NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

For the love you lousy ice-cream scoop! Whamysposedo* now?

*yes, "whamysposedo" is a real word... in Utah. In fact, it's not just a word, it's a complete sentence around here.

Truth

This song has been running through my head... and my heart.



That probably has something to do with the fact that although I'm 32 I am the exact same person I was when I was 22. Maybe I should apologize because this probably isn't the most responsible attitude for a grown man to have but screw it. Tom's song reflects that childish defiance of which I am too often guilty and consequently punished.

You're probably more familiar with The Ramones cover. They did alright, but it doesn't compare to the brilliance of the Tom Waits original. His music has been a pretty trendy flavor amongst cultural snobs which is odd because there's a smokey barroom quality to the gritty blues Tom plays. And it's defined by Waits' voice. If you thought Dylan's voice was ragged and dirty (I consider that a compliment) then wait till you listen to Tom. Like Dylan, Waits' vocal quality is appreciated not so much by how it sounds but by how it feels. And don't be so short sighted to suggest that it is "bad singing". It sounds exactly how he wants it too.

Here. Play it again but this time listen to what he's saying.



When I'm lyin' in my bed at night
I don't wanna grow up
Nothin' ever seems to turn out right
I don't wanna grow up
How do you move in a world of fog
That's always changing things
Makes me wish that I could be a dog
When I see the price that you pay
I don't wanna grow up
I don't ever wanna be that way
I don't wanna grow up

Seems like folks turn into things
That they'd never want
The only thing to live for is today...
I'm gonna put a hole in my TV set
I don't wanna grow up
Open up the medicine chest
And I don't wanna grow up
I don't wanna have to shout it out
I don't want my hair to fall out
I don't wanna be filled with doubt
I don't wanna be a good boy scout
I don't wanna have to learn to count
I don't wanna have the biggest amount
I don't wanna grow up

Well when I see my parents fight
I don't wanna grow up
They all go out and drinking all night
And I don't wanna grow up
I'd rather stay here in my room
Nothin' out there but sad and gloom
I don't wanna live in a big old Tomb
On Grand Street

When I see the 5 o'clock news
I don't wanna grow up
Comb their hair and shine their shoes
I don't wanna grow up
Stay around in my old hometown
I don't wanna put no money down
I don't wanna get me a big old loan
Work them fingers to the bone
I don't wanna float a broom
Fall in love and get married then boom
How the hell did I get here so soon
I don't wanna grow up

Why am I a Mormon?

This is why I'm a Mormon:

Matthew 5:39

Look, I know I'm Mormon just like (I assume) are the majority of the girls on the BYU Women's Soccer Team, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm not that really really good kind of Mormon. Don't get me wrong, I mean I am a good Mormon just not a "BYU Good" Mormon. Let me explain...

Sometimes I don't shave and other times I drink Coke and once in a blue moon I might even watch a movie that's rated PG-13 (aside from Twilight I mean) because I 'shall not live by Pixar alone'.

But it's not the aforementioned demerits that make me say I'm not the really really good kind of Mormon. Rather it's the fact that I would not not notty NOT be turning my other cheek on these New Mexico UFC Cage Fighters:

If anyone ever pulled my ponytail I'd be retaliating with some serious Kung Fu fighting. - probably one of the reasons I wasn't accepted to BYU or the BYU Women's Soccer Team either.

I got an attitude of grattitude!

So I took Max trick or treating and that means Halloween is over and that means I'm trying with all my might to be disciplined enough not to eat all of his candy while he sleeps and that also means it's November which means Thanksgiving is coming up and that means its time to start being more grateful but it doesn't mean that I have to stop using run-on sentences... but lets get back to being grateful.

I'll start by expressing my gratitude that my biking buddies didn't have a video camera rolling when I turfed it on our last mountain bike ride. Now, I realize I broke 3 ribs, bruised my torso, gave myself a wicked charlie-horse, and almost almost almost cried in front of my bros, but honestly none of those things even compares to having the wind knocked out of you, particularly if it's caught on film. I say so not because of the level of pain associated with being unable to breathe (minimal really), but more so because you feel like an idiot rolling around on the floor gasping for air while your friends stare in wonder. Let me illustrate:

I'm also grateful that my friend decided to share this video with me after the accident because there's nothing better for broken ribs than trying not to laugh over and over and over again while he keeps pressing play. "Preciate it" Jeff. I'm also grateful for friends who are just as concerned and helpful in that humiliating moment as the studio reporters were for that poor lady stomping on the grapes. "Oh... Oh no... Youch... Well... Okay. Should we just keep riding?"

