Take Your Comedy Routine Outside

Last night I stumbled on a pet peeve of mine that rivals shortening the name (which happened at church a few weeks back and my testimony was pretty shaken). I was at FHE last night for the first time in a month or so. I've been kind of busy but in reality I just didn't feel like attending. It was a gingerbread house making extravaganza so I figured I would put my architectural skills to use. I was sitting around the table with some friends just shooting the breeze when the elder's quorum president wandered by. You may remember said president from an earlier post. Anyway he sits down and interrupts our conversation. Out of the blue he makes a dramatic face of shock and wants my friends to introduce him to the visitor he has never met. He obviously was referring to me since it had been a while since I attended FHE. He proceeded to ramble on about how he had never seen me at FHE and how I must be sick or lost. I was about three seconds away from shoving a pretzel stick up his left nostril. Did he really think he was the king of comedy and that I would double over in a fit of laughter because of his well timed and equally hilarious observation of my attendance record? I was a tad irritated because after that he just stood up and walked off like he was Don Quixote or Don Juan (he thinks he is a smooth criminal when it comes to the ladies). I just sat there for a little bit almost in awe of the absurdity of what had taken place. I realize to most of you it seems petty and trivial but its just another thing to add to my already grossly overloaded list of things that annoy me.

By the way I made a lovely gingerbread outhouse complete with pretzel stick siding and a peach ring in the shape of a moon over the door.

Worst Decision Of My Life

So I woke up this morning to endless possiblities. A Saturday off with nothing pressing to do. I hadn't been to Costco in a long time since the closest one is an hour away. Being the bachelor that I am, I only had one scoop of laundry soap left and was down to the last roll of toilet paper. So I decided to venture out. I chose to go west because that Costco is close to a ski shop and I needed some ski wax. I told a friend of mine that I was going and she advised me heavily against it. I guess its been so long since I've been to Costco, I've forgotten about what a zoo sample day is. I could barely find a shopping cart let alone a parking space. I finally got inside and of course I got "that" cart. Stupid wheel had so much hair and nasty jammed in it, it would jam up and I'm left bulldozing a squeeker around the bagels. I almost got into fistacuffs with a "rural" gentleman over a block of delicious Tilamook pepper jack cheese. Plus this Costco did the soap in the opposite corner of the store so I have to shove my way through traffic with a loaded cart that won't roll on all four wheels just to get some Cascade and Tide. Then I decide to use the self checkout lines to save time. Everything is going great until go to pay and realize that they don't take VISA. What's that all about? They'll take American Express but not VISA. Really? Fortunately they accepted my debit card and after twenty minutes of trying to worm my way through a bunch of obese middle-aged men and their slices of pizza, I made my way to freedom. Exhausting. Plus everybody kept giving me the stink eye because I was passing them in the aisles like I was in the Indy 500. I guess some people just like to relish the atmosphere that only a bargain club warehouse can provide. The day was saved by a trip to Wendy's and a no. 6 combo with a Dr. Pepper.

Hello My Name Is...

A shocking revelation has recently been brought to my attention. It is the personal introduction followed my church calling IE "Hi my name is Chet Chippewa; elder's quorum pianist." These people exist. One particular example can be found in the glorious Moses Lake singles ward. The elder's quorum president. Every person he introduces himself to he follows it up with is status on the religious hierarchical ladder. Can you imagine if everybody did this. "Hi I'm Steve Gravy, and I have webbed feet." "Hi I'm Molly Juniperberry and I'm a convicted felon." I suppose it would make life easier. I'm not sure what is more sad, the person doing the introducing or the person being impressed by such magical feats. Apparently it must do something because the dude has had like 4 girlfriends in the last 3 months so who am I to judge. But I make an impassioned plea to society as a whole; Unless ordered by a judge or your probation officer, spare us the grandiose title. Nobody cares. Not even your grandma (seriously she called me and we had a whole conversation about it).

Land Of The Lost

I enjoy grocery shopping. I should say I USED to enjoy grocery shopping. I suppose my love for it stems from my childhood when I would go with my mom to Albetson's and on occasion she would let us kids open the wheat thins and eat them while we were shopping. Recently however, my joy has been tainted by the very thing I used to love. I loved the environment. Each aisle was a new adventure. One side of the store was the jungle of produce while the other side was a industrial setting of meat and seafood. A surprise awaited around every corner. Now those surprises usually consist of an overweight gentleman scratching himself in front of the frozen pizzas. I'm sure all of you have experience Wal-Mart fever. No matter when you go, there seems to be an overcrowding of characters that can best be described as former carnival ride workers. Where do these people come from and why are they all congregating at Wal-Mart. I suppose I don't do myself any favors by always shopping on Saturday but these people appear at all hours of the day. Today I was deciding on which brand of peanut butter best represented my extreme attitude toward life, when I witnessed something rarer than a unicorn's bar mitzvah. There was an EXTREMELY overweight lady on a store provided motorized scooter. Well I'm not sure if she broke it, the battery went dead, or the entire machine just couldn't take its miserable existence anymore, but there she was in the middle of the aisle yelling across the store at what I can only assume was her husband for help. I guess her husband was too eager to get to the libations aisle and left her in the dust. I would have offered help, but she wouldn't stop muttering long enough for me to get a word in. It was just another example of the litany of surprises that can only be afforded at Wal-Mart. When will I learn my lesson and start shopping somewhere else? Probably never because I feel so much better at the state of my affairs after a brief hiatus into the land that dignity forgot.

