"What Was I Thinking?"

Tales From My Adolescence - THE TALK

2012-01-22T17:25:00.000-08:00

One of the great mysteries in life is who enjoys "the talk" less.... the child, or the parent?

In my experience, I would have to go with the former over the latter. There are many aspects of my adolescence that I don't remember, whether it be classes I took... teachers that taught them...or just the routine day-to-day things.

In my world, "the talk" came after it's dreaded predecessor..... "maturation class". Dreaded, my hairy butt. As a young boy, nothing seems more titillating than going to the school and learning about "the birds and the bees". Wait... you didn't know what I was going on about? You hadn't gathered by the title that I was talking about THAT talk? What talk did you think I was referring to? In my household, we were fisherman, hence I missed out on the "gun safety talk". My dad may have spoken about politics, but being a naive kid, it simply went in one ear and out the other. We weren't a sports home, either. Really, in retrospect, there wasn't much to talk about other than THAT.

The only problem about having THAT talk in MY household, is that everything was far too clinical. And, speaking of clinical, let me touch on the maturation class one more time. Clinical. THAT is clinical. We thought we might get to gather with our peers in the 5th grade and get to look at pictures of boobies. LEGALLY. I say that, because if you went to my grade school, chances are you stumbled across the "illegal" boobie pictures in the big tractor tires, out on the playground. Illegal in the fact that the glossy pages of Playboy magazine were NOT to be viewed by the prepubescent crowd... especially those still in grade school. But, in my defense, I neither actively sought out such pictures, and I certainly didn't ask the person who left said pictures in the tire to do so. They were there. I looked.

Maturation class held nothing so titillating as boobie pictures. Instead, we learned about body odor and the dreaded "little curlies". I only wish they would have told me that my testosterone laden body would have developed unsightly body hair on EVERY surface. Just last night, I was thinking about what it would look like if I were to do a full body wax. Firstly, I don't have that much money to spend. Secondly, I don't have a pain threshold that could withstand that kind of pain. A back is bad enough...

The reality is that I learned more about the birds and the bees via my father's record collection. As a wee lad, I would often be drawn to the closet in the front room, where a box of my dad's records were neatly stacked away in a cardboard box. I loved to dig out the records and put them on our high quality Fisher Price record player. Whether it be Cat Stevens, King Harvest or Hugo Montenegro, there were plenty of hits at the ready. And then there were THOSE records.

First, there was Herb Alpert and his beloved Tijuana Brass, "WHIPPED CREAM AND OTHER DELIGHTS". What delights are they talking about, I would wonder to myself. I get the whipped cream part.... but what other delights are there? And why is that woman, seemingly naked, completely covered in whipped cream? And why is she licking her finger in such a provocative manner? I don't know.... but I liked it.

Second, there was that early Santana classic, "ABRAXAS". I don't know if I was drawn to the record by the naked African woman on the cover, or if it were all the psychedelic colors, but one thing was for certain.... it wasn't the music. I remember putting that record on and being hit with a wall of noise. Drums, congas, guitars. Total crap, I thought to myself. But look at that cover! (For the record, I now find "ABRAXAS" to be one of the finest albums of its generation.)

Lastly, in my fathers box of vinyl treasures, was the end-all, be-all of titillating records....... The Doobie Brothers. "TOULOUSE STREET" was a classic album by one of America's best-loved bands from the 70's, featuring a rather stylistic photograph of the band, in a house, presumably somewhere in the French Quarter of New Orleans. When you opened up the deluxe gatefold cover, you were treated with a picture of all the band members, sans clothing. No, it wasn't just the Doobies... it also included their lady friends... sans clothing. Now, before you think that I was fondling (ohhh... not a good choice in words) cardboard pornography, it wasn't THAT bad. Most of the gents had appropriately placed top hats... most of the women, silk scarves.... but there was that one woman who felt bold enough to bear her mams to the world.

So, when it came time to actually be summoned by my father, butterflies running rampant in my stomach, I thought I would be ready for the discussion that lay ahead. Boy, was I ever wrong.

As I entered the dark quarters also known as my parent's bedroom, I was nervous and eager to get the conversation over and done with. I was typically uncomfortable talking to my father about anything, but the birds and the bees? PLEASE!

Officer Cal (my father's "professional" name) sat me down and presented a blank piece of paper and pen. My father always took great pride in his immaculate penmanship and his ability to doodle cartoon faces. Would I be treated to both? How I wish. When he began to explain to me about how sperm fertilizes an egg, the air became thick with tension. What is this sperm of which my father speaks? And, for the love of Pete, where does it come from? As I recollect, I don't think those ever important pronouns ever made that clear to me. It wasn't referred to as HIS sperm... or YOUR sperm... or MY sperm... it was just sperm. I was tempted to ask my dad, after viewing his clever drawings, if sperm was simply another name for tadpoles. I owned at tadpole at one point in time, and apart from the fact that Herbie's tail manifested different proportions than that of these so-called sperm, they looked almost the same. I refrained from interrupting father, in hopes that the conversation would end more rapidly, so that curiosity was never satisfied.

The egg, it seemed, looked like a circle. What the heck? I thought eggs were closer to an oval in shape! Even more intriguing to me was how this tadpole looking critter was supposed to penetrate the tough exterior of the egg. Those shells are hard, for Pete's sake.

Like a good son/eager student, I simply sat and nodded my head in agreement with whatever was told me. Wow.... whoduthunk that I came from an overly ambitious tadpole that somehow worked it's way into the carton of eggs in the refrigerator?!? But then, remembering that my parents purchased the 5 dozen tray of "chex" (the runts of the egg kingdom.... cracked shells, small, thin spots on the shell, etc.) eggs from the local Fassio's Egg Farm, it made sense. Sure... I could see how Herbie could possibly escape from his bowl full of swampy water and somehow find his way into the refrigerator (after all, Rich was ALWAYS leaving the door cracked open) and somehow make his way into one of the cracked eggs.

As I reflect upon this hypothesis, later in life, I now realize that I was all wrong.... for, obviously, Herbie was too lazy.... I never did have any more brothers and sisters come along after that talk.

The Future of the POSTAL SERVICE

2011-09-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

As many of you may know, I am a 13 year veteran of the Postal Service. I began my career in 1998 as a "Data Conversion Operator" at the Salt Lake City Remote Encoding Center. On Sept. 11, 1999, I was hired on as a career employee (Clerk) at the Salt Lake ASF facility, where I worked for nearly two years. In 2001, I began my career as a Letter Carrier, the craft with which I am still actively engaged in.

It is no secret that the Postal Service is experiencing some financial problems, but what is being kept secret is the actual reasons behind these financial problems. The following article bluntly points out the problems that the Postal Service is facing. Please take the time to read it and understand what we are up against. I urge my fellow Postal employees, NALC Union members and you, the American public, to contact your leaders in Washington to urge them to take care of the real issues at hand, and not cower to the ignorance of the Postmaster General.

The following is the link to an informative article, written by Chuck Zladkin, a Union representative serving the people of New York.

Source:
www.opednews.com

The Festival of Colors: HOLI! HOLI!

2011-03-27T17:14:00.001-07:00

FESTIVAL OF COLORS 2011
Krishna Temple, Spanish Fork, Utah

Good news, ladies and gentlemen! I finally have my own digital camera, enabling me to once again blog about the random events that I engage in. I felt it appropriate to make my return to random blogging with the 2011 Holi Festival of Colors at the Krishna Temple, located in Spanish Fork, Utah. How ironic that you would find this beautiful Krishna temple at the south end of Utah County, the predominantly Mormon county located south of Salt Lake City. Even more ironic, in my eyes, is that a large portion of the crowd are BYU (a Mormon university) students. However, as ironic as it all seems to me, it also makes me very happy... as long as most of the attendees took away a positive message, along with a layer of multi-colored powder from head to toe and everywhere in between. And I mean EVERYWHERE.

A week ago, I received a text message from my youngest daughter, who asked if I had ever heard of the Festival of Colors, and would I be working on March 26th. I told her no (I hadn't heard of it) and yes (I would be working), at which point she asked if they could use the car to attend the Festival of Colors. After she explained where it was, I immediately knew what she was referring to. Just a few weeks ago, I had tuned in to the cable series, "AN IDIOT ABROAD", produced by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant (of The Office and Extras fame), where they sent their "idiot" Karl Pilkington to the Seven Wonders of the World. One of the first episodes was documenting Karl being sent to the Taj Mahal in India, during the Festival of Colors. To sum it up.... this thing would be a mess. To say the least, I was reluctant to let the girls take the car.

Upon returning to the office in which I work, I found out that I would be able to get the day off. I agreed to take my oldest and youngest daughter (who would be staying with me that weekend) and their friends.

The morning of the 26th, we headed south to Spanish Fork, Utah, a very small town on the southern end of Utah County. We parked at the Spanish Fork Fairgrounds and boarded a shuttle bus to take us to the Krishna Temple, set upon a hill in the south end of town. It's a beautiful building, as you can see in the pictures.

Almost immediately upon arriving at the Krishna Temple, we ran into Briana (daughter #2) and Tiffany, the mother of my three daughters. I spent the better part of the morning with them all, enjoying this rare opportunity to be with my entire family at one time. As difficult as the last few months have been for Tiffany and I, it was refreshing to just enjoy some fun times with the girls.

As the event has gained in popularity, the organizers of the event decided to have the throwing of the colors every two hours, instead of only twice, as was the case last year. The first throwing was at 11:00 (which we were present for), followed by 1:00, 3:00 and 5:00. In between the throwing of the colors, we were entertained with music, food and if you chose, a tour of the temple. As tedious as the lyrical content of many of the songs seemed to be (the words Hari Krishna, Hari Hari Krishna were repeated over and over, in nearly every song), I loved the message that was offered. We were encouraged to love everyone, regardless of our ethnic and religious backgrounds. We were also encouraged, at one point, to turn and hug 15 strangers. I think I only made it to 2, but the meaning was there. We were all brothers and sisters.

Although people were continually throwing colors at each other, throughout the event, the main throwing of the colors were a sight to behold. The first throwing, we were immersed in the center of the crowd. It was an amazing sight. It was as if you were in a giant colored fog that seemed to last for several minutes. The second throwing, I decided to perch myself upon the hill with a wonderful friend of mine, and witness it from an outside perspective. The following pictures were from the 1:00 PM throwing.

The best part of this event for me was being able to spend time with my family, as well as seeing some close friends of mine.

Mary

Cari

Tiffany, Chelsea, Briana, Alyssa and Philip

... yours truly... the Easter Egg

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 14 ...

2011-02-20T19:24:00.000-08:00

Chapter 14: Life After High School

The summer high school was one that I will never forget... for several reasons. There is no feeling like walking down the aisle during the graduation commencement ceremony, knowing that on the other side is a world of unknowns. I was at a place in my life where I had very few certainties. I knew that in a year's time, I was planning on going on a mission for my church. Until that point, I knew I needed to work and I planned on attending school. In my typical fashion, I didn't adequately prepare myself for any of it.

I graduated high school with a cumulative grade point average of approximately 3.3. This isn't a bad G.P.A. by any standards, yet it wasn't enough to get me any kind of scholarship. Of course, me being the unmotivated person that I was... okay, let's not kid ourselves... that I AM... I didn't even bother trying to secure any kind of financial aid. Heck, I didn't even take the ACT (college entrance exam) until the morning after graduation, with only 3 hours of sleep and 0 hours of preparation. I was ready to take on the world.

Following graduation, a party with dozens of my fellow graduates, and 3 hours of sleep, I found my way back down to the school that, just hours before, I had just graduated. I sat bleary eyed, gazing over the dozens of questions. What the? Okay, to be fair, some of the things I knew fairly well... but others, not so much. I don't remember my exact scores, but I do remember that on the history portion of the test, I scored a rather low 17 (out of a possible 36?). Two of the other sections were adequate, yet not spectacular. My shining moment, however, was in the Chemical Sciences portion. Or so THEY thought. I eyed over the barrage of questions, many of which made absolutely no sense to me. However, being the seemingly intelligent boy that I was, I had a plan. No, it wasn't to cheat... it was to GUESS. And because I can be an intuitive person (on occasion), I felt it would be in my best interest to create a pattern of sorts, rarely (if ever) guessing the same letter in row. I DID make an attempt to correctly answer those questions that I genuinely knew... but that probably ended up being less than 5% of the questions. Either way, on that section of the test, I received a 33. A phenomenal score, considering I didn't know those questions from Einstein's theory of relativity, which to me are STILL just 3 letters, 1 number and a "figure". What they mean, I really have no clue.

During the summer of '85, I wound down my employment with the Murray City Police Department's Police Cadet program. I was being let go... not because I was a crappy employee, but that I had come to the end of the program. It was, after all, for high school kids. I was soon to be unemployed and I had a girlfriend. Oh, right... a girlfriend. Let's catch up on her, shall we?

As you may recall from Chapter 13, which I know you ALL read, I had recently found myself smitten with a young lady by the name of Amy Hayes. She was 2 years my junior, a red-head (or as kids today like to call them, a "ginger") and the love of my nearly 18 year old life. As is to be expected from me, my relationship with Amy got off to a very slow start. She was waiting to turn 16 (the legal age for dating in the state of Utah... or so I was told) and I didn't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I spent countless hours hanging out at her house, or at the DQ (that's Dairy Queen, yo) where she worked. I also spent quite some time with Kim Simpson.

I knew that things in our lives would be changing soon, so I wanted to hold on to what time I still had left with Kim. Soon I was going to be going on a mission and Kim would be heading his separate way, so we took advantage of those last few months that we would be able to take adolescence by the horns and show it what's what. Soon adulthood would be rearing it's ugly head and those good times would be but a happy memory. We had our usual music listening parties, we would go to movies, we would even occasionally venture out to Wendover, Nevada, the small casino town on the Utah/Nevada border. We were a pair, the two of us... amidst all the pink-haired ladies with their leopard print one piece spandex outfits... a 17 year old and a 15 year old (with a baby face to boot)... playing the nickel poker machines. The beauty of our little adventures out to Wendover was that we never got kicked out. Those people must have been desperate for our nickels... at least on the weeknights.

On one occasion we settled in to a rousing game of nickel Poker when a man approached us. I turned to see who was looming over my shoulder, when the man whispered to Kim and I, "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I just wanted you to know that the 'big man' is here, tonight." HO.LEE.FETCH!! The Mafia is here and they are going to kill us, cut us into little pieces and drop us out in the West Desert. And, for good measure, hunt down our parents and leave a horse head in their beds!!

Being the infinitely paranoid chaps that we were, we headed for the exit. We were not adequately prepared to go head to head with "the Big Guy".

Another bizarre event occurred when Kim and I attempted to do something quite normal. During the summer of '85, it was all about Beverly Hills Cop, the new motion picture featuring the hilarious Eddie Murphy. Every kid in America wanted to see it, even if they weren't supposed to see it without a parent or guardian... unless they were, at the very least, my age. I was 17, I was going to see Eddie in all his glory, WITHOUT my parents' permission. Besides, who had ACTUALLY been carded at the picture show? Nobody I knew.

One hot summer day, Kim and I headed to the movie theater on 5400 South, just off of Redwood. At the time, it was one of the nicest theaters on the west side of the Salt Lake Valley. As we approached the ticket window, I was a little shocked to see a little white haired lady working the ticket window. Daggum... this could be trouble. Especially if she had gotten wind about Eddie Murphy and his brand of humor. As we approached, she gave me a quizical look, then took her gaze over to Kim. She then looked back at me and with a doubting tone said, "Hmmmm.... you look like you're old enough, but he doesn't", pointing her arthritis ridden finger in Kim's direction. Looking back at me, she asked, "Can I see your driver's license, young man?" I hesitantly pulled my wallet out, knowing that we were busted and our dreams of seeing Eddie were about to vanish. After what seemed like minutes of her digesting the information on my driver's license, she exhaled in defeat. "Well, okay... I could have sworn that he didn't look old enough." Kim and I fought the urge to look at each other, as I had just been carded in behalf of both of us... and 15 year old, baby faced Kim had never even been asked for an ID. She took our money, handed us our tickets, and off we went. Darned funny movie, too.

During the same month, Kim and I felt a crazy urge to go dancing at The Bay. During my high school years, one of my favorite social activities was to go dancing at The Frisco Bay, a killer dance club located on 33rd South. They had a "high school night" that catered to kids 16 years and up, offering the finest in New Wave music and non-alcoholic beverages. Somewhere between '83, when The 'Frisco Bay was the place to be, and '85, someone in the organization decided to abbreviate the name (calling it The Bay) and moved it to 21st South in SugarHouse. Kim was never the big dancer, but I jumped on the chance to go dancing any opportunity I could.

Kim and I got all dressed up and headed up to The Bay, driving my dad's fishing/camping truck, which some co-workers had dubbed, "The Trout Truck". For years I had called the truck the "Fish-mobile", which I thought was an adequate name. The truck was a 1973 Dodge pick-up, and held a camper shell on the back. It was an extra vehicle and had pretty much become my set of wheels over that summer. In retrospect, I simply should have called it, "The Chick Magnet".

As we piled out of the Fish-mobile, we went up to the club, eager for an evening of dancing. Upon finding out how much admission was... and how little we had in our pockets... we determined that we didn't have enough money to get in. Not being the sort of lads that would roll over and cry, we decided to take our adventures elsewhere. We had an idea!! We both decided that it would be fun to rent a movie and pick up a hamburger at every fast food restaurant on 3500 South, in West Valley City. Back in 1985, there were only the typical fast-food hamburger establishments in West Valley. McDonalds, Wendy's, Hardees, Burger King and Arctic Circle. You get the idea. Anyhoo, after pooling our funds, we decided that we would have enough to buy one of the basic, cheap hamburgers from each establishment, go to Kim's house, cut the burgers in half, and have a taste test to see which hamburger was best.

We wound our way up the street, collecting a series of paper sacks, each containing a single, solitary hamburger. As we approached the end of our quest, we had one last establishment to venture to. Hardee's was located on 5600 West and 3500 South. As we left Arctic Circle and headed to the last fast-food chain on our quest, we were met with the flashing red and blue lights of a police cruiser. I panicked! What had I done? As the officer approached the driver's window, flashlight in hand, my heart raced at what seemed to be twice it's normal pace. The officer stepped up to my window, looked me in the eye and said, "Hi.... you boys been drinking, tonight?" "No, officer", I replied. "You seemed to be swerving quite a bit back there", referring to the stretch of rural highway that we had just driven. "I'm sorry, officer, I didn't notice. With the boat on top of the truck, and with the wind, sometimes it is a little difficult to keep the truck going absolutely straight".

Oh, yes.... sorry, dear reader... I forgot to mention that the Fish-mobile usually had an aluminum boat perched atop the camper shell... upside down, at the ready, just in case there was ever a need to go fishing.

After pondering what I had just told him, the officer then flashed the beam of his light across the middle of the seat, where there were 4 paper bags lined up on the front seat. "What's in the bags?" "Why, they are bags of mini-bottles and little teeny midget porn magazines, officer." Okay, I really didn't say that. Besides... who's ever seen a mini-magazine of midget porn? As much as I wish I had, I haven't. In reality, I simply responded that they contained hamburgers. He probably questioned my intentions... and possibly the contents... but didn't press the issue any further. Oh, and any of you that are still hung up on the midget porn comment? It was a joke. Really. No... really.

Back to the story...

The officer asked me to get out of the vehicle. I was devastated. This guy was actually going to make me do the "walk of shame" (also known as the series of D.U.I. tests) to see if I had, in fact, been drinking. He asked me to walk to the back of the truck, where he then proceeded to shine his light at the rear tire. "You see that tire... it's nearly bald. You really need to get that replaced." I relaxed, realizing that he didn't actually think I was drunk. Oh, in regards to that.... I should point out that I had not (and still have not) had consumed any alcoholic beverages. It was, in reality, the result of the wind blowing the truck around on the road.

I told the officer that I would inform my dad that the tires needed to be replaced, at which point he allowed us to leave. Although I had been speeding, the officer was kind enough to let me off with a warning. Having grown up with a father who a police officer, if there was one thing I learned, it was that you should be completely submissive to an officer. Any kind of backtalk usually resulted in a ticket. And to this point in my life, this policy has ALWAYS proven to benefit me in the end. The funny thing is that at nearly the exact same time, my father (the police officer) had been pulled over by a Heber City policeman, where my parents had been staying for the weekend.

I don't remember what movie we ended up watching... I barely remember which hamburger tasted best, but I feel pretty confident in saying that it was either Arctic Circle or Burger King. Why? Because it couldn't have been McDonalds.

Wow.... you know it just occurred to me that I had begun to tell you about Amy. You know... that cute, red-headed girlfriend of mine? Well... let's face it... that mush isn't as entertaining as, say... horse heads and fish trucks and Eddie Murphy.

Perhaps I have a topic for Chapter 15.

Chapter 3: The Misadventures of a Grade School Boy

2011-01-30T00:16:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know.... I know that it has been months and months since you have heard from me. I also know that I successfully made it all the way to Chapter 13 (give or take a number) and have managed to digress back to Chapter 3. There is a reason for this.

As I pondered what I would write about, I burdened myself with trying to remember many of the details of those early years of my life and then simply realized that it would be impossible, with the exception of those dates covered in my journal. Yes, folks, I have a journal that dates back to my grade school years. That shows you how absolutely dedicated to my life story I am. No, really.... I am. No. Really. I AM!

I decided that I would only write those things that you, the reader, may find entertaining. So, dear reader, let us hope that you are, in fact, entertained by the amusing antics that are to follow. Where to begin, where to begin...

In reality, my years in grade school were probably like those of most kids. I cried on my first day of Kindergarten, just like everybody else. Wait... what? Nobody else cried? Surely SOMEBODY must have cried. I couldn't have been the only one. And thanks to the Jackling Elementary teachers clever idea of having a "pretend" store in our classroom, my tears quickly went away, being replaced with glee, as I quickly worked to push my cans of beans on the consumer.

The years were full of struggles, both with my coming to terms with who I was, and with the curriculum that always seemed to keep me moving. I have few solid memories of those years, but one that never faded away was how hot my 4th grade teacher, Ms. Gourley, was. White hot. All of us boys had crushes on her. If I were a betting man... well... besides my usual $5.00 that I throw away every time I visit Wendover, Nevada... I would say that even the boys that grew up to eventually "bat for the other team" thought that Ms. Gourley was hot. And then she had to go get married. It was a bittersweet affair, that reception. We all went... all of her students... to celebrate her marriage to Mr. Palmer, but we were all sad. Even if we didn't show it, we were distraught, knowing that we would never have the chance to marry the beloved Ms. Gourley. Wait, wait, wait. This was the early 70's in Utah. She wasn't Ms. Gourley.... she was MISS Gourley. Sheesh, how could I label her as either a divorced woman or one of those nasty "Woman's Libbers". What was I thinking.

My adventures continued to get more and more bizarre the further I got into school. There was the incident in 5th grade when one of my schoolmates decided it would be funny to show off during our class talent show. His talent? Dancing around, hurling kidney beans around the room whilst the song, "My Mommy Told Me Not to Put Beans in my Ears" played over the crappy cassette recorder. The kids were amused, but not one to be outdone, I picked up one of the beans and pretended to put it in my ear. Except, when reality set in, I was NOT pretending. I tried to get the bean out of my ear and it kept sliding in. With each passing attempt, it kept going in deeper. I began to panic and I quickly went to the teacher to see if she could get it out. Even her attempts were fruitless as the bean went deeper into my ear canal. It was eventually decided that only a medical professional could remove that pesky bean from my ear.... and I was horrified.

I was horrified because we were going to Dr. Wright. In my opinion, he was nothing but Dr. Wrong. He was a surly old codger... a man that had no patience for his patients. At least those of us who exercised poor judgement in the idiotic decisions that we made. To this day, I will NEVER forget his reaction. I don't remember what he looked like (except the fact that he was a dinosaur and should have been at home reading his Reader's Digest like every other old fart in America), but I remember his tone of voice when he proclaimed, "Now, what the HELL did you do THAT for?!?" Sheesh, Mister.... excuse me.... DOCTOR... I did it to impress the chicks! You would have done the same thing!!

He dug, he pried, he jabbed one of the sharpest instruments in his arsenal of tools DEEP into my ear.... and it killed. I don't remember ever feeling that kind of pain, before or after. When I think about that incident, I can still sense the exact kind of pain that went shooting through my ear. It was horrible. Eventually, Dr. Wright decided that he would need to resort to his last option... the option that he wanted to avoid at all costs... of using a bulb syringe, attempting to rinse the bean out. His concern was that the bean would not come out, but would, in fact, begin to expand as it was immersed in water, creating a bigger problem than I already had. His concerns were unfounded, however, as the bean rinsed quickly out of my ear after being hit by the intense stream of water. Sheesh, Mister.... errr.... DOCTOR.... couldn't you have done that first? For. The. Love. Of. Pete.

Another memorable incident was when our 6th grade class attended Mill Hollow, a camp owned by the Granite School District, located in the High Uintah mountains of Eastern Utah. My teacher, Jim Shew (pronounced Gym Shoe) was the adult in charge of our cabin. There was nothing short of adventure in the cabins of Mill Hollow as mice darted to and fro, along the floor. It was a game to see if you could hit one with your shoe, killing (or, at the very least, maiming) it. However, like most games exposed to an 11 year old, that grew tiring. So, Mr. Shew decided to settle us down by telling us some humorous stories and jokes. His climactic joke was one that was the adventure of a man who... well... how can I word this on my "family friendly" blog?...ummm... did NOT suffer from E.D. If the wind blew hard enough, he would get... well... you get the point. Anyhow, to spare the clean minded reader of the filth that was contained in the joke, I will sum it up by saying that the punchline was "...five cheerleaders were killed by flying shrapnel. Man escapes on hairy pogo stick."

Now, let me be honest. I was 11... and a VERY naive 11 year old. I had no idea what Mr. Shew was talking about. All I know was that the boys laughed, and it must have been a HILARIOUS joke. Immediately after I marched into my house, after getting home, I ran to my mother to tell her the joke. She was horrified. Absolutely horrified. She couldn't believe her ears. She immediately went to the school and reported Mr. Shew's actions to the administration. I was humiliated. I spent the rest of the summer in complete embarrassment every time I saw Mr. Shew.... and yes, I continued to see him. You see, not only was Mr. Shew a top-notch comedian, but he was also part of the Dungeons and Dragons group that played at my house. Gee-whiz, Mr. Shew... I'm sorry. How embarrassed I am. Wait, YOU'RE embarrassed? No, you can't be as embarrassed as me. Now, 33 years later, I can see that he was probably a tad bit more embarrassed than I... and lucky to have had a job, after that summer.

