Donut Escapades

In Spring 1997, I was a freshman in college, recently finished with somewhat successful basketball season and only a few months away from a mission. Basketball had brought some degree of notoriety, but did nothing to add to my list of close friends. It was a lonely year in many respects, but would've been more so without my good friend Jamin to commiserate with.

Jamin and I made a memorable Spring break trip that year: a five hour round trip drive to Rochester -- the nearest place with 7-Eleven's -- for Slurpees. Most thought the trip, and my fetish for Slurpees, inane foolishness. I might have agreed, but that didn't mean I had anything better to do.

I thought on that trip Saturday as I decided to drag my family with me to Los Angeles (roughly 5.5 hours roundtrip), to sample a few famed donut shops. Perhaps sensing history, Michelle was surprisingly complicit, especially after I suggested we'd finish the day at Pink's hot dogs. My younger brother Bryan, visiting from Utah, also took to the idea. Perhaps he remembered accompanying me on a few of those early morning trips in upstate New York just after my mission when I took him on an hour long trek to get donuts from from Holland Farms before anyone was up.*

The impetus for this trip was a recent article on MSN, referenced in a previous post, purporting to feature the "America's Best Donuts." Two of the ten shops listed were in the Los Angeles area. As I mentioned before, I was skeptical, wondering openly what criteria were used to discern the best donuts, and what the author's qualifications were enabling him to make such bold assessments. After all, how many shops has he been too? How thorough his research? Had he had any training in donut theory? My suspicion was that by "best", the author really meant "most famous," which often has nothing to do with taste. I felt obligated to make my own assessments. Hence, last Saturday's trip:

At each store we bought six donuts, opting for a standard maple bar and glazed donut where possible, and then selecting the other four donuts based on what offerings seemed most intriguing or appealing. My review the shops and their donuts follows the order of their rankings based on Saturday's visits:

Randy's Donuts

We began the morning at Randy's. Having visited the store earlier in the month, I knew they made quality donuts. Saturday's visit only reinforced that. Our 1/2 dozen donuts cost just over $5. Here's the menu:

We started with another buttermilk donut and this time sampled a glazed donut:

Michelle raves about the Randy's buttermilk donuts ("They taste like buttermilk!"). I don't see (or taste) it.

The glazed donut, though, was remarkable. Soft and slightly warm, the glaze was lighter than most other glazed donuts -- almost more refined. The donut doesn't call attention to itself like its more famous Krispy Kreme counterpart; it's subtlety only adds to its delightfulness. The glazed donut also had more of a homemade taste than any donut I've ever purchased. It was a favorite among all of us and easily ranks as one of the best donuts I've ever eaten. Seriously. I think I'd contemplate a trip to Los Angeles just to get a dozen (well, maybe two dozen) of those glazed.

We also tried a Randy's cinammon crumb donut:

Here, Randy's distinguished itself from a previous favorite donut of mine from Mag's Donuts in Orange County. Randy's cinammon crumb donut -- a cake donut -- was lighter and softer than any cake donut I had ever eaten.

Lastly, we enjoyed the maple bars:

The maple bars on Saturday didn't have the slightly crunchy exterior like the one I'd sampled earlier in the month. They were, however, just as soft and chewy, and the maple icing remains the best I've ever tasted.

Stan's Donuts

Stan's was our third stop, but finds itself second on our list. Stan's didn't make the MSN list for "Best Donuts" but came highly recommended by a friend. I discovered later it apparently made Forbes 2001 list as the best donut shop in America. It certainly lived up to my friend's recommendation, even if no particularly donut there made for a particularly compelling experience.

Stan's is nestled in Westwood very close to the UCLA campus. We spent a little under $6 on our half dozen:



Stan's website boasts over 75 different kinds of donuts, and claims you'll find donuts there that you won't be able to find anywhere else in the world. By all appearances that was true, as the sight of all those difference kinds of donuts was simply overwhelming.

Still we managed to decide on six for sampling:

We first tried the pink donut, which Stan's dubbed "The Simpson's Donut." It looked every bit the part, but tasted very ordinary. The same actually could be said of all the donuts in the box: the glazed (very much like the generic glazed I could get at an Albertson's), the maple bar, the cinammon crumb (which is actually a yeast donut here -- the cinammon crumb is held to the donut by light glaze that actually falls off the donut in large chunks), and the cherry topped cream filled (I'm not sure what we were thinking in selecting this one). The orange buttermilk donut actually did distinguish itself, if only because, as Michelle described it, it tasted like "manufactured orange."

In the end Stan's is a fine donut shop that seems to distinguish itself by variety, rather than quality. It was a fun little shop, and I found myself rooting for the place. I'm sure if there were a Stan's right around the corner from where I live, I'd be quite contented to visit it as my dependable local donut shop. But you know what they say, "Jack of all donuts, master of none."

Frittelli's Doughnuts & Coffee

Last, and decidedly least, is Frittelli's. The first shop on MSN's list of "America's Best Donuts," it automatically brought with it higher expectations. Fritelli's seemed to embrace the expectations, too, by taping the very same MSN article to one of their display windows and prominently displaying a chalk board sign on the sidewalk that claimed "America's Best Donuts!" Alas, the store epitomized my greatest fears style over substance.

Frittelli's appears to market itself as a high end, designer donut (sorry "doughnut") and coffee shop that caters to the rich and famous in Beverly Hills. Indeed the doughnuts can only be had at designer prices. Our half dozen donuts cost us over $11.00 -- more than twice what we paid at Randy's and Stan's. I suppose none of the other places gave us a nice baby blue box though.

(Yes, that's the Food Network on in the background on an HDTV. Perhaps now you're starting to sense why the doughnuts were so costly)

We started with the maple bar:

Once we divided up the doughnut and parsed out samples, Michelle and Bryan gave initially glowing reviews -- with Michelle focusing her comments on the donut's texture. What I tasted, though, was a very ordinary maple bar, and that wasn't enough for me. Once I noted this outloud, Michelle and Bryan were both more moderate in their praise.

We then sampled their blueberry buttermilk doughnut:

The buttermilk doughnut was more dense than what we'd tasted at Randy's. In fact, it reminded me a lot of banana bread. It was a very average doughnut -- with blueberries.

We next tried the "Heath Bar Crunch" chocolate doughnut:

Admittedly, it had never occured to me to put a candy bar on top of a doughnut. I liked the Heath Bar, but the rest of the doughnut was unremarkable. In fact, the candy was sweet enough that it shifts your tastebuds can't taste the donut. Perhaps they intended it that way. (Honestly, I'm not sure I like the idea of candy toppings on donuts.)

Lastly we went with the trifecta of designer doughnuts: butterscotch, orange cranberry, and red velvet:

The orange cranberry doughnut actually came closest to matching Fritelli's reputation -- an orange cake donut, orange glaze, with cranberries sprinkled on top. I felt like I was eating something fancy.

The butterscotch doughnut tasted nothing like butterscotch, and the red velvet doughnut tasted like a bland chocolate (albeit deep red chocolate). With each of these cake doughnuts, the cake itself wasn't nearly as fresh as it had been at Randy's, and I found my I was reminded more of Mag's consistency and texture more than anything else. In a blind taste test they might have easily been from one of the inferior donut shops here locally.

Throughout our sampling, I remained quite cognizant of the price of the doughnuts (nearly $2 each), as well as the chalkboard promises of "America's #1 Doughnuts." Perhaps that's why, on the whole, I found Frittelli's utterly disappointing. Indeed, Frittelli's promises high end, designer flavors, and sometimes the donuts actually tasted like what they were described to be. But even when the taste matched, I often only tasted a very ordinary cake doughnut with exotic flavors. On the scale of doughnuts I've eaten and donut shops I've visited, it would never even occur to me to place Frittelli's anywhere near the top -- even ignoring the price disparity. Were Frittelli's just around the corner from my home, I suspect I'd never even be tempted to visit. And if I was, the cost of those donuts would probably easily drive me elsewhere. The doughnuts just aren't good enough.

So in the end, my research brought mixed results. We confirmed one truly top notch donut shop, enjoyed an average donut shop with lots of character, and, despite it's recent national acclaim, exposed a pretender. All in a day's work.

* For further details, see the 2nd half of the now two year old post on my Top 21 Donut/Pastry Experiences of All Time

Changing of Seasons

Summer has slipped quietly into Fall here in San Diego. The once unmanagable heat, which twice this summer required us to condescend and turn on our air conditioning, has given way to the crisp 78 degree Autumn air.

The changing of seasons has given cause for deep reflection. And, In pondering my existence the past few days, measuring it against the perilous times we are in, I've been stuck with one almost irrepressible thought:

I still cannot be trusted with an open bag of Peanut M&Ms, no matter the size, and no matter how many I may have already eaten in a day.

'Tis the Season

Too early for candy corn?

I didn't think so either.

How to Eat Fried Dough

We returned from Oahu Monday morning.* Those looking for a travel log should look elsewhere. Here we deal with donuts.

The first sampling came from Napoleon's Bakery, which accompanies the Hawaiian restaurant chain Zippy's. We stopped by in the late afternoon to look over the dinner menu, though it was the bakery that intrigued me.**

What you're looking at, and what caught my eye, was this chocolate yeast raised donut. It was a new concept to me, and I had no reason to resist.

While a unique concept, the chocolate yeast raised donut proved to be unremarkable. The chocolate in the dough added very little to the donut beyond the color. still, I didn't lament the 93 cents it cost me to try it.