Follow My Lead

I haven't had much to rant about lately but something recently has gotten under my skin. This will probably be pretty foreign to those of you who have names that can't be shortened but for those of us with names that are easily changed, there is a major epidemic out there. I always introduce myself as Clinton. For my entire life I've referred to myself as Clinton. My parents have always called me Clinton. My siblings have always called me Clinton. So why is it that the second after I introduce myself to someone new, they immediately ask if I go by Clint? If I went by Clint, don't you think I would introduce myself as Clint? Are those last two letters that big of a tongue twister? At least those people ask. Some people just automatically start calling me Clint. I mean if somebody introduced herself to me as Victoria, I would start referring to them as Vicky or Tori. Maybe Ictor but I would at least ask. Usually being called Clint isn't that bad but there are certain people out there that when they say Clint, it sounds super trashy and redneck. I don't know if it is their accent or my general feelings of disdain toward them for changing my name, but sometimes it just comes out wrong. I think the whole name thing could be an underlying reason for growing the beard. People think twice about sabotaging a person's name if that person has a beard. Probably because a beard makes people think you are smarter than you really are (at least that's the case with me).

It just doesn't make sense. If you feel like changing my name, whey not switch it up to something extreme like Bojangles, Vanilla Mischief, or Kevin? I'll bet Eastwood never had to deal with this.

Beard Busy

As you have noticed, I've been MIA for a while. Well that is due to the fact that all my energies have been devoted to facial hair establishment and maintenance. As you can see, it is coming along quite nicely. That glorious jungle on my face is about 4 weeks worth of complete devotion. Actually, I started the beard at the beginning of buckwheat harvest and I can't shave it until we are all finished. We've got about 600 acres left but it rains here every three days so I could end up looking like ZZ Top by the time its all said and done.

And yes ladies, I am single.

The Littlest Con Artist

Last Saturday I was on my way home from work when my cell phone rang. Now my most called numbers have distinctive rings so I know who it is before I look (mainly so I can prepare myself for the boss's call). The ring that penetrated my ears was the sound of a pinball machine going crazy. It could only be one number "The Hurricane." As many of you might know, I refer to my brother's family as The Hurricane. I love getting calls from them because usually the kids want to tell me about something that happened to them. This particular day I was completely unprepared for the conversation. My brother was on the other line and told me my niece, The Bam, had a question for me. Being naive, I thought it was going to be something about how awesome I think I am. The Bam says hello and immediately dives into her question. I can hear my brother in the background coaching her on. The conversation went something like this "Uncle Clinty, my school is having a walk-a-thon and I'm going to walk (whispering in the background How far Dad?) I'm going to walk a mile and a half. Will you sponsor me? Grandma already gave me (whispering again How much Dad?) Grandma already gave me 25 dollars." Brilliant. There is no way I could refuse that offer and no way I could give less than Grandma. I replied,"Okay Bam, what if I give you another 25 dollars?" She said,"That is okay but I need it really soon! (whispering in the background But Dad I don't want to talk to him anymore)" My brother gets on,"Well I guess she's done." What a sucker I am. The check was in the mail that very day. She played my like a fiddle. My only question is, isn't a mile and a half a pretty good distance for a kindergartner? Plus isn't the school starting a little young getting the kids out pedaling sunshine and rainbows? Well I'm a proud donor to The Bam's Hillcrest Elementary Walk-a -Thon. I just hope in the future she doesn't call up asking for my right leg, because sure enough two days later you will see me hobbling around with a 2X4 duct taped to my leg muttering to myself, "Why on earth does a first grader need my leg for show and tell."

Things My Mom Taught Me

I've decided to follow up my last post with the co-most influential person in my life my Mom. Whenever I did something usually my parents fought over who "had" to claim me: the Bakers or the Bowens. Both genetic lines are pretty full "short bus" DNA so I think its a toss up. My brother looks like a Bowen and both my sisters look like Bakers but I'm some genetic mutant with no specific look from one particular side. So I guess what I'm saying is both my parents are to blame for this outcome.

