Seriously Hilarandious

I Hear Pink is the New Black

2012-01-26T21:13:00.000-08:00

So this is what might happen if you go into labor and ask me to watch your son but do not provide any clothes for him because you are trying to rush to the hospital.

Don't worry, Tyson. Andy says he won't take away your man card.

All-Time Favorite Song

2012-01-18T12:04:00.000-08:00

Search your mental iTunes library and give me one, only one, all-time favorite song. Not as easy as it sounds. Guilt creeps in as you push one favorite aside to make room for another to climb to the top of the leaderboard, as if these songs had feelings and they ache without your total commitment and affection.

His.

Hers.

Tall Dad + Tall Mom =

2012-01-16T14:14:00.000-08:00

What do Uma Thurman, Maria Sharapova, Chamique Holdsclaw, Brooke Shields, Macy Gray, Venus Williams, and Lindsay Davenport all have in common (aside from the fact that they are rich and three of them are professional tennis players)? They are all members of the Over Six-Feet Tall Club. One more person joining the ranks?

This girl . . . in about 15 years.

If the whole "Double a Child's Two-Year-Old Height" thing is true (and according to her doctor it is), then imagine that Can-Can/Ballerina/Gansta outfit on a 6'1" rich, professional tennis playing actress that can carry a raspy tune.

Top Ten of 2011

2012-01-08T21:01:00.000-08:00

I've been seeing a lot of Top 10 lists circulating in the blogosphere lately and I wanted to join in with a humorous Top 10 list of my own. After reviewing some of my old posts and determining that I was actually pretty funny at one point, I've become quite discouraged by the fact that I cannot come up with a single funny thing to make a list of (preposition at the end of a sentence--don't tell my husband).

So, to keep with the theme as much as my noncreative mind will allow, I've resorted to Our Top Ten Photos of 2011 (Consequently, this contribution will be rather copious.).

Here goes, in chronological order.

#1 Don't be fooled by the beauty of it. Living in Moscow has it's pros, but this is definitely not one of them. Needless to say, we're glad to be back in Boise, Land of No Snow.

#2 After little debate, I decided not to post a hospital picture of Norah. Rather, thanks to Katie Rice, we had a lovely welcome at our door upon return from our two-week stay in Spokane's PICU. No one was happier than Norah to finally be home.

#3 No words are needed here, except for the words, "I think my husband is really great!"

#4 One thing leads to another. In this case, picture #3 leads to picture #4: a paycheck. We are now contributing members of society.

#5 Does it ever end? Potty training, I mean.

#6 We figured this was our last Halloween avoiding Fairy/Princess costumes so we swung to the opposite end of the pendulum and dressed her as a man. "Oh, your son is so adorable." We heard that more than once that night.

#7 I prayed for a perfect baby and a perfect baby is what I got.

#8 Norah, Assistant to the Diaper Changer.

#9 Beautiful girl. Beautiful dress. Beautiful dad. Beautiful blessing.

#10 Juniper's great-grandparents (one of whom she is named after) are laughing because they're thinking, "Here, you take her back. We're going home now."

Like a resourceful squirrel

2011-12-20T21:19:00.000-08:00

Hilary gave Norah this little something to play with on the drive home from Grandma and Grandpa Smith's rad party, and said, "Norah, don't open this." Technically, she was obedient because she didn't "open" it. It's also a remarkably tidy round opening. I think she's going through her sassy toddler engineering phase. Last night she also lined up her blocks in a mind-blowingly straight row. We're so proud.

Back to the story: Every last piece of Reese was gone. The smell of candy on her breath was still strong at 10 o'clock, although the peanut-butter-chocolate-Christmas mania had dissipated enough for her to finally go to bed.

Can You Tell They're Siblings

2011-12-05T10:57:00.000-08:00

Picture #1: Norah

Picture #2: Juniper

Two Tricks and a Treat

2011-11-01T16:18:00.000-07:00

As of yesterday, Halloween is our favorite holiday.

Trick #1

Trick #2

Treat: Juniper Lee Jorgensen. Weighing in at 7 pounds 7 ounces and a measly 19 inches (considering her parents). We think she's totally adorable but we're not exactly objective.

Does Anybody Else's Husband Dress Like This?

2011-10-24T14:34:00.000-07:00

Because I'm thinking about starting a women's support group.

Beeg Buddols

2011-09-17T22:43:00.001-07:00

kind of fuzzy because she also got her smudges on the lens. Notice that she's not wearing diapers but "unnies"

Guess Who Graduated Summa Cum Laude

2011-05-20T13:06:00.000-07:00

My smart little hubby. He's gonna hate that I posted this, but I'm just so proud I can't keep my mouth shut.

What Does Norah Want To Be When She Grows Up?

2011-05-16T21:32:00.000-07:00

A honey bee.

Norah pneumonia update

2011-04-24T21:54:00.000-07:00

While Norah was visiting her grandparents in Nampa, she had a mild case of pneumonia. She took some breathing treatments and was unhappy for a couple of days but recovered without having to be admitted to the hospital.

On Sunday, April 17th we drove from Boise to Moscow and we heard Norah cough a little. By the morning she was coughing and struggling with breathing so we went in to our doctor’s office and they sent us to the hospital in Moscow. Norah was struggling to breathe—indicated by her neck and belly muscles having to work to breathe. For Norah, being poked and prodded at the E.R. was terrifying. First, a pulse oximeter—a little red light thing that wraps around the toe and measures how much oxygen is in the blood. Second, a blood draw and an intravenous catheter (I.v.). Norah was screaming, mom was crying. Meanwhile, what to her must have been a scary plastic thing got shoved over her face (for oxygen). By the time the E.R. had called the anesthetist to put a respirator tube in, Norah had passed out from exhaustion and respiratory failure. I was crying too. They raced her up to the O.R. for the intubation—that’s what they call it when they shove the tube down into her lungs. Hilary and I hadn’t realized how dire this was until we saw the panic of the doctors, nurses, anesthetist.

The intubation was not easy and took two tries. When we got up to Spokane, the doctors said that Norah had likely aspirated something, and that it was probably stomach acid that had pulled up and sucked down because she was breathing with so much force. I guess this is typical. At one point her oxygen saturation in her blood dropped into the single digits. They decided that Norah had to be flown to Spokane. So the helicopter came. The helicopter people loaded Norah onto their gurney. Then they decided that Norah would be better in the jet because the jet has better respirator equipment and respiratory drugs. So they unloaded Norah and we waited for the jet to dodge a snowstorm and land in Pullman.

Our good friends from our ward and law school, Eric Reiersen and Nate Cuoio, were there. We gave Norah a priesthood blessing: a special prayer with hands placed on her head. Hilary and Norah rode the ambulance to Pullman and the jet to Spokane, then an ambulance to Sacred Heart hospital. Norah is now in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU). She had her 15-month birthday here and tomorrow will be her 1-week anniversary.

On her first days here, Norah got a little worse. We’ve learned a lot about respirators and pneumonia treatment. Though the doctor told us that the respirator machine is fairly simple technology, I am impressed. And my description here is based on a limited and probably faulty understanding, but I’ll give it a shot. The machine can control the volume, frequency, humidity, pressure (in various forms), and oxygen concentration for each breath. When Norah was first here, it only “assisted” her by adding a little pressure to open up her lungs as she breathed. But Norah wanted to breathe quick and shallow—like a pant, and that wasn’t getting enough oxygen into her system. So they had to paralyze her by giving her muscle-relaxing drugs (in addition to the sedatives—some kind of narcotic I think), and leave the breathing to the respirator entirely. They also turned Norah on her stomach because the best blood flow in the lungs comes from the posterior inferior region of the lungs, and so if you lay on your back gravity pulls the edema and mucous down and doesn’t allow the blood to circulate well. (Hilary told me to put that last sentence; I don’t know what it means).

Norah has been stable but not making too much progress for the past 4 days. She gets respiratory therapy treatments every couple of hours. It includes a percussive massage thing and inhalation aerosols of some sort. They have not been able to identify exactly what caused the infection, but they say that it is typical to not know what caused the initial infection when it was a virus. Norah has also been on strong antibiotics. The doctor says that her biggest pneumonia factor now was probably the aspiration: the breathing in of some fluid, probably stomach acid, likely during the initial intubation. Norah has great nurses, doctors and respiratory therapists. Norah is making slow progress, it seems. The doctors, when pressed for an optimistic but reasonable prognosis say that Norah might be able to come home in another week. We thank God we live in a time and place where her life could be saved thanks to technology and medicine and care available. We’re thankful for the good doctors and especially nurses.

We are overwhelmed with how much love and support we have received from our families, friends, and even strangers. Tonight Hilary and I were invited to a wonderful Easter dinner at the home of a friend of a friend of the mother in law of Hilary’s sister. We always have to wonder why bad things happen to the innocent and vulnerable like Norah. And though I’m not trying to answer that question fully here, I can say that Hilary and I have learned much and seen many great things come of this—

We have learned that our Heavenly Father loves and cares and worries for us as we would worry and care for Norah, but in a more infinite and perfect way. We have learned that our faith needs to grow, but also that it is strong enough for us to rely on. We have seen the grace of God manifested in the kindness of others. This one is hard to explain but it is undoubtedly the clearest truth we have learned from all of this. When others fast, pray, bring gifts, and feed us, we witness how friends, family, and strangers are all God’s family and there are powerful bonds of love. The bond that I see as I watch Hilary at Norah’s side—combing her hair, holding her hand, singing to her “whenever I hear the sound of a bird or walk by a lilac tree”—is the same bond that Heavenly Father has for us. And I see that bond between everyone who is praying for Norah or helping me by sharing notes or feeding us dinner. God’s love is always there among us, but it is made more powerfully manifest in trials like this.

Why all this learning for her dad has to be at Norah’s expense I can’t explain, but someday I’m confident I will understand it. Thank you all for your love and prayers and healing thoughts.

Do I REALLY want to do this?

2011-04-06T10:23:00.001-07:00

I just read this paragraph I pasted below, and I understood about as much of it as you probably did. I thought, do I really want to be a lawyer?

We agree that Rule 12 "purports to have universal application, and we see no reason to deviate from its plain language." Kersh, 851 F.2d at 1512. One court has commented that to hold otherwise "would lead to the indefensible proposition" that a defendant, who voluntarily waives an objection to a Rule 4(j) (now Rule 4(m)) violation, can be precluded from doing so by a requirement that the court dismiss the action. Pardizi, 896 F.2d at 1316-17 n.2. Once it is recognized that the mandatory language of Rule 4(m) is applicable until occurrence of one of the circumstances covered by Rule 12(h), which governs thereafter, any facial tension between the two rules is avoided. We hold, therefore, that a defense that service of process was untimely under Rule 4(m) is subject to Rule 12's waiver provisions and may be waived if not raised in compliance with that rule. Accordingly, ABPS waived its objection to the timeliness of the October 28, 1996, service when it omitted that defense from its January 17, 1997, motion to dismiss for lack of personal jurisdiction pursuant to Rule 12(b)(2), and for improper venue pursuant to Rule 12(b)(3).

Norah's First Lollipop--pretty dang exciting

2011-03-27T22:36:00.000-07:00

Some of Norah's first steps about 2 months ago

2011-03-27T22:01:00.000-07:00

The Girl is Mine

2011-02-25T13:04:00.001-08:00

Norah has Andy's lips, nose, ears, hair--everything discernable on a baby. However, there are two physical attributes that signify she is my daughter:

1. Although she rarely does it now, her furrowed brow is mine.

2. She has a diastema! [dahy-uh-stee-muh] a space between two teeth

Celebrity Crush

2011-02-23T21:04:00.001-08:00

I know these two have practically nothing in common except for the fact that I'm totally crushin' on 'em both. But I can't help it.

And The Price is Right has never been better.

Love My Hubby

2011-02-16T14:04:00.000-08:00

I walked into my house a few years ago after work one day to find a bazillion Post-It notes plastered all over everything saying things like, "What makes me happiest is when I can make you happy." or "Thank you for inventing kissing with me. Good work! We make a good research and development team." or "I love (and here I'm writing to your bum cheeks, not to you directly, Hilary) you two." We were engaged 5 minutes later.

Valentine's Day 2011 was reminiscent of Engagement Day 2008. I woke up in the morning to find Post-Its plastered everywhere. Here's one of my favorite.

If you don't know where these lines come from, I'm not actually sure if I wanna be your friend anymore.

365 Days and Counting

2011-01-19T12:29:00.000-08:00

Day 1

Day 54

Day 99

Circa Day 150

Day 189

Day 226

Day 282

Day 305

Just yesterday, actually. Day 365.

Thinking About Home Schooling Your Kid?

2011-01-06T11:27:00.000-08:00

It might not be worth all the possible accolades.

