Happy 3rd birthday to my wacky, wacky, bestest buddy Calder!

How not to get alienated.

I'm a tad bit nervous about the satellite dish on top of my house. 

I've been thinking a lot about it and if aliens ever attack, my feeling is that they may start with homes with satellites.  

It's not that they would be picking up signals from the satellites or anything, it's just that they might be a little intimidated by them.   

I mean, what if they thought that we shot lasers out of them to protect the earth or something.  They kinda look like something that might shoot a laser out of the middle of it - at least from the movies I have seen.

So I have been thinking of disguising my dish as something alien friendly.  Maybe I'll put a bunch of fake fruit and vegetables in it. That way, when the aliens come, they might think of it as a cornucopia of love and greetings, rather than a laser gun and they will spare us.  

Either that, or I'll just get cable.

I watched Twilight and one thing is for sure: There was enough deep-eyed starring to last the entire trilogy.

As many of you have heard, I watched Twilight last night.  It was a strange feeling knowing that I am the first man to ever see the film.  I felt that someone had to break the barrier, why couldn't it be me?  At least I thought I was the first man ever to see the flick, but it turns out that my brother Jacob actually saw the movie in the theater!  I would sneer at his lack of testosterone, but this is - after all, a blog entry in which I admit that I actually saw the same movie.  (Sorry Jake to out you about your Twilight viewing, but you freely offered this information to the group tonight.)

I'm not going to get into the overall lameness of the film, which was bountiful and corny - and would make for a full, lively blog entry.  Nor am I going to mock the pale faced looks of Sir Edward, A.K.A "Diggory" of Harry Potter fame.  I am simply going to broach a single issue about the whole Twilight phenomenon that I find very confusing. 

While watching the movie, I realized the entire story is about a teenage girl!  In fact, the plot, the characters and the entire story seemed very - shall we say - "pubescent" to me.  Given that the only people that I have ever met that are obsessed by this book are women aged 20-40, I was utterly shocked that this was a story written for teenage girls. I had simply assumed that the lead characters were in their 20's.  

All I have heard from women that have seen this movie is how shockingly handsome Edward is - and he is all of 16 years old in the movie.  Additionally, I have tutored many teenage girls at Sylvan, most of which have reading material, and not one of them has ever had a Twilight book.  Further, not one of them has ever even talked about their love for Twilight.  Twilight seems to be have found an audience in bored housewives and blossoming cougars.

All of this begs the question: What attracts women aged 20-40 to this story that is clearly written for an entirely different audience?  Perhaps those Twilight fans out there can enlighten me?

Things Grandparents Call A Grandchild

Kids just don't eat their bread crusts nowadays - expect an outbreak of blindness soon!

When I was a kid, I remember my mom frequently telling me,"DON'T STAND SO CLOSE TO THE TV - YOU'LL GO BLIND!"  Of course, I was not worried because she also told me that if I ate my bread crust, I would never go blind.  I figured that if I sat too close to the TV and then ate enough bread crust, I would be perfectly fine.  It all made perfect sense.

I'm a bit concerned though.  My two little runts don't eat a single shred of bread crust and they both love to stand inches away from the TV.   Both of them will often become transfixed by the TV, spellbound by the moving pictures.  Each time we have witnessed this occurrence, it is like an alien suckerfish molded through our ceiling and slurped out their brains.  There they stand, head lifted, mouth open, eyes unblinking, drool dripping - mindlessly engulfed in Spongebob, Dora or whatever moony, doltish program may be on at the time.  

What is most mind-boggling is that I will sometimes even catch them in a tubed-up, standing trance while watching something completely out of the norm; something like an infomercial or a Hannah Montana music video. I then become my mother.  "YOU ARE STANDING WAY TOO CLOSE TO THE TV!" I find myself calling out, time and time again.  Only this time I add, "YOU ARE STANDING WAY TOO CLOSE TO THE TV AND YOU WILL NEVER EAT ANY BREAD CRUST!"  Maybe I worry too much.

Of course, we all know that other things we do as children cause blindness: looking at the sun, not eating carrots, looking at Playboys, sticking a pointed stick in your eye.  Yet, here we are, a million plus Generation X'ers, and the only blind one amongst us seems to be a semi-talented guy on American Idol.  Either these are just myths or we ate more bread crusts than we thought.