The majority of things my mom taught me can be summed up in a quote she often said before I left the house with my friends, "Don't embarrass me!" She knew I wouldn't get into real trouble but there was a high chance that she would hear on Sunday from somebody that they saw me Friday night putting a teacher's kid's bikes on the roof or sleeping on top of the high school auditorium. True on both accounts. My mother taught me patience. I didn't learn it but she taught it constantly. She always told me patience was a virtue, so I always claimed to be unvirtuous. She had the patience of a saint. From putting up with me trying to stick 50 grapes in my mouth at the dinner table or watching me fake vomit over the sight of lamb stroganoff. My mom taught be the quickest route to the hospital. She chauffeured me for a broken nose (church ball), gashed leg (Cadillac in the snake river), gashed head (trampoline under clothes line, WWF with dad), and even a broken ear drum (a Q Tip with a vendetta). She even put up with me doing a header into the filing cabinet at the doctor's office while there for my brother. My mom usually doesn't do well with blood, but when it comes to her kids (especially me), she is Hercules. My mom always taught me to eat my vegetables. Once again I didn't learn but she was quite the teacher. I remember one time I wouldn't eat my green beans so she said I couldn't leave the table until I did so I decided to play chicken. An hour later, I choked down cold green beans because she called my bluff. I think that is where I get my stubbornness.

I don't know if most homes are like this, but if Dad got mad, we could handle that. If Mom got mad, your life was about to suffer drastic consequences. But my mom is definitely the glue that held us all together and often times kept us stuck to the wall after "doing something embarrassing."

Things My Dad Taught Me

We all have things our dads taught us that we don't realize or appreciate until years later (unless you are one of the Menendez brothers). The other day I caught myself doing something that I specifically learned from my dad not directly but in a subconscious way. I needed to clean my shower, so what better way to do that than when I'm actually in the shower. You aren't worried about getting wet so you can really focus on the job. My dad does this all the time. He will get in the shower and instantly yell for the Tilex so we would jump to because that meant we wouldn't have to clean it later. Between him and my mom I've inherited a real ocd complex about cleaning things. Once I realized why I was cleaning the shower in the shower, I started to think about other things I learned from my dad not in lessons but in everyday situations. For example, during the summer the pothole crew would patch every mile in the county. They would usually stop at the church in the shade for lunch (our church is a mile from the house out in the country). If my dad saw them resting there, he would stop at Farmer's Corner on the way back from a parts run and buy a bunch of Pepsi. When he pulled up to the crew, and handed out the icy libations, the crew would tear up (well maybe not tear up but they enjoyed it). After a few of these exchanges, I asked my dad the rational behind it. He told me to observe the miles around the house and shop. Sure enough, we had the best patched roads in the county. I think my dad is some kind of genius (don't tell him I said that). He did the same thing for us and the hired help. Two or three afternoons a week, we could count on some cold beverages showing up. After throwing it back, we had a sense of obligation to really put our nose to the grindstone. Diabolical thinking. My dad always tried to work along side us and the hired help doing the crappy jobs to show that the job needed to be done and he wasn't above the fray. It worked, Now I always try to put some time in doing the butt jobs to show everybody we are all on the same level (not technically but emotionally?). Seriously my dad might be some kind of Freudian Master Jedi. I'm sure my dad isn't proud of this but he taught all of us kids how to swear. Just ask my littlest sister about days in the beet field. My dad wasn't a huge swearer and rarely swears in his old age but he taught us very important combinations of swear words and everyday objects that really opened my mind to all the glorious possibilities. This lesson can also be attributed to any of the old timers in the neighborhood since I've heard swear words over the pulpit.
I'm sure there are thousands of other little things that I don't remember or fully appreciate yet ie.. if you aren't going to do a job right don't do it at all. This never made sense to me because not doing the job at all never seemed to be an option. It sure would have saved me a lot of time and energy. But I digress. My dad has the patience of a saint once you realize he is the local employment agency when it comes to 12-17 year old white kids from the ward. But I suppose if he wasn't institutionalized trying to raise me and my siblings (mainly me), the man can probably handle anything.

Grateful for the Sabbath Day of Sabbathness

Yesterday I finished up a ten day straight 150 hour harvest stretch (the math averages out to 15 hours a day) that included two Sundays. Often times when people say they don't even know what day it is, I think they are lying but I had a severe case of that very thing. I attribute it to one thing, the lack of a Sabbath. Now I don't care if you are religious or not. I don't care what church you go to or how often. All I know, is in my life that seventh day works wonders. Maybe not because of what I learn or who I see, but the feeling that there is something different about the day. It helps reset the calendar. Most farmers in the Moses Lake area don't work on Sundays, but I've been a few hours north near the Paloose where Sunday is just another day for farmers to work. I'm not judging them or saying they are bad for wanting to work on Sunday, but it makes life such drudgery to have nothing to look forward to at the end/start of the week. I remember growing up one or maybe two Sundays when the neighborhood had to harvest beets to help a neighbor out before the winter set in but even then, you could feel that Sunday was different. I would imagine after enough Sundays in a row without church be it due to work or play that the feeling would go away, I never thought as a kid I would appreciate Sundays and church as much as I do now. So go out and try church. Rumor has it they keep Nilla Waffers in the nursery closet.


As a side note: Go check out the Bowen Clan's blog. Little Kami G started school and I must say she looks pretty scholarly and stylish.