Melville on Property Law

2010-12-15T10:17:00.000-08:00

Moby Dick, or, the Whale
by Herman Melville
Excerpt
Chapter 89 “Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish”

It frequently happens that when several ships are cruising in company, a whale may be struck by one vessel, then escape, and be finally killed and captured by another vessel; and herein are indirectly comprised many minor contingencies, all partaking of this one grand feature. For example,- after a weary and perilous chase and capture of a whale, the body may get loose from the ship by reason of a violent storm; and drifting far away to leeward, be retaken by a second whaler, who, in a calm, snugly tows it alongside, without risk of life or line. Thus the most vexatious and violent disputes would often arise between the fishermen, were there not some written or unwritten, universal, undisputed law applicable to all cases.

Perhaps the only formal whaling code authorized by legislative enactment, was that of Holland. It was decreed by the States-General in A.D. 1695. But though no other nation has ever had any written whaling law, yet the American fishermen have been their own legislators and lawyers in this matter. They have provided a system which for terse comprehensiveness surpasses Justinian's Pandects and the By-laws of the Chinese Society for the Suppression of Meddling with other People's Business. Yes; these laws might be engraven on a Queen Anne's forthing, or the barb of a harpoon, and worn round the neck, so small are they.

I. A Fast-Fish belongs to the party fast to it.
II. A Loose-Fish is fair game for anybody who can soonest catch it.

But what plays the mischief with this masterly code is the admirable brevity of it, which necessitates a vast volume of commentaries to expound it.
. . .

Some fifty years ago there was a curious case of whale-trover litigated in England, wherein the plaintiffs set forth that after a hard chase of a whale in the Northern seas; and when indeed they (the plaintiffs) had succeeded in harpooning the fish; they were at last, through peril of their lives, obliged to forsake not only their lines, but their boat itself. Ultimately the defendants (the crew of another ship) came up with the whale, struck, killed, seized, and finally appropriated it before the very eyes of the plaintiffs. And when those defendants were remonstrated with, their captain snapped his fingers in the plaintiffs' teeth, and assured them that by way of doxology to the deed he had done, he would now retain their line, harpoons, and boat, which had remained attached to the whale at the time of the seizure. Wherefore the plaintiffs now sued for the recovery of the value of their whale, line, harpoons, and boat.

Mr. Erskine was counsel for the defendants; Lord Ellenborough was the judge. In the course of the defence, the witty Erskine went on to illustrate his position, by alluding to a recent crim. con. case, wherein a gentleman, after in vain trying to bridle his wife's viciousness, had at last abandoned her upon the seas of life; but in the course of years, repenting of that step, he instituted an action to recover possession of her. Erskine was on the other side; and he then supported it by saying, that though the gentleman had originally harpooned the lady, and had once had her fast, and only by reason of the great stress of her plunging viciousness, had at last abandoned her; yet abandon her he did, so that she became a loose-fish; and therefore when a subsequent gentleman re-harpooned her, the lady then became that subsequent gentleman's property, along with whatever harpoon might have been found sticking in her.

Now in the present case Erskine contended that the examples of the whale and the lady were reciprocally illustrative to each other.

These pleadings, and the counter pleadings, being duly heard, the very learned Judge in set terms decided, to wit,—That as for the boat, he awarded it to the plaintiffs, because they had merely abandoned it to save their lives; but that with regard to the controverted whale, harpoons, and line, they belonged to the defendants; the whale, because it was a Loose-Fish at the time of the final capture; and the harpoons and line because when the fish made off with them, it (the fish) acquired a property in those articles; and hence anybody who afterwards took the fish had a right to them. Now the defendants afterwards took the fish; ergo, the aforesaid articles were theirs.

A common man looking at this decision of the very learned Judge, might possibly object to it. But ploughed up to the primary rock of the matter, the two great principles laid down in the twin whaling laws previously quoted, and applied and elucidated by Lord Ellenborough in the above cited case; these two laws touching Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish, I say, will on reflection, be found the fundamentals of all human jurisprudence; for notwithstanding its complicated tracery of sculpture, the Temple of the Law, like the Temple of the Philistines, has but two props to stand on.

Is it not a saying in every one's mouth, Possession is half of the law: that is, regardless of how the thing came into possession? But often possession is the whole of the law. What are the sinews and souls of Russian serfs and Republican slaves but Fast-Fish, whereof possession is the whole of the law? What to the rapacious landlord is the widow's last mite but a Fast-Fish? What is yonder undetected villain's marble mansion with a doorplate for a waif; what is that but a Fast-Fish? What is the ruinous discount which Mordecai, the broker, gets from the poor Woebegone, the bankrupt, on a loan to keep Woebegone's family from starvation; what is that ruinous discount but a Fast-Fish? What is the Archbishop of Savesoul's income of £100,000 seized from the scant bread and cheese of hundreds of thousands of broken-backed laborers (all sure of heaven without any of Savesoul's help) what is that globular 100,000 but a Fast-Fish. What are the Duke of Dunder's hereditary towns and hamlets but Fast-Fish? What to that redoubted harpooneer, John Bull, is poor Ireland, but a Fast-Fish? What to that apostolic lancer, Brother Jonathan, is Texas but a Fast-Fish? And concerning all these, is not Possession the whole of the law?

But if the doctrine of Fast-Fish be pretty generally applicable, the kindred doctrine of Loose-Fish is still more widely so. That is internationally and universally applicable.

What was America in 1492 but a Loose-Fish, in which Columbus struck the Spanish standard by way of wailing it for his royal master and mistress? What was Poland to the Czar? What Greece to the Turk? What India to England? What at last will Mexico be to the United States? All Loose-Fish.

What are the Rights of Man and the Liberties of the World but Loose-Fish? What all men's minds and opinions but Loose-Fish? What is the principle of religious belief in them but a Loose-Fish? What to the ostentatious smuggling verbalists are the thoughts of thinkers but Loose-Fish? What is the great globe itself but a Loose-Fish? And what are you, reader, but a Loose-Fish and a Fast-Fish, too?

The One Joy of Having 3-Month-Old Quadruplets

2010-11-30T18:05:00.000-08:00

Okay. I've seen this video about a bazillion times and I still tear up from smiling so much (if that's even possible). Motherhood has changed me. I probably couldn't make a layup right now and I'd most likely cry about that too.

Personal Ad Found in Moscow Tribune

2010-10-30T11:33:00.001-07:00

Single white aggresive,

Spiritual,

And tempting female

Seeks handsome male.

Enjoys being snuggled in the cool weather

Only to have romantic evenings by the fire later.

Doesn't mind being strung along.

Also likes to have a little fun and commit an occasional misdemeanor.

Lamentation 1:1

2010-10-27T23:38:00.000-07:00

I used to be so clever at writing, brimming with ideas. See, for example, blog post on this blog of Thursday, December 11, 2008. Hilary has told me that my blogging's dull; I just tell her, once again, "you're not the bossa me!" but I know she's right.

Law school has crushed clever writing and now all I can think about is jurisdiction, conjunctive or disjunctive elements in statutes and prima facie cases, and per stirpes with representation inheritance. Those are real things, not like "axio ab delicioso," which phrase I might try on a final now that I am a carefree 3rd year student.

If you knew what I was talking about then you might be a lawyer, and I feel sorry for you (not that you're a lawyer, but because you got weird birth marks on your face)

Which reminds me of my favorite poem I read in a coffee shop in Pocatello, back when I read chapbooks resting on cofee shop tables and not the MRPC.

When I see people with birth marks and funny moles
on their faces and stuff like that,
I laugh at them

And then they see
I don't got no teeth.

At least I'm not studying rocket science.

There's also a good blonde joke waiting to be inspired by this video.
I'm talkin to you, dad, lawyer who does have some cleverness left in him on at least 1/3 of his jokes. .333 is a great batting average.

Love Andy

I'm voting for Keith Allred

2010-10-18T14:34:00.000-07:00

I'm voting for Keith Allred, and I encourage you to do the same.
I met him while he was campaigning up here in Moscow, and he seems like a very nice, down to earth, and bright guy. He has a PhD in conflict resolution, he's a former bishop, he supports education and economic growth in Idaho, and he's tall and handsome (which I can totally relate to).

Hilary also is voting for him, of her own accord, even though she's usually a republican kind of girl.

Here's his website.

Any dentist friends and family of ours should check out the recent story about the surprise and harsh medicare cuts for dental coverage by Otter's administration.

Any teachers, prospective teachers, or college students should also compare Otter's education-cutting policy to Allred's support of education.

Feel free to post any disagreeing comments. It won't hurt my feelings.

http://www.allredforidaho.com/home.aspx

Norah's Favorite Movie Star is Norah

2010-09-25T20:04:00.001-07:00

A boring (but cute to us) video of Norah.

Norah watching said boring video.

Does this mean our 8 month is a narcissist?

Not Necessarily the Top Three Reasons, but Three Resons Nonetheless of Why We Love Moscow

2010-09-11T13:59:00.000-07:00

3. These guys playing on the sidewalk just down the street from the Farmers' Market in front of the tye-dye shop (yeah, a lot of tree-huggers live here).

2. Being surrounded by rolling wheat fields 50 miles in every direction (except in the direction of those mountains apparently).

1. And it's almost in northern Idaho--one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Is it 1942 Germany?

2010-09-07T17:34:00.000-07:00

For those of us who thought the Aryan Nation movement in northern Idaho died with the closure of their compound, we stand corrected. Small, innocent, one-horse-town St. Maries, Idaho isn't as innocent as it appears.

This is only one of dozens of Nazi knives sold at the family friendly Paul Bunyan Festival (it's a logging town).

And here's a picture of Norah and Andy just for kicks, not because they're Nazi sympathizers or anything.

Norah's Time-Out Chair

2010-09-01T22:24:00.000-07:00

Our apologies to the wheat farmer whose field we slightly trampled.

I Thought Pocatello was a Hick Town

2010-08-27T07:32:00.000-07:00

Picture this. Me, standing over the stove, cooking eggs and hash browns, singing this song with all the inflection of my tone-deaf voice and throwing in an occasional hip swivel for added effect when Andy says, "What song are you singing?"

Either I really am the worst singer in the world or Andy needs to be introduced to a little country culture.

Answer? Most likely both, but he's probably never even heard of Garth Brooks either.

You Wouldn't Understand

2010-08-24T13:20:00.000-07:00

You know when you tell someone about something funny that happened to you and another friend they haven't ever met and it's not as funny to that someone as it was to you and your friend at the time that it happened?

Meet my family.

Probably not as funny to you as it is to us.

Young Guns

2010-08-11T09:17:00.001-07:00

Arms sure can say a lot about who wins triathlons.

Run for the Cure or Run from the Condition

2010-07-24T08:45:00.000-07:00

I think I'm going to host a fun run to raise money to help find a cure for Norah's new condition. Not sure what the malady is called though. If I have a say in the matter, I think I'd name it Screaming Eaglitis or Baby Raptoritis. Andy's brother said it sounds like a Michael Jackson interpretation. Maybe I'll call it King of Popitits. And although I'd be raising money to help find a cure, most likely it would go toward increasing her wardrobe because I'm pretty sure I know the only cure for this condition--a larynxectomy.

Guess where we went

2010-07-16T21:10:00.000-07:00

Hilary didn't want to blog because she is a bloggerfectionist. So I have to put hilarandious comments on our vacation photos so they ain't banal or bourgeois (spell checked) or don't cause the secretion of too many bormones.

I think the state of Idaho could make a lot of money by licensing it as Viagra falls.

Giddy up buckaroo

Norah could extinguish some forest fires with her faithful geyser of drool.

I would put more pics but blogspot takes too long to upload.

Norah: "Mom, He followed me home. Can I keep him?"
Hilary: "I already had a cow when I was a kid."

I Hope Norah Got His Genes

2010-06-15T16:52:00.000-07:00

Word from the wise, only play Andy in Scrabble if your pride needs some checking. Has anyone ever played a true scrabble (where one uses all 7 letters)? And who even knows what the word "novation" even means?

30s

2010-06-10T14:52:00.000-07:00

Being in your thirties is like being a tree that blossoms and bears fruit at the same time.
Except, instead of blossoms it's pimples.
And instead of fruit it's gray hairs.

Mom these stripes clash and it makes me sad

2010-05-20T13:14:00.000-07:00

I Need to Give a Huge Shout Out to Carrie Rainey

2010-05-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

Click here to see how Me + Andy = Booya.

31 Reasons Why I Love My Husband (Okay, Okay, I'll Narrow it Down)

2010-05-04T10:13:00.000-07:00

10. He wears this green striped hooded sweatshirt that was cool for 16 year-old skaters to wear about 5 years ago and doesn't care that I think it's ugly.

9. He doesn't get mad at me when I spend $60 on a white noise machine for Norah even though we're flat broke.

8. He LOVES changing Norah's diaper.

7. He writes little love notes on Post-It notes and places them in conspicuous places. Like, one time I opened the fridge and read a note that said, "Me + You = Booya."

