"If men liked shopping, they'd call it research" ~Cynthia Nelms

When I first met Shem, she told me that she was an unusual woman in that she doesn't like to shop. I thought that was nice, because I don't like to shop either. A match made in heaven, right? Wrong. So very, very wrong.

The first few times we went shopping together, she would trick me into going with her by saying something like "I need to go buy a new skirt for work, and I would really appreciate your company and opinion. It shouldn't take too long; I know exactly what I want. And besides, you know how much I hate shopping." And so of course I would go along, thinking no sweat, this should be some easy brownie points. But I quickly learned. Hating shopping is obviously relative and extremely subjective. (As a side note, it turns out she really didn't want my opinion either: read more here.)

As our love together blossomed, I eventually discovered that what she meant to say (but neglected to clarify) was that she doesn't like to shop as much as most other women. This seemingly innocuous omission is false advertising at its very finest. Let me give you an example.

Last week, I needed to buy Shem some pajamas to open on Christmas Eve (tradition, and all that). But I know she's pretty picky about what touches her body (unlike me -- as long as it covers my nakedness when the doorbell rings, I'm basically content), so I asked her to come along with me. We walked into Kohl's and immediately saw a display of the greatest pajamas EVER. She tried them on, and there were cheers of approval all around the dressing room. She loved the way they felt, I loved the way they looked, and the price was great. We had been in the store for 15 minutes and we had already met with success. A perfect shopping trip.

Except for one small snag.

I learned a valuable lesson today: it is against a woman's nature to buy the first thing she sees. I don't understand if this is because she believes there might be something better that she missed, or if she wants to make herself feel awesome about the great purchase she made (the infamous "Ha! I got the best thing this store has to offer! I'm the greatest." mentality), or what it is that officially happens. But I had plenty of time to ponder the intracacies of this question, as we spent the next 45 minutes looking at all the rest of the pajamas the store had to offer. And then left with the original pajamas anyway.

I think there could be some parallel drawn here to the fact that she probably exerted exponentially more effort choosing her spouse than she did choosing that apparel, but I refuse to be distracted from my rant.

"I've just had an apostrophe. Lightning...has just struck my brain" ~Smee

I love horror. And no, I don't mean horror like coming home to find my house on fire -- I mean the horror genre. Books, movies, campfire stories, you name it. Many people don't understand my adulation; they say to me "How can you watch that stuff? It gives me nightmares." The answer is that it gives me nightmares, too! That's part of the rush. Imagine yourself waking up from an incredibly realistic nightmare, shaking and sweaty, nervous that it might have been true... and then realizing that you have to pee more than anything in the world, but you're so scared to put your feet on the floor beside your bed that you'd rather wet the bed on purpose than make the 15-foot death walk. You can't buy that kind of adrenaline! It's like bungee jumping on heroin -- except cheaper and more intense. But the point of this rant is to inform you that, after 25 years, I think I've finally had my love of horror epiphanized to me.

It comes from ice cream. In the immortal words of Paul Simon, "When I was just a boy..."

...my father had a puzzle. In fact he still has it; I found it in his game room when I was there this last Thanksgiving. It is an ice cream puzzle. It simply has dozens of scoops of ice cream of different colors. To my knowledge, I am the only person who ever actually completed this puzzle, but that's an ice cream cone of a different color. The point is that the BACK of the puzzle had a poem, called "The Craving," which I loved so much that I memorized. Here is part of it (and you know this is still from my 25-year-old memory because I googled the poem and can't find it anywhere):

As I wandered, weak and weary

Through the summer heat so dreary,

I quite suddenly was stricken by a longing strong and pure.

Quick I recognized this craving,

This familiar inner raving:

It was ice cream, only ice cream, that my heart was longing for.

Just a single scoop of ice cream, this my heart was longing for.

Only this, and nothing more.

On my quest I went a-searching,

Through the city streets a-lurching,

'Til at last I saw before me golden words upon a door.

..... [forgot this line]

..... [forgot this line]

"Ice cream, ice cream evermore!" read the words upon the door.

..... [forgot this line]

Only this, and nothing more.

Hot and tired, parched and thirsting,

Through the door I came a-bursting,

For I needed no rehearsing as to what I'd come here for.

Just a cone was all I wanted,

But I suddenly was haunted

By more luscious ice cream flavors than I'd ever seen before

I was suddenly confronted by a monumental chore:

Choosing one, and nothing more.

...and the poem continues for many, many more stanzas, listing out all of the individual flavors and detailing the ultimate demise of our poor hapless friend. It wasn't until I was finished memorizing this work of art that my English-teaching mother informed me that it was not original: it was a spoof of a "real" poem by a man named Edgar. I read "The Raven" with some trepidation, and never looked back.

I voraciously ate up every single one of Poe's works. After him, it was only a very small leap from Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher to Bradbury's Usher II... and I was off again, exploring the repertoire of my new friend Ray. From Poe to Bradbury to King to Carpenter to Harris to Rice to Shyamalan... thus details my downward spiral.

And I owe it all to ice cream. Only this, and nothing more.

“What we obtain too cheaply, we esteem too lightly" ~Thomas Paine

Some things you should know about Shem:

1. She looks fantastic in a theater watching a Vin Diesel action movie while eating popcorn.

2. She keeps me entertained when we've been on the road for 16 hours.

3. She is cheap.

And I don't mean slightly cheap; I mean an all-out, died-in-the-wool (whatever that means), card-carrying, bona fide chea-pass. She's the kind of person who has to tell you how much everything costs when she comes home from a hard day's shopping. A typical conversation with me goes like this: "Hey shem, look at what I found at the store today." "That's hideous!" "Oh... well, I liked it and it was on sale." "Oh, really? Well I don't hate it. How much was it?" "It was $100, on sale for $16.95." "It's adorable!! WHY DIDN'T YOU BUY THREE???"