I can't remember if it was that summer... or one of the subsequent summers... but I was once again crowned as the biggest idiot in our immediate family. Again, we were camping in the High Uintah mountains... specifically at Mirror Lake... when I thought I would try my luck at fishing in the shallow stream that floated into the lake, next to the boat dock. Typically, our family would go trolling, and my fishing efforts were entirely in vain.... until I landed the biggest whopper I would ever catch. Myself.

I had cast the lure out, reeling it in with each cast. After several fruitless attempts, I again cast the lure. I never saw it hit the water. Hmmm, I thought to myself, that's weird. It didn't hit the water... it felt like a solid cast... I wonder where it could have gone. I followed the fishing line as it ran across the tall, green grass. It went up into the air, giving me the impression that it was possibly in a tree. The line continued to arch in the breeze, making it difficult to follow. I followed the line closer and closer to where I was standing, until I realized that it wasn't in the grass. Nor was it in a tree. Instead, it was firmly planted in the back of my head. It was a three pronged "Triple Teaser" and the hook had somehow gone into my scalp and come back out. As soon as I realized that I had caught myself, I immediately began crying from the pain. To this day, I find it very weird that I didn't even feel the pain until I realized that the hook was in my head. And, I can attest to you that it was NOT my imagination. Yes, indeed... one for the psychology books. I can't remember if it was my parents that eventually got the hook out, or if it was a medical professional, but the hook had to be cut and pulled out from each end. That, however, was NOT the most humiliating part. What was even worse was the patch of hair that my mom had to cut in order for the hook to be easily removed. Nice bald spot, Mr. Dahl. It turned out to be foreshadow what I would be cursed with the bulk of my adult life.

I also remember going to the doctor to get a Tetanus shot, being told how badly the shots hurt. I received the shot in my upper arm and thought to myself, "What a daggum bunch of sissies these people must be, thinking this hurts." And then I woke up the following morning, feeling like my arm had been hit by a baseball bat. Daggum, the messes I got myself into.

But, as a youth leader would one day say about some idiotic kids that were harassing me, "Boys will be boys". And boys, I might add, can be total dumb @$$es.

My New Year's Eve - 2010

2011-01-03T22:04:00.000-08:00

What says "Happy New Year" more than...... back waxing?!?

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 13

2010-08-29T00:50:00.000-07:00

Senior Year (Part 2)

As Summer progressed into Fall, and Fall into Winter, I grew closer to Leslie. What I wasn't prepared for was the feelings of bitterness and jealousy that were going to brew inside of me, as Leslie became more and more involved with her friends. Leslie was a popular girl, and her social life was very important to her. In November, I had finally reached a breaking point. Unfortunately, Leslie had also reached an impasse, and she felt that we needed to cool things down. I was so devastated, that I officially named the day after a song by British singer/songwriter, Nick Heyward. The day was officially known as "the day it rained forever".

Fortunately, I had a great support network of friends and family, and they helped me through it. It was the closest I had emotionally felt to anyone (at that point in time) and I felt like my world had ended.

In reality, Leslie was feeling the same pain that I was, and within a week, we had pretty much moved back into our comfortable relationship. That Winter was full of happy memories, including school dances, Christmas festivities, and social activities with our friends.

As the joy of the Christmas season passed, and we settled into the January doldrums, my life once again began to be riddled with insecurities. Leslie had grown closer to a circle of friends that I didn't feel a part of. I grew insanely jealous of these friends, and felt sadness and despair the more she wanted to spend time with them. During the second week of January, 1985, I invited Leslie to attend a Murray High "stomp". It was an evening I could look forward to, as it was an actual "date". No friends to interfere with our time together.... or so I thought.

The evening of the "stomp" was like most dates. I picked her up, and we drove to the school. She mentioned that she may have some of her "other" friends showing up at the dance, as a portion of that group of kids also went to Murray. Indeed, they were there. We tried to divide our time with ourselves, and the group of friends. The flames of jealousy were quickly being fed, and soon enough they had ignited into a full on fire.

With a short time to go, before the end of the dance, Leslie came up to me and asked if I would mind if she left with her friends. At first, I tried to be the generous boyfriend.... yes, I was hurt, but I wanted her to get her wishes... and I told her "yes, if that was what she wanted to do". As she began to gather her things and exit the gymnasium, my fire of jealousy blazed into a raging inferno. I stormed out, and with an intense, hurtful energy, I gave her the ultimatum... if she left with them, we were through. I didn't know what else to do, but I was desperate. I was losing her, and losing her fast.

The pain turned to numbness, as she broke down in tears, and left with her friends. I still remember images of her encircled by her group of friends, trying to offer comfort... trying to let her know that they would always be there for her. I wasn't so lucky. I didn't have my support group. I left the dance, broken hearted.

My relationship with Leslie was over. There was no attempt at reconciliation after the incident at the "stomp". I'm sure I said things that hurt her. She most definitely did things that hurt me, and the pain was final. It was implanted in who I was.

The end of my relationship with Leslie brought about some big changes in my life. Where I had spent the better part of my high school years falling in love with New Wave music, and everything that it entailed... the fashion... the terminology... the attitude, I headed for my second break up. I had to break up with the music that fed the bitter memories of my time with Leslie. I seethed with anger every time I would see members of her circle of friends. It was tough, as I had to go to school with several of them. They would cluster around, feeding the anger and jealousy. I finally had to divorce myself from the group AND everything that it stood for. The song "Forever Young", by ALPHAVILLE was getting all kinds of radio play, and Leslie's friends were just eating it up. I despised it. I couldn't listen to it. I needed something different.

I turned to the accepting arms of Paul Simon and Arthur Garfunkel. I immersed myself in the music and attitude of the 60's. I dressed in black, trying to emulate the attire of the Beatnik generation. V-neck sweaters and turtlenecks, anything but what Leslie and her friends were wearing. I also began to (once again) embrace Cheap Trick, and music that the New Wavers would knowingly hate. It helped me heal. It allowed me to metaphorically "open my mind"... without the aid of narcotics that were so popular back in the late 60's and early 70's.

I had two things on my mind. First and foremost, healing... and second, Hawaii. The 8 day trip to Honolulu, Hawaii with the A capella and Madrigal choirs was coming up, the first week of April. I spent my afternoons building my base tan, spending time with my friends... at the time, Kim Simpson and my cousin, Chris... and most importantly, getting over the emotional pain that had rocked my world. I even found myself letting the "New Wave" music back into my life. After all, it was part of who I was.

In April, the choir embarked for a week of fun and sun. The week we spent in Honolulu will always remain one of my fondest memories. I was roommates with John Davis, Mark Davis, Mitch Ricks and (if I recall correctly) Dave Broschinsky. Truth be told, I actually slept out on a cot, out on the balcony of the hotel, with the fresh Hawaii air and the view of an alley and garbage dumpsters. I didn't care. I loved it all. I spent cherished time with some of my best friends... explored the island (our trip included a day at the Polynesian Cultural Center, an LDS owned and operated tourist attraction on the "windward" side of the island, as well as a day of snorkeling at Hanauma Bay. John and Mark Davis and I also hiked to the top of Diamond Head, the famous volcano that is the highlight of the Waikiki skyline.

Another important part of my trip was also purchasing a souvenir cassette tape. I had a personal tradition of buying a cassette tape, whenever I was on a trip. If I were in West Yellowstone, with the Police Cadets, I would by a tape at the gas station counter (one such tape being the first Naked Eyes album, a tape that still reminds me of snowmobiling in Yellowstone). In Hawaii, it was at a local mall. This particular trip brought me the second album by Depeche Mode, entitled "A Broken Frame". Again, every time I listen to the album, it reminds me of Hawaii and the time immediately following.

Upon return to Utah, life settled in to a normal pattern. We were less than 2 months from graduation, and I was finally at a place where my life was full of happiness. The week after returning from Hawaii, I was walking the halls of school, when I passed a young red headed girl. Her hair was cut about shoulder length, and she reminded me of Molly Ringwald in the John Hughes movie, SIXTEEN CANDLES. We didn't say anything, but simply smiled at each other. Her smile was unlike anything I had seen. Whether it was from the large amount of teeth to be seen, or simply the positive energy that she seemed to radiate, I was hooked. I spent the next few days looking for her in the halls, and then on April 12th, I finally built up the nerve to talk to her at another "stomp". Not only did I talk to her, but we ended up dancing. Not only did we end up dancing, but we ended up slow dancing. So, having come full circle... where my relationship with Leslie had died at an MHS "stomp", my relationship with Amy Hayes began at an MHS "stomp".

Amy and I began calling each other, but couldn't really do much more than that. She was a sophomore at Murray, and hadn't turned 16, yet. Those last weeks of school were riddled with phone calls, visits to Amy's work (Dairy Queen at Fashion Place Mall) and simply visiting her house. We grew incredibly close as we continued visiting with each other, and those feelings even extended to her rather large family. The pain and anger that had plagued me as 1985 dawned, had been completely driven from my system. Apart from the summer of 1984, the late Spring and Summer of 1985 will always carry some of my happiest memories, as a teenager.

Oh, and on June 5, 1985, I graduated from Murray High School. But, is that important? Perhaps...

The Amega Wand: A life changing tool...

2010-08-22T13:41:00.001-07:00

Sunday, August 22, 2010

The Amega Wand: A life changing tool...

First, let me point out.... I feel weird even doing this blog post. It isn't my style. However, because of the positive changes in my life, I feel obligated to share it with you.

The item I am talking about is the Amega "wand". This pen shaped, metallic wand is taking the world by storm. Having created waves all over Europe and Asia, it finally made it's way to North America, just last year. What is it, you ask? Let me explain.

The Amega wand is one of many products created and marketed by Amega Global, a worldwide layered marketing company. The company has created products that utilize "Zero Point Energy" technology, which was first proposed by Albert Einstein and Otto Stern, back in 1913. Here is a more in depth definition:

Zero-point energy is the lowest possible energy that a quantum mechanical physical system may have and is the energy of the ground state. The quantum mechanical system that encompasses this energy is the zero-point field. The concept was first proposed by Albert Einstein and Otto Stern in 1913. The term "zero-point energy" is a calque of the German Nullpunktenergie. All quantum mechanical systems have a zero-point energy. The term arises commonly in reference to the ground state of the quantum harmonic oscillator and its null oscillations.

Zero-point energy is sometimes used as a synonym for the vacuum energy, an amount of energy associated with the vacuum of empty space. When the term is used in this way, sometimes it is referred to as the quantum vacuum zero point energy. In cosmology, the vacuum energy is one possible explanation for the cosmological constant.^[1] The variation in zero-point energy as the boundaries of a region of vacuum move leads to the Casimir effect, which is observable in nanoscale devices.

The belief is that the products distributed by Amega utilize and energize the Zero Point Energy, which is at the core of all molecular compounds. This means the cells of your body, as well as those inanimate objects around you. Amega offers an array of items, which help with an array of things... from energy to healing. At the end of this post, I will put a link to the Omega Global website, which offers more information about the products. For now, I would like to talk about my exposure and subsequent conversion to the products.

I was first exposed to the Amega wand through my mother-in-law. I should point out that as long as I have known her (now 21 years), she has ALWAYS been involved with multi-level marketing... to no avail. Along with her obsession with companies like Amway, Melaleuca and others, she has always been fascinated with holistic forms of medication and Alternative Medicine. DMSO is something that she has been pitching to us for years and years. While I believe that DMSO has it's place in Alternative Medicine, I think her take on it bleeds into the... well... eccentric. DMSO cures EVERYTHING, as far as she's concerned.

So, when Cheryl (my mother-in-law) approached me with the Amega wand, at first I just rolled my eyes (to myself, as I didn't want to hurt her feelings). She would go on and on about her wand, wanding her food... wanding her water... wanding the room... wanding herself... wanding us. Eventually, she began pestering Tiffany and I about attending one of her meetings, where they would talk about the benefits of the Amega products, as well as actually use the products on people. Tiffany had attended one of the meetings without me, and had been wanded by several people in attendance. She had injured her rotator cuff, while lifting weights, and had been in pain for at least two months. While remaining committed to her exercise regiment, she felt like she was being held back by the injury. While working with a personal trainer, he would try and utilize exercises that would help her to condition the muscle, while not agitating it.

When she attended the meeting of people interested in the Amega products, she was wanded for several minutes. According to her description, it felt "warm", and the pain, for the most part, totally subsided. Within a week the injury had fully healed, and to this day, she hasn't experienced any further discomfort. Tiffany was not a full blown convert, but she was definitely liking what she felt.

Eventually, I attended a meeting with her, and experienced the power of the wand, for myself. The gentleman conducting the meeting tried several different tests on me. First, he had me stand up and hold my arm out. He tried pushing down on my arm, while commanding me to stand on both feet, not moving. Because it was his two arms versus my one arm, not only did my arm get pushed down, but I lost my balance, forcing me to move one of my feet. He then commenced to wand my body, rotating the wand in a clockwise motion (the wand ALWAYS needs to be rotated in a clockwise motion, in order for it to work properly), because this is the way all things in nature rotate. From the sun and it's orbiting planets to the nucleus of the atom, with it's rotating electrons.

Following his wanding, he did the same test. When my arm should have been more fatigued, I actually held more resistance, while being able to maintain my balance. The gentleman then did the same experiment, except this time, he wanded a circle on the floor and then asked me to stand in the circle... with the same result. A cynic might accuse the man of not pushing with all of his might, on the second attempt, but I assure you, it was evident that he was exerting all his energy.

Following this experiment, the man then asked me if I was experiencing any pain. I am a Letter Carrier, by profession, and often experience chronic aches and pains, related to my job. It just so happened that this particular day, I was feeling aches in one of my ankles. He proceeded to wand my ankle for several minutes, before asking me if the pain had decreased. It had! To my amazement, not only had MY pain decreased, but there was a gentleman that showed up simply to have a chronic condition of his own wanded. He wasn't even affiliated with the company, but had faith in the healing powers of the wand.

By the end of the meeting, my mother-in-law signed me up with the company. In addition to doing this, she was kind enough to buy me a wand. For the following ten days, I couldn't believe how excited I was to get the wand... to really try it out.

As stated, I often feel chronic aches and pains related to my job. One such chronic pain was in my left elbow. Because I spend at least two hours of each day cradling mail in my left arm, I had adopted the condition commonly known as "tennis elbow". I had seen a doctor, and all they did was prescribe me a brace, as well as Ibuprofin. I wore the brace, and I took the pain medication, but the aching persisted. After getting my wand, the first thing I did was take it to the elbow. I have not been pain free, the entire time, but most days I can honestly say that I don't feel any pain. My knees, which have had a similar chronic pain (dating back several years), have also been (mostly) pain free. In addition to my chronic pains, the day I received the wand was also a day when I had been experiencing an abscess in one of my teeth. This has been something that has come and gone for the better part of the year. Sometimes the pain was unbearable, but by time I could get around to see a dentist, the pain had usually subsided (it seemed I was always experiencing these extreme bouts of pain on weekends). Not only did the pain not get too extreme, but it quickly dissipated, going away after about 24 hours. The infection even worked itself out, without the aid of an antibiotic.

So, two months later, and you can see me wanding myself... or one of my family members... on any given day. Another thing I use my wand for, is to energize my water. It may look silly for me to stir my mug (at work) or glass (at home) of water, with my wand, but it honestly changes the way I feel. In addition to the added energy that it gives the water (thereby giving me), it actually alters the taste it. I kid you not. Somehow, the Zero Point Energy energizes the food, altering it's taste (in a good way). In the second meeting that I attended, a lemon was presented. The lemon was cut in half, with one half being taken from the room. The other half was wanded for several minutes. At the end of the wanding cycle, the other half (it being the same half that was removed) was brought back in to the room. We were all given a small sample of the wanded lemon, which actually tasted like a sweet lemon. Then we were given a portion of the unwanded half, which was noticeable more bitter. And when I say noticeably more bitter, I mean it was SOUR.

I have used the wand on my sister and her husband. She had been suffering from a chronic knee pain (caused by running), he, what appeared to be a mild case of Plantar Fasciitis (a condition that I had suffered a couple of years ago, resulting in a surgery). After wanding them both for only a couple of minutes, they both reported less pain, in addition to a "tingling" sensation that was experienced by my sister. She has since raved about how she hasn't experienced any more of these problems that had been plaguing her. Even my brother-in-law's heel condition seems to have fixed itself.

My mother-in-law eventually purchased a pendant (an Amega product that utilizes the Zero Point Energy technology, in a fashionable silver pendant, to be hung around one's neck) for Tiffany. She had been wearing it, but hadn't noticed any changes. In the third meeting that we attended, a woman attended who had medical experience. She was also married to a doctor, and an avid Amega fan. It was at this meeting that she announced that IF you happen to be on anti-depressants, that you should only wand yourself for three minutes or less, as the wand fights against your medications, creating a physical conflict. This made sense, as not only had Tiffany's experience not reaped any positive experience, but she seemed more anxious than any time in recent history. So now, we only wand her for short periods of time... and I get to wear the pendant on a regular basis. I honestly have not felt this good in a long time.

I know that many of you may be shaking your head about what I have said, and I don't blame you. I would be right there with you, if I hadn't experienced it for myself. If you are a local friend that has a medical condition, and you would like to try it out, let me know... I'd be happy to wand you. If you want to research more about the products available, you can go to www.eamega.com.

If you live in the Northern Utah area, and are interested in attending a meeting (honestly, it is a couple hours well spent), let me know, and I will forward the information to you. For those of you who think that I am somebody who is just trying to drive a business, I'm not. I am fully committed to the product, and if there is a potential of making money... well... fine, I'm not going to argue with that. That's the beauty of it... not only will this product change your life PHYSICALLY, but it has the potential of doing it FINANCIALLY, as well. The company is relatively new to America (after finding HUGE success overseas), so it is a good time to be involved.

If you have any questions for me directly, feel free to e-mail me at: zekethefreak3@gmail.com.

There are many products that I haven't even touched on, and some coming out in the near future that will revolutionize personal beauty care. Utilizing the Zero Point Energy wand and the beauty products soon to be released, you can give yourself a literal facelift, with only beauty products and the wand. In areas where these products have been tested, people have not only noticed a (very noticeable) decrease in wrinkles (the infamous "crows' feet, etc.), but have literally caused a lifting of the test subjects facial features. Not only that, but the benefits were documented to have been still visible EIGHT WEEKS following the simple application of the products.

It's exciting, my friends...whether we are talking the all-purpose "wand", the pendant or one of the bracelets (marketed to increase ones circulation, without increasing the heart rate), water energizer (used to energize the water, as well as removing the acidic compounds in water that have been linked with certain kinds of cancer) these products change the way we feel. They have changed the way I feel, and I know they will only continue to help me down the road. It's tough to honestly notice how much they have benefited me, because I don't know what I would feel like without them... but, one thing is for certain, I feel better now than I did 6 months ago...

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 12

2010-04-25T01:40:00.000-07:00

Chapter 12
SENIOR YEAR (part 1)

At the end of August, 1984, I began what would end up being the final year of my formal education... at least, as of this writing (2010). There were several reasons why I began this year with complete enthusiasm. First, I had a new girlfriend. Although Leslie and I attended different schools, each day was filled with excitement, as I excitedly waited for phone calls...or dates... or both.

In addition my new relationship with Leslie, my Senior year also brought the excitement of being in the Madrigal choir. The Madrigal choir consisted of 28 of the finest singers, culled from the ranks of the near 100 member A Capella choir. In Murray High School, thanks to the wonderful guidance of Mr. Leland Flinders, the choir was not only a well respected organization, but one that many students sought to be in. Part of this may had to do with the annual trip to Honolulu, Hawaii, where the A Capella and Madrigal choirs competed in an international choir competition. It was stated that just being accepted in the competition meant that your choir was one of the finest choirs in the world, and to receive a gold medal indicated that you were one of the 50 best choirs, in the world. How accurate this statement is, I do not know. One thing is for certain... each and every choir that performed at this competition were great choirs. Ours was no exception. Mr. Flinders was a former member of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and one that demanded respect. In retrospect, he was one of the finest teachers I ever had, if not the best.

In addition to both choirs, I kept myself busy as a second year member of the Murray City Police Cadets. In addition to the many public services that this position offered, it also kept a steady, albeit meager paycheck coming. Several of my closest friends were still involved in Police Cadets, so my life was complete.

For reasons that I still can't put a finger on, I decided to audition for the school musical, in the Fall of 1984. Our school was putting on a production of South Pacific, and I wanted to test out my acting talents... if there were any. Because of my position in the Madrigal choir, I somewhat expected to get a reasonably decent role, in the musical. I was disappointed when I was only cast as an ensemble character... or, in this case... a sailor. At the time, I didn't understand the usual course of action for scholastic drama. One is usually cast in an ensemble, or as a random (generic) cast member, in their first production. After proving their acting chops... or lack, thereof...they are then cast into more serious roles. Of course, South Pacific was my one and only theatrical experience, so that is as far as I ever went. I did enjoy my time in the production, in addition to making new friends.

September and October included some of my favorite memories, as a teenager. As a music enthusiast, I enjoyed two of my favorite concerts. First, one of my favorite bands of the time, Echo & The Bunnymen played a show at the University of Utah. I was excited enough to see Echo, but when I found out that The Fleshtones (a band that Kim and I had really gotten into, the previous summer) were opening, I was ecstatic. There were two interesting side notes, about this concert. First, Kim and I were eager enough to attend, that we purchased tickets. I subsequently won a ticket on Generic Radio, a radio show on KRCL, our local community radio station. I offered the ticket to Rich, who was now a Sophomore at Murray. He was, at first, excited to attend his first concert. However, as the evening approached, he all of a sudden came to the point of backing out. There was a scout activity that he suddenly felt a desire to attend. I succeeded in talking him into attending the concert, and in the end, it was one of the greatest shows that both of us ever attended. A second interesting tidbit about this concert was the unannounced second opening act. A one-man band, of sorts. This scrawny, skinhead British chap came out and proceeded to play a set on acoustic guitar, with an array of other instruments. As he stepped up to the microphone, he quickly announced, "This is a song about sperm", after which he broke into song. His songs were quirky, and often interesting, yet the crowd was restless and eager for Echo & The Bunnymen. People in the audience began throwing coins at the stage. Eventually, the performer... a then, unknown Billy Bragg... stopped singing, and began scrambling around the stage, picking up the increasing amount of coins that were being heaved his direction. To this day, I will never forget the enthusiasm on his face when he picked up what appeared to be a silver dollar, gleefully showing it to the crowd, before being whisked off the stage. Echo & The Bunnymen eventually hit the stage, and we were given one of the moodiest, most incredible concerts I have ever seen. In retrospect, I didn't even know most of their songs (they were limited to much of their earlier material, as their current release "Ocean Rain" featured many songs with sophisticated string arrangements), but the atmosphere of Kingsbury Hall, mixed with the gothic stage design of their show, created one of the most memorable concert experiences of my life.

A week later, I attended another great concert. Leslie was also an avid music enthusiast, as were most of our friends. In July, announcements had been made for a Thompson Twins concert. Because of the restrictions that my parents had placed on me... that of NOT buying any concert tickets, until I had a certain amount of money saved for the Hawaii trip... I was told that I couldn't go to the concert. I was devastated. The Thompson Twins' "Into The Gap" album was my favorite album of the preceding year. Not only were they coming to Utah for their first ever performance, but Berlin was opening up. Our entire group of friends had made plans to attend the concert... except me. Little did I know that Leslie had secretly purchased me a ticket, and given it to me as a late birthday present. It was honestly one of the greatest birthday presents I ever received. In mid-September, that dream birthday present became a reality. We were finally seeing The Thompson Twins.

During Berlin, I saw a side of Leslie that I had not been prepared to see. She went ballistic when John Crawford, the male force behind Berlin (and main songwriter) sang the song, "Sex (I'm a...), with lead vocalist, Terri Nunn. In retrospect, I must have been a rather insecure teen, but I was not prepared for the blatant sexual desire that she displayed for John Crawford. During this song, I experienced some of the deepest feelings of jealousy that I had ever experienced in my 17 years of life. Little did I know, those feelings would be a regular encounter, during my brief relationship with Ms. Leslie Willardsen...

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 11

2010-03-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

Chapter 11: Summer of 1984

The Summer of 1984 was nothing shy of an adventure. Most of these antics can be found in Chapter 7, which chronicles my adventures with my best friend Kim Simpson.

At the end of my Junior year in high school, my parents had imposed restrictions on me, concerning my concert goings. As I was growing up, my parents had restricted us from going to concerts, until we turned 16. There were a few exceptions along the way, but the rule was that they had to be in attendance. We had seen BREAD (age 11), MANNHEIM STEAMROLLER... and the Vienna Boy's Choir. Hardly the kind of concerts that I wanted to see, with the exception of Bread... as it was the closest thing to a "Rock" concert, that I had seen. As I approached my 16th birthday, I began attending concerts. I couldn't get enough of them. From BOW WOW WOW to THE TUBES, I was hooked.

During my Junior year, I had successfully auditioned for the A cappella and Madrigal choirs. Thanks to an incredible music teacher, our choirs were blessed with an 8 day/7 night adventure to Honolulu, Hawaii. Because of such an ambitious trip, it was requisite for us to save up as much money as possible. I was horrible with saving, so my parents had to put restrictions on my concert spending. I was told that I needed to save up a certain amount of money before I could go to any concerts. In May of 1984, Modern English (a British band, best known for their hit "I Melt With You") was coming to Salt Lake, and I was dying to go. I asked my father, who immediately told me of my sanctions. I was distraught to the point of tears. Having seen how heartbroken I was, my father had a plan. He was not going to concede on his sanctions, but he had another offer.

In June of that year, my father was going to be going to Minneapolis, Minnesota, for a month long class. So he would have a car to drive, while away from home, he opted to drive to Minneapolis, rather than fly. He didn't want to do such an extensive trip alone, so he asked to have Ray (my older brother) drive back with him. As part of his offer, he invited me along on their trip, which would cost him more money. Not only would it cost him the additional food, but airfare for me to return home, with Ray. Further details of this trip can also be found in Chapter 7. Suffice it to say, this trip was a sacrifice for my father. He paid a significant amount of money to bring me along, but also made it possible for me to have one of the most memorable trips of my life.

