They say couples really start to look alike. I am not sure "they" meant in second grade.

Saturday Graph: Places Bad 80's Hair Bands Now Live

Never take advice from woman's magazines.

Help. My bathroom is being overrun with woman's magazines. From Shape to Fit. From Woman's Day to Parents, we have estrogen inserts fluttering around our bathroom like feathers on the wind. And they're all right there in my toilet side reading tin, just tempting me to read them. And so I do.

I have quickly come to realize that every article in a woman's magazine can fit into one of three categories: 1. How to have better sex 2. How to get skinny while not dying in the process 3. How to not destroy your children. And of course, many of these articles delve into two or all three of these categories.

I was reading Redbook the other day during one of my so called "reading times" when I came across a very disturbing article. "Sex Up Your Mole Check"

I'm no sexologist and I'm no dermatologist, but what I am is a mole-avoidologist.

Sex up your mole check? I'd rather not.

Some things are just not meant to be "sexed up".

Haircut night goes awry.

Well... Well... Well... uhhhh.

Calder needed a haircut. Badly.

Lets just say, he was getting a little bit scraggly.



















Calder hates haircuts. But we wanted him to have a buzz for summer.

We took him to Grandma McPheeters. She got out the old clippers.

45 torturous minutes of squealing and squirming and blood curdling screams later (and some hair pulling attachments that didn't work), we ended with this - no joke, this:

Ketchup Packets

Cathi loves ketchup packets. She swears they taste better than ketchup from a bottle. It is for this reason that I dedicate this Jim Gaffigan clip to her.

Song of the Day: The Album Leaf - Always For You

Good golly, I love this song. The Album Leaf is a solo project of some dude, I forget his name. I gave it a listen on my St. George trip and ended up listening to the entire thing five or six times. There are only four songs on the album that actually have lyrics and this is one of them. Listen to it more than once and it will give you some serious brain itch.

Hobitville: REVEALED!

Okay, let me give you the straight stuff - the lowdown on the schmodown - the four... one... one. Set the record straight - for once and for all.

Hobitville

Give it a rest people, it's not that cool.

It's not enchanted.

It's not even bewitched.

It's really not special at all.

It's just a gully where a bunch of hippies rent houses. In fact, I drove by the other day and there is a place for rent now, if you're interested.

Allow me to explain. Growing up my backyard was Hobitville... or Midget Town... or Allan Park Drive. It was incredible! Beyond the my back gate there were acres upon acres of wooded area, all for a young lad's enjoyment. We played war, capture the flag and built forts. We had a world class tree house - a real state of the art gem with all the amenities. During Halloween, we created the most incredible Haunted Woods that a group of 12 year olds has ever built. All this was ours, right in the middle of the city, and we loved it. Truthfully, it was every boy's fantasy. (I mean, besides Cindy Crawford at the time)

It as a well known rule of thumb that we were to stay on our side of the stream. As long as we kept our distance, the residents of Hobitville could have cared less about our boyish adventures. That's not to say that we didn't dare each other to cross the stream.

Yes, I in fact had taken the dare - many times in fact. I recall being yelled at by a ratty looking fat lady wearing a dirty white tank top and no bra. I remember when my dog ran away and my mom sent me down there to fetch him. There he was, sitting on the porch of a 20 something year old man smoking pot. (The man, not the dog) He was very gracious and sent me on my way with my dog in tow.

Because of my jaunts into Allen Park, I think I know a thing or two about the place.

There are no hobits, trolls, or goblins that live there. Not a single one. There may have, at one time or another, been a midget or two that lived down there, but in 18 years, I never saw one.

There are in fact rocks with clever sayings written on them like ""Give me men to hatch the mountains" and ""the night has a thousand eyes" and "camera surveillance".

Yes, the houses look like they came straight out of the shire, but there are no hobits living in them.

While researching for this article, I learned that the place is in fact a registered bird sanctuary. I wish I would have known that when I was shooting them with my BB gun.

The place is infested with hippies. Young and old... hippies everywhere.

There is in fact a new goat in the gated area at the front of the place. We noticed a new goat is rotated in and the old goat taken out every 3-4 months.

The hippies will call the cops on you if you drive in through at night time. The cops will actually patrol Hobitville.

They are not hobit cops.

One of the cops may or may not be a midget. He's one of those in-between "idgets" that I am not really sure about.

The hippies did offer my neighbor goat meat once, telling him that they, "only needed the hooves and horns".

My neighbor may have told us boys that story just to scare us.

Growing up, I was awoken in the middle of the night on several occasions by the sound of a drum circle. When I looked out the window to see what was going on, I swear the entire gully was glowing a bright green.

That last thing I said may or may not have been a recurring dream I had. I am still trying to figure it out.

So, there you have it: Hobbitville - Population: zero hobits and 75 angry hippies.

See, I told you. Really not that cool. But, if you want in, there is a place for rent. The only qualification you must have is that you must be under 4' 6" and have a name like "Gimli".

FYI: Hobitville, AKA Hobittown, AKA, Allen Park Drive is on 1300 east, just above Westminster College. I grew up on Westminster Ave.

3 things I realized on our mini-vacation to Leeds.

We're back. I'm sure nobody cares. Well, maybe you don't care - but you do anyway - because you're just that kind of person. Thanks for pretending. Nevertheless, we just completed a two day excursion into the vast wilds of Leeds, Utah, 10 miles north of St. George.