A few days later we stopped by Agnes' Portuguese Bakery in Kailua. Michelle raved about these malasadas:

I didn't. They have to be eaten warm to be tolerable. Michelle would talk of the crispy outside and the softy and chewy "delightfully warm" interior, with just the right amount of sugar. Perhaps too she was swayed by the notion that their Portguese donuts. Had they been called "Oversized Hush Puppies coated in sugar", she may better have seen them for what they were.

At any rate, I wasn't so easily fooled. Granted, as Michelle pointed out, all doughnuts are ultimately only a combination of fried dough and sugar. Not all donuts, however, compel such coarse reminders of that.

I, instead, spent my morning appetite on these bad boys:

I decided to tackle this enormous cinammon roll, as well as a macademia nut covered maple bar. Both were well dressed up, and undoubtedly would've tasted better if I felt like I could have afforded some milk to go along with them.*** Neither, however, left a lasting impression.

Lastly, while vacationing I ran across an article purporting to list "America's Best Donuts." I'm more than a little suspicious that most, if not all, of the donut shops made the list because they're famous or quirky -- not because they've got America's best donuts. However, one on the list, Randy's Donuts, was only a few blocks from where we parked in Los Angeles.

Groggy though we were from a miserable red-eye, we left a place in our schedule for Randy's. We bought several kinds. In fact, we had to buy $5.00 worth to be able to use the credit card.

The maple bar above was the best I've ever tasted: the frosting was perfectly sweet and the donut itself slightly crispy on the outside. I fear unless I return there again, I will never taste its equal.

The chocolate frosted cake donut above had semi-sweet chocolate frosting. I wasn't impressed, but then the maple bar had raised the stakes a bit. Michelle liked the buttermilk donut a lot too, but my tastebuds had been ruined by the time we got to that donut, so its subtleties were lost on me.

In all, a fine vacation, though I went far enough down that sugary path that we've resolved again to go without sugar...at least 'til Friday.

*First post in almost a month? Two words: Nintendo Wii.

** While there I observed a man wearing a U of U med school polo shirt. He seemed to have observed me too, and apparently wanted to confirm his suspicions I was LDS. His approach left something to be desired: he walked up to me and asked "Are you wearing two shirts because it's fashionable or because it's too cold out?" How would you have responded? I just started at him blankly for a few seconds before deciding to say flatly, "I'm not wearing two shirts."

***Our best efforts found a gallon of skim milk for $5 at Safeway.

President Faust's Passing

I've been remiss in not honoring the passing of James E. Faust sooner.

For those not yet made aware, James E. Faust, Second counselor in the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, passed away last Friday due to causes incident to old age.

There are two talks I'll long remember President Faust for: The first was his talk for the 1998 First Presidency Christmas devotional when he spoke about the similarities between Santa Claus and the Savior -- thus putting to rest any doubts about whether Santa Claus is real.

The second talk was the one he gave during the Sunday morning session of the October 1997 General Conference. It was titled "The Weightier Matters of the Law: Judgment, Mercy, and Faith." It was not so much the doctrine he taught but the emotion with which he shared the following story:

"I fear that some of our greatest sins are sins of omission. These are some of the weightier matters of the law the Savior said we should not leave undone. These are the thoughtful, caring deeds we fail to do and feel so guilty for having neglected them.

"As a small boy on the farm during the searing heat of the summer, I remember my grandmother Mary Finlinson cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently pick up the box, go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so insensitive and interested in the conversation in the kitchen, I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill the kitchen wood box. I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness."

As he drew near to the end of that story, emotion overcame him and he stood at the pulpit weeping as he tried to regain his composure. His tears offered a powerful and eloquent sermon that I have never forgotten.

After hearing of his passing, I thought of this quote of his from the Priesthood session from that same October 1997 conference:

"I would like to say a word to you brethren who are a little older. President J. Reuben Clark Jr., a Counselor in the First Presidency, used to say from this pulpit, 'Brethren, I hope I can remain faithful to the end.' At that time, President Clark was in his 80s.

"As a young man, I could not understand how this wise, learned, experienced, righteous Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ could have any concern for his own spiritual well-being. As I approach his age, I now understand."

There's little question but that he indeed remained faithful to the end. We will miss you, President Faust, and your good company, good humor, and good counsel. May we live faithful enough to qualify for the blessings you now enjoy.

Weightier Matters

Faithful readers of the Forbidden Donut know that this is a forum for only the most serious of issues. Tonight's post is no different.

On my refrigerator, pinned beneath a magnet, currently rests a coupon from a recent Ralph's circular offering 2 12-14 oz. bags of M&Ms for $2.00. I'm wondering whether I should use it.

Here's my quandry: this morning I reached my long sought after weight loss goal--235 lbs.* Alas, being under 240 lbs. isn't all it's cracked up to be, since, among several remaining physical impefections, my ab muscles remain hidden. Indeed, it will still be with great caution and reticence that I'll take my shirt off on those Hawaiian beaches in a few short weeks.

Partly because of that, and partly for good measure, I've determined I should probably strive to lose another 5 to 10 lbs. (since I've obviously still got it to lose). I figure this will at least give me a good buffer zone just in case I ever feel like I need to eat a dozen donuts or something similar after a particularly trying day at work (or better yet -- for no reason at all).

But the coupon expires next week. Given our impending trip, do I trust myself to buy 2 more bags of M&Ms? The real question is: Have I reached that threshold of responsibility where I can buy those bags of M&Ms and do anything other than scarf them both down on consecutive evenings?

History says no. Indeed, history says the M&Ms would stay in my secret stash jar for a day, maybe two, maybe even a week. But while they're there, I'll be thinking about them. Always thinking about them. And as soon as I open up the bag, I'm only 8 or 9 handfuls and a stomach ache away from finishing it off. Numbness to follow, then contrition, and finally, the next evening, increased cravings for more M&Ms. It's at this point when I talk myself into just eating the 2nd bag all at once and getting those M&Ms out of the house. A stomach ache follows, then contrition, and then the cravings return the next night. Before I know it, seven years have gone by filled out by delightful but regrettable treats, and thousands of promises made and broken to start in earnest tomorrow.

And yet...isn't it a sacrilege to pass up the chance to buy a 12 oz. bag of Peanut M&Ms for $1.00? That's the question that needs to be answered before next Wednesday, when the coupon expires.


* I actually hit this weight a few weeks ago on a fast Sunday but was so hungry by the end that I decided to eat several bowls of Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms -- that set me back a few days.

Living In Fear

Michelle & I both managed to finish Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows late last night: Michelle finished around 1 a.m. I followed about an hour and a half later.* Decision time came at about 10 p.m. We'd both been reading about two hours (two separate books, since I was adamant about not sharing in those first few days) when I made the decision to throw caution into the wind and plow through the rest of the book**. I think, perhaps, I may have set the record for the quickest finish for a working bishopric member with two little kids.

Finishing the book meant no longer living in fear -- fear both of those demented souls anxious to spoil the ending, and those who, by overestimating their cleverness at keeping secrets, inadvertently give it away. This is why we tried to keep a low profile, avoided discussing the book with anyone at church, and had to shew away our Sunday evening guest when she mentioned she was reading the book.

In the end, the book, especially the unspoiled ending, was well worth the added measure of security.***


* No, it's not because I read slower. The Federal Government seems to frown upon reading for pleasure during the work day. This is why I was about 100 pages behind.

** It remains unconfirmed, but I may well have finished the book in record time for the category of "working bishopric members with two little kids."

*** It might not have been worth it if I'd ended up missing my court appearances this morning, which I did not.

WiiBay

As if my week weren't already eventful enough, last Saturday we made an afternoon trip to Costco. We'd been hoping only for some bread, tortillas, lunchmeat (and fine samples), but ended up finding a pallet of Nintendo Wii's for sale. I had been searching stores for them casually ever since they came out last November. I'd never found one.

Knowing, as I did, that demand for the Wii continues to outstrip supply -- likely well into next year -- it was a golden find. I wasn't strong enough to resist. But then, I didn't try. Almost as quickly as I saw them on the pallet, I read the sign quickly, put it in my cart, and moved on to buy some tortillas. Michelle even expressed delight.

As we got to the checkout I looked back at the pallet. Several more had disappeared since I'd last seen it. We then raced home. I quickly checked eBay to verify my suspicions, and then I took Jared with me back to Costco to buy two more*.

Yes, you're welcome to come over and play.


*There were five left by the time I got in the check out line again.

Two Stories of Obsession

Alas, I'm left alone on a Friday night with only my blog to keep me company. How dreadful my situation must be!

Yet there is reason for optimism.

The world is gearing up for two major events next week, either one of which would leave their respective fan bases scrambling to catch their breath. Combined, the results may well be cataclysmic. Surely you're familiar with both: the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and, only slightly less well known, NCAA Football 2008.

As to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, some might be aware I recently took 6 weeks to reread the first six books -- almost to the exclusion of all else.* Having re-read the books, puzzled through Snape's return to the dark side and Dumbledore's demise, I might have thought few people in the world would be looking forward to Book 7 more than I was.

Indeed, I was mistaken. A friend of mine recently disclosed he'd published an electronic book, entitled Harry Potter 6 3/4: The Unofficial Harry Potter Index. The book reveals both an unhealthy obsession with Harry Potter*, and an index of most everything that shows up in the first six Harry Potter books. Jared then takes his research and offers his predictions on what's going to happen in Book 7. I have not read his book and make no vouches for its accuracy or credibility (though it is nice to see his wife gave a testimonial for the book). I note, though, knowing how thorough he was, that I have not read his book for fear that he may have gotten things exactly right -- and I don't want him ruining the book for me. For anyone curious or interested, he's no longer charging for the book. Email me and I'll send you a copy (with his blessing).