6. One time I got a note in the mail. It was a phone call message form taped to a 3X5 card. It read, "JT called. He said he wants his sexy back."

5. He actually wears the pajama bottoms I made for him for Valentine's Day last year.

4. He says words like hugsies and snugglesies.

3. He lets me cut his hair.

2. He spends a bazillion hours studying so he can kick booty in school and hopefully get a good job.

1. Then he comes home and takes care of Norah so I can have a break.

0. Then he wakes up early in the morning and does it all over again.

-1. He doesn't make me feel like an idiot when I misuse words like "literally."

-2. He gave me Norah.

And the number -3 reason why I love my husband . . .

He loves me, thinks I'm great, and literally worships the ground I walk on. I'm pretty dang lucky. Happy Birthday, Sweetie!

Quantum Leap?

2010-04-22T12:43:00.001-07:00

Our friend, Bruce, sent an email to Andy with the following two questions and photo.

First question: Where were you circa 1940?
Second question: Are you a time traveler?

Do you see him?

Andy has a fascination with iTouches. He wants one so bad. I now know why--his name is actually Sam and he leaped into the year 2010 married to me. Al is nowhere to be found and Sam is desperate to leap out of this nightmare and he figures that with an iTouch he can get in touch with Ziggy. Surely there's an app for that.

My Kid Can Beat Up Your Honor Student (Not That She Would)

2010-04-20T15:07:00.000-07:00

So last week I was giving Norah tummy time which she absolutely hates and it only lasts about 45 seconds at a time because I'm a first-time mom and still hate to listen to her cry (or even whimper). When out of nowhere she rolled over! I couldn't believe my eyes. I was so happy for her. I kissed her, played with her, made her do it again, then immediately googled to see at what age most babies roll over. I was sure she was so early--I mean, she's only three months old. I was thinking to myself while I was searching, "My baby is so smart and strong and coordinated. Surely she's going to be an athlete of Olympic caliber someday."

Turns out three months is normal.

Our life

2010-04-18T21:36:00.000-07:00

Thanks for the book Abby!

Norah loves milk!

Norah and Andy take five on the set.

The pink ladies
Norah is a soprano, we have discovered.

No Offense, Lyric and Emily

2010-04-02T12:25:00.001-07:00

Does a nickname just come naturally?

I mean, should it flow from the brain to the tongue and out the mouth like honey (I guess honey doesn't flow from the brain, but you feel me, right?) or should it be premeditated and require conscious repetition in order for the name to stick? Andy has been trying to think of the perfect nickname for Norah for the past . . . well, 10 1/2 weeks. And me? I've got a few honey-like names--Norah Jorah, No Jo, and, most often, Sweetie Sweetzers. Andy disapproves of the latter primarily because, "it sounds like something Lyric (my sister) would say." Not that he has a problem with that--it's just that he says we can't claim it as our own. Further, he swears never to call her by that name even though I think it flows and is appropriate. His attempts at a nickname, however, are Ladybug (which he's maybe called her once) and Cutie Buttons (which sounds like something our friends Bruce and Emily Hinchey would call each other as a joke).

If anyone besides the Hincheys has any nickname suggestions, feel free to throw 'em out there. Lyric once called Norah Peanut, but then found out that she's in the 95th percentile for height and weight. The name was quickly changed to Cashew, which still might not be accurate.

As for me, Sweetie Sweetzers has stuck. I say it all the time. And considering Andy is a dialogue sponge, I'm sure that name will flow off his tongue sooner or later. I mean, c'mon. Just look at her. Sweetie Sweetzers just fits. I'm sure you all agree.

As Per Request

2010-03-25T12:13:00.000-07:00

Weepy Pee Pee

2010-03-22T09:37:00.000-07:00

Question. My eyes water when I use the bathroom. I've been like this my whole life and assumed everyone was the same. I just figured there was some connection between my tear ducts and my urethra. Don't ask me. Andy has always made fun of me for this which naturally led to the assumption that he was the only person without this special connection. I mean, even Norah's eyes get all red when she pees. After further research online, it appears Norah and I are different from the rest of the world.

On to my question. Does this happen to you or anyone you know?

(I just want to prove to my sweet hubby that my Weepy Pee Pee Syndrome is nothing to worry about and that there are millions of WPPS sufferers out there.)

Reading Material Should Not Be Upholstered

2010-03-05T23:28:00.000-08:00

I am posting mostly because I am tired of looking at ye olde scooter at the top of bucketsamoonbeams.

Wanna know what else I'm tired of?

Paisleys,
fleur-de-lees,
doilies,
rosies,
posies,
frenchy patterns,
polka dots,
ruffles,
fancy stripes,
curls,
swirls,
twirls,
damasks, and
paramecia.

The nature of fashion-ish trends in T-shirts and blogs is that once everybody has them, they won't be cool anymore and'll go outta style. So I guess Hilary and I who don't got no trendy blog wallpaper--designed by some woman in Utah Valley who couldn't make it into the cutthroat scrapbook industry but had too much creativity and graphic design talent to not design blog backgrounds--are the only holdouts. So the twirly swirly blinding blogs will live on.

I'm alright with it if you call me a hater. It's not that I'm a minimalist. It's not that I'm Mr. spartan anti-aesthetics. It's that I'm anti-trendytacky and anti-headaches. Reading material should not be upholstered.

So if you always wondered why Hilary's blog is so ugly, it's because of Andy.

(To be honest, most of me (probably the retired amateur folklorist) loves the interior design touches that so many awesome women I know do to their awesome blogs that celebrate and share the joys of their life and family. I just wanted to see if I still had the skills to rant about something.)

I do predict that the damask and doily blog craze reaches its apex soon.

Love, Andy

If There's One Thing I've Learned in Life . . .

2010-03-02T14:02:00.000-08:00

it is to never buy a Chinese scooter.

We've been trying to sell this for six months now and I've got one thing to say to the guy who just bought this from us three days ago.

"Sucka."

Do They Come Any Cuter Than This? Seriously.

2010-02-18T13:19:00.001-08:00

Most pregnant women worry a lot. They worry about their body; they worry about their baby's' body. You know, everything from their baby missing an arm to missing a kidney. A baby in my church couldn't swallow well. Ever since I heard about that little girl, I started worrying about that too. However, one of my biggest fears before having Norah was whether or not she would be cute. Silly, I know, considering all the possible negative outcomes, but no one wants to be ugly, right? Everyone always told me, "Don't worry. Whether she's cute or not, to you she'll be the most beautiful baby in the world."

Am I blinded by love?

"When he (John Adams) is wounded, I bleed." --Abigail Adams

2010-02-12T11:17:00.000-08:00

Now isn't that true love?

More examples of true love:

1. After bitching (is that a curse word when I use it in that context?) about her husband and how much they fight, a friend of a classmate of Andy's then flashed her heart-shaped tattoo on the back of her hand. "It's to remind me to be nice to my husband," she said. Fifty bucks says that relationship doesn't last another year.

2. Divorce court case: a man wants to divorce his wife because she didn't fulfill her side of the contract. What contract, you ask? Well, while strolling through a mall, they passed a jewelry store and saw a piece she wanted. "If you buy me that," she says, "I'll sex you up for a whole month." At the time he said, "Let's do this." Explaining all this to the judge, he then whines, "She still owe me 28 days!"

3. "If you can't handle my love, you shouldn't have married me. 'Cause I got infinity love to give." --Andy Jorgensen

Pictures of the Two Loves of My Life

Happy Valentine's Day!

Word of the Day: Trendelenburg

2010-02-03T16:58:00.000-08:00

Norah had her first doctor's appointment yesterday. Didn't go exactly as I had imagined. I had no idea she was gonna be pricked in the heel a trillion times and have her heels squeezed dry of every ounce of blood. The whole process took nearly 30 minutes. Norah was screaming bloody murder. Mix compassion and anxiety together and you get a tear-streaked, sweat-drenched mama. Really, when I left that office beads of sweat were dripping from my forehead. All this emotional focus on my baby girl didn't stop me from wanting to punch the nurse in the face. Seriously, who draws blood from the heel of a screaming baby lying in the trendelenburg position? (Just a little phrase I picked up in dental hygiene school.)

Anywayz. With Norah lying on my chest not a half hour later, a smile swept across her face, yet I was still fuming. It was then that I yet again realized why we are supposed to be childlike. She's teaching me so much.

On to a less serious topic. She's in the 95th percentile in height and 75-90th percentile in weight. Somebody get this girl a basketball.

I Almost Don't Want Her to Grow Up

2010-01-31T14:12:00.000-08:00

Okay. So I have nothing witty to say; no funny story. I just can't get enough of this girl so I assume everyone else feels the same about her. Besides, she and I are stuck in the house for another couple weeks, so this is the closest I get to come to showing her off.

Thanks to Grandma Mert for making the Happy Birthday sign as a Christmas gift a couple years ago. We never forget to hang it--not even while in the hospital.

And a special shout out to Hailey for making me the yummiest (and prettiest) birthday dessert EVER.

Ode to Grandma

2010-01-26T16:24:00.000-08:00

My mom just left today. I dropped her off at the airport a few hours ago. I cried. She didn't. Guess she was tired of changing diapers, doing laundry, making dinner, relieving me at 5:30 am so I could get some sleep, and a million other things. Not to mention the mommy expertise pumping through her veins that was gained from raising ten kids of her own. Fortunately I was able to tap into that expertise time and time again these past few days. Not quite sure if I'll make it on my own without that lifeline.

May you all be fortunate enough to have a mom like mine.

Thanks, Mom, for everything. We love you!

2010-01-22T22:56:00.001-08:00

Ok, We're obsessed. I am so enamored that I feel proud, like thrilled proud, when she makes a big poo. Here are some more pictures.

She sleeps alot. She's a growing girl.

Pictures of Norah

2010-01-21T19:16:00.000-08:00

Norah & Hilary

2010-01-21T17:25:00.000-08:00

Norah is born!

2010-01-20T13:58:00.000-08:00

Norah Jorgensen was born Jan 19, 2010 at 3:43 am. Her mom jinxed herself by saying, what if we have to share a birthday? She didn't know that Norah was listening and wants to be just like her mom, so as soon as it struck 12:01 am on Jan 19, Norah was on her way.

Labor went fast and Norah is beautiful. Daddy's proud, and already bragging her up. I texted about 10 people that she weighed 14 pounds. She's doing well so far, but not that enormous yet.

pictures to come shortly. (technical difficulties)

Andy May or May Not Get Some

2009-12-31T15:10:00.000-08:00

"Got a chocolate craving, huh?" asked the Walgreens cashier.

Should he just assume those two huge bags of peanut M&Ms are for me? Yes, I am eight and a half months pregnant. And yes, they were the only items in my shopping cart. But c'mon, two and two do not always equal four. Got it, Mr. Cashier Buddy?

In my defense, they were 50% off, okay?

No Sacrilege Intended

2009-12-15T09:32:00.001-08:00

I told Andy I was going to blog about this and he said, "Spare the world."

2009-12-03T22:03:00.000-08:00

Remember buying new school clothes as a teenager and not being able to wear them until school actually started but secretly going into your room to try them on again and again and again to admire yourself in the mirror?

These stockings are my new school clothes.

I would elaborate, but then I'd be doing exactly what Andy wanted me NOT to do so I'll leave it at that. Except to explain that the below photo is Norah and me at 33 weeks. And to say that Norah is totally going to love her new stocking.

I Totally Miss This Place

2009-11-17T17:55:00.000-08:00

If you're dying to rent the cutest house on the bench in Boise let me know. I can hook you up.

Here ya go, Lexi, Cali, & Molly.

2009-11-09T16:35:00.000-08:00

So I only post when I have a funny story to tell, hence I only blog once a month or so. However, I've had naggy family members nag and nag, hence the boring blog and unattractive photo.

Norah and me at 30 Weeks.

Dress up: This Time It's for Real!

2009-11-05T19:46:00.000-08:00

She says with concern in her voice, "I'm worried about our baby being cute."

“I thought all babies are naturally cute”

“But dressed cute and stuff.”

Hilary had her little party in which her friends showered her with cute shoes; cute sweaters; cute blankets; pretty bows; adorable safety equipment; lovable booklets; frilly flower bands; snuggly sockies; comfy pink furry pajamas; and boss-cute bumbos, boppies, basinets and bouncers.

I thought that dressing up baby dolls was just make-believe fun for little girls. Like killing bad guys all day was for me when I was a boy.

No, having a baby is exactly the same as playing with dress up dolls. *This time it’s for real.*

Respect.

2009-10-21T22:06:00.000-07:00

I love autumn. The season of sweaters and no coat; tee shirts with a jacket; sixty degree days, little rain; pumpkins, leaves and Thanksgiving. During these couple months out of the year, Mother Earth and I have a special understanding. She and I are on totally different wave lengths from December to August, but come September, she really gets me, you know?