During this summer, Rich and Kristy went with my mother, to stay with Aunt Ruth and Uncle Don, who were living in a suburb of Chicago. My father was not supposed to come home until mid-July, at which point he would travel up to Chicago, pick up the rest of the family, and then drive home... in very much the same fashion that he did with Ray and I. However, at the end of June, we all received news that Grandpa Dahl had passed away. My poor Grandpa Dahl was an elderly man that had given up the desire to live, soon after his wonderful wife, Esther, had passed away, back in 1973. Even when Grandma Dahl had passed away, Grandpa Paul was up there in years. He had lived a good life, raising 6 wonderful boys. There are very few things that I remember from this point of my life, with vividness.... but one of those things was my Uncle Grant standing up at Grandpa Dahl's funeral, saying that we had gathered "not to mourn the loss of a loved one, but to celebrate the reunion of a man, with his wife". That summed up the service. Grandpa had been miserable ever since his wife had left him. He was once again reunited, and once again happy.

Because of Grandpa Dahl's passing and funeral, my father was forced to come home from his class. His homecoming would be brief, as he needed to get back to Minneapolis to retrieve the car and rest of the family. He made it home in time to attend the funeral and help with the 4th of July festivities, in Murray City. As Police Cadets, we were responsible for blocking traffic in preparation of the parade, help keep things under control during the parade, do security at the Murray Park carnival and then help with security and traffic control during (and after) the fireworks display. It ALWAYS made for a long day, and we were happy to have my father leading the show.

As the Summer wore on, Kim and I kept ourselves busy with music, sleepovers and church dances. On June 23rd, Kim and I went to a Murray Region dance. About an hour before the dance was going to conclude, I was asked to dance by a cute girl who had an awesome energy. She loved to talk, which it immediately made it comfortable to talk to her. By the end of the evening, I still only knew her first name, and didn't have her phone number or address... but that didn't stop me from thinking about her, throughout the summer.

In July, my mother had finally registered me in a private driver's education class, which would take the better part of three weeks to finish. Much better than the public school alternative. My mom had promised me that she would put me in a private course, shortly after I turned 16 (in 1983). Due to budget restrictions, it never came into fruition, until the summer of '84. I seemed to be the last person in my class to get a driver's license.

This summer was an incredibly important one for me, musically. If you asked me to define my adolescence, I would say that it would be the music and events of 1984. Echo & The Bunnymen had released their landmark album "Ocean Rain", Thompson Twins had blessed us with "Into The Gap" and Blancmange and Depeche Mode were staples on my turntable. Much of what Kim and I did had a soundtrack. Often it was The Fleshtones or Marshall Crenshaw, but regardless of what it was, it was ALWAYS present.

On August 9th, our LDS ward had a Stake Youth Conference, which (at the time) they always held at Utah State University. I had the pleasure of going to two of these Youth Conferences, and they were also highlights of my adolescent years. From a peer standpoint, this conference was a bizarre one. Chris (my cousin), Kim and I were, at this point, nearly the only three "New Wavers" in our stake. My brother Rich, and some of his friends, had really begun to grasp onto our music, and were helping to round things out, but Kim and I really seemed to be the target. We were often ridiculed, albeit lightly, by many of the kids in our wards and stake. Youth Conference was no different, as we became the subject of dorm pranks. I can't even remember exactly what had been done to our dorm, but I will never forget the excuse that the adult adviser had told us, following one prank that had caused us some grief.... "ah, boys will be boys". Yeah... boys will be boys.

That evening, following a dinner, Kim and I were hanging out (what was probably) the Student Union Building. We were near the bowling alley, when I bumped into Leslie, the girl that I had met at the church dance, earlier that summer. I was blown away! She was spending time at Utah State with her school's yearbook group. She and her friend blew off their events of the evening, so that they could go to the dance that our stake leaders had organized for us. We spent this time to become even more acquainted, and by the end of the night, had made plans to call each other, when we got home.

During one of the final meetings of Youth Conference, Kim and I thought it would be funny to scratch the name and image of one of our Punk music obsessions, into our arms, with the aid of a safety pin. The Punk icon was Slammy, I can't even recall what band Slammy sang for, but I will never forget his trademark "rhino horn" on his head (think Martin Short's early 80's character Ed Grimley). I took the pin and proceeded to scratch a rough drawing of Slammy into my arm, including a crude image of him. I supposed that this image would be red for a few hours, then fade away............. boy, was I wrong.

My Slammy scratch proceeded to bleed, and eventually turned into a scab, and then eventually into a scar... a scar that would last for 3 years. Right after my return from Youth Conference, I had to attend the Police Cadet graduation, for the Cadets that were graduating. How amusing it was, trying to keep my Slammy scab covered and out of sight, wearing a short sleeve Police Cadet uniform. I guess, in retrospect, the most amusing part was the fact that my parents never did notice it, and to this day do not know that it even existed.

On August 14th, after keeping in touch with Leslie, Kim and I planned an adventure that had been unprecedented. During this summer, we had both taken to riding around town on our "beach cruisers", which were 1 speed, manually ridden bicycles. My particular bike was my dad's old Schwinn Typhoon, which he had owned when he was 14 years of age. This would date the bike back to 1957, if not earlier. As for the adventure, we decided that we would ride the bikes across town to visit Leslie and her friend. It only took us 45 minutes to ride from our home in West Valley to Cottonwood Mall. We had a wonderful time, especially me, as I was finally getting to know Leslie.

On August 15th, the morning after the historic bike ride, our family headed up to Bear Lake, for a (LDS) ward campout. It was a fun camp, complete with swimming in the lake, and camping in a campground, which had been reserved for the entire ward. Following this brief adventure, our family (with John Davis, who had accompanied me on the trip) headed for the High Uintas, where we spend a few more days of camping. On the trip, I was able to practice my driving, preparing myself for the test which I would take shortly after returning. John and I grew bored with the (non) events of the camping trip, (not to mention my desire to get back home, so I could call Leslie), so we opted to head home early. On the way home, we visited his grandparents in Midway (Utah) and rode a little mini-bike up the circular perimeter of the tall hill that sits in the middle of Midway. On the way home, we listened to Depeche Mode's "People Are People". Funny how I can't remember some of the significant details of my life, but I remember listening to "Get The Balance Right", while driving out of the Heber/Midway area.

Another reason why we headed home early was so that we could attend a canyon picnic with Leslie, and her circle of friends. This dinner was hosted by "Daddy Bob" Borden, who was father of Becky Borden, one of Leslie's good friends. It was at this picnic that I met several of the people who would become my circle of friends, over the coming months. Dawna Datwyler, Nancy Short, the Borden sisters, and the guy that I would consider the "mellowest man on Earth", Marlowe. It was a tasty dinner of bar-b-que hamburgers, with all of us sporting our collegiate sweatshirts (mine, from the University of Minnesota) and Sperry top-siders (or Converse Skid Grips), the true fashions of the day.

After dinner, we all headed to the fire pit, where we commenced to sit around the fire. During this time, without any expectations, Leslie grabbed my hand. My heart leaped with happy emotions. Amidst all the excitement of conversation, "sparking" (biting on Wint-O-Green Lifesavers in total darkness creates a "spark" reaction) and fun, I was lost in love... or, at least, real LIKE. By the end of the evening, Leslie and I had even experienced our first kiss...

A Trip Down Memory Lane: ELECTRIC COMPANY

2010-03-09T16:18:00.000-08:00

Morgan Freeman, Irene Cara and 70's groove. 'Nuff said.

Truth be told, this was one of my favorite TV memories, as a child. I hope you enjoy it...

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 10

2010-03-07T01:18:00.000-08:00

Chapter 10: Junior Year

Many say that the junior year of high school is the worst. At Murray High School, Junior year was the middle of 3 years. Sophomore's had the benefit of being new on campus... a sense of "growing up" and truly becoming a young adult. Seniors... well, seniors were the big men (and women) on campus. There were ready to enter the "real world". But, for the juniors... well... they just didn't matter.

For me, my junior year was actually one of my favorite. It was better than my sophomore year, as I had finally settled into a new circle of friends. At school, I had the Davis boys (John and Mark), I had the other members of the X-Country team, I had recently been accepted into the Murray City Police Cadet program, so I was involved with a new circle of friends, and at home... well, I still had my cousin Chris and Kim Simpson. Life was good.

At the end of my sophomore year, I had tried out for two different organizations. First, I tried out for Junior Choir. I had grown up listening to music, even singing in our church choir, but had never really done any singing with other groups. Most of my singing had been to myself, singing along with my records or tapes. At Kennedy Jr. High, the choir program was for geeks. Cool people participated in the band program. At Murray High, it was the opposite. Band geeks tended to have body odor problems. The teacher had some of the greasiest hair I had ever seen. Apart from a couple of cool people in the class, I just wasn't enjoying myself. Part of it had to do with the incessant harassment that I received, due to a poor "tone". I don't know if it was my trombone, or the way I played, but it never ended. At the end of my sophomore year, I had decided that I had had enough. I passed the choir audition, with flying colors. It was the Junior Choir, and only those that couldn't hold a tune in a bucket were turned away.

I also applied to be a Murray Police Cadet. This was a little more rigorous than the choir audition, but was something that I really wanted to do. My father had been the adviser over the Police Cadets, for several years, and I knew the fun that they had. Murray Police Cadets were responsible for a variety of functions. First, they took care of a lot of "grunt work", down at City Hall. They were responsible for microfilming police reports. (You see, kids, back in the early 80's, and decades leading up to then, microfiche were the technology used for the mass storage of information... at least information printed in document form.) The Police Cadets were also responsible for some more exciting jobs. They trained the K-9 dogs... or, at least HELPED train the dogs. In reality, the cadets were the suckers who would dress up in the padded suits, or don the padded sleeve, to be viciously attacked by the K-9 dogs. Cadets also did "property checks", where they would drive around and make daily checks to people's homes, when they were out of town. One of the more exciting jobs was doing "beer sales". The cadets would be sent into convenience stores, where they would attempt to buy beer. If they were sold the alcohol, a police officer would promptly enter the store, citing the clerk for sale to a minor, and suspend the store's liquor license for a short time. Last, but not least, was the C.E.R.T. training. The C.E.R.T. team was similar to a S.W.A.T. team, in everything, but the name. As cadets, we would enter vacant schools, and pretend like we were taking hostages. The C.E.R.T. team was responsible for defusing the situation. On top of all this fun and games, the Police Cadets were PAID for their endeavors. It was a job. Yes, a job that paid minimum wage (at the time, between $3.00 and $3.50/hr.), but a job, nonetheless.

Unless you are daft, you would have gotten (from the end of the last paragraph) that I succeeded in making it in to the Cadet program. As my father was the adviser of the group, he took no part in my hiring process. He interviewed all the other candidates, but my interview was left up to one of the sergeants on the police department. I apparently must have left a good impression, as I made it into the organization.

The first real tasks as a Police Cadet were taking care of the 4th of July parade, celebration and fire works (something that kept us busy from 6:00 AM to midnight) and Cadet Camp. Cadet Camp was an annual tradition that was started by my father. Many of my favorite memories from my early teens were those involving Cadet Camp. We would go camping for a week, every year being a different locale, and different adventure. We went to the Uintah Mountains. We went to Fish Lake. We did nothing productive... unless you count shooting .37 Magnum guns productive.

This particular year (the summer of 1983), we went to Fish Lake and Capitol Reef National Park. For myself, there was nothing more fun than spending a week of my summer, camping with some of my closest friends. John Davis and Mark Davis both made it into the Cadet Corp, in addition to some other friends that I had met over the preceding year. Dave Broschinsky, Maunette Ronan (a fellow X-Country team member), Tammy Bills and Scott Warner were a few of the others that I really got to know over the course of my junior year.

While camping at Fish Lake, some of us decided to go for a ride in the fishing boat. My father's fishing boat was a small aluminum boat, with three benches. I decided to man the engine, so I was sitting on the back seat. I was wearing a pair of shorts, with a pair of boxers as my underwear. I don't know what I ever saw in boxers... perhaps, it was the lovely patters... but I quickly learned my lesson about NOT wearing boxers, at least when piloting a boat, with relatively short shorts. As were were boating across the lake, John Davis kept trying to get my attention. He would look at me, then look down. I, for the life of me, couldn't figure out what he was on about. It was several minutes later that I looked down, to see my of my "boys" (my term for my testicles) sticking out my shorts. It wouldn't have been bad, except for the fact that there was at least one girl in the boat, if not more. When I asked Maunette if she'd been privy to my exhibition, she confirmed it, telling me that she just "felt embarrassed" for me.

As the school year kicked off, I once again found myself running X-Country. Nothing had changed, really. The one-legged Dennis Dawson still drove us, like a madman. My school days began with 3-4 miles of O.D. (over distance running), continuing on with my array of scholarly pursuits. Algebra, Type 1, Junior Choir and Zoology were just a few of the classes that occupied my time. The X-Country season lasted from the beginning of school, all the way into October. On Wednesdays, we would find ourselves doing one-on-one meets, against other schools in the region. At the time, Murray High was Region 6, 3A. The size of the school (population of students) would decide what category you would fit in to. 1A were small schools from rural parts of Utah, where 4A were the highest populated schools in Salt Lake City. Murray was rather packed, with over 1,000 students, but not as big as some.

I remained on the J.V. team, although I did find myself progressing. During the Region championship meet, I was anxious, but felt like I wanted to prove something to my team. As the gun was fired, I did my best to get to the front of the pack. I settled into a fast pace... faster than I had ever done before. As we began the first circle of SugarHouse Park (a beautiful, grassy park on the East side of the Salt Lake Valley, and home for not only the Region and State championship meets, but several road races, throughout the year), I maintained a lead at the beginning of the pack, however, I quickly started a war inside my mind. I kept obsessing about the fact that I still had 2 miles to go, but was already feeling an extreme burning in my lungs, in addition to exhaustion. Even with all the training, I felt like I wasn't ready for the pace that I was keeping. My mind got the best of me, and I eventually collapsed to the side of the track. To this day, I will never forget the disappointment I saw in Coach Dawson's eyes... or, in my mind.

As I ventured back to school during the brief break between X-Country and Indoor Track & Field, I could tell that my coach had lost any faith in my determination to succeed. He was a task master, and I was a slothful servant. I geared up for another season of Track & Field, both indoor and outdoor, but knew that my running days were drawing to a close. Track was another sport that I never really fit into. Whether it was because it was the shortest of the "distance" races, or the fact that Ray also ran the race, I chose to run the 800 Meter. This, in my opinion, was the toughest of the track races. It was too long to be a sprint, yet too short to be the slower long-distance running. Again, I wasn't the best at the event. I was never good enough to be on the Varsity team. In retrospect, I honestly think I may have done okay as a sprinter. I felt I could sprint a decent speed, however, most X-Country team members drifted toward the longer races... anything between 800 meters and a couple miles. Our sprinters were mainly culled from the football team, where I am sure they recruited those individuals who were responsible for running the ball up field. It was almost as if there were two completely different groups working for the same team. We all tended to hang out with our own peers... the football guys with their group, the runners with theirs. We may have been two different groups, running together, but we were Murray Spartans... and that meant a championship team.

During the Winter of 1983 and 1984, my life was turned upside-down. A new face showed up, in the halls of Murray High. Her hair was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was short, long on top, with "steps" cut into the sides, above her ears. She had multiple ear piercings, featuring some of the most interesting jewelry I had ever seen. There were pieces that looked like modern art. There were simple earrings. There were paper clips, twisted into odd shapes. And then there was her trench coat. Perhaps, that was what did it. Perhaps, THAT was what truly attracted me to her. We both had trench coats. We both had pins on our trench coats. And hers were even more New Wave than mine.

Her name was Susan Blake, although she preferred Suzie. Even better, she preferred Siouxsie, on occasion. I don't remember how my friendship with Suzie really got started, but I remember looking forward to talking to her, outside the swimming pool, at the high school. I would often need to wait for a ride home from school, and she seemed to be waiting in the same place, at the same time. I learned that Suzie had recently moved up from Lodi, California (a town that was immortalized in a Creedence Clearwater Revival song), because of problems that she was having at home. Her parents had divorced, and she was now living with her father. I didn't care what her problems were... all I cared was that she was now in Murray.

Suzie was also on the track team, or more appropriately, the "Field" team. She did the "shot put", a sport that consists of thrusting a heavy, metal ball across a field of grass. The technique is one that requires a certain spinning motion, ending in an expulsion of power from the arm. Not only was Suzie an interesting, attractive girl, but she was powerful. Heck, in retrospect, she probably could have kicked my butt. Our endless hours of talk led to a full-on high school crush, which in turn, led to a high school romance. It was on a Friday night, cruising around Salt Lake City, with Susan and a couple other friends, that I received my first kiss. I am one of the only people I know that was actually "sweet 16 and never been kissed". Wait... can guys be "sweet 16"?

Our relationship continued hot and heavy, and began to concern my parents. It was during this time that I was wearing, what was in their eyes, weird clothes. I would often don a trench coat covered in pins (from assorted bands), as well as safety pins. It is my belief that they felt that Suzie was responsible for my wardrobe choices, although I had been heading that way, because of my association with Kim Simpson, and our mutual love for all things Punk and New Wave.

My parents were justified in their concerns, as I was beginning to spend a lot of time with Suzie, and it wasn't what I would consider to be the most "productive" time. Our relationship was moving along physically, to where we had begun to try and come up with a time where we could skip a class or two, and go over to her house and consummate our relationship. It was at this point in our relationship that I received two letters in the mail. One was from my mother, and the other from my father. My two wonderful parents had written letters to me, expressing their love, and voicing their concerns about the way my life had become. I will never forget a line that my mother wrote in her letter: "... and one day you will make a wonderful missionary". This hit me like a pie in the face, and really made me stop and ponder my actions. In retrospect, these letters may have changed my eternal course.

It wasn't long after I received these letters that Suzie and I parted ways. She had become the focus of another boy from our school, and I was left to myself. This was a time of terrible heartbreak for me, as I felt lost without the wonderful feelings that I had been feeling for several months. I will never forget the lonely afternoons of that early Spring, sitting at Murray City Hall (waiting for a ride, from my father), listening to some very stirring music. Talk Talk's "Have You Heard The News" pierced the very core of my soul, The Thompson Twins' "Storm on the Sea" drove me to tears. I was devastated.

After a month or more, Suzie and I began talking again. We, again, began seeing each other. During this time, we looked to the forthcoming Junior Prom, and made plans to attend, together. It would be a special event for me... my Junior Prom, my junior year, with my first real love. As the special day arrived, I had all the anticipation of a perfect night. Boy, would I be wrong. The evening was really a chain of unfortunate events... one after the other. It began when Mark Davis and I went to Tux Towne, a formal wear rental shop, to pick up our tuxedos. We had reservations for dinner reservations for 6:30, so we felt that getting the tuxes by 4:00 would be a safe call. When we arrived, we were told that the tuxes had not arrived from their Bountiful location, and that they would be there shortly. After an hour, we were beginning to get panicked. After 5:00, we were worried that we would be able to get home, cleaned up, changed and to our dates, by 6:00. At 5:30, were were still left hanging, being told that the truck was "stuck in traffic".

It wasn't until nearly 6:30 that we had tuxes in hand. We called our dates and let them know that we would be late, and that we would need to eat dinner after the dance. We may have been late to the dance, but we needed to be to the Capitol Rotunda, so we could participate in the Promenade, which we had been practicing for weeks. After a pleasant, albeit abbreviated evening at the Capitol building, we went to dinner. We arrived just as the restaurant had closed it's doors, for the night. We drove around, checking a couple other locations. Everything was closed... it is Utah, after all..., so we ended up going to the Little America Hotel coffee shop, where I enjoyed steak and shrimp. Just as we were winding up the meal, somewhere between 12:30 and 1:00 AM, Mark realized that he had locked his keys in the car. We tried calling his parents, who were out on a date. No success. We were forced to sit and wait until 1:00, when they finally called the coffee shop. It turns out that Mark had a spare key under the wheel well of his car, all along, he just didn't know.

That Junior Prom will always be one that I remember. Sometimes the most memorable evenings are the most stressful and chaotic.

My relationship with Suzie didn't last much longer. Towards the end of the school year, we once again broke things off. We tried to keep things amicable, but it didn't work out very well. In reality, it was more forced pleasantries, than anything.

The year ended on a down note, for me. I didn't get my yearbook in time for the end of school, so I had people sign a piece of paper. For me, the yearbook was one of the things I looked forward to more than anything. It was crushing to not have it. I finally received it, after school had let out, and succeeded in getting the signatures from all the police cadets. Thank heavens I at least worked with some of my schoolmates.

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 9

2010-02-28T00:05:00.000-08:00

Chapter 9: Sophomore Year

Towards the end of my 9th grade year, in the Spring of 1982, it came time to register for high school. At JFK Junior High, our school was responsible for feeding three different high schools: Cyprus, Granger and Kearns. I lived in the Cyprus boundary, so most of my neighborhood would be going to the Magna school. As it was, our neighborhood was nearly 40 blocks East of Cyprus, so it would require significant traveling, each day. In addition to that, Cyprus (a very old school) was beginning to sink. Literally. The school had been erected on unstable ground, and in 1981-82, it was beginning to shift. The only resolution would be to tear down the school, and build a new facility. This would require that all Cyprus students do "double session" at Brockbank Jr. High, which meant that the high school students would attend the junior high school from approximately 6:00 AM, ending around noon. At that point, the junior high students would come in, and attend until after 5:00 PM. The prospect of waking up at 5:00 each and every morning did NOT amuse me.

Toward the end of my 9th grade year, I decided to register for Kearns. I had several good friends, including my cousin, Chris, who were going to attend that school. Apart from being more convenient, it was geographically closer, as well. The only thing that didn't agree with me, were the school colors. Green and yellow. Not my favorite combination, by any means.

Throughout the summer of 1982, I had intentions of going to Kearns. The previous year, my older brother, Ray, had decided that he wanted to go to Murray High School, located in the heart of the Salt Lake Valley. This was about a 20 minute drive from where we lived, but because our father was the "juvenile officer" for the Murray Police Department, Ray had transportation. Within a couple weeks of the school year, I once again changed my mind. I felt myself drawn to Murray, as well. I don't know what it was that really motivated me, but I feel pretty certain that it may have had to do with the X-Country program. Ray had run X-Country during his sophomore year, and had sparked an interest in running, in myself. To this point, I had really only done a couple of 10k road races, but still trained on a regular basis. As it was, Murray High School was the school to go, if you wanted a good running program. Under the direction of Dennis Dawson, Murray High's X-Country team took 3A State Championships 7 years in a row. (Actually, that winning streak may have gone longer, but I lost track after graduating from the school.) I must point out that I had nothing to do with any of those state championships, as my years of running were on the Junior Varsity team.

At the end of August, 1982, I began my high school education. It was a surreal experience, as the only people that I knew were my brother, and a few Murray City Police Cadets, whom I had gotten to know because of my father's involvement in the Cadet program. The week before school started, we began training for the X-Country season. I had really begun to come out of my shell, boasting an extroverted, if not sometimes outlandish, personality. One of our first workouts was driving up to Lamb's Canyon, a small canyon up Parley's Canyon. Coach Dawson would make us run up the canyon for a mile, then drive us back down, just to have us do it again. Exhausted, we would load into his rusty Chevy Blazer, chatting for the short drive, before repeating that grueling mile. In the blazer were a couple of guys that I hadn't met. John Davis and Mark Davis, two guys that were not related, but would both eventually become two of my best friends, throughout the remainder of my high school years. You could ask John and Mark what their initial impressions of me were, and I can guarantee you that they would probably not be favorable. I remember receiving several weird looks that evening, although they eventually softened to my peculiar personality.

The first few months of high school were very difficult for me, as I really didn't know anyone. I eventually got to the point where I was comfortable with the members of the X-Country team, but I still didn't know a lot of other people. As will happen, I eventually began making other acquaintances. One such friendship was with a Senior girl, named Kathleen Newbold. She was a plain girl, perhaps even a bit frumpy... but, I thought she was cute. Our friendship quickly progressed to adolescent crush. Kathleen and I would hold hands, and go to the "stomps" and dance exclusively with each other. We would exchange letters, which only seemed to draw me in closer. I was young and naive, and my heart was overreacting, and I quickly found myself with a broken heart, as Kathleen wanted to be friends, but didn't want a "relationship". I was quickly learning that I wasn't the kind of guy that just wanted some physical "action", but no emotional commitment. I was the other way around. I craved the emotional commitment, and had a hard time not being emotionally connected to someone. Kathleen, however, was my only real "crush", during my sophomore year.

During my sophomore year, my relationship with Kim Simpson became more adventurous. Musically, our tastes were beginning to shift. In the fall of '82, the Salt Lake area was exposed to MTV, the fledgling all music video channel. It changed not only the way we enjoyed our music, but in reality, it permanently altered the landscape of music. The prophetic first video played on MTV, was "Video Killed the Radio Star", by The Buggles (a project featuring legendary producer Trevor Horn and Geoffrey Downes, keyboardist for the group Asia... both who were members of classic Progressive Rock band, YES, during the "Drama" years). Where we had grown up with music of substance, music that featured true musicianship, MTV was quickly transforming the music scene to one of image. Although many of the early MTV bands featured talented musicians, that talent definitely took a back seat to the images that the musicians were trying to convey, especially with the New Wave movement. In 9th grade, my tastes had opened to some of the fledgling New Wave bands, such as The Human League and The B-52's. I wasn't effected by the growing musical barriers, back in 1982. I would listen to Yaz and The Thompson Twins, and enjoy a little Judas Priest right along side. Throughout the 80's, several of the bands that seemed to be at the forefront of the music scene of the late 70's, began to take a back seat to the up and coming bands that featured charismatic and fashionable members. Gone were the Totos and Styxs of the world, making way for the Duran Durans of the new decade.

Kim and I were really being drawn into the New Wave movement, with the help of KRCL, a local community radio station. We would tune in to "Generic Radio" with host Barb Guy, on Tuesday nights, and "From Behind the Zion Curtain", hosted by Brad Collins, the latter being a Hardcore Punk show on Saturday nights. Generic Radio exposed us to many of the underground New Wave bands, and it would serve as a beacon for us. We would record the program each week, finding new bands and artists to investigate.