By the way, my Grandma also told me that eating bread crust would also make my hair go curly.  I know this is definitely true because the more I ate bread crust growing up, the curlier my chest hair got.  Now it's like a Little Orphan Annie donated to "Locks of Love" and the recipient was my chest.

A Stupid Blogging Award

How come it seems that every blog I go to, the blog has won this stupid award from some website that thinks they are the ultimate authority when it comes to overall cuteness of blogs:

Now, I'm no blogging pro, or actually I like to think I am, but how on earth can EVERY blog win this award?  Doesn't that make the award a little meaningless for all the winners? And how does this website have time to visit EVERY blog and place the award in the corner?  Further, how do they know it is the cutest blog on the block?  Are they checking Google Earth and then cross checking it with registered blogs?  So pathetic.  I hope I never win this award.

Cheeseboy's Five Essential Life Spices for Blessed Bliss (Only $19.99)

Just as Steven R. Covey came out with his 7 Habits of Highly Successful Richyness and and Barney Meltzer released Ten Rules of High Performance Living  - I, Cheeseboy, have plotted my own set of guidelines to acquire a lifetime worth of money and glee.   I simply call it: Cheeseboy's Five Essential Life Spices for Blessed Bliss.  Followers of my plan need to simply add five essential spicy traits to their everyday life and they will soon be happy and rich beyond their wildest imaginations.  By purchasing my book for $19.99 (not really a book, more like a pamphlet - an extravagant, highly useful pamphlet), readers will learn the 5 essential "spices" of life.  Including:

1. Poshness (Refinement and high heeled footwear)

2. Scariness (An aggressive attitude and voluminously curly hair)

3. Baby-ness (Youthfulness, innocence, energy and pigtails)

4. Sportiness (Toughness, competitiveness and a tight fitting tracksuit)

5. Gingerness (Liveliness, zest and flaming red hair)

The pamphlet contains vital directions on how to add these sweet, saucy spices and succeed in life.  Examples of instruction include:

• How to marry a famous soccer player.
• How to get people to tell you what you want, what you really, really want.
• How to get with my friends.
• How to zig-a-zig ha.
• How to spice up your life. 
• How to give everything that joy can bring, yes I swear.
• How to gain popularity, fame and fortune with very little talent.
• How to obtain Girl (or Boy) Power. 

I for one, have begun sprinkling a little ginger spice into my morning routine and I have found that my zest appeal has shot through the roof.  At night, I shake a little Sporty Spice on my salad and I find myself wanting to fistfight passersby.  Before I go to bed, I take a Scary Spice capsule and when I wake up, I have to straighten my hair.

Everyday, people on the street come up to me and ask, "Cheeseboy, you are filled with such vigor and joy.  What's your secret?"  I explain that they can read it all in my new book-phlet for an easy $19.99.  These British chicks tried my program and just look how happy they are!

Call now and I will even throw in a CDR copy of Spice motivational tunes for you to enjoy while running on the treadmill or eating a loaf of bread. So call now!

A Lincoln & Calder original duet - "Called To Serve"

Be sure to stay tuned to the very end for Calder's Grand Finale!

Sick husbands are worthless pigs!

Being sick suits me well.  I should rephrase; I sometimes enjoy being sick.  The sitting around, the laziness and the added attention I get almost - almost, makes it all worthwhile.

Granted, I say this as I sit on our couch, my head pounding from a sinus headache and mucous entrenched to the inside of my throat like small, green leeches attached to the bare back of a boy.  I have, for once, the perfect excuse to sit on the couch all day and have Cathi wait on me.  If only I could find that service bell...

Unfortunately, a complication has arisen in my grand, sick scheme to garner attention and empathy from my beloved wife: She got sick first. Ugh.  The dreaded curse of the "wife gets sick first" strikes again.  Under normal circumstances, I obtain the dreaded malady first, thus forcing Cathi to fetch me treats and mugs full of liquid sugar, while I wipe my nose and toss the tissues on the floor for her to clean up later.      