So, for Christmas I wanted to surprise her with a bike. She's been wanting a bike for about a year, but she's just too cheap to buy one. I knew if I bought her a nice one, she'd be mad. Christmas gifts are never as fun once she pries the receipt out of my cold, dead fingers. Trust me, I know -- I did that last year. Luckily for me, once my fingers warmed up I found the cheapest bike ever made: a 24" women's Huffy Lakota from toysrus.com for $45! I was as happy as a turtle on a conveyor belt.

When I received the bike I happily took it to my local specialty bike shop for assembly. They normally charge $60, but looked down their collective noses at my department store bike and promptly refused to assemble it. Too cheaply made, not good enough parts, not worth the time it would take to tune it. I called almost all of the bike stores in my area with the same result. Daunted, I called my local Toys 'R' Us to see if they would return it, and was told that they would. When I showed up at the store, I found out that they mistakenly told me they carried the bike... when, in fact, they didn't. Eager to please me, they asked if I would like them to assemble it for me, for a $10 charge, to which I obviously agreed. Three days past the promised date, I called for a status update and was told that the rear wheel gears had been damaged during shipping and they could not replace them, since that bike was no longer carried (nor was any other like it). They finally offered to refund my $45. And my $10 assembly fee (once I asked).

It was at this point in my saga that I informed Shem of my growing frustration, in order prove a point: "cheap" does not always equal "better" (she has a friend for whom "expensive" always equals "better," which is also inherently fallacious. But I digress). Shem, sensing my impending come-apart, graciously offered to visit the store for me to get the refund. At which point she promptly took my $55 in-store credit and spent it on the kids. And then spent some more at Kohl's to make the trip worthwhile.

Somehow I feel that my point did not sink in.

"You know what I did before I married? Anything I wanted to"

So last night, in an effort to show my undying love for my beautiful blushing bride, I said those famous last words: "No, we don't have to watch this awesome late-night horror movie -- let's watch what you want instead."

And so Shem did.

According to TLC, Say Yes to the Dress "reveals the inner workings of the world's premier bridal salon, Kleinfeld Bridal. Part fashion show, part bridal story, part family therapy, the series uncovers the hurdles every staff member faces to make each bride completely satisfied on what may be the single most important day of her life."

Seriously? A show about women trying on wedding dresses? One had been overweight all her life and had recently shed 120 pounds (an impressive feat), but spent a good portion of the show crying in the changing room to the poor staff member trying to find a dress to cheer her up. One was so indecisive she couldn't make a decision about any dresses until finally settling on the PERFECT DRESS EVER... because it had pockets. One tried on dress after dress after dress, only to leave empty-handed. One tried on her chosen dress for the final time, a few days before her wedding, only to discover A CREASE!!! She had lost TOO MUCH WEIGHT and it caused a crease!!!

Sure, when I was getting married, I put up with Neurotic Stressed Bride Syndrom (NSBS) because I loved her and wanted to be with her forever. But it is beyond my comprehension why on earth anybody would purposefully watch a stranger with NSBS... and enjoy it. This isn't entertainment! If I wanted to see someone try on a dozen dresses and then leave unsatisfied, I could take Shem shopping; I don't need to see someone do it on TV!

Now read the synopsis of the show we didn't watch: "Stranded at a desolate Nevada motel during a nasty rainstorm, ten strangers become acquainted with each other when they realize that they're being killed of one by one. Meanwhile in an undisclosed location, a psychiatrist is trying to prove the innocence of a man in an eleventh hour trial."

That viewing decision is pretty much a no-brainer. Right?

"No, actually it's called blackmail. Entrapment is what cops do to thieves" ~Mac

I love my brother.

I love him when he does Wii yoga...

I love when he does Wii situps...

And I especially love him when he Wii hula hoops (sideways)!

To my brother: For a mere $100, I will delete this post.

"Men are good in one way, but bad in many" ~Aristotle

It's really fantastic being a man. I mean, I've always inherently known this fact, but until recently have not attempted to prove it. Because -- let's be honest -- is there any doubt? I know, I know, women are always trying to change us, which by implication alerts all other women to the fact that we have something that needs changing. But I think it's all just a big conspiracy to protect our heads from exploding from pure suave egocentricity. And if you're one of those spiritual types, I know you could probably cite me DOZENS of scriptures that say that the natural man is an enemy to God, and that we are given the priesthood to try and keep us humble and servile because otherwise we would abuse any authority we could get our dirty and untrimmed fingernails on. But that's neither here nor there. You can't keep us down. Men still rule.

Let's outline just a few of the many, many, MANY benefits of being a man:

- We can get grey hair and be distinguished instead of old.

- We can get moderately overweight and be portly instead of fat.

- We can (with very few exceptions) make bodily noises in public.

- We can walk in front of a mirror and almost always find ourselves attractive.

- We can think about sex for hours (or decades) without getting bored.

- We rarely have to be bothered with those pesky things called thoughts.

- We can go bald and it is considered cute instead of tragic.

- 15 minutes from wake-up to ready-for-work. Tops.

- 15 minutes from home-from-gym to sleeping. Tops.

- We can generally wear "casual" and still pull off "semi-formal."

- We can sleep around and not be viewed as contaminated.

- Our wrinkles are attractive.

- We can resolve conflicts with the same sex within minutes.

- We can resolve conflicts with the opposite sex with ... sex.

So, with all of these things (and many more) going for us, why is it that we would willingly change ANYTHING for the hope of a second glance from a beautiful woman? Why is that, just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I feel so much more of a person with Shem's approval?