During my Sophomore year, I was also involved with the Jazz Band at MHS. One of the members of the band was a young man named Jeff Evans. He played saxophone, and shared a similar interest in musical tastes. He and I quickly became friends, sharing our love of music. At the time, there were not very many students at Murray High that shared our love of New Wave, Punk and Ska. Those of us that did share that love, stuck together.

By the end of that year of school, I had forged a new circle of friends. Where I began that year attached to my older brother, with an invisible umbilical cord, I ended the year an independent person, with my own circle of friends. At the same time, I tried my hardest to be an "individual", which just seemed to cause grief for my poor parents. Kim and I had taken to thrift shopping, and would go to Thrift Town or Deseret Industries and try to find the most outlandish clothing we could get our hands on. It was an era of skinny ties and pegged pants, but we aimed to take it one step further. For a brief time, he and I would try and wear the most hideous clothes that we could find. I secured a green plaid suit coat, with contrasting red plaid pants. I topped the outfit off with red, white and blue plastic elevator shoes, and a hideous tie... and yes, I would occasionally wear them to school. This must have been an embarrassment to my father, who occupied a small office at the back of the school.

My sophomore year was a good year. New music. New acquaintances. New friends. It was a pivotal year, in my life. One that really helped define the person that I would become.

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 8

2010-02-23T18:02:00.000-08:00

Chapter 8: Love and Love Lost, in the Life of an Adolescent Boy
Part 1: The Junior High Years

My first memories of being attracted to the fairer sex, was when I was in 6th grade. A girl moved into our school boundaries, and was put in my class. Her name was Bobbie Colby. She was tall, skinny and had waist length blond hair. Straight blond hair. I don't know what it was that I found so mesmerizing, but every time I saw her, my heart jumped a few beats.

As a young boy, I was very insecure. Surrounding me were the Tim Cooks and Tye Olsens of the world. Boys who wore the latest fashions. Boys who could always seem to knock sense out of you, when you were playing dodge ball. Boys that wore Adidas shoes and listened to Kiss.

A year or two before, a gorgeous girl named Nancy Johnson moved into the neighborhood. Although I always admired her Farrah Fawcett hair and flawless face, I knew that she was in a completely different league from myself. That may be the reason that I was so smitten with Bobbie. She was pretty, but she was no Farrah Fawcett. She was in MY league.

Well, she MAY have been in my league, but I never did find out. I was so shy and insecure, as a young boy, that I never really did make any real contact with her. I got butterflies in my stomach, every time she was near. I took extra time preparing her Valentine, for our Valentine card exchange. And, as ironic as it was, I was never bold enough to truly talk to her. And as luck would have it, when I went off to junior high, she went to a different school. I would never again admire the beauty of Ms. Colby.

When I started junior high, I really didn't think about girls too much. It was when I was in 8th grade, that I found myself attracted to another girl. Kathy Stephan was a freckled girl, with a pretty smile. I don't remember how I got to know her, but I do remember when she officially became my girlfriend. How did I know that? Simple... first, I asked her if she would "go with me", and second... we held hands. What more evidence did one need?

It was the beginning of Summer vacation, and I was eager to make this relationship last through the months where I would not see her on a daily basis. I would call her on regularly, and found a time where I could ride my bike up to her house, to spend some time with her. I asked a friend of mine, Jason Smith, to accompany me on this adventure. As previously stated, I was a shy kid, and always felt a little more secure in the company of others. We arrived at Kathy's house, where she was in her car port, saddling up on her bike, with a friend of hers. She raced out of the driveway, probably trying to instigate a little game of tag, and nearly ran over her dog. She must have clipped it's leg with her bike tire, as it yelped as she rode by. Up the street she went, Jason and I still sitting on our bikes, in front of her house. I was hurt. I felt like I was being left behind, that we were not significant in her plans for the day. So hurt was I, that we turned around and rode home. I didn't speak to her for the rest of the Summer. Not only did I not speak to her for the rest of the summer, but I didn't say a word to her, my entire 9th grade year. To this day, I don't know why I acted the way I did. A couple years later, when I was wandering in to the vending room at Murray High School , following a X-Country practice, I saw Kathy. It shocked me, as she didn't attend Murray High School, but even then, I didn't say a word.

In 9th grade, I experienced for the first time what I thought was "true love". Julia Cavaness was a good friend of mine, who had a Peruvian mother. Having half Peruvian, half Anglo genes, she was (in my eyes) a beautiful girl and one of my best friends, that year. Julia had a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, and I quickly nicknamed her "Cal". She countered, with a nickname of my own... "Brooke", after the famous actress who had made Calvin Klein jeans a household name. During the year, we would talk a lot, helping each other with whatever issues we were facing. For a time, we started writing letters back and forth to each other. She would always scent hers with Love's Baby Soft, a popular perfume of the day. I truly thought we had something forming between us, but soon found out that Julia really had feelings for another boy in our grade, Robert Nielson. Julia and Robert had grown up together, both living in the same neighborhood, giving them a special bond from years of friendship. I remember those sweet letters that soon turned bittersweet, as Julia would express how much our friendship meant, while at the same time telling me how she was torn because of her feelings for Robert. It was probably during these weeks that I shed my first tears for a girl. We finally decided that we could only be friends. At first, I was hurt, feeling rejected. There were even weeks of not talking to her, because I felt betrayed. In the end, I felt that it was more important to be friends with her, and suppress the selfish feelings of wanting to be her "boyfriend".

So, after three years of the ups and downs associated with junior high, I was ready to move on. In retrospect, I am glad that I had the experiences I had. They helped me to mature, albeit NOT quickly enough. Truth be told, it would take years and years for me to develop a security necessary to endure the turmoils of love. I am, however,
thankful for those roots that were growing while I walked the halls of John F. Kennedy Jr. High.

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 7

2010-02-20T00:34:00.000-08:00

Chapter 7: Kim Simpson and the summer of 1984

Who is this Kim Simpson, and why does she deserve her own chapter? Well... truth be told, Kim is a HE, and he DOES deserve his own chapter... and here's why.

At the tail end of my 9th grade year, if not even into my time with the Kennedy Jr. High marching band, following 9th grade, I met a young man named Kim Simpson. He was playing bass guitar with the band, and had a similar interest in music. I can't even recall how we began talking about music, but once we did, our friendship quickly progressed.

Words can't even express the impact that he had on my life, as a teenager. Throughout my high school years, he remained my best friend, and was the core of my social life. Before the years of dating (OTHER people, folks... rest easy), he and I would just spend countless hours in each other's basements, listening to records. It was through him that I was exposed to some of the finest Classic Rock albums and artists, such as Led Zeppelin, The Who and some of the more obscure works of the members of The Beatles. Many of us look back on those formative teenage years, and recall a friend that seemed to be inseparable. Kim was that friend.

Kim was the same age as Rich, my younger brother, so he was two years behind me in school. None of that mattered. I had left Kennedy Jr. High and moved on to Murray High School (I will cover that in a later chapter), but still kept in constant contact with Kim. He and I would take the bus to some of the local record stores. On more than one occasion, we would take the bus downtown, and even walk the 19 blocks between Randy's Records (on 9th south, just East of State Street) to our favorite, Smokey's Records, located in the quaint little shopping district of 15th (east) and 15th (south). If we were lucky, his mother would have need to go to Siegfried's Deli (a deli catering to Scandinavian folks - Kim's mother was Finnish), and she would drop us off at one of the local stores. Regardless of the effort to get there, some of my fondest memories involved trips to music stores, with Kim.

One of our favorite things to do, was go to Smokey's or another, more eclectic store, the infamous Cosmic Aeroplane, and browse the clearance bins, looking for an artist that we had never heard of, but looked interesting. It was our version of gambling. The Cosmic Aeroplane was a store that featured books, music, incense and more. The basement of the store was the Punk store, featuring t-shirts, buttons, spiked paraphernalia and the like. Two of the most notorious albums that were purchased by us, were The Cortinas and Fela Johnson. I actually purchased both of these albums, but as we were known to do, Kim and I swapped albums, which landed him The Cortinas. To this day, The Cortinas is one of Kim's favorite albums of the 1980's. And to this day, I still miss owning that album. Fela Johnson was a low budget, D.I.Y. electronic New Wave artist. The cover featured Fela, shot in black and white, wearing nothing on his upper torso, except a pair of black Ray Ban sunglasses. The record featured 6 tracks, all of them absolute winners.

At the end of 1982, MTV was introduced to Utah. This would probably be pinpointed as the moment when I really began to fall head over heels for the New Wave music that had been erupting out of Europe. Before this time, especially during my 9th grade year at Kennedy, I had begun to experiment with some New Wave. The B-52's were really causing a buzz on the college radio scene, and because of my exposure to the infamous "Rock Lobster", at Kennedy school dances, I purchased "Wild Planet" from Columbia House. I absolutely loved that album, and remember playing it endlessly when travelling to our various marching band performances, during the summer of '82. With other artists like The Cars, Gary Numan, The Human League, Devo and The Go-Go's, beginning to make Top 40 impact, I found myself drifting more into the New Wave. I continued listening to The Scorpions and Rush, not paying attention to social groups. However, as befalls most 14-16 year olds, Kim and I both found ourselves drifting exclusively over to the New Wave camp. So much, that we even found the need to sell off all of our records and tapes that were NOT New Wave or Punk. In retrospect, this is one of the things that I regret most, from my teen years.

Kim and I enjoyed being different from the rest of the kids that we associated with. Having both grown up in West Valley City (a city that was actually created in 1980 from 4 unincorporated townships in the Salt Lake Valley), we were an anomaly. West Valley City was known for it's Heavy Metal fans and cowboys. There were very few people (at least back in 1982) that listened to Punk or New Wave. This continued throughout 1983 and fully blossomed in 1984, when I experienced the funnest summer of my life.

In June, 1984, my father went back to Minneapolis, Minnesota, to attend a law enforcement class. He would be gone for a month, and felt it best to have a car, so he asked Ray and I to drive back to Minneapolis with him, where upon arrival, we would spend the night and drive home the next day. This would prevent him from driving across the country by himself, and would give Ray and I the opportunity to see many of the sights across the country. In the trip, we traveled through Wyoming, where we saw Devil's Tower (I was always a huge fan of 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind'), through South Dakota, where we saw Mount Rushmore, The Black Hills, The Badlands of South Dakota and the Crazy Horse monument, which was still in it's early stages of construction. It was around this time that my father thought it might be amusing to detour down through Iowa, and then cross over into Illinois, where we would see the Mormon Church historical sights in Nauvoo and Carthage, Ill. The trip was one of the most memorable for me, both from the sights that we saw, as well as the music that I listened to.

During this month that my father was away, my mother, with younger siblings in tow, went to Chicago, to stay with my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Don. They had moved their for business reasons, and were gone for a year or two. This left Ray and I at home, with the house nearly to ourselves. My sweet cousin, Kathy, with her husband Frank and newborn son, Aaron, were asked by my parents to come and watch the house. They were glorified babysitters, but they really did nothing more than make sure that we didn't burn the house down. If I was going to have a sleepover with Kim, we just told Kathy. If I was going to go music shopping, I just told Kathy. There wasn't the usual need to ask permission to do anything. I felt liberated, and with that freedom, Kim and I proceeded to have sleepovers nearly every night. We would alternate between houses, utilizing our favorite sleeping bags, which we had given names. My favorite was the "Slippy Hippie" bag, which featured several faux patches on the exterior. "War is not healthy for children and other living things". Peace signs, both traditional circle and fingers in the infamous peace sign. One enigmatic patch said "I am curious, but yellow". Curious, indeed. We also had another "hippie" bag that had ripped on the inside, giving my mother the idea to sew in an interior of her own. She ended up sewing in a flannel patter that featured pheasants. We called it the "Hippie Hunter" bag, because the interior definitely had a hunting theme going on. Kim's spare sleeping bag, and the one that I would usually utilize, when sleeping over at his house, featured a canine pattern, on the exterior. We naturally called it the "Doggie Bag".

During these countless sleepovers, we had two favorite things to do. We would attempt to stay up all night, just long enough to see the sun rise... and we would listen to music, all the while discussing life, and all the concerns that come along with the teen years. We would also rent movies, or watch any of the several music video programs, whether it be MTV, or the late night cable programs, such as "Night Flight" or "Night Traxx". Kim always kept a blank VHS tape handy, where he would record all the great New Wave videos, as well as the occasional great concert that MTV would air (The Thompson Twins and U2 come to mind). We would regularly review those video tapes, reliving all the beloved videos therein.

One particularly adventurous night, we were sleeping out on the trampoline. This was a regular ritual for us, this particular summer. At 2:00 in the morning, we decided to climb on top of the room, and jump onto the trampoline. Kim decided that he was going to take it to the next level, and without warning did a swan dive off the top of our roof, in total darkness. I am proud to say that Kim is not only still with us, but suffered no injuries from this feat of insanity.

Our antics always seemed to be amuse us. In 1986, we thought we would go dancing at one of the local dance clubs that catered to teens. We drove up to SugarHouse, attempting to get into The Bay. We didn't have enough money to get in to the club, so we came up with an adventurous plan. We thought it would be amusing to drive down 3500 South (a main thoroughfare in West Valley City) and pick up a basic hamburger from each of the fast food chains. Included were McDonalds, Hardees, Arctic Circle, among others. We were going to have a taste test, to see which chain made the best basic hamburger. Saddled up in the "Fishmobile" a.k.a. "The Trout Truck" (my father's white 1973 Dodge pickup, complete with camper shell), Kim and I had completed our task of collecting hamburgers. We were driving along 35th South, when the dreaded red and blue lights of a West Valley City police officer, flashed behind our truck. Panicked, I pulled over. As the officer approached, he asked me if I had had anything to drink. I promptly said no, at which point he flashed his light on the seat, where between Kim and I, six backs sat uniformly. He then asked, "What's in the bags?" "Hamburgers",. I responded. Skeptical, he took my word, and proceeded to inform me that I had been weaving around in the lane. He then pointed out that the tires were rather bald, and that I was actually going over the speed limit. The goodly officer was kind enough to let me off with a warning, at which point we headed home, to divide our burgers, and see which one we preferred the most. In all honesty, I don't remember which burger won... although, my money would be on Arctic Circle.

Another humorous story involving Kim, was during the summer of 1985. Kim and I decided to go see "Beverly Hills Cop". I was 17 (legal age for an R-rated movie) and Kim was 15. 15, with a baby face. An elderly woman was working the ticket counter, as we approached to purchase our tickets. She eyes us both suspiciously, one at a time. She looked at me... then at Kim... then, back at me. She then, said, looking directly at me, "You look old enough, but he doesn't.", pointing at Kim. She then proceeded to ask ME for my driver's license. After taking it, she then replied, "Alright, I could have sworn that he didn't look old enough.", again, referring to Kim. Not once did the elderly woman ask Kim for his identification. We sure did enjoy that movie.

When I reflect back at my adolescent years, especially those years during high school, there is very little that does not involve Kim Simpson, in one way or another. In coming chapters, I will share other stories that involve him. Stories involving my high school girlfriends... stories of concerts, from year gone by...and, most probably, stories about nothing much.

As we grew up, we both went our separate ways. We both served LDS missions, then upon returning home, got married to our respective wives. Eventually, Kim moved to Austin, Texas. As a musician, this was a natural move, so, with his wife, they began their family halfway across this great nation of ours. Back in 1997, my wife and I had the opportunity to go to Austin, to visit Kim and his wife. During this time, it is as if we had been transported back to our high school days. We spent time record shopping, then going back to his small den, firing up his turntable, and eagerly listening to the blessed strains that came forth from his small stereo. It's a good thing that our wives got along, as well as they did... because, for that small time, we were 17 (and 15, respectively) again.

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 6

2010-02-15T17:21:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER 6: "Hello There, Ladies and Gentlemen... Are You Ready To Rock?"

My love of music always simmered in the background, until one evening, when I was in the 8th grade. I have hazy memories of going to the home of my friend and neighbor, Mindy Flack, and hearing Cheap Trick's "I WANT YOU TO WANT ME", a current radio hit single. I liked it. However, it wasn't until several days later, while I was at Musicland (a nationwide mall music retail outlet), at the Valley Fair Mall, that I found a cassette copy of Cheap Trick's 'IN COLOR', for $2.88. I picked up the tape, scoured the track information, and saw that "I Want You To Want Me" was on the tape. I purchased the tape with what little money I had, and took it home, eager to give it a listen. I popped the cassette in on of the family cassette players, and pushed play. I was not prepared for what was to come blasting out. The song, "HELLO THERE" assaulted my aural senses, causing my jaw to drop. With each song, I was smitten by the combination of energy, melody and catchy hooks. As ironic as it may seem, it wasn't until I got to "I Want You To Want Me", that I felt any reservation. For those of you that may not know, the studio version of "I Want You To Want Me" is a significantly mellower, "bubble gum Pop" sounding song. I still liked it, but felt a little unsettled about the difference between that song, and the one that I had been hearing on the radio.

The remaining year of my 8th grade was one big musical blur. I convinced my mother into signing me up for the Columbia House tape club, which I would pay for with money earned from a paper route. To this day, I still remember many of the cassette tapes in my initial enrollment order. FOREIGNER's self titled album. MOLLY HATCHET's self titled, as well as "Flirtin' With Disaster". TED NUGENT's "State of Shock". JUDAS PRIEST's "British Steel". Over the coming months, I would continue ordering tapes. THE CARS' "Panorama", KANSAS' "Dust in the Wind", were but a couple. I would anxiously await the visit from the mailman, when two to three weeks had passed. There were even occasions where I would listen for his Jeep, and run around the block to ask him if he had any packages for my address. I could tell this annoyed him, but I didn't care. I tell you... as a Letter Carrier, at the age of 42, if I had a teenager intercepting me, looking for his eagerly anticipated compact discs, I would happily give them to him/her.

My obsession continued to grow, and as I earned money, I would grab my younger brother Richard, and would gather the dimes needed to take the bus down to Valley Fair Mall, where I could buy another record. We would make it a ritual, to ride the bus... which, on several occasions, turned into walking, as we were too impatient to wait for the bus. We would try to walk to the next bus stop, and 9 out of 10 times, the bus would pass us, in between stops. We would eventually make the long walk home, weary worn, but not caring, because I had a new record to listen to. It was the trips to the mall that usually reaped LP records. I would always check out the Musicland bargain bin, and would occasionally find some real scores. In that bargain bin, I found RUSH's "Moving Pictures" on cassette, as well as THE SCORPIONS' "Lovedrive" and "Animal Magnetism" for $2.88 each. And this was when "Moving Pictures" was at the top of the charts. In retrospect, I can only imagine that these were surplus items, and they wanted to clear the inventory, but then? Well... I didn't care. I just wanted the music, and the cheaper it was, the better.

During my 8th grade year, I became good friends with several other music enthusiasts. One such person was Nate Reading, one year my senior, and the bass player in the Kennedy Jr. High Jazz Band. I was playing trombone, at the time, and struck up conversations with Nate, who wore his hair halfway down his back, and totally looked like a rock star. He even played a Rickenbacker bass guitar, similar to what Geddy Lee of Rush played at the time. Nate was the one that really introduced me to the Heavy Metal sounds of the time. He would bring me in cassette tape recordings of bands like TRIUMPH, RAINBOW and an unknown Australian band called ROSE TATTOO. We considered Rose Tattoo to be the hardest band out there, although in retrospect, they were not very loud at all.

Another friend to share my love of music, was Mark Pulley. He and I would spend time at each other's houses, listening to whatever we had. My love of QUEEN flourished, with the help of Mark. My cousin, Chris (who was also one of my best friends throughout the early years of my life), also had a wonderful record collection, thanks to his elder brothers. I would spend countless nights sleeping over at Chris' house, listening to music. Whether it be his brother's JETHRO TULL albums, or REO SPEEDWAGON, we had no shortage of Rock. Another favorite was the live album, "Some Enchanted Evening", by BLUE OYSTER CULT. It's time to KICK OUT THE JAMS, BROTHERS AND SISTERS! On great live recordings, I would always close my eyes and envision that I was seated in the masses of screaming fans. In 9th grade, I had become a huge fan of DEF LEPPARD, thanks to their album "High'n'Dry". Def Leppard was coming to town, opening up for the Native American band, BLACKFOOT (yeah, I know... how ironic is THAT?). I was full of hope that I would be able to attend the concert, with a friend, just to have my dreams shattered, as my father insisted that I must be 16, before I could attend concerts on my own.

As I think back to those years in Jr. High, where my love of music really flourished, it fills me with a sense of melancholy. I miss the time spent with friends and relatives, where everything centered around our music listening. Time which was spent locked in a room, sitting still for 45 minutes, while you listened to a new album. Even time spent alone had a certain magic to it. I would put on my dad's headphones, out in the living room, and turn up one of my favorite albums. One such album was AC/DC's "Back In Black", which I purchased with my paper route money, even after discouraging remarks to my father, by the clerk at the store (who also happened to be one of his Murray City Police Cadets), who said the album was filthy. I wasn't one to spend much time listening to the lyrics, as my focus was usually on the music lying beneath. I would pop "Back In Black" into the stereo, pull out my tennis racket, and begin playing "air guitar" along with the pumping Angus Young guitar riffs. In more animated moments, I would climb on top of our coal burning stove, and fantasize that I was a Rock star, live on stage. At an appropriate point in a particularly good song, I would jump off the stove, closing the song as only Angus Young could. So many hours of my personal time were surrounded by my music. It was like a warm blanket, surrounding my lonely soul on a cold, Winter's night. It still is, 30 years later...

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 5

2010-02-15T01:33:00.000-08:00

"Two Things That Changed My Life (part 2) - MUSIC"

The second thing that changed my life was music. For those of you that know me, this should come as no surprise.

It wasn't until the 8th grade that I fully came to the realization that I loved music, but my love of music had really begun to take shape early in life. I have two very vivid memories involving music, that date back to my formative years.

The first of these memories happened on a cool Winter (or possibly Autumn) morning, when I was downstairs in my bedroom, which I shared with my older brother. I still remember the smell of the heat duct, and the smell of burning dust, that only can be associated with a 60's/70's era furnace. Roberta Flack came on the radio. The song was "Killing Me Softly", and I remember being totally moved by the song, as well as the atmosphere. Something in that song spoke to my very soul, touching me in a way that I had never been touched before... at least by something inanimate. Every year, as the furnace fires up for the first time of the Fall season, I still associate that smell with the beautiful sounds of Roberta Flack.

When I was 6 (in 1973), our family took a trip to Canada. We went to Banff, Calgary and up through Glacier National Park. When driving through Montana, we were passing by a lake, when "Something", by The Beatles, came on the radio. That song has always remained one of my favorite songs, and to this day IS my favorite song from The Beatles. I can't hear that song without remembering that first time that I had (knowingly) heard it.

Throughout my grade school years, I had a definite attraction to music. I grew up in a household where music was usually playing, in one way or another. My father had always had a love for music, and his record collection proved it. I still remember that record collection that was tucked into a box, on the floor of the living room closet. I would open the door, push all the coats to one side or another, and pull the box out. I would thumb through the dozes of LP records, looking at the records that I found most intriguing. There were several that attracted me, simply by the artwork. SANTANA's "ABRAXAS", with the buxom, naked woman on the cover, was one. THE DOOBIE BROTHERS' "TOLOUSE STREET" was another, although I am embarrassed to admit that my initial attraction to both records was the inappropriate (for a boy my age) artwork. In addition to the gratuitous nudity that drew me to those two albums, I also found fascination in CAT STEVENS' "TEASER AND THE FIRECAT", most probably because of the cartoon characters on the front of the record.

We had a small record player, that I would use to listen to these albums. During these years, I would explore the various LP records, finding myself attracted to certain songs. We had an old THREE DOG NIGHT album, that featured their hit single, "ONE". I loved listening to that song repeatedly, although I would lose patience with the rest of the album. Another album that I found amusing was "WHIPPED CREAM & OTHER DELIGHTS", by HERB ALPERT and THE TIJUANA BRASS. Whether it was the provocative cover (with an attractive woman, wearing nothing but an extreme amount of whipped cream) or the catchy Jazzy instrumental songs, I cannot say.

Another album that I was proudly drawn to, was "TRILOGY", by EMERSON, LAKE & PALMER. This Progressive trio did some of the most innovative music of the 70's, but my mind didn't think that way. I simply fell in love with the pretty melodies, on that record... especially that of "ABADDON'S BOLERO", an instrumental song that was featured in the era's laser shows (which played at the Hansen Planetarium, in Salt Lake City). On one occasion, I took the record to school, where I gathered a couple friends around the record player in the "Media Center", to listen. The Media Center was essentially our library, but according to the militant librarian, Mrs. Turpin, we would refer to it as the Media Center, because of all the media related devices that the library had to offer.... such as the small turntable. I dropped the needle on the record, eagerly awaiting the reaction of my friends. Over the years, I would gather with friends to listen to music. Sometimes we would utilize the Media Center at school, sometimes we would gather in each others homes. To this day, I still associate many bands with some of the individuals that I grew up with. Doug Larson and I would listen to Queen and Foreigner. Mark Pulley and I would listen to Queen, Rose Tattoo and Angel. My father would incessantly listen to the likes of Bread, England Dan and John Ford Coley, The Eagles, James Taylor and America. Our vehicles were usually equipped with 8-track players, or at the very least, an FM radio.

The 8-track players of the era were inherently frustrating. One year, while on vacation in Yellowstone National Park, I was particularly taken with FLEETWOOD MAC's "RUMOURS" album, particularly the song "GO YOUR OWN WAY", featuring an incredibly striking guitar solo by Lindsay Buckingham. I would listen to the song, and then patiently wait for the track to play back through to the song I loved.

[[With 8-track players, your album was broken up into four tracks, each usually containing 3 songs. Sometimes the order of the songs was mixed up to reduce empty silence at the end of each track, and sometimes the songs would simply fade out, then fade back in when the tape had switched to the next track. Another common problem was that of the "warbling" sound of a bad tape. The music would sound as if it were underwater.

