No More Chapstick—Day 4

I think it was on my mission that I heard that using lip balm actually makes your lips stop producing its natural moisture. I am a frequent Chapstick user myself and I can’t get enough of that refreshing mint flavor.

I recently used up my last little tube and made a life-changing decision—NO MORE CHAPSTICK! That’s right, I’m in control of mine own lip moisturization now! I’ve gone cold turkey.

Day 1 went okay, and my lips actually felt great. Day 2 went good as well and I honestly thought I was going to make it. Unfortunately, now I’m not so sure. I’m starting to crack—literally and figuratively. The lips are sore and I am trying to compensate in the worst possibly way—licking my lips! I want that Chapstick so bad!

According to Men’s Health Magazine, it’s just an urban myth that lip balm really dries up your lips. Should I give in and just buy some more? Or is Men’s Health in on conspiracy as well? Dilemma, dilemma.

She Spies Have Their Priorities Straight

The Weekend came to a climactic close--watching "She Spies" at midnight on Sunday. What better way to prepare for the upcoming week than by watching a television series about 3 beautiful ex-cons who are allowed to get out of prison early if they will work as government secret agents?

I'll tell you what could be better--when DD (my favorite She Spy) puts a kung-fu rescue mission on hold by saying, "Hang on, I've got to update my blog!" Yes! Thatta girl!

It may be the lamest (and therefore best) thing on late night television. I love it. All I want to do now is karate kick my coworkers!

christmas tree genocide

The holidays are officially over when you take down the Christmas tree and turn off the Christmas lights on your house. It then becomes time to shove all of your decorations back in boxes and hide them somewhere in the bowels of your house where you'll never find them again next year when you need them.

Last week we borrowed my Grandpa's truck so we could take our tree over to the park to be "recycled"--i.e. made into compost.

We pulled up to the parking lot, I got out of the truck, grabbed the tree and chucked in on the pile. That was that. When I got back in, I saw that Traci had a very troubled look on her face.

"What?" I asked.

"It's just so sad."

"What's so sad?"

"All of those trees. We use the tree for a month and then just throw it away. A pile of trees that nobody loves anymore."

I guess next year Traci won't be allowed to go with me to get rid of the tree. Any suggestions on how to deal with post-tree-partum depression?

Drive Thru America

I really haven't had much to blog about lately. I started at my new job on Monday and I thought that would give me a lot to write about, but alas, such is not the case.

Illustrating the funk in which I currently sit, the most noteworthy accomplishment as of late was finally finishing Drive Thru America by Sean Condon last night.

Condon wrote a novel called My 'Dam Life about the three years that he spent living in Amsterdam that I absolutely loved. I was so amused by it that I decided to check out Condon's other travel adventures, one about driving across Australia and this one, about driving across America.

Drive Thru America, the book, was quite representative of America, the country--interesting on each of the edges, but kind of boring in the Middle. Austrialians Condon and his buddy David rent a car in New York, drive down the east coast, through the south, head through the Southwest over to California and then fly up to Seattle.

It is on the coasts where actual story lines occur--the rest of the book is merely a journal of what you see in America with Australian eyes. In New York Condon finds a Bible on a subway seat and decides to track down the person who left it there. After traveling to South Carolina (or somewhere like that) to give it to the owner he finds that the Bible had been put there as a memorial to a deceased ex-girlfriend. When he gives the book to the parents they say, "Every year [the boyfriend] puts one of her belongings in some public place and some nice person contacts us and returns it to us." Weird.

In Los Angeles Condon meets a crazy old blind man in a bar who gives him $800 to deliver a letter to an address in Seattle. He agrees. As Condon walks up to the address he decides to open the letter (against the old man's instructions) and reads that it was just a hoax. He walks into the backyard and the entire lawn is covered with similar letters.

I have just told the two most interessing parts of the book, and thus have saved you the trouble of reading the book yourself. I will be accepting "thank you" cards.

Your Future is No Longer My Future

After five years of saying, “Hi, what’s your account number,” my days as a teller have officially ended.  Last week I said goodbye to Cyprus Credit Union in order to begin a full-time position at Salt Lake Community College.

My job at the Credit Union was more than just a job because a lot of landmark life events took place while I worked there, I:

1. Graduated From High School

2. Went to College—USU           

3. Went on a Mission

4. Went to a different College—BYU

5. Worked at the Olympics for a month

6. Went to a different College—U of U

7. Got engaged

8. Got married

9. Went back to Holland

10. Graduated College

Though I have done a lot of other things since I started in 1997, Cyprus has always been part of my life.  Regardless of where I was living, where I was going to school or what other job I had, I was always still working at Cyprus. I've experienced a lot of interesting things during my time as a teller. I have:

• Been Robbed
• Been Suckered into hearing about a pyramid scheme at my house
• Seen a lady get busted for meth possession and had to deposit the drug money confiscated from her underwear
• Broken a drive-thru lane by shooting pens and cassette tapes out of it, instead of the tube

Despite those adventures, my last day was just like any other day.  I came in, sat down and then helped the same people I help everyday (the average Cyprus member comes in about 5-7 times per week, I’m not kidding). 