Hmmm... maybe Aristotle was onto something...

Check this out

"'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world" ~Billy Shakespeare

So there's really no good way to take a quick picture of Halloween decorations. I mean, unless you have a kicking camera (which I don't) or your decorative house is cute and looks pretty in sunlight (which mine isn't and doesn't), then you really are stuck with horribly exposed digital shots that don't do the house justice at all. But, for what it's worth, here's my best effort. Oh, and keep in mind that these were all taken before the spider webs covered all the bushes. And also long before it started snowing...

Oh, and if you want to hear something catchy, listen to this little ditty...

"Successful polygamy depends upon pretending to each spouse that she is the only pebble on your beach" ~David Ogilvy

Lately I feel like a polygamist. Not in the literal sense: I am not currently on the FBI's most wanted fugitive list for performing child bride marriages, for instance. But I really think I am married to two very different women, with their only common trait being their intense and unwavering beauty. Their names are Hot Shem and Shem the Mom.

During half of the week I am married to Hot Shem. Hot Shem is independent and headstrong. She is a very successful working professional and deserves the clout and prestige she has earned. She comes home from work, gives me a deep and passionate kiss, and chats about her day while helping with dinner. She asks how my day was. Sometimes we go to the gym; sometimes we watch TV or play games; often we work in the yard or do household chores.

The other half of the week I am married to Shem the Mom. I just recently met Shem the Mom for the first time a couple of weeks ago (and fell for her instantly, of course). Shem the Mom wakes me up with status reports on the State of the House: current thermostat temperature, current weather, a list of things that are broken, children's body temperatures and blood sugar levels, etc. After my morning shower, I am immediately regaled with stories of what and how much was eaten for breakfast, size and color of morning B.M.'s, and other such wonderosities. After a hard day of work (typing is SO exhausting!) I am greeted at the door by Shem the Mom with stories of the day: who went to "time out," how many times tears were shed, and the hour-by-hour breakdown of how the day was spent. After an enjoyable evening as a family, followed by the children's bedtime, catatonic Shem the Mom stares vaguely at the TV (or the computer, or the blank wall). Late at night, I often receive my first (and only) quick kiss of the day.

I love both of these women dearly, and I don't mean to compare them; I'm simply stating how much my life and loves have changed since Shem the Mom came into my life and began systematically showing me how the fun and excitement of Hot Shem are not everything. Some loves are deeper and more complex... and ultimately more rewarding. For example, when I sweep and mop the floor and do the dishes, Hot Shem does not hesitate to "get all up in my junk," while Shem the Mom simply waves a limp arm at me and mumbles a grateful "wow, I love you."

Now you tell me which of these two responses is the better reward.

Violet will be a good color for hair at just about the same time that brunette becomes a good color for flowers. ~Fran Lebowitz

If this is what he wants at four, what can I expect at fourteen?

"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?" ~Magneto

I have a theory. It is untested, but sound. I believe that women never want to know a man's answer to any question the women ask. Okay, "never" sounds a bit harsh -- let's stick with "hardly ever." Which is a scientific term, yes.

So, everybody already knows some examples proving my theory. Every man worth his salt should know about fat questions and beauty questions. If a woman says to you "Does this bracelet make me look fat?" or "Do you think Kathy Griffin is prettier than I am?" you immediately respond with a resounding and emphatic "NO." This is pretty much old hat; I would venture to guess that any man that is still having sex on any kind of a regular basis already has this part figured out.

But my theory extends much further than what you might learn in Answers to Women's Questions 101. For example, let's say a man and a woman are both innocently getting dressed in the morning (and by "getting dressed" I mean that she is getting dressed and he is sitting on the bed watching for whatever gratuitous glimpses he might be awarded). The woman turns to the man and says "Do you think I should wear the peach shirt or the lavendar shirt?" This is a classic example of a question that might sometimes take the man off-guard and lead him to believe that she really wants his opinion. She doesn't, and that's okay -- but it's a cruel trick to his already-waivering ego. Note that this example is not limited to clothes; it can be used when asking for opinions on any number of topics -- from attending baby showers, to re-gifting, to restaurant options.

But my favorite example of tricksy womanses asking questions simply to make us men believe we have a choice is the ever-dangerous "Do-It-Or-Else Question." This is a tactic that a woman uses (it is NEVER, EVER used by a man) which sneakily gives us the impression that we have a choice. Examples of this kind of question are: "Would you like to take out the garbage?" "Do you think it would be a good idea to turn here?" "Do you want to dust the living room before our friends get here?" "Do you think maybe you've eaten too many Swedish Fish today?" "Will you help me during the commercial break?" These questions are very misleading because, on the surface, they are asking for your opinion. Men, do not be fooled! You have no choice in the matter; you will do it, or else. The question mark so offhandedly attached to the end of the sentence means nothing.

The interesting part of my theory is that most women don't even recognize their unnatural non-need for a man's feedback. I wonder why...

"Insanity it seems, has got me by my soul to squeeze" ~Red Hot Chili Peppers

Has anybody but me noticed that crazy people are the most fun and coolest? Maybe I just feel this way because I've had that particular insult (or one of its variants) used on me so many times. But seriously, if you had to pick someone to sit in a room and interview... or to "drag the 'vard" with... or to go roller skating with... which would you rather spend several hours with? The sane (a.k.a. "boring") or the unstable (a.k.a. "fun")?

If you are playing hilarious pranks on frequenters of a hotel:

Tom Bodett or Norman Bates?

If you are working out a hard equation:

Ben Stein or Albert Einstein?

(taking a break from the examples to pontificate...)

Incidentally, Einstein was quite open and funny about his quasi-insanity. He once said "A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?" He seems like a really cool guy; I'll bet he was a riot to go pool-hopping with.