Each media format, over the years, has had inherent problems. By far, 8-tracks were the worst. LP records have the problem of dust, fingerprints, scratches or being warped by heat. Cassette tapes seemed to have a knack for getting "chewed up", if you had a player with dirty tape heads. Even today, in the 21st Century, with mp3 files (and other forms of compressed digital media), we lose some of the sound frequency range, in addition to the warmth and personality that came with earlier forms of music media, specifically LP records. I attribute the recent wave of LP record releases to the fact that people have begun to crave the "personal" nature of early forms of music media. In the 21st Century, everyone listens to their music "on the go", usually with an iPod (or other mp3 music device). People rarely take time to sit down and enjoy music, like we did back in the 1970's and 1980's. Even today, as a 42 year old adult, I will usually attempt to buy a vinyl LP, as long as it has some form of attached media that I can put on my iPod. Many records are sold with a digital download, or in some cases, an actual CD copy of the album.]]

As much as I loved the music that I was listening to, at the time, I didn't seem to be conscious of the wave of music that was growing in popularity amongst my peers. When in 6th grade, KISS seemed to be all the rage amongst my class mates. I paid no heed. Part of it may have been due to criticisms that my parents had about the band, or part of it may have been that I simply didn't care. Part of it may have been because of the afternoon in Ms. Smith's class, when a classmate of mine, by the name of Stephanie Mills, brought her KISS "DESTROYER" album, to listen to with the class. We were working on a class project, and the music was played in the background, while we did our work. I had to talk to Ms. Smith, so I got up and approached her desk. On my way to Ms. Smith, I inadvertently bumped the record player, causing the needle to skip across Stephanie's record. I have never been so intimidated by a girl, in my life. She was the class "Tom Boy", and one that I wouldn't have wanted to run into, out by the flag pole. From that day on I was not only scared by Stephanie Mills, but felt the need to look over my shoulder, just in case the Kiss Army was coming after me.

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 4

2010-02-11T02:01:00.000-08:00

Chapter 4: Two Things That Changed My Life - Part 1

Every young boy encounters something in his life, that alters it forever. For some, it may be the first homerun they hit, while playing Little League Baseball. For others, it may be the first merit badge they get as a boyscout. And for others, it may be the first time they shoot a rifle, in the great outdoors. For me, however, it was two things....

In May, 1977, when I was 9 years old, a motion picture called "STAR WARS", invaded Planet Earth. Perhaps you have heard of it? I can't even remember where my fascination with Star Wars began, but when it hit, it hit in a big way.

My parents didn't have a lot of money, and in retrospect, probably not the patience that it would have taken to see Star Wars, early on. In the 1970's, Western culture had not been introduced to the "megaplex" movie theaters. In Salt Lake, we had a small handfull of theaters, and when it came to major releases, we really only had three quality theaters. There was the Villa Theater, the Regency Theater and there was the Centre Theater. The Centre Theater was located in downtown Salt Lake City, and boasted one of the widest screens and loudest sound systems, in the valley. When Star Wars was released, the Centre Theater was the only theater to get the film, at least for the first year or so. For weeks, the show would sell out, with lines sometimes lining around the block. It wasn't until August of that year, when my parents finally took us to the movie, in tow with my Uncle Don and Aunt Ruth. I had already purchased the paperback novel, and had read at least part of it, before going to see the movie. I was smitten with the story, and with the mental images of what (in my mind) the movie must be like. However, all the anticipation that I had built up on my own, did not prepare me for the opening sequence of the film. There are many things from that era of my life that I don't remember, but I will never forget the excitement that ran down my spine, the first time I heard the 20th Century Fox "Fanfare", followed by the stirring orchestral score, composed by the legendary John Williams. I remember the words crawling across the screen, disappearing into nothingness, but most of all, I remember the chill that ran down my spine the moment I saw that Star Destroyer come rumbling across the screen, in pursuit of the Rebel Blockade Runner. I was captivated, my eyes glued to the screen.

As the film drew to a close, I was walking on clouds. What had happened to Darth Vader? Would he die, or would he somehow survive? I wanted answers, and I wanted them NOW...well...THEN... let's be honest. My mind was racing, as Aunt Ruth and Uncle Don took us to an early dinner at Dee's Hamburgers. The excitement I felt did not let up. I proceeded to collect anything and everything Star Wars, that I could get my hands on. When Wonder Bread released a series of trading cards, I collected them. When the LP record of "The Story of Star Wars", featuring dialogue, soundtrack music and narration was released, I got it. Well... technically, I didn't get that. My cousin Chris, who was also my best friend, at the time, had gotten the LP record. Me? I got the 8-track, so I could listen to it, in the truck. I was always envious of Chris' LP, as it came with a storybook. My 8-track didn't have anything special.

I collected anything I could get my hands on, as long as my parents could afford it. My brother Richard (affectionately called "Dicky", at the time) and I would regularly walk down to the Circle K convenience store, whenever we had a quarter's allowance, to buy trading cards. My excitement to open the cards, taking a deep inhalation through my nose, enjoying the minty scent of the accompanying gum, always filled me with pleasure. In addition the cards and stickers, we eagerly awaited the action figures. In those days, there wasn't the shameless merchandising tied in to the movies... at first. When Star Wars came out, there were no action figures. By time the movie company had realized they had an opportunity, the busily worked on a way to capitalize off the success of the movie, and the eager appetites of children, like myself. At Christmas, 1977, Kenner sold empty boxes for parents to give their children. These boxes were a promise to the children that as soon as they were available, they would get a three pack of Star Wars action figures. Soon, the stores were overrun with Star Wars merchandise. There were t-shirts, posters, play sets (Richard was the big toy set collector, having scored not only the Millenium Falcon, but the Death Star play set), books (including the first post-Star Wars book, "SPLINTER OF THE MIND'S EYE", written by famed Science Fiction writer, Alan Dean Foster), comics, and even a Disco album tied in with the soundtrack music, performed by a one-off act called MECO. And, as you probably could have guessed, we bought the 8-track tape. My enthusiasm did not wane for years. As 1980 approached, with all the rumours swirling about the forthcoming "Empire Strikes Back", we eagerly awaited the continuation of the greatest story ever told.... well, with the exception of the greatest story ever told in "The Greatest Story Ever Told", a motion picture about the life and death of Jesus Christ.

And we were not let down...

Oh, and if you were paying attention, you will recall that I mentioned "two things" having changed my life. Come back for part 2, to find out the other....

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 2

2010-02-09T18:53:00.000-08:00

Chapter 2: The Formative Years

If we were to rely on my memories, to chronicle the first several years of my life, we would be screwed. So.... we are. I have random fuzzy memories about those first years, and the occasional vivid memory. My love of music can be traced back to those early years, as some of those vivid memories are associated with music. However, let's not rush into that...

I should take a moment to describe my family. As stated in the previous chapter, I have two brothers and one sister. My older brother was born in '65, my younger brother in '68, and my sister in '72. She was the baby of the family.

Going back even farther, I should mention how my parents met. My mother, Pauline, is an immigrant from England. She met my father, back in the early 1960's, while they were both serving in the Southwest British Mission, for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. (The Mormons) I have always found their story amusing, as my mother's first opinion of my father was that he was rather arrogant. She didn't care for him much. But, when he was bearing his testimony of the Church, something told her that he was the guy specially selected for her. She came over to the United States, living with the Henry Richards family (he being a descendant of Willard Richards, one of the men present when LDS Prophet, Joseph Smith, was martyred). For most of my childhood, Henry and Vera Richards were a second set of grandparents to me. I say second, because my actual second set of grandparents (my maternal grandparents) were from England, and divorced. I never did meet my mother's father. I loved the visits of my mother's mother, especially the smell of her luggage. I don't know what it was, but her belongings always had a wonderful smell, whenever she came to visit. I looked forward to that, almost as much as I looked forward to the small gift that she would bring each of us. My grandmother was a very sweet woman, and although I never did get to know her all that well (she passed away, in the early 1990s), I always loved the time that she spent at our house. As I moved into my teens, Grandma Simpson became Grandma Triggs, marrying George Triggs. She came to visit a couple of times, with George in tow. It was always amusing to watch them. Grandma knitting, George reading and the both of them arguing. You gotta love those late-in-life marriages, to avoid growing old alone.

In addition to the great visits from Grandma Simpson, there were two other things that stick out in my mind. First, were all the visits to my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Don's house. Ruth is my mother's twin sister, and so we spent a great amount of time with their family. After all, they were the only two from their family, to have immigrated to the States. I remember visiting them in the first little house that they lived in, somewhere in the Holladay area, then to their homes in West Valley (a mere five minutes from our house), as well as the spacious dwelling on Belmour Way, in Holladay.

Second, were the many camping trips into the Uintah Mountains, as well as trips to Yellowstone National Park, Glacier National Park and even a trip to Southern California, with the obligatory stops at Disneyland, Sea World and Wild Animal Park.

In retrospect, our parents didn't have a lot of money. My father was a police officer, and it was definitely not the occupation to put one on the fast track to fame and fortune. My parents even passed up the opportunity to move to Murray, Utah (where my father worked), in order to make sure that they still had enough money to take us camping. The felt that those memories were more important than having a nicer home in Murray. It all worked out in the end, as (spoiler alert) my siblings and I ALL graduated from Murray High School, whilst living in West Valley City (a city that was created in the early 1980's, comprised of several townships on the west side of the Salt Lake Valley).

Another significant part of my early years, was that of Christmas. I loved Christmas, as a boy. I still do. I remember the magic of attending the annual Craven Family Christmas Party (my father's mother being a Craven), and excitedly awaiting the visit of Santa, himself. I remember several Christmas Eves, spent with my aunts, uncles and cousins on my father's side. I dearly miss the innocence of youth... like the Christmas Eve spent at my Uncle Alan and Aunt Dorothy's house. I remember the grand meal, the crowded house full of my dear cousins, and leaving the house, with my eyes glued to the heavens, looking to see if I could spot St. Nicholas.

[My dad's ancestry comes from Scandinavia, in addition to England. My paternal grandmother (Esther Craven) was from the north of England, and my great, great paternal grandfather (Alexander Dahl Sr.) was one of the Mormon Pioneers, having immigrated from Norway, after joining the Church, and being disowned by his family. He came to America, to be with the Saints in Zion, along with his brother, although his brother tragically passed away before reaching the Salt Lake Valley, due to illness.]

My childhood was rather normal. I wore the same clothes as most of the boys around me. Sears "Toughskins" jeans, with the reinforced knees... striped t-shirts... nylon wind breakers... black sneakers. Life was simple. My life revolved around time with mother (during the day) and father (and at night), television (including the modest black-and white, during my earliest years) and playing with my brothers. Kristy either hadn't been born yet, or was too young to play with us. Besides, who'd want to play with stinky girls, anyhow? Well... that is, unless you are going to fill up your Radio Flyer wagon full of water, and put said sister in the wagon full of water, and drive her around the neighborhood. THEN, it was fun to play with girls.

Did I mention television? Yeah... yeah, I did. How I loved television, as a lad. It was a ritual, to watch the afternoon block of The Brady Bunch, Gilligan's Island, Bewitched, etc. I would pretend to enjoy Hogan's Heroes, because my older brother liked it. In all honesty, it was really above my head, most of the time. At least, at my tender age.

Like any other child, I began my education at the tender age of 5. I didn't attent pre-school, so my Kindergarten year at Jackling Elementary School was my first venture into my learning years. I still remember the day that my mother dropped me off in Mrs. Abeglen's class. More importantly, I still remember the tears that I shed. It was my first time being away from my parents, and I was horrified. But, Mrs. Abeglen was a master of the Kindergartner. She whisked me away from my mother, and situated me in the class "store", which was a corner of the room that was a replica of a grocery store, complete with toy plastic cans. I loved playing store. And, I loved the graham crackers. And milk... let's not forget the milk. Especially, the chocolate milk. What grand days those were.... the chocolate milk days.

The Story of My Life: CHAPTER 1

2010-02-07T01:01:00.000-08:00

The following is the first installment in my life history.

Chapter 1: The Summer of Love

Somewhere, on the East coast, Aretha Franklin was demanding a little more "respect". Out on the West coast, Grace Slick was wanting "somebody to love".Somewhere, on the other side of the war, the Vietnam War was raging on... and on... and on... and, in Granger, Utah (a suburb of the greater Salt Lake Valley), my mother was giving birth to me. At exactly 11:51 A.M., on Wednesday, August 2, 1967*, the 7 lb., 8 1/2 oz. bundle of joy, known as "Baby Boy Dahl" (later, renamed Michael Sean) came into this world. (For those of you who like to compare size and weight of your little critters, I was 20 inches in length.)

My first minutes of life were pretty rough. Actually, to be honest, the first couple years of live were pretty tough on me... but, let's not jump ahead. Let's address those first few minutes. As I came bursting onto the scene, I seemed to be healthy... except for the extreme amount of patience, that I seemed to be showing. Let it be noted that this is one of the few times that I have shown much patience. Actually, said patience was actually just a misinterpretation for a lack of breathing. What seemed like an incredibly mellow boy, was one that was actually trying to die, minutes after being born. The doctor did the things normal doctors do... like, holding me upside down and flipping my feet. Whether it was the piercing sting of his fingernails, beating the tender flesh of the bottom of my feet... or the gravitational pull of my hanging torso... I started to breathe.

Whoo... trouble averted. Or, so we thought. We were comfortable with the thought that I was a healthy baby... and, when I say "we", I refer to my parents and I. Technically speaking, my older brother Ray was around... he being about 19 months old, at the time... but, I don't think he gave a hairy rat's butt, one way or the other. As the days passed into weeks... and weeks, into months... my parents noticed some problems. They noticed that I was a little TOO content, sitting in my chair. They noticed that when most kids would have been struggling to sit up, I was content "chilling out", in my chair. The doctors diagnosed a muscular problem, where the left side of my body was not responding to any directions from my brain. At least, that's the way I like to think of it. If it weren't 1:38 in the morning (as I write this), I would call my parents and ask them what the exact diagnosis was.

I finally sat up on my own, when other kids my age were beginning to walk. I mastered that feat at 12 months, and finally started walking around 16 months. For whatever reason, my body began functioning properly, and I was able to grow normally... albeit, a little slower than normal. But, hey... this is coming from the guy that IS a little slower than normal. I was unfortunate to have these muscular problems in an era before the "helmet". Nowadays, if there is any suspicion that one's head may be a little mishapen, they strap on an unattractive helmet, to remedy the situation. No such luck for me. Day in and day out, I would lie in my seat... head getting more deformed as the days went on. Eventually, the doctors fitted my seat with a block of sorts, with an indentation cut into it, to shape my head. My mother has often joked about the flat spot on the back of my head, caused my the months of sitting in my baby seat. Go figure I would inherit my father's and maternal grandfather's bald genes... and a knack of shaving my head. Sure, folks... next time you see me, come up and rub the back of my head. Feel for yourself. It's like a magic crystal ball... at least when it's freshy shorn. Wow... I love that word... 'shorn'.

I was just about ready to conclude this chapter, as I can honestly say that I don't remember much from the first couple years of my life, BUT, I found a brief "personal record" that I had written when I must have been 8 or 9 years old. It had a couple of other interesting nuggets of information. First, I got my first tooth at the age of 11 1/2 months old. Second, I began walking at 18 months. Like I said... a little slow.

Other than these little trials, I would have to say that those formative years were very normal. My parents were both very loving... my mother (an immigrant from Bournemouth, England) was a stay-at-home mom, while my father was a police officer for Murray City (also located in the Salt Lake Valley). I am the second of four children, being sandwiched in between two boys (Ray, 19 months my senior and Richard, 16 months my junior), followed up by my sister, Kristy. Kristy was born 5 years after me, and I have very few memories of the years preceding this. If only I had been keeping a journal, when I was 3 years of age! I vaguely remember the hubbub surrounding Kristy's birth.... my mother being taken to the hospital... my brothers and I being told that we needed to stay at home with a sitter (my aunt?), while Dad attended to the birth. I remember Kristy making a grand enterance into the house, and thinking how cool it was to have a baby sister. I remember the groovy clothes that we got to wear... the striped t-shirts and the "Toughskin" pants, with reinforced knees. Those were good times.... innocent times.

Local Utah "Icon" Kim Peek (a.k.a. "Rain Man") Passes Away at the Age of 58.

2009-12-31T00:38:00.000-08:00

This past week, Utah icon Kim Peek passed away, at the age of 58. Mr. Peek was best known as the inspiration for Dustin Hoffman's character, in the Oscar winning film, RAIN MAN. Mr. Peek has spent much of the past 20 years speaking to audiences all over the world. It is estimated that he had spoken to over 60 million people, including my daughter's high school, just a couple months ago. It is also my opinion that Kim Peek's life, and it's subsequent inspiration for the film RAIN MAN, helped boost awareness for Autism, in it's many forms. I had never heard of it until I saw Rain Man, and now it is a household word.

I will attach an article written in Salt Lake City's DESERET NEWS, which shares some of the interesting facts about the life of Kim Peek. One I find most fascinating, is the fact that he was 16 years old, before he mastered the simple task of climbing stairs, yet he managed to memorize... yes, MEMORIZE the Holy Bible, Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants, all three books which are recognized in the LDS Church as scripture. Where it would take a person like me an hour to memorize a few simple verses, he was able to memorize thousands of pages of scripture. Simply mind boggling...

"Utahn Kim Peek, the mega-savant who helped inspire Dustin Hoffman's character in the 1988 motion picture "Rain Man," died recently of an apparent heart attack. Peek, considered a genius in about 15 different subjects, was 58 years old.

Although the fictional "Rain Man" was an autistic savant, researchers in recent years determined that Kim Peek was not autistic. NASA scientists had studied Peek with the hope that technology used to research the effects of space travel on the brain could help explain his mental capabilities.

Peek continued to gain more knowledge as he aged, learning in recent years to play the piano and even tell jokes.

Peek's recall and command of history, literature, math, sports, classical music and geography was remarkable. Between the vast audience for the Academy Award-winning "Rain Man" and Peek's thousands of personal appearances over the years, the public learned a great deal about mental disabilities and, specifically, the remarkable capabilities of savants. He and his father, Fran Peek, also lobbied for equal educational opportunities for people with disabilities.

Peek was the subject of more than 4,000 articles and 22 documentaries.

While Peek literally memorized entire books during frequent visits to the Salt Lake City Public Library — somehow being able to read the left and right pages simultaneously — he was 16 years old before he mastered climbing stairs.

Yet he and his father traveled nearly 3 million air miles for speaking engagements. Fran Peek said the pair addressed more than 60 million people over the years.

Perhaps the only thing more noteworthy than Peek's extraordinary capabilities was his father's devotion to him. Fran Peek was his son's primary caregiver. He, too, marveled at Kim's ability to conduct complex calculations in his head or to recall significant dates in history. But he was also the person who daily helped his son with simple tasks that were beyond his reach, such as dressing himself or setting the table. Fran Peek authored two books about his son.

Peek's life was an inspiration to many. The contributions he and his father have made to the community, especially to those who are disabled, will pay dividends for many years to come."

Taken from the DESERET NEWS, Monday, December 28, 2009.

WRISTCUTTERS: A Love Story...

2009-11-26T09:21:00.000-08:00

I have recommitted myself to working on this blog... perhaps as a journal... perhaps as a place just to share with you what happens in my world. As is the case for today. It is Thanksgiving 2009, and rather than share stories about my holiday (okay, to be fair, it is only 10:22 AM, and nothing has really happened), I am going to report on a DVD that we recently watched.

WRISTCUTTERS: A LOVE STORY

And as it sounds, it is about people that cut their own wrists... or commit suicide in some other grim manner. But it isn't as depressing as it's made out to be. The story is about a young man named Zia that ends his own life, and ends up in an alternate reality inhabited by people who have commit suicide. In this alternate universe he meets up with a Russian rocker who befriends him as he sets out to make sense of his new world. Along the way he meets a girl who feels that she is not in the right place, as she had died from a drug overdose. Her mission is find those "in charge" and get things put right.

The movie encompasses their journey to make sense of this life, and even features a tasty performance by Will Arnett (Arrested Development).

One of my favorite moments of the film is when Zia first arrives in this other world, and goes in to a bar. This is where he first meets other suicide victims, with the musical accompaniment of Joy Division, playing in the background. For those familiar with Joy Division, you immediately find the humor in this.... for those of you not... well, Ian Curtis (former vocalist for Joy Division) commit suicide, when he hanged himself. The rest of the band continued on under the moniker, NEW ORDER. Most people my age have heard of them.

Either way, I am not going to recommend this film to everyone, but for those of you that enjoy a quirky, sometimes tender story, this is something you may enjoy.

FOOD, INC.: A Disturbing Look at American Food Production

2009-11-07T23:57:00.000-08:00

My wife and I just rented the movie "FOOD, INC." from Netflix, and although it contained a lot of information that we already knew, I felt it important enough to share with you. This movie, which was just released on DVD, this past Tuesday (11/03/09), delves into the manufacturing of much of the food that we, as Americans, consume... each and every day. It delves into the problems associated with our food sources as this country migrates from the independent farms to "factory farms", which receive protection from our government. It talks about how our eating habits have necessitated the need for mass production of meat products, which has not only resulted in the demise of the American farmer, but has resulted in a disturbing downturn in the quality of food that we (the American public) have access to.

The following is the trailer for the film, FOOD, INC.:

For more information about the film, go to the official website at: http://www.foodincmovie.com/

BABY ELEPHANT WALK: Hogle Zoo showcases baby elephant.

2009-09-14T08:09:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Kate for sending me the link to the photos, and subsequently video, of this darling little animal.

The following is a 13 minute clip of "raw" video footage, of Utah's baby elephant, as she scampers around the pen. I gathered a little information, while watching the video, listening to the audio of both reporters and zoo personnel, discussing the animal.

First, the animal is just over a month old. She (it is a female, if that wasn't a clue) is the result of artificial insemination, which occurred nearly two years ago. The gestation period in elephants is 22 months.

And as Kate so aptly put it.... "cute overload".

http://www.fox13now.com/videobeta/watch/?watch=4e0f02f4-ec26-451d-8a32-5bb5fbc87373&cat=empty&src=front&title=Raw%20Video:%20Baby%20Elephant

p.s. You needn't watch the entire video. There is plenty of "cute" in the first couple minutes...

IT IS, AS IT IS: A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle

2009-09-13T00:59:00.000-07:00

I just finished listening to one of the best audio books that I have EVER listened to. Why was it so good? Was the suspense keeping me on the edge of my seat? Were the characters riveting, beyond belief? Did it have the right amount of romance, to keep me enticed? Nope. Nada. None of the above.

The book of which I speak, is "THE NEW EARTH", by Eckhart Tolle.

I was first exposed to the writings (and teachings) of Eckhart Tolle, a few years ago, while delivering mail, in the Sugarhouse (a community in Salt Lake City) area. One of my customers (and good friends), Sean, had given me two of the three compact discs, that accompanied the first Eckhart Tolle book, "THE POWER OF NOW". In that book, Mr. Tolle teaches how we need to learn to bring ourselves to "the Now", by letting go of the past, and not dwelling on the future. In this practice, we can reach Enlightenment, and find greater happiness, in our lives. I fully believe this philosophy, as I have people close to me, that suffer with insecurity, as well as depression, based on life experiences. In that book, we are taught that we need to really only focus on the Now... or the present. By doing so, the only part of our lives that remain important, are those experiences that we are currently going through.

These teachings transcend "THE POWER OF NOW", and continue in "A NEW EARTH". In "A NEW EARTH", Mr. Tolle addresses the Ego. Not the ego, as we often think of it... although related to our traditional definition.... at least, MY traditional definition of it. I always associated "ego" with conceited people. Those that felt they were in a class better than others. The following is the definition of "ego", as found in Merriam-Webster's Dictionary.

Main Entry: ego
Pronunciation: \ˈē-(ˌ)gō also ˈe-\
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural egos
Etymology: New Latin, from Latin, I — more at i
Date: 1789

1 : the self especially as contrasted with another self or the world 2 a : egotism 2 b : self-esteem 1 3 : the one of the three divisions of the psyche in psychoanalytic theory that serves as the organized conscious mediator between the person and reality especially by functioning both in the perception of and adaptation to reality — compare id,

This really struck me as the definition as described by Eckhart Tolle. The self, especially as contrasted with another self or the world. Interesting...
In "A NEW EARTH", we are challenged to overcome ego. Too many times in life, we are controlled by ego.... by how we label ourselves.... or a worry about how others may label US. We worry about the clothes that we wear. Do we fit in a certain class? Will I be accepted by my rich friends? Do I look poor?

I have known people, through the years of my life, that exhibit ego in one way or another. I once knew a young man who was a compulsive liar. His entire life story was either fabricated, or at the very least, exaggerated, in order to make his life seem superior to the lives of others. It was sad to see. What this young man had gone through, during his life, to cause him to act like this, is a mystery. By worrying about what people thought of him, he was never able to truly be "himself".

The second portion of this book deals with the "sick body". According to Mr. Tolle, the "sick body" is a part of us that affects the way we deal with people. The sick body is not actually a part of our essence, but something that we pick up as we move through this phase of our existence. From the moment we are born (when we are actually free of the "sick body", we go through experiences that create a sick body. It may be poor living conditions. It may be abuse. It may be simply living in an environment that is devoid of love. It may be two parents that don't truly love each other, that cause our sick body to grow. We don't even need to be directly abused (whether physically or mentally) to have this pain body grow within.

The "pain body" manifests itself in many ways. Whether through insecurity, anxiety, depression, fear, hate, anger, pain and suffering... these are ALL ways that the pain body oppresses our true self. Because our true self (spirit) is a pure being, the "pain body" is actually a separate entity. Although it is part of who we are, it is NOT part of our true self. Mr. Tolle challenges us to free ourselves from the "pain body", by practicing a few principles, in our lives. First, we need to free ourselves of ego. We need to continually remind ourselves of our TRUE self, and not attach labels to ourselves. We need to free ourselves of titles, such as "dumb", "ugly", "smart", "successful", etc., because by doing this, we put ourselves over (or under) others.

Another principle that Mr. Tolle challenges us to follow, is that of living in the Now. Being completely present. By doing this, we free ourselves of much of the sorrow that we encounter in our lives. He uses the example of getting a flat tire, out in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in a rain storm. This could be an experience that not only made us completely miserable for 20 minutes, but could ruin an entire day. But, IF we face the situation, simply telling ourselves, "It is, as it is", it reminds us that this is just a part of life. If we approach the situation with a peaceful demeanor, not only will we remain centered (helping to remedy the situation in less time), but our good energy will benefit the situation, including those around us.

