Let's Get It Started, Ha!

This particular post about Christian whooping it up at his high school's homecoming dance has been sitting in my draft file for like, um, forever. Er, one year to be exact. But, since this time of year brings that annual homecoming hoohah around once again for those young'uns in this neck of the woods (Christian excluded cuz, uh, well, he DID graduate after all), I decided to FINALLY unleash this post from last year's dance and raise your blood pressure just a touch with the video below. Besides, I poured a bunch of sweat and tears into the video, and I'm not about to let it linger in obscurity forever. (Ah, so the truth finally comes out.) I only pray that you sync up with my off-balanced sense of humor, otherwise you'll have even more concrete evidence that I truly am a couple of bricks shy of a full load. So, here we go . . .

Last fall, Christian and his pals went to a sweaty! crowded! stuffy! suffocating! smelly! loud! greasy! confining! jam-packed! blazingly hot! school dance.

Yes? Aaaaaaaand?!!!!!!

They loved it.

Huh.

Anywho! They decided to cool off afterward in our kitchen. I think they were instinctively drawn to the embarrassingly large amounts of ice cream we forever have on hand in our freezers. I took the liberty of playing paparazzi for a bit and pretended that I knew what I was doing while behind the camera as I shot a few pics. I didn't really know what I was doing behind the camera, as it turns out. But, lucky you guys! I put together a little video demonstrating that I didn't really know what I was doing behind the camera, and I'm going to share. See? Lucky you guys!

Now, regarding the video and, in Christian's defense, I do 'fess up and admit that I was the one directing that whole fawning thing (you'll see). Well, sorta it was me. Kinda it was me. Well, it wasn't really me at all. Actually, those girls kind of took things into their own hands after a while, and I just kept clicking away like a good little photog. Like I said, lucky you guys!

Whoa up, boys and girls! Before we get to the video (eventually we will actually get to the video, and you're going to love it, I promise), I want you to humor me and play a variation on that ol' popular parlor game, "Where's Waldo?" In this rootin' tootin' version we're going to be playing, "Where's Dave?" And let me tell you what--it won't be all that easy. Dave makes three cameo appearances, two of which will be super-duper obvious, one not so much. Oh, and you'll want to be sure you have the volume cranked up. Things get really bizarre interesting around the 1:48 mark and onward.

Lucky you guys.

Don't you envy this type of genuine fun and friendship? What an awesome, awesome gang of good pals!

Lucky them.

No, seriously. Lucky them.

Which sharp-eyed shooter out there found all three Daves on the first go-round? Yay for you! For those of you who have actual lives to lead and are far too busy doing important junk instead of having a go at my silly "Where's Dave?" nonsense, I'll keep your resentment of me to a minimum by helping you out just a touch: Dave pops into the party at the :48, :56, and the 2:13 marks. He's such a party animal, that guy.

Hey! Got a Minute?

First things first: Don't forget to look for Pete Best in the latest F.R.I.D.A.Y. photo! Just look over on the right sidebar for the photo. Scroll down, down, down. BINGO! Pete decided to be a bit more obvious in our photo this week because he relishes the spotlight that way; if you can't find him this time around, then I suppose it's time for glasses for you, Mr. Magoo. Just an FYI. Oooh, you'll also get to see if you were right about your guess from last week's pic. Fun, huh! We're all about fun over here at this little blog thing. (The fact that I have to tell you we're all about fun-ness probably isn't a good sign though . . . .)

Now! Check out this cool video--it will only take you a minute! Some sciencey guy pieced more than 600 satellite photos together tracking the earth's circumference or radius or cosine or vectors or velocity or some such ridiculousness, and this is what he came up with. Pretty spiffy. (Be sure to watch for me waving to you from my front lawn! Don't blink or you might miss me!)

To read more about this video, go here.

Chicheroo?

I think Ellen Degeneres totally ripped off this idea from Late Show with David Letterman and Dave's sidekick, Rupert of the Hello Deli in NYC, but whatever. This is still great for a laugh, and I, for one, need as much tom foolery in my life as I can get.