He also said "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity." Which quote is really neither here nor there -- I just really enjoy it, and as long as we were on the topic of Einstein I thought I would throw it out there.

Um... where was I? Oh... right!

(...break over; back to the examples)

If you are trying to make your own Halloween costumer from scratch:

Your mom or Hannibal Lecter (I've heard he can do some cool things with skins...)?

If you are trying to systematically destroy the world:

Barack Obama or Marvin the Martian (i.e., Commander X-2)?

Okay, forget that topic -- it was boring anyway. So Marvin the Martian is, like, HUGE. Meaning his following, not his size. And he was only in five of the original Looney Tunes shorts. That is incredible to me. With a Roman soldier's uniform, a Greek hoplite's helmet, old-fashioned basketball shoes, a red (Martian) suit, and a skirt, he is truly a force to behold. Would that we all could be as dedicated to a single cause as he as been -- for over two millenia!! What dedication and loyalty! And his quotes are even better than Albert's: "Where is the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!" Eloquent. Genius. Ruthless. You can't buy that kind of delusional behavior.

Um... so I just read back over this post, and I'm not really sure what it's about. Redirection maybe, so all of you finger-pointers see how many people are crazier than me? I don't know. As Freud might say: "Sometimes a blog post is just a blog post."

"Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after" ~Henry David Thoreau

So this morning I read this on yahoo news...

CHICAGO – Authorities said an 86-year-old woman charged with shoplifting wrinkle cream and other items from a Chicago grocery store has been arrested 61 times since 1956. Ella Orko was arrested Sunday afternoon on the North Side after she allegedly stuffed $252 worth of groceries into her pants, including cosmetics, salmon, batteries and instant coffee.

She was charged with felony shoplifting.

Police said Orko has gone by as many as 20 aliases in the past.

Court records indicate that she has now been arrested 61 times and has 13 convictions for shoplifting.

She was arrested the first time in 1956 in Chicago for petty larceny and again in 1958 for grand larceny.

She's being held on $10,000 bail. It wasn't immediately clear who her lawyer is.

... and I can't help but wonder. How desperately hungry do you have to be to stick a salmon down your pants? Wrinkle cream I can understand (see pic below). And coffee. I mean, let's face it, I know a few people who would do a whole lot more than felony shoplifting to get their daily coffee fix. And batteries... well, I won't go there, but whatever frosts your cookie.

But salmon? Really? Not crackers? Not Mother's Original Circus Animal cookies? Not Red Bull? Nope. She took fish. And put it down her pants. Then again, according to the report, she "allegedly" had $252 worth of groceries... so maybe she had some charcoal, lighter fluid, and lemon & pepper, too. That wouldn't be half bad, I suppose.

Dang. Now I'm hungry.

"What are little boys made of?" ~Burton Stevenson

So apparently Mr. Stevenson thinks that little boys are made of "snips." What exactly is a snip, anyway? I mean, if I'm made of one (or more than one, as in this case), I think it's my right to know what it is, don't you? Here are some definitions according to dictionary.com (which is not my favorite nor the most reliable source, but we'll get to that later).

a. an act (of snipping)

b. a small cut

c. a small piece or amount

d. a small or insignificant person

e. a presumptuous or impertinent person

f. small hand shears (for sheet metal)

g. a bargain

Maybe it's just me... but I'm not entirely sure I want to be made up of any of those things. I suppose if I absolutely had to choose, it wouldn't kill me to be made up of small pieces (definition 'c'), but then again, isn't everyone? Presumedly I'm made up of snails as well, so isn't it a bit redundant to say that I'm also made of small pieces?? Definitions 'd' and 'e' are out, because that's just gross to think I'm made up of other people...

Thoroughly confused, I approached my good friends Merriam and Webster with my dilemma. They didn't help too much; almost all of their definitions were close to what I'd already learned; they did clear up definition 'e' a little bit, by expanding the official definition to "a presumptuous or impertinent person, especially: an impertinent or saucy girl." Well that is certainly not right (and actually more than a little bit disturbing).

But I think Noah Merriam and the Websters finally hit the nail on the head with the answer I'd been looking for: "a white or light mark, especially: a white spot between the nostrils of a horse." Finally! I understand what I'm made of!!!

Uh... that's sort of disgusting, though. No wonder it was later changed from "snips" to "frogs." Oh well, I guess it could be worse -- at least I'm not made of spice. I mean... I've done my fair share of cooking and let me tell you: there are some seriously nasty spices out there.

Footnote: If you like words and definitions, try looking up the word "pip" sometime...

"Creativity is the ability to introduce order into the randomness of nature" ~Eric Hoffer

Okay, so maybe I'm not creative -- but at least I'm random, so I guess that's something. So here are some random thoughts I've had recently, none of which had the ability to solidify itself into a truly serious blog topic, unfortunately.

~ Good criminy, I'm so over Lance Armstrong. Do we really need a special jersey at the bottom of our screen just to see where you are at all times? Sheesh, get over .... uh...... uh........ yourself. Go Contador!!!!!

~ How much intelligence does it take to learn your own nation's anthem -- especially if you're going to be performing it in public??? As I recently sat at a minor league baseball game listening to some random wannabe celebrity show off her trills and warbles, I was already moderately annoyed at her ability to completely diminish the beauty and nobility of our age-old song of love and homage with her vocal prancing and parading. Imagine how my annoyance was amplified exponentially to discover that the twit doesn't even know that our flag flew O'ER -- not FOR -- the land of the free and the home of the brave. Idiot.

~ No comment on MJ. I don't think it's any secret how I feel about media sensationalism and constantly tooting the same horn.