The Face Of Freedom

About ten days ago I came home to a package on my doorstep. I hadn't ordered anything, so naturally I assumed the box contained anthrax especially when I saw the return address was from Idaho. I carefully opened the box and gasped at its contents. Nothing on the face of the earth could shock me more than this.

After I treated my ulcer and changed my pants, I decided this is actually a blessing. How else could I get this much "face time" with the leader of the free world. So I set about with a make over.

With a few days of "hair raising" discussion, ideas began to "sprout"

Finally we both agreed I was right and the "grass" really was "greener" on my side of the fence.



A special thanks goes out to my sister for the oddest, most spectacular birthday present I've ever received.

Technically my birthday isn't until Aug 3. Then I will wait for my AARP card to arrive in the mail.

Alumni Pride

I work with a guy who is a huge Washington Huskies fan. I gave him so much grief when BYU landed the top quarterback in the country over UW. He is always hassling me asking me what Rexburg was like because he knows it drives me crazy when people who went to BYU Idaho try to pass it off as if they went to the Real BYU. Now if you're the kind of person that is easily offended or takes it personally when somebody disses your school, especially BYU-I, you should stop reading now and go toast an English muffin.
Recently an anonymous cohort of mine and I were making a list of why people go to BYU-I. We came up with some real gems. I'm going to keep this person anonymous so if you are offended you can blame me but if you like it you can credit my co-author. Here is what we came up with:

BYU-I
Because Provo wouldn't let you in.
BYU-I
Because the community college doesn't have a Family/Human Development major
BYU-I
Because cosmetology school was full
BYU-I
Because Californian parents think it's a Mormon reform school
BYU-I
Because you need something to fill the time between Xango juice sales conventions
BYU-I
Because birds with big hair flock together
BYU-I
Because the Prophet says even the academically challenged need to get married
BYU-I
Because high school doesn't have a 13th grade


Here are a few that don't pertain to BYU-I:

Door-to-door summer sales
Because you couldn't return the engagement ring
The JSB auditorium
Because day care isn't free
Utah State
Because rebel Mormons aren't that rebellious
BYU Democrats
Because your dad wouldn't pay your tuition

And finally:

BYU
Because the mission president wouldn't let you extend any longer.
BYU
Because you think people are dying to hear about you being a Zone Leader
BYU
Because no other place has married housing called "The Rabbit Hutch"
BYU
Because 1984 will always be relevant
BYU
Because there is no downside to dating your home teacher
BYU
Because braided belts and socks with Birkenstocks will never go out of style

Remember I'm an equal opportunity offender

Domino Effect

People in general are sheep. That is why fashion magazines sell so well. The public will see something that another person has and immediately covet it. While Mormons aren't necessarily followers with Vogue or GQ, we have our own "golden idol" to yearn for. It is like Indiana Jones in the temple of doom when he switches a bag of sand for the gold. Mormons, especially young men, try to trick women into marriage with what is essentially a bag of sand. The pandemic sweeping many a singles ward this time of year is the dreaded "engagement". Once one person proposes, the dominos begin to fall and within a couple of weeks there are 5 or 6 more couples that have committed to walk that Green Mile. They are sheep I tell you. All they see is the lovey dovey hugging and kissing that is going on and will do anything to have that. In most cases the proposal comes mere weeks after meeting the girl. PEOPLE SLOW YOUR ROLL!
Engagements are just like Indiana Jones. Once you have the gold, a massive boulder falls out of the ceiling and nearly crushes you to death. Then after escaping the creepy ancient ruin, you have to out run the native tribes and their poisonous arrows only to leap onto a puddle jumper narrowly missing a fall from a cliff to your death. In the "engagement" scenario, the crushing boulder or angry natives can take various forms. From crazy in-laws, to sitting down figuring out which color pattern goes better: dusty rose and peach or fuscia and periwinkle blue. Whatever it may be, the odds of you "dying" are staggering. Once a person gets married, they are never the same and not in the good way that the bishop is always trying to sell. All single friends denounce you. It is nothing personal. It is actually required by law. The Founding Fathers wrote it into the Constitution saying "...all single people are required to severe their relationships with married couples within a fortnight of said union." Pretty harsh but old Ben Franklin knew that interaction between married and single people would only cause chaos because once the bliss has worn off, married people try to drag more single people into the quicksand that is matrimony so they won't have to suffer in silence.
So remember all you citizens of the Single Nation: not all that glitters is gold. As my mother always said, "just because your friends jump off a cliff that doesn't mean you should" Actually my mother always told me before I left the house, "Don't embarrass me!" I'm sorry Mom. I tried but something in my DNA compels me to act like a mouth breathing miscreant.

For those of you who struggle with sarcasm, this is a perfect example. It is purely satirical. I only wrote it because I have yet to convince a female to accepting my bag of gravel.