In listening to this book, I really began to think about how I live my life... how people perceive me... (keeping in mind that I am just observing, and not judging myself)... and how I perceive others. I think we all work with (or interact with) people who are not pleasant to be around. They are a constant stream of negativity, and we find ourselves at a distance, from these people. These are people with dense "pain bodies". For whatever reason, their lives have been one that has accumulated a dense pain body. Eckhart Tolle likens the pain body to a parasite. As a parasite likes to invade a host body, and feed off of the host bodies nutrition, the pain body invades our natural self, and feeds off of the goodness that naturally dwells within ourselves. This same pain body will also draw us to people with similar pain bodies, creating an even greater negative energy.

Mr. Tolle talks about how there are some places on the earth, get off the plane, and sense a negative energy. I believe this to be true. He comments that this is more common in countries that have been around for thousands of years. A good example is that of the Middle East countries, where there often tends to be hostility (mainly religious, although sometimes based off of gender or nationalities) that creates a dense pain body, among the people of those countries.

Even in a country as young as the United States, there is a reasonable amount of negativity brought on by the collective pain body, because of the history of our country, and it's people. From the initial persecution of the Native Americans, to the slavery of thousands upon thousands of black people, to the several wars that we have been involved in, over the years, we push ourselves further and further, from the true Self.

It is up to each and every one of us, to let go of Ego.... and then let go of the pain body that lives inside each and every one of us. It isn't something that can be done overnight, but as Mr. Tolle teaches, if you but RECOGNIZE the pain body, this is the first step in overcoming it's hold. And with more practice, with a constant reminder to ourselves of all the things contained in this book, we can change this world, for the better. We may not be able to create a Utopian society, but at the very least, we can make OUR lives richer... spiritually speaking... and even touch the lives of those around us.

I recommend that each and every person read this book. It isn't a book for Christians... Hindus... Buddhists... or non-spiritual people, specifically.... it is for EVERYONE. Mr. Tolle calls upon the teachings of Christ, of the Buddha, of different philosophers and teachers throughout the history of the world. He uses their messages, in conjunction with his message, to create a recipe that can not only bring peace to ourselves.... but to the world as a whole.

RANDOM JOURNAL ENTRY: 01/25/1979

2009-08-30T20:04:00.000-07:00

Note: The following random journal entry is word for word. Punctuation and/or grammar has NOT been changed.

01/25/1979

Today I went to school like usual. During Band I had found my music for Soul Rock and Cosmic Sea, two groovy songs. On Tuesday, the 23rd, I had somehow misplaced them. I checked home, but couldn't find them anywhere. And during band, I found them in one of my books. I started to whistle and scream because I had found them.
Later during lunch recess I coached a game. The game was flipping cards. I made sure that nobody cheated or flipped to low. After school I looked at my Battlestar Galactica cards and put them in number order. After dinner I watched "Mork & Mindy" a very funny show. After I watched T.V., I watched Dicky do a "Dataman" a little calculator robot. He had to practice on his 12 times tables. I wiped him out when I tried it.

Camp Valor Cut Short by Wildfire

2009-08-07T14:27:00.000-07:00

I have been silent for quite some time, and I will work to catch you up with the collective "goings on", in my life.

For the past week I was at CAMP VALOR, a camp for kids with bleeding disorders. Camp has started a day later, for the past couple years (Tuesday, rather than the traditional Monday), and ended abruptly, yesterday morning, when a wildfire forced the evacuation of our campers. I will go into more detail, later... but for now, I just wanted to post the local news story involving our campers.

NO MORE GOODBYES: A book that should be REQUIRED reading...

2009-06-11T18:46:00.000-07:00

First things first, let me get this out of the way...... I'M MORMON! Of course, if you have been reading this blog for any given amount of time, you would probably know that. So, please keep this in mind, as you read what I have to say.

I am currently reading a book, that (in my opinion) should be required reading. Yeah, there should probably be an age limit on it being requisite reading material... but it should eventually be read by EVERYONE.

The book is "NO MORE GOODBYES" (subtitled: "Circling the Wagons around Our Gay Loved Ones), by CAROL LYNN PEARSON. For those of you that may be Mormon... and probably in the 35+ age bracket, you most probably know that name. Carol Lynn Pearson is a famous LDS poet, and also the writer of the famous LDS based musical, MY TURN ON EARTH, which deals with the purpose of life... WHERE we came from, WHY we're here and WHERE we are going. This musical was famous (well, LDS "famous") back in the 1970s.

In 1986, when I was serving a mission for the LDS Church, Carol Lynn wrote a book called, "GOODBYE, I LOVE YOU". This was an autobiographical book, that detailed her marriage to Gerald Pearson, a gay Mormon, who thought that IF he were to get married, that he would eventually be able to give up the same sex attractions that he had been feeling, since a young man. He was unable to overcome those urges, and eventually surrendered to his same sex attractions, causing the eventual end of their marriage. Carol Lynn and Gerald remained close friends, up until the time that Gerald died of AIDS.

But hey... this post isn't about THAT book, it's about her more recent book. But you knew that. So, let me move on...

After 20 years, and living a fruitful life as a champion for the gay men and women who are persecuted by their families (and unfortunately religions), Carol Lynn released "NO MORE GOODBYES". Rather than just a continuation of "Goodbye, I Love You", this book takes OTHER PEOPLE'S stories. Some tender, some heartbreaking, but ALWAYS engaging, this book is full of touching stories.

Now, as for me, my first (knowingly) encounter with a gay man, was when I was 18 years old. Yes, I know... seems pretty old, by today's standards... but that was the case. Little did I know that I had gone to school with several gay people, but some of them were even relatively good friends. I even discovered, several years after high school, that one of my favorite teachers (and one of the most respected at the high school) was gay. The signs were there, but I was just too naive to realize it.

It wasn't until many years later, that I really began to closely associate with gay individuals. As an employee of the United States Postal Service, one of the most diverse employers in the country, I got to know several gay people.... some, very closely. Not THAT closely, if you are getting funny ideas. I got to know two gay individuals during my first five years with the Postal Service, and even considered them some of my best friends... at least on a work level. I honestly didn't carry those relationships over too much, into my personal life... not by choice, but just because we lived different lives.

I even had a boss, that through many relationship struggles (with women), finally "came out of the closet", and embraced who he was. He was never happier. The one consistency amongs all these gay men that I considered good friends? ALL "returned missionaries", meaning that they had all served missions for the LDS (or Mormon) Church.

Now, back in the 1950's, 1960's and even well into the later years of the 20th Century, many LDS Church leaders were known to be very vocal about the evils of homosexuality, even to the point of comparing it's wickedness to that of those that commit "beastiality". Because of these teachings, the LDS community had really built a wall "protecting" themselves from those that they considered to be not much better than a pedophile. It was a hard time, and one that some leaders have even shown a bit of remorse, for the way that those issues were dealt with.

Back to Carol Lynn's most recent book.... this book takes MANY stories of LDS people, who knew from when they were young... in some cases, 8-9 years of age...that they felt certain "feelings" for members of the same sex. The book is full of stories of young men and women who did everything in their power to fight those "urges" that they were feeling, and in many cases, living a life that very few Mormon's can dedicate themselves to. There was one particular story that broke my heart. A gentleman talking about how he dedicated himself into the service of the Lord, doing EVERYTHING he possibly could, thinking that it would eventually "cure" him. He got married, had children and even eventually served in an LDS bishopric (leadership of a local LDS congregation). Nothing took away his feelings, and he eventually fell into a deep depression. He had been fighting depression his entire life, but he eventually became suicidal. He finally accepted who he was, and broke the news to his wife. Unfortunately his story is NOT alone. Some of these men and women eventually chose to end their lives, rather than live a life where they felt "broken".

I have been amazed, as I read story after story of people who have been forced to come to terms with who they are. Some left the Church, in order to (quite literally) save their lives. Some that were married, because of the love that they have for their spouses (albeit, not a "romantic" love) have chosen to keep their families together. Some knew that they needed to end a frustrating and confused era of their lives, and start anew... trying to live as they were meant to be.

The one thing that Carol Lynn Pearson really wants to point out, is that no matter what religion we belong to... whether we are Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish, etc., that we have gay friends and loved ones. And, specifically addressing the Christians
(whether they be Mormon or not), letting us know that IF we are following the teachings of Christ, that behind loving the Lord, our God, we have been commanded to love our neighbors, as ourselves. This doesn't mean that we love all of our neighbors, except for the foreigners.... it doesn't mean that we love all our neighbors, as long as they attend the same church as us.... and it DEFINITELY does not mean that we love our neighbors, except for those that love differently than we do.

Please understand that I do not (knowingly) have ANY gay individuals in my family... both immediate or extended. It has only been through my relationships with gay friends, where I have learned their honest feelings... their honest beliefs... and have formed my OWN opinion about homosexuality. I firmly believe that homosexuality, in MOST cases (yes, I believe that there are those who "experiment", who jump on a collegiate bandwagon, or who have possibly been abused...mentally, physically and sexually... who have CHOSEN to follow that lifestyle) is a genetic thing... something that scientists don't truly understand. Even LDS Church leaders have softened up their stance on the comparisons to those that engage in beastiality, and have admitted that there is still a lot that we have to learn. President Gordon B. Hinckley, beloved Prophet of the LDS Church, even addressed this on the Larry King Show.

So, although I may be looked down on by some of my fellow churchgoers, I truly believe in what Carol Lynn Pearson is trying to accomplish with her most recent book. I admire that she is not afraid to take a potentially controversial stance, knowing that it may ruffle feathers with those of her faith... while all the while being able to FIRMLY stand in her faith. Nothing has saddened me more, than hearing from my gay friends who were "return missionaries" of how much they hated the LDS Church, and in some cases, Christ... blaming Him for the lot that they have been dealt in life.

Carol Lynn has written this book to help the non-gay understand the gay individual. She has also written this book as a plea to the gay individual, asking them to NOT shut out those that may have rejected them. It is a beautiful book, it is a touching book, it is a loving book... and most of all, I think it serves as a great stepping stone, helping to fill in the divides that fill our society, with the goal of eventually bringing us together... brothers and sisters in the Human Race.

In closing, I want to add a paragraph, taken from the book, NO MORE GOODBYES. It helps answer questions as to why God would create a gay person.... one of the issues that most LDS people can't seem to get past.

'What if- things are not always as they appear? What if, in the grand design of things, none of us finally is a victim? What if our Large Eternal Self actually agreed to certain general challenges that our small mortal self would experience in the service of profoundly vital understanding and growth? What if we are each in the correct classroom being assigned the correct homework, and what if the answer to the question on every test is to love a little more? What if all pain can be labor pain? What if it's okay that there are so many mysteries? What if we are held in the arms of angels all the time? What if, strangely, all is well?'

For those of you who want to know more about this book, the website is:
http://www.nomoregoodbyes.com

LEGS OF A LETTER CARRIER...

2009-06-04T00:25:00.000-07:00

The tale that I'm about to tell, goes back.... it goes way back.... to approximately 2000. It was in the year 2000 (or possibly VERY early in 2001), that I noticed a lump on my shin. I fiddled with it (what else would you do with a lump?), and noticed that it didn't feel hard, but it still bothered me. I decided to take a sick day from work (hey, who wouldn't?) and get it checked out. I went to an urgent care clinic (due to the fact it may have taken months to get in to a specialist), and they told me that it was merely a varicose vein. WHAT?? I thought varicose veins were outrageously blue, and saved for mothers and the elderly. I was a 33 year old guy... I'd never (personally) given birth to anyone.... I didn't feel like I was that old.... so how come I have this vein?

Well, all the fussing in the world didn't change things. I was told that it could probably be taken care of surgically, but that there was no need. I was told that it would just sit there... all lumpy and odd... and not cause me any other discomfort. So, here we are...nine years later, and I still have my lump. It's fun. Why, you ask? Because, people will occasionally look at my legs, and then plainly say, "Ummm... you've got a lump on your leg". I then pretend like it's a tumor, and begin weeping uncontrollably. Really. I mean, NOT really.

Anyhow, enjoy the picture...

A blog post about a Letter Carrier's legs, wouldn't be complete with one other thing. My kids love to tease me, each and every year, about my tan line. During the hot summer months, I love to wear sandles. I have even trained myself to like a reasonably decent pair of flip-flops. Either way, I'm not big into the shoes, during the hottest months of the year. Of course, as a Letter Carrier, I'm exposed to sun all year around. I am even known as one of those "crazy" Letter Carriers that wears shorts all year long. There are only 5 (or so) days, where I break down and put on Goretex rain pants OVER my shorts, because the snow is too deep, and would fall down into my boots. Anyhow, the rest of the time, it's shorts. I will often have people comment about my lack of lower body apparel during those months, and I simply tell the people that I'm "just working on my tan". Even if it's completely overcast. So, even though I am obviously exaggerating, I think it does give me a headstart. By May, my legs are well on their way to being brown. If you look closely, you can already see the line caused by the ankle high uniform socks that I wear. Some years, I will wear white booty socks that go under my ankle... and on occasion, you can catch me with THREE different shades of color, on my legs.

SPIDERS ON DRUGS: An Educational Film

2009-05-24T02:33:00.000-07:00

A special thanks to my Facebook friend (and former schoolmate) Ron Zabriskie, for reminding me of this classic educational film. It's amazing how much you learn with nature films...

Kitty Update: 1 MONTH OLD!

2009-05-24T02:00:00.000-07:00

The kittens have reached that most important milestone. Their 1-month birthday! For some, it may be the only birthday we get to celebrate with them. It has been a fun month, watching the six kittens grow from slimy, yet furry "messes"... to the cute creatures that they are, today. This last week has seen the biggest change in the kittens. For the first 3 1/2 weeks, they spent their lives nursing... and sleeping... in the corner of our closet. A few days ago, Amzees (truthfully, I don't know how it is supposed to be spelled... this is the best I can offer) moved the kittens from their home, an entire 18 inches, to the piece of carpet directly in front of Tiffany's storage drawers. This lasted a day, before they all made the big trek underneath the bed, in front of the small dresser/nightstand on MY side of the bed. This proved to be more isolated, yet more dangerous. The top drawer of this dresser features many things... many things that seem to fall on the pile of kitties below. But, the kittens are determined to stay put.

Another big change, is that the kittens have really begun to show personality. They come out into the room....they fight....the play....they try and climb our legs....and they even follow us around the house. Just yesterday, I found Li'l Amzees (a small version of her mother) climbing the staircase. Last evening, Willie climbed the bed spread, and made it to the top of the tall "king sized" bed, on his own. He promptly came over and laid down on my chest, and attempted sleep... albeit, unsuccessfully. Here is a picture...

Technically, we need to keep them at least another week and a half, before we find homes for them. This is going to be an adventure. They are almost too much to control now... and in another few days, there will be no stopping them. But, we love them. They give us hours of enjoyment, watching their playful antics. I will truly miss some of them, when they finally leave our nest...

BIGGEST....errrr....LITTLEST Dahl News...

2009-05-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

We have been without internet service for a few weeks. It's been a nice break, but at the same time, it is difficult to function without it. Three weeks ago, we had several new additions to our home. We have two cats...or should I say, my oldest daughter has two cats. The entire family shares them, to be quite honest, but we did let her bring the two cats into the house as a lesson in responsibility. Well, some of those lessons have been passed...some failed. One thing we told Chelsea, was that she needed to get the animals "fixed".... for two reasons.... (1) because Bob Barker would want it that way... and (2) because we don't want to add to the cat population.

Well, to make a long story short, the two cats we had were from the same litter. One is male, one is female. The male, due to a suspicious infection (possibly due to a bite), was "fixed" last Autumn. He nearly died of an infection, and while at the animal hospital, we decided to get his "boys" removed. The female, on the other hand, had never shown signs of going into "heat", and we didn't even know if she was fertile. We kept telling Chelsea that she needed to get her fixed, and that it would be twice as much, if her cat were to go into heat. Our past experience of a cat in heat was MISERABLE. The noise....the WRETCHED noise! We never experienced it with this cat. Instead we experienced her getting bigger...and bigger....and bigger...until 3 weeks (and 3 days) ago, she popped. In our closet. Next to our shoes.

And although I still don't love the fact that we were not very responsible, I DO love the little creatures that have come into our home... even if only temporarily.

THE UTAH BABY NAMER: Savin' the Prescott Family's Hide...

2009-04-15T09:42:00.001-07:00

Okay, if THAT isn't an enigmatic title, I don't know what is...

Allow me to explain. Back in the 1990s, I used to contribute to my good friend's late night radio show, calling in as a character of sorts. "The Good Reverend Zeke T. Prescott III, Esq."... a polygamist, who had several wives and LOTS of children. Well, as many good times as we had with the Zeke Prescott character, he had been lay to rest. Until now. Thanks to Facebook, and my endless need to exercise my imagination, I have created a Facebook page devoted to Zeke T. Prescott and his (now) 6 wives, and 57 children.

For those of you familiar with Facebook, one of the things you can do, is add photographs, and "tag" the people in the pictures. Well, thanks to my siblings, we took a mass family picture, posing as Patriarch Zeke and his wives, including some of the 57 children. I had the task of adding names to each of my wives and children. Now, given the history of Utah polygamists, this would be a chore. Or so I thought. THEN, I found "THE UTAH BABY NAMER", which features lists of names that say, "I'm a Utah Mormon!!". I think it works for Fundamentalist LDS people, as well... so I utilized it in naming my children.

So, here is a link to the Utah Baby Namer: http://wesclark.com/ubn/

And after you visit the link, please feel free to add Zeke T. Prescott as your Facebook friend. Strangers welcome! As Zeke often says... the more, the merrier!
(Just do a friend search for Zeke T. Prescott. I'm sure you won't have too many options to pick from... ;-)

EXTREME Sheep Herding...

2009-04-02T20:17:00.001-07:00

This is absolutely AMAZING! The skill of the individuals (and their dogs) involved is incredible. Enjoy...

Random Journal Entry From My Childhood: 2/2/1979

2009-04-02T20:02:00.000-07:00

A random journal entry from you childhood. I was 11 years old. The following journal entry will NOT be edited, in any way.

2/2/1979

Today I went to school. Today was "50s Day". Everybody dressed up like they were in the 50s. I wore a v-neck sweater and a shirt. During "language arts", we had a gong show. Chris and I came in second place. We got the total 30 points. After a boy named Adam Ronan sung the song, "My mommy told me not to put beans in my ear", and threw beans everwhere. I went crazy and put a bean in my ear. I tried to get it out but it wouldn't come out. The teacher tried to get it out but it went in farther. We went down to the office and they didn't dare to get it out. My mom called the doctor and the said, "get him over here after 2:00'. We went there and they got it out very painfully. After that we went to the mall for two reasons. One was for a birthday present Raymond had to give to a friend, and my mom had to buy me an ice cream cone. When we got home I went to "Circle K" and bought some cards. That night Kristy had a friend sleep over. Polly Swensen was her name. After we watched T.V. we went to bed.

(note: This is one of the few days of my childhood, where I STILL have vivid memories. I remember the doctor saying to me, "What in the Hell did you do THAT for?", when I showed up with a bean in my ear. He used a very pointed instrument to try and dig the bean out. It is one of the most painful things I have ever felt. After no success, he washed it out with water. He was hesitant to do that, in case it wouldn't work. The last thing we wanted was a bean swelling in my ear. Either way, he was able to wash it out, and I was back to normal. Ah, the memories of childhood.)

FACEBOOK IN REALITY: A humorous perspective...

2009-03-11T09:30:00.000-07:00

First, a CAUTION: This is a solid PG-13 rating. Don't feel the need to watch it, if you are uncomfortable with that.

My sister sent me an edited version of this video, and I find it hysterical. I have been an avid Facebooker since November, and this really sums up the activities that take place. I hope you enjoy it, as much as I do...

Happy 94th, Iris!!

2009-03-10T18:50:00.000-07:00

The Cheryl Lillywhite family at Iris Lillywhite's 94th Birthday Bash

Tiffany with her grandmother.

Me and my girlfriend, Iris

A week and a half ago, my family...well...Tiffany, Briana, Alyssa and myself...went and spent the evening with the extended Lillywhite family. This would be my "in-laws". The reason for the gathering, was the 94th birthday celebration of one Iris Lillywhite. Otherwise knows as Great-Grandma Iris. Otherwise known as GGI. This lovely lady is Tiffany's grandmother, and great-grandmother of our children. I barely knew my own grandparents*, as a boy, so I consider my children lucky to actually know a great-grandparent.

*I knew my paternal grandparents, although my dad's mother passed away when I was relatively young. I only have a few hazy memories of that sweet woman. Paul, my dad's father, was a good man, although not the most "loving" grandparent. He lived until I was in high school, so of all my grandparents, I probably knew him best. My mother grew up in England, therefore her parents were British. I never did meet her father. As for my maternal grandmother, she was also a very sweet woman. I was fortunate enough to see her every few years, when I was a lad. She passed away some time ago.

Now, back to Iris. I love Iris. She is getting up there, in age, and does not really look forward to family functions. Even at this function, where her children came to be with her from all across the country, Iris did not seem to be enjoying things all that much. I always make it a point to be extra jolly whenever I spend some time with Iris, because I know she likes it. I also like to croon for her. We discuss all the old singers... ones that she loved (Tony Bennett) and ones that she didn't (Johnny Cash). I always love to try and impersonate the old singers, because she loves it. Another one of my favorite past-times with Iris is sneaking in the Dew. The Mountain Dew, to be more specific. Being a 94 year old, with a health food freak, for a daughter (Tiffany's mother), she doesn't get to enjoy The Dew (her favorite soft drink) very often. I always make it a point to have a bottle handy at all family functions, with which I tip back a few glasses with Iris.

I don't Iris will be with us much longer, and I gotta be honest... when she goes, I'm going to miss her. She's a spunky little woman, and I only wish I would have known her when we were both a little younger. Tiffany tells me of times, when growing up in California, they would go to the mall, and Iris would approach the Punk youngsters with their mohawks, and inquire about their bizarre hairdos. She had no shame, that lady. Anyhow... I was happy to enjoy this evening with Iris... and hope there are more to follow.

Tiffany and I at a Christmas gathering...
Just a "bonus" picture...

A Motivational Short Film: VALIDATION

2009-03-06T18:21:00.000-08:00

I was lying on the bed at the plasma center, this evening, when I.... what? You are wondering what I was doing at a plasma center? Well, let me explain... I donate plasma (it saves lives, you know) for two reasons.... 1) I have been actively involved with the bleeding disorder community, here in Utah (with the Utah Hemophelia Foundation), for a few years. I have been donating plasma since the time that I began doing volunteer work for my friends with Hemophelia and VonWillebrand's Disease. It helps THEM, in an indirect way. 2) Who wouldn't want a little extra dough.

Anyhow, none of this is remotely related to this video... except for the fact that I watched the short film on my iPod. It was from a podcast that I regularly subscribe to. Usually the videos are only a couple minutes long, but this one said right up front that it was 16 minutes long. Now, that is my warning to you... this video IS 16 minutes long, BUT it is well worth the time.

The video is called "VALIDATION", and it addresses something that we too often forget. It is about a parking validation clerk, who spends his time "validating" people... in more ways than one. Each person that comes up to get a parking validation is paid a compliment. He tells them that they have a lovely smile... or beautiful eyes... or that their suit "suits" them.

Later, during a trip to the DMV, this young man is scolded for smiling in his picture. He is told that smiling is not allowed. The DMV clerk refuses to take his picture, until he stops smiling. She finally wears him down to the point where he no longer smiles.

I shall tell you no more... because I figure if you have read this post, this far, that you might just be interested in seeing how the story ends. It's heart warming, it makes you feel good. It reminds each and every one of us that the way we treat people comes 'round full circle. If we want to be treated nice, we need to reach out OUR hand of friendship.

Enjoy....

Random Journal Entry #2: 02/15/1979

2009-02-22T18:05:00.000-08:00

(Spelling/grammar is untouched. It is, as it appears in my journal.)

Today is Thursday. I got up and went to school. It was a regular morning. I went to Math, Language Arts and recess. During Language Arts, I had band. I missed Recess because of that. After lunch, I had silent reading. I read a Skateboard book called, "Skateboard Four". After I had Social Studies. We had our test. It was very easy. I missed one because of a stupid reason. The question was 'How did ancient Mesopotamia disapear?' I put it was demolished, but we had to put who demolished it. After, I had Health. We saw two filmstrips on two kinds of drugs. After most boys in our class acted like they were drunk or "High". After school I went home. That night was the "Blue and Gold Banquet", for the cub scouts. I'm a den chief, that's the reason why I went. The Star Wars characters came. After that, I went to bed.

Tippin' My Hat: Dr. Denis Mukwege/Eve Ensler

2009-02-17T18:22:00.000-08:00

During my first morning back to work, in nearly a week and a half, I was catching up on some podcasts. First on the list, was 'DEMOCRACY NOW!'. The second episode I listened to, featured interviews with two people that I had never heard of. Well, one I had never heard of... the other I knew of, but not by name. Make sense?

Eve Ensler is the creator of "THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES", and she is currently doing a five city tour, raising awareness of the savage brutalities that are being waged against the women and girls of The Democratic Republic of The Congo. The tour is called, "V-DAY: TURNING PAIN TO POWER". I tip my hat to her, for her work in raising awareness in the United States, where we tend not to pay much attention to the horrors that take place in Africa.

I also tip my hat to Dr. Denis Mukwege. Dr. Denis Mukwege is one of the only doctors in the Congo that is doing anything about the horrific things being done to the women of the Congo. In an interview on DEMOCRACY, NOW!, the doctor described what the militant guerillas are doing to the women that they find. The doctor shared a story of one of his victims who had been raped CONSECUTIVELY, by seven different men. In addition to the brutal rapes, these barbaric men are also mutilating the genitalia of these women. Some of these women and girls are being left with a hole the size of a quarter, between their bladder and anus. Because of these mutilations, they are not able to control their bladders, or fecal matter. It is particularly bad for the young girls who are the victims of this torture, because the lack of controlling their bowels and bladders leaves them the subjects of cruel harassment from their peers.