Tale of the Troll

Once upon a time we threw a big, hunkin' party. We had all sorts of fun at this party (and several other parties like it), including the always wild and crazy white elephant gift exchange game. One of our party-til-you-drop attendees received the sweetest little gift you would ever hope to see: a troll doll. Say it all together now, "Awwwwwwwww, soooooooo cute!" (with the "soooooooo" spoken with a bit of a lisp and the "cute" pronounced "keeeeeyuuuu-tah" {it's a Utah thing, trust me}). Maybe the troll isn't all that cute. Whatever. Anywho. Apparently Uncle Jim, the lucky recipient of the cute/ugly troll doll, decided he would ditch that little thing in our basement refrigerator and walk away without so much as a child support check or a proper, "See ya later alligator." Hmmppphh.

When we discovered that little fuzz top in the fridge, we decided to adopt him and make him our basement refrigerator mascot. You can only imagine the sideways looks we would get from guests of our kids who would help themselves to our basement fridge and all that was in it as they saw the troll starring back at them whenever they reached for a cold one. (Soda. It was soda. You guys!)

Our little troll dude has lived with us in his basement refrigerator home for nigh on four years now without so much as a whimper or a complaint. That probably says more about what a 40 degree environment will do for one's ability to move one's mouth than anything else. Ooh. That reminds me, would someone PLEASE speak to Bishop Flinders about the icebox he likes to refer to as our chapel??? I mean, seriously. Are they conducting cryogenics research tests in our church building these days? I'm telling you what, my toes don't thaw out until I've been home from Sunday services for approximately two hours. Never mind that I continue to wear open-toed shoes in the colder months; that shouldn't make one whit of difference, and you better not use that argument against me you, you, you wearer o' the sensible and thick wing-tip shoes! And, you wear socks too?! Sheesh.

Meanwhile, back at the fridge . . .

I decided it was high time to let our little basement refrigerator mascot see the world! Experience life on the outside! Explore bigger and better freezers! As a result, ol' fuzz head has become the fifth member of an awesome group I recently formed which we call F.R.I.D.A.Y.* Never heard of it? The formation of F.R.I.D.A.Y. is really just a lame excuse for me to drive on down to Cougartown {go BYU! rah! rah! rah! siss! boom! bah!}, snag my mom, Sean, and Christian, drag them hither and yon, and basically wreack havoc at a local restaurant every Friday afternoon. POW! It's a winner, right?! Yep, indeed. Now that our little troll dude has joined the band as its fifth member, I decided that he needs the dignity of a real name, so I christened him, appropriately enough, Pete Best. Whoa! Ha! (Sorry, but sometimes I crack myself up.) Unfortunately, poor Pete missed last week's hoohah (and he's now sorry he did), but he did make the jaunt this time. And, jeepers, he had fuh-uhn! (Two syllables there on fuh-uhn. It's a Utah thing, trust me.)

Now! Your mission, if you choose to accept it (and, in so doing you consent to getting sucked into another one of my hare-brained ideas, I hope you know), is to find Pete Best in the weekly picture I'll be posting on my sidebar. Over there ----------------------------------------> Somewhere. Over there. Just look. Keep looking. It's gotta be there somewhere. Find it? Scroll down, down, down . . . uhhhhhhh, keeeeeep looking. Ah. Great! Now, search the photograph high and low for that little troll. See him? He's hidden pretty well, and the photograph is kind of small, so you might get frustrated and become tempted to punch out your computer screen. Please don't. You'll regret it. I'll try to have Pete be a little bit more in-your-face next week, because there's nothing worse than not being able to find a troll. Believe you me. Now, did you find him? Yay for you! I'd love it if you'd let me know when and if you spy our drummer Pete.

Synchronize your watches to check back to see where the fab four (and don't forget about Pete!) hang out next week. And, for the record, NO, I do not appreciate the comparisons between my hair and the troll doll's; you KNOW that my hair and humidity have issues. So just stop.

*F.R.I.D.A.Y.:

Friendly

Rallying

It wasn't me-ing*

Dining

And

Yapping

*Explanation soon to be coming down the pike. Keep a watch out for it; it's a lulu.

Mmmmmm, Ashy!

I hosted a little afternoon social for about a dozen girls ages 10 and 11 in my backyard. We went on a treasure hunt. We roasted marshmallows. We made s'mores. We played "Red Rover, Red Rover." We danced to "Rock Around the Clock." We laughed. We cried. (jk about the crying part. It's just that I was on a roll there and . . . .)

As their lovely parting gifts, I stuck with the whole s'mores theme and whipped up a sticky little concoction straight from my smokin' oven for each of those adorable and old-enough-to-be-respectful but too-young-to-be-snarky-and-have-a-sassy-attitude (in other words, just the perfect age) girls. I give you my very own, one and only, original:

RED VELVET S'MORES CUPCAKES!