We generally visit secluded, farmlanded Leeds two or three times a year as Cathi's parents own a lovely home there. It is generally quiet, quaint and actually quite quail filled. (It's not that I needed another "Q" word here, which I did; I actually did almost run over an entire family of quail - babies and all. I actually should have run them over as it would make for a much more interesting story than I am sharing here)

This trip, for me, was one of self discovery. I am not speaking of deep, moving, soul searching of which I have no patience for. I am speaking of 3 minute, rather cloying details about myself that I happened to pick up on.

1. I am a very slow highway driver. I usually set the autopilot for 5 miles per hour UNDER the speed limit. I'm slow. If I were a racehorse, I would be a Clydesdale. If I were a restaurant, I'd be the Cheesecake Factory. If I were running track, I would be the white guy. I was so slow, Cathi's MOM beat us to our destinations - and she is old! (Not real old, but she's at least 60 I think)

As I chugged along, I noticed the only things I passed were trucks towing boats and semis - and even then, some semis were passing ME! Now, don't get me wrong - I am a very polite driver. I never cut people off in the fast lane, I always give the right away to the "ultra-fasties" as I like to call them and I never fail to signal. UF's have no right complain about me.

I've often wondered why I am such a slow driver and I think that I figured it out during my five hours on the road this trip. I recall watching a movie, it may have been Meet the Parents 2, in which a grown woman is driving with her father. They are traveling so slowly, folks are honking and giving them the finger as they drive by. The girl turns to her dad and asks, "Do you always drive this slowly?" Her father replies, "Only when you're in the car, honey."

2. I am refattening up for my role as "fat guy" in the movie called "life". My pants aren't fitting right, I've noticed a protruding belly and my acid reflux has returned in full force. I'm not sure why this is, I have kept up my running routine at nearly 100%. I'm not ruling out my diet, which - during the past week ("Teacher Appreciation Week") has included two meals at Cafe Rio, and one at Wendy's, Burger King, Iceburg and One Man Band. In addition, the kids brought me my favorite candy: Milkyway and Sour Patch Kids. I have been gorging these like Ryan Seacrest eats "second breakfasts". But hey - the jogging should have worked all that off, right?

3. Hiking for 3 hours to see a few Indian writings on some rocks in 95 degree heat and no shade is only worth it if your 7 year old son is amazed by them when you finally get there.

Saturday Graph: What I do at a Rest Stop

Will the Janitor

When I was young, I was a school sweeper boy. From ages 14-19 I swept, mopped, buffed, vacuumed, emptied garbage; all for $7.50 an hour. It was a dream job really. I only worked two hours after school each day, drank free soda and most importantly - I got to work with my very best friends.

It was while we were employed at Dilworth Elementary that we first met "Will".

Will was the Head Night Custodian. He had retired and was looking for a little extra cash to make ends meet. He was a friendly guy; frumpishly cheerful, eternally optimistic, eager to work and an all around good guy. Each day when we left, he would give us a friendly wink and say in his gruff, elderly voice, "You guys have a good one!"

Why was it that we were constantly pulling pranks on Will? He was such a gentle man, with such good intentions. It is for this reason that I still feel badly about what happened that doleful eve.

As part of our benefits as sweeper boys, we were allowed to take as much chocolate milk from the cafeteria freezer as we liked. Each night, as we finished our shift, we would find time to enjoy a good coco froth together like good ole boys. We had some good times.

My friend Hadley and I knew the exact time in which Will would journey into the cafetorium for his nightly free milker. In our cruelest brains, we had conjured up a plan so devious, so maniacally cruel, we just knew Will would love it.

For some strange reason, it seemed as though we had a gorilla and a monster mask in our possession. We pulled the masks over our frail, 14 year old heads and went to wait inside giant milk refrigerator for Will to get his milk.

I will never forget that old man's face as he opened the door to that fridge. We jumped out with milk ablaze and monkey ears steaming, yelling "HELLO WILL!" Will's eyes quickly got as large as those breakfast potato things at McDonalds and he awkwardly backed into the table behind him. After a few moments, he finally realized that it was us and what had actually happened.

Our laughter turned to immediate guilt. Here we were, making a 70 year old man hyperventalate and nearly stopping his heart. As he sat there staring at us, he clearly was getting more and more upset. We apologized profusely and acknowledged that we were both in fact, huge jackasses.

When we left that evening was it was the first time that Will did not give us the old, "You have a good one guys!"

Song of the Day: Crystal Castles - Untrust Us

I have been a nerd my entire life, but I am just starting to realize how big a nerd I actually am. My recent affection for electronic music proves just how large a dork I have become. This song comes from the greatest electronic band of them all: Crystal Castles. Enjoy Untrust Us - a great tune with much rhythm and jive.

No, I don't want to get in your hot tub!

"Come and sit in my hot tub!"

Uh, no thank you.

I mean, I appreciate the offer to sit in a moat of your family's insidious filth, but I'm going to have to pass.

My neighbor has a hot tub and a pool. He is constantly asking if I want to sit in the tub. I have done my share of swimming in the pool, but I stay at least ten feet away from that hot tub at all times. I wouldn't touch that thing with a ten foot pole, even if the ten foot pole was one of those poles with a net on the end to clean out pools with.

I've always wanted to carry a retractable ten foot pole in my front pocket - and then, when someone would say the whole, "I wouldn't touch it with...", I'd pull out my pole and then double dog dare them.