~ If you don't know who Jeff Dunham and Peanut are, please look them up right now. I love that Micronesian and his straight man friend.

~ Click here. Enough said.

~ I love blogging; I truly do. I wish I could do it every day. It really sucks when stupid things get in the way. Like work.

~ I love Shem. And nothing gets in the way.

~ I really need some donations for my walk to fight diabetes in September. More info about that later.

"When the cat is away..."

Camping is a wonderful thing. I do NOT believe in camping as a form of family vacation, like some families do, but as a weekend getaway it is an enjoyable experience. And if the wife doesn't want to come along, well, we try to somehow have fun anyway...

Dutch Oven dinner (with barbecue sauce -- oh my!)

Wow, this is fun, but taking quite a while...

Aaahhh... that's better!

"Aha. Look what I've created. I have made FIRE!"

Should I stop BEFORE or AFTER the fire is taller than I am?

Fruit??? We are men! Men don't eat no stinking fruit!

"The world and I, we are still waiting; still hesitating" ~Andrew Lloyd through Donny as Joseph

I wait.

I believe that most things (and, more specifically, most people) either make sense, or desparately want to make sense -- try to make sense. So when something doesn't make any sense at all, I generally give it time to manifest its inner sense to me. Patience, as they say, is a virgin. I think Madonna said that. Or whatever.

And so I wait. On women.

Are women random, or do they just seem that way? Which then begs the follow-up question: do they do it on purpose? I recognize that complex dynamical systems that are highly sensitive to initial conditions have behavior that manifests itself as random, due to the exponential growth of perturbations in those initial conditions. But the majority of us don't live in chaos, or randomness; our future dynamics are fully defined by initial conditions with no random elements involved. Right?

So why do women make such seemingly random decisions? Why do women have such outwardly random emotions to such straightforward and simple questions? In short, why do women cause so many -- for lack a better term -- perturbations?

I have waited many years for a reasonable explanation and, failing to find one, I choose to do the next best thing to waiting. I blog. Does anybody understand women? Do women?

Mom and Dad: sometimes I really miss you!

"Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it" ~Russel Baker

"Damn it Jim, I'm a doctor not an interior decorator" ~Bones... ish

I need help.  I am a man.  But that's not why I need help.  I need help and I'm a man, not I need help because I'm a man.  Two distinct thoughts, separated by punctuation.  What I meant was... urgh.  Okay, scratch that and start over.

I am a man.  And quite a good one, at that (if I do say so myself).  Although I suppose it could be argued that the "better" you are at being a man, the "worse" you are as a person overall... but let's save that fight for another blog post.  The idea that I'm trying to convey here is that I don't do interior decorating or interior design or interior paint colors, or much of interior anything.  Well, except for maybe Interior Crocodile Alligator (I drive a Chevrolet movie theater).  I can't even begin to explain that inside joke; you'll have to look it up if you care enough.  But I digress.

My wonderful Shem wants help decorating and is ... continually or continuously?  I can't ever remember ... asking for my advice, which makes me very ... nauseous or nauseating?  Probably both, as spoken to by the fact that I'm good at being a man.  Because I have no fricking idea how to help her.  And so I call out to you, the bored blog-keeping and blog-reading housewives of the Internet, to help me.

Here is our kitchen... 

...and the wall dividing the kitchen from the sitting room...

...and the sitting room

Now, assuming that the wall separating these two magnificently decorated rooms has electricity running to it for some type of light display... how is the best way to decorate up there?  It has to be something big because of the high ceiling, but what?

Links are appreciated.  And maybe a translation included, if they get too technical for my ape-brain to understand.  Thanks in advance for your boredom.

"Have a good time, 'cause it's alright" ~Huey Lewis

Back when I wrote this sad pathetic blog, things were looking bleak, it's true.

But now all is right with the world again!  Thank you Kellogg Sales Co.!!!!

"Look at the size of that boy's head. I'm not kidding; it's like an orange on a toothpick" ~Stuart Mackenzie

So hopefully everyone has seen So I Married an Axe Murderer.  If you haven't, please rent it tonight; it's a classic.  And also stop reading, because none of this will make any sense to you anyway.

Well I've been thinking a lot about that movie today, because I'm installing some (critical!  oh my) updates to my computer and I keep having to reboot.  And if you think those two topics don't have any correlation at all, well read on, my friends, read on.

So... has anybody but me noticed that the little wav file that plays when you're shutting down Windows XP sounds eerily similar to the song that Charlie Mackenzie sings in the speakeasy after every breakup?

If you have Windows XP, don't shut down your computer just to figure out what I'm talking about... simply go find and play the file 'C:\WINDOWS\Media\Windows XP Shutdown.wav'

Is it just me, or is that reminiscent of Mike Myers in his famous -- and arguably his best -- role?  Every time I shut my computer down I hear him in my mind:  "She was a thief" or "You gotta belief."  Which is fine, and actually kind of amusing, until I have to reboot more than two times in a row, and then my mind instantly moves on to the next verse:  "They make me horny" followed by "Saturday morny" and of course "Girls of cartoo-ins will leave me in ruins."

That Bill Gates.  He's got more hidden Easter egg conpiracies than a rerun of Fringe.

I dunno.  Maybe it's just me.

"Sensationalism gets them every time" ~Joey Skaggs

Ah yes, Joey Skaggs.  The great prankster.  The originator of culture jamming.  If he doesn't know a thing or two about sensationalism, nobody does.  And he knows how well it sells.

Segue into today's topic:  the swine flu.  The swine flu is currently CNN's #1 top headline.  As a matter of note, it has been somewhere on CNN's front page since April 20, four days BEFORE it was clinically identified as a new strain.  Which tells me that on April 20, when CNN ran the headline, it wasn't the swine flu:  it was just the flu.

