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.