My Keeeeyboardddd seems like it's brookennnn...

Will somebody enlighten me? I don't understand something. When I am on Facebook, just perusing the days status updates, sometime I come across updates or comments that look a little like this:

"OMG!!! I really love to eatttttttttttt."

or

"foreverrrrrrr....."

or

"sweet lovinnnnnn"

Why? Is their keyboard broken, or do they really want me to say, "eat-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t?" Can anyone please explain this to me? Am I alone here? Please tell me I'm not the only one who sees this. I would just like to get a reasoning behind it!

Air Conditioning

Just a few words about the fabulous wonder known as Air Conditioning.

In our house (Tyler, Danniey, Calvin, and me), we have had a struggle with the air conditioner. We felt that it was not working properly. And by 'felt,' I mean we 'felt' the sweat drip down our backs while watching television, or one us would occasionally stoke off for a moment or two due to the heat. Some of us would argue that it just wasn't working up to it's fullest capacity; the A/C was cooling the air, but not well enough. Other believed that it was just plain broken, and that the air was not being cooled at all.

I was in the former party, and though it wounds my pride to admit it, I was wrong. In fact I was completely wrong. After having the A/C professionals visit the house, I was informed that the unit was built in 1978, and the compressor was broken, and refrigerant was very low, and that by running the A/C, we we're actually making the house hotter, than if we just ran the fan. I was wrong, and to the people belonging to the latter party, I stand corrected.

Well the Air Conditioner was replaced, and life is moving along swimmingly. It is amazing how much a good air conditioner can do for a person, or an entire household. Incredible inventions! I wonder how we even got through our summers before having a working air conditioner! Three Cheers! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!

El Pistolero

A little preface for this post:

At work, we have a Monthly Update Meeting to discuss metrics, performance, announcements, games, food, jokes, laughter, etc. They are really a lot of fun, and each one is specifically themed. This month, the theme was Super Heroes, and we had a Super Hero Essay Writing Contest.

We were supposed to think of a time that we we're a super hero for one of our customers. So, for some reason I wanted to write a story about a super-hero in Mexico.. I was inspired by movies like "The Three Amigos," "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly," and other westerns that I've enjoyed.

So I wrote about a common issue that customers will call in with. There are two different versions of the search page on the website, and some of our customer really love the Old Search. Occasionally, after their browser updates or something, the New Search page will load by default, and some of our customers get very frightened by it. So I decided I would write my story about those experiences. Also note, there are a lot of work specific inside jokes in this essay. Here it is (to be read with a classic Mexican accent):

Some might say that super-hero-ing should be a public service, and any viewpoint to the contrary is just selfish. To those people, I say simply, you’re wrong.

I wasn’t born rich like that pretty-boy Bruce Wayne, and I didn’t come from outer space with crazy super powers like that over grown boy-scout Superman. I was born poor, raised poor, and I’ll probably die poor. But I was born with skills, like 30 or 50 or 51 or 52 skills, something like that. However, my greatest skill? My way with a pistol. Nobody wields a pair of six-shooters against the forces of evil like I do.

I make my living in the arid Sonoran desert of Mexico. The way I see it, I should be getting paid for my ‘public service.’ I mean they are lucky to even have me as option. Unfortunately, this is not case everywhere. Believe me. I tried to make it in Geneapolis, but anytime I finally made a sale, people would cancel on me and go with Captain FamilySearch! That guy? I mean, sure, he can do some of what I do, but there is a reason I charge the fee! You can’t get skills like mine anywhere else.

So, I moved back to my home, and I took a new name: The champion of liberty, the defender of truth, El Pistolero!

So there I was, in my not-so-secret lair (the Burrito and Sons taco truck on the corner) selling my tacos (crime fighting doesn’t pay all my bills), when I saw a little señorita and her hijo, approaching the truck. The little boy has a single tear in his eye when he said, “¡Ayùdanos! Help us Pistolero! Our village is under some sort of weird spell. We went to our beds one night, and in the morning when we arose, we found the town completely changed! We don’t know how to do anything!”

“¡Si! ¡Si!” cried the señorita, “For example, I used to be able to go to our villages library and I knew right were we kept our special town census records. And now I have to go into the library, go open another door, go through another door, then fill out some paperwork, and then I get my records. It is all so new; I cannot learn how to do it. We hate it! We hate this new village! We need your help!”

