blogging identity.  Identity theft, especially virtual identity theft, is a scary, scary thing.  

I am willing to pay any price (given that it is under $10.00 American).  I am willing to sacrifice and serve my country if needed.  I am willing to provide upwards of 45 minutes of community service a week.

I have read through the trademarking website and I have not been able to locate a section on the trademarking of names.  Can you please provide information on how to trademark a name?

Also, I can't figure out how to make that copyright sign on my keyboard.  I see the following signs above my numbers: !@#$%^&*  Yet, I do not see that circle with a "c" inside of it.  I imagine that when I get the name Cheeseboy trademarked, I will be using that sign an awful lot.  Can you please provide information on how to make the sign on my keyboard?

Thank you kindly for your patenting and trademarking information,

AKA - Abe

Friday, November 7, 2008

Our coeds are the fairest and each one's a shining star - and other non-football related thoughts about last night.

I just can't get the game last night out of my brain.  I know I already posted about it once, but I feel it is two-post worthy, maybe even almost sponge-worthy.  A few more thoughts.

  • Thank you Tim for the very funny picture, the perfect companion to this post.
  • Congratulations to Ike, for pulling our team through when we needed him the most.  His finger to key skills were undeniably key.
  • There were several occasions that I had resigned myself to losing.  I should be ashamed of myself, but I just could not see how our boys were going to move the ball on that defense.
  • At one point of the winning drive, in the chaos, a man behind me completely fell off his row and into my back.  I almost fell forward as well and it would have been a very entertaining domino effect all the way down to the front row.  The funny thing is that in that moment of triumph I honestly could have cared less.
  • There were several times that Cathi asked if I was praying and I told her yes, yes I was praying.  I knew God didn't care, but I just needed to vent to him a little.
  • After we were down 10-3, with TCU driving and looking in control, my dad turned his coat inside out.  It was at that point that the team started playing better defense.  Throughout the game, my dad referred to his jacket reversal as the key.  Perhaps, but not quite as key as Ike's keyboard cheerleading.  Ike, you should start wearing one of those cute little cheerleading outfits up in the booth.
  • When we scored that go ahead touchdown, the place erupted like I have never seen.
  • We stood the entire game.  The entire game!  We sat down during timeouts, but otherwise our section was on edge for every single play.
  • As the thousands of fans poured from the stadium, well more like waddled out of the stadium and onto the streets, as we all headed to our cars, the fans let out one final roar of unbelief and overwhelming joy that I am sure could be heard all the way to Provo.  
  • I went jogging today and  I was wearing my Utah jogging sweatshirt, reserved specifically for the task of jogging.  While passing by a couple stores, a couple of fellas, also wearing Utah gear yelled to me, "Go Utes!", to which I responded, "Go Utes!"  Two different cars also honked as they passed me and yelled, "Go Utes!"  There is something special in the air amongst us diehard fans this year.  We seem to have created a special, unsaid bond. What a great time to be a Ute!  
  • Cathi was hesitant to go to a cold weather game, but I think she had a good time.  After we we scored that last touchdown with just seconds remaining and she had been hugged by several strangers and myself, she looked at me and said two words, "Pretty fun."  I was reminded of the Utah fightsong, "Our coeds are the fairest, each one a shining star."  Yes, my fairest, shining star - "pretty fun" is right. Pretty fun is right on the money! What a great night.

Song of the Day: Why? - Vowels, Part 2

I feel guilty listening to this band.  They are way cooler than I will ever be.  I feel like I am too geeky to even own their album.  Thankfully, the album wasn't too cool to be available for me to check out at the library.  This song fits my mood perfectly today.

My annual checkup

My annual checkup went swimmingly today.  My only issue is that I mentioned to my doctor that my dentist told me that my acid reflux has been causing damage to my teeth and she wants me to go get a "scope" to make sure my medication is keeping the acid down and to make sure there is not any damage.

I had to pee in a cup today.  The cup was that of the dixie persuasion and I could have filled it 4 times over.  They asked me to write my name on the side so they knew it was mine, but I told them I had only really tried that in the snow and I am not sure if I had the skill.  The nurse told me she meant with the sharpie that was next to the cups. 

I hate it when the nurse checks my vital signs and then tells me to take my shirt off and wait for the doctor.  I always fall for it too.  I pull my shirt off and sit there in silence for 25 minutes, my chest hair blowing in the AC.    I am always a little embarrassed and ashamed as I sit there with that crinkling paper under my bottom and my shirt draped over the nearest chair. What exactly do you do to pass the time while you are sitting on a raised examination table with your shirt off? I wonder if they were able to tell that I was messing with the blood pressure thing.