Last night we had a BBQ for all the youth in our ward at our house. When they got done, they all headed over to the neighbors for a pool/hot tub party. As I gallivanted over, I could hear the splashing, mud mucking and sloppy liquescent sounds of 15 pubescent (and prepubescent) youth sitting together in a puddle of their own putridity. When I arrived, the cries of, "Abe, get in! It's nice in here." rang from the brackish, juice filled tub. No thanks. When my swim diapered Calder joined the fray, I knew that adding urine to their hot tub concoction was inevitable.

Where did the idea of hot tubbing first take shape? Where the cavemen sitting around in each other's hot springs, hoping not to spread syphilis to each other? "Grunt... you...grunt...come...sit...now...grunt...my...hot...grunt...water. We... share... body hair...grunt... parasite... in small...grunt... pool of water. After all..grunt... we are cave neighbors."

Okay, okay, so you can't get syphilis from a hot tub. However, I looked it up and you can get the following from hot tubs: Skin rash, skin fungus, diarrhea, alcoholism, leprosy, depression, pregnancy and disembowelment. In fact, last year in the Raging Waters hot tub, I swear I saw a big toe floating around. It was either a big toe or a small poop - not sure.

Hot tubbing is a lot more fun if you are a kid. When I was a kid, my friend invited me over to sit in his hot tub. We would stay underwater and breath on the air bubble valve for 20 minutes. I'm not sure if that is safe or healthy, but I do know now that if I am ever being chased by a raving maniac, I can hide underwater in my neighbors hot tub. My skin will rot off, but it would be better than getting shot in the brain, right?

So just how close to we have to be for me to jump in your hot tub with you? I will get in your hot tub if we are married. I would say that if you were my son, we could share a tub, but have you seen the water in the bathtub after my boys get out? Beyond that, I think that I will keep the bathing of my body in warm water to myself and my shower.

NEVER mix religion with First Grade!

It seems that my class is on a roll. They are supplying me with endless comedy gold lately. In fact, our conversations seem to have taken an inadvertent religious turn lately. Here are a few examples:

Mr. Cheeseboy: [Asking the group a series of First Grade questions] What country is directly above the United States?

Thomas: [thinking real hard] Heaven???
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During Christmas time we were discussing how different cultures celebrate the holidays. When we were done learning, the students were asked to write about which celebration is their favorite and one thing they learned. Anthony wrote: "I like Hanukkah because people remember Jesus."
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During my first year of teaching, after reading the book DOGzilla, I asked the kids, "Does anyone know who GODzilla is?" Kyler responded, "Yeah, he is the one that made all the ZILLAS."
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A couple days ago, we were discussing the word "dumb" and why it is mean to call someone that word. I was explaining that "dumb" used to mean someone that could not hear or talk. Emma chimed in, "Yeah, and it also means that you are really, really happy." I think she had her bad words that you shouldn't say mixed up.
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Just yesterday we had the cracks on our playground filled with tar. The kids were continually playing with it - pulling it up and getting it all over themselves. When we came in from recess, I very firmly told them, "Tar is awful. It's sticky and gross and if you get it on your clothes, it will NOT come out! If you go home with tar all over yourselves, your mom is going to kill you!"

Thomas [again Thomas] says, "Is that why they put tar on Joseph Smith?"

Yes Thomas, they put tar on Joseph Smith because they knew when he got home, he was going to really get it from his mom.

News items I could care less about.

Here are some stories in the news that I have zero interest in and wish they would just go away:

1. The relationship status of John and Kate. I don't care who John is dating. I don't care if he is unfaithful. I don't care if Kate is a jerk. I don't care if they are getting divorced. I don't care that they have 1,000 kids. I don't care if they have a show on some network no one has ever heard of. I don't care.

2. What Miss California thinks about gay marriage. Also, I don't care if she had naked photos of her taken when she was 18. I've never heard of her before and I would have liked to keep it that way.

3. Any news about the Bachelors or former Bachelors or former women on The Bachelor or the host of The Bachelor. I don't care.

4. Michael Phelps

5. The yo yo weight of Kristie Allie. Don't care. Oprah's interview about yo you diet: I care less than not caring, if that's possible.

6. Anything involving a new flare up of the Swine Flu and potential deaths in the fall. Fool me once...

7. Stories about how the recession is making us fat and unhealthy. Care I don't. Also, blaming the recession for every problem ever.

8. Did I mention John & Kate Plus 8 news? I don't like them, I don't care about them and I don't want to hear about them.

9. Michelle Obama's arms. Nice arms. Don't care.

10. Information on Max Hall's full bodied spandex workout routine by Dick Harmon. Who does care about this?

Saturday Graph: How My Beard Ages Over Time

Walter Duckface: MYSTERY SOLVED!

Well, it didn't take long, but my brother Ike, the same brother that I dedicated the Duck Face post to, solved the mystery. Read his inspiring rundown here.

Thanks Ike. You are truly a Full House amazement. Bless you.

Full House: The Mystery of Duck Face

I hereby dedicate this post to my brother Ike. There may not be a single person in this world that would find entertainment in this post, but I know that Ike will - and that is why I wrote it specifically for him. This one goes out to you, Little Bro!