"Dad, dissis disgusting"

Attaway fittytwo!

Glen Beck is the new Stupid

Dear Glen,

I was planning on having the local neighborhood kids get together to rake the leaves from your mother's lawn and maybe come back in a month to shovel some snow from her driveway, but since you don't agree with 'volunteerism' or acts of service we decided to stay home and watch TV instead. But don't worry, we're not watching any of those shows that accepted Obama's challenge to promote "responsibility" and "service to others". After all, you're right, "a campaign to inspire action and a new way of thinking about service" would just be lame. Instead, we'll just keep watching more and more shows focused on crime, rape and murder because encouraging Hollywood to portray and promote a better America is downright communist! Okay, I'll stop with the sarcasm.

In fairness though, it must be difficult to come up with a new conspiracy to be "outraged" about every night. I guess not all of them are going to be winners.

p.s.

Why didn't we hear the same uproar when Bush and Rove enlisted Hollywood screenwriters and directors to talk about how the entertainment industry could help the war effort?

If wives were to beat up other wives, mine would beat up yours.

What's all this talk about me being spoiled? Listen, just because Ashlee brings lunch to work for me EVERY DAY does not mean I'm spoiled. To the contrary. Rumor has it I am one devilishly-good-looking and very deserving husband who just so happens to be loved loved loved by his mrs (...and that hypnotist was totally worth every penny). Besides, just because your wife doesn't bring you lunch to work (EVER!) doesn't mean you should rain on my parade. It does, however, mean that your wife doesn't love you.

Hey man, don't blame me if you're wife don't love you.

As for me and Ash: we are luvas...

Dernier Cri.

My peeps! I've got great news. Apericots is up and running.

Now you may, or may not have heard me talk about our latest endeavor to start a new clothing company for infants, but despite whether you've ignored my calls over the past few months or actually answered, we've finally got our monkeys to stop jumping on the bed and they're ready for launch (that said, from the hereafter I will be dedicated to shamelessly prodding and cajoling you until you buy something).

And because I know its a fact that you will want to buy Apericots for your kids and for the kids of your friends and the sons of your co-workers and the daughters of your BFF's and the grandsons of neighbors, granddaughters of complete strangers, offspring of old college roommates, random kids on the street, and well... you get what I'm saying... we're offering a 30% DISCOUNT FOR FRIENDS AND FAMILY. Just type "apefandf" in the discount code section upon checkout (now through September 30th) and get a deep discount on sweet apparel. To top it off, we'll even give you FREE SHIPPING on orders over $20.00. In fact, if you have any Shasta in your fridge and you're willing to share, I might even hand deliver your item myself and stay awhile.

Rest assured that even though I think organic food is a scam, I know organic clothing is totally legit. That's why our products are backed by MC Hammer... or maybe we just WISH we could get MC Hammer. Regardless, Apericots apparel is made from 100% USDA Certified and pesticide-free cotton and we only use eco-friendly inks (alright, alright, I'll stop linking boring technical jargon and go back to linking super rad icons from our childhood).

Seriously though, who else makes clothing with as much love for your kids AND Mother Nature? Even if you don't care about going green, our designs are so cool we could print them on Mexican ponchos and you'd want your kid to wear 'em. (btw, if mustaches are your thing, we've got just the thing for you).

The simple fact that Apericots apparel is both hip and healthy allows you to bathe your conscience clean of all the ugly outfits we've worn over the past 30 years, let alone the harmful junk we've thrown into landfills all along the way.

To wrap things up, I'll make my point and my point is this: Check us out. You'll love what you see and I'll love you back if you buy something.

PEACE,

- Dave (davidv@apericots.com)

post script,

You should copy our web address (http://www.apericots.com/) into your email and send it to everyone you know. Seriously. People love mass communicated, boilerplate emails forwarded in bulk. Worst case scenario: Everyone in your contact list will be mad initially, but I'll think you're the coolest.

How could you choose between Brian Ferry and David Bowie?

HORRIBLE movie. Great scene. "Fantastic" Song.



Is it weird that Ashlee and I both think of my mother-in-law when we watch this?

verbatim

Grandpa: (pointing to a crescent moon in the daylight sky) "Max! What is that?"