At about 4 p.m. a member got extremely upset with me on the phone.  On the one hand it bummed me out that I had to deal with such a jerk on my last day, but it also made it easier to think, “Huh, I won’t have to deal with that again tomorrow.”

When 5:30 p.m. rolled around, I packed up my meager belongings: my name plate, the sandwiches in the fridge that I forgotten to eat the previous day and a stack of old Rolling Stone magazines. 

“Well, it’s been real.  Really real,” I said to my co-workers.  That was about it.

I walked out into the world of grown-up jobs. There's no turning back now.

The (Abridged) History of Twelfth of Never

I got a little upset the other day. I was surfing the net and I found a band called Twelfth of Never. I think it's a death rocker band. I always wondered if our name sounded more metal than our music. Such a great name. We've had it for years. It's very frustrating to me.

In 1996 I was walking up the stairs at Chris Wilson's parents' house. We had considered a bunch of different names for our band--the Incredible Shriking Head wasn't doing it for us. Chris asked me, "When are we going to be good?" Out of frustration I answered "The twelfth...of NEVER!" The perfect name was created.

Anyhoo, we had the name back in '95. I'm sure there was probably someone who had it before then, but at least we had it in '96.

The twelfth of never got going when I played on a baseball team with Chris. Chris was the only kid in the league that held his baseball pants up with a weaved leather belt. He was taking guitar lesson and thought about Nirvana every waking second of the day. Since I had been playing in a band called Pet Virus, that was famous for its covers of Nirvana's "Polly" and "Today" by Smashing Pumpkins at junior high band concerts, Chris was very interested in getting together. There was another kid on the team, Nick Hansen, that had a drumset. Our Nirvana cover band was officially formed. top

Chris played the guitar, I played bass, Nick played drums and we played a lot of Nirvana. Nick left his drumset at Chris's during the week and within a few weeks Chris was better at the drums than Nick. From that point Nick got tossed out of the band and there were about a million different people that played with Chris and me.

Rhett, bass player extraordinaire, joined the band in the fall of '95, making the the twelfth of never lineup solid and potent. It was this configuration that created nearly all of the material written for the band's first album, Grkn, which was recorded in '96.

A little bit before the album happened, Dave Updike joined the band as the second guitarist. When Rhett was forced to move to California, Dave filled in as the makeshift bass player. All of the plans were set for Rhett to fly back in for our recording sessions, but ended up not making it. Chris played all of the bass parts on the record.

The band stayed strong through '97. Dave's energy for the band fizzled away as he suffered from high school senoritis. Chris and I spent the summer of '97 playing 2-man shows, just guitar and drums after we became acquainted with the punk rock world.

Seeing SLC Punx like Homesick and Hospital Food made the D-I-Y ethics become reality for us. We finally had a different rock and roll model than that the one Kurt Cobain had created for us. And that's when the music started to change...

left foot forward

...I fell in love with ska the first time I saw a Stretsch Armstronng show. Everything changed for me. I went to a Ska Patrick's day show with Skankin' Pickle, the Aquabats, Dance Hall Crashers, and Stretsch. I was amazed by how much fun the bands were having. The crowd was dancing, everyone seemed to really be enjoying themselves.

Chris hated ska. He hated everything about it. However, once we saw kids our age playing punk and ska it changed how he felt about it. I was really anxious to give it a shot. With Rhett gone, and Dave gone off to college, we decided that we needed a bass player.

Ryan Courtright, bass man, fix-it guy, tuba player, entered the mix. The Ryan Courtright period was the start of a new era. We started playing ska/punk which led to us trying out our hand at real ska. We put together a rudimentary horn section.

We couldn't be the twelfth of never anymore. It wasn't the same music or the same deal at all. We weren't playing Tonight We Die at shows, so it was time for a new name. We were also the ORIGINAL Left foot Forward. Born in 1998.

It was about ten times harder to work with a band double the size of the original group, but the music created a very positive energy. We were a part of the ska scene during the six months when ska ruled the world. It was great.

Everything goes away. Before I moved to college we recorded the Thug Life EP with half-hearted goals of sending it out to record labels. We should have recorded all of our material while we were in the studio, just so we could have had it. Left foot Forward faded away. 

Travoltas - The High School Reunion

I have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of The High School Reunion, the latest release by the Dutch surf-pop-punkers, the Travoltas.  I was a bit nervous when it arrived in the mail because all of my favorite artists have done nothing but let me down lately.  Click here for a list of disappointing albums. 