As to NCAA 2008, the game will be released on Tuesday -- though there are reports that some stores have broken the honor code and released the game early (No comment on whether or not I happened to visit two different stores today in hopes of confirming such reports and finding an early copy).

I have a long and storied history with the NCAA Football franchise, though again, there may be crazy people more ready to demonstrate their devotion than I. For my part, I actually bought a Playstation 2 last week for the sole purpose of playing this game, particularly online with family and friends. I also splurged on a special memory card that allows me to download the named rosters for all 110 Division I NCAA Teams (said rosters having been assembled by the truly obsessed).

I had initially proposed taking a week off work to both read Book 7 and get the NCAA game out of my system. Apparently, though, we're already using my vacation time on some trip to Hawaii, and Michelle claims it's not refundable. My suspicion, though, is that she just wants first crack at the game.

* Unhealthy in a good way...kind of. It's like me buying a bag of Double Stuf Oreos, then eating the entire bag in one sitting. Unhealthy? Obviously, but also mildly entertaining -- especially if I decide to blog about it.

I hope they call me on a ...

As part of my new bishopric duties, I showed up at the church tonight wearing a white shirt and tie. I had expected to attend opening exercises for mutual. As it happened, however, the missionaries were in the parking lot with a number of priests (also in white shirts and ties) gathered round. Apparently, it was "exchange night" with the priests.*

For a moment it seemed they might need someone else to drive, and I was hardly in a position to make myself seem unavailable.

At one point, an aged onlooker in a Scout leader uniform wondered in what seemed to be a mocking tone of curiosity -- mingled with an air of superiority: "Hey, are you guys going tracting tonight?"** (As though it could be the evening's only worthy pursuit if we were to spend it with the missionaries).

"I sure hope not," I blurted before having a chance to measure my words. The uniformed inquirer was taken aback by the apparent defiance, which I then pressed further by noting "I've already done two years of tracting."

Not willing to give up, he then rejoined with what seemed to be a mounting sense of superiority "Well, we've all done two years of tracting."

"Ah yes," I replied wryly, now determined to win the point, "but I made sure to do mine well enough that I wouldn't have to do it again."

I suppose some see a kind of bravado to tracting. It's like missionary manual labor -- meaning it's hard, and not something missionaries generally look forward to. Perhaps if I were a more upstanding member of the church and a more diligent returned missionary, I would've been chomping at the bit to get out there and go tract out my neighborhood and show both the missionaries and the priests how we Spanish missionaries worked it in Roseville.

Not tonight.


* Why they stopped calling them "splits" is beyond me -- maybe to avoid the inference or implication that ice cream might be involved?

** Apparently he felt safe that he wouldn't volunteered since he was wearing a scout uniform.

You'd Better Watch Out

From reports, Jared had an especially difficult day behaving. He talked with me calmly about when I came home from work and sat next to him in the "time out" corner. In fact, he mentioned at one point that "Mommy and I are mad today." He then seemed to settle down, for a time.

Not much later he was acting up again. Michelle, feeling frazzled, resorted to the only disciplinary option she felt she had left: calling Santa Claus.

Jared happened to overhear her conversation and begged for the chance to talk with Santa as well (no doubt to give a report on Michelle). Essentially, Jared had to be obedient and good or Santa would not bring him any presents this year.

Jared quickly fell in line.

Later, Michelle called Santa back to report Jared's improved behavior. Jared continued to beg for the chance to speak with the jolly old elf, so we gave him the chance. I was on the other end of the line practicing my best "Ho, Ho, Ho", when little Jared got on the phone.

"Hi Santa," he said confidently.

Santa then conveyed to Jared the need to be obedient to be on the "nice" list this December. Jared reluctantly agreed.

I suspect if we use this technique too often, the magic might wear off. Only a few minutes after his rare conversation with Santa, he noted to us "I don't like Santa."

One For the Record Books

I'm sure most of you were hanging onto to your seats anxious for updates on the success or failure of my month long commitment to do without sugar. I've now gone 21 days without it.* Its siren song remains alluring, but has less power over me -- for now. I've matched that effort by swearing off most carbs after dinner and exercising almost daily. As a result, I've lost over 10 lbs. in this same span.

A nearby Ralphs recently sold 12 oz. bags of M&Ms for a dollar a bag (with coupon). Tempting fate, I had Michelle purchase 2 bags of peanut M&Ms for safe keeping nearly two weeks ago. I haven't touched them.**

Last week Albertsons offered all General Mills cereal at 6 for $10 -- 8 for $10 on a special Thursday 8 hour sale. Additionally, for every 3 boxes of cereal purchased, they gave out a coupon for a free gallon milk and a coupon for an additional $2.00 off the purchase of 5 boxes of General Mills Cereal. At last count, I think I purchased 23 boxes that week*** -- also I believe a Clark record.

* By my calculations, it's been over 8 years since I've gone this long without satisfying my sweet tooth.

** By my calculations, this is the longest any two bags of Peanut M&Ms have survived in the Clark household since the candy was invented. [Not counting, of course, the time last year when I'd purchased 24 packages of discounted "Pirates of the Carribean" M&Ms. The fact that any two of those packages survived more than two weeks had little to do with self-control -- since all 24 of the 12 oz. packages didn't last much longer than a month collectively.]

*** No, Michelle wasn't thrilled with me buying 23 boxes of cereal - citing some phantom "storage space" issue. As it happens, though, aside from the bargain basement price of the cereal itself, these milk coupons turned out to be quite valuable: They're apparently worth "up to $4.50" depending on the price of the gallon of milk. However, our local store automatically rings up the coupon as worth $4.50, irrespective of the actual price of the milk. Last Saturday then -- while I was buying 5 boxes of cereal, a gallon of milk, and some 99 cent day old bread -- the cashier accidentally rang up the milk coupon twice, deducting $9.00 from the total, and I ended up with a grocery bill of $1.19. [Of course as soon as I noticed the error, I pointed it out to the manager and cashier, both of whom decided the mistake wasn't worth correcting]. Today I actually used 1 of my milk coupons to buy 2 gallons of milk: the 2nd gallon ended up costing me 19 cents. I suspect these kinds of victories can only be truly enjoyed by those on a tight budget. Or maybe just by me.

**** For those keeping score, this is the 150th posting on the Forbidden Donut.

New Frontiers

Tuesday evening I got an unexpected call from the Stake President inviting me for an interview the following evening. Despite the fact that we've only been in the ward six months, and that I hardly know anyone, I was asked to serve as 2nd counselor in a reorganized bishopric. We were sustained and set apart this morning.

I confess I felt absolutely ridiculous sitting on the stand today -- all the more because I knew that most of the ward probably has no idea who I am. * I've spent the rest of the day bewildered.

Oh, and I've now been 8 days without sugar.

*Indeed, one woman confessed to me afterward that she never remembers seeing me in church before today.

Desperate Times

It's now official. Michelle recently set in motion plans for a week long trip to Hawaii in early September -- without the kids. She can hardly contain her excitement (though I've had difficulty discerning whether her affection the past few days is because she loves me or because she loves this vacation).

At any rate, that gives me little more than three months to at last meet my weight loss goals, which right now are about 20 lbs. away.

Toward that end, and recognizing that the love of sugar is the root of all evil, I committed last night to do without sugar for nearly a month -- using the same kind of stick incentives that've brought me success in the past. It's unfortunate that it came to this, but alas, desperate times call for desperate measures. I lament that I'm not stronger and cannot instead simply adopt a protocol of moderation.

So, as a personal favorite to me, please feel free to enjoy generous amounts of peanut M&Ms, Cookies & Cream ice cream*, and sale priced sugar cereal over the next month or so. It will mercifully mean less for me.

*A recent weakness.

American Idol Woes

There it was. Michelle and I had invested almost two hours in the American Idol season finale -- on a 20 minute DVR delay. We'd waded through random musical numbers, including "Wind Beneath My Wing" from an apparently inebriated Bette Midler.* We endured awkward, cringe-inducing "Golden Idol" awards, and a Clive Owen speech about how wonderful American Idol is and how many records they've sold. We didn't want to, but we did -- and it would all be worth it when they announced the winner of this year's American Idol is...


Hey! Wait a minute! What the...?!


Alas, our DVR stopped recording the show just as the winner was about to be announced. For a few seconds, Michelle alternated between anxious, high-pitched squeals, and threatening growls (strangely resembling a menacing coyote).** Since we'd been on a 20 minute DVR, we totally missed the ending. All was lost. We had to check out the online news websites to find out Jordin won.

I blame on the fact that Michelle opted against voting for Melinda Doolittle last week. (I still debating whether to ever forgive her for that.)



* Though maybe she was just trying to liven up the song by acting inebriated.

** She also came very close violating one our recently added house rules: Don't throw the big TV.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I took Jared to his first Cubs game a few days ago -- they were playing the Padres here in San Diego. I'm not sure which of us was more excited: Jared, who would get to ride the trolley, drink lemonade, and eat popcorn; or me, getting to watch the Cubs in an idealized father-son evening.

It started out that way. Jared was fascinated by the trolley, peppered me with questions most of the way there, and stole the hearts of the surrounding passengers.

The game, however, was a little different story. Oh the hot dog, lemonade, nachos, and ice cream cone were everything Jared had hoped for. He cheered for the fireworks following the home runs (and I let him, even though they were for the wrong team), and asked me more then twice when we were going to be able to get out on the field and play. I hadn't quite counted on the possibility, though, of a nearby drunk guy screaming words Jared had never heard before, at the top of his lungs, at some of our favorite players. The man must have thought himself quite amusing...that is, until I put him in a non-lethal version of the Siberian choke-hold.*

Michelle and I are now waiting out the next few days to see if Jared managed to learn any new words lately.