However, I've inherited a disease (undoubtedly from my father). As soon as the air gets slightly brisk nudging me towards my cocoa stash in the evenings I am severely tempted to listen to Christmas music--be it December or September. I just wanna turn the lights down low and snuggle up to a book and Kenny G. Andy knows that autumn is my favorite time of year but insists that listening to Josh Grobin's Noel album in October is "like punching fall in the face."

Am I disrespecting Mama Earth at a time when she does so much to make me happy?

Booya, 2nd Ward!

2009-09-26T18:18:00.000-07:00

Hilary and Andy sittin' in a tree, W-I-N-N-I-N-G.
First comes love, then comes cohabitation, then comes ward activity game show domina(bi)tation.

If anyone can answer correctly more than 10 of these questions about their spouse then feel free to share the dinner gift card we won at the ward Newlywed Game activity last night.

1. If your wife could have one thing, what would it be?
a. spend more time with kids
b. spend more time with you
c. be more romantic
d. help more around the house
2. If you could describe your husband as a fruit, which fruit would he be?
3. If you could name the greatest fault of your husband, what would it be?
4. In the morning, would your husband describe you as a
a. grizzly bear
b. polar bear
c. teddy bear
5. What bothers you more about your husband?
a. he leaves the toilet seat up
b. he leaves his clothes on the floor
c. he leaves his wet towels on the floor
d. he leaves cap off the toothpaste
6. What would you want your husband to buy for you?
a. something romantic
b. jewelry
c. something for the house
7. What's your husband's dream car?
8. Husbands, what's your wife's shoe size?
9. If your husband could get tickets to any concert, who would it be?
10. Husbands, name one thing your wife can't pass up when on it's sale.
11. What made you fall in love with your husband?
12. We can't remember the twelfth, but we got it right.

Andy and I are so close, it's like we share one brain between us!
See y'all at Applebee's!

Andy + Hilary = . . . Please, not this!

2009-09-17T22:56:00.000-07:00

(courtesy of morphthing.com)

AAAGGGHHH!!! I used to be excited to have a girl until I experimented on this website. I think instead of Norah we're gonna have to call her Nevaeh (Heaven spelled backward) because she's going to be so celestially beautiful--obviously.

Food vs. Peeing

2009-08-24T09:35:00.000-07:00

After reading my sister's blog it got me thinking. If I want food in heaven, does that mean I have to pee in heaven too? 'Cause I really hope there is no peeing in heaven.

I'm pregnant. Yes, I'm pregnant--19 weeks along now, And I've acquired a new aversion for the toilet (as opposed to food) in the past two months. Actually, it's more like a love/hate relationship. I love that I don't have to wear a diaper or use an outhouse, but I hate that I go to the bathroom 10-15 times a day.

One thing is for sure--I strongly urge anyone reading this to never swim in the same pool as me after I've finished swimming my laps. You might want to wait a week or so until they've re-chlorinated the water.

P.S. Cloth vs. Disposable diapers?

P.P.S. Not for me. For the baby.

I am so in love with Andy.

2009-07-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

(Caution: This blog post has severe stereotyping weaved entirely throughout. Read at your own risk.)

If you don't recognize these two delightful women, you obviously need to get out more. Maybe you could start by attending one of the many events held during Boise's Gay Pride Week. Look for a short, heavyset woman with spikey, bleach-tipped hair who is plugged into her ipod. Tap her on the shoulder and ask her to whom she is listening. Chances are she's listening to Amy and Emily--two folky singer/songwriter lesbians more commonly referred to as the Indigo Girls.

My sister, Lyric, is a major fan of the Indigo Girls which, I believe, stems from her BYU days during the late 1900's. Anyone who ever lived in Provo at that time seems to love these guys and Erasure. Not sure what that means, but I'm kinda glad I chose the Hawaii campus. Anywayz, back to my story. Lyric called a couple months ago desperately trying to find someone to go this concert with her. I asked my hubby if it was okay. He said I could only go if I spiked my hair and wore denim shorts with a neon colored tank top. So it was on! I was going!

If you know any Smiths, you know that we (especially Lyric) are never early for anything. So in accordance with our family values, we arrived after everyone else had found their own perfect little patch of grass. We decided to chance it up front and found a lovely spot two feet from the stage--ideal spot for dancers to block our view, which never crossed our minds until all the dancers blocked our view.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? However, blog readers, you would all do well to remember: concert or no concert, when surrounded by lesbians dancing, caressing, and kissing each other never lower your guard.

The two women sitting next to us were the initiators of the dancing. If you've ever been to an outdoor concert you know the dance-initiator type--brave, unashamed, and most assuredly drunk. These switch-hitters were doing things I've never seen two women do before and which gave me nightmares for four nights. I swear these players were rounding second base and heading towards third (if ya know what I mean). Eventually more people joined in dancing, including unassuming, guard-lowered Lyric and me.

It took only a couple more beers for one of the two said women to try groping or kissing anyone within reach. Lyric was within reach. She pulled Lyric's head closer to her own in hopes of reaching first base. As frightened as she was, Lyric successfully blocked the advance (probably scarred for life) while I lunged at the boozer ready to knock her on her booty. The woman saw my defensiveness and assumed Lyric and I were "together" and looked scared for a minute. Rightfully so. I was like a mother bear protecting her older sister. Plus I was at least a foot taller and probably had 50 lbs on her.

Needless to say, the concert was a huge success impressing upon our minds fond memories and an even greater love for our husbands. Before I left for the concert Andy gave me a big, loooong kiss followed with, "This is just so you remember what it's like to love a man. Don't go changin' on me tonight."

Andy, I echo Amy's words to Emily. "I'm gonna love you good and strong while our love is good and young."

Greetings from Idaho

2009-07-12T21:21:00.000-07:00

Since I haven't blooged for a bit,here's some pictures. If you can't see the whole picture, you should be able to click on it and it will take you to my wacky intertainin photobucket site with pictures of lilacs and Hilary in the living room saying, don't take any pointless pictures of me, and stuff.

Here's one of a korean spice bush that'll knock your socks off. it's kinda blurry, but that's to simulate the intoxicating fragrance. I'm creative with my photography like that. This is our front door in moscow, which we left in late May.

We also left the Hinchey-Wincheys. Trust me, they are as crazy as they look. Notice in the background, you can see the internet on the internet. That's what in grad school we used to call metacognitive displasia.

Then we cruised down south and Kyle took us disc golfing in Upper Ross Park, where kyle has to fight the men off when he wears them sleek jeans like that and moves so gracefully. Atta boy! Whatta stroke!

Carter got game

Hil and mom got game in the gourmet! Don't forget that extra scoop of mayo! (that's her secret ingredient in a lot of stuff. shhh don't tell.)

Then we went back West beyond the City of Idaho on the Crooked River, untouched by hydro power, resortification, or orthodontia.

Idaho City's got class. And you can tip your waitress in gold dust!

After a long day of all that, Jorgensens know how to relax. Even if he don't have the pure blue blood pumping in his arteries.Cole is good enough at sitting on a couch to be an official Jorgensen,

Notice the guy in the middle's lovely gut. Oughta start wearing vertical stripes. The Yeti boy also needs to start shaving his arms.

Hangin loose in HI.

2009-07-12T21:12:00.000-07:00

My Brother Dane was in Hawaii, and so I was looking at our pictures. I love this one so I had to put it up, even though it's a year old.

This is Hilary Jorgensen reporting live. Moscow, Idaho.

2009-05-27T14:04:00.000-07:00

I was walking down the street one evening in downtown Moscow when I passed this homely looking man sitting outside a coffee shop. I smiled, said hi and kept walking when a second later I hear, "Ya wanna hear a compliment?" I'm always up for ego-boosts so I turned around and said, "Um . . . sure."

"You should be on CNN," he said, and I was like, "Uh, thanks?" "Yeah. There's this girl on there right now," he says. "Her name's . . . uh . . . uh . . . well, I can't remember her name. Anyway, it's just not working out."

I tried, just now, to find a picture of an ugly CNN news anchor to post, but it appears they're all pretty, so I guess it really WAS a compliment.

I thought the convo was over (I try to use that word as much as possible cuz I totally know Andy thinks using that word makes one sound like they're totally like, in high school) but he asked what I did for a living. I said dental hygiene and he said he didn't have any teeth and I said, "I know."

"Wanna know how I lost 'em?" So I said, "Drugs?" and he said, "Yep. And now I'm trying to get people not to do them." He then pulled out this picture that he had taken with his camera of this blue piece of paper with his own rotten, extracted teeth glued on to the paper spelling the word METH. Some of those teeth were 20 years old. Who keeps extracted teeth for 20 years? I gotta say, it was quite disturbing, yet very persuasive. He tried to sell it to me thinking he could make some money off it but then Andy called and I told him I had to go meet my husband so I left.

Moral of the story: Don't do drugs because if you do drugs, then maybe someday, somewhere, someone will post about you on their blog making you sound ridiculous (except for the CNN news anchor part--that was totally not ridiculous).

And I'm posting this picture not because it has anything to do with the story, but because a blog post isn't a blog post unless it has a picture. This is Andy and me at a Mariner's game shortly after a 20-ish year-old kid successfully dashed across the entire field, outrunning all the security guys (one totally wiping out at 2nd base) and would have gotten away had a spectator not clotheslined him as he was running up the stairs about 20 feet from where we're standing in this photo. That was by far the most exciting part of the game (in fact, it was the only time we stood up to cheer) since the score was 1-0 and the Mariner's scored that one run in the first inning.

Move over, Barefoot Contessa!

2009-05-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

I have a sophisticated palate. Sure, I'll eat an occasional Subway sandwich or store bought piece of cake, but my taste buds know what they like, and let me tell you, they are not easily impressed. In fact, I think unimpressability is body-wide for me, not just restricted to my taste buds. I once confessed my feelings for Andy by admitting that I was not easily impressed, but that he constantly surpassed my expectations. He ain't no average Joe, ya know; and neither is the food that goes in my mouth (if you know what I mean).

Andy, too, knows I love to critique which is why he got me a subscription to bon appetit magazine for my birthday. I wonder if he regrets buying this for me, because due to its pretentious nature, it's been some added fuel (calories, if you will) to my attempts at being a food snob.

Whenever I talk about restaurants or food to my co-workers here in Moscow (the town with 4.7 restaurants) I gracefully climb upon my high horse and talk down to them
as if they should wish to be me. However, a few days ago while in my own kitchen I found myself falling fast from that same horse as I charred nearly everything I touched--bacon, kaiser rolls, an artichoke, and a large pot and lid. Literally, the base of the pot warped from melting on the stove. Who does that? And tell me, how does the side of a Bosch mixer 4 inches away from said pot also melt?

What you may not understand, is that not every great chef is born with wearing an apron. Take Julia Child for example. I'm sure she melted a little metal in her early day, yet she could definitely hold her own in the kitchen. So I could have molten some arrow tips from a Costco pot. Big deal--it doesn't mean I don't have potential. All I'm saying is don't be surprised if you someday see me on Food Network bumping out Emeril for the primetime spot.

As for now, bring it, Julia.

Stevie Weavie

2009-04-28T21:22:00.000-07:00

I have a brother-in-law named Steve Payne. He's a dentist. He's chill. He swivels his hips like Elvis while singing Johnny Cash's Walk the Line. And he wears whatever Lyric buys for him. From the day they got married, Steve has never bought one item of clothing for himself. If you ever meet him and think, "Oh, Steve looks really cute in that outfit" you can be guaranteed that Lyric purchased it for him. He probably didn't even know he needed a new shirt until he saw it hanging in his closet with the tags still on. That's how their relationship is. And it works. Yeah, he's cool. And everybody knows it--including Andy.

The other day I wanted to pick out Andy's outfit for church, which we often do for each other. Without much consideration I carelessly tossed each tie out of the way as if to say, "This needs to go. This one needs to go. This one's U-G-L-Y" and so on until there were only a couple options left on the hanger. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I actually said those words out loud. Anyways. Poor Andy started getting a little defensive about his cherished ties, and with a little resentment and slightly more hostility he blurted out, "You just want me to be like Steve." (I would put an exclamation mark there, but it wasn't quite that dramatic; however, the period doesn't do it justice) It took a second for his statement to register in my brain, but less than a second for me to start busting up.

And Andy says I'm competitive.

Do me a favor. Next time you see Andy, tell him he looks cute in his outfit.

2009-04-26T17:19:00.000-07:00

Sorry there's not more pictures of Hilary she wouldn't let me photograph her. I wanted big HTML pics but they got cut off. Slick to see the whole pic.

Love Andy

Lessons from Costa Rica

2009-04-05T20:19:00.000-07:00

The scarlet macaw mates for life. They stick together, even through their differences. What the scarlet macaw is to the rain forest (the most beautiful birds ever) Hilary and I are to the glamorous town we live in. And just like me and hil, we ain't afraid to climb up in a tree and wrestle and squawk at each other.