Finally, the time of the exam comes and by that time, I am a little bit cold.  On average the most time I ever sit shirtless in a public place is about 6.37 minutes.  I have one question for the lady Cheeseboy enthusiasts - Does the nurse make you take your shirts off and wait too?

While in the waiting room I was searching for some reading material and scored with a couple Sports Illustrated.  One was from June 06 and one from August 07.  I chose to sat in silence, but the next time I go in I am going to take my shirt off as soon as I walk through the door.  I will check in shirtless. I'll just tell them, "I'm going to be doing this later, so I thought I would just get it over with."  Maybe I will turn my head and cough while I am in the waiting room too, just for practice.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Unbelievable! Unbelievable!

I am beginning to wonder if this team is really a team of destiny.  What an incredible game.  What an incredible season.  

I really don't have much to say other than that game was just unbelievable.  4th and 5 and I thought it was over - 2 missed chip shot field goals, it should have been over.

I just watched the replay of the final 2 minutes on YouTube and my favorite quote from the announcers was after we scored the TD:

"This is a very well built stadium - and this press box is shaking right now!"

Destiny is in our favor this year.  Some things are just meant to be.


Go Utes!

PS...the blackout was kinda cool in person, but looked awesome on television.

Game notes...

I've got to wear black tonight to the game.  It will be the first time I have worn all black to a football game since high school.  

Sadly, I have run the scenario through my head over 100 times and I just don't know how the Utes win tonight.  I have faith, hope and love, but I am not sure that is enough to carry my boys tonight.  Maybe I should add a hint of charity and a dash of an eye single to the glory of God? 

I can't wait for the atmosphere though, it is going to be electric.  Kinda like a Barack rally, a Guns and Roses concert combined with a football game.  

Cathi will be attending with me, surprisingly.  She hates cold weather games, but my I will keep her warm with my large, hairy man-body; hopefully hugging her in the joy of many moments.  

I will log on when I get home and tell you how the biggest game I can ever remember went.

Go Utes!

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

I am dressed just so darned cute tonight!

Hello everyone.  

What a night last night!  Regardless of what you think about Obama, it was quite a historical night.  It felt very surreal, like I was watching a live version of a documentary.  A live-o-mentary. 

Enough politics.

I am currently sitting in our gym, wait for parents to show up for parent/teacher conference.  I bring this up because I have been told by three different moms/teachers that I look like a little kid.  More exactly, "a little kid that has dressed up for a special occasion."  

Here is my current wardrobe: white shirt, dress pants and a navy blue sweater; no tie.  I am adorable!  The only thing I am missing is a matching blue beret or a checkered vest.  I am like a First Grade Teacher of a Build-a-Bear!  In fact, if you look under my darling sweater, you will find a cardboard heart.  I am so dressed so darn cute, a woman that works at The Pottery Barn for Kids asked if I would be in their next catalog.  One teacher asked me if I was getting ready for the Christmas program.

I found their compliment nice, but they didn't have to pinch my cheeks when they left

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Being 12...

I remember being 12.

I was hit by a car.

I was riding my bike down a quiet, residential street. When I got to the quiet intersection of the quiet street, things were no longer quiet.

The screeching brakes, flipping through the air, bouncing off the windshield, landing on the cement, I remember all of it. Most people say they black out during a traumatic event and don’t recall a thing. I remember every spine-tingling flip.

I was 12. 12 was a very bad age for me.

I recall catching myself with my hands and knees. I remember looking at my hands after hitting the ground - a bloody, pulpy mess.

I remember the female driver. Her screaming and sobbing was like something I have never heard; something from another planet. Lying on the ground, I could see people holding her back from me. Her mind was a mess.

Every part of my body hurt. My legs were covered in blood, my face scraped and bruised.

I tried to get up, but was too dizzy and the grown ups made me lie down. I was confused. I was looking around for my bike. I wanted to go home.

I kept hearing the voices of my friends that were behind me. “Are you okay Abe?” “Are you hurt?”

The screams from the driver never stopped. I can still hear them.

Blurs of people I knew entered my peripheral vision; the Snarrs, who lived across the street from where I was hit, my brother, others.