*No, not really. Only with great effort, however, did I manage to avoid throwing peanuts at him.

Mother's Day Meanderings

Semi-organized thoughts and anecdotes from the last three weeks:

• Among the highlights of my two week training in South Carolina: I went nearly two weeks without sugar. To acknowledge the accomplishment, I devoured a 12 oz. bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms for dinner the following evening.* [Obviously, as long as I'm eating them to replace a meal -- instead of in addition to a meal -- I figure I'm cutting calories.]
• Leading up to perhaps the most important day this century -- July 21, 2007 -- I've started re-reading the Harry Potter series. Oddly, when I've been caught reading these books on the trolley or an airplane several adults have felt quite at liberty to strike up a conversation discussing the books [the kids normally just smile or nod approvingly.]
• I set a new record yesterday on our exercise bike: 10 miles, burning 596 calories in 24:36. This bested my previous record for the 10 miler, set in May 2005, by 14 calories and a full 20 seconds. I chalk it up mostly to temporary insanity and a dash of guilt over what I'd eaten the night before.
• I've now seen two late night screenings of Spider-Man 3 since it came out last week, and have fallen asleep during both viewings.
• We went out for pizza with friends Friday night. What does it say about a pizza place that their best dish is an ice cream sundae?
• Jared and I got Michelle a Mother's Day gift yesterday -- an IKEA gift card. Though Jared was supposed to tell Michelle it was a secret, he instead immediately told her exactly what we'd bought: a red card. Even so, our established family routine should have required Michelle to at least feign some obliviousness [and thus maintain the illusion of a surprise]. After all, it's only common courtesy. But she didn't. Instead, she defiantly declared that she was pretty sure she knew what we'd bought. So I gave her the gift a day early and she lamented that I'd spoiled Mother's Day. That'll teach her.
• Speaking of Mother's Day, Michelle, anxious for a sugar fix of her own this evening and recognizing she'd used up all the eggs yesterday, asked that I make her no bake cookies tonight. [In my youth I was a master at the art of the no bake cookie, having learned to keep them on the stove for just the right amount of time to ensure the proper texture.] Making them tonight, though, brought back teenage memories, including one time I had made no bake cookies on 3 consecutive evenings. On the third evening, when my dad found me hovering over the stove as the milk, sugar, butter, and cocoa came to a rolling boil, he rebuked me and wondered openly whether I wasn't addicted to sugar.** Obviously he couldn't have been further from the truth.

* My research indicates that Peanut Butter M&Ms are far inferior to their more upstanding older brother, the Peanut M&Ms How can I tell? In a typical 12 oz. bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms, I start feeling disgust and regret before I even hit the halfway point in the bag. With the 13 oz. Peanut M&Ms bags, those feelings are easily delayed until at least 2/3 of the way through the bag. Never mind that I end up finishing the bag in one sitting either way, the Peanut M&Ms offer a far less unpleasant experience.

** Mind you, he never actually told me to stop making the cookies.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

A few of us at my office are headed to South Carolina for two weeks of training from the Department of Justice. The thought is that we'll emerge from the training as able trial lawyers.

We had one of my co-workers over for dinner recently who is also slated for the training. In conversation his wife expressed some reticence about the two-week training and the possibility (surely mostly in jest) that he'd be swept away by some of the solicitious eye candy that'd surely be attending the conference and sizing him up.

After they left, I wondered openly to Michelle why she didn't share similar concerns. I expected something from her that both reinforced her trust in me, and also reminded me how dashingly handsome I remain. Instead I got this:

"Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'm just worried about how much you're going to eat!"

Sunday School

She played contented in my arm
And cooed mid my hand's soft caress
I felt to catch her playful glance
And hold fast to her trusting touch.

But I could not hold her tight enough
And the moments hurried past,
unmoved by helpless pleas.
Time would rob me of my little girl;
I missed her already.

House Rules

We had family home evening tonight. Owing to some of the events of the day in our home (which perhaps it'd be better if history mostly forgot), Michelle gave an impromptu lesson on "rules". She'd hoped to have us collaboratively agree to a "No yelling" rule. Once Jared learned what a rule is, though, he sponanteously suggested several of his own:

• Don't kick the lamp
• Don't kick the clock
• Don't kick the computer
• Don't kick the walls
• Don't kick the couch
• Go on the potty
• Don't pee on the floor (this had been suggested previously)
• Don't hit, except for the mean, mean pirates
• Don't throw the big TV

Our home feels much safer now.

Old Habits

It's that time of year.

It doesn't matter what kinds of promises I made to myself in the contrary...With a few minutes to kill during my lunch hour today, my feet made their way to a nearby downtown Ralphs to survey the leftover Easter candy.

I came home with three bags of candy: Cadbury Mini-Eggs, Reeses Pieces, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Each were $1 a bag.

Throw Down

This past weekend, Michelle threw down the gauntlet, sending a message that her cooking needs to be taken seriously.

First there were the birthday cupcakes on Friday. Up into all hours of the night on Thursday, Michelle put together both strawberry and brownie cupcakes. Those strawberry cupcakes, though a little understated, ranked among the best cupcakes I've ever eaten*. The brownie cupcakes were no slouches either.

Saturday night Michelle took it to another level and put together a restaurant quality Mexican meal (that I would've paid money for): carne asada, grilled shrimp, rice, beans, homemade salsa, and guacamole. It's easily in the top three meals she's made of all time.

If that weren't enough, there was the three layer, triple chocolate cake, with ganache filling.

Yes, I know. I was thinking the same thing. I married well (Lots of hours as a missionary tracting hard in the rain -- ask anyone).

Anyway, please, take your best shot at matching Michelle's cooking. She'd like nothing better. Be warned, though, I've yet to meet her culinary equal (except for that one time we went to see Alton Brown). Just make sure I get to taste the fruits of your labors.

*At least one co-worker gave voice to the same opinion. Another, perhaps overhearing those comments and sensing the challenge, brought in her own cupcakes on Monday for no apparent reason. For the juicy details, please email the secret family question to my email address.

Cause for Celebration

I'm 29 years old today, and we're going to celebrate (the 15 or so grey hairs on my head notwithstanding).

A few years ago, as my birthday approached, I had a conversation with Michelle that started down the well worn path of feigning disinterest in any birthday celebration. "Oh, don't worry about it. It's not that big a deal" was the general theme of my remarks. Michelle rebuked me and effectively stated that birthdays are a big deal in our house, and I'd just have to deal with it.

Ever since I've allowed myself the indulgence of looking forward to my birthday, and reveled in the fact that we make a big deal about birthdays in our house.

Conference Chaos

Years ago when I was a missionary in the budding metropolis of Corning, CA (the olive capital of the United States). Soaking in another conference weekend in the chapel, I vowed then that I would attend every session of conference for the rest of my life.

Alas, any hopes of staying true to that promise ended a long time ago. Now, having two little ones, the notion of attending (and even paying attention to) a full session of general conference -- other than the priesthood session -- seems like wishful thinking. As a result over the last few years conference weekend has become a mix of probably uplifting messages that I only catch parts of (and not even those parts not very well) amid a guilt riddled two days where I feel I could've caught more if I'd only exerted myself more. My sense is it's even worse for Michelle -- who doesn't get to attend the priesthood session.

And here's a random conference question I've long been trying to figure out: When I'm watching conference on a delayed schedule, is it as sacreligious as it feels to leave my eyes open during the prayer?

Unsolicited Advice

I've discovered the secret to exercise and weight loss. It will soon be revealed to the world in a hard cover book, value priced at $19.95, complete with meal planner, easy to follow recipes, and a picture of me on the cover showing off my bulging biceps.

But to those faithful readers who still bother to check this blog -- even though it's been weeks since I've had a decent post -- I'll sum it up for you for free:

The stick often works better than the carrot on lazy people -- at least initially. Indeed, don't be afraid to use a big stick.

Take me, for instance. I've been in a rut for weeks (some might say months) where exercise has been difficult and good eating near impossible. I mostly blame Michelle.*

I've tried incentives, and at one point even small sticks. For instance, Michelle and I both agreed that if we ate sugar during the week, the offending spouse would have to withdraw $5 from his/her personal account and place it in the other's. This worked fine until we realized that if we both cheated at the same time we effectively got to have our sweets and neither had to give up anything. Obviously we can't have the penalty money going to each other.

So it was time to bring out a bigger stick. Now, if I cheat and eat sugar I have to put $50 in my children's 529 college saving's fund -- which means I'll never see it again. I've also made the same threats against myself (always in writing and always sent to Michelle) when I need a little extra motivation to exercise in the evening. And of course, it works.

Now some of you might not have $50, so feel free to use whatever is precious to you. It needs to be precious enough that it'll be painful if you fail, and make sure someone is there who is willing to punish you when you do (Michelle has only been all too eager). You'll be amazed at what you can accomplish when someone effectivley has a whip at your back, ready to lash you at the first sign of failure.

Obviously I don't want to jinx things, but I think you're looking at the next best seller.




*Required Disclaimer (as the pressure eases on the strangle hold around my neck): I'm kidding folks. Definitely kidding. Mostly.

Help Solve a Crime

I came home this evening to find a type-written note at our door. Apparently, our apartment/condo complex's beloved advertising blimp is missing. The situation is grave, indeed, and someone in management really isn't happy about it. So they've crafted a letter offering both a carrot and a stick (though mostly a stick) to the residents of the complex -- which is no doubt intended to induce shame and guilt in even the most innocent tenants (which we are). Sadly, it's mostly made me giggle (though I feel guilty about the giggling).