Through all this horror, Dr. Mukwege is doing everything in his power to help the women, through surgery and medical help. Dr. Mukwege has treated girls and women between the ages of 3 and 75, ALL of which have been victims of rape, many of whom have been mutilated in one way or another. Because of his endeavors, he has been recognized as "African of the Year".

The following is the link to the "V-Day Tour" website.

http://newsite.vday.org/pain-to-power-tour

The following two videos go into more detail, about the atrocities against these people.They are done by Anderson Cooper, and were featured on 60 Minutes. You may be required to sit through a short ad before each video.

The sad thing, is that we (in Western civilization) add to the problems, because many of our cellular phones, Playstations, etc., have gold taken from the Congo... money which goes to the terrible people behind these horrific actions. Maybe it's time we inquire about where the gold in our electronics comes from...

Random Journal Entry From My Childhood: 2/12/1979

2009-02-13T10:56:00.000-08:00

2/12/1979

Let's see what I was doing 30 years ago... (spelling and punctuation are as they appear in the journal).

Today was a nice regular Monday. I woke up and had a shower. When I got to school, I thougt to myself, "We are going to have another boring morning of stupid work.". It turned out to be pretty fun after all. During lunch recess I walked around the room and playground. After silent reading, we had science. We're still studying the same thing. After that I had Art. We made valentines. After school I had primary. After primary we had grandma and grandpa Richards come out for dinner. Today is my mom's and dad's anniversary. They stayed for family home evening. When they went home, my dad told Dicky that my grandma Dahl's spirit had been seen twice and he was spooked out of his pants. Then we went to bed.

Notes on journal entry:
1. I was 11 when I wrote this.
2. "Primary" is an LDS (Mormon) program for children through the age of 11.
3. Grandma and Grandpa Richards were NOT my actual grandparents. When my mother immigrated to the United States, from England, she stayed with the Richards Family. Grandpa Richards was otherwise known as Henry Richards, the owner of Granite Furniture Company. For those of you who are LDS, it is an interesting bit of trivia to know that Henry Richards was the grandson (if not grandson, a direct descendent) of Willard Richards, who was the only person NOT to be seriously injured in the Carthage Jail, at the time of the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph Smith, along with his brother Hyrum.

LEE REDMOND'S NAILS: R.I.P.

2009-02-12T17:28:00.000-08:00

I was just updating my music blog (http://unclezekesmusicemporium.blogspot.com), when I overheard a news story on the television, in my bedroom. Apparently, there has been a fatality in Utah...

LEE REDMOND, a Utahn (I had no clue) holds the Guiness Book of World's Records' record for the LONGEST FINGERNAILS. At least she did... until today. Was the tragic fatality that of Ms. Redmond? Not exactly.

Ms. Lee Redmond was thrown from her vehicle, in a car crash, on Thursday, February 12, 2009. She is expected to make a full recovery. Her nails, however, tragically died in Thursday's accident. The set featured in the photo, took Ms. Redmond 30 years to grow. I guess she can start again, but my feelings, are that time is not on her side. She probably won't have the time to grow their nails to their recent length.

The following is a video, taken from "RIPLEY'S BELIEVE IT OR NOT".

Longest Finger Nails In The World - The most amazing videos are a click away

Sorry BLOG...you can blame FACEBOOK!

2009-02-08T23:35:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I remember my internet friend, Kate, making a reference to something that had come into her life, that she had formed a real "love/hate" relationship with. That particular thing "starts with 'F' and ends with 'K'. A few weeks later, I fell victim...

...and here I am, nearly three months later, and this poor blog has been nothing but neglected. I was ashamed, when I just logged on, and saw that my last post was December 27th, 2008. During my absence, I even noticed that I had a series of new visitors, including one from Tehran, Iran! Hello, Tehranian!!

I promise I will do better. I even have a couple pictures I need to post, including that of our first "gift" from the cats. Not your standard gift (mouse or small bird)... so stay tuned for that.

In the meantime, you can come see my biggest distraction...

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/profile.php?id=1660245554&ref=profile

Post #50!! Christmas/Boxing Day 2008

2008-12-27T23:07:00.001-08:00

I just wanted to do a quick post, now that the holiday is (mostly) behind us. As you know, if you read this blog with any regularity, I am a USPS Letter Carrier. The Christmas season is a time of year that sucks the very life out of you. This year, it hasn't been too bad, as far as the mail volume is concerned, but the weather has been doing just that... sucking the life out of me. For the past two years, Utah has been inandated with storms coming from the northwest. When this happens, we get the "lake effect" storms, coming from warm air rising off of the Great Salt Lake, clashing with the frigid northern winds, and creating these bizarre clouds and snow storms. IF I ever get the chance to move away from Salt Lake, I am definitely going to a place with a milder climate, and one far enough away from an inland (warm) body of water. Nashville is still the place I would love to settle, someday. Of course, if I can make it to retirment, as a Letter Carrier, there is that great little community in Florida, owned by the NALC (our Letter Carrier union), where you can live for a couple hundred bucks a month. Not a bad house payment. But hey! I'm rambling!!

Let me explain the loot, which I received this Christmas. I am calling it a "geek Christmas extravaganza". Everything centered around a geek lifestyle.

First, I got the graphic novel of "THE WATCHMEN". I had been on the waiting list at our local library, for months. I believe I was number 96 in line, when I first put the hold on the book. Of course, with only three weeks to read it (obviously, there was no chance of renewing), I was not able to completely soak up the information. Not to mention, I didn't have the time to completely dedicate myself to the reading. So, I had no choice but to get the book. Which makes me happy, because I will be able to spend more time soaking myself into the essays, and political commentary, that make this book one of the "top 100 novels of all time", as reported by TIME magazine. And, by time the movie comes out (which should be in March, 2009, given no legal hold ups), I will be a full-on "Watchmen" geek.

Next, I was able to get a really good deal on some DVD sets. Seasons 1-3 of "SPACE GHOST: COAST TO COAST", which was a hilarious talk show, airing on Adult Swim (Cartoon Network), back in the mid 90's. You had the animated host, complete with animated producer, band members (mainly comprised of villains, from the original 1960's cartoon), and real live guests.... mainly comedians, musicians, and the occasional TV or movie star. Very funny.

Today, I picked up "THE BRAK SHOW", season 2. A spin-off of the aforementioned "Space Ghost" talk show, this (even funnier) show was a precursor to "AQUA TEEN HUNGER FORCE". We were watching an episode, where Meatwad made a split second cameo appearance. We actually needed to pause the picture, in order to really see him.

I also got another STAR WARS ornament for my tree. I don't have a picture, yet, but you can fully expect to see one. This years ornament is one of Emperor Palpatine, sitting in his Death Star (2) throne. I love it.

From the video game side o' things, I got the new "Shaun White: Road Trip" snowboarding video game, for the Wii. That one is a riot, considering you are using the balance board to do your riding. Good times, ahead...

From a musical standpoint, I got some LP records. I am really getting into the vinyl collecting, again. Especially now that most new release records come with a CD copy of the album, or a code to get a one time digital download of the album. I get the artwork, the iPod compatible media format, AND the warm, fuzzy feeling of opening a record, sitting on the 1970's couch in my bedroom, and listening to the inferior sound quality of a record album. My NEW release records were "NEW SURRENDER", by ANBERLIN, as well as, "ME FIRST AND THE GIMME GIMMES HAVE ANOTHER BALL". For those of you not familiar with the latter band, they are one of the funniest Alternative bands out there. They are an "all star" band, comprised of members of several Punk bands. They do covers, each album having a different theme. One album was showtunes, one album was 70's Adult Contemporary songs, one album was Country covers. And, the band was even swell enough to record a live album... at Johnny's Bar Mitzvah! Donning their powder blue tuxedos, complete with ruffled shirts, the band entertained the family and friends of a young Jewish boy. It was hysterical. Complete with interruptions from the band members arguing, mainly about key changes, etc., as well as the occasional profanity being tossed about, the band entertained some... and probably offended others. There are video files on THAT particular CD, and the shocked and horrified looks of the older guests, while the band plays a song from The Godfather, is worth the price of buying the disc.

In addition to those two record albums, I also got 6 used vinyl records, featuring mainly 80's artists. Peter Godwin, Timbuk 3, Stan Ridgeway, Crowded House, Chet Atkins C.G.P., as well as a random gamble. That, being JERRY WALLACE!

Of course, I purchased the album based entirely on the suit that Jerry is wearing. And the custom made guitar. Well, and the price. Which was either .99 cents... or free...depending on whether or not that record was the free LP with the purchase of 2 records at .99 cents. Bargains! I love 'em. AND, I love the Honky Tonk/Rockabilly sounds of Jerry Wallace! He's like Junior Brown, without all the killer guitar riffs!

Anyhow, to finish the Christmas list. I also SHOULD be getting the 30th Anniversary edition of CHEAP TRICK AT BUDAKON. This wonderful 3 CD/1 DVD set came out this year. Most close personal friends of mine, know that Cheap Trick was the band that made me fall in love with music. This set is a dream come true, including the full Japanese TV performance, taken from this legendary concert. Until that time, Cheat Trick had only had moderate success, in the states close to their home state of Illinois. In an interview with the band, they recollect the show, and being blown away by the freakish following that they had in Japan. They had a huge, very loyal fanbase. At the show, they admitted that they didn't even really intend to play "I Want You To Want Me", as they had pretty much retired that song from their live repertoire. They were pursuaded to add the song, at the last minute... and the rest is history. That song launched them to Top 10 status, in the United States. They had a considerable amount of success, for years to come. They still record and tour, today... over 30 years later.

As far as my set is concerned, I accidentally entered my previous address, when ordering from Amazon.com. I have spoken to the Post Office, as well as the current residents of the house (where the box is being sent), and nobody has seen it. According to Amazon.com, it left Phoenix on the 17th, was scanned in Denver on the 21st, but hasn't been seen since. I was wondering if it burnt on the tragic plane fire in Denver, but I believe there was a days difference. Nobody seems to know where it is... making this the 3rd or 4th bad experience with Amazon.com. Out of 7 orders, that isn't a good track record. Yes, this one was partially MY fault, but I still scratch my head at the near week that has gone by, without any further record of it's whereabouts. Let's cross our fingers, folks.

So, there you have it... my Christmas loot. I will also add some photos taken from Christmas Day, at the Dahl house... as well as a photo or two from the extended Dahl Family Boxing Day party. With my grandmother being British, and my own mother being British, that justifies the celebration on Boxing Day. Not to mention, I guess that makes me 75% British... even though I've never been there. How swell is THAT?

Anyhow, enjoy the photos...

A picture of my daughter, next to my sister. Umm... same gene pool?

Me, reading "The Watchmen", instead of mingling with family

Sean Dahl... Shaun White Snowboarding...

Tiffany, with Alyssa's new firearm.

"Working on those Night Moves..."

HITLER REACTS TO BYU LOSS...

2008-12-04T21:39:00.000-08:00

This is a very funny video clip, taken from an actual, critically acclaimed film. The only difference is that someone has cleverly removed the original films English subtitles, and replaced them with their own. For you UTAH fans, this is hysterical... for you BYU fans... well, I'm sure through those tears, you have your occasional snort of laughter.

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Now playing: The Beatles - Octopus's Garden
via FoxyTunes

STAR WARS Ornaments... YIPPEE!!

2008-12-03T18:15:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite traditions of Christmas, is going down to the local Hallmark store, and getting myself a new ornament. I have not gotten this year's ornament, yet, but you can guarantee that I will. In the meantime, enjoy some of my favorite ornaments. To see a complete album of (nearly) all of my ornaments, visit my Facebook page. Sean Dahl is the name, facin' books is my game. And collecting Star Wars ornaments.

2008-11-26T11:02:00.001-08:00

I always love this time of year. From October through December, we move from the cooling weather, through the turning of the leaves, through Halloween, through Thanksgiving. ALL of which I enjoy immensely. BUT, there is one thing that comes without fail, the week of Thanksgiving, that always brings a gray cloud of sadness to my otherwise happy existence. THE COTTONWOOD TREE!

Yes, we have been blessed with one of the largest trees in all our neighborhood, if not the BIGGEST. A beautiful Cottonwood that offers shade to the better part of our back yard, during the hot summer months. But, unlike most other trees in the neighborhood, this one does not feel the need to drop it's leaves until the week of Thanksgiving. You can count on it, like clockwork. We bought this house from my sister-in-law's father, avoiding all the realtor hassle. It was a good deal for all involved. I should have known, considering we moved in the Saturday after Thanksgiving, 1993, exactly what we were in store for. As a matter of fact, that year, because of a snowfall right after moving in, that layer of leaves didn't get cleaned up until the following Spring, when I was treated to the better part of our back yard, buried under an inch thick layer of black, wet leaves. It was a veritable nightmare. So, since then, I have learned that you do everything in your power to get most of the leaves up that week, otherwise you flirt with the prospect of snow.

And here we are, one day before Thanksgiving, and I face the nightmare of the leaves. They have begun falling, and will continue to do so for the next week. I guess I can't complain, as my poor neighbors get a share of them, whenever the wind blows from the North, and they don't even own the thing. At least I was smart enough to buy a blower/vacuum for the leaves, which helps. Although this particular tree likes to dump little branches, which make it a bit of a hassle. Plus, the leaves are usually bigger, and get a little moist with the frost.

Whine, whine, whine... it's my fault that I bought a house with a huge tree, not to mention the part of the .33/acre being lined by ROSE BUSHES!! Another nightmare, another story, another day...

Wow... a funny post script (p.s.): I just did an internet search, to make sure that the tree is, in fact, a Cottonwood, and verified that it is. There was also a picture, with a notation stating that most tall Cottonwood trees show signs of being hit by lightning. It just so happens, that when my sister-in-law's father owned the house, the tree was hit by lightning, causing all kinds of damage to his electronics in the house, as the lightning went up a branch, and actually struck the house second hand. FUN AND GAMES!!

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Now playing: ABBA - Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)
via FoxyTunes

Pa, Pa Pants Man: IT'S POTTY TRAININ' TIME!!

2008-11-24T18:34:00.000-08:00

My somewhat eccentric daughter just passed this video on to me, and I felt that it might be good to post it... just in case you have forgotten to use the bathroom, or in case you have someone in your life that needs a little ASSistance.

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Now playing: Chiodos - There's No Penguins In Alaska
via FoxyTunes

THE GEEK SHOW: Podcast and Forum... CHECK IT OUT!

2008-11-14T10:38:00.000-08:00

I'm a geek. I'm proud of it. Now, before y'all go judging me, let it be known that I usually shower each and every day. I don't allow myself to smell. I do NOT play Dungeons and Dragons. I'm even on too tight a budget to collect comic books, BUT I will check them out from the local library, and enjoy them over a bowl of cereal. I guess the thing that I am MOST geeky about, is STAR WARS. I was ten years old when I first saw Star Wars. It was the Summer of '77, and my life was changed. From the opening scenes of "Episode IV: A NEW HOPE", with the Imperial Star Destroyer sucking the insignificant little Rebel Blockade Runner into it's hungry bowels, I was blown away. I collected comic books, trading cards, LP records, posters, t-shirts, action figures... and even went completely nuts when the first official Star Wars Universe novel came out, "Splinter of the Minds' Eye", written by famed Sci-Fi writer, Alan Dean Foster. I actually thought that it was going to be the story of the Star Wars sequel.

My love for Star Wars faded through my adolescent years, but was reignited 12 years ago, when my friend and I began collecting the latest wave of action figures. This was about a year or two before the "Special Edition" versions of the original Trilogy were released. I was once again standing in line for hours to get tickets to the first screenings of the Special Edition films. I ended up collecting nearly 100 action figures, which were hung neatly on my wall (all have since been sold), more trading cards, and even neck ties. Among my church congregation, I am known for my assortment of Star Wars ties. One of the favorites is my "Return of the Jedi" montage tie, which features Leia as Jabba's slave.... yeah guys, that means the bikini! Great for church apparel, if'n you ask me.

REGARDLESS, this isn't about my love for Star Wars. It's about www.thegeekshowpodcast.com. Let me tell you a little more about The Geek Show. A local radio personality, Kerry Jackson, is a couple years older than me, and grew up with many of the same loves that I had. He is an avid Star Wars fan, a Star Trek fan, a comic book fan, a collector of toys (he has an entire room in his home dedicated to his toys), and a lover of all things "geeky". Many years ago, he began having a feature on his morning radio show, called "The Geek Show". He gathered a panel of specialists in several different areas, including television, movies, comics, action figures, etc. The panel mostly stayed the same, but they began incorporating guest celebrities on the program, usually in conjunction with area Sci-Fi conventions.

Fast forward to 2008. They decide to take the Geek Show to a weekly level, and began utilizing the "podcast" technology. Usually every other Sunday evening, the group gets together in Kerry Jackson's basement, and begin consuming their favorite alcoholic beverages... with the exception of Derek Hunter, who is not a drinker, but also called "The World's Dirtiest Mormon", by his fellow panelists. They usually record two shows, each time they gather, and you can download those podcasts from the website, or iTunes... whichever you prefer. It is amusing, and if you are into some of those "geeky" things mentioned, very informative.

One last thing to mention. If you go to the website (www.thegeekshowpodcast.com) ,
you can click on a link taking you to the "GEEK SHOW PODCAST FORUM". Once again, there is an array of topics discussed, from TV to Movies, Music (yeah, I'm there) to Comics, and everything in between. Very informative, very interesting, and yet... a complete waste of time. That's why I love it!

Who says Mormons don't have a sense of humor?

2008-11-06T16:14:00.000-08:00

This amusing video clip was sent to me by one of the gentlemen in our ward (LDS congregation). Pretty funny...

Mormon synchronized swimming...

Internet Time Wasters: FAMOUS MORMONS!

2008-11-06T12:08:00.000-08:00

It's my day off, and I'm just sitting at the computer getting some music converted to my iTunes library. When I am engaged in such an activity, I usually find myself killing time on the interweb. Today, I was watching a video by Spandau Ballet, that was referred to me by my blogger/Last.fm friend, Kate. Hey, Kate. The video reminded me of a story that was told to me by an old friend from high school. She insisted that she knew somebody who had served an LDS mission in England, and that the missionary served in an area where Tony Hadley (vocalist of Spandau Ballet) attended church. I decided to take advantage of Google, and see if I could find any verifications. From there, I was reminded of one of my favorite websites to waste time.

http://famousmormons.net

It is ALWAYS amazing to me, to discover who was, at the very least, raised a Mormon. Some are still very active in their religious pursuits, others not so much. You could spend HOURS looking at the bios of people that you may have never known to be Mormon.

And being Mormon, myself (albeit NOT famous), I have sat back and watched the LDS Church take a beating over their involvement in the very heated Proposition 8 battle, in California. Some of that beating was probably justified, other aspects were completely exaggerated and blown out of proportion. So, for those of you who probably have an extremely sour outlook at the Mormon Church, this week... sit back, and see what famous celebrities you may or may not be feeling anger towards!

Brandon Flowers of THE KILLERS? Ricky Schroeder (sorry, Ricky, you may think you are now RICK Schroeder, but to me you will ALWAYS be "Ricky") of (most recently "24", or how 'bout Billy Barty? America's favorite "little person". Wait, you can't be mad at Billy. He's been gone for 8 years. I don't think he was an advocate of Proposition 8. At least you didn't hear him, if he was... unless you are a clairvouyant.
Spend some time browsing... just remember that some of the people that you see do NOT practice Mormonism, anymore, and you cannot base your opinions of Mormons on those people. Can anyone say "Katherine Heigl"? Your typical Mormon doesn't chain smoke.

'Nuff said.... GET SURFIN'!!

http://famousmormons.net

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Now playing: INXS - The One Thing
via FoxyTunes

MY Favorite Part of HALLOWEEN!!

2008-10-12T13:30:00.000-07:00

There are many things that I love about the Halloween season. I love the gothic themed decorations. I love the turning of the leaves. I love the cool, brisk air, that greets me, each and every morning (trust me, riding the scooter down the road at 50+ miles per hour, in temperatures ranging between 38-50 degrees... I KNOW BRISK AIR!), I love the sounds of Oingo Boingo.... but one thing I love more than all those others...

MONSTER CEREALS!!

Now, admittedly I am a fan of pre-sweetened cereals, especially those with marshmallows. As a matter of fact, many years ago, there was a company in Orem, Utah, that made bags of cereal marshmallows, that you could buy, if'n you wanted to 'mallow up your cereal. I used to buy KING VITAMAN cereal, which admittedly is NOT the greatest cereal in the world, but with a cup of marshmallows thrown in... yum, yum, yum!

BUT, my friends... nothing holds a candle to the monster cereals. Count Chocula rules the roost... and even gets his cereal circulated throughout most of the year... but I am also a huge fan of Boo Berry and Franken Berry. Love 'em both, and engage in their breakfast company, each and every October... until they disappear from the shelves of my friendly neighborhood Harmon's store...

Happy Birthday, Old Man!!

2008-09-17T18:38:00.000-07:00

This last Sunday evening, we once again congregated at the home of Rich and April Dahl. This time, the occasion was the 65th birthday of my father, Mr. Calvin Dahl. This was a significant birthday for him, one that might usually only be marked by one's retirement. The reason this birthday was so significant for my father, is that he never expected to live to see it.

Dad has had diabetes, since he was around 30 years old. It has taken a toll on his health, over the years, including vision problems, heart problems, an amputated foot, and most significantly, kidney problems. His kidneys failed him, back in the early months of 1987, and he was on dialysis for over two years. While on dialysis, he saw many people come and go, some with a new lease on life, thanks to a kidney transplant, and some, passing away, because their bodies couldn't take the abuse of dialysis, any longer. It changed his entire outlook on life.

In 1989, he received a kidney transplant, and received a brighter hope for a longer life, thanks to a kidney donor, a young man tragically killed in a car crash. Typically, a transplanted kidney is supposed to last around 8 years. Some less, some more. The 8 years is an average.

My father had one wish, which was to see a grandchild born into this world. His oldest grandchild, my daughter Chelsea, is going to turn 17, next month. He now has 15 grandchildren, and the way he is going, he may make it to see a great-grandchild or two. Although he is easily exhausted, and although his kidney rejection medication has put a few pounds on him, he seems to be in decent health. I truly think God has kept him on this Earth to do the great things that he has been engaged in, for the past ten years. Not only is he a great missionary, but he has also been actively engaged in genealogy, tracing our ancestry back to around the time of Christ. Not bad, for a "sick" old man... maybe that wasn't the best use of the word sick... how 'bout "ailing" old man. Yeah, much better...

Happy birthday, dad...

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Now playing: Belle & Sebastian - Dress Up In You
via FoxyTunes

Mormons For Obama UNITE!!

2008-09-10T18:43:00.000-07:00

So, if you have read many of my posts, you know that I am an Obama supporter. I think of all the candidates that have a remote chance of winning, Obama is the one that can take us away from the "broken" political system that we have. The Republicans have proven to us that they are more than willing to be bought and sold by the wheelers and dealers in Washington. So, as a middle class, working American, I am supporting the candidate that will make MY way of life a little better.

Also, if you have delved deeper into my blog, you will know that I am Mormon, as well. For those of you that have been living under a rock for the past 175 years, the "Mormons" are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The Church membership, as a whole, are very conservative people. But, there are a few people (including myself) who aren't afraid to cross those conservative lines, and support candidates who want to make our way of life a little better.

Earlier today, my blogging friend, Kate, sent me a link to Obamas website, where a group of "MORMONS FOR OBAMA" have begun a grass roots campaign, and they are tied in directly to Obama's website. Thanks for that information, Kate. Now I am an official Mormon For Obama.

The most amusing part of the deal, is that they have a merchandise section (of which I will probably buy a nice looking t-shirt to proudly display who I am, and whom I am voting for). BUT, in the merchandise, I discovered this little beauty...

... and the funny thing is, if you know anything about Mormon women... there won't be a lot of these things sold! BOOYAH!

Alyssa: The tormented soul...

2008-09-07T11:34:00.000-07:00

Nothing much to say, here... but I was checking things on my new MySpace page (it is my tool to babysit my children's MySpace activities), and saw that Alyssa (front) and Cheyenne (her best friend, rear) had created an album of pictures. I clicked on the link, and was shocked at what I saw...

This is just ONE example of FIVE PAGES WORTH OF PICTURES!!!

Catching Up, cont.: THE UINTAH DRIVE

2008-08-31T16:05:00.001-07:00

Shortly after going under the knife (see surgery posts), I was speaking with my father, and told him that it would be nice to go and take a ride, at some point. It was decided that this past Friday would be the day for said ride. He asked if I would rather go up to the Uintah Mountains, or if I would like to go to Brighton Ski Resort, up Little Cottonwood Canyon, just east of Salt Lake City. Being the (normally) easy going guy that I am, I told him that I didn't mind. He then said he would ask my mother, and apparently the verdict was for the Uintah Mountains.

They packed along a picnic of bar-b-qued pork loins, chips, cookies and salad. During the lunch we spoke of politics (it's hard to be around my dad, one on one, and not get his conservative political rants), and such. We also saw a beautiful deer, female I suppose (due to lack of horns), which I tried to photograph. I got two pictures, but when the deer finally entered a clearing, right into the sun, I went to take the picture, and bwaaaahhh...
THE FRIGGIN' BATTERIES DIED!!

Regardless, you will get a few pictures of the picnic, a picture of me being a "special spirit" on the rocks, Bald Mountain pass (that's the mountain that is... umm... bald, i.e. above the tree line), and the Hayden Peak pass. If you don't know, the small gray haired woman is my mother, Pauline (an import from the British Isles) and the rotund (courtesy of his many kidney anti-rejection medications... he had an transplant, nearly 20 years ago) older man, is my father, Calvin.

Catching Up: ALLYSA'S 13TH BIRTHDAY PARTY

2008-08-31T12:02:00.001-07:00

For someone who has had so much free time, lately, I sure am being a Wally at getting some fresh posts done. So, it's time for me to plow through a few (over the next couple days). My motto is "feast or famine".

Anyhow, there is not much to report on the birthday party. There were a plethora of teen aged girls over at the house, which means I shut down mentally, emotionally, and maybe even physically. It's an overload to my masculine system.

So, I will include a few photos. The party actually took place on August 22nd. I must point out that Alyssa had gone to the dollar store, earlier that day, and purchased a bizarre looking styro-foam hat, as well as some over sized sunglasses. She made it a point to where the hat everywhere we went, over the next two days. She wore it school shopping, including trips into some very busy stores. Sometimes the sunglasses accompanied the hat, sometimes not...