Way back in 1987 there was a certain television show that captivated the country. The show featured: a handsome, future ER doctor, a washed up Bullwinkle impressionist, a baby that would eventually morph into two people and finally end up as bulimic scarecrow sisters. And of course, Bob Sagget. It was a recipe for success from the get go.

As time has passed and the characters have gone their separate ways, one question remains... what in heaven's name happened to Duck Face?!

Duck Face only appeared in two episodes. He was a young lad, probably only nine; short, with giant glasses and a rosy attitude. He was very polite and well mannered, almost to a fault. He reminded me of a young, less self-indulgent Eddy Haskel. Duck Face had a single downfall – whenever he was not speaking, his lips formed a duck shaped bill. It was an invidious and annoying habit that continued loathsomely throughout the entire episode. In a blink of an eye, Duck Face, the controversial and series changing permutation was grafted into existence.

Duck Face loved little Stephanie Tanner. He brought her flowers, candy hearts and an undying love. Yet, poor Duck Face was cursed with duck shaped lips. One sight of this gruesome disfigurement sent innocent little Stephanie into hysterics. In her eyes, Duck Face could have been dating Mother Theresa (could she date?), have the body of Matthew McConaughey, the brains of Abe Cheeseboy and the only thing she would be able to see were those appallingly slobbery, pancaked lips. Duck Face was doomed with the ladies upon conception (apparently with a duck).

I am not sure who had a better chance at scoring a chick: Duck Face looking for a human girl or a duck with human lips trying to score with a lady duck. If ducks did have human lips, would we still hunt ducks? I’m not so sure… but if a cow had human lips, there is no doubt we would still eat steak. – At least I would. Unless of course, the steak came with a side of cow lips, in which case I would ask the waiter to replace the cow lips with French fries.

Alas, poor unrelenting Duck Face’s time in the Tanner household came to a hapless and pathetic end after just two episodes. So where is Duck Face now? Some say he married Brittney Spears in Vegas and quickly divorced. Some say he is a plastic surgeon, specializing in disfigurements of the lips. Some say he became the lead singer of Smashing Pumpkins. Some even say that he made a pilgrimage to Utah, joined the Mormon Church, had a lead role in the movie, “Church Ball” and then was arrested in Provo a bunch of times… Maybe I am thinking of someone else?

And so my quest begins. I have googled and I have twittered. I have yahoo’d and I have asked Jeeves. Yet, much to my solemn dismay, Duck Face remains aloof and mislaid. Surely, his freakish duck mouth must haunt him. Surely, his days amongst the Bob Sagget may habitat his nightly nightmares. Undoubtedly he is somewhere in this great big world of ours, staring out into the night sky singing softly to himself: “Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight. Someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight. Somewhere out there someone's saying a prayer. That we'll find one another in that big somewhere out there.”

Say a prayer for Duck Face tonight. Make it a good one, with lots of “Thees” and “Thines”. God listens to those kinds of prayers more than regular ones.

Tomorrow: The Life Story of Kimmy Gibler.

Song of the Day: Various Artists - Give a Kidney!

Today's Song of the Day is a very special one. Give a kidney - save a life!

15 school days left until summer and memories of summers gone by.

15 days! Correction: 15 school days. That is all that stands in my way of summertime bliss. Please allow me to take a trip down the Cheeseboy memory lane of summers gone by.

Summer of 92' (Head Gear: Kick A flat top)
And think of the summers of the past
Adjust the base and let the alpine blast
Pop in my cd and let me run a rhyme
And put your car on cruise and lay back cause this is summertime.

Summer of 99'?? (Head Gear: Buzz)
I got my first real six-string
Bought it at the five-and-dime
Played 'til my fingers bled
It was summer of '99

Summer of 94' (Head Gear: Sweet A bowl cut. Just started dating Cathi)
He got friendly, holdin' my hand
Well she got friendly, down in the sand
He was sweet, just turned eighteen
Well she was good, you know what I mean

Summer of 89' (Head Gear - A Karate Kid bandana. Recovering from broken legs)
It's a cruel, (cruel), cruel summer
Leaving me here on my own
It's a cruel, (it's a cruel,) cruel summer
Now you're gone

Summer of 98' (Head Gear: Missionary haircut. Picturing Cathi from PA)
And I can see you
you brown skin shining in the sun
you got your hair combed back
sunglasses on baby

Summer of 90' (Head Gear: Bad acne.)
Summertime and the livin's easy
Bradley's on the microphone with Ras-MG
All the people in the dance will agree that we're well qualified to represent the LBC

Song of the Day: MGMT - Kids

I rarely if ever listen to the radio, however this past week I happened to pop on X96 and heard this song not once, but twice. I was somewhat surprised as songs and bands I like rarely go mainstream. This is a fantastic tune though and is in fact a remake. MGMT's album last year was certainly one of the years best (sorry Spencer I know you disagree) and this is It is one of the best running songs of all time. (I think you may agree with that Spencer) By the way, I am not sure what is up with the KISS face paint. And Spencer, who performed this song originally? Oh, and the cuts to Full House in the video are great.

I was once a very jealous person. Marriage kinda ended that.

Jealously is my worst human fault. (Was it one of those 7 deadly sins in that sin movie with Brad Pitt?) Since getting married, I have almost overcome this deficiency. However, I still have minute moments of jealous passion that come and go. I think that I get this from my mother, who - despite urging me to get over my jealousies throughout my life, always seems slightly jealous herself when discussing my dad's former girlfriends.