Perhaps you can help solve the crime.

"Subject: Blimp vandalism, $500 reward for information

Last night the blimp that we use for advertising above the property [and what a blimp it was!] was cut from its securing lines, thus allowing it to float away in a totally uncontrolled manner. This act of criminal vandalism resulted in a loss exceeding $7,000.00 and is a felony. In additions, the person(s) responsible for this act created a significant safety hazard to aircraft in the area as the blimp was allowed to freely float in the airspace used by commercial and private aircraft en route to Montgomery, Gillespie and Lindbergh airports. Further, at such time as the blimp descends from flight, there is no way to know where it may land, placing persons and property on the ground at risk.

We have notified the San Diego and La Mesa Police Departments as well as the Federal Aviation Administration of the situation and all agencies are taking this action very seriously. Formal investigations are being commenced by these agencies and we anticipate residents will be contacted during the investigation. We ask that you cooperate fully with any representatives of these agencies in their investigations and supply any information you may have as to suspicious activity or personal witnessing of the destructive action relation to the blimp by any party. Additionally, we are offering a reward in the amount of $500 to anyone who provides us with information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person(s) responsible for this irresponsible and reckless act.

In the course of our operation of the blimp we took specific precautions against accidental loss by adding extra securing lines and metal reinforcement to the primary cable in order to avoid potential for injury or damage. For someone to have cut the steel-reinforced line, a premeditated and planned action against the welfare of people both on and off the property was committed. We ask that if contacted, you assist law enforcement with their investigation and efforts to identify and ultimately apprehend the responsible party.

Please contact us in the [...] management office at [...] with any information you may be able to provide and we will insure that the proper authorities are notified. Thank you for any assistance you can provide in this matter."

Buffalo Chicken Blues

Perhaps you're not as easily taken in as I am, but then I'm not usually a sucker for hamburger commercials.

I found I could not resist, however, Carl's Jr.'s latest creation -- the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich. I wasn't fond of the commercial, mind you, but the sandwich seemed to offer a piece of the halcyon days of my youth, when a perfect weekend required little more than a good video game, a pizza, 50 wings, and a bottle or two of orange soda.*

My interest in the sandwich worked itself into a frenzy over the weekend when we got a coupon in the mail for a "buy one get one free."

Alas, what a tragic disappointment. One might have easily mistaken it for a McChicken sandwich drenched in Frank's Hot sauce. Yet at the same time they have so little confidence in their sauce and in the sandwich, that they feel the need to slather one side with a forgettable ranch sauce. The result is a dismal mess -- and not the kind of appetizing mess they'd lead you to believe.

So, learn to be wiser than I have been. Stay away from the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich at Carl's Jr. Stick with the pizza and wings.

*I grew up in a world where it was near unthinkable to order a pizza without an order of 50 or so chicken wings. The only question was how hot you wanted them. It was a simpler time.

Bleak Prognosis

Before I visited the doctor today, Michelle decided to enter my recent symptoms into Web MD - the all-knowing, consumer friendly, website -- to discern what I might be suffering from (and oh how I have suffered).

Here are the symptoms: a painful sore throat, lightheadedness, a fever, swollen and painful-to-the-touch-lymph-nodes in my neck, insatiable appetite for peanut M&Ms.* Alas, things did not look good, for, according to the website, I may well be suffering from. . . the Plague.** My concern only grew upon learning that, apparently, the bacteria causing the disease "can be carried by small wild rodents, other wild animals or even household pets," all of which are terms that have been used to describe my children.

You can probably imagine my relief when it turned out to be a simple case of strep throat.

*Okay, okay, so maybe she only put in "enlarged or swollen glands."
**Web MD then helpfully points out "It is possible that the main title of the report Bubonic Plague is not the name you expected." It then provides a few helpful synonyms, including "Black Death", and "Black Plague."

Sick Day

I have been miserably sick all weekend. To make matters worse, there's been nothing good on TV.

7th Inning Stretch

Today marks seven years of marriage for Michelle and I. Spurning the traditional anniversary gifts, I bought her a 5 lb. fillet of beef from Costco this year -- and two vanilla beans.

Now, before you start throwing rocks at me, know this: I've never seen her so giddy over anything I've gotten her before.* After spending the day scheming, she excitedly informed me tonight she's got five recipes in mind that she's anxious to use the filet on.

For her part, she's arranged for baby sitting and a golf outing tomorrow morning, as long as her clavical is feeling up to it.** I note without reservation that she's my favorite.

In other news, we also jointly resolved -- for the 37th time this year -- to go without sugar for a time. For those not keeping track, there've been 49 days so far this new year. The pact comes with cruel twist: each violation is punishable by a $5 fine, payable to the other, out of the guilty party's personal account.

All the same, happy anniversary to us!



* Not to be compared to the pound of veal given to a 4 yr. old Bill Murray in Scrooged that lead to the following exchange:

Four year old Bill Murray: "But Daddy, I asked Santa for a choo-choo."
Drunken Butcher of a Father: "Then go and get a job and buy a choo-choo!"

Shortly following this sad exchange, the older Bill Murray is mocked for by the Ghost of Christmas Past for tearing upon witnessing the exchange, and Bill dryly retorts (in a way on Bill Murray can), "I was touched by a gift. A four-year-old kid receives what at today's prices is an expensive piece of meat."


**Indeed, as a federal employee I now count President's Day among my favorite holidays -- all the more because so many of the rest of you have to work.

The Anti Anti C.S. Lewis

It's Valentine's Day. A day of love. A day of fun. A day of sugar cookies (for me anyway). Yet I am provoked to wrath.

A family friend recently decided to take a few swipes at C.S. Lewis, decrying, among other things, those who "constantly quote him." It's one thing indeed to check those foolish among us who might treat him as a prophet (he was not) or those who declare him to be "the be-all-end-all of the gospel" (which would be silly).* It's entirely another to disparage the man and his writings.

Tsk Tsk Sister Astle, I think you're making a big mistake -- a mistake you should be too smart to make.

Here's the first clue: you've admittedly never read anything he's written! Instead, your familiarity with C.S. Lewis appears to be based entirely on: (1) quotes from talks/church articles; (2) watching the recent cinematic adapation of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.
You've been given bread crumbs (and in the case of the movie, moldy bread crumbs) and yet seemed to have declared yourself familiar enough to give an opinion on the entire feast. Sure you are better than that.

Indeed, if you think simply that The Screwtape Letters gives "great points regarding the devil and his attempts to lead us away from our goals" then you have missed the weightier and more valuable portion of the book. The devils in the book are merely a vehicle for him to address subjects such as prayer, discipleship, humility, love, and death. Additionally, Letter VIII addresses trials or, as he refers to certain trials, "spiritual troughs." In all I have ever read on trials and enduring, I'm not sure if I've ever read anything quite as touching and inspiring. I'm quite serious.

Be careful not to cast the book aside just because people, including recently President Faust, -- are fond of quoting it, or because you perceive some have an unhealthy obsession with it. They're quoting it for a reason -- and they're not even quoting the best parts!

Ah, and you've apparently prejudged The Chronicles of Narnia because you've seen the latest movie. Not a good move (and, after repeated viewings, not that great of a movie). It's the same kind mistake you'd be making if you'd decided on the New Testament by comparing the battle scenes in the Four Gospels to the battle scenes in The Passion of the Christ. What battle scenes, you ask? Exactly. Let's just generally try to avoid judging a book based on the movie.**

You also don't want to miss out on several chapters in Mere Christianity, or the allegories in The Horse and His Boy, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Prince Caspian, and The Great Divorce. If that weren't enough, his books are refreshingly short.

So let me put it simply: Lewis was not a prophet. He is not "the be-all-end-all of the Gospel." Be that as it may, many, many of his writings (*not all*) are inspired and offering compelling insights on gospel principles -- far more than you've given him credit for. People do well to quote him.

Your criticism of his writing is uninformed and undeserved. Lest my wrath be upon you, I think you owe him an apology.


*I've never actually met or talked with anyone that I knew to be guilty of either offense. Furthermore, I'm almost certain I've heard and read the same conference talks and "countless church articles" that quote C.S. Lewis and have yet to sense any unhealthy admiration of the man or any undue weight to his writings.

**For what it's worth, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe is among my least favorite books in the Narnia Series.

Caveat Emptor (Let the Buyer Beware)

A young boy once ventured to the top of a tall mountain. Near the top he encountered a venomous, talking snake. “Carry me down to the bottom of the mountain,” begged the snake, “and I promise I won’t bite you.” The boy had been warned about mountain snakes, but accepted the snake’s proposition anyway. After the boy carried the snake on the long journey down the mountain, he bent to put the snake down. The snake quickly bit the boy in the leg. Writhing in pain, and facing certain death (or at least amputation) the boy cried: “Why? Why did you bite me? You promised!”

“Ah,” said the snake, “but you knew what I was when you picked me up.”*

A few nights ago, my younger brother Matthew proposed marriage to a young lady. She apparently accepted. Before it’s too late, it seems only fitting that this young lady be informed of some of the standard terms, conditions, and disclaimers that accompany any marriage into the Clark family. As readers of the Forbidden Donut, you’re entitled to a sneak peek, especially in the event that you’re considering one of my still available siblings (and there are many) as a potential partner.


Dear Leslie,

What were you thinking?

Your decision to marry Matthew can only have resulted from one of two things: (1) you are crazy; or (2) Matt’s misrepresented what kind of family you are marrying into.

