The Day I Became a Man

If only I'd had my camera, if only I'd had my camera. Why didn't I have my camera? Now no one's going to believe me.

I became a man yesterday. I have two days off between the end of my time at Cyprus and starting my job at the Community College. I was planning on using it to work on my album, but decided a rite of passage was more important.

I drove down to Highland to work on my car with Hot Rod Aficionado Jonny Wix. Because, believe it or not, I never took shop class in high school, he was going to show me how to change my oil, transmission fluid and coolant.

The adventure began with a trip to the parts store in Pleasant Grove(take a left at the store with the bombs in front), where I felt like I was in Mansville--dudes in there, just shootin' the bull. It was like I was on King of Hill.

When we got back to the house I got to put on some cover-alls so we could get down to business. I found that just being in cover-alls increases your manliness at least 10 percent. When I actually got under the car, my manliness jumped another 50 percent, and when I opened that oil drain plug it went through the roof. The level dropped slightly after Wicks inspected the work I had done on installing the new filter and told me I had done it wrong.

After about an hour and a half (of Wicks' incredible patience) we were finished. I squirmed my way out of the cover-alls and went inside to eat a microwavable chimmy-changa. I had become a man. Boy, was it sweet.

The Nutcracker

Before television, people were forced to use their imagination for entertainment. The result: stories of nutcracker men coming to life to lead an army of humans to victory over a group of insurgent super-mice. And "The Nutcracker" is a story for little girls everywhere, go figure.

I experienced "The Nutcracker" for my first time last night. There was lots of leaping, twirling and men wearing tights so tight that their butt cracks were still easily discernible from our nose-bleed seats. While the music was good, I was unable to get past the tights. So very tight.

What an Uneventful Year

What a struggle! I searched through my entire iPod to find some hits from 2004. Next to nothing. There were a lot of albums that I was excited about, only to be disappointed after a few listens. There were also a few that I was sincerely excited about, but then realized they were released in 2003. So, here's my meager list:

Top Albums of 2004

1. Pedro the Lion--Achilles' Heel
2. Jimmy Eat World--Futures
3. The Killers--Hot Fuss
4. The Streets--A Grand Don't Come for Free

(I couldn't even come up with five.)

Top Disappointments

1. Bad Religion--The Empire Strikes First
2. Cake--Pressure Chief
3. Travoltas--High School Reunion
4. Voodoo Glow Skulls--Adiccion, Tradicion Y Revolucion

Let's cross our fingers for 2005.

Starry Eyed

My television debut was aired yesterday morning. I snuck away from my duties at the drive-thru window to check it out in the break room. I had originally planned on gathering all of my credit union coworkers to watch it with me, but I changed my mind. If I was going to look like an idiot I wanted to see it by myself first.

It was pretty good. I realized two things, though:

1. My voice is gayer than I thought
2. I need to start going to the tanning salon. I was incredibly pale.

Now to begin a career in television...

The Apprentice, Begging the Question...

Last night was the Apprentice finale, forcing all viewers to ask the question: Who cares?

Due to other engagements I was only able to watch the second hour of the three-hour bore-fest. The incredibly unnecessary time with the live audience was so uninteresting that I was reduced to watching the PBS documentary "When Hippos Fight."

Thanks Donald, your bloated finale was a great ending to a completely lackluster season. Can't wait for Apprentice 3!

Would you like fries with that?

Vegans everywhere REJOICE! Finally, a movie that tries to show us carnivores not that meat is murder, but suicide. In response to recent court rulings stating that you can't sue McDonald's for making you fat, "Super Size Me" documentarist Morgan Spurlock becomes a human experient to see exactly what fast food does to a person. Rules of the experiment:

1) No options: he could only eat what was available over the counter (water included!)
2) No supersizing unless offered
3) No excuses: he had to eat every item on the menu at least once.

Spurlock follows these rules, eating three meals a day for 30 days exclusively at McDonalds. The result: he went from weighing 185 lbs to 210. His cholesterol went through the roof and his liver turned to one big piece of fat.

Traci and I watched as morning, noon and night Spurlock shoved McDonald's into his face. The highlight of the documentary was on day two, after eating 3/4th of his meal, Spurlock leans out of his car window and throws up everywhere. Fortunately, the movie was not always this graphic, but I did to cover my eyes during the shots of the gastric bypass surgery.

The moral of the story is not just that Americans are fat and that they eat too much fast food. It also gives insight into the fast food-ization of America’s youth. If you eat start eating at the Taco Bell or Pizza Hut (conveniently located inside of the school), of course you are not going to go off to college, or get married and want to sit down and cook something healthy for dinner. The problem is just going to get worse.