Red Velvet S'mores Cupcakes

24 red velvet flavored cupcakes, baked and cooled

(I used a box mix; call me lazy if you want)

24 strawberry flavored marshmallows

24 graham cracker quarters

24 chocolate bar pieces

Cream cheese frosting

(I used a tub of Pillsbury; call me lazy if you want--I'm getting used to it)

Frost completely cooled cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. Place the marshmallows on a foiled lined cookie sheet and broil in oven about 8" from heating element until the tops of the marshmallows begin to poof (just like my hair does on a very humid day) and they turn a beautiful golden brown. DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM THE BROILER OR ELSE YOU'RE SURE TO BECOME VERY CHUMMY WITH THE LOCAL FIRE DEPARTMENT. Just FYI. When marshmallows have cooled, wedge one marshmallow, a piece of graham cracker, and a hunk o' chocolate into the frosting of each cupcake. Ta da! Yeah, it's a beautiful thing.

Who Ya Gonna Call?

If there's something strange

in your neighborhood,

who ya gonna call? . . .

GHOSTBUSTERS!

I ain't afraid of no ghosts . . .

And, speaking of ghosts,

Q: What do you call a ghost with a torn sheet?

A: A holey terror!

Rimshot!

READER'S POLL

In the above photos, Kimball is channeling:

a. Bill Murry aka Dr. Peter Venkman

b. Dan Ackroyd aka Dr. Raymond Stantz

c. Little Ronnie Howard aka Opie Taylor

d. A very pushy and assertive door-to-door vacuum salesman who stops at absolutely nothing to be the top salesman (including sucking the brains out of his potential customers, thus leaving them powerless to say no to his oh-so-very-subtle sales pitch) enabling him to bump up to the next tier of the marketing food chain and snag that dangling carrot of either an all-expense-paid trip to exotic Plaster City or a complete set of vacuum accessories--including the much coveted Airsweep 6-piece VAC011 Nozzle and Wand Kit!!!

Same Difference

Have you ever noticed that local early morning television is a very different dog than the stoic 6:00 p.m. newscasts where the anchor's hair is either as white as a sheet or shellacked into a perfectly shaped sphere surrounding said anchor's head, and where the mere twitch of a smile would be grounds for immediate dismissal?

Yes, you could technically call the early morning broadcast a newscast, but it is a completely different monster than the gravely serious evening newscast--sorta like Kraft's boxed macaroni and cheese vs. homemade ooey, gooey macaroni and cheese. Not. even. in. the. same. food. group.

So, I'd like to see stuffy evening anchors Brian Williams or Scott Pelley or Diane Sawyer try to man-up at the anchor desk during this loopy early-morning broadcast that Fox News aired several months ago.

Oh, and, haha! Funny thing! You'll never believe this. Christian just happens to show up in the video. Not surprised? (That boy does get around.)

(You have to really focus on Big Budah's opening remarks to be in on the joke that he perpetuates throughout the whole segment. Pay close attention, boys and girls. I do offer my sincerest apologies in advance.)

You may recognize Big Budah from the film, "Forever Strong." Then again, you may not since the character he plays in the film is so much more copacetic than the Big Budah we see freaking us out each morning. He must have really sucked it up for the movie because, honestly, this guy's real personality is bigger than life. (And, his belly too. HEY-YO!) Big Budah would definitely give Brian Williams and/or Scott Pelley a run for their serious anchor money, don't ya think?!

FYI, Christian (wearing the green shirt) is NOT the offender Big Budah is calling out; let's just clear the air (groan . . . but funny, no?) on that front, shall we?

I Deny Everything, Your Honor

de-ni-al   [dih-nahy-uhl]

noun

1. Doctrine, theory, or the like. An assertion that something said, believed, alleged, etc., is false: Despite Dave's denials to the contrary, I just knew Kimball was merely hiding in a closet somewhere in our house and hadn't actually gone home to California after all. Hence my forcefully opening every door and yelling, "surprise!" Even now. More than 48 hours after his car drove away. I mean, that kid's gotta be getting hungry by now, right? Kimball? Oh, Kimball! You can come out now . . .

2. Refusal to recognize or acknowledge; a disowning or disavowal: I am in complete denial that our little California cowboy has returned to his own home so I continue to ask, "What does the cat say? What does the doggie say? What does the piggy say?" Dave usually gets it right on the very first try.