Suspecting you are not guilty of the former, and acting as the Clark family’s unauthorized legal representative in protecting you (and us) against the latter, you are hereby informed and advised of the following:

1. If you’d rather not keep something a secret – say a proposal date or impending wedding – make your new mother and father in law among the first people you share it with. It's terribly important that you let them think it’s a secret. In fact, make sure you tell them not to tell a soul. Then wait for them to start dropping “subtle” hints about your secret to all they know, which hints make the secret all but impossible to discern.

2. Christmas mornings for you will hereafter begin at 4:30 a.m… or earlier.

3. Anything sweet or remotely tempting to eat (e.g., candy, cookies, cereal, baking soda) can’t be expected to last any longer than a few hours in your home. You’ll find this rule is unaffected by the quantity of the treats.

4. Peter does everything around here. He follows a long line of Clarks who formerly held that distinction.

5. If you find someone has raided the ice cream and left a spoon in the carton, it’s probably Leanne. Or it’s one of the rest us framing Leanne.

6. Your betrothed is generally beloved among his siblings, but he also seems to owe us money in varying amounts. We expect you’ll make good on his debts.

7. Yes, it’s true: We Clarks certainly sort laundry, but you’ll probably never catch anyone actually folding laundry. That notion is strange to us, no doubt the result of growing up in the back woods of Upstate New York.

8. When traveling with your future father-in-law, ready yourself two hours ahead of any intended departure, because that’s when he’s going to want to leave.

9. Speaking of your future father-in-law, you’ll never again want for school supplies.

10. And anytime you’re in Iowa, you’ll now have complimentary lifetime passes to Urbandale’s finest basement gym.

11. By now you’re already aware that we have an annual milkshake contest. Along these lines, be advised that just because someone makes a banana bread milkshake the year previous, this apparently does not mean that this same person actually likes bananas. In fact, it’s apparently supposed to mean that she hates bananas.

12. Along these same lines, you’re further informed that your opinion may be solicited as to whether or not a milkshake, by definition, requires that milk be added, or whether one may surreptitiously circumvent the process entirely by simply stirring in Oreos and M&Ms into half-melted ice cream and pretending she’s actually made a “shake.” (Not that I’m trying to suggest a position or anything, or that your chances of receiving a wedding gift will increase or decrease depending on your acquiescence to any perceived suggestion.)

13. If the family is playing wiffle ball, you may want to keep an extra eye on Nathan’s kids. No doubt Nathan’s supposed to be watching them, and no doubt he even thinks he’s watching them, but alas, they’re just as likely to be stranded in a ditch somewhere.

14. Be extra sensitive when your future husband comes home from a golf outing with his brothers. He doesn’t take losing well.

15. All the good cereal is on the top shelf of the food storage room downstairs. And no, we older kids (and we’re still trying to figure out whether Matt technically counts as one of the “older kids”) were never privy to the kind of smorgasbord now available at the Clark home on a daily basis. We had peanut butter toast.

16. Among the famous accomplishments of your in-laws: the world’s largest collection of DI books, consumption of a Big Texan meal (72 oz. steak, plus salad, baked potato, shrimp cocktail, and roll) in under an hour, a girl scout cookie eating champion (back when they were under $2 a box), a two-time popsicle eating champion, the Dr. Mario World Champion, a sister-in-law who once proudly walked around BYU campus with a paper bag on her head, and an ingenious cat trap.

17. And of course, a blogging brother-in-law with an unhealthy obsession with Peanut M&M’s – as long as they’re on sale.

If, after reading this letter, you still decide to go forward with the marriage, bienvenidos. You knew what we were when you picked us up.

Con Cariño,

Aaron

*I dutifully remind Michelle of this story whenever she identifies another weakness in my habits or character.

Life's Necessities

Michelle and I made significant sacrifices enabling me to take my current job and move ourselves to San Diego -- none more harrowing than giving up premium cable and *sigh* dvr.

Three months into our San Diego, limited basic cable, non-dvr, experience, we're reeling.

How's the line go...?

"There there little luxury. Don't you cry. You'll be a necessity by and by."

Who could have predicted how excruciatingly painful it would be -- after 15 months without a commercial -- to be at their mercy every 7.5 minutes! Who could have foreseen the difficult of reverting back to a lifestyle requiring us to watch tv shows when they actually air or miss them entirely! Such misery!

What ended up tipping the scales, though, was Michelle's displeasure at Jared catching some unsavory commercials on otherwise relatively innocent tv shows. He'd ask "What's that Momma?", and Momma would blush and turn the channel.

So we're getting DVR again, though this time we'll forego renting a box from the cable company and just buy one that doesn't require a subscription. For whatever reason we're more willing to pay a bit more up front if it means we avoid the monthly rental fees.

Hey, after all, it's all about keeping our kids safe. Sometimes you've just gotta bite the bullet...for the kids.

Cause for Celebration

We celebrated a momentous event tonight: Jared is potty-trained.



To mark the acheivement (which he attained by filling up an intricate sticker chart) we threw a party. Earlier in the day Michelle made a "purple hippo cake" at Jared's request:


We also got some Little Caesar's Pizza (in typical fashion, we ended up with four pizzas after I picked up two pizzas at the wrong Little Caesar's and then felt compelled to go pick up the two we'd actually ordered from a different store)*. He also got a "black knight" from Target, and is currently watching his favorite movie, the latest straight to DVD version of Brer Rabbit, featuring Danny Glover as the voice of Brer Turtle and Wanda Sykes as Sister Moon.

It can hardly be disputed: it pays to be potty-trained at the Clark house.

* Maybe someone out there can help us understand how Little Caesar's can offer large, one topping pizzas for $5.00, crazy bread for $1.00, and a special "Party Deal" to buy two one topping large pizzas, and two orders of crazy bread, for the bargain basement price of $12.99.

Momentary Lapse

Oh yeah...I've got a blog, don't I?

I hope to get back to posting soon. In the meantime, try to get a jumpstart on your taxes.

Post Christmas Post, Part 2

Umm...so my family wasn't supposed to be sick this long.

At any rate, here's what you missed since my Christmas Eve Post:

• 4.5 hours of opening presents on Christmas Morning (my family does it one gift at a time...and there were 17 people in the house);
• The Christmas matinee of Rocky Balboa -- a decent movie, I guess, though what I really can't wait for is the werewolf movie previewed just before it started. Something like Blood and Chocolate (who doesn't want to see a werewolf movie with that title).
• The four or five games of wiffle ball in my parents backyard, in January (we ruined that yard) and me avenging the fact that I was the #4 overall pick in the first game. I also discovered a near unhittable forkball.
• Michelle winning the annual Clark Milkshake Making Contest on December 27, 2006 with a "Cinnamon Roll Milkshake" (it really was good). I placed a respectable 5 out of 11 with a plain, yet perfectly constructed, peanut butter cup milkshake. Among the controversies to arise out of this year's contest: (1) do you have to add milk to be able to call it a milkshake?; and (2) do you have to use a blender (perhaps better -- is there an unfair advantage to not using a blender)?
• Me coming out of nowhere to smoke the family competition at Disney Scene It? My record: 5-1. The lone loss coming after Michelle, in a jealous rage because of the fame and accolades of my unheralded prowess, rustled me from sleep at 2 a.m. demanding a game. Knowing I was hardly coherent (and playing under protest) Michelle managed to steal a game from me. I followed it up the next day (during my waking hours) with a decisive victory.
• Watching the most amazing ending to a football game I'll ever see (Boise St. vs. Oklahoma) the night before we were to get up at 3 a.m. and drive 12 hours back to San Diego.
• Being with Michelle as she's hacked out a lung...for the past week and a half.

We're optimistic about the New Year, though it won't actually start until Michelle gets over being sick.

Post-Christmas, Part 1

Any stay at my parents' home seems to induce lethargy with respect to good habits (including writing). I have a glut of things I want to cover here, which I expect to do over the course of the weekend, pending Michelle's recovery from what may perhaps be a sinus infection.

First, a poem I wrote Michelle for Christmas, which I'm confident enough in (at least the subject matter) to publish to the world:

My heart to thee, my love, my queen
Whose absence I disdain
Whose presence noble kings might seek
Thy thoughts to entertain.

Thy beauty doth exceed the rose
Thy petals fairer all
That sunlight bends with hopes it might
Upon thy count'nance fall.

Thy fretting makes thee fairer still
To view thy furrowed brow
Demand perfection of thine acts
And grace in thee endow.

Whose children's glance delights thine eyes
Whose kindness quiets tears
Thine ears discern their faintest cries
Thy touch calms every fear.

Thy caring hands lift weary souls
And strength and hope renew
With silent, oft unnoticed, acts
Lone seen from Heaven's view.

To thee, my love, whose gentleness
Long since ensnared my heart
Though storms and mountains lay ahead
May I ne'er thy side depart.

Merry Christmas!

No times seem dearer than those with family at Christmas -- all the more as we celebrated by sharing our testimonies of Christ and our hopes in Him.

It also doesn't hurt that Santa came.

Merry Christmas to all (and to all a good night)!

5 Days Until Christmas!

There was a period of years when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. Santa knows this, and from my discussions with him, I know he holds me blameless. It was actually my Dad's fault.

Many Christmases ago I wrote Santa a letter. I'd written faithfully every year, but never quite gotten what I'd hoped for from him on Christmas morning. So on this particular year I tried a different strategy -- threatening Santa Claus:

Dear Santa,

I really want a VCR for Christmas. In fact, if I don't get one, I'm going to stop believing in you.