Bloggy-Woggy

2009-01-18T15:41:00.000-08:00

I have a weak linguistic immune system. For example, on my mission there was this cool elder who stuttered a little bit. The cadence of his speech fascinated me and struck me as oddly beautiful. Then a few weeks later a shy woman told me, “Oh, you stutter like me too?” I had always been an awkward kid, but was never told that I had a stuttering problem.

Do you recognize any of these as actual words?

Nap-a-rewski

Oh-Boo-yah

Then there’s the Rhymey-wymey agglutination:

Lunchy-wunchy

Cutesy-wutesy

Money-woney

Guacky-Wocky-Mole (our favorite food)

Hungy-gunk, Snack-a-roni, delish!, t-die-4! freakincute,warmsies, din-din, etc.

I don’t either, but still I say them almost every day. These all come from the American English dialect of Hilarese, what linguistic pathologists might call a “contagious language.” Is what the funny thing is, is that Hilary seems to have some control of her language, only talky-walking to me on that silly willy way, but once I pick it up I can’t put it down. And it’s a tar baby—the more I analyze and criticize this methoderewski of talking, the more it sticks.

III

One of these days I’m gonna go to a pizza place and say, “What do you recommend? Is it t-die-4? Okie-dokie. Can I get a large with pepperonicitos and some delish cheesy wheezy?” Or, if I ever pass law school, I’ll be in open court against Perry Mason on a capital case and say, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury-rino, is what you must know is that the defendant must be found guilty of the crimey-poo beyond a reasonable doubtsy-woutsy.” That’s a malpractice suitsy-wuitsy waiting to happen.

I've always said I wanna be just like Hilary. If talkin like a weirdo is the price I have to pay to pick up on her other qualities, I'm willing to pay that pricerino.

Leg Wrestling

2008-12-11T14:12:00.000-08:00

There's no good pictures on google images of leg wrestling, but this^ is pretty awesome.

Ok, Before Hilary gets on here and starts boasting her brains out, I wanted to get the story straight on the leg wrestling match.

If you don't know Hilary, you don't truly understand the meaning of the word competitive.

- Last night she yelled at sweet Emily Hinchey for having a poinsetta pot that was "way cuter" than our poinsetta's pot. (Hot Shopping Tips on our blog: Cute pots at CRoss Dress For Less). Don't worry, Hilary, our nativity set is like 8 times larger, and our little snow man creatures DOMINATE their minnie and mickey mouse wedding Christmas ornaments.
- "Is there anything you can do better than me?"
- "I bet you I can chug this water faster than you" I admit she is a champion water chugger--in fact that was one of the things that sealed the deal. LDS pun intended.

So, after ensuring safe landing areas, 8 minutes of trash talking, and one unsportsmanlike fart in the face (Hilary's fart, my face) just before we began--which totally threw me off my game and probably gave me an asthma attack and should have been a 15-yard penalty, aside from the fact that ham hock and beans is probably an ILWF (International Leg Wrestling Federation) DOPING VIOLATION, then a ten-minute odor abatement period--we started the wrassle.

So she won Round 1 out of three by not flipping me over but by twisting me to the side.
Round 2: my legasaurus totally flipped her over her head. I'm surprised she isn't wearing a neck brace today. I'll admit, she's a tough girl. But I won't admit that her legs are stronger than mine.
Round 3: she won in the same inconclusive way as in the first--in a manner suggestive that she was manually supporting herself on the side against the wall or the counter.

She won't rematch, not for eternity. I say I'm entitled.

I want Holyfield! You seen what these guns can do in Desert Storm, I'll show you what they can do in the ring! Caesar's Palace, Atlantic City!

Please blog your support for the rematch.

P.S. Do not point out the irony that I allege she is the competitive one. I am not doing this so I can win. I am merely a humble seeker of keeping leg wrestling pure in justice and fair play.

Da Bears.

2008-11-18T21:48:00.000-08:00

I coach the Moscow High School JV basketball team. We got beat tonight by 65 points by a team with only seven players. I thought teams only lost by that much in heartwarming Disney inspirational movies. The difference between my team and the Disney team, however, is that my team most assuredly will not win the championship at the end of the season like they do in the movies.

Thankfully there's a new rule in Idaho basketball this year--the Mercy Rule. If a team is down by 30-points in the fourth quarter, the game is played with a running clock. That rule has taken effect twice in two games now. And considering we were down by 30 points in the second quarter, I begged the ref to start the running clock right after halftime tonight but he didn't oblige.

The Varsity played after us and got beat by 30, which, by the way, by Moscow Girls' Basketball standards, is not a blowout.

Go Bears!

PG-13

2008-11-09T16:25:00.000-08:00

Have you ever known somebody that you thought you knew fairly well, but then they showed up to a Halloween party toting a carved pumpkin that made you question whether or not you really did know them in the first place? This carved pumpkin busted everybody up and would have made my dad (and now Andy too) say, "That's not nice."

That comment may well be said of Andy's first Halloween costume. In case it's not guessable, he's a Piece of Crap (he even had Tootsie Rolls to offer--which inspired his other costume). Notice that for our second Halloween party (the church one), all Andy changed were his accessories.
A couple weeks ago, Andy and I had a getaway to Coeur d'Alene. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. On the drive home, Andy asked me three random questions.

1. When the Hoover Dam is holding back as much water as it possibly can, how many more drops of water will it take before the entire thing breaks?
2. If you fill up a water balloon to its recommended max, how many more drops of water do you think it will hold before it bursts?
3. You know how you can fill a glass of water so full that the water is above the rim of the glass? How much more water can that glass really hold?

He asked these questions in quick succession and I had no idea where he was going with this. Immediately he started whining that he had to use the bathroom sooooo bad. I think maybe his eyes were even watering. He pulled over and ran into the woods to release some tainted water. He got back to the car and said, "Man, I'm lucky I didn't get hurt in there. I saw a huge albino python spitting all over the place" (how's that for phallic symbol, Katie?).

That's not nice.

Flaming liberal

2008-10-31T14:39:00.000-07:00

I got a political season forwarded email from my brother today and it got me a-thinking. The email made a great argumentative analogy using the folk wisdom (which I am all about) of the Aesop fable the Ant and the Grasshopper. The liberal "spread the wealth" philosophy was criticized as punishing the industrious and and rewarding the lazy grasshopper in our society.

I remembered Hilary and I (My views do not represent hers) had recently watched this cartoon from my youth back in the late 1900s:

Watch it--It's good. Note the ending, which departs from the age-old Aesop's fable's usual ending where the lazy grasshopper is kicked out into the winter (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ant_and_the_Grasshopper). I think the Disney happy ending represents well one of the main rationales behind the bleeding heart liberal plan to help poor people: maybe if we give them a hand up now, they can contribute to society a little later on. Consider for example a student grant (or subsidized loan, like the ones I have used). Hopefully the students using them will be able to pay back by contributing to society (and to the tax base that can subsidize others who want to get an education or stay out of the almost inescapable hole of poverty). This, of course, is an easy example to base my argument on. Other welfare programs, though more fraught with abuse and loopholes, use this as a supporting rationale.

You all know me and how I love to debate. By no means do I want to create a spirit of contention. Nor do I mean to make an overt liberal argument--just a rumination. Thank goodness for the grasshopper that he could fiddle. There are lots of people who can't give back in any way and can't play any sort of figurative fiddle for society, that's for sure. Are we still motivated to help them if they're helpless? Then there are lots of people (but not all) who won't end up giving back because they're lazy. How do we distinguish between them? It's not easy to draw that line. The government tries to, believe it or not. And much of this trying, ironically, is thanks to Bill Clinton's welfare reform. There are definitely other ways to interpret the grasshopper cartoon--the tobacco product placement model--the insects are people too, and should not be eaten view--and the "I can find secret phallic symbols in any Disney cartoon" approach.

Andy Jorgensen

If only there were blue leaves too.

2008-10-23T14:23:00.000-07:00

I know it's no Louisville,
Lex, but ya still gotta love 'em.
Ain't thousands of tress here
More like ten of 'em.

Leaf colors were stolen
From all over the rainbow.
'Cept for turquoise and pink--
We saw none of those.

Or navy or midnight
Or aquamarine.
Simply red, orange, and yellow
Is all that we seen.

But don't get me wrong.
I ain't a'whinin'.
It ain't the tree's fault;
It's for no lack a' tryin'.

They desperately tried
All them colors to catch.
Blue just took off
Before it was snatched.

Pink was too fast.
Must'a had somewhere to go.
But all them other colors
Were just too darned slow.

But lucky for us.
'Cause, all we'd be seein'
Over and over
Is green after gre-en.

Relish it now
Even if there's no blue.
'Cause red, orange, and yellow
Will soon have better things to do.

Polsih my boots, peon.

2008-10-12T18:26:00.000-07:00

"East meets West" was the name of the benefit dinner and auction we volunteered at last night. People were encouraged to dress up in Asian or cowboy western attire. Although I was tempted to paint my face white and go as a geisha girl, I reverted to my I-don't-so-much-really-like-dressing-up ways and just slipped on my Harley Davidson boots. Andy conveniently has a small plethora of western wear, including his $5 bargain boots. Nothing says "Hey, everybody. Look at me" like a 6'7" white boy in camel colored cowboy boots, a belt buckle and a flannel shirt.

We were gonna get a picture with this guy sporting a kimono, but we thought he might Jackie Chan us, hence the solo couple.And all I can say right now, being 3 months pregnant (not quite, actually), is thank goodness for stretch denim. Trust me, I realize my thighs and booty are ginormous. I really should learn how to pose so I accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative.

Andy suggested we create a cowboy boots club. He accepted the nomination to be president (mostly because his boots could totally kick my boots' butt), and announced that his first order of business as president was to make me polish his boots. The club was dissolved right then and there.

Ham-Burgahz!

2008-10-05T21:12:00.000-07:00

What's the best hamburger out there?

These are the criteria, in order of importance:
Overall Flavor
Value (Price combined with how satisfying it is Satisfying=emotional and hunger satisfaction)
Culinary Harmonious Ingredient Combinations
Digestibility
Service and availability (hours, locations) of the restaurant that serves it

I have eaten many a burger in my day. So I got CRED!
I would say that with these criteria, Jack in the Box's Jumbo Jack gets the gold medal.

Keepin' Busy

2008-10-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

If you have never been to Moscow, Idaho before, let me paint a picture. Imagine golden, rolling wheat fields as far as the eye can see. Image a beautiful college campus smack dab in the middle of those same fields. Then image a town where the best shopping is at Ross Dress for Less and the most exciting part of the week is the Farmer's Market on Saturdays. Needless to say, creativity is invented here in Moscow, Idaho.

To keep busy, here's a few things we've done. Andy rocked the fishes world on the St. Joe River; I got my world rocked on the UofI field playing powder puff football; and I'm giving the whole homemade bread thing a whirl. I optimistically signed up a month ago to bring two loaves of homemade bread to a luncheon. Now that I've finally made them, I'm having a hard time cutting the apron strings, if you know what I mean. I can't believe my mom makes bread all the time and never hesitates giving them away. I gotta admit, I'm coveting my loaves.

Speaking of buns in the oven . . . Andy and I are gonna have a little one running around pretty soon. And by "little" I mean young, because anyone who knows the both of us knows that if anyone's kids are gonna be little they ain't gonna be ours.

2008-09-24T21:55:00.000-07:00

Sportfishing Perilous Adventure for Pirate

First-Hand Account By Captain Andrew Violet Voltaire

Ahoy thar, Matey! I see ye be readin’ me blog. Mayhaps ye be lookin’ to hear a yarn o’ the adventurous ilk. What ho—I espy a calm driftin' in from the nor'-nor'-east— lift the skin up, and put into the bunt the slack of the clews (not too taut, me tars), an' lay-to as I sate yer ‘unger for such a tale whilest I search me recollection’s vaults and hearken ye back to yore, of the high seas of the Pacifica, where nary an armada claims dominion on account of the vastness of the briny blue, and the squalls compare to what ye lan’lubbers give the name mountains. Twas biological—the treasure we sought—The Marlin, named as it were for its similitude to the marlinspike, a most missile-like billfish, with a temperament to match, this Makaira indica. Known to grow to 18 feet, this largest bony fish, an’ known to lay waste to any crew o’ swabbies that knowest not ‘ow to keep their ‘loof in the swells o’ danger.

I, Captain Violet “Andy” Voltaire have steered me crew aboard the Lightin Eel o Hades and swashed an’ buckled in many seas a’fishing, from the Caribbean across the whale-road to the gulf of Juneau to the sandbars of Cape Fear and up the unruly rivers of Idaho, but me buccaneer eyes never laid eyes on such a Istiophorus as the black marlin o Haw-igh.

Unlike most buccaneer quests, which ye shan't witness beginnin ere Apollo's orb reaches apex o' noon, the marlin pursuit commenced before the sun’s rays shone.