So what do we know about the swine flu, now that CNN (and every other form of media known to man -- including my favorite morning radio show) have been telling us all about it for the last 10 days?  Forgive me if I stick to U.S.-only statistics -- I'm just egocentric like that.

We know that 109 people have confirmed cases of it.

We know that 1 person has died from it.

We know that it is contagious, and is endemic to humans.

And so I pose the question:  how is the swine flu different from the real flu?  Which of course leads to the follow-up question:  why do we care??

The CDC estimates that 36,155 people die every year in the United States from the influenza virus.  That comes out to ... what? ... 99 people every day?  And here we have one death in 10 days from a virus that is so similar that only a bacteriologist can tell the difference?  I fail to see how this is front-page news at all, let alone for 10 days running.  I mean, this is like the Avian influenza epidemic all over again.  How many people died from that?  248, worldwide?  Although in the swine flu's defense, at least it's more media-worthy than SARS, which only had something like 27 cases in the U.S.

Why don't we get some real news?  Where is Monica Lewinsky when you need her?  Where is that photo of Senator Obama not saluting the flag nor singing the National Anthem?  Harry Potter sparking Satanism in children is better media than the swine flu.  Goodness, even the new Mountain Dew Throwback, which is made from real sugar, is more interesting.

And the ironic thing is that the swine flue has NOTHING to do with swine.  It's never been found in a single pig!  But how much fear can CNN generate by calling it "the influenza A(H1N1) pandemic?  And according to Mark Feldstein -- a former correspondent for NBC, ABC and CNN -- "If you scare people, they'll tune in more."

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains" ~Jane Austen/Seth Grahame-Smith

Okay, now this is cool.

Author Seth Grahame-Smith has recently release a novel called "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," which honestly sounds like a real classic.  This seriously could be the kind of novel our children's children will be studying in English when they are high school seniors.

You can read the full article about Seth's book here, but I have taken the liberty of posting some interesting snippets from it that I found immensely enjoyable:

As you may have heard, Pemberley has been overrun by zombies.

Were it just the zombies, the Bennet sisters would surely triumph, armed as they are with advanced weaponry knowledge and Shaolin martial arts training. Unfortunately, however, aliens, vampires, robots and dragons are also about to descend on the village.

"In the original 'Pride and Prejudice,' there are so many things suited to make it into a horror," Grahame-Smith insists. His book is actually 80 percent original Austen text -- he's simply woven a complementary monster story line into the existing romance. For example, in Austen's work, Grahame-Smith says: "There's a regiment of soldiers camped out in Meryton for apparently no reason. It's not a big leap to say that the regiment is there to burn coffins and kill zombies."

But for a Jane Austen fan, the gratifying aspect of reading "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" is not the comic bloodthirsty additions, but rather how they highlight the humor that already exists in the original "Pride and Prejudice." Austen was funny -- something that's easy to miss if you get too caught up in the romance and cravats. Reading "Zombies" means discovering that half of the things you're laughing about were written 200 years ago by Austen herself.

I am looking forward to this book because I know that every time I read Ms. Austen's novel I am always so caught up in the romance and cravats... I could really use something like this to show me how funny she really was.  Sounds like a timeless classic!  I can't wait until they publish an excerpt in the Reader's Digest.

"What the holy??" ~Canerib

Something just isn't right here... where does Mother Nature think I live?  Maine?

"There are no stupid questions, only stupid answers" ~Unknown

Me:  Pookie, do you need to go potty?

Pookie:  No.

Me:  Pookie, are you sure you don't need to go potty?

Pookie:  I'm sure.

Me:  It really looks like you need to go potty...

Pookie:  I DON'T!

Me:  Okay, well if you start needing to go, tell me as soon as you can because the potty is a pretty long ways away, okay?

Pookie:  Okay, I will.

... a few minutes later ...

Pookie:  Oh my gosh, I need to go!  I need to go!  I have to go potty now!

Me:  Okay, well let's start walking this way and then we can...

... at which point Pookie yanked his shorts down to his ankles and, to the entertainment of the other shoppers, proceeded to pee right there in the middle of the aisle in the Home Depot outdoor Garden Center.  I, not knowing what else to do, pulled his shorts back up midstream, which thoroughly pissed off Pookie and I heard all about it all the way home.

... and I still have to go back to Home Depot to get my cart ...

M-I-C, K-E-Y, M-O-U-S-E ~ The Original Mickey M ouse Club Kids

For anyone who doesn't know it. I love that Magical Queendom in Southern California (the Florida version is pretty cool, too) and have made it a personal quest to try and visit about once every 18 months.


With the advent of Kninsa, Canerib and Pookie, I was worried I might get out-numbered. Kninsa fails to see what all the excitement is, but went with me last year right after we got married. Good sport, no?


This year we decided to try a family vacation. We planned it and then prepped the kids. But really, how do you prep a 4 and 6 year old for the Magic Dland? So they had no idea what to expect beyond a very LONG car ride.


This picture sums up their feelings about my happiest place on earth...

Is it time to go back yet?

"A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother" ~Unknown

Ah, Mother, how I love you and miss you!

And when I refer to Mother, I am obviously referring to Mother's Cookies Original Circus Animal Cookies.

How many bags of these tiny morsels of heaven have I eaten in my life?  How many times have I wondered what secret ingredient they put in them to make them so addictive?  Of course, the fact that there are 1.2 grams of fat and 25 calories in EACH COOKIE probably doesn't hurt.