Yours Truly,
Aaron

Not long after my Dad sat me down for a little chat. My letter lay open on the table. I was aghast -- it was supposed to have been sent to the North Pole! He then told me flat out: "There is no Santa Claus and you're not getting a VCR." He said there was no money for one, to which I pointed out that I was asking Santa, not my parents, for the VCR.

I cried angrily that he'd read Santa's letter and wondered how I could go on. There was no comfort in return, only an admonition not to spoil it for the rest of the kids.

Only years and years later was my faith in jolly old Saint Nick restored -- when President Faust spoke of him at the 1999 Christmas Devotional and noted the similarities between Santa Claus and Christ. Not long after I found means to speak to Santa himself, who frankly forgave me (I had, after all attempted to extort presents from him) and we both lamented the actions of my father. We mused on the presents I might have had if I'd but believed in those intervening years. He then deftly deflected my hints that I should then get all of those lost gifts at the following Christmas, noting: It's the season that comes only once a year.

Santa also noted that retribution against my father would be swift. From reports, Santa instructed my grandparents (on my mother's side) to make sure that he got a tin of pretzels for Christmas (and Dad hates pretzels).

6 Days Until Christmas!

Inadvertent consequence of the Christmas season number 36: Jared now knows about whips. Yukon Cornelius has a whip in Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer, and Santa just happens to have whip for the reindeer in the book The Polar Express.

Consequently we've had to instruct Jared on the etiquette of whipping: when it is and is not appropriate. For example, it is ok to whip reindeer if you're driving Santa's sleigh (or a dogsled). It is not ok to whip Emily, or even to threaten to whip Emily.

And yet, despite our best efforts, the notion of "whipping" has found its way into our home.

7 Days Until Christmas

Somehow I'd forgotten what a guantlet of goodies the workplace can be at Christmas time. I fear there's little hope for me over the next few days.

Jared wrote a letter to Santa Claus tonight (with a little help). Knowing that Santa monitor's this blog, I did not think it wrong to make the contents of Jared's letter available to the jolly old elf through this medium:

18 December 2006

Dear Santa,

My name is Jared. Here is what I want for Christmas (I turn 3 on Christmas Day):

• The monkey that goes "like this" (on all fours);
• A tiger;
• A black good knight, and his horse and sword;
• A big momma giraffe
• A shark
• A cow
• A dinosaur
• A lion -- A daddy lion ( so he can fight the other lions)
• A snowman
• A Jessie Doll; a Zurg doll (a BIG, BIG Zurg from Toys-R-Us); a woody doll (even though I already have one;
• A Batman Dog
• The purple monkey at Toys-R-Us
• 2 More Buzz Light Years (even though I already have 2).

I've been really good this year Santa. I promise.
Love,
Jared
[Parent's note to Santa: Santa, you needn't worry. We told Jared tonight that even the best children only get 2 presents at most from Santa. Please note, however, that these restrictions do not hold true for the parent. Accordingly, on account of my exceeding goodness this year I am expecting everything on my list. Thanks Santa!]

8 Days Until Christmas

I wrote this a few years ago. It is certainly the work of an amateur, but it is mine.

Peace on Earth, Good will toward men
So peel the Christmas bells
Whose voice and song to hearts belong
And truth the Spirit tells

They toll the birth of Christ the King
And wake man’s deep desire
To reach within, and with his kin
Rejoice with heavn'ly choirs.

That we too could with them sing praise
And wintry souls refine
That we might show and He might know
Gratitude for gifts divine.

Let my soul sing! and with those bells
Proclaim His royal birth
And with that, then, good will toward men

And peace throughout the Earth

The Italian Stallion

Last night I was perusing some early reviews of Rocky Balboa – the unbelievable sixth installment of the franchise. They range from outright mockery to being pleasantly surprised. While I was reading, I got an unexpected email from a longtime friend asking me my thoughts on the new movie.

Of course, it’s utterly preposterous. But then, who cares! Anyone looking for anything realistic would’ve had to stop half-way through the first Rocky.*

Now admittedly, when I first heard this movie was coming out I laughed. (I’m still smarting from Rocky V – which never happened).** But after seeing the trailer, and finding out it comes out the day my brother Matt (a fellow Rocky enthusiast) returns from his mission in Mongolia. If that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is. Besides, the trailer hits just the right notes -- and there seems to be a possibility of another glorious training montage set to music half-inspiring and half-corny. Even the possibility alone is worth the price of admission.

So I’ll see you in the theater on the 22nd. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to work out to the Rocky IV Soundtrack.

[Editor's note: The author indeed finished blogging and almost immediately thereafter logged 10 miles on the exercise bike, burning 566 calories in 26:13 -- all while churning to the Rocky IV soundtrack. I defy you to show me a better sound track to work out to].


*Let us count the ways of improbability: (1) Rocky: Rocky was already in his early to mid 30’s back in 1976; (2) Rocky II: Rocky is half-blind at the beginning of the movie. Mick slaps him—tells him Creed will cave in the left side of his face but that all goes away after Creed calls Rocky a “chicken” and Adrian emerges from her coma (and it never comes back); Rocky is also apparently mildly retarded (Stallone seemed to take that angle a little too far—even for a Rocky movie), but that went away after Adrian’s coma too because he read her a book; (3) Rocky III: Rocky and Clubber Lang inexplicably cross paths during pre-fight preparations, which causes Mick to have a heart attack (and die), but Rocky still decides to fight (and get creamed); Rocky later loses a 200 yard footrace to Apollo Creed by 50 yards when he starts training for real (though without the Eye of the Tiger), but, after he gets the Eye of the Tiger back, he wins; (4) Rocky IV: Rocky ends the Cold War by the 11th Round against Ivan Drago (after losing the KGB and running up a mountain side); Rocky V (which never happened): Paulie is somehow authorized to sign away power of attorney for Rocky and Adrian?! (and then they lose everything).
**This notion was first proposed by the Sports Guy, who writes for ESPN Page 2.

Symbol of the Season

In the Clark home*, Christmas is the most anticipated time of year. Any questions as to why should be easily answered by studying the picture below:



Behold, The 1 lb. Gilliam's Barber Pole! [I know, it's hard to take your eyes off it].
As far as I can tell, this Barber Pole is at least 10 years old -- perhaps as old as 15. If you look closely, you'll see the price tag is still on the top. It's from a store in Upstate New York that hasn't been around for at least a decade. Yet here it is, taking up precious space in our San Diego apartment.
My brother Nathan bought this giant piece of candy in a post Christmas sale -- he always preferred to buy the Barber Poles because he could make them last the whole year [for the which we thought him nuts -- since nobody in their right mind wants to be eating candy canes year round.] He apparently thought it was important enough to store while he was on his mission. Then, several years ago, he inexplicably gave it to us as a Christmas gift, and we've been treating it like a family heirloom every since.
That said, I have caught Michelle stealing a few hungry looks at the heirloom in recent days. To avoid any potential temptations, I've determined that she should never be in the same room alone with the Barber Pole -- lest she be overcome.
*By the way, Emily is on her fourth night of sleeping in her crib. We've had so much free time these past few nights that we hardly know what to do with ourselves.

Sweet Dreams

We decided on a bold course of action yesterday: Emily was to fall asleep on her own in her crib.

This may well mean little to you, and perhaps you've even rolled your eyes in reading my tales of sleep deprivation and late night drives with Emily all in an effort to woo her to sleep. We simply could not bear to have her cry herself to sleep if we could help it.

With Jared it was the same -- which lead to many torturous nights and to Jared not learning to sleep through the night until he was a year old. Emily's path started better but taken far worse turns, which has wreaked havoc. And what's more -- her sleeping habits are almost entirely our own fault.

So last night we resolved to leave her alone in her crib for the sake of our sanity. Emily bore it moderately well -- Michelle actually seemed to suffer the most. After a few hours of crying, though, Emily put herself to sleep.

Now we just have to get her to learn to stay asleep.

Oh, and in the meantime, we made a gingerbread house and watched "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" and "Frosty the Snowman":

(I'd like to think Jared was listening intently to my tutelage, but he's actually watching the TV)

(Michelle would have you know that she crafted the front. I would have you know that I made sure not a drop of frosting went to waste)

(Almost) A Day Without Christmas

I felt uncharacteriscally cheery this morning as I alighted from the Trolley and made my way to work. In the walk from the Trolley to the Office, I alternated between whistling and singing "Angels We Have Heard On High" but got caught up in singing a part to the chorus (that I love in one of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir versions) that I could no longer remember the melody.

That faded when Michelle called frantically looking for her car keys: She was to take the kids to Disney for the Christmas decorations, parade, and fireworks.

As it happened -- and for reasons I positively cannot account for -- I had taken both sets of keys with me to work. Only after our phone conversation did I discover this, and then had to make the despairing call to relay the news.

If we'd been in Irvine still this wouldn't have been but a small annoyance (since I lived across the street from where I worked). Here in San Diego, though, I commute in nearly an hour by trolley. All seemed lost today, and all seemed to be inadvertently my fault. That was a difficult feeling.

Ah, but this story has a happy ending. Sensing that things couldn't possibly be as hopeless as they appeared at first. I wandered in a daze down the hallway in my office and then queried a few colleagues if anything could be done. A friend of a co-worker offered to drive the keys back to our home, and only an hour or so was lost.

Santa must have been watching.

PS--Michelle says the Christmas Parade and Fireworks were well worth the trip.

It's a Wonderful Life

What do you do when you have a five month old daughter that doesn't go to sleep until near midnight most nights, and otherwise wants to be held and walking around the rest of the time (and this has been going on for three weeks)? Well, you certainly don't blog. In fact, you don't to get to do much of anything but wait and hope.