The ocean would grow fierce that day with seawaves grand and many a squall splashing up to yonder crow’s nest, as we were soaked in salty swells, starboard to port, prow to stern, from the fore mast to the mizzenmast, spankersail to jib to fore royal an' back, meanwhilest I thought meself consigned to Davey Jones’s locker. After that mighty wave crashed upon me eyes, I saw clear an’ dampened the pipes an’ roused the layabouts from the poop deck and the urinals, an’ as they hoisted twixt two sheets, me stomach festered. Havin’ taken a matrimonial sabbatical from the honorable life o’ pirating, on the beach an’ golf resorts o’ Haw-igh, me sea legs, I confess, had run a jibber an’ gone all a flibber. Me vomittin’ was such as to put the towerin’ volcanoes o’ Haw-igh t’ shame. But, say I, Arrrhh! Insult me not, lest ye desire yer ears lanced from yer very heads an' parboiled before yer eyes. I’m still seventy times seven the searfarier and buccaneer as any of ye blackguard knaves and scurvy-waggs.

And ahoy! Soon as me barfin were through, the battles of sportfishing were nigh to inauguration. Mark my words, as a pirate ‘oo has seen many a rising and setting of the pearly orb that lights our nights—When the seas are highest an’ the crew be near to mut’ny, then it is that the crafty and mighty marlin strikes.

And strike she did, like a thundering bolt with a bill, irresistible as me enticement lure were, bobbin and draggin aft of the Lightnin Eel. We were what ye landlubbers call trawlin, but what among pirates is called the DOTS: Draggin Of the Traitorous Scab, which is akin as well to your waterskiing, ‘cept sans the accoutrements ye call skis; and the dragg-ed, traitorous scab shark bait frets not over his SPF and gets no priv’lidge to be drinkin’ Pepsi afterwarrrd. Follow ye yet me yarn, whilest I wax and wane poetic in the ’nalogy? Mostly trawlin-for-sharks-with-human-bait be a thing o’ serious labour punishment o’ the capital ilk, and not a past-time for a holy-day such as me newly wedded and me took. Tho’ it is true that pirates do their executionin’ with quite a bit o sport.

Immediately I was at the stern, with the lee-lab spankin’ and me canny crew aside me as I heaved and hoed upon the sportfish rod. Shiver my timbers what a mighty fish she was, and worthy opponent, with more stratagem and swiftness than the Armada EspaÑa!

The marlin dove deep, hell bent on escortin’ me to Davey Jones’s locker. Then lusty crew hoisted 'twixt two sheets and the Lightnin Eel lunged to port, compensating for the mighty tug of the beast, an' positioning me for to better reel, in this human versus Ichthyosaurus tug-o-warrr we call fishing. Perhaps these Marlin beasts call it human-ing, and many a taxidermied homo Sapiens rests glassy-eyed above a marlin mantle? What ho, ye dubious! But Captain Andy Voltaire would never perish in aforementioned fashion! Captain Voltaire bests not always his foes, but never has he been captured at the high sea. Without even the aid of fastenin’ my person to the mizzenmast, for fulcrum and for leverage, Yours Truly Captain Voltaire Peerless Pirate of Pacifca, reeled and tugged I at the wicked Marlin in such a fierce battle the likes of which those waters had not seen since Captain Cook’s thwarted attempt at abducting Kalaniopu'u, king of Haw-igh, in his penultimate battle at Kealakekua Bay (a fine place to meet yer demise, or to snorkel, me tars). Arr! Shiver my timbers, back we turn the tale to the struggle at hand and at fin. Akin to weighin anchor by me onesy, difficult this whale-wrestle was. This is a fitting and felicitous metaphor I made, but ‘cept neither back nor forth swims the heavy anchor, nor does it ram the stern as our lusty marlin did. And what a sharp dagger the fiend fish wielded! Nearly as cutting as the swash of me cutlass was the bill of aforementioned unruly marlin, second sharpest and quickest blade ye’ll find from Johannesburg to Christchurch, from Panama to Gibraltar.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Elk Creek Falls

2008-09-07T21:41:00.001-07:00

Hilary liked the lower one the best. There were dozens of little red crayfish, if you're in Latah county and you need to go crawdaddin'

We like Moscow so far. At least I do, and Hilary says she does. But she misses her family and sisters. She misses you this much.

I ride my bike to school in 10 minutes and Hilary is to work (in car or on bike, don't matter) in 5 min.

We are meeting some cool cats in our ward, and we just got ward activities chairpersons callings.

Picked bucketsablackberries last sunday and there's a great road biking path from Pullman to Troy (25 miles of black powder)

Hilary has our house looking classy and with a little pizzaz, but not too "funked up" yet, as she would say. Sometimes the bathroom is kinda funky if you ask me, but our rental duplex has a pretty good fan.

Har har!

Here's the hills SE of Moscow:

We do it ISLAND STYLE

2008-09-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

From the mountains to the ocean, from the windward to the leeward side

Hilary and I rocked Hawaii's world. We spent an awesome week on the Big Island, and a few days on Oahu. Mauna Lani, the Kohala Coast resort with the condo we stayed at, was superb. It was a golfer's paradise, and not too shabby for non-golfers like me.

Here's an list, in the order that they occur to me:
+ Snorkled in the bay (Kakeukalau'ihawie'wainanu if I remember right) where Captain Cook met his death. Some crazy and colorful dolphins showed up at sunset and started showing off.
+ Tried to body surf on the black sand beach at Waipio.
+ Drove the rental jeep through a river in Waipio Valley and swung on the rope into the splash.
+ Ate fruit
+ Saw the volcano and hiked in the national park!
+ Snorkeled with a sea turtle
+ Almost made it to Jamie and Terrance King's wedding
+ Missed a flight
+ Slept in
+ More off-roading
+ Hilo, Kona, Pololu Valley hikes
+ Watched windsurfers and kite surfers in Oahu near Kailua
+ I went deep sea fishing and deep sea barfing. I caught a 165 lb. Marlin. Eat your heart out, Santiago! Alas, Hilary wouldn't let me taxidermy it and hang it on the mantle. Why not, honey? As Lyric Payne would say, sometimes my wife is such a stick in the mud
+ Got sunburns
+ Midnight swimming in the fancy pool at out condo
+ shopping in Honolulu

+The Pololu Valley
+ Started my own fire rubbing sticks at the Polynesian Cultural Center
+ Went to the Laiae temple, and saw the Kona temple
+ Hiking through Sugar Cane
+ Tour of the WWII submarine

It was real real neat.

Mr. And Mrs. Jorgensen from Moscow #1

2008-08-24T14:46:00.000-07:00

This will be the hey-friends-and-family-look-at-us digital scrapbook aka “blob” or “webblob” for Hilary and me. We’ll both be writing, I suppose. My writing will be distinguished by my great proficiency and hers by her character and adventurous spirit, which will shine forth from the prose like the city on the Hil that cannot be hid.

Puns are always intentional with me.

For those of you not familiar with my writing, I tend to follow my fancy, which means that I ramble on. I can write concisely if I want to, but in blogging I generally don’t. Ye are forewarned.

Hilary is great. Everyone would be so lucky to just get to know her, and I get to share a bathroom sink with her! I think you know what I mean. Lately she has been cookin up lots of great chow rations for this army of one.

I have been impressed and grateful and bien satisfecho:

- Grilled Egg Salad sandwiches with avocado. (After Church)

- Linguine with shrimp scampi and sautéed red peppers and yellow squash

- Spinach salad with short grain brown rice with grilled salmon fillet

- Gigantic trifle with chocolate pudding, whip cream, devil’s food cake and toffee bar (took me three days to finish it off)

-Fresh peach pie

-blackberry ice cream

-lasagna

All with a great degree of difficulty score and bonus presentation points. She’s pretty amazing. This is all just in the past few days. I’ve always wondered what fat Andrew Jorgensen would look like. We’ll all meet him soon. J

Moscow is lovely. Weather, traffic, road bike trail, campus.

I'll be posting more about our Hawaii pirate vacation when I get my CD rom to work. In the meantime, here's a wedding photo.

With Time-elapsed lots of food technology:

Blurry perspective adds magic, hot air balloons

2007-09-11T22:21:00.000-07:00

Good glasses didn’t exist until the beginning of the twentieth century, with advances in glass grinding and the official licensure of optometry as a profession. The practice wouldn’t have worked earlier than that anyway, because the magazine industry hadn’t been around long enough to keep waiting rooms stocked with three-year old issues of Redbook.

It was a much more magical world before optometry. In medieval times, dragons flew in the sky, fairies frolicked and horrible teeth weren’t a turn-off. Longing for those magical times, I decided to take a naked-eye jog the other day. But nothing perverse happened, not that I saw anyway.

I’d barely got an iPod when I decided to go for this iJog, without wearing glasses or contact lenses, relying only on my keen sense of smell to guide and protect me in my eye-fog. Indeed it was a magical experience, much like in the days of yore. Instead of the usual yipping Chihuahuas, little white bunnies and red-haired leprechauns ran up to dance with and serenade me (That’s what it looked like; all I could hear in my shiny new white earbuds was Sheena Easton’s “My Baby Takes the Morning Train!”).

Near a park, instead of Honda Civics and minivans I saw four Ferraris racing. Oh, if I were nine years old again! But it was good that I wasn’t because this sight would have sent me into ecstatic spasms from which I’d never recover. Stop signs and traffic were not the annoyance that they usually are. I saw a truck hauling a real-life Idaho potato as big as a pre-fabricated swimming pool, a hungry wolf that thankfully stood perfectly still as I ran by, several supermodels, a hot air balloon behind a tree, several Chilean flags, and a couple of unicorns (one black and one white) where a Holstein cow used to graze. I didn’t know I lived in such an interesting neighborhood.

It reminded me of when I first got glasses at age 17. A lot of magic disappeared from my life, and the world got uglier that day. I was much more handsome before glasses, but it wasn’t that the frames looked geeky on my face. It was that I could actually see my face, instead of the usual creamy blur in the mirror. Pimples theretofore weren’t really noticeable, but now I knew all of mine as individuals with their own sassy personalities. Moles had instantly sprouted thick dark hairs. Dust and lint was everywhere in the world of wearing glasses. Quarters became nickels. Suddenly all the cars got scratched and dented. Even the cheerleaders, who always looked dream-like and airbrushed before my glasses, were now slovenly, clumps of mascara blotted their eyelashes.

But glasses are important to teen life and culture. Glasses are the teen movie makers’ best prop. How else would one indicate that a girl, geek or librarian, whom everyone used to overlook, had instantaneously become hot, if not by having her yank the eyeglasses off? This doesn’t work for guys like me. I tried it. I even took my hair out of is bun and shook my head glamorously. Nothing happened. Maybe I needed a better soundtrack.

Someday we might not see glasses anymore. I hope it’s because we decided to go back to blurry and magical and not because of Lasik surgery. If I have to stop wearing glasses, I’ll still be reaching for them to push them back onto my face occasionally, an affectionate habit I find myself doing when wearing contacts. If I ever let them laser my eyeballs, I’ll have to get a little button installed on my nose between my eyes, something to push so that it looks like I’m doing something useful as I habitually reach for my phantom frames. I hope the button makes magical stuff appear, maybe a hot librarian leprechaun riding on a unicorn.

As Benjamin Franklin, inventor of the flexible urinary catheter once said, “I’ll see it when I believe it.” And if you don’t believe me about the enormous potato, I’ll send you a postcard that proves it.

About the Wolves of Yesteryear

2007-08-29T22:17:00.000-07:00

[I wrote this last year when it was timely. Now it's all about gay senators in the Idaho Statesman. Reading it so much later sounds stupid, but I do love the animal-walks-into-a-bar formula.]

A wolf walks into a bar somewhere in Idaho. Bartender says, “We already got a hundred of yous guys, and since you came around, all the elk have been makin themselves scarce. Some customers are complainin.”

“Who?” says the wolf.

“The otter,” bartender says. “He’s the one who says you ought to leave.”

“Oughta?”

“Otter.”

“Yeah, but who says I . . . oughta?”

“Yeah, that’s the one, Otter”

“I got that part. But who’s this guy saying I oughta take off?”

“Yeah. You know the otter. Swims in the rivers.”

“Rivers. Yeah. Those damn rivers.”

“You’re right. We ought to dam the river. More irrigation and hydroelectricity.”

“We oughta? Says who?”

“B. Otter”

“Yeah, I heard we oughta, but who says so?”

The Risks

There are pros and cons to having wolves in our state. Some of the drawbacks include elk herd depletion, human endangerment, and worst of all, wolves at large impersonating others. Wolves impersonating sheep, wolves impersonating your grandma, wolves impersonating celebrities and politicians on the Tonight Show: not so funny.

But the solutions are relatively simple. By letting the wolves eat just the fugitive genetically inferior ranch elk we can kill two birds with one hand in the bush. And we can always spot the phony grandparents by what big eyes and what big teeth they have, and, face it, even listening to a wolf’s ideas on TV is better than Jay Leno doing another Paris in jail joke.