Soon there were blurs of people I did not know and sounds of sirens; lots of sirens. People with masks and boards and leather cases surrounded me. More high pitched screaming from the same woman.

They would not allow me to get up, would not allow me to move my head. I was lifted and strapped to a wooden plank. My hands felt as though they were on fire. My knees felt like they had been rubbed completely off. My head throbbed in agony.

While being lifted into what would be the first of two ambulances that year, I caught a glimpse of the windshield that I had broke with my back and head. It had been shattered into thousands of pieces.

I rode to the hospital, wondering why I had straps on my arms, wondering why there was a mask on my face, wondering if I was going to die. It was a long five minutes.

Upon reaching the hospital, I was lifted into the ER. I was poked and prodded. My shirt and pants cut clean off of me. Every part of my body was examined.

It was determined that I was bloody. My hands, legs and head were becoming a giant scab. They gave me some Advil. Advil! I needed morphine.

It was also determined, amazingly enough, that I had no internal injuries, no need for stitches, no broken bones. The doctor told me I was the luckiest boy he had met that year.

I was a walking miracle.

I spent the next three hours in side room having the nurse pull little chunks of glass out of my hair and head.

I remember being 12. That was a tough year.

Monday, November 3, 2008

A rundown of who I am going to vote for...

Tomorrow is the big day and again, I know you are all dying to know who I am going to cast my ballot for. I give you a rundown of who and what I will be voting for...

In the category of ugliest NBA player, I will be voting for Chris Kaman.

For Governor, I will either vote for the pro wrestler or the body builder guy. Which one is the incumbent?

In the category of “best pocket”, I think I am going to break party lines and go with the side pockets on my cargo shorts this year.

In the zoo thing, I think I will vote for whatever will get rid of that awful stench in the reptile building. Is that yes or no?

For county treasurer, I will vote for the person that is able to locate treasure.

In the county clerks race, my vote goes to whomever has the bigger and more powerful calculator.

As far as judges go, I don’t believe in judging others, so I am voting no on all of them. But by voting no, in a way I am judging the judges as inept at judging. Nope, I changed my mind, going with yes on them all.

I am voting no on the aviary, at least until they can prove to me that they do not have a single ostrich in custody. Oh, and there is still an aviary?

In the swimsuit competition, I will be voting Palin, but only after Chaney withdrew. This is one area, after all, that Palin does have more experience.

Not sure if sherif is in play this election cycle, but if it is, I am writing in whatever candidate believes we need more horse mounted patrol officers. I’d love to see a couple coppers trot down my street a time or two a month. Is that the proper name for these officers - “Mounted Patrol”? I always thought that a good way to drive more tourists to Lagoon would be to replace the “security” with miniature ponies with midget security guards riding on their backs. Of course they would need to wear giant badges on their chest so we would not confuse them with the other folks that normally go to Lagoon. Is there an initiative on Lagoon on the ballot? “Renew the Lagoon”?

In the “best rock band on the planet” category, I am definitely going with Coldplay. Which reminds me, I still need a ticket.

In “coolest person I know”, I am voting for whomever can provide me with a free ticket to Coldplay.

In the category of “biggest moron/twit on the planet that has some skill in football”, I am going with my gut on this one and punching my card for Austin Colly.

When I vote for worst commercial of all time, I will very eagerly vote for Sonic Drive In.

I am definitely voting Grandma for best banana bread. Love you Grandma!

Without a doubt, I want to vote out the schmo that came up with the idea for the Susan B. Anthony dollar. You try finding a soda machine that will accept one of those. I will vote for the man or woman that has a plan to equip soda machines with bigger holes. “Bigger holes for soda machines!” Now that is a platform I can get behind. In fact, if the guy that passed legislation for the Susan B. Anthony coin came out with new legislation for bigger soda machine money holes, I might just vote for that guy.

I know what you are thinking, “Just how big a hole do you need?” I prefer one that will allow me to throw a check into it. Better yet, how about a soda machine that will allow me to scan my credit card, or one that will allow me to trade like valued items? Not in the mood for a pack of gum, just throw it in the soda trade basket and out pops a A&W Cream Soda! Of course, it would only accept new, unwrapped items.

I am going to have to swallow my pride and vote for Zach Effron for “Most Adorable Teen-Queen of All Time.”

Finally, in the category of “President of the United States of America”, I am casting my vote for our next president; the ever hopeful, ever inspiring, ever patriotic, the “transformational” figure....President Barack Obama!