“Well Señorita, I have seen this before, and I have just the thing for you. Here are some step by step instructions I wrote down that you can take back to your village! Then you can fix the problem yourself!” I handed her my little paper. The little lady was not pleased.

“Por favor, I cannot fix this problem myself! I do not want to read these instructions, I need you to solve our problem!”

“Señorita, I will help you, but first you must know, I charge a fee.” I handed her my terms and conditions, and I continued on, “Please note that if you do not cancel my services before your renewal date, you will be charged another 155 pesos. Be sure to get a confirmation number.”

She accepted my terms and conditions, and she gave a bag of 155 pesos that she had collected from every member of the village. I climbed on my horse, Pepe, and I followed her and her son back to her village. Si, I had seen this before, and it was clearly the work of El Searcho Nuevo! He strikes entire villages without any warning, completely changing the way they used to live their lives! How frustrating, right!?

It would clearly be a show down today in the village… just me, and El Nuevo.

“Okay El Nuevo, come out now! It is time to meet your doom, you have slightly inconvenienced these people long enough!” I walked up the main street, calling out for El Nuevo, challenging him.

Soon, I heard the sound of spurs coming around the building. “Pistolero, at last we meet. You think you can defeat me?”

“Si, El Nuevo, however, I’m pretty sure, you’ll just come back again later, most likely after the villagers throw out their cookies.”

We stood about 50 feet apart from each other, each one squinting harder the last. I was poised to draw mis pistoles and unleash a heaping can of justice on this Searcho Nuevo. After what seemed like hours, I saw Nuevo make his move. I admit, he was fast, but I was much faster. “Pow! Bang! Pew pew pew!” I had emptied my pistols of patience and careful guided education, and El Searcho Nuevo was no more. The village reverted back to its original form.

“Viva El Pisolero! Ay ay ay ay!” The people cheered for they had their Old Village back. The little Señorita came running up to me, and she gave me un abrazo grande.

“Gracias! Muchas gracias, Pistolero! You have saved us, for there is no way that we could have ever adapted to that new and horrible village!”

That night, the village celebrated their victory, and of course I stuck around. There were fireworks, los mariachis were playing their music, and oh the tacos that were made! Such a fiesta! As I was drinking some of my homemade horchata, I heard a voice quieting the crowd:

“Silénco! Quiet! Where is El Pistolero?” I answered him, “I am here Muchacho!”

“Pistolero, my village is in danger, I have spotted a terrible gang riding to pillage the town I come from. They are coming to steal parts of our trees, it is Los Arbolitos Bandidos! THE TREE BANDITS!”

And so, once again, I was off to help another sad and defeated village regain their freedom. Where there is frustration, I’ll be there. Where there is slight inconvenience, I’ll be there. When there is an overdraft fee, I’ll be there too, but I really won’t be able to help. Read the terms and conditions. I am always there when you need me (excluding Saturdays and Sunday). I am, El Pistolero!

The Game Has Changed

I love Tron. In fact, I'm known at work, in certain circles, as 'Tron.' I think it's a really great movie, and a fascinating universe. Naturally, I'm really excited about the upcoming TRON: Legacy film.

As I mentioned earlier, the people I work with are well acquainted with my love for Tron, and when I got home today, I found a lovely e-mail from a coworker. I thought the story was so cool that I would share it with you all. I would do most anything to have one of these puppies.

I can't thank my coworker enough for pointing this out to me. It's getting my lightcycles all revved up for the movie!

p.s. Also, this video game look awesome too.

I Have Returned

My friends, I have been absent from your electronic lives for many months, and for this I apologize. However, I am pleased to announce my triumphant return to the world of Web Logging (or 'blogging' as many might say)! I have re-decorated the blog for this occasion, and will be posting many 'sweet nothings' in the near future. Please do your best to contain your excitement, and in the meantime, live long and prosper.

Christmas Musings

It’s Christmastime again, oh dear, the snow has covered all.
Though I should write, my mind is blank, so at this point I’ll stall.
The sky is blue, the snow is white, and Santa’s suit is red.
I know my quips are less than fun, I ask your pardon instead.