In other news, Michelle won a $25 Target gift card in a drawing at our community tree lighting ceremony yesterday. This was wonderful news -- especially since, before the drawing, I wisely made a deal that if either of us won one of the gift cards, we'd split it. (No comment on whether I'd have held up my end of the bargain if I'd won the gift card). Afterward, we headed straight over to Target to spend our winnings. Since Michelle wasn't enamored with the idea of using the gift card to stock up on Mint M&Ms (which were on sale for $2), we opted to finally purchase It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas on DVD. Jared also got the toy hippopotamus he's been eyeing.

Maybe Emily will someday give Michelle and I a moment to watch these movies without requiring one of us to be up and walking -- carrying her around.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Our neighbors must have sensed my near total lack of free time the past few days, which has prevented me from spending time on frivolites like this blog. To help me out, they decided to get me up early by playing video games at 4 a.m. that just happened to be loud enough to cause me to pay a visit. Happy Thanksgiving indeed! (To their credit, they took my early morning visit quite well -- only now I find that sleep has fled from me -- Perhaps they'll let me play!).

We've been in our new apartment just under two weeks, and I've been working at my new job just about a week and a half. If I seem to be standing a little taller or breathing a little more freely these days one may well look to the fact that I no longer under any billable hour pressure. Of course, it might also be the fact that Mint M&Ms are on store shelves again.

Here some other recent thoughts/highlights:

• My trolley commute to and from work takes about an hour each way. Having come from a place where I was walking to work, this adds an extra two hours to my day automatically. Having assured Michelle this career move would end up being better for our family, I sure didn't gain many points on that front our first week here.
• BUT, the federal government is paying for my trolley ticket, and I've suddenly got lots of extra reading time. I've also found great entertainment value in watching security guards chase non-paying customers (including one who, apparently taking a cue from some movies and a recent TV show, lured the security guard into a trolley car and then tried hastily exiting the trolley car just before it started moving again).
• As mentioned previously, our great sacrifice in my taking this job is that we've given up DVR. No longer are we able to record tv shows at a whim to watch at our leisure, nor have we the power now to fast forward through commercials. Jared has actually taken this the hardest, who, apparently having never known the hardship of wading through commercials and living without tv on demandf, still cries whenever a commercial interrupts his programming.
• Today marks the end of this year's battle between Michelle and I over Christmas music. It ends only because she'll now (with the passing of Thanksgiving) officially allow herself to celebrate Christmas. As for me, any distinctions I made between permissible and impermissible Christmas music faded weeks ago. Now the battle becomes how much Manheim Steamroller she'll tolerate.
• Lastly, is there anything more depressing than a Charlie Brown holiday tv special? Why are these things so popular?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thoughts Post Move

We managed to survive the move yesterday, though some of our things didn't (we've bid goodbye to our desk). Boxes are everywhere, and our new, smaller apartment is in total chaos. But, the internet is hooked up, so here are some random thoughts on the process:

• Our Elder's Quorum in Irvine helped load the truck yesterday -- we've got enough stuff now to warrant a 24 footer. I promised them a quick move and lots of donuts. Gratefully, I was able to deliver on both promises. Michelle and I were dumbfounded though at how many donuts were left after everyone left. Earlier in the day I'd bought two dozen, wondering if that'd be enough. Afterward, there were probably 8-10 donuts left. Apparently not everyone eats like I do.
• U-Haul promised a "comfortable" ride. They have an interesting definition of the term -- which apparently includes shaking violently at every bump in the road.
• I think our truck, fully loaded, got 3.5 miles a gallon.
• Any time you're gunning for something new in the home, just need to make sure the old one breaks inadvertently at some point in the moving process. I'm 90% sure this is why the desk broke on the drive down (I was fond of it; Michelle wasn't).
• One can probably truly appreciate the Little Ceaser's $5 pizzas only after a long moving day and amid mountains of boxes in the new home.
• The great sacrifice of this new job, our move, and our new budget restrictions, is that we've had to give up High Definition digital cable with DVR (a Tivo like service that lets you pause live tv and record programs) -- $70 a month, in exchange for "Limited Basic Cable" -- $12.50 a month. Much to our delight, though, ESPN2 and the Food Network (along with the Weather Channel and two C-Spans) are among the channels we're getting reception on.
• It's nice to have furniture worn out enough that you're happy to keep as long as you can but, when you realize there isn't room for it in your new apartment, you can just throw it away without any reservations. (Exibit A? Our love seat)
• Finally, and perhaps the best news of all, the Albertson's across the street has a day old rack!

Tomorrow, my first day at the new job.

Parting Thoughts

With less than 36 hours before we load the moving truck and head to San Diego, and with the left side of my face still numb from a visit to the dentist, a few parting observations from Irvine:

• A late night trip to Albertson’s last night revealed they’ve got about three shopping carts full of candy corn reduced to 25 cents a bag. I surveyed things, even picked up a bag of Autumn Mix, weighed the bag in my hands, and then tossed the bag back in and walked away. Even though it was only 25 cents, candy corn season is over. (Though don’t think that wasn’t difficult).
• You’ll note I mentioned going to Albertson’s last night, instead of Ralph’s. Yes, as I’ve mentioned before, Ralph’s grocery store and I are on the outs, but that’s not the reason I went to Albertson’s. Instead, Ralph’s has been closed for two days for remodeling. It appears they’re making it into a nicer, more expensive Ralph’s. We even got a packet in the mail with this week’s circular and a pamphlet with the new layout of the store. Among the new features: three full aisles to liquor! Sadly, however, the pamphlet had no information on the new whereabouts of the day old rack. Truly, it’s time for us to leave.
  Speaking of which, I despise moving.
• CVS (next to Ralph’s) is also trying to sell off their leftover Halloween candy. I noticed two days ago they had 15 or so bags left of Halloween Peanut M&Ms at $1.65 a bag. Almost as a reflex I reached to start grabbing all I could carry, but I stopped myself. The last time I went crazy buying Peanut M&Ms – foolishly thinking I could “store” them and have a year’s supply – I ate the year’s supply within a month. It probably wouldn’t be the wisest idea anyway since I’m looking to trim off another 10 pounds or so before Christmas.
• As to weight loss, I’ve decided that that period between Halloween and Christmas is the most ideal time to lose weight. Last year I dropped 15 lbs. in those seven weeks, though I sputtered and pretty much hovered around 250 lbs. the rest of the year. This year I seem to be on a similar track. I can’t tell if it’s the Halloween candy binging that brings me to my eating senses, the anticipation of binging on Christmas cookies, or some magic in the Season itself, but at no other time of year have I found this same kind of eating discipline and drive to exercise. It’s remarkable. (Just note how I’ve been able to resist by bargain basement candy corn and M&Ms).
• Did I mention I hate moving. If I’d been wise, I might have taken a little more time off to allow us to settle in down in San Diego before starting work. I was not wise. As it is, tomorrow is my last day of work here, and I’ll be starting work there Monday. Hopefully, though, the money we’ll save will allow me to start sampling the San Diego donut shops in earnest.

Christmas Carols in July (revisited)

With Halloween out of the way and things getting dark way too early, I've felt some inklings toward Christmas music. As I mentioned last year, though, this early in November that always means trouble in our home -- Michelle simply won't tolerate it until after the Thanksgiving meal.* Elsewhere, though, my siblings have started listening to it -- and I think my Father's been listening to it since August.

So, driving to a golf lesson, and intent on defying my wife, I tried playing some of my "Christmas Music" iTunes playlist that has just about my entire Christmas collection. It was 75 degrees outside or so and I had the windows down. When Manheim Steamroller came on, though, I almost shuddered. It was too early, and my system couldn't handle it yet.

Perplexed, I asked around -- to those willing to entertain the idea of Christmas music this time of year -- and some suggested to start with the religious Christmas music: Manheim, and the other whimsical, non-religious music might be a little to "hard" for this time of year. So instead, I tried easing into things this evening [with Michelle out of the house] by trying out my "Sunday Christmas Music" iTunes playlist from last year -- lots of Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Messiah. This music is much easier to embrace, and honestly has me swept up again already (at least until Michelle gets home).

Perhaps that's the key then: save the whimsical stuff for after Thanksgiving, and start with the religious Christmas music in July.


* In fact, today she referred to herself as "the devil incarnate" in jest when referring to her zero tolerance policy. I said nothing, and there was an awkard silence for 7 seconds.

A Moment of Silence

I passed a gruesome scene yesterday as I made my way through the parking lot in our apartment complex. There, beneath the wheel of one of the parked cars, lay a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup smashed and melted. It was still in its original wrapping. No doubt this was the result of some careless child letting a prize piece of candy get away. As a result of the child's carelessness, this Reese's was forced to pay the ultimate price.

I bowed my head mournfully and respectfully as I passed, and then spent the rest of the day grieving.

The Morning After

At some point last night -- after Friday's Stake Trunk or Treat, after the afternoon office party (which is where one can really clean up if they're interested in a high percentage of "good candy"), and before actual trick-or-treating -- I realized that maybe we neither needed nor wanted the fruits of three solid hours of hauling the kids around to every house with a light on.

The thought was difficult to embrace and almost made me shiver. In the end, though, I think we were happier just hitting a few houses for 45 minutes or so, visiting the homes of people we know, and trying to keep Jared away from the "scary Halloween." Perhaps it was a breakthrough moment for me.

The aforementioned breakthrough might also explain why this is the first "morning after" Halloween in recent memory where I haven't been sorely remorseful for the volume of treats eaten the night before.