A Public Service

As many of my devoted readers are aware of, my post usually deal with something that annoys me. Today is no different. While there are many things out there that bug me like guys that wear skinny jeans. Seriously their shoes look like water skis with those things on plus blood circulation has to be severely restricted. But that isn't what has been bugging me lately. I would like to bring attention to the horrible practice of the chapel PDA. You all know what I'm talking about. It has hit epidemic status ever since Generation X has been unleashed on the world. I want to discuss a different types of the not so sacred, sacrament meeting display. The first is the "elderly." This type is the only one I give a thumbs up to. Basically because it is so rare and the old timers are probably only doing it to keep their pacemakers ticking. The second type is "pushed to the brink." You only see this with married couples that have more than two kids on their bench. It is usually a result of a long hot day at church where if they don't get some help, one or more of those kids is going to get thrown out of the mini van on the way home. I give this a pass the majority of the time and the only reason I don't allow this 100% is because of that one creepy couple in every ward that has been married for over ten years but still acts like a newlywed couple still on their honeymoon. That is a pretty traumatic site for a young impressionable lad or lass that has to sit behind them for an hour. The next few types are were I really get disgusted. The "newlywed" is a perfect example. We get it, you are in love and just got married. I don't need to see Peter Priesthood whisper sweet nothings into Molly Mormon's ear only to have Molly rub Peter's back so provocatively that it probably wouldn't even be allowed on cable TV. This is 99 percent of the time off limits. The only reason I don't go full on against if because there is always that weird couple that you have to watch because you don't think they could be any more disgusting but every Sunday they have a way of stepping up their game. A close relative of the "newlywed" is the "newly engaged." While similar to the "newlywed" the "newly engaged" varies because they aren't yet legal. The comment most often associated with this one is "save some for the honeymoon." Always a 100% no-no. Now we get into my area of expertise. The single's ward shenanigans. The most common is the "dater." This couple usually forgets that the date ended on Saturday night and they feel it necessary to continue the PDA into the sabbath. This can be super uncomfortable especially when they sit in the middle of the long benches surrounded by strangers rather than isolate themselves on the short pews. I have a real hard time with this one because they are so blatantly trying to show everyone else how awesome they are. This goes without saying 110% no. The next type has really burst onto the scene in the last few year. Its called the "girl power." For some reason, girls feel the need to provide moral support to their Friends in the form of excessive groping and rubbing. I was this yesterday where one girl playing with the other's hair and then spent the next 20 minutes giving her a shiatsu massage. Now I can't fully explain the reasoning behind it but I think it is some form of protest against the "dater." They are trying to prove that they are much better off without the weaker sex but 9 times out of 10, given the chance, Molly would leap over the bench to get with Peter. All if can do is give a confused shrug of the shoulders and have the finger in the negative. The final type is by far the most troubling. It is the kissing cousin of the "girl power." I call it the "bro." Identical in every way save one to the "girl power", the "bro" substitutes a little bromance into the equation. Guys should never be rubbing other guys' backs. Period. I don't even like discussing this form of debauchery. What can I say? NEVER. So please use this as a template and lets try to keep our hands to ourselves. Church is for filling our spiritual canteen or if you are like me and your canteen is already overflowing its for catching up dreams and visions. The sabbath day is not a way to demonstrate your PDA.

Plus it makes all of us lone rangers look like the hermits and old maids that we are so desperately trying to deny that we are. The Spanish have a saying "no comeis pan en frente de los pobres." Translation: Don't eat bread in front of the poor."

That Special Time Of Year

There is a magical time of year that only occurs in the most remote of location: single wards. The season known as running with the newbies has begun. The first Sunday after high school graduation the lemmings descend into the valley of "responsible adults." Yesterday the chapel sounded like a high school cafeteria the day before the prom. All those youngsters were able to sit wherever they wanted and it was comparable to letting prisoners on death row select their last meal. Absolutely brutal. I couldn't figure out why this year I was more annoyed than usual then I started doing the math. The year I graduated high school, all of those new kids on the block were enrolled in the third grade. When I got home from my mission those cool cats were in the sixth grade. When I graduated BYU these juveniles were freshmen in high school. That is an equation that equal depression. Even if I wanted to date one of these gems I could never feel comfortable dating somebody that my littlest sister babysat. I would ask for your pity but I've got more than enough created by my own ego.