If only I had been so blessed with power over words,
My letter would have been complete, then I might watch the birds.
I wish I knew a clever story or witty anecdote,
But alas, I know of no such thing, I’ve doomed this tragic note.

But of course! Why, it’s so obvious! I know just what to do!
I’ll share with you a tatty old tale (I’ll spare no details too).
Although my hand knows not of that exquisite art of expression,
I’ll tell this story anyway, to alleviate further digression:

Our story begins, if I may borrow, with five most fateful words,
“‘Twas the night before Christmas,” a creature was stirring, though he went on unheard!
Now, I know it’s been said that all was quiet, even mice had taken to rest,
But this I can tell you, not all were asleep, for this mouse like Christmas best.

His name was Andrew and he was all white, a fact that poor Andrew hated,
For this was a fact that all Andrew’s friends made fun of and mocked, bluntly stated.
This young little mouse had snuck from his house, and went on an evening ‘stroll.’
The evening it was, a stroll it was not, for with purpose did he leave his hole.

“I’m such a disaster! No one is my friend,” our sad white friend cried out,
“But now I have a perfect plan, then I’m ‘in’ forever, no doubt!
If I can just get Mousie Claus to come into our home,
I know they’ll cheer and scream, ‘Well done,” then I’ll never be alone!”

What’s that you say? You don’t believe? Now I need to defend!
Mousie Claus is just as real as me! He’s Santa’s little friend!
Let me just ask one simple thing, since my good friend you mock,
How do you think those little holes get into Santa’s socks?

He travels ‘round on Christmas Eve, with Santa, in his sleigh,
Giving gifts to all the good little mice, they too need toys to play.
I will no longer press the point, but one final word I give:
Mousie Claus is real, ask any young mouse, and they’ll tell you ‘he lives.’

So! Andrew crept, so quietly, along the hallway wall,
Until he reached the sitting room, where Mousie Claus would call.
He scurried behind the chair and then, with grace he took a leap,
Right at the glowing Christmas tree, he never made a peep.


He landed on a branch that hung not far above the floor,
Then up he went the Christmas trunk, very eager to explore.
As he went past each ornament, he always gave due heed,
To the ballet girl, he gave a bow; A salute to the Soldier on his steed.

Eventually he found a spot where he could sit and spy,
The fireplace was in plain sight, not a thing would pass his eye.
“Mousie Claus would have to come through here, if he should leave his gifts,
And then I can jump out at him, he’ll have to grant my wish!”

And so Andrew waited for quite some time, thinking how Mousie Claus might look,
He thought of a big brown mouse standing there, with the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in his book.
He pictured him with a deep, booming voice, with a hat of white and red,
With his bag of presents looped ‘round his tail, and belly that was clearly well fed.

The little mouse was deep in thought, when something brought him back,
He heard a noise, and so he looked, but through the window- pitch black.
He heard it again up on the roof, though gentle, very clear,
“This must be it!” our Andrew cried, “It’s him and his reindeer!”

Andrew shook high in that tree, his thrill was hardly tamed.
He restlessly, and with no blinks, looked at the room, and aimed.
Then with a shudder and one soft moan, a man came tumbling in!
He slowly stood, then dusted off the soot all over his skin.

He wore all red, except his boots, which were quite thick and black,
His great big belly held fast in place, by a belt, yet there was no slack.
His beard was white, his nose was cherry, his presence made Andrew pause,
For he knew now without a doubt this must be Santa Claus.

He peered around and took great care, until he saw a plate.
Then swiftly he did cross the room, and then at once he ate.
He took one bite of one big cookie, then followed with a drink,
And after he swallowed he reached in his coat, pulled out a mouse and winked!

Now Andrew could not believe what he’d seen, in fact he had to look twice!
He saw a mouse with a fluffy red cap, it seemed it was made just for mice!
And out of the hat stuck two big pink ears, for holes had been cut so they’d fit.
Andrew then thought, “This has to be him, Mousie Claus has now come! This is it!”

But what was amazing, in Andrew’s small mind, was how Mousie Claus seemed so bright,
For his fur wasn’t brown, and no shades of black, but instead it was snow-colored; white!
When Andrew saw this, he immediately gasped, for he’d never seen one look like that,
And then with a whisper he quietly said, “Mousie Claus looks like me…in a hat!”

