Ice Cream Heaven

For the first time ever, we decided to go as a family to the Utah State Fair last night. They had a high-diving show; high-priced, high-fat food; garden oddities; a large array of farm animals and animal smells; and best of all, ice cream heaven. They didn’t call it ice cream heaven, they called it the ‘Utah Diary Farmer’s Association & Ice Cream Something-or-other Group’s Something, Something Ice Cream Something” (or something like that). It was all you can eat ice cream for $3 (only $2 for 12 and under); with Russell’s ice cream, Farr Better ice cream, Creamies, Fatboys, and (dum-dum-da-dah) Aggie ice cream. They had two long tables full of toppings from chocolate and caramel sauce to peanuts and sprinkles. I had six scoops of Aggie ice cream and a Fatboy, (and I didn’t need no stinking toppings). It was ice cream heaven. I was disappointed in myself that I couldn’t manage a return visit to sample some of the other ice cream varieties and flavors, or at least take a Creamie to go. But it was not to be. It was just a fleeting glimpse of the rewards awaiting the most righteous in the hereafter.

Jack Handey once said, "When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not, mmmmmmmm, boy." I’m choosing ice cream heaven. Every time.

Farewell to the Fountain

My office has been move to the second floor, where my window mirror and fountain view have been replaced with a lovely view of the Wasatch Mountains. But before I moved, the fountain decided to host a final, bravura performance.

I was in the midst of a discussion with a co-worker when she looked over my shoulder out the window and asked, “What is going on?” There was some sort of commotion on the street involving police sirens, like an orchestral overture had started to signal the raising of the curtains. As if on queue, a longer haired man with a backpack came sprinting from stage right, tossed his backpack from his should, and leapt several feet into the air and came down on his side into the fountain. There was an audible clunk as he hit bottom followed by a rattling shockwave on the window. There was a long pause. His backpack lay on the ground against the fountain directly in front of my window.

“Is he hurt? Or is he stoned?” I asked. My co-worker shrugged.

We stood on our tip-toes and craned our necks to try to see down into the fountain. I could barely see the man’s upper torso as he glided about the fountain on his back, occasionally spewing water from his mouth as if it were a blow hole.

“Stoned,” we both intoned in unison.

Before we could puzzle out the plot further, we heard the wail of a motorcycle cop headed toward the fountain.  The swimmer heard it too and immediately siddled up against the edge of the fountain wall. It was like a toddler was playing hide and seek. Perhaps if he had closed his eyes, it would have been more effective. In short order, he was out of the fountain, on his stomach in handcuffs.

By this time, several other co-workers had joined the premium seating along my window. The motorcycle cop was followed by the police cruiser, and then an ambulance. We speculated whether it was the swan dive into the fountain or the drugs in his system that prompted the ambulance and agreed it was likely the former.

In the end, another long-haired man in cuffs sat in the background on a grassy mound watching his presumed accomplice surrounded by a chorus line of cops and paramedics. The drama continued to unfold for the next few hours.  I had the opportunity to re-count the plot points from the first act for many late comers for much of the morning.

The fountain really out did itself for this farewell production. I almost didn’t want to move.

Almost.

Decision 2012

With the political conventions looming, I have started to give a great deal of thought to which candidate was most worthy of my vote.  After much consideration, I have come to a shocking conclusion: Mitt Romney and I have a lot in common:

• Mitt Romney has children. I have children.

• Mitt Romney is a millionaire. I have played the “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” board game.

• Mitt was the governor of Massachusetts. I know how to spell Massachusetts.

• Mitt has changed his mind on certain issues, or flip-flopped. I have worn flip-flops.

• Mitt Romney founded and ran Bain Capital. I have worked at a company that has also been a bane at times.

• Mitt Romney saved the Salt Lake Olympics. I watched them on TV.

• Mitt Romney hasn’t released his taxes to the public. I haven’t released my taxes to the public.

• Mitt has great hair. I have hair.

With so much in common, it shouldn’t take me too long to decide.