BIG CHANGES IN THE DAHL HOUSE!!

2008-08-20T18:19:00.000-07:00

This is week one of surgery recovery, and I honestly thought that all this extra time on my hands would bring about a plethora of new blog posts. Well, not much tends to happen, when you are prone most of the day. I have gotten to the point of getting out at least once each day. I have even had the pleasure of riding a couple of different "jazzy" shopping carts, once at Harmon's, once at Wal-Mart. Now, before any of you scroll down this page a spell, and then ask yourselves why I am shopping at Wal-Mart, know that it was a necessity. I needed to return an old printer cartridge that was purchased at Wal-Mart, in order to get another black cartridge. So, if I was going to at least set foot in that dingy, soul destroying store, I was at least going to get the most out of it.

Stay tuned for pictures from Wal-Mart AND Harmon's, a local grocery store. They are currently on two different cell phones, and awaiting my daughter's experience in uploading pictures to the interweb.

BUT FIRST, SOME BIG NEWS!!

I have been married to the beautiful Mrs. Dahl, for the last 18 1/2 years. During that time, she has only grown more beautiful. BUT, for the better part of those 18 1/2 years, her hair has not had any real changes... until NOW.

Tiffany has naturally curly hair, courtesy of her father. Because of her naturally curly hair, she has always been too intimidated to do anything radical with her hair. She would occasionally straighten it, but always left it somewhere between shoulder length and halfway down her back. Another influence in this decision to stick with the same hair style, is that her mom always told her that she would look funny with short hair. You would need to know Ms. Cheryl Lillywhite, to know how blunt and forceful her comments can be. Tiffany never needed to worry about whether or not she had gained a few pounds, when she was growing up, as she heard about it from her mother. Anyhow, I don't want to paint the picture of her mother TOO negatively, but she was very blunt, and not the most positive person on the face of Planet Earth.

So, today Tiffany had a haircut appointment. She was gone for nearly two hours, so we knew that something was up. Now... before you all get this impression that she did something COMPLETELY drastic with her hair, it's not that crazy. No butch haircut. No bald head (one in each family, is plenty). No, crazy colors.

But, for Tiffany... it was a bold, brave new move. She always fought the idea of shorter hair, partly because of earlier comments from her mom, partly because of the narrow, long facial features that she has. So, without further adieu, I give you the ALL NEW, some may say IMPROVED... TIFFANY DAHL, 2008 model!

Oh, just so you know, this cut is an "A cut" or "A-line". It is shorter in the back. I haven't taken pictures of the back, yet, but I am sure they will be unveiled soon enough...

Now playing: China Crisis - Christian
via FoxyTunes

SURGERY COMPLETE! Now... the pain...

2008-08-16T16:12:00.000-07:00

As you could probably tell by my last post, I have just had a minor surgery on my heel. Well, MINOR, as far as the procedure... major, as far as the recovery period. Well, maybe not compared to Larry H. Miller's being in such misery, that he wanted to have his body dumped out in the West Desert. Wait... is West Desert a proper noun? Is there actually a name for the salt flats, and accompanying desert, out west of Salt Lake? Am I taking liberties that I shouldn't be doing? Maybe... but that's NOT the point. The point, is that I don't feel the need to have my body dragged out to the west desert, or West Desert... whatever it is. Utah's butthole. That's what it is.

Anyhow, the doctor has prescribed me some Percocet, some motion sickness pills (to counter balance the Percocet), and an antibiotic, to ward off infection. Regardless, with this intrusion into the bottom of my foot, it hurts, and it's nearly impossible to walk on. I find myself crawling to and from the bathroom. The funny part, is that I was under the impression that I would be leaving with crutches. We began checking into used crutches at Deseret Industries (the local thrift store) while still sitting in the waiting room. When the fine doctor finally showed up, I asked him if they were supplying crutches, or if we could acquire them on our own. He looked at me like I was silly, and asked if was going to need crutches. Oh, I thought to myself, I guess I won't need crutches. Apparently I will be good to walk on this foot, in no time!

APPARENTLY NOT!!

Yeah, just come watch me crawling around the house, because I can't stand to put one pound of pressure on my foot. But, at least I have the next couple weeks to recover... and the Percocet. And Pink Floyd. Pink Floyd and Percocet... hand in hand. Hand in hand. Especially "The Dark Side of the Moon" and "Obscured By Clouds". Yeah... Pink Floyd.

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Now playing: Raul Malo - Secret Heart

My Last Meal: PEE SNIFFERS!!

2008-08-15T08:24:00.000-07:00

Most of you may not be aware of my pending surgical procedure, but a few of you may. I have been suffering from Plantar Fasciitis, a condition caused by inflamed tissues, surrounding your heel. Here, let's let Wikipedia tell you a little more...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plantar_fasciitis

Although orthodics and other stretching exercises have greatly reduced the pain in my heel, it has not completely removed it. So, we have opted to go in for one of the surgical procedures to fix it. Endoscopic surgery...

Endoscopic surgery -- endo: meaning the end of, and scopic: meaning to look at -- is an instrument that looks at the end of a closed space. When endoscopic surgery is used on the foot, it usually deals with the plantar fascia -- plantar: meaning the bottom of, and fascia: the thick ligament that runs from the back of the heel to the front of the foot.

The plantar fascia is a commonly inflamed structure associated with heel spurs. When an endoscopic procedure is performed to lengthen or cut the plantar fascia, a portal of entry into the foot from the side is created, either medial (inside) or lateral (outside), to expose the plantar fascia. This procedure involves a much smaller incision than traditional surgeries and is much more precise. The post-operative period of time in healing is also reduced, as well as the pain.

Plantar fasciotomy via endoscopic technique is a very effective procedure when all other conservative measures, such as: arch supports, orthotics, padding, medications, physical therapy, etc., have been used. This procedure can usually be performed under local block anaesthesia and rarely is general anesthetic necessary. Recovery time is usually in the range of three weeks. Most surgeons use a post-operative walking boot and immediate ambulation is usually possible.

So, the next two and a half weeks will involve a lot of lying down, sitting down, hobbling around, and probably blog posts (intertwined with a little eBay activity). And with most surgical procedures where anesthesia is required, I was told to not eat or drink after midnight, last night. A few of us went to Lagoon (It's what fun is, you know), last night, since I knew I was going to be laid up for a while. After coming home, I pondered what would be my last meal, before going under the knife. Since a big, heavy meal rarely sounds good at Midnight, I opted for PEE SNIFFERS! What's a pee sniffer, you ask? Well, it's one of several things... it's either HONEY SMACKS (the artist formerly known as SUGAR SMACKS) or Malt-o-Meal GOLDEN PUFFS or... well, any generic store version. My personal favorite? Golden Puffs, from Malt-o-Meal. But, since Honey Smacks were the recent sale item, that is what I indulged in last night. Not just a sissy little bowl... I'm talking a big cooking bowl. And I finished it up at exactly 12:00 midnight!

Oh, I guess you're wondering why I call them PEE SNIFFERS. I can only implore you to buy a box/bag, enjoy it, and then the next few pees that you engage in, during the day... well, simply inhale deeply, through your nose. You will enjoy the pure bliss of Golden Puffs/Honey Smacks ALL MORNING LONG!

How 'bout them apples??

Dahl Family Reunion: 2008

2008-08-14T09:46:00.000-07:00

This past week (August 7-9) was the...umm...is there a word for every four years? Umm... the quadrannual reunion? Anyhow, every four years (the year of the Summer Olympic Games), the Dahl family gathers for a reunion. As it usually takes place in the greater Salt Lake area, we are not required to travel. Which makes it nice. The nicest part, is that we only need to go to selected events. As we were busy with the Regeneration Tour, www.unclezekesmusicemporium.blogspot.com, so we missed Thursday's events. I also needed to work on Saturday, so most of my immediate family missed Saturday's events. That left me wide open for Friday. I am not going to go into great details, but will leave some photos.

We had a "road rally", in the afternoon, where we were required to go around the central Salt lake Valley, locating historic landmarks which are important to our family history. Included were some grave sites, an old butcher shop run by my great grandpa, and several family homes... one of which was lifted off it's original foundation (in Midvale) and relocated to Sandy, several miles away.

I am also including some cute pictures of my "lady friends"... i.e., my wife and daughters...

WAL-MART: Looking Out For America... NOT!!

2008-08-05T18:39:00.001-07:00

This post is inspired by a post that I read on my blogger associate/friend's blog, a couple weeks ago. What really pushed me to the point of writing this, was a news headline that I heard on a recent edition of "DEMOCRACY NOW". I have included the headline, taken directly from the www.democracynow.org website.

Wal-Mart Suggests Obama Victory Would Lead to Unionization

The Wall Street Journal reports that Wal-Mart has been warning its managers that an Obama victory in the fall would lead to unionization at Wal-Mart stores. In recent weeks, thousands of Wal-Mart store managers and department heads have been summoned to mandatory meetings discussing the downsides of unionization. The Journal reports the Wal-Mart human resources managers who run the meetings don’t specifically tell attendees how to vote in November’s election but make it clear that voting for Obama would be tantamount to inviting unions in.

I was BLOWN AWAY, when I saw this (I watched this particular episode on my TiVo, where it is programmed as a Season Pass) on television, last night. Not only did it blow me away, but it really puzzled me. Now, I am forthright about the fact that I am NOT a rich person, however I DO have a secure job, and also belong to a union. Thanks to the union which I belong to, not only do I have a sense of security, in a time of extreme economic insecurity, but I have been guaranteed salary INCREASES over the next few years. These past few weeks have been interesting, as we await another COLA (cost of living allowance) salary adjustment. We have a nationwide union newsletter, which is posted on our union bulletin board, located in our break room at work. With the insane increase in energy costs, including utilities, and especially that of gasoline, we assumed that our forthcoming COLA would be decent. If I recall correctly, a sum was posted a few weeks ago, and an updated amount was just posted, nearly 50% higher than the forecast a few weeks ago.
This will spell a certain amount of relief for my family, as well as tens of thousands of families across the country.

But what about those families who don't have this benefit?? It amazes me that companies across this country will actually promote NON unionization. I worked for such a company. A few years ago, I felt the need to take on a part time job to make ends meet. I went to work for Convergys, a company that does customer service support for assorted clients. I went to work for the DirecTV contract, working as a customer service/support person, in a call center. This only lasted a few weeks, as the two weeks of 8 hour a day training (keep in mind I was already working 8-9 hours a day at my regular job) really wore me down to where I was completely frazzled, both mentally AND physically. It was tough going from one job, where I was earning over twenty dollars an hour, to a part time job where I was actually TRAINED to fight against unionization. Yes, you read that correctly. I sat and watched a video, warning us against unions. It made unions look evil, and destructive. This is a job where I was barely earning $8.00 an hour.

Now, I will admit that sometimes a union is a necessary evil, but only because it defends the jobs of some people that really don't deserve that job. It is often said, within the Postal Service, that the only way to lose your job is to either steal mail, or kill somebody. I know Postal workers that have assaulted co-workers and remained employed. I know a guy that was convicted of a sex-related crime (not work related), and added to the Utah State sex offender registry. Do you think he lost his job? No, he was merely put in a position away from the public. I know people who abuse the privileges that we have, knowing that in the end, they will have a job. Is it fair to their co-workers? No. Is it fair to the American people, whom we serve? No. But because of this same union representation, we also know that where so many people are losing their jobs (you can read related news stories about the soaring unemployment rates, on Democracy Now's website), we are guaranteed salary increases over the course of our current contract, IN ADDITION to those cost of living increases, that I mentioned earlier.

Utah is a "right to work state", which means that companies here are not required to unionize. In many states across the country, Postal employees are REQUIRED to pay dues, and become members of the unions representing the Postal Service employees. In Utah, it is an option. So many Postal workers will opt to NOT join the union, yet they sit back and reap all the benefits that the union makes possible for them. I wish that the Postal Service would offer two different salaries. Those of union members, and those for non union members. I would not be bothered by someone not joining the union, as long as they didn't take part in the higher pay. If they are content saving that $25.00 per pay period (the cost of union dues), and working for 10-12 dollars an hour LESS, I would be completely content with that. Oh, and let's not forget the part about them losing their jobs because they may get sick once a month, and their supervisor doesn't think they deserve to keep their job. Oh, and I am sure they wouldn't mind only getting 1-2 weeks vacation per year, instead of the current 4-5 weeks. And the 6-8 different health care options are a luxury, they can live with one option... or none, lest I forget that NONE is an option. I get sick and tired of listening to some of my coworkers say that they can't afford to join the union. If it weren't for the union, they wouldn't be able to afford a great many things!

Now, let me sum this up by saying this: if you WANT to work for a company like Wal-Mart, and are completely content making $7.00 per hour, then great. But how can this company, IN GOOD CONSCIENCE, push their employees into fighting AGAINST unions, something that is there to make sure that they have adequate salaries AND medical benefits. When it boils down to it, the only one losing out is the company, itself. They are the ones that would be forced to take from their high end salaries (geez, like the Sam Walton estate couldn't afford to take a pay cut), and make sure that their employees live in decent circumstances.

I used to work for a local business that was NOT unionized. Not only did I get paid on commission (a certain amount of money for each product I delivered), but there was no overtime pay. I remember a particularly harsh winter, where I was out from 1:00 in the morning, until after 8:00 that night. That is INHUMANE! And the worst part about it, is that I got paid the SAME as I would during a regular day. Those three or four times that my vehicle was stuck in the snow, were times that I sat, shivering and cold, not making a penny. And let's not forget the fact that I COULDN'T CALL IN SICK, even if I were on my death bed. I may have had the benefit of having someone help me, but most times I was left to my own devices. I remember times where I was suffering from the flu, stopping the truck to throw up (forgive the mental images), just to get back in and keep on going. In addition to these problems, there was limited vacation time, and only one health insurance option.

As a Letter Carrier, I will NEVER take for granted, the great benefits that came about through the hard work of our union representation. Or the great men and women, who a generation ago, worked in poor circumstances. Men and women who were sick and tired of not being treated fairly, and did something about it. If it weren't for the men and women who finally said NO MORE, back in the early 1970's, I wouldn't enjoy the benefits that I do now. And although the Postal Service has cut back on SOME of the benefits that others may have enjoyed 10-20 years ago, our union refuses to give in to pay cuts.

We live in uncertain times, and job security is the ONLY thing that will help many of us. If you want to go along with Wal-Mart, and fight unionization, I guess that's fine. As long as you are completely content making $7.55 an hour, and remaining uninsured.

OR, you can get behind Barack Obama, someone who wants to HELP the middle class individual, and work towards greater financial AND job security. Unions are NOT evil. They just want to help guarantee us a little peace during these tumultuous times.

For those of you who really want to learn more about WAL-MART, rent the documentary, "WAL-MART: THE HIGH COST OF LOW PRICES". It goes into great detail about how this store chain has literally set out to take over the world. With local politicians being bought and sold the way they are, we see Wal-Mart stores popping up in areas where the residents are completely opposed. It has happened on more than one occasion, here in Utah. It probably happens all over the country. They will intentionally build right next door to a K-Mart or Target, with only one intention in their minds... running the other guy out of business. The movie also addresses how employees are TRAINED how to reap all that they can from the welfare system. Who pays those welfare benefits? YOU AND ME!! Yeah, there might be a great price "roll back" on paper cups, but in the end you and I are paying more... through taxes.

Sorry to rant, but I want to let people know that unions are NOT groups for us to fight. EVERYONE deserves a decent way of life. So, come this November, vote for those that really WANT a better way of life in this country. As for me? Barack Obama will be my number one choice...

HELLO KITTY!! Finally, a cool outfit...

2008-08-04T20:21:00.000-07:00

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Now playing: Pet Shop Boys - West End Girls
via FoxyTunes

So, you can ask any of my immediate family, and they will verify to you that I am a HUGE Hello Kitty fan. Why? I couldn't tell you. For the past two years, I have had my own personal Hello Kitty calendar. This year, we are going on a tour through time, courtesy of Hello Kitty! January, my favorite kitty (Hello, Kitty!!) was dressed in 16th century apparel. As the months progressed, so did Kitty's outfits. Finally, we get to August, and look what Hello, Kitty has to offer!

Do you notice the amount of exclamation points? It's because I get SOOOOO very enthusiastic about Hello, Kitty(!). When I walk down the aisles of a store, and I see Hello, Kitty (!), I scream out, HELLO, KITTY!! On the fruit snacks.... "HELLO, KITTY!!". At the Japanese Buddhist church's Obon Festival, "HELLO, KITTY!!" (You see, lots of kimonos are adorned with Hello, Kitty)

Anyhow, Chelsea just had to bring me down, the other day. She had to tell me that the "Scene girls" are totally into Hello, Kitty. What in the Sam Heck is a SCENE GIRL?? And why are they tarnishing Hello, Kitty??

Someone, please tell me....

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Now playing: The B-52's - Pump
via FoxyTunes

BACK FROM CAMP!!

2008-08-03T11:19:00.000-07:00

This past week was Camp Valor, 2008. Camp Valor is a camp for kids with bleeding disorders. The most common bleeding disorders are Hemophilia and Von Willebrand's Disease.. For the third year in a row, I have been known as "the music man". This year, camp was shortened down to four days, and it went by rather quickly. The down side is that my family either could not, or opted not to go. I was there by myself.

Either way, we got the kids to sing karaoke (American Idol Karaoke Revolution), which helps to get them out of their shelves. I once heard Michael Franti say that more people are scared of singing in front of other people, than they are of dying. That is a pretty powerful statement. Either way, it has been my goal, for the past couple years, to get the kids to try and sing in front of other kids.

Our theme was "super heroes", so in addition to a plethora of superhero decorations, I was very liberal and incorporated "Guitar Hero" into the music rotation. Although I felt that it wasn't really something that bettered the children, I actually did see some positive things happen. Particularly with a camper who is autistic. Seeing the smile on his face, after his second attempt at playing the game, was worth the entire two days of Guitar Hero Hell.

Attached is a camp picture from 2007, as I dumped all the pictures on my camera, onto a camp affiliated laptop, and then deleted them. I wasn't thinking, but nevertheless, as soon as I get the CD with ALL the camp pictures, I will post some of them.

As far as this picture is concerned, our theme last year was "time travel". One day was 50's/60's, one day was 70's, then the 80's. It worked very well, and as part of the 70's day, I wore a sweet looking wig, a silk shirt (well, let's be honest... polyester) I found at Deseret Industries (a Mormon operated thrift store), which was part of the "Joe Nameth Collection", and some skin tight, somewhat flaired polyester slacks. And some sweet dress shoes to boot. If you look very closely, you will see me just right of center, on the back row. Brown outfit, brown wig, black glasses, handlebar mustache. Find Waldo!!

Catchin' Up on Posts... a.k.a. Vacation Time!

2008-07-27T00:03:00.000-07:00

It's the end of July, and you know what that means... well, actually you don't. For me, it means CAMP VALOR TIME! Camp Valor is the week long (well, four days) camp for kids with bleeding disorders. This would include kids with Hemophilia and Von Willebrand's Disease. My wife and one of my daughters have VwD (short for Von Willebrand's Disease), and hence my involvement. You can go back to one of my earlier blog posts and read about how I got involved with Camp Valor, but nevertheless, this is my fourth year at camp, and possibly my last (at least for now).

Because I will be gone for most of the week, I wanted to catch up on some items that have been neglected this month. It is nearly the end of this horrifically hot month, but I wanted to post a couple pictures from our July 4th celebration at Rich and April's. That took place on July 4th, believe it or not. I have also gotten some pictures from our Pioneer Day (July 24th) celebration at Uncle Don and Aunt Ruth's swimming pool. Their pool was a staple of my youth and adolescence, and even though I don't usually swim anymore, it is still nice to visit with the family. Let's get some pictures in here, and I will do some descriptions for you...

First up, Mrs. Dahl looking particularly fetching. In the background is sister-in-law, Laura, filming for one of her daily blog posts. When I say that, she has been known to do five or six in one day.

This picture features Chelsea, her friends Tess and Caroline, and umm... is it Kayleigh? Or is it Alyssa? That's the problem. I'm only seeing backside.

Next up, we have the urban fire pit. Featured is Briana (pink shirt), as well as some of the assorted family members working on their smores. As for me, I had just finished eating three jalapeno bratwurst, so smores didn't sound good at all. They probably would have been more healthy.

Last up on the 4th of July front, is me and Mrs. Dahl finishing a game of badminton.

We shall now mix the color scheme up, albeit just a smidge! This means that we are going to put a couple of Pioneer Day (July 24th, a Utah state holiday) pictures on, for good measure. Being a federal employee, I had to work this most popular of state holidays, so we didn't engage in the swim party/bar-b-que until after 5:00 PM. I am including a few pictures of the assorted family members. If there is anything exciting, I will try and point them out...

Included, you have a picture of Briana trying to do a "cannonball", as well as pictures of the entire family in the pool, Chelsea and Alyssa, and Tiffany enjoying some grapes. Gotta have that fiber! Notice my caffeine free Mountain Dew in the chair handle. Can't live without THAT!

Did you notice the color change one more time? That means that I have one last picture to post. I have failed to mention the addition to our family. No, Tiffany didn't give birth to an immaculate conception (I'm firing blanks, and she has had her uterus worked over with a laser), but we brought on another kitty. In an earlier post, I introduced you to Amses. Or, as I like to call her... (R)Amses, the condom kitty. Anyhow, Amses' brother, Patches, was this close (look at me hold my thumb and forefinger about 1.5 centimeters apart) to going to the pound. Chelsea's friend couldn't find a home. So guess what?!? You guessed it, Patches came to live with his sis, and the human family, as well. We went through the typical adjustment period... first a day getting reacquainted with his sister, then another couple days getting used to the humans... and then another week getting used to Jasmine. Now all animals and human beings get along fabulously.

I like to call Patches "EMO", because he is always meowing, and making a big fuss. He's the cutest little thing, however, and his fur pattern reminds me of a boa constrictor. I'm thinkin' that momma kitty really had herself a tube snake. The boa variety. Anyhow, here is a picture of the two cats. Darling little things. Soon I will get a picture of the cats snuggling with Jasmine. It's happened, but we just can't get the camera out, fired up and aimed in time. Go figure...

How does your friendly neighborhood Letter Carrier keep cool during the Summer?...

2008-07-24T20:12:00.000-07:00

...HE/SHE DOESN'T!

And let me tell you... once mid April rolls around, and the temperatures get above 65 degrees, I begin feeling uncomfortable. I don't want to sound like a whiner, but I hate working in the snow, and I hate working in the heat. For those of you who don't live in Utah, that leaves me with about 2 months of complete comfort. Utah is notorious for late Spring snowstorms. Especially this year.

Anyhow, come mid-July, I die. The temps are constantly in the mid to upper 90's, if not the triple digits, and for your friendly Letter Carrier, there is no escape.

My route is broken up into different modes of delivery. My first hour is NBUs, which are the gray neighborhood boxes, that serve 16-20 different customers in one box. The next two hours are walking. My walking is not too rigorous, being mostly flat, but being out in the heat can really drain it out of you. After that, I get to do curbside deliver for about an hour and a half, with another fifteen minutes of NBUs. Driving around in the truck gets to be as hot, if not HOTTER, than walking, since the trucks are nothing but a piece o' crap on wheels.

I have come up with a new routine that is really helping me out, this year. I have a beautiful red, white and blue paisley handkerchief, complete with a Utah Democratic Party kicking mule, that I dip into a mug of ice water, and then tie into typical "do-rag" fashion on my bald head. It works great. But, it only stays wet for 30 minutes. So, I dip it into the water, tie it on, and as long as I keep it wet, it keeps me rather cool. It's the same concept as keeping your bald head covered in the winter. It's an artificial thermostat.

As far as hydration, I have a 100 oz. BIG ASS MUG... yeah, it's literally AND figuratively a Big Ass Mug. Courtesy of X96 and their annual Big Ass Show. I am including a picture of the Big Ass mug, which shows the ever popular "keep your children away from mug" warning. It's hilarious. I fill that baby full of Gator Ade each morning, and then will fill it with ice water for the afternoon. That is a lot of beverage, but trust me when I say that I need it. My pee stops are minimal in the summer, but a half a mug in the winter will keep me going to the potty once an hour, if I am not careful.

The Postal Service is so considerate of the loyal men and women that deliver the nation's mail each and every day, that they have given us a teeny little fan that just circulates the hot air. Some days you are better off just leaving the stupid thing off.

So, if you ever see your Letter Carrier remove his/her satchel (you know, the mail bag) and lie down in your sprinklers, don't think anything of it. It is their one and only chance to get out of the heat... if even for a few minutes.

My old boss... making me proud!

2008-07-22T19:57:00.001-07:00

I was just informed that my first... well, second "official" supervisor as a career Postal employee has DONE US PROUD!!

I am not going to go into details about all the wonderful things that he has done throughout his illustrious Postal career, but I will mention the one thing that he personally did to me.

In 1999, I started as a career employee with the US Postal Service. I was a SPBS clerk, which means that I worked in a parcel sorting facility. If you live in the state of Utah, and mailed a package between 1999 and 2001, chances are I handled your package. Wow, "handled your package". Nice choice of words, Sean!

Anyhow, in October of '99, we had planned a birthday party for my oldest daughter Chelsea. I was on my 90 day probation at the time, which means that you do everything work related BY THE BOOK. No sick calls, even if you are knocking at Death's door. You go in to work, and let them SEND you home. Anyhow, it was my day off, and we had loaded the family up in the van, to head to Lagoon. We had some friends, and were having a babysitter watch our youngest daughter(s?). We were waiting for a call from our babysitter, and answered the phone without checking the caller i.d.. As you can guess, it was my supervisor, telling me that he needed me to work. I didn't have a choice. I tried telling him that we had loaded the van up, and were heading off to Lagoon (oh yeah, Lagoon is a local amusement park... think Knotts Berry Farm Light.... VERY light), and he didn't care. He said I needed to go in to work. My daughter was heartbroken.

And to top things off, I got to work, and they totally could have done things without me. He was just throwing around his power. Well, apparently he likes throwing around his power, just a little too much.

For details on the BREAKING NEWS, click on the link below...

http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=3827468

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Now playing: ABBA - The Name Of The Game
via FoxyTunes