RIP Handy Manny

Ever since my sister moved in with me, we've been compared to famous duos. Batman and Robin, Peanut butter and Jelly, Shrimp and Slushies. At one time we wanted Mandi's friend to move in with us so I could be John Ritter in our own version of Three's Company. Maybe I could be Scott Baio in Charles in Charge. One of my sister's students said she looked like Handy Manny so I guess that makes me Dora the Explorer which is weird on every level. I even though to doing my own Charlie's Angels but I couldn't decide if I wanted to be Charlie or Bosley so I scraped the idea. But the most fitting comparison was that of Matthew and Marilla from Anne Of Green Gables with me being Marilla because my sister is far kinder and would buy fantastic ball gowns for little orphans. We had plans to adopt a little red head and name him or her Butters and live our lives until one of us died. Well that dream has been dashed. My sister left the 509 eating her dust today. She moved back to the land of milk and honey to regroup before becoming a cosmonaut and living on the space station. I'm going to miss her because she is the only person I know that can sit through an entire TV show without punching me in the face for my extraordinarily detailed comments. I think it is because she is more advanced than most people and can appreciate and understand the finer points that I contribute to television broadcasts in the form of commentary and sweet dance moves. So let this be a lesson to all of you. If you think you have what it takes to become part of a truly iconic partnership, be prepared to have it fall out from underneath you faster than Britain's Got Talent contestant, Susan Boyle's rise to fame.

Plus she was a mad chef and never tried to sneak vegetables in my food like my sly mother.

The Single Life? Yes Please

I was able to make a trek down to the promised land this last weekend for Memorial Day. The whole family was gathered to celebrate a milestone birthday and have the annual dutch oven cookout. In order for the story to make more sense, I need to preface it. Recently I freed up a lot of time and emotion by parting ways with my significant other. No need for tears but the process was pretty brutal. I digress. Since than, I've been pondering life and what I want out of it. I suppose all people in similar situations go through the same thing. Did I do the right thing? Where is my life heading? Now what? Amidst theses perilous struggles; enter the Hurricane. The Hurricane consists of three parts: niece, nephew, nephew. The incredible thing about this Hurricane is I have yet to see it weaken. Let me explain. As a family we all went out to eat in Twin Falls for a birthday. This required the use of two vehicles. I somehow ended up in the vehicle with Thing 1 and Thing 2 also known as me nephews. Words can't describe the journey. All I know is sainthood should be granted to those who resist the urge to strap their children to the roof for trips over 5 minutes. My youngest nephew is usually calm but his animal instincts kicked in as soon as that door shut. I think he could smell my fear. He morphed into this raging beast. Imagine PETA gathering at their annual convention only to find out it is being held at Outback Steakhouse. Now multiply that by Pi. I was grabbing everything I could find to stick in his mouth. Being covered in dirt didn't exclude anything. During dinner, my other nephew somehow managed to lick my tongue while his mouth was still full of bow-tie pasta. The evening could best be described as traumatic. After the Hurricane blew through and went home, I was pondering single life. I realized that instead on feeling anxious, I felt giddy because I knew that a new day would dawn and that day didn't have a single dirty diaper in it. You can't see me through cyber-space but know that I'm smiling from ear to ear.


I do love my niece and nephews. They were the highlight of my trip. I love playing with them and getting them all riled up especially because I know I don't have to take them home. Plus they will do anything for two quarters.

Called Into Action

I've been absent from the blogging scene for a while and I know it has been difficult for all my loyalists, but something has really crawled under my skin the last few days. Last weekend at the Miss USA pageant (which is a huge joke to begin with), Miss California, Carrie Prejean had the title locked up. She was leading the competition going into the final round of interviews. A random question was pulled for her to answer. The question she was given was submitted by one of the judges a one Perez Hilton. Not the same as the dumb blond, this is the snarkiest, most mean spirited bloggers on earth. This guy happens to be gay, which I'm personally not a supporter of but he has his rights, but he is extremely flamboyant and aggressive about his lifestyle. The question he submitted was “Vermont recently became the fourth state to legalize same-sex marriage. Do you think every state should follow suit? Why or why not?” There is absolutely no way a person can answer that question without repercussions. This young lady is a student at a christian college in San Diego and her exact response was"We live in a land where you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite. And you know what, I think in my country, in my family, I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there, but that's how I was raised." On the spot, in the heat of the moment, nobody could have done a finer job. She was articulate and I think very respectful. Well Hilton didn't see it that way and gave here a 0 for her score. She ended up losing by just a few points all because she had a belief and stuck to her guns

Now comes the storm. Every idiot in Hollywood is ripping her to shreds because of what she said. Can you imagine if the tables were turned and a conservative judge gave a 0 to contestant with the opposite opinion. But like most liberals, free speech is only important when people agree with what you say. The incredible thing is she is representative of the majority. Take a look how Prop 8 turned out. But the minority is calling her a radical ignorant christian. Isn't the definition of ignorance not listening to or supporting a persons right to say something that opposes another person's opinion. Lately, the vocal minority, with backing from Hollywood, has tried to influence policy so they can look like the saviors of the disenfranchised. The only problem is, most of America doesn't support their radical viewpoints but when we try to speak out, we are labeled as backwater, uneducated rednecks that pray at the altar of Coca Cola and call dinosaurs Jesus horses.

I am amazed that people can still amaze me. Every time I turn on the news, there is another story of a lawsuit by some hippie liberal that feels the need to punish Joe the plumber for having a job that disposes of waste rather than composting it. I'm so proud that even though Miss Prejean knew her answer would be received like Chuck Norris at the DNC, she proudly stood up for not only her beliefs, but for the majority of Americans that love this country and the freedoms that are so often taken for granted.