Max: "Itsda moon. [Gasp!] Dere's a big piece broked off!"

verbatim

[driving home from the store]

Libbie: "Waah! Waaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Dave: "Hey Max, will you talk to Libbie and make her feel better?"

Max: "It's okay Libbie. There's no lions."

While we're on the subject,

I thought I'd post another clip from another misinformed hippie.

I've tried to put a face with the voice and the only thing I can come up with is an image of an angry smoker lady, wearing stretch pants and a XXXL t-shirt with a cat on it.

Let's break down her rant:

"What the heck is in our water supply, what the heck is in our oxygen supply... of the metallic oxide salts that create a rainbow effect in a sprinkler?" She sure knows science. "Metallic oxide salts"? She isn't just full of it, she's very specific in being full of it. The only way I could have liked this video more is if she had made up some words in her explanation. "See, the phosphoraic tanins in the grass have been compromised by the acidaxation of the hydrolium in the atmospheroidal zone".

"Not just around our sun and our moon anymore..." When has there ever been a rainbow around the moon!? Lady, are you mistaking reality with your Trapper Keeper cover from second grade? I'm not judging you. I like unicorns too.

"The visible spectrum... is rainbows. This cannot be natural". Right now, Isaac Newton and Pink Floyd are in heaven shaking their heads in disgust. Not only did she ignore her teachers at school, but she never even bothered to take a closer look at the cover art on Dark Side of the Moon.

"We all know it wasn't something that happened twenty years ago". As someone who spent his childhood in the 80's, I can attest that as I slid down my "Crocodile Mile" I indeed noticed refracted light in the water mist and sunlight. I guess that just goes to show pollution has always been around. Danged corporations!

On second thought, if all this pollution is just making more and more pretty rainbows, it can't be so bad. When do we get unicorns!?

Organic food is a scam... and it tastes bad too.

Don't believe me? Read this article that was published in Reuters yesterday. I plan on taking it to Costco demanding that they go back to selling Kellogg's Pop Tarts that actually taste good instead of the crappy organic "Toaster Pastries" they carry now.

But first I'm going to mock and criticize people who act like they know what they're talking about, all while only pretending to know what I'm talking about. (*note my complete lack of credentials concerning nutritional information).

On second thought, I'm not going to get into it. Why spend my time demonstrating that just because you paid more for something does not mean it's of greater quality or allowed a chicken to roam free (while still having her eggs stolen)? I mean how do I win an argument against all the superior purists out there with thoughts like this running through their heads:

"Sure, I could pay a buck a pound for those giant, flavorful, red bell peppers that are so freaking good. Or I could pay a buck ninety nine a pound for the much smaller, wilted peppers next to them that taste like corn husks, BUT they do have that green 'organic' label on them. Oprah said evil corporate farms are poisoning our children with their chemicals and pesticides to make more money so I'm going stick it to the man and pay twice as much to get half as much from the "green" businesses that really are concerned about me and my family".

Eating organic food, driving a Prius, wiping your rump with recycled toilet paper... whatever elitist and superficial lifestyle choices you make to convince yourself that you are not as environmentally destructive as your neighbor is fine by me. It means all the good produce isn't picked over when I get there.

In the spirit of the Reuter's article, here's a clip from Penn and Teller. Now, I usually don't take my political thought from illusionists, but I do think they prove a point.

What do you do on a rainy day?

You ride your bike inside.

ALL DAY LONG.

Over and over and over again.

Sometimes you might get bored of the monotonous route so you turn your handlebars around and ride with them backwards. You know. Just to mix it up.

Mom the Magnificent

Every night before Max goes to sleep we both climb into his bed and read a book together. One of those books happens to be one of my favorite books to read when I was a boy:

Now I'm not talking about a copy of the one I used to read. I'm specifically talking about the exact same book. -In fact, if you flip open the cover, you'll see my name and phone number permanent markered in my Kindergarten attempt at cursive letters.

See, my mum was cool enough to save boxes upon boxes of my childhood toys and books and secretly stashed them in the attic after I grew tired of them - or maybe just left them laying around too many times. Whichever it was, millenia later, after having grown up, married, purchased a home and with kids of my own, my mum dug up those hidden boxes of pure nostalgia and gave them to me. I've since unpacked them like a giddy little school boy on Christmas morning.

Most of the toys have been re-stashed on the top shelf in Max's closet until he's a bit older and promises not to eat any pieces of my Micro Machine Super City Playset.