Cathi, on the other hand, is an anti jealous freak of nature. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes her jealous. In fact, one Christmas I came home from teaching school, ecstatic at the first opportunity to make my wife jealous. During my day at school, we had a visit from the West Jordan High Madrigals. (A singing group) The ladies in the choir performed a special number in which they pulled me out of the crowd, dressed me up as Santa, sat on my lap, sang to me and then kissed me on the cheek. All 10 of them! When I proudly told my wife of my fortune that day, she laughed. Then she laughed harder. And then she laughed some more. I explained that these were actually really cute girls (albeit only 17 or 18), and this only increased her laughter ten fold. My hope at sparking her first jealous moment turned quickly into MY shame and embarrassment.

Now, being married to a very attractive lady is harder than it looks. I am constantly told how beautiful my wife is. This past month alone I must have been told 10 times by different parties how beautiful Cathi is. It has happened so often in 11 years, I have nothing left to do but nod in agreement and say a quiet, "thank you". This has become such a frequent occurrence that I have begun pretending that it is actually a compliment aimed at me - for I am the one that scored such a bodacious babe! But alas, in the dark bowels of the eve, when the crock croweth midnight, I lay in my bed and I know that the compliment was not mine at all - but it is for the one laying next to me.

I have actually been very proud of the fact that even though my wife receives constant attention because of her looks, I have remained, for the most part, without jealousy. I think that part of it is that being married for 11 years will do that to you... and part of it is that I may have matured a bit. Nevertheless, when I stumbled upon a former boyfriend of Cathi's on facebook the other day, another tiny twinge of jealousy pulsed through my body.

I believe that this certain fella that I stumbled upon actually dated Cathi before I started to date her, and much to my chagrin, dated her again while I was on my mission. Fortunately, they went their separate ways (I think he actually went on his own mission) and Cathi waited out the rest of the time for me.
Anyway, any jealousies that still remained quickly faded into nothingness when I saw this dude's profile. This is what I learned:

• He weighs approximately 20-30 pounds more than me.
• He has one ugly Goatee. (Cathi hates facial hair)
• His kids are not nearly as cute as mine.
• He has much less hair than I do.
• He likes country music. (Okay this one actually may backfire because Cathi likes that crap too)
• His wife is not nearly as cool as mine.
• He is not really funny at all.
• He has a boring job.
• He makes much more money than I do. (Again, this is probably not something I should list)
• He must be a BYU fan. (They never end up with the hot girl)
• IN THE END, I - AND NOT HIM - MARRIED THE COOLEST GIRL IN THE WORLD!

EAT IT LOSER!

Jealousness officially over.

Chuck-A-Rama: Tribute.

I have not been to Chuck-A-Rama, commonly referred to as "Up" Chuck-A-Rama, or "Puke Your Guts Out" A-Rama, for at least three years and my bowels thank me. Chuck-A-Rama is a Utah tradition, an establishment so to speak. When the pioneers crossed the plains, their dream included a place where they could settle peacefully and practice their religion. Their secondary dream was to establish a place in which they could gather and gorge themselves with mediocre (at best) chicken wings and giant, soggy french fries. Thank goodness, Brother Chuck A. Rama made it through across the treacherous plains with his oxen. He may have lost a toe or two in the bitter cold, but his legacy has endured.

During my visits to the Chuck Wagon, I have come to realize that there are four different types of people that eat there: Rednecks, Polynesians, Redneck Polynesians and people that have been dragged there by Rednecks, Polynesians or Redneck Polynesians. Most of my visits of the Crusty Crabcakes have come because my extended family members are in a white trash sort of mood.

I've never been to Samoa or Tonga, but I imagine there must be a Chuck Town on every corner there. I bet they just build them into the back of their Mormon churches and that is why they like to go there so much on Sundays.

The thing about the Chuck Fest that I find very irritating is that the owners have a strong belief that food is best served under ultra hot heat lamps. In fact, it seems that they believe that the longer the food is under the heat lamps, the tastier it must get. I am of the personal belief that the only good thing that ever comes from heat lamps are baby chicks. And even then, when the adorable chicks hatch from their sharpened shell, they are flabbergasted to find that their mother is actually really hot - and even though their mother is smoking hot, the babes soon learn that she is no chick.

The heat lamps at The Chuck are turned up so high, I am fairly sure that if science allowed it, you would find a hole in the ozone above the building the exact size of every one. I hate wandering around, trying to find the least shriveled up food item to plop on my plate. The worst are the rubber band hamburger patties. Who are these people that spend all that money to eat at Chuck-E-Vomits and they waste their tummy space on a dried, crusted hamburger patty that has been sitting under the egg hatchery for over an hour?

Rama-Of-Chuck is one of the few places that I will actually load up on the salad. Of course, their salad is fresh from the garden. I know this because there are ice chips surrounding the lettuce. Anything that has ice chips around something HAS to be just picked at the farm hours ago. If not, why even bother surrounding it with ice? That would be such a waste of ice! Think of all the African orphans you could feed with that ice! I also know the salad is fresh because when the salad guy dumps new salad in the bowl, the bag it is in is clearly has only been used once.

When I am going through a salad bar at any place, I am always surprised to see the chocolate pudding and gummy bears at the end of the line. I find myself thinking, "Ah, perfect, some Ranch Dressing (not fat free of course - why would I want to ruin a perfectly good salad?), some croutons, bacon bits, and what's this? Chocolate pudding? Gummy Bears? Who exactly is eating at this joint? Oprah? Kristie Alley? Susan Boyle?"