Evidently, using an illness as a way to garner spousal attention is not an unusual behavior for most men to display in times of need.  As a man that works with many women - most of which are married - I am privy to many faculty room conversations in which said women denigrate and ruthlessly grumble about their husbands shortcomings and misgivings.  I have therefore heard more than a few stories about how a sick husband is about as useless as wet set of pantyhose.  

For example: "My husband said he was soooo sick yesterday.  He has a simple cold, but he made me dial the telephone for him.  He claims he was too weak to push the buttons!"  Or, "My stupid, weakling husband laid in bed last night and yelled at me to get him the remote.  The remote was at the end of his bed!  He only had a sore throat." 

Apparently I am not the only man that has caught onto this whole, "Help me honey. I'm sick and I can't move!" collusion.

Again here I sit, sick as a dog, with no one bringing me soup or asking me how I am doing. My beloved wife lived with this same congestive hell for the past week and continued to make dinner, take care of the boys and work.  Therefore, her sympathy for me has run thin as a peeled scab from Lincoln's leg.  It seems as though I am holding a pity party and I am the only one invited.  Now, could one of my readers bring me a hot bowl of soup or reach the remote for me on the floor?  I'm dying here.

Things I Have Had Trouble Opening

Calder loves markers.

He loves them - he really does.

The brief period in my life that I could have been considered "cool".

There was one point in my life that I was cool. I was 11. I say this with every ounce of humility (you will see why momentarily), I was one of the best eleven year old basketball players you would have ever seen.

Today I received in the mail a video of a basketball game that I played at this young age. I watched the entire thing in awe at my athletic ability. I counted 14 points that I scored in that game, including 12 within about five minutes to take the lead for my team. The amazing thing is that my entire team scored a total of 18 points. Needless to say, we won.

A year later, as a 12 year old, I recall scoring 35 points in a church game. I remember our team lost by about 20, but the opposing players congratulating me after the game. 35 points in one game - it may have been a high water mark on the coolness meter of my life.

About two weeks after my 35 point effort, I broke both my legs... at the same time. I was fitted with casts up to my thighs. Months later, I was fitted with casts to the knees. In all, I was out of commission for about 15 months. My basketball skills diminished and when I finally returned to action I was simply an above average player.

After a brief pause to watch a little NCAA basketball, I am looking at this post and wondering, "Why did I just write this? What was the point?" I suppose after watching myself, I felt like bragging a bit? Perhaps after watching the BYU game I was thinking my game was only 5 years prior to the last BYU tournament win? (He he!) Perhaps I was just thinking about what might have been? Perhaps I just took two nighttime cold meds and truth be told, I am not sure what it was I just wrote. Probably that last thing I just wrote.

As I watched myself run up and down the old Edgehill gym today, the strangest thing was how much I looked and moved like Lincoln. I felt like I was watching Lincoln, albeit a slightly older Lincoln , dribble pass and score. Hopefully, Lincoln never has to wear shorts up to his butt cheeks that give him a game long wedgie. I guess I was not as cool as I originally thought...

By the way, I now realize this is not my best work. However, tonight, given my fragile, sick state of mind, this is what Blog O' Cheese readers are going to get. My apologies to you and your families for the inconvenience.

Cease To Exist Order: Television Edition

I have been watching way too much TV lately. I have thus become annoyed by quite a few things I have witnessed. I therefore issue a Cease to Exist order for the following TV things:

1. Standing ovations on American Idol. Look, I know that you waited 8 months for your tickets to arrive, you have a huge crush (men and women) on Seacrest and the dorky singer just sang your favorite Kerry Underwood song, but do you really need to give a standing ovation for every performer? It makes you look like a pathetic audience. Which reminds me...

2. Booing every time an American Idol judge says anything remotely negative about any performer. They are called "judges" for a reason. They're not called "say nice things about every sucky singer people". I swear, they could put a bearded women in a swimsuit on stage, Simon would say, "I'm not all that thrilled with the beard", and the entire audience would break out in a chorus of boos.

3. Product placement on The Biggest Loser. This one has become more than annoying. Does Extra Sugar Free Gum really stop every craving? And apparently it HAS to be Extra Sugar Free. Trident just doesn't have the flavor crystals to battle the craving bug. And how much money is Subway giving NBC to have the contestants walk to one of their stores 4-5 times a season. Oh, and how can I forget how much better a choice Dannon yogurt is than ice cream. Um, riiiight... whatever Jillian says goes I guess.