Mousie Claus then sneezed, followed by a small shudder, then he grabbed a cookie and bit.
His little mouse teeth took tiny small bites, but it was gone lickety-split!
Then Santa Claus poured a small bit of milk, so Mousie Claus could sip,
Then Mousie Claus let out one soft burp, and Santa bit his lip.
Santa Claus stood, now laughing, and said, “We ought to do our job!”
Then Mousie Claus looked, with a twinkle in his eye, and up and down his head bobbed.
Santa moved away and picked up his sack, and gifts he started to spread,
While Mousie hopped off the table where he stood, landing softly on his head.

While Santa kept working, taking breaks for bites, Mousie dragged his Christmas sack,
All down the hall toward the small mouse house, where Andrew’s Family was at.
Now Andrew had so quietly snuck back down the Christmas tree,
So down the hall in hot pursuit of Mousie Claus was he.

But to his horror, with mouth open wide, he saw an unwelcome face.
It was the cat, her name Lily Belle, and she had come for the chase.
Now Mousie Claus hadn’t seen Lily Belle, for on the sill she sat,
And he may not have been here today if Andrew hadn’t screamed out, “CAT!”

Then Lily Belle pounced, heading straight for mouse, but Mousie Claus started to sprint,
Back down the hall, toward the fire, with Lily Belle’s eyes in a squint.
She quickly gave chase, sliding ‘round the corner and in the sitting room,
She spotted Mousie Claus climbing up the tree; her intent was to consume.

She stalked all ‘round the Christmas tree, her claws were poised to lash,
When Andrew had a sudden idea, to Santa he would dash!
But where had he gone? He was just here, how could he get away!
But Andrew noticed the tall milk glass, was missing from the fray.

Andrew sped with all his might, in through the kitchen doors,
To find the big round jolly elf engaged in household chores!
He sped across the floor, and scurried up his leg,
And through his beard, up to his face, and he began to beg.

Now Santa was confused at first, not sure what he was seeing,
For this was not his friend Mousie Claus, but some other similar being.
But that old man could see the fear inside that small mouse’s eyes.
He seemed to know the meaning of his little desperate cries.

With long, great strides, the big man stepped into the sitting room,
And in mid-air he caught that cat, before Mousie Claus’ doom.
The cat was placed into the kitchen; the door was then shut tight,
And Andrew was placed on the floor, to meet his friend in white.

Mousie Claus came down from that tall tree, with thankful, twinkling eyes
And he came close to Andrew, and then he said, “I’m alive!”
Andrew flashed a toothy smile, then Mousie asked him this,
“What is your name, my dear sweet boy? I’m sure you’re on my list!”

Then with a nervous whisper, Andrew answered very slowly,
“My name is Andrew, and I’m white, and I am very lonely.
My friends and family think I’m odd, and they won’t treat me nice.
Oh won’t you bring me a new coat, I think brown would suffice!”
Then with a chuckle, Mousie shook his head, then he responded thus,
“You’re white, and you will always be, there’s nothing to discuss.
Embrace who you are, that what I did, and look at me today,
Have faith in yourself, and who you are, then all your friends will play.”

“Andrew you have saved me, but that’s not all you have done,
You’ve saved Christmas for all mousie-kind, and you are only one!
Surely this act alone is enough, to make your friends turn green,
So what is there to worry about, you shouldn’t make a scene!”

But Andrew looked down at the ground and he made one more plea,
“No one saw what happened here, they won’t even believe.”
But with that twinkle in his eye, Mousie Claus removed his hat,
And then he said, “This hat will tell, you saved me from the cat.”

With that he gave a final wink, Santa set down his cup,
And with a finger on his nose, Andrew watched them both go up.
Then Andrew ran to see the sleigh go flying through the night,
And then he heard a soft little voice, then laughter jolly and bright.

The little small voice had certainly come from Mousie once maybe twice,
His message was short, was simple and clear:
“Merry Christmas to all and to all the good mice!

Gandolfo's

Gandolfo's is a sandwich joint in Provo. There are many franchises around the United States, but there are more locations in Utah than in any other state. I am lucky enough to live across the street from one of these delectable delicatessens. I must say, I am a frequent visitor.