I don't know what is more disgusting, the thought of gummy bears on a salad or topping it with those red, slimy, syrupy beets that clearly came straight from the can. I do, however, always grab one of the miniature corn on the cobs so I can reenact that scene from Big. One of these days, I will need to wear a white tux when I go there.

Kids love Vomitville. Where else can they mix 30 different kinds of soda, hot chocolate and icees?
"What is that black drink you're drinking, junior?"
"Oh, it's my own special concoction. I call it "SpriDewsi Beer... It's delicious!"

I think that over the years I have had at least two, maybe three siblings vomit in the restroom of a Chuckville, Utah resort. On several occasions, I have been there with friends that have also had to visit the porcelain goddess of chunks. Food that utterly distasteful and dried up should never be consumed in such mass quantities. In fact, so often have people thrown up at the Chuckwagon, I believe they should install a specially designed vomiting bidet in every restroom. This bidet would be specifically designed so that you may throw up into it, relax for a second and then have it squirt your mouth out with fresh water. Actually, now that I think of it, it wouldn't need to be specially designed at all! A regular bidet would work just fine!

There is one item that does stand out amongst all items at the Chumbawomba. One item so intensely pure, so immensely delicious, that it almost, almost, ALMOST makes your trip there worth it. I am sure that you, my buffet loving readers, know exactly of which I speak. I am talking, of course, about the much beloved, much ballyhooed, fantastically delicious SCONE!!!

The Chuckle Huckle has the best scones in the world. Not only are the scones delectable, but they allow you to top it off with a couple scoops of toothsome, dripping, honey butter. I was once invited to a bachelor party at the Stonechuck. (I have some very strange friends) I promised myself that in order to keep myself from getting sick, I would only eat scones the entire night. And that's exactly what I did. I must have eaten fifteen scones that dreadful night. I ate so many scones, I went and sat down in the corner, rolled around like a dying seacow that had been washed ashore and moaned loudly "Too many scones! TOO MANY SCONES!" (I also might have done this to get a few laughs, but that is beside the point) I had the eyes of every Polynesian man, woman and child in the place on me.

I have not visited the Chuck-A-Rama for many years now. It seems that my relatives have de-white-trashed themselves, all of my friends are now married and my Polynesian mafia contacts refuse to take me out. Nevertheless, I am sure that I will one day again set foot in the quintessential, gruesome gorgefest, Zion buffet. And when I do, Brother Chuck A. Rama will look down from the great buffet in the sky and cry. The tear will fall through the gaping hole in the ozone and spread a golden layer of love on the rooftop. It will be a beautiful moment.

A few acronyms to explain things and a discourse on my love of "Cop Rock" (I'm sorry, it's because of the writers block)

Folks that read the Cheese Blog:

Just a little FYI on the D.L. - below the S.O.T.D. there are two posts that you may not have seen. It seems that if I post a S.O.T.D (Song of the Day) after my first post, my first post will be largely ignored. Total B.S. Please check out the posts below so they will get the attention they deserve.

Also, just in case you were wondering, tonight I have seemed to stumble upon a rugged and stubborn case of writers block. I can't seem to think of anything to write about for the life of me. Alas, in desperation to keep my reading audience, I shall tell you of my love for one of my all time favorite television shows: Cop Rock. Cop Rock was a short lived television series that aired for once season in 1990 on ABC. Cop Rock was sited in 2002 by TV Guide as the #8 worst TV show of all time. Nevertheless, even as a sarcastic, jaded 15 year old boy - or should I say especially as a sarcastic, jaded 15 year old boy - I was heartbroken when I heard of it's cancellation.

The beauty of Cop Rock was that it was a very dramatic, very serious police drama. However, at two or three moments in each episode, the characters would stop what they were doing and break out into song. It was ridiculous, doltish, pathetic and oh so very entertaining. Each and every week I would laugh my guts out and I am almost positive that is not the reaction the producers were hoping for. Certainly not from a sarcastic, jaded 15 year old.

One of my favorite episodes involved a very emotional scene in which the jury has been deliberating on a murder case for some time. The suspense builds and when they finally give the verdict we get this: (Yes, this show really did exist. I swear!)

Song of the Day: Silversun Pickups - Panic Switch

Congratulations to the Silversun Pickups, only the second band to ever have not one, but TWO Blog O' Cheese songs of the day. (The first was Mates of State) I only discovered this band about a month ago and they are already one of my favorites. Again, they are a bit like a modern Smashing Pumpkins. This song is off their newest album which is absolutely amazing by the way. Enjoy Panic Switch.

Saturday Graph: Things Simon Cowell Likes To Say

I've been watching WAY too much American Idol lately.

Stuff I have learned lately

Here are a few things that I have learned lately, because I am a lifelong learner.

1. If you eat a handful of Wheat Things and then eat a ring of dried pineapple, your mouth tastes almost exactly like you have just eaten tuna fish.

2. There's never a cookie in Michael Scott's hand.

3. If you grow a beard for more than 5 days, everyone on the planet asks you nonstop when you are going to shave your beard.

4. If you have a dance off with a bunch of First Graders and you win, no one cares except you and the First Graders. (And even then, not all of the First Graders)

5. Once you get to 290 Facebook friends, it is nearly impossible to get to that magic 300, even if you ask people to be your friend that you may or may not have super-wedgied in high school.