Werewolves Got Mad Ball Skills

We know about the minuses, but many fail to recognize the potential benefits of wolves in our community. Remember that in Teen Wolf, Michael J. Fox was only capable of winning the city championship basketball game when his werewolf powers were enabled. And we all know that the Boise State Broncos men’s hoops team could have used a little more figurative “chest hair” last season. A healthy breeding population of Canis lupus nearby and a nice full moon quadruples the likeliness of the varsity-level cross-mutant species Canis sapiens. Somebody queue up the Kenny Loggins at the Taco Bell Arena.

Woolf: the New Cashmere

Many advances in pharmacology and chemistry have come from efforts to preserve and explore our earth’s assets in rain forests. Natural resources aren’t just valuable because they look pretty. Byproducts and renewable organisms can often be used for scientific, commercial, personal hygiene, and fashion progress, such as in cures for warts or the potent pheromone perfumes that many of us rely on. Idaho’s wolves could be shorn, or, alternatively, their dander could be collected with rakes to be spun into a designer, patented fabric. This “Woolf” could be made into beautiful sweaters and accessories. Imagine Paris Hilton, emerging from the courtroom or a club, sporting a chic Woolf gown, coat, and handbag made in Idaho. That’s hot!

Other wolf products are also hot. Sprinkle wolf urine around the perimeter of your yard to keep the neighbor’s lab from leaving you her brown treats on the lawn. Idaho wolf howling could be recorded and mixed into an outstanding album for the nature sounds CD industry previously dominated by waterfalls, forest birds and crackling fires.

Howling for Kitsch

The wilderness souvenir industry is vital to Idaho’s (and China’s) economy. As the wolf population thrives, so do sales of black truck stop t-shirts with a silhouetted wolf howling at the forest moon. And every person that comes into an Idaho truck stop or vacation destination gift store to buy a famous Idaho wolf tee is highly likely to also spend big on polished rocks, dreamcatcher key chains, gem state shot glasses, and postcards with pictures of a trout so gigantic it has to be strapped to a quarter horse.

Better Natural Selections at the Butcher

Don’t we realize that wolves are helping us by weeding out the weakest and most inferior cuts of meat? With the wolf selection process, only the healthiest, most agile, most evasive, and most delicious livestock will survive. I noticed that my Easter lamb chop last year was the tastiest I’ve ever had. Last year also hosted the highest North American wolf population in a century. Coincidence? I think not, and Charles Darwin agrees.

A New Century of Functionalities

2007-08-20T22:47:00.001-07:00

iPhone still has "a ways to go" to be the Wal-Mart of electronics!

Recent multi-function gadgets like the iPhone and the alarm clock radio are merely okay, if you ask me. American innovation could break some real geek-ground with my suggested and hereby fully copyrighted “functionality maximizations”:

The iBall

You’ve heard of the camera phone and the mp3 phone and now the iPhone. You want one. But, whoa them digital horses before stampeding out to wrangle up a gadget that will be obsolete as soon as the teenage asst. mgr. at Best Buy sweet talks you! For all we know, Apple might soon proudly release the next advancement in Multiplatform Functionality, the iBall. This is what I’d imagine.

In addition to phone, video, web browser, Windows Vista, camera, and mp3 player features, the iBall has a laser with three functionalities: pointer, teeth whitener, and hair and wart remover (on the 470 model, $400). With an upgrade, iBall also comes equipped with a mirror, electric shaver, contact lens storage kit, stopwatch, paperweight and smallmouth bass fishing lure (on the 480 model, $500). The iBall also comes standard-equipped with a round functionality, so that when you engage its fuzzy green absorbent cover (sold separately), Rover can join you in a game of fetch.

The iBall resolves another of the iPod and iPhone’s deficiencies. What if you’re in a pinch one day and you have to use your iPod or iPhone to run a nuclear facility or life support system? You’re out of luck. The following is taken verbatim from the software licensing agreement which we all electronically “sign” by checking a digital box after not reading it (Shame on you, informed consumer!):

THE iPOD SOFTWARE AND iPOD SOFTWARE UPDATES ARE NOT INTENDED FOR USE IN THE OPERATION OF NUCLEAR FACILITIES, AIRCRAFT NAVIGATION OR COMMUNICATION SYSTEMS, AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL SYSTEMS, LIFE SUPPORT MACHINES OR OTHER EQUIPMENT IN WHICH THE FAILURE OF THE iPOD SOFTWARE COULD LEAD TO DEATH, PERSONAL INJURY, OR SEVERE PHYSICAL OR ENVIRONMENTAL DAMAGE.

Lawyers are funny like that. But take heart, technophiles! The iBall has aircraft navigation, life support and nuclear facility operation functionalities (on the 490 model, $583).

Triple-TV Fridge

The appliance juggernaut LG doesn’t make only cell phones to zap your gonads with carcinogenic rays. They also make microwave ovens for that, and they have a new TV fridge. Actually, it’s been around for more than a year, but it hasn’t really caught on. The refrigerator with a built in 13.1” LCD television is the first ever such model, advertisers announce. And we all knew it was just a matter of time before this necessity appeared. A built-in weather center, more quality family time in the kitchen, and better advertisements than those free Bail Bonds magnets that come glued to the phone book are other appeals of the fridge. It retails for about $3000.

But the problem with the LG “Lunch Time Dinner Time Prime Time” GR-G267ATBA model is, sadly, not enough functionalities. This is the 21^st Century, after all. Though self sufficiency and home ownership have always been components of the American Dream, what has the dream come to if we can’t watch “Dancing with the Stars” while grabbing a yogurt?

You see, the TV is on the refrigerator door, so that anyone opening the fridge door won’t be able to reach things inside and see the picture at the same time. This is a serious failure of engineering and design. It’s not like I’m the kind of person with so much extra cash that I could hire a butler to grab my yogurts when I’m watching the finalist episode.

It’s obvious that LG ought to make another model with a TV screen on the freezer side too, so that when we open the door for the milk, our kids don’t have to take their eyes off of “Dora the Explorer.” LG engineers can work on a patent for that after they’re done inventing my prototype mp3 player/blender. Because Life’s Not Good until I’m making a smoothie and jamming to Maroon 5 with the same appliance.

QSR Convenience Superstore

In the functionality industry, QSR stands for Quick Service Restaurant. But a cheap taco/Shell was just the beginning. Wrap your mind around this: Fill up the tank, buy a quart of oil, order a small bin of chicken in delicious mechanically-separated bite-sized form, buy a yard of fabric and grab a few clearance Steven Segal DVDs all in one stop. And while you wait for your nuggets to deep fry, why not get a haircut? One stop shopping, in one convenient little gas station. Add a pet shop, a row or two of sporting goods, and an area for plywood furniture. Expand the traditional sweatpants and dairy sections, install a pharmacy window, offer shopping carts in case your shopper wants to conveniently buy a little bit of everything, and to compensate for the audacious spacious ambiance not usually associated with old-fashioned little gas station restaurants, have people greet customers at the door. Then buy direct from the manufacturer at prices that you set and pass the savings on to customers. Brace yourselves for the functionality revolution.

Ten Things You Can Do To Save The Cola Bears

2007-08-16T14:38:00.000-07:00

Polar bears are vicious man-eaters. And they lovably promote Coca Cola during the holiday season. Many have heard that these magnificent spokesanimals are needlessly and heart-wrenchingly drowning in the Artic Ocean because of melted sea ice.

Some groups are selling carbon credits, which means that if you pay them, they will have some tree not cut down in your name. This is a brilliant business model, and I’m in. Anyone who wants some carbon credits, send me a few hundred dollars, and there’s a couple of trees in my landlord’s backyard that I promise to not cut down for you. Then you can guiltlessly leave yout Pontiac idling in the driveway with the A/C on all week.

But still unanswered is the question, what are carbon emissions? Carbon emissions come about whenever people do stuff and when other things happen, including burping, volcanoes, and those charcoal balloon fights that tend to escalate during so many backyard barbecues. This leads to the question, why is this writer bafflingly ambivalent toward Polar bears? Because, the only thing worse than Polar bears are Polar bears with sunburns. They’re even more ornery. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the scars.

But what can I do? A lot of people ask me, as they shrug their shoulders, which movement relies on an oxidation-reduction reaction that produces a little carbon dioxide. How can I help? They say with tears in their eyes, which are made mostly of water and sodium and chloride ions in solution with other molecules undoubtedly containing some carbon.

Here are some specific tips to curb your own carbon emissions:

1. Stop breathing. It’s one of the more radical reduction strategies, but thousands of people do it every day. You may also try holding your breath periodically, in private please.

2. Turn your 1971 Chevelle SuperSport into the world’s biggest Chia Pet.

3. If you must drive, drive downhill. Instead of taking the family in the Suburban to Stanley or the Teton Valley for the weekend, how about coasting the SUV down to Death Valley instead?

4. Only patronize salons that use solar-powered tanning beds.

5. Learn to photosynthesize. It’s a process that has to be learned in phases. Start by wearing lots of green, spread your arms out more often and turn toward the south. Drink lots of water. This isn’t for everyone and requires a high level of concentration on the cellular level. An effective alternative for the chlorophyll-challenged is to cover yourself with green algae.

6. If you have any extra carbon running around in the house or backyard, do not let it out into the atmosphere unless it is properly leashed.

7. Support Renewable and Clean Wolf Energy. Ecologists are now harnessing Idaho’s newfound wolf power with great big hamster wheels! By putting one gray wolf on a treadmill hooked up to a turbine, we can generate 1.21 jigawatts of electricity per wolf wheel. We keep the wolves fueled with all-natural cattle and sheep, two of our state’s most nefarious and delicious sources of environmental degradation, thereby throwing the stone around the beaten bird bush only once. This is also exactly enough electricity to send Christopher Lloyd back to the 1980s (before it was too late) in the De Lorean to shoot some commercials to remind you folks to…

8. Stop shaving your legs. I don’t know what it has to do with global warming, but there has to be something to it, the way it’s catching on among the greens. I know that Al Gore doesn’t shave his anymore.

9. Number nine wasn’t that funny but rest assured that it will be recycled.

10. Stop your subscription to this newspaper. Not only do newspapers have to slaughter millions of trees, but the carbon emissions of ink, printing presses, delivery trucks, and chubby sportswriters who ate a couple chili dogs at the game are unjustifiable. Newsprint is also responsible for 80% of fly and spider killings, and 92% of all desperation birthday gift wrapping.

Mormon for president raises many, many questions

2007-08-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

Can a Mormon be President of the United States of America? This has been a thrilling topic in the media for the last few months as Willard “Catcher’s” Mitt Romney runs for the Republican presidential nomination. American journalists have been asking such intriguing questions as, is your Mormonism close enough to the values and faith of so many mainstream Christians? And, what’s with your underwear?

These are not the questions you need to be asking a Mormon candidate. I know a little about the Mormen, and below are some of the questions we need to come together as journalists and ask. It will take some time for discussion and listening, and afterwards somebody has to be assigned to bring the refreshments (Costco cookies and punch from a powder mix) to nourish and strengthen us in the gym before we all, God willing, travel home in safety.

The first question is not which of his wives will be first lady, but will she try to feed the Queen of England funeral potatoes? These are shaved tubers in mayonnaise and cream of mushroom soup with corn flakes and cheddar on top. Will she follow this with a second course of jell-o with all manner of vegetable shavings and fruit chunks suspended within? Romney says his kids are all grown up, but how do we know that a President and Mrs. Romney won’t be “moved upon by the Spirit” to have seven more?

And yes, we need to ask if we can withstand another scandal, another potential betrayal marring the integrity of the White House and cabinet. Do we want to read in the headlines how the president’s aides were apprehended sneaking a 12 pack of Diet Coke into the oval office? What if his daughter, “if” he ever has one, gets a second ear piercing?

Voters of the nation are going to need a complete report of his home teaching for the past 30 years. Did he neglect his duties? At the end of his visits, did he ever fail to make the obligatory hollow gesture of offering “anything he could do for us before he left”? The ability to ask this question could prove vital to our next president:

“Well, Iraq, that’s all we had to share for this visit. Is there anything we can do for you before we go? Okay then. Bye-bye.”

Will he start important speeches like a Mormon sacrament meeting talk? “When the senate called me last week and asked me to give this talk, I was like, oh no, I knew shouldn’t have answered the phone. Ha ha, just kidding … And so this morning as I was preparing this state of the union talk, I did some studying. Webster defines the economy as…” It would be nice, however, to hear the speech with silent reverence instead of all that applause every time he says something like “those who love freedom.” Or would we have to cheer to hear him testify “with every fiber of his being” that he knows that we’re making progress in the war on terror? Would there be toddlers running up and down shrieking on the senate floor?