4. "Sportscasters" that can't stop talking. Example: Just seconds after the Utes matchup with Arizona was announced, the two talking suits on CBS proclaimed that Arizona would pull off the upset. Really? In the 8 seconds since the matchup was made you have had time to think through the matchups and declare Arizona the winner? 8 seconds. And tell me, how many times have you seen the Utes play? That's right...once, maybe, just maybe twice.

5. The Bachelor. I'm sorry, this show has to end - and soon. Our country's women are getting progressively dumber because of this show.

6. Any show with "Kardashian" in the title. Also: any show with a Kardashian in it, a Kardashian that guests stars, a Kardashian that produces it, a Kardashian that watches it.

7. DJ Lance Rock's orange jumpsuit on Yo Gabba Gabba. Lance, it's time to mix things up a little wardrobe wise. How about a neon green jumpsuit or some nice purple velvet pajama pants? You know, something classy.

8. One final thing. I was going to order a Cease to Exist order for Paula Abdul, but honestly what would be the point?

Join Facebook cause of the causes.

Facebook wants to save the world.  Or rather, I should say Facebook members want to save the world.  

Without fail, each and every day I get a request from a fellow Facebooker, requesting that I join their "cause".   All I have to do is click "agree" and that small but meaningful act can move mountains.  In three short months on Facebook so far I have already:

Cured cancer (actual results pending)

Helped break up the BCS (results pending)

Removed Republicans from office (certainly would have not been possible without the Facebook cause I joined)

Gave a few starving African children a fighting chance (results still pending)

Kept Facebook free (results pending)

Saved the rainforests (results pending an investigation by Al Gore)

Kept fluoride in my tap water (results pending Lincoln's next dentist checkup)

Stopped Big Love from airing the temple show (apparently not enough people joined the cause - that's the only reason I can think of)

Of course, besides just joining a cause, you are invited to donate money.  Which is funny because I was recently invited to join a worthwhile Facebook cause and noticed that over 60,000 people had joined in the movement, but the grand total of cash that had been raised was $25.00.  60,000 people and $25!?  That's not even a penny per person.  I guess that tearing down the Statue of Liberty because the French gave it to us is just not as important to people as they say it is.  

I want to start a cause: "Cause to stop all Facebook causes", but as soon as I do I think that someone else will start a cause: "Cause to stop the cause to stop all Facebook causes".  And then what do I do?  

I'm really never sure what to do when I get invited to join a cause that I don't really agree with.  Like this new cause - "Put the Hogle Zoo gorilla down before she goes through much more pain."  The thing is, I like the Hogle Zoo gorilla and I think she's clearly a fighter.  I'm starting a retaliatory cause.  I'd appreciate it if you took a half second out of your day and clicked "agree" - Muke (the cancer gorilla) and I will greatly appreciate it.  (Also, if you want to donate to the cause and keep Muke alive for another month, I accept cash or money orders. (No refunds if/when Muke dies.))

2008-2009 - A great year to be a Ute!

Utah Football - MWC Champs, Sugar Bowl Champs, Only undefeated team in all of college football

Utah Basketball - MWC Champs, MWC Tournament Champs, NCAA results pending

Utah Women's Basketball - MWC Champs, MWC Tournament Champs, NCAA results pending

Utah Women's Gymnastics - Current #2 National Ranking, Nationals Pending

It's a great time to be a Ute!

[Stolen from Utefans.net]

Cheeseboy's Disneyland Top Moneymaking Schemes

The Potent Majesty that is The Samoa Cookie

The Samoa cookie.  I think that the only question that remains is: was it created by God or just one of God's right hand men - or should I say one of God's right hand girl.. scouts.

The great thing about the Samoa is that it has every food group in every cookie - dairy, fruit, grains and meat.  (They are called "Samoas" for a reason you know.)  Three cookies and you have yourself a full course meal.  You could live for a full year on 50 boxes. 

As one that is not a huge fan of coconut, I'd like to say, thank you coconut, for finally making something of your life.  You know those loser husbands that always say, "My wife makes me a better man."?  It's the same thing for the Samoa cookie - the cookie makes the coconut a better fruit.