Rule #1...

It’s time again for scout camp. This year’s edition is at Bear Lake Aquatics Base, which claims to have only two rules. Rule #1: Don’t Do Anything Stupid. The problem is, all 12 to 13 year-old scouts lack the stupidity gauge that some adults acquire as they mature. This makes compliance with Rule #1 very difficult. That’s why there is the Rule #2: see Rule #1. Scouts can’t really remember more than one rule anyway, so making them the same increases the chances that they will remember at least one of them. Fortunately, campfires are banned this year, so we won’t have a repeat of the “throw the bug spray canister into the fire and see what happens” or the “there is only 18 inches between these two tents, let’s start a fire there” incidents. We are still open for the sunscreen and pocket-knife related incidents, though.

On a related topic (stupid, but not that kind of stupid): what is it with scouts and flatulence? I called Julie on the drive up to camp to verify the directions from Evanston to Laketown, and the conversation went something like this:

Julie: What is that noise in the background?

Me: You don’t want to know.

Julie: That’s disgusting.

Me: Yes, yes it is.

Julie: Why don’t you tell them it’s disgusting?

Me: That would only encourage them.

Julie: Can’t you ask them to stop?

Me: That would only encourage them.

I head back up tonight for two more days. I am undoubtedly breaking Rule #1 by going, but hopefully, it’s not that kind of stupid either.

Lost in Thought

Have you ever been heading somewhere, very purposefully, only to find yourself lost in thought?  I mean really lost in thought, like "wait, why I am in the break room staring at the coffee pot" lost.  I mean, "I'll pretend to be going to a co-worker's desk to raid the candy dish" lost?  I mean so lost that even after chatting with said co-worker about her adopted grandchildren's experience at football camp for ten minutes, you are forced to return to your desk to try to reconstruct what you were doing when you left your desk in the first place, only to get lost in the same thoughts as before?

I never get that lost.  But if I did, it would surely be a sign of a very deep, very profound thinker.

(Oh, I remember, I need more paper clips from the supply closet.)

The Eagle Has Landed

For those who hadn't heard, Jordan earned his Eagle Scout award and received it at a Court of Honor held tonight.  Julie went all out for refreshments (yes, those are coconut covered marshmallows on Oreo cookies).  For those who missed it, I have attached the slide show from the evening's program, so that you too can suffer.  Hopefully it works, if not the highlights included Jordan as Captain Underpants (uses Princess patterns no less) and in various other embarrassing costumes.

Congrats Jordan!

Quality Time

With the older two children safely (?) off at camp and Julie running off to help at Girl's camp for the day, I had the opportunity to spend quality one-on-one time with the youngest.  This started with her reading Mad-Libs to me while I found something to eat for dinner.  (She had already had something to eat at Grandma's.)  While we picked strawberries in the garden, she explained her dislike for grasshoppers (they have creepy eyes) and spiders (some are large and poisonous, and Grandma is afraid of spiders and there was this movie that her friend had seen...).  She also explained how she and her siblings had "discussions" about whether or not some strawberries were ready to pick or not.  (Julie ended the discussion by determining the "white part" microscopic and that the berry was in fact ripe enough for picking.)  This was followed by a dissertation on animal cruelty supported by a recitation of key plot points from Black Beauty.

When we finished picking berries, we went inside to sweep the floor.  While I manned the broom, she explained how she would have shared her Reese's peanut butter cups with me, but she only had two.  And "they are sacred."  We then took turns doing Mad-Libs as I tidied up the kitchen and made popcorn.  Based on her reaction, the best Mad-lib involved Taylor Swift stealing my fecal matter. Then we took the popcorn, two cans of Shasta Root Beer, two Red Vines licorice straws, and a blanket to the basement where we watched a Harry Potter movie.

We both agreed that everyone else should go to camp more often.

(I had to buy some Reese's peanut butter cups today.  If I only have two left, I won't be sharing, either.  I feel the same way: they are sacred.)