6. Paula Abdul was addicted to painkillers. Randy is addicted to cheeseburgers. Simon is addicted to black tee shirts and Kara is addicted to Paula's old painkillers. It's all full circle on Idol. Also, not all blind guys that play the piano can sing, especially white blind guys that play the piano.

7. Never attempt to iron your pants while wearing them - especially if you wear plastic pants.

8. Mars might be the hottest planet in the solar system. Also, when taking a field trip to Clark Planetarium, be sure to find out what the hottest planet in the solar system is. It might be helpful when the kids ask you later.

9. Never trust people that wear giant glasses, especially with your collection of Neil Diamond CDs.

10. LaBron James is truly "king" and I can't wait until he smacks Kobe around in the finals. Also, I still hate Kobe.

11. Nose hair trimmers will not work on toe hair. (At least not well. I learned this out of 100% curiosity)

12. Some things are not meant to be laminated. Trust me.

Caution: Wet rocks

Some funny stuff that kids have said or done lately:

I sat next to a couple girls in my class on the bus yesterday on the way to our field trip. The girls had just become friends and were clearly excited to be sitting together. "MR. CHEESEBOY!" one said, "WE HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON!"
"Oh yeah?" I asked. "Like what?"
"Well, both our dads work at Kennecot Copper."
I replied, "Oh, and what else?"
"WE BOTH REALLY LIKE CUPCAKES!!"
What a coincidence! What are the odds that these girls were to meet and become friends? One in 500,000? One in a million?

Saturday Cathi and I plopped Calder in front of the tube to watch a little Yo Gabba Gabba while we tried to get a few extra minutes of sleep. (It was 6:30 AM by the way) When we woke up to see what he and Lincoln had been up to, we went into the kitchen to find 6 fresh pears, all lined up in a nice, even row. Each pear had a tiny sized, toddler bite taken out of it. We brought Calder to the scene of the crime and asked him why he took one bite out of every pear. He replied, "Because I was hungry." How could we be mad? It made perfect sense.

This incident happened last year, but I do think that it is blog worthy. I was reading with a small group of kids when a boy interrupted me to give me something. The boy had a huge smile on his face as he handed me a 2 inch in diameter wet rock. I asked him, "What's this?" The boy responded, clearly proud that he was a helpful helper: "I got that out of the toilet for you."

Things my dad misses at Disneyland

As a companion piece to what I miss at Disneyland, I give you: What my dad misses about Disneyland.

You see, my dad loves Disneyland. He has been going there since he was a small boy - perhaps even the year it opened. My dad's Jewish aunt lived just blocks from Disneyland and with every opportunity, he would visit her with magic on his mind. As such, he loves to inform us of little tidbits of Disney memories. I have heard many of these memories several times and have thus formed a list of his top 5:

5. Fishing from the side of Tom Sawyer's Island. It seems that at one time you could rent a fishing pole and and actually fish for real fish that had been stalked in the "river". You had to pay for each fish you kept. No wonder my dad is such a fine fisherman - he was taught by none other than Walt Disney himself.












4. Horseback riding through the grand canyon. My dad remembers getting on the back of a horse, or a mule, or an ass and riding through a fake Grand Canyon... in Disneyland. Mules apparently were more expensive and messier than dancing, electronic animals. Although, I need to consult an "Imagineer", as there might be a chance that the electronic animals do actually defecate. And if they don't, why not? Disney is the king of mastering the details.









3. Steve Martin at Knotts Berry Farm. Okay, so this one is not exactly Disneyland, but my dad LOVES to tell us about the time he met a young Steve Martin playing the banjo and telling jokes at Knotts Berry Farm. It turns out that Mr. Martin also worked at the magic shop on Main Street in Disneyland. However, my dad says that he still remembers that he was a very funny guy with a bright future. Or... more appropriately: One wild and crazy guy!

















2. Matterhorn yodelers/mountain climbers. My dad swears that men dressed in hiked up shorts would hike the Matterhorn daily and yodel for all the Magic Kingdom to hear. Sure enough, there are plenty of photos on the web to prove it. I wonder if the Swede boys needed those mountain climbing shoes with the spikes for extra grip or if there is enough footing on a plastic mountain?










1. Real mermaids in the green swamp otherwise known as the submarine ride. Yes, it's true, and my pop loves to remind us every time we go to Disneyland - there were real women dressed as mermaids just sitting around on rocks. The problem seemed to be that disgusting pig men (Yes, they did exist back in the 50's.) would stand around and stare. Alas, the first Hooters opened in 1963 and their services were needed elsewhere.

Men, when you come home, remember to put on your "listening ears"

Listening. It's something I fancy myself being pretty good at. Heck, all I do all day long is listen. "When are we going to lunch?" "What time is lunch?" "I'm hungry, when is lunch?" (Lunch is life when you are in the First Grade.)

For some reason, my brain and ears completely shut down when it comes to listening to my wife. Granted, she should be the one that I listen to the most and I should be most attentive to. Yet, when the time comes, I just can't seem to get myself to comprehend and remember the words that come out of her mouth. Give today for example...

Cathi apparently informed me last night that we would be walking to the library as a family after I got home from school. So, what do I do? I stop on my way home from school to pick up a few things I had on reserve at the library. The very same library that we were supposed to be walking to. Brilliant.