The books, on the other hand are seeing some action already. And this brings us back to the featured story: Max recently pointed out that grandpa and Marc the Magnificent know each other. Every time he sees this picture he points to I think you can figure out who, and yells, "GRANDPA!".

The downside to the story is that I think grandpa's going to have some explaining to do because Max keeps seeing him with this hot blond and has started asking where grandma is.

"You gotta ouchie dad?"

After riding Bobsled on my Epic, I've decided it's kinda like getting into a knife fight... only instead of bringing a Samurai Sword I took a spork.

On the bright side, I'll be picking this scab off my arm in about a week, packaging it as Beef Jerky and selling it on the side of the road. That guy on the side of Highway 6 that you pass on your way to Moab needs some competition.

Libbie Vogelsberg

Sunday, May 17th, 2009 at 8:41 AM

6 lbs, 15 ounces - 19 1/2 inches

A proud dad:

A wonderful mother:

And an excited big brother:

>

"When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche

It's time to break the silence. I realize I'm probably going to get into some trouble for this one but truthfully, I'm going to be completely unapologetic about not wanting to look at your dog's junk. I think that statement would be obvious, yet people actually buy dogs that are genetically predisposed to mooning the world. See:

(I've censured the following image for the sake of the children)

Look, I'm a dog guy. I always have been. The fact that I no longer have a dog of my own only means that my disdain for picking up poo exceeded the joys I received from having a mutt of my own. If you're a dog lover and you actually own a dog, good for you. It seems you might just love your dog as much as I love my kid because for no one else am I willing to handle feces. Not even my wife. Let me break it down for you;

If you're a cat lover, I have nothing to say to you. But I do have have plenty to type... For example: There are many clear advantages of owning a dog over a cat. Happy tail wagging beats creepy purring any day of the week. And I'll take an affectionate dog kiss (slobbery as it may be) over a scratchy cat tongue or that annoying rub against my shins. Not to mention the fact that dogs actually like people. Cats just stare at you in silent judgment. I have enough feelings of inferiority as it is and I don't need some snooty cat strutting around my house thinking it's better than me.

Despite that, the number one advantage dogs have over cats is the canine propensity toward modesty. Most dogs have a tasteful tail that considerately drapes over their exit ramp. However, no such characteristic exists for cats. This means every time a cat walks away from you, you end up catching a glimpse of the One Eyed Jack. You try not to look. Honestly, it's the last thing on earth you want to see, but it's like a strobe light. You've got to intentionally close your eyes to avoid it. And this is exactly what makes the curly tailed dog so irritating. It negates one of the primary desirable characteristics of their species. And this of course brings us back to the topic at hand.

I now direct my efforts to the owners of Pugs, Chows, Shar Peis and other dogs with tails that curl upward. Allow me to respectfully explain it to you; no one wants to see your dog's rectum. No one. Ever. And because you're the one who brought that unholy abomination into my life, I think it's up to you to do something about it.

Look, a dog's tail is the way it is. But for some reason you felt compelled to buy one with no regard for moral decency. Why you would choose to own a Pug instead of a Beagle, or a German Shepherd, or a goldfish is beyond me. I guess some people prefer their dogs to have bulging eyeballs and the inability to breath clearly from their noise.

Its clear that the dog isn't gonna do anything about their Red Eye to the Sky so as I stated earlier, this places the burden of hiding that dreaded wrinkled star from the involuntary glance of the reluctant public squarely on your shoulders. But friend, I would rather light a candle than curse your darkness. And that's why I've created this:

I'm currently developing a tasteful and modest "Dog Bumhole Cover Upper Because I'm Sick Of Looking At That Thing And Clearly You, The Owner Are Not Going To Do Anything About It So I've Taken Matters Into My Own Hands".

Because it's such a long name, I've decided to abbreviate it. I'm calling it the "DBCUBISOLATTACYTOANGTDAAISITMIMOH" for short and you can find them at DBCUBISOLATTACYTOANGTDAAISITMIMOH.com.

My prototype consists of an eye patch from my Halloween pirate costume that is connected to the dog's collar. This way when your bug eyed, snorting Pug walks away, you get a glimpse of a cool skull and cross bones instead of the winking eye of death.

As technologically advanced as it is, I'm going to write off all the capital I've invested in research and development and I'm practically giving away the DBCUBISOLATTACYTOANGTDAAISITMIMOH because it's for a good cause. Act now and for only four payments of $19.99 you can experience the preferred alternative of ridding your friends lives of your dog's shameless exhibitionism.