I started going to Gandolfo's when I moved back up to Utah this past summer. After Danniey, Tyler, and I finished our combined garage sale, I convinced Tyler to come with me to Gandolfo's. Honestly, the menu is a bit daunting. There are about 70 different sandwiches organized into different categories. Despite the general organization, I had no idea what to do. Tyler, who shares the same feelings about the menu, helped out by ordering the only sandwich he has ever ordered there: The Urban Cowboy.

The sandwich is very good, and the next five times I've been there, I got the Urban Cowboy. Eventually I grew tired of the ordering the same thing over and over, and I made a decision that I would begin to branch out, and conquer my fear of the massive menu. I've tried, to name a few, the Throg's Neck Bridge, the Bridge Hampton, and my recent favorite, a hot Knickerbocker (if you know what I mean, and what I mean is a sandwich). I've been pleased every time. Now moving on the point of this entry.

I was at hard at work, working up a mean appetite. My lunch hour came and I decided to go in search of something to eat. Not too far up the street is a Gandolfo's so I decided I would rustle me up a sandwich for lunch, completely unaware of the impending challenge awaiting me. I pushed open the door, and stepped into this Gandolfo's and there it was staring me in the face, begging me to take it:

The Dagwood.

If memory serves me right, the beast looked a little like this. It was as long as my boot and it was just as thick with "Roast beef, turkey, ham, pastrami, swiss, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, mayo, spicy mustard, [and] s&p." I knew this sandwich was made to live in my belly. Without hesitation, I stepped up to the register and in the manner of the Man with No Name, I said, "Give me a Dagwood...Full."

The timid sandwich clerk slowly swallowed and as I watched his adam's apple lethargically return to it's normal position, the sandwich man timidly squeaked, "Are- are you hungry?" I struck a match off my fingernail to light my cigar, and replied from the corner of my mouth, carefully blowing the smoke in his face, "What do you think?"

Another worker came out from the kitchen and quickly stammered, "Ju-ju know, that t-ting gives you the cancer!" Before I could talk back, the third sandwich man appeared. Obviously more confident than the other two, he challenged me, saying, "You eat that whole Dagwood, and I'll give you a cookie." I squinted my eyes and gave him a slight nod, letting him know I was ready.

Within a few minutes, he carried the heavy sandwich out to the counter. Without a word, he dropped it into my hands. It was heavier than I thought, causing me to give a little as the sandwich made contact. I sat down, unwrapped my foe, and began to eat.

The first bite went down easy, filling up my empty and aching stomach. I could taste each of the meats as the slid across my tongue before dropping down into my belly. The mustard added some unexpected spice, but also provided much needed moisture. I ended the first half of the sandwich in about eight bites.

As I was swallowing the last of the first half, I twisted back and forth to pack down the contents of my stomach, and under the watchful eyes of the restaurant, I let out a soft belch. I started in on the second half. The first bite was alright, not much different than any that came before it, but as I went in for the second bite, I could feel the game was starting to change. I was slowing down.

After six or seven bites, I only had one quarter left of that sandwich. My only problem was, I was running out of space. I looked into the faces of those sandwich makers, narrowed my gaze, and exhaled a long, breathy burp, freeing up some much needed space. I looked at the remaining sandwich, cursed it in my mind, and went in on it again. I was taking smaller bites, chewing longer, and twisting a whole lot. The sandwich started to lose it's flavor and it no longer tasted good. For all I knew, I could have been eating mud scraped off of my boot. I stood up from my stool and began to pace slowly, concentrating on putting that sandwich in my stomach. Bite after bite after bite eventually led to the final moment. I had one last piece of that sandwich in my hand. I closed my eyes and tossed it back. On bated breath, I took my time chewing. After an entire minute of masticating every last piece, I lifted my head back, and swallowed.

As it traveled down my esophagus, I looked at the third employee dead in the eye, jerked my head to the side to create an audible 'crack'. Shaking, he grabbed a cookie from below the counter and tossed it onto the floor in front of me, as if he was too afraid to come near because I might decide to eat him too.

As the bystanders shook their head in disbelief, a small boy picked up my cookie and handed it to me. I ruffled his hair, unwrapped the cookie from the plastic, and with a bite, opened the door and walked off into the sunset.