The chocolate stripes over a hearty body is something those foolish cookie tree elves can still never master.  The cookie crisp middle makes the Twix candybar quiver with jealousy.  The caramel is mixed in the gold pots of the Caramel (by the sea) Indian Tribe of Northern California.  Each ingredient stands alone, but combined it is cookie ecstasy.

I once had a Samoan aide and I told her that I would love to visit the island - if only for all the cookies.  I imagined that the cookies were just falling from trees, or at the very least offered at the local grocers for much less than the normal $3.50 per box asking price.  I was jiggered and thunderstruck to learn that she had never even eaten a Somoa cookie before coming to the United States!  Further, when she came here and finally ate a Somoa cookie, she didn't even like them.  Blasphemy!  That would be like me not enjoying a good potato pancake or David Hasselhoff hating eating hamburgers off his living room floor.  There are just some cultures and foods that will be forever married through time and eternity.

So thank you Girl Scouts.  Thank you for standing outside Albertsons.  Thank you for bothering me in my classroom every year.  Thank you for well, just being.  I know nothing about your little legions of green clad squirts, but if anything, you are making the world a better place by providing Samoas.  

**Note:  This year, I did not receive my usual visit from the Girl Scouts after school to sell me cookies.  I was forced to stand in line outside Albertsons like the other ordinary, run-of-the-mill losers with delicious coco-coconut-caramel crisp on his mind.  When I finally reached the front, I noticed that the Samoas were gone.  Fortunately, the kindhearted 45 year old woman wearing a green beret and Girl Scout sash, reached down and grabbed the last two boxes.  My weekend was saved.  

One last thing: I think it the answer to my first question is God.  God made the Samoa cookie.  God's helpers make the Thin Mints.

Poor Hannah Montana - Will her misery ever end?

Hannah Montana [On Radiohead's refusal to meet her at the Grammies]: 
"I'm like, these are the people I really want to meet," she said. "I'd freak out. They're my rock gods. These are the only people that I would cry over…My manager asked and said, 'Miley's really obsessed. And they were like, 'We don't really do that.' "

Radiohead: 

"When Miley grows up, she'll learn not to have such a sense of entitlement."

He he he.  Poor, poor Miley will just have to go back to making her "music", posing nearly nude for magazines with her dad, going out with 21 year old men that are committing a felony by dating her and then selling out Provo's "Stadium of Fire" because she is "wholesome entertainment". 

BACON! by Jim Gaffigan

A little preview Jim uploaded today of his new special. All about delicious bacon.

A concerning email I received five minutes ago.

I am a little more than concerned because I just got an email from this lady:

Her name is "Irena" and she says she needs to talk to me.  Actually, she says:

I am interested and I want to talk with you.
But it is not so convenient to me to write to you on this site.
Please write to me on pryira@gmail.com
and I necessarily shall answer you.

I hope it's nothing serious - I am just not sure who this woman is.  Does she look familiar to anyone? Should I be replying in haste?

My new "Reactions" feature.

If you have not yet noticed, I have just added a new feature to the site: "Reactions".  Now you and your kin can personally give your positive feedback without having to actually place comments.  It's like a lazy man's mini comment.  Please enjoy and use at at will.

One other note: You can check more than one reaction.

Please feel free to NOT leave me a comment.

Blog comments.  It's not like I am begging for them. I mean, I could care less.  Leave them, don't leave them; I don't care.  Whatever.  

Here's what weird though.  Women will comment on each other's blogs as if they may be dying the next day...

SAMPLE:

We had a great weekend.  (Enter child's name here) took out the bubbles and started blowing bubbles all over the front room.  Our front room was filled with bubbles and it was just magic.  A magic bubblethon of adorability!!!  (Women bloggers use a lot of exclamation points!!!)

Here's a picture of (Enter child's name here) with bubbles all over his face.  Isn't he adorable!!!!!!

(Actual picture.  Not computer generated.)

Great post.  Real solid, right?  Probably took the blogger a good 15 minutes.  Within 20 minutes after posting the blogger has 10-15 comments just like these:

SAMPLE:

"Charlotte, you are soooo cute!  I just can't get enough of you.  You are the guiding light that beams through the mists of fog."