By the end of the movie, I think each of us had made a silent promise to never eat fast food again.

The next day I called my sister. She said she and my other sister were taking their kids to McDonald’s for lunch and that we could meet them if we wanted. Well, of course we wanted to come hang out with the kids.

We walked into McDonald’s less than 12 hours after seeing “Super Size Me.” How would this documentary affect us as we were standing there, face to face with Ronald McDonald himself? The moment of truth had come. Dunn, dunn, dunnnnn.....

Traci ordered a McFlurry and I had a hamburger and some fries.

Sell My Old Clothes, I’m off to Hollywood!

I made my television debut this morning and all modesty aside, I am pretty sure that I am going to be the next big thing.

I had the chance to do a little 2 ½ minute interview on a little public service announcement show called “Our Town” on KSL. The Community College is doing a fundraiser to raise money for a new health science building by selling scrubs and science lab beakers.

I accompanied the Fundraising Director, Rick Bouillion. He was looking sharp in a tie and a sport coat, while I was half-prop, wearing a pair of the scrubs.

The excitement of the experience lay solely in the experience. We sat in a foyer for about 45 minutes and then we walked into the studio, talked for 3 minutes and then went back home. However, for someone who’s never been on TV, it was pretty cool.

The actual interview was kind of a blur (though I will be able to relive it when the show airs December 20th at 9:55 a.m. and again at noon) and I think I said something about how much the beakers cost and the scrubs are pretty comfortable. I am a little nervous that when I watch it I am going to feel (and look) like a total idiot.

After our two minutes of fame, Shelly Osterloh said, “Thanks guy, that’s was great.” The true meaning, though, was “you guys were the last recording of the day. Get out of here so I can go home.”

I’ve decided to go into television as a celebrity.

Hollywood Ahoy!

I'm gonna be on TV tomorrow. This is going to be my first step toward fame and fortune, I'm sure.

Raves: Mike Doughty

I was surprised and saddened when somehow the news of Soul Coughing breaking up reached me all the way in the Netherlands in 2000. Surprised because I didn't think anyone in Holland had even heard of Soul Coughing, and saddened because they were one of the most interesting acts of the second half of the 90s.

In retrospect, if a breakup had to happen, 2000 was the perfect time. Napster was reigning supreme and "Skittish," Soul Coughing frontman Mike Doughty's solo, mostly-acoustic, unreleased album found its why into cyberspace.

Since 2000, Doughty has been touring the country alone - just him and a guitar. Despite that "Skittish" has only been sold at shows in plain white paper jackets, everyone in the audience already knows all the words. Despite the simplicity of his solo material, Doughty's performances are captivating.

Though recorded in 1996, "Skittish" just recently received a proper release. It is now packaged along with "Rockity Roll," an EP Doughty released in 2003 and also contains some live material and "Skittish" b-sides.

After about 300 listens, I still enjoy "Skittish" as much as I did when I first heard it in 2001. "Rockity Roll" follows the same pattern - guitar and vocals - with the addition of some drum machine and a little bit of electric piano. Oh, so good.

Doughty is promising fans the release of "a fully-realized solo record," May 3.

Iron Lion Zion

To counteract the dismal nature of winter in Utah, I have spent the past week straight listening to Bob Marley. I figure that if you combine the tropical Jamaican sounds with the 15 degree Utah winter it averages out to a temperate 60 degree climate.

It's Christmas Time...Again

Christmas is officially here. How do I know this? Today is the first day of Christmas music hell at Cyprus Credit Union. My boss loves Christmas music. She's been listening to it in her office since October. But today is the first day of having to listen to it throughout the branch.

We have a Muzak satellite which delivers just one Christmas station. What that means is that you get about 4-5 hours of music before the thing repeats. For further annoyance, there are only about two hours of Christmas music in this world, so you hear about 15 versions of "Santa Baby" every day--none of which is worse than the awful, awful David Lee Roth version.

In about two weeks from now I will have gone absolutely nuts and I will have heard "Hey Santa" (officially the worst Christmas song of all time) nearly two million times. I will become so disgruntled that I will not allow my wife to listen to Christmas music around me.

Bah Humbug.

The String Cheese Incident

I was doing my hometeaching last night (yes, it was the last day of the month) and I heard quite an appetizing story. I asked the usual question, “So how’s everything going?”

“Well,” the woman responded, “I’ve got this big boil thing on my neck. I have to squeeze it every night. This yellow stuff comes out, and it looks like string cheese. It smells awful!”

Hmmm. Sweet.