When Mother's Cookies (and sister company Archer Cookies) went bankrupt last October, I was shocked, hurt and felt betrayed.  But, like the rest of America, I foolishly assumed I could survive without them.  How wrong I was!  I made it through the entire Christmas season without the red and green version of the cookies... but I can't take it any longer.  I have been craving Circus Animal Cookies for weeks now!  How much of my salary would I give up for just one more bag?  I had no idea that my last bag was going to be my last bag!  It just goes to show you that you should never take your loved ones for granted and you should be careful that your final words are not spoken in haste or anger... or, in my case, spoken with a mouth full of cookies and both hands quickly shovelling as quickly as they can.

One group of concerned consumers even went so far as to produce "Goodbye Mother's Cookies" T-Shirts for a mere $25.

In desperation, I recently purchased a bag of Keebler Frosted Animals.  Keebler, right?  The elves?  Makers of the delicious E.L. Fudge?  They should be just as good, right?  Please, I beg you all, do not fall into the same trap I did.  They are not the same Mother's; don't ever let anybody tell you they are.

The good news is that Kellogg Company has purchased Mother's assets and allegedly plans on resurrecting the nectar of Olympus this year:  "Kellogg Company plans on reintroducing many of Mother's Cookies back into stores on the West coast by June, 2009.  While we may not have all varieties of Mother's Cookies available at that time, we are working on some of your favorites..."

Oh please make them the same (and make the white ones taste just a little bit better than the pink ones) and please make them soon!  

Picture of my new hero:

"We have to go back, Kate! WE HAVE TO GO BACK!" ~Jack

"I'll take my clothes off and it will be shameless 'cuz everyone knows that's how you get famous" ~Lily Allen

Here's a survey for the beautiful people sitting at home:

When I get done taking a shower, I throw (I've bolded that word because it's a legitimate throw.  Not one of those pansy throws like when you're playing Wii baseball and you want to trick the batter with a splitting ball.  I'm talking about throwing like when you are eating yogurt and notice a spider on the spoonful you are about to put in your gaping maw (which is a fantastic word, by the way; almost as good as pip (wow I'm three deep in parenthetical injections here); you should really look it up sometime -- did you know it can mean both mouth and stomach?).  Anyway, that's the kind of throw I mean by the bolded word above) open the curtain and yell "ta-DUM!"

Am I the only one that does this?  Please feel free to comment.

Of course, considering that the average blog readership is about 98% female (even when their screen name is something communal like 'The Christensens' or 'Brad and Amy' -- seriously, who do they think they're fooling?  We all know that Brad and Mr. Christensen aren't really part of the bloggage), I'm pretty sure I know what kind of responses I'm going to get.  But who knows?  Maybe there's a closet ta-DUM-er just waiting to feel released of keeping such a stressful secret for so long.

"Those who invalidate reason ought seriously to consider whether they argue against reason with or without reason." ~ Ethan Allen

OK, so the title has very little to do with my post today, but it does connect. I am writing about furniture and so... I thought Ethan Allen was appropriate! :)

Now the official start to my post...

Houston, we have FURNITURE!

I am so excited. For those of you who have come through my lovely front door into an empty room, we now have it completely furnished! And best yet, it was a fluke. We happened upon a great sale on a furniture set in Sm ith's Marketplace. We were buying steak for our new upright freezer (Oh, PS- We got a freezer, too!) when I wandered near the home area of the giant store and found the set.

It was half off the regular price and then they had a coupon for an additional 10% off! Can't pass that up, so we bought it that day.

I hereby officially invite any and all blog readers to come visit and sit upon my sofa, love seat, or recliner. If Kninsa is sprawled out on the sofa reading, just ignore him and sit on down.

“Whoever said money can't buy happiness simply didn't know where to go shopping.” ~ Bo Derek

I hate to shop. Kninsa thinks I like it, but I assume that is because he has never met a woman who truly adores it like this one.

I hate everything about it. The crowds. Trying on clothes. Paying for stuff. Driving to the store. Driving home. And worst of all, the part I do the most... returning items that are the wrong color, wrong size (because I am the right size, so it must be the clothes that are wrong) or unwanted by my picky husband. At then end of it I look like this...

Recently though I started reading this book and I can't believe anyone is that dumb. I mean really. Who can't go a day without buying a magazine? Or thinks a $400 scarf is necessary? Or that they can hang up on a collector and the credit card bill will just go away?

I spend most of my time shaking my head at her stupidity. I mean 50% 0ff is a great deal. But 50% off "way to much" is still "too much." I do recommend the book. It is quite funny if you can get past how ridiculous she is.

Which leads me to my next rant about shopping. Black Friday!?!? Really? I don't get it. Standing in line in the cold and snow, in the early morning hours (4 am!) to get a $10 off a toaster. WHO CARES? I say stay home. Sleep in.

I know many of you will disagree with me, but I had to get it out.

“The formula for a happy marriage? It's the same as the one for living in California: when you find a fault, don't dwell on it" ~Jay Trachman

Okay, so Jay Trachman is a bit touchy-feely for this blog.  I mean, he's no Dave Barry.  But the quote fit, so get over it and don't read too much into it.

Also, before I begin today's rant, I'd like it to be known that I'm a bit nervous.  It has recently come to my attention that one specific super-cool blogger has been spotted in these parts of cyberspace, and it scares me to know that someone with real literary prowess is reading these meager table scraps of authorship.

Okay then, with those two items off the agenda, on to the freak show:

Marriage is about compromise.  I'm hip to that.  Shem and I are actually quite expert at it, considering we have so little practice.  And the first week of February is a prime example of our expertise at creating marital bliss.

I grew up in a family that celebrates Groundhog Day.  Like, kind of a big deal.  Halloween-type celebration, not stupid little National Administrative Assistants' Day-type celebration.  We cook up a nice big dinner of groundhog on the grill, mashed potatoes and gravy, and some kind of wonderful dessert.  Then we all settle down to a private showing of Bill Murray's cult classic Groundhog Day.