"Charlotte, little Joey is the most adorable thing I have ever seen!  Look at how he's reaching for the bubble - it's like the bubble is a puppy dog and he is trying to pop it.  Tell your cute husband hi."

"Charlotte - This picture is the most precious thing I have ever seen in my life.  I ran off 38 copies and posted them all over my cubicle.  Every time I look at it I think of Joey... and of you... but mostly of bubbles.  Love your blog."

Like I said, I don't need them.  Whatever.  I just wish I could just add a tracker after each post that could tell me how many people liked it.  In the meantime, I'll just dream up more colostomy bags of hope to keep the masses entertained.

Song of the Day: Electric President - Insomnia

Hey music fans - check out this song by Electric President.  I like to think of it as "eased magnetism".  But you don't have to take my word for it.

Something to give to my audience on the next episode of "Cheeseboy's Favorite Things".

Somebody at school brought these in today and I have to admit that I was more than a bit leery. I had tried the "Flaming Hot Cheetos" and they were downright disgusting.  These on the other hand were delicious.  I had four servings - that's 650 calories of pure cheddar bliss.  But, ZERO grams of trans fat because I am on a diet.

Don't Trust These People!

There are some people with jobs that I just don't trust. Sure, I know what your thinking; the usual politicians, lawyers, car salesmen and the like. Yeah, yeah, those folks are not to be trusted - but I am thinking more about those with more obscure occupations. Let me give you a few examples:

1. The crazy lady that watches the kids in the babysitting area at Smith's Marketplace. This is what I know about this lady: she's wearing an apron that is way too small for her. This is what I do not know about this lady: How many warrants she has out for her arrest.
Sure, take my kid lady... I just have to buy some pants and a spatula. Be back in a jiffy!

2. The old guy at Mr. Mac. Apparently, if you have a measuring tape in your hand you are allowed to touch me in whatever way necessary to ensure a nice pant fit. You would think that after all these years these guys would be able to eyeball it. Although the thought of some old guy "eyeballing" me may actually be more creepy.


3. The lady that puts my luggage on that moving belt at the airport. That's my stuff and now it's gone. She put a tag on it, but the tag just has those coupon lines on it. I don't trust this lady. She took my stuff and labeled it with a glorified coupon. I'll never see that stuff again.


4. The gal that seats us at a busy restaurant. Nobody trusts these girls. Are they really seating people in the order that they came? I know we have these round buzzers in our hand that they gave us when we came in, but aren't they the ones that push the buzzer buttons? Do these girls have some sort of vendetta against me and that is why the couple that clearly came in after us went ahead of us? Did I do something to offend this girl when I walked through the door? Have I asked her about our table one too many times. I hate that smug look on her face, like she owns the place.
No 17 year old girl with sparkly lip gloss should ever have this much power in life.


5. Jared Fogle Yeah right Jared. An all sandwich diet, ahem. Who would have known - all it took was wheat instead of white and 6 inches instead of a foot long?! It took Jared and his bag of lies to come along and show us how Subway can make us live longer. I don't trust you Jared. I don't trust you one bit. I bet your old job was taking luggage at airports.

*Editors note: Unless Jared shows up at the Subway I am eating at, I will still enjoy a nice Spicy Italian.

The new, improved colostomy bag.

Editor's note: I promised my dad, Clark, that I would not blog about poop anymore.  Well dad, I've done well.  However, tonight I just couldn't help myself.  Because of your brilliant idea, I dedicate this post to you.

One other Editor's note - the picture on the left of the colostomy bag is evidently a colostomy bag used by those in the "Dharma Initiative".

My dad is a genius.  Tonight after dinner, our conversation drifted into worlds unknown and he informed my brother and I that he was thinking of creating a biodegradable colostomy bag.  Not your ordinary biodegradable colostomy bag, but a biodegradable colostomy bag that would disintegrate when dropped into the toilet.  That way, those unfortunate enough to have colostomy bags would no longer have to empty the contents of said colostomy bag into the toilet; rather, they would just unzip, drop and plop.  No more mess, no more disgusting cleanup - it is a breakthrough product equivalent to the disposable diaper.  Now you know that these are the kind of conversations we have in my family.