On first listen, all of my worst fears came true.  It seemed devoid of the catchy hooks that make the Travoltas so good.  Being a huge fan, I refrained from writing anything until I gave it a few more listens.  I am glad that I did. 

If you are unfamiliar with the Travoltas, let me try to explain their sound—it’s the punk version of the Beach Boys, sung in English by native Dutch speakers, mixed with some ‘80s electronic pop.

High School Reunion is a nostalgic album about what happened in high school and what’s happened since.  The title track is about how all of the glory days of high school—quarterbacks and cheerleading captains—all fade away [The irony is that the Travoltas come from a country where neither quarterbacks nor cheerleaders exist].

This album is much more keyboard-driven than their previous records.  The techno beats on “(All We Want is) Rock ‘n Roll” are very cool, but on other tracks the keyboards seem incredibly cheesy i.e. the incredibly pointless instrumental ditty “At the Arcade.” 

There is also a cover of Peter Schilling’s 80s hit “Major Tom.”  I was a bit confused why a Dutch group would cover an English song, but sing it in German.  I guess I’m not up on my 80s trivia; I did a little research and found that the song was originally released in German.  This is a fitting cover for the Travoltas, but it still seems to be a strange choice to do it German, when the rest of their material is in English.

THE SKINNY: Not as good as their last release, Endless Summer, but still a very good listen.  Definitely recommended.

Brit (Chic) Lit Recommendations

They may have bad teeth and tried to tax us without representation, but they sure write great stories! Here are some great reads from the Motherland.

Shopaholic Series by Sophie Kinsella

There are now four books about everyone's favorite Shopaholic, Becky Bloomwood Brandon. She is like all of your inner-shopping tendencies rolled into one person-- just ignoring credit card payments and justifying purchases through some crazy logic that only makes sense in the realms of the mall.

In the first book, Confessions of a Shopaholic, we meet Becky in all of her debt-laden glory--working at a financial magazine, no less.

In the second book, Shopaholic Takes Manhattan, Becky moves to the shopping Mecca of New York City with her handsome, dashing, wealthy PR advisor boyfriend, Luke. She enters the world of actually doing something she likes as a job-- shopping, of course. Or rather helping others shop.

In the third book, Shopaholic Ties the Knot, you can pretty much guess what happens. But, by now you know that nothing in Becky's life can happen without lots of complications due to her shopping and shopping-related issues, and her wedding is no exception.

In the most recent book of the series, Shopaholic and Sister, Becky finds out she has a long lost sister. She thinks this means that they will be instant best friends and shopping buddies- wrong!

I think the first two books in the series are the best, and the rest get progressively more silly, (all I have to say is, hiking a mountain in the rain in heels to save your sister, who doesn't need to be saved equals silly) but you have to keep reading them once you've started because it's a series!!

Can You Keep a Secret by Sophie Kinsella

Sophie Kinsella also has another non-Shopaholic book as well, which I loved!! It's called Can You Keep a Secret? It is yet another look at life as a twenty-something career girl in London, and all of the witty humor that goes along with it. If you are crazy (like me) you will probably laugh out loud as you read about Emma Corrigan's life, embarrassing moments and relationships. Unfortunately, I even laughed out loud as I was reading it at the gym, so now I think people at the Murray Rec Center say "There's that crazy girl who laughs out loud on the stationary bike." Oh well. I think this book is worth it.

Girl's Night In by Various Authors

Not everyone who contributed to this short story series is British, but I think the majority of them are, and even the ones who aren't write like they are. You can just skip their stories if you think they are boring, like I did.

Usually, I don't really like short stories, but these are good because they have all of the elements of British Lit in lots of different forms. This book includes short stories by Sophie Kinsella, Anna Maxted, and fsecrSarah Mlynowski (who I had previously tried to read, but I didn't like her stuff, but now because of her short story I will give it another try.)

If you don't like chic lit about relationships and other sappy stuff, stay far away from this book. Every single short story is about some relationship ending, or beginning and everything funny and pathetic that goes along with it! If you are just venturing into this genre of writing, read this first, because it will give you a good idea of what authors to check out next.

And of course, we can't forget the goddess of British Chic lit, Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding. I have like nothing in common with Bridget, but reading this book made me laugh so hard- all three times I read it (or listened to it.) This was my first exposure to British Chic lit and is still the best. Although the Georgia Nicholson series by Louise Rennison ( which I previously reviewed) also makes me laugh. It's more for younger chics, though, since the main character is like 14 in the first book, but is still really funny. A warning though- I think the first books in the series are better than the most recent- after a little while, some things are just too annoying.

CHEERIO and Happy Reading!

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.