Will he institute a draft to send all 19-year-old males to Atlanta or Mongolia with those white shirts and ties? If he does, congress will have to budget for bikes with shocks, especially for the young men called to serve in Afghanistan, where I hear it’s rather mountainous. Will he institute tax credits for everyone who buys a trampoline for their backyard? Or NEA grants for scrapbookers and wooden knick-knack makers? Then what, subsidies for the Suburban or the 12-passenger van?

Will he move our nation’s capital to Jackson County, Missouri? After doing some research, I find that this isn’t such a bad idea. It’s more centrally located, and according to the county website, has a “$1.5 million girl’s softball complex, featuring 7 lighted and irrigated softball fields, 2 concession buildings, 5 shelters and an 8 station batting cage.” The county also borders the Missouri River, which adds its own personality as a substitute for the tidal Potomac because according to Wikipedia, the Missouri “is muddy and smells.”

And the riverbank would be a nice place for Queen Elizabeth to enjoy some of Mitt’s Dutch oven cobbler.

Neb Punsweed, Gas station clerk

2007-08-14T17:04:00.000-07:00

Earl and I are making a screenplay about a lovable rural gas station clerk and his adventures. Tell me what are some of your most memorable gas station experiences?

Did you ever have a perfect stranger buy you a feather rose from the bin next to the rotating hot leather pouches stuffed with cholesterol and sodium they call polish sausages?

Stories about barf?

Methods of maximizing Slurpee volume?

Opening the door to the single-toilet bathroom to be surprised by an even more surprisingly chatty fellow?

Ultimate snack combinations (e.g. Ranch Corn Nuts with Diet Dr. Pepper)?

Any manner of gas station experience you share with me might be made into our blockbuster, and you will be compensated with a ticket to the premiere and some popcorn.

Land dream career with this job interview template

2007-08-14T16:50:00.000-07:00

No single job interview is the same as any other, but most human resource professionals look for the same basic compatibilities in choosing among dynamic candidates. The following questions are based on these business skill sets. And the following answers, though you might have to tailor them to your own work experience and personality by using hand gestures, can be given word-for-word at a job interview to assure your hire.

Q: What’s your biggest weakness?

A: Perfectionism. But it’s not the kind of perfectionism that inhibits me and makes me demand that the water cooler be chilled to exactly 42 degrees—which is, by the way, cold enough to refresh but not so cold that it bothers my sensitive teeth. Instead, mine is the kind of perfectionism that makes everything I do at work perfect.

Q: What’s your biggest strength?

A: My greatest strength is that I … Well, no, not that probably. I’d have to say that my greatest strength is… Looking back on my working experience—well, I have so many crucial… Um, let’s see. Yeah, um, I’d have to say my biggest strength is my decisiveness.

Q: Have you ever taken home office supplies that belonged to your employer?

A: No. I don’t steal.

Q: I mean, how much would you say the sum value of the supplies was: less than five dollars, less than 20, less than 50, around a hundred dollars or more?

A: Okay, okay—one time I left the office with a pen in my pocket, and little did I know it was made of platinum. It was a complete accident that I took it home. Then I lost it under the fridge. Outta sight, outta mind, you know. But little did I know, my company was very protective of their employees, and cared a lot about their personal lives.

They hired an expert firm to make sure all our phone calls were clear and that we got good rates from the phone company or something like that. One of their home surveillance cameras revealed that under my fridge had accidentally rolled $8,000 worth of ballpoint pens, $8,038 with the added value of the trademark Pewlet Hacker anagrams.

Q: What do you expect from us as your employer?

A: I expect my stapler to be filled to capacity with staples so that I don’t have to bring in any of my personal staples from home.

Q: It says here on your resume that you are a problem solver. Can you tell me of a situation where you solved a problem in the workplace?

A: One time I was starving. My stash of grahams was just crumbs and my quarters for the vending machine were depleted. So I went to the office fridge. There were a few odds and ends, but nothing to satisfy—a veggie hoagie, Mexican in a foam container that said “Devin” on it, some chow mein in a cardboard tub, an egg salad in a Tupperware, some alfalfa sprouts, and a pack of Kraft singles. Suddenly I had a stroke of problem-solving genius and realized that what I had before me were not separate snacks, but components for one big meal. Alone, not much, but together, one heck of a Dagwood Bumstead. I scraped the veggies off the hoagie roll and started stacking—gooey enchilada, sprouts, noodles, processed cheese, a scoop of egg salad, even a piece of fried chicken from the back (I took it off the bones). It was a tower of satisfaction.

Q: We have a culture here. It’s synergistic. It’s innovative. It’s definitely dynamic. It’s transparent and employee-oriented. We’re proud of it. Why do you think you’d fit in with our culture?

A: Because I’m a functionality-optimizing, groundbreaking, deal-closing, drawer-organizing, forward-thinking, ahead-moving, strength-leveraging, coffee-filtering, vertical-marketing, face-mailing, revenue-maximizing, nothing-but-the-best-brands-of-spearmint-gum-chewing, uber-blogging, search-engine-optimized, cost-minimizing, cats crying, babies crying, sky falling down like rolling thunder, charisma oozing all over the place, follow-upping idea hamster. I got lots more adjectives on my resume too.

The Wind Cave, Wyoming

2007-08-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

I crawled out of the windy canal and felt reborn. A group of Jackson Holers applauded our rebirth. Congratulations, it was fully-formed triplets, two of us with honking adam's apples, and our milk teeth already come and goners! I still got my wisdom teeth.

That's Kadee, Kyle's girlfriend. She's nice. One time when we were in Portland, somebutty (neologism copyrighted, Andrew Jorgensen, 2007) kicked over a potted flower in the plaza and while we all stood there looking at the jerk walk away, thinking about what a jerk he was, she went over and picked the flower up and put it back into its position in the little geometric formation. Let us be thankful for all the good people in the world it takes to make up for all the bastards.

Making millions from infomercials

2007-08-06T20:56:00.000-07:00

This is the true story of a real infomercial millionaire. Susan Successful leveraged her free time and her hyperactive salivary glands into a multi-hundred dollar envelope labeling and licking home business. That was just the beginning. Then she learned REAL ESTATE SECRETS. And now she eats guacamole all day in her condo overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. If you want to buy her time share from her, act now. Hurry! Write this number down before the paragraph ends: 1-800-TIMESH…

Let’s get the bandstands to gladrags success story from looking straight in at what comes from this gift horse’s mouth. Susan says:

“I was pitiful. My life was mostly just sitting at home, watching basic cable television during the forsaken midnight and dismal daytime hours with all the other unemployed, heartbroken insomniacs. I started by selling my extra gold jewelry I just had laying around under couch cushions and in dusty drawers and in my aunt Melba’s grave. I got my check and bought a computer and some computer-learning software from a nice elderly man with a moustache on TV. I started working in the home business industry, a multi-million dollar industry which does lots of stuff, some kind of stuff from home, for millions of dollars.

“I had a little extra cash from a government handout the guy with the question marks all over his suit told me about, and so I invested. What I invested in was my body. At that point I was working out 25 minutes a day on my ab-o-matic on which I had just made the fourth easy monthly payment. I was eating nothing but magic bullet wheat grass raspberry omelet smoothies. And my colon was completely cleansed, in a revolutionary way that the medical establishment doesn’t want you to know about. In short, thanks to infomercials, I was as fit as Chuck Norris and Tony Little’s love child (if they’d had one) who has been supplemented with all-natural Relacore and a steady regimen of Yoga Booty Ballet.

“One day I went in for an appointment at a sky scraper office when the elevators broke down. Stairs were no problem for me. But I bumped into a couple of men with extremely short legs, twins in expensive suits, struggling up the stairwells to their penthouse on the roof. So I snatched ‘em up like a late night TV opportunity and carried them up to the 63^rd floor, one li’l millionaire on each shoulder. I practically flew up those stairs, as if on the wings of Bowflex.

“When we got to the top, they took me to the swimming pool where a Ferrari and some palm trees were parked in the background. There, I bent down and they whispered in my ear the two Secrets of real estate and of being a millionaire. Number one, ‘Get the heck out of real estate and into the real estate trade secret infomercial business’ and two, ‘Get your book promoted by Oprah.’ I shook their stubby hands, and the rest is history.”

Susan Successful is the epitome of the American Dream. It’s good to see that the Dream lives on in the entrepreneurial spirit. It lives on in the inspirational and self-help publication industry. It lives on in the CEO who finds a way to maximize profit for the American shareholder by outsourcing to India. It lives on in the kids selling lemonade on the corner for 10 cents a cup, a net loss to their parents who subsidize the industry to keep them busy and from whining about boredom, much like how the Federal government subsidizes pork bellies. It lives on in the dude who wants to get paid for writing like a smart alec. Eat your heart out, Horatio Alger, Jr.

Compliment delivery a complicated art

2007-08-05T21:23:00.000-07:00

One evening a while ago I was enjoying some TV with my friend Jeff and his wife Lindsay. Out came the ladies with the numbered suitcases on “Deal or No Deal”. “Those girls are so beautiful,” Lindsay noticed.

“Sure, they’re pretty, but you could’ve been one of those girls. You were hot,” Jeff answered. She was six months pregnant at the time, and at that moment quiet enough for me to hear her eyelids close. I nearly burst out in giggles, but I opted instead to silently fix my gaze on the thirty painted, pixilated ladies on their huge plasmoid HD. Jeff’s intentions were pure. He meant to sensitively praise his wife’s beauty after he somehow intuitively sensed that she was comparing herself to the TV models. Using the past tense acknowledged that this was not required of her in her present state. How sweet is that?

Guys get frustrated with this irrational and often reckless habit of comparison. Why can’t women find practical role models and standards, and then let it go? Take me for example. When Lebron James scored 29 consecutive points to beat the Pistons in game five of the Eastern Conference Finals, I went out to see if I could hit 15 baskets in a row. Unfortunately, there was no hoop in the driveway, so we will never find out who is better between Lebron and me. And I am perfectly satisfied to leave this mystery unresolved.

Still, compliment delivery is a complicated art. Recently I heard report of a discussion among friends about a girl’s new hairdo.

“It doesn’t look so mommish today as it did yesterday.” Some guy said. “I mean it looks good, it’s kind of motherly... but not in a bad way, kind of like a hot mom.” She didn’t appreciate that. No doubt they were just pointing out that, being so young and still childless, she wasn’t a real hot mom yet; she just faked it with a hot mom’s hairdo.

A few pointers can aid the oblivious in giving a compliment. When complimenting a woman’s eyes using a simile, remember to use classy but not common comparisons. For example, instead of “gosh, your pretty eyes are the color of root beer,” say that her eyes are the “hue and effervescence of champagne,” even if they’re green. When it comes to similes, it’s vivid and dramatic effect, not accuracy that women appreciate. But be careful. No woman wants to hear that her thighs are awesome like hungry panthers or that her ear lobes feel kind of like dried mangos. Even if you add, “If you knew how much I love mangos you would know what a compliment that is. You can ask my friends. I love chewing on those things. I used to be like addicted to them,” it’s never as good as “you are as splendid as a jewel in an Ethiop’s ear.”

The exchange of compliments has many elaborate but unwritten cultural rules. In fact a compliment can be an insult! Many people have an emotional style that some psychology experts call assive-progressive. When one such person hates another’s sweater, she won’t say that the sweater is kind of ugly, she’ll say, “Well, isn’t that a colorful sweater!” with vindictive cheerfulness in her cheeks.

Guy-to-guy compliments also present unique challenges. Beware the pitfalls of adjectives, men, and limit them to two (cool and nice) or simply phrase the compliment as a question. This is enough to verify that you have noticed something new. Try “Cool shirt,” “Nice shoes, man,” or “Got a haircut, huh?” This is about as elaborate as the gold standard of homophobic sensitivity allows.

When I was a junior in high school I had a life-threatening crush on a princess. She had an adorable nose and sandy hair that curled just above her shoulders, which were brown and freckled from playing tennis. I sat behind her highness in English class. I don’t remember much about Beowulf, but if the Danes had shoulders as lovely as hers, there is no way Grendel the monster would have torn them from their bone-lappings.

One full week of strategy went into every 17 seconds of my interaction with the princess. Lying in bed, I prepared a series of conversation topics to have in queue for the one weekly moment when I was in my seat before she sat down and had to face in my direction for a few seconds. The topic list I was prepared to discuss included the tires on her 1995 Nissan Altima, her dog which I learned from eavesdropping was a brown chow named Chocolate, and the art and science of dermatology. She seemed tired when I brought up dogs, and I forgot all about the tires and I was self-conscious about zits that day, so I decided to compliment her.

It had to be subtle enough not to be creepy, but grand enough to make her fall in love with me. I felt the compliment swell in my trachea as it rose up to my lips. I trembled at the future, at the joyful ramifications, at the chain reaction of love my compliment was about to spark. What spontaneous and awesome compliment would I give?

“Cool shirt,” I said.

The princess and I never hooked up.