This conversation reminded me of the days my mother would bend over and rinse out cloth diapers in the toilet - toilet diapers!  The other day Calder threw a magazine in the toilet while proclaiming "This goes in here!" I almost threw up just reaching in and fishing the mushy paper out.  And to think, my mom used to purposefully stick her hand in the toilet, many times a day in fact - on purpose!  If that does not spell h-e-r-o, I am not sure what does.

I am now reminded of a conversation that Lincoln and I had just the other day after Calder threw the magazine in the toilet.  It went something like this:  (I kid you not, this conversation really did happen - exactly like this.)

Abe: Calder!  Magazines don't go in the toilet. The only thing that goes in the toilet is toilet paper!  That's it!

Lincoln: But what about poop and pee dad?

Abe: Okay Calder, poop, pee and toilet paper.  That is all that goes in the toilet.

Lincoln: There was something weird mom left in there the other day dad.

Abe: Okay - mom is different.  She can put what she wants in the toilet.  But for you boys, the only thing that goes into the toilet is poop, pee and toilet paper.

Lincoln: What about a dead goldfish?

Abe: Ah crap!  Okay okay, the only thing that goes in the toilet is poop, pee, toilet paper and dead goldfish.  But that is all.

And now, when Grandpa gets his new invention patented, I'm going to have to tell Calder, "Okay Calder, the only things that go in the toilet are: poop, pee, toilet paper, dead goldfish and Grandpa's biodegradable, disintegrating colostomy bags."  You try and explain that to a three year old.  Thanks dad. 

**By the way, I honestly think that Lincoln spent the rest of the night thinking of things that are "appropriate" to go in the toilet.  I say that because like 45 minutes after the initial conversation about things that go into the toilet, he sat next to me and out of nowhere said, "What about throw up dad?"

Things I Have Used Tires For

Two very important and newsworthy bits of entertainment news.

It just so happens that I found this exciting information today, on my anniversary.  Coincidence? I think not.

NEW JIM GAFFIGAN SPECIAL

Set your DVR's for Comedy Central on March 29th.

"King Baby"  

Can't wait!

Secondly, I just received word that Spinal Tap will be touring soon!

Unfortunately, they will be touring with less hair.  

I hope they stop in Utah.  I would love to see the patron saint of quality footwear in person.

In other news, in my First Grade class, my student teacher was corrected twice by students for her lack of skill in English:

One kid informed her that it wasn't "sanitizer" it is pronounced "hand-itzer".

Another kid told her that it wasn't "Mississippi" it is pronounced "Misses Hippy".

I hate license plate holders.

I saw a car today with the license plate holder that said, "My kids are cuter than yours."  REALLY?  Your kids are cuter than mine AND you drive a 1992 Dodge Stratus?  Truly yours IS a charmed life.

I also recently saw a license plate holder that said, "My Lord is my copilot."  REALLY?  I can see your Lord and she is a 350 pound woman wearing a white, stained tank top.

Another favorite of mine is the always touching ode to a lover: "Steve and Michelle - Always together forever."  Ahh.  Michelle looks a lot like an empty seat.

I saw this one on State Street the other day and it really caught my attention: "Caution... PMS victim"  The nice thing about this one is that it works for either a man or a woman driver.  They had their window open and I thought about pulling up and throwing a few maxi pads at them.

Finally, one of the most common license plate holder I have seen on the road (mostly on minivans) says, "Proud parent of an eagle scout."  Sure, it says, "Proud parent of an eagle scout" but what it's really saying is, "Proud parent of a future Mountain Man Rendezvous zealot -  now where's my bolo tie and handkerchief?  I've got a committee meeting to attend over at the stakehouse - pronto!"

A word from Skittles

We interrupt the normal Blog O' Cheese nonsense for a message from Skittles.

First Grade racism?!

I apologize to those that may have heard this story.  I felt that at some point in my life it needed to be blogged.  I am therefore blogging this blog now.  Blog.

This story happened three years ago during my second year of teaching.  The names have been changed to protect Kayden and Alexandria. (The actual children in the story.)  

Me: Class, we would like to welcome Maria into our class.  She is a new student and we need to make her feel welcome.  Maria, will you come up please? [Maria comes up]

Me... again: Hello Maria.  Welcome to our class.  What is your last name Maria?  [Maria is a Hispanic child that has not learned much English yet.  She stands and stares, dumbfounded at my question.]