Its Finally March

For those of you who aren't familiar with my love of sports, March if my favorite month of the year. This means madness is finally at hand. The Bowen cousins somehow have all ended up in the same tournament pool. Usually this means somebody's spouse will take us all to the cleaners but last year my brother stepped up his game and won the whole thing against over a hundred different people. I have to take a little credit because he rode my coat tails. I've been a Kansas man for a long time and picked them to win every year for the last five and finally last year they broke through so Brandon looked like a genius but in reality, he was jumping on my bandwagon. But he walked away with the cash so my hat goes off to him. So this is a reminder to all you bracket jockeys: Bring your A game because I've been doing my research and this is my year.

Odds are Sara or Melanie will show us all up (no offense) but lets get that Bowen testosterone boiling.

Tax This "Change"

Lately I've been working on my tax return. Growing up, I always heard how bad tax season was and I could never figure out what the big deal was. Just get somebody else to do it and quit complaining. Now I realize why we have Freedom of Speech. This stuff is tragic. It isn't the time involved because I can get mine done pretty quick. Instead it is the realization that being a single, white, unmarried, male is quite possibly the worst tax fate a person can suffer. I literally have to chug a gallon of Pepto in order to even glance at me W-2. How is it that the government can take 40 percent of what I earn and tell me its my patriotic duty? I feel my duty involves a 9 iron, a bucket of marshmallow cream, and Joe Biden's back hair. So buck up all you tax jockeys out there. Just think, with Obama in charge now, we will no longer have to pay taxes and we will receive a shipment of alpaca fur twice a month to cuddle up in and daydream about how great government is. "Change", I love it.

By the way, that humongous stimulus check we all got last year, oh yeah you have to report it.

Abstract Art

There has been some confusion regarding my new header. Hopefully this will clear it up.

A Raw Deal

My sister put me on to this story the AP just published. People are such sheep. If some liberal hippie gets up and rants and raves about something on which they have no knowledge, the blind ignorant masses are sure to follow. Its a good thing "change" is in the air because Obama and Tom Daschle won't allow anymore shenanigans to go on.
More than $83 million spent on Prop 8
Mormon church involvement
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which has been criticized for strongly encouraging its members to support Proposition 8, for the first time assigned a dollar value of nearly $190,000 to its role in getting the initiative passed.

More than half, or $97,000, went to the time staff of the Utah-based Mormon Church devoted to the Yes on 8 campaign, according to the church's report. Another $21,000 was for the use of church buildings and equipment during the campaign. Most of the rest went to airline tickets, hotels and meals for church officials.

The church said it did not make any cash donations supporting the measure.

The California Fair Political Practices Commission has been investigating the Mormon Church for allegedly underreporting its spending on behalf of Proposition 8.

Church spokeswoman Kim Farah said Monday that the church has complied with all campaign finance laws and that the updated figures come in response to the state's disclosure deadlines, not the FPPC investigation.

"The value of the Church's in-kind contribution is less than one-half of one percent of the total funds raised for the Yes on 8 campaign," Farah said.

Focus on the Family, the evangelical Christian media empire based in Colorado, reported giving $657,000 in cash and services to promote Proposition 8.

This is the best we can do?

The tradition of Groundhog Day goes back for decades. It has become a novelty act over the last 30 years more than an actual prediction of weather. Since records have been kept in 1887, the groundhog has seen his shadow 90% of the time. Matching that up with official weather records, he is about 40% accurate when it comes to weather. At first glance you may think that his forecasting skills are lacking, but compare him to your local weatherman. Not much difference. Plus you only have to deal with the groundhog once a year as compared to a calendar full of horrendous 7 day outlook predictions. So I say to you, lets make this fine rodent head of the weather channel. At least then there would be an excuse for lousy accuracy.

Give A Hutte

My new job requires me to meet with growers to contract grain acres all over eastern Washington. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the area, there are a handful of huge Hutterite colonies on this side of the state. Yesterday I had the opportunity to meet with some Hutterite brethren and was blown away with their operation. Everything they owned was either brand new or in immaculate condition. All of their tractors are GPS and they only use semi-trucks (about 30 total). This particular colony recently got too large and the church part of the colony to move to Oregon and start another colony. It is amazing to see their operation because this one colony farms over 100 pivots which is around 15,000 acres. Plus they have a dairy and a poultry operation. It has been said that between the half dozen or so colonies in Washington, once you cross the state line on the south, you can drive all the way to Canada without leaving Hutterian land. It is impressive. The one thing that really struck me was their total communal living. I compare that to southern Idaho and try to picture residents (Cranneys, Stokers, Searles, Whitleys, Critchfields, Bedkes, Robinsons) giving up ownership and taking orders. There is absolutely no way that would happen.

I think I would be a great Hutterite because I can grow a fabulous beard.

Can You Feel It?