Shem and her select group of close friends have been in the habit of having a Superbowl party every year.  Although, to be quite honest, the only time I've really seen Shem watch the game is when everybody yells really loud and she looks up and tells us to rewind it for her.  But it's more about the company than the material, and I get that.

Now for the problem:  you might be surprised how often these two events coincide.  Last year:  Saturday & Sunday; this year:  Sunday & Monday -- two parties, hosted at our house, two days in a row!  That's rough, even on an upper-class socialite like myself.  Now, granted, my tradition has been going on much, much longer than hers, but -- let's be honest here -- her party is a lot funner and not quite so ... inane.  And so, like the idyllic couple we pretend to exhibit to others, we compromised.  We do both every year.  And life is good.

Although... I'm starting to think that maybe there is another argument to be had here.  Let me explain, in true hofhein style, with pictures.

Here is a picture from last year's party

And here is a picture from yesterday's party

Shem, maybe we should just stick with groundhog on the grill?

"Are you strong enough to be my man?" ~Sheryl Crow

The gym sucks.  Going to the gym sucks.  Getting ready to go to the gym sucks.  Getting back from the gym and showering ... well, I guess that depends on who is gymming with you.  But still, the majority of gymness sucks, overall.

Here's my question:  if we have such amazing, self-aware, self-healing, adaptable, economical, efficient, God-given bodies, why can't they just ... BE in shape?  Why didn't our loving Father give us the ability to un-weight ourselves, just as he gave us the natural ability to throw up things that our mom forces us to eat, or the ability to ruin clothes that our wife makes us learn how to wash?

Okay, I take that back.  Obviously God did not design our bodies to sit in front of a monitor all day long and type mindless code into a computer in the guise of "work" so we don't get laid off at the first sign of economic downturn.  If he didn't invent our activities condoning laziness, it shouldn't be his job to invent ways to tone our muscles.  So it should be man's responsibility to make it easier to get in shape.  With all the technology available at our fingertips, how hard would it be to make my mp3 player vibrate on my bicep in just the right rhythm to double its size (the muscle's size, not the tune producer's)?  I mean honestly, Mr. Jobs -- I don't see YOU going to the gym 6 times a week.

So I've gone to the gym... I dunno... at least three times now, and I still can't even bench press the bar yet with no additional weight attached.  And I'm spent.  And grouchy.

The only redeeming thing about Gold's at 6:30 in the morning is FOX's Megyn Kelly and this morning she changed her hair into some kind of Donna Reed wannabe.  I was heartbroken.  Maybe I'll just write off the whole gym idea as a loss and buy Wii Fit instead.

Oh wait, I don't have a Wii.  Who cares?  How often do you really need to pick up something that weighs more than 35 pounds?

"Uncle! Uncle!" ~kninsa

Well, I can't complain -- it's not like I didn't ask for it.

It all started with this infamous post, praising the snow we'd received, and asking for more.  Quickly followed up by a quote by the genius Bill Watterson and another homage to Mother Nature for the snow she gave us.

And yes MoNa, I even enjoyed it when you dumped on us on Christmas day and I had to spend my vacation shoveling -- several times.

But enough is enough.  You win, MoNa!  I can't lift the snow any higher. 

There is physically no more room on my pile to stack snow; what used to be a cool sledding hill is now useless because you have to climb the tree to get to the top of it; what used to be a gorgeous new home for our little family is now invisible to the naked eye.

Of course, we had a WICKED COOL snowball fight yesterday, so maybe just a few more inches would be kind of fun...

P.S.  I defy this woman in Maine to post a picture with more snow.  The dare is on!

"But it's still that same old back beat rhythm that really really kicks them in the --" ~Huey Lewis

Well, the heart of rock & roll was still beating at my neighbor's house last night.  Shem and I played Rock Band for the Wii and let me just tell you... our rendition of Livin' on a Prayer was sounding GOOOOOD!

Okay, first of all, you should probably know that I've never been too hip on the latest and greatest gaming systems.  I own a GameCube and exactly 7 games and that has been sufficient for me and my family for the past... oh, about four years.  However, lately I've been starting to gradually come around to the Wii way of thinking, simply because it's so different.  I mean, let's face it, could anybody REALLY tell the difference between the PlayStation and the PS2?  Were there REALLY any sweeping changes between the GameBoy and the GameBoy Advance?  But from GameCube to Wii... well now, that's a different story altogether.

And so, armed with this new "prove to me why I MUST buy a Wii for myself" attitude, I willingly approached the Rock Band drum set.  Woo doggy!  Great googa-mooga!  What a riot!  Two hours passed us like we were standing still.  I had more fun playing video games last night than I've had since Tomb Raider first came out and I killed a T-Rex with nothing but two pistols.

As we left the veritable AC/DC recording studio, I told Shem that I was convinced we could now buy a Wii.  She agreed that I could shop around and try to find myself a good deal and proceed with the plan to became Wii rockstars.  Here's what I have come up with (using mostly amazon.com pricing; I admit one could feasibly find slightly better -- but not much):

Wii system + 1 controller = $350

3 extra controllers = $100

Rock Band 2 game (with guitar, mic and drum set) = $200

1 extra guitar = $25

Okay, so... for a mere $675 (give or take sales tax and shipping), I could be the proud owner of one single game!!  One game?  I mean, don't get me wrong, I had fun -- but did I have that much fun??  

And that doesn't even include the $100 I would need to purchase MarioKart and four steering wheels.  I mean, let's be honest, what good is a Nintendo brand gaming system if you can't play MarioKart?

Oh, well.  Back to my GameCube I go.  At least the heart of rock & roll is still beating.  In Cleveland.