Me: Maria, do you know your last name?  [Just stands and stares.]

Kevin [Sitting in front row]: IT'S PROBABLY ON HER GREEN CARD!

Me: KEVIN! Why did you say that?!  I need to talk to you in the hall right now!

[Kevin and I venture into the hall.]

Me: Kevin, I have never heard anything so rude.  Why would you say something so cruel?

[Kevin now looks like Maria.  He just shrugs his shoulders and stares.]

Me: Kevin!?  Why would you say that about Maria?!

Kevin: [Almost whispering]: Well, I thought her name might be on her green card.  You know, the ones we take to the office if people aren't here.

- Our attendance cards were green this year. -

Me: Oh Kevin, I am soooo sorry.  I thought you meant that she... I thought you were saying that Maria's name would be...Oh, nevermind Kevin.  I really didn't mean to get angry with you.  I am really, really sorry.

Kevin [Still a bit stunned as he rarely, if ever got in trouble.  Especially the kind of trouble in which Mr. Yospe turns into a raging maniac.]: It's okay.

Me: Really?  Are you alright Kevin?  I am really sorry I got that mad.

Kevin: Yeah, I'm okay.

I should have known that a First Grader wouldn't know what a green card is.

I was a little concerned however when Kevin brought a long, white, pointed hood for show and tell the next day.

Also, looking back at my play, I now realize that Maria does not have any speaking parts.  The main crux of the role is to be able to stand and look confused.

So what's the big deal about the Bachelor?

I don't watch the Bachelor.  In fact, I can't think of a more mind-numbing, doltish, ghastly way to spend an hour of my life.  Nevertheless, everywhere I turn - from the news to facebook to the water cooler at work - everyone (or shall I say every WOMAN) was talking about how disappointed they were in the Bachelor.

I have no idea what happened on the show last night to create such a landslide of infuriated estrogen filled venom.  I mean, what did women expect of this slimeball, pernicious load of crap? 

So what did this bachelor do that has all these gals in a tizzy and ready to implode?  I'm not sure, but I think I might have an idea...

He had a missionary he was waiting for during the entire taping.

He left the toilet seat up, not once - but twice!

He gave every woman on the show Herpes.  (There is a good chance that this actually did happen.)

He took one of the girls to a Jazz game and sat in the (gasp!) UPPER BOWL!

He got a text from a girl and did not return said text in a timely manner.

He refused to get in a hot tub for the 9th time in one day.

He was really a woman.

He filled out form 1040 for his taxes when he clearly needed to fill out form 1040b.

He picked the ugly girl.

He nauseatingly made out with 6 girls in one episode.  Wait, hold on.  I am receiving word that this happens in every episode.

He "twittered" when he clearly should have "twattered".

In the final live scene, when asked by the woman he chose if he really loved her, he looked over to the producers and asked. "LINE... LINE PLEASE!"

No dinner for Abe.

Cathi went to some RS thing tonight and I was left to finish the Mac & Cheese for the boys. 

I dished out one bowl for Lincoln, one bowl for Calder and they went at it.

I got down a glass and filled it with ice for a refreshing Fresca beverage.

I filled a bowl with delicious Mac & Cheese and set it on the counter next to my glass.

I then went to the fridge and pulled out the Fresca.

I then walked over to the counter and proceeded to dump Fresca all over my Mac & Cheese.

Upon hearing my "fake" swearwords like "oh crap", Lincoln could not stop laughing.

Friday marks the magic number 11.

Friday marks 11 years of marriage for me and me lady. It seems I have learned a thing or two. Some stuff I've learned about marriage in 11 years:

All food is delicious.
The nicer car always belongs to the lady.
When in doubt if you should or should not call, always call.
There is a right and wrong way to load the dishwasher. Try to stick with the right way.
Never ask more than three times , "What's the matter?"
The only polite thing to do is wash your toothpaste waste down the drain.
If you are thinking , "9 holes or 18?" - always, always go 9.
Finally, it's the easiest thing in the world to be married 11 years if your wife is named Cathi and she is as sublime, fair and solicitous as my Cathi. Good luck finding one.