I angrily entered our home, frustrated by the fact that I could only put 5 CD's at a time at our library. Oops. I might as well have said I ran over a puppy with a motorcycle with giant pizza slicers for wheels. Needless to say, I was in the doghouse, and not one of those nice, plastic ones that you can buy at Cosco with the little window and the nice, built in, rubber pad. We're talking a homeless dog house, like for homeless dogs. Wait, don't homeless dogs get sent to the shelter with warmth and food? A shelter would have been heaven.

The strange thing is I honestly and sincerely can not remember her informing me of our planned library jaunt. I do remember she was looking absolutely stunning, but the conversation about the library... not so much. Her breathtaking beauty must have sidetracked my thoughts and caused me to forget the whole library thing - and I'm not just saying that because I know she will read this post and be flattered. On the contrary - she will read this post and see my obvious attempt to kiss up using flattery and become even more angry.

When I feel my First Graders waning and I am losing their attention, I will often have them attach their "listening ears". Attaching "listening ears" involves screwing in pretend super-human ears while making a squeaking sound. Immediately, the kids perk up and they will listen to everything I have to say. I am not sure why, but it seems that my listening ears always fall out as soon as I get into my car to come home. It's weird because I always screw them in SUPER TIGHT! They're strapped to my head like pantyhose on an sea cow.

So why is it that I tune out my beloved wife so often? I wish I knew. Is it because I am a man? I have a strange feeling that this is a very common thing that men do. Am I right ladies? Men not listening to their wives? - It's not like I'm breaking new ground here. In fact, my boys seem to have followed in my footsteps and have the same boneheaded, listening difficulty when it comes to their mother. Cathi is in constant frustration, trying to figure out why the three clueless boys in her life can never remember a single thing she tells them. It's time we all had permanent listening ears installed. Now that's going to take a lot of squeaking!

Dear Ogden America First Credit Union ladies.

Well HELLO LADIES! It appears that I have developed a fan club, or more appropriately "cyber groupies" at the Ogden America First Credit Union. Once again, HELLO LADIES! I have not received this much female attention since... well, who am I kidding, I a lone male teacher am smothered and stirred into a giant pot of teaching estrogen. It seems , I get plenty of female attention and sometimes, if I am lucky, some of it even comes from my wife. But that's not to say that I am not flattered that you read my nonsensical nonsense on a daily basis. Actually, I often wonder if my slobbery slop would ever fly with the masses. Apparently it does, if you work at the Ogden America First Credit Union.

Ladies, I want you to know, I know how it is. Desk work strains your mind. Come Tuesday afternoon, you realize, "I have 3 more days of this crap!" The Blog O' Cheese is an oasis. Allow me to be your oasis. (Not the crazy English band with the two drunken brothers, but rather something serving as a refuge, relief, or pleasant change from what is usual.)

First off, I would just like to say that I think that it is great that you work in Ogden. The world needs more brave people like you. Ogden has officially moved from "armpit of Utah" to " upper naval of Utah". (Thanks Pangquich!) Do they provide you with an extra security guard? But, I kid, I kid. (I do hope that they provide you with an extra security officer. Please tell me they do.)

I love America First Credit Union! The thing I love about them most is that they are not the Deseret First Credit Union. What is with their commercials?! They are awful. (When I see a Deseret First Credit Union comercial I am begging for Paige Davis!) Do they only want Mormons as customers? Would they even accept the money of a non-member? Every time I see one of their ads, I cringe in disbelief. "Did they really just make an inside joke about a 'Stake Center' to cater to the Mormon population?!" Ugh. Shoot me now.

No, I think it's great that, unlike those putrid Democrats, that you put America first. I hope you don't even allow those pathetic Democrats through your doors. I mean, what do they put first? Hope? Taxes? Not torturing people? It's not America, I'll tell you that much! America comes way down the list for them. It's like number 6 on their list, much like where football is for the BYU football players. Not you gals. You put AMERICA FIRST! Now that's something I like to hear from my lending institution. (Sarcastic tone intended.)

I also find it quite interesting that you all cheer for a team dressed in purple. However, I too will dawn the purple drapes of shame whenever your lads travel south to play the evil empire otherwise known as BYU. But purple? Really? Better than blue I suppose.

So, ladies of the Ogden America First Credit Union, I ask - no I implore you to continue to read the Blog O' Cheese. And, if the mood so strikes you one lazy afternoon, you might want to make a comment or two. In the meantime, I will try to not ever let my new found fans down and I will continue to write pathetic mumblings for you to pass the time by. Now it's time I start recruiting those broads down at the Pangquich America First Credit Union. Maybe I should send them a fruit basket?

Song of the Day: John Schmidt - Love Story (Taylor Swift) meets Viva La Vida (Coldplay)

I thought I would try to get this posted on my blog before it pops up on blogs everywhere around the United Utah of America. I am not a fan of "Love Story", but to hear John Schmidt play "Viva La Vida" is pretty cool. The transition between the two songs is pretty cool too. I used to Home Teach John, so I feel like I owe him this free publicity. Plus, I know I have a ton of MoMom readers that worship the man. Enjoy!

Saturday Graph: Components of an awful episode of "The Biggest Loser"

(Cathi loves this show, so I hope she is not too mad at me when she sees today's graph. Who am I kidding, she doesn't read this drivel anyways.)