I woke up this morning and something was different. It was as if the world outside was somehow brighter. All my worries and cares were gone. I walked outside and found a basket full of money on my porch with a note that said, "Change Happens." I sat down to ponder how amazing the world was and how my life was exponentially easier. I was left in a stupor trying to pinpoint the cause of such a unexpected reversal of fortunes. I went over to my neighbor's house and they related similar stories. I turned on the news to find the entire globe was caught up in identical situations. How could this happen? Who is responsible and why now? Then I put two and two together. Yesterday change happened.

I've decided to quit my job because with the world changing, I just don't see the need to occupy myself with such a trivial pursuit.

Why Tom?

Tom Hanks Says Mormon Supporters of Proposition 8 'Un-American'
Friday, January 16, 2009
By Hollie McKay
AP
Tom Hanks Says Mormon Supporters of Prop-8 “Un-American”

Tom Hanks, an Executive Producer for HBO’s controversial polygamist series “Big Love,” made his feelings toward the Mormon Church’s involvement in California's Prop 8 (which prohibits gay marriage) very clear at the show’s premiere party on Wednesday night.

“The truth is this takes place in Utah, the truth is these people are some bizarre offshoot of the Mormon Church, and the truth is a lot of Mormons gave a lot of money to the church to make Prop-8 happen,” he told Tarts. “There are a lot of people who feel that is un-American, and I am one of them. I do not like to see any discrimination codified on any piece of paper, any of the 50 states in America, but here's what happens now. A little bit of light can be shed, and people can see who's responsible, and that can motivate the next go around of our self correcting Constitution, and hopefully we can move forward instead of backwards. So let's have faith in not only the American, but Californian, constitutional process.”

When informed of the "Forrest Gump" star's comments, Kim Farah, a spokesperson for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, told Tarts, "Expressing an opinion in a free and democratic society is as American as it gets."

Bill McKeever, a rep for the Mormonism Research Ministry, added, "Personally, I find it un-American to tell people that they shouldn’t vote their conscience. Hanks said he doesn’t 'like to see any discrimination codified on any piece of paper.' Considering that just about every law discriminates in some form or another, makes this comment ridiculous. Hanks’ comment shows that he very much believes in discriminating against people with whom he disagrees. I may not agree with Mormon theology, but I certainly defend their right to express their opinion."

I'm usually a fan of anything Tom Hanks does but after today, I will no longer support anything he is involved in. Even McKeever, the rep for one of the anti-mormon groups out there, disagrees with Mr. Hanks. Calling me Un-American for a belief system of which you have no idea is hypocritical, arrogant, and ignorant.
Forrest Gump how could you?

What Would I Be?

I've been down in Tucson the last couple of days trying to deal with this horrible 84 degree weather. We got done early today with our meetings so we decided to go to the Pima Air and Space Museum. I've been to it a couple of times on my mission but it is always amazing to see history. This time I was particularly interested in different nose and tail art on the planes. I found this artwork on a "Liberator" that was used during the initial invasion of Normandy by the 446th. The original name was the Red Ass but they had to change it to the Bungay Buckaroo in order to be more family friendly in the newspapers. This reminded me about something that occurs daily in my life. I am frequently stopped on the street by random strangers and asked, "Clinton, if you were a bomber pilot, what would you name your plane?" My first reaction is to ask how does this complete stranger know my name? I then smile and respond, "That's simple. I would name it after the pilot:The Gorgeous Mormon"

I've Been Confused With Ben Hur

This past weekend I was surfing through the tv when something on PBS caught my eye. Ben Hur was the movie of the week and I had never seen it before. I started watching it thinking I would loose interest rather quickly. I was mistaken. That movie is incredible. If you have never seen it, take the 3 1/2 hours and watch it. It won 11 oscars including Charlton Hesston's only academy award.

A side note: It is interesting how they tie in the life of Christ into the fabric of the entire movie.

Better Than A Puppy

As many of you know, my sister Mandi recently moved in with me. Since we are both single and "old" in mormon standards we have decided to take a page from the big screen. You may not be aware of my obsession with Anne of Green Gables, I try to keep it underground. Mandi and I were watching AGG on PBS the other day and we've decided to adopt a red-headed orphan. I'm no wizard with kids but it can't be much harder than taking care of a puppy.

Oh and we are going to name the kid Nacho.

The Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

Last weekend I attended a wedding reception but before I get into that let me preface the story. A few months ago a friend invited me over to her friend's house for game night. I got there before most of the others arrived so I sat down and talked the the parents before we went and played games. I didn't think twice about it but apparently this is how it all got started. The day after, the mother of the house we were at called her neighbor whose husband happens to be in the bishopric of the singles ward and did some inquiring of me. She wanted to set me up with her daughter that lives in Seattle. This neighbor she called is the same person that set me up with the disaster phone number a few months earlier so she was a little hesitant to get involved but agreed that we would be a good match. So the next few months were spent trying to get us to meet which included everybody telling both of us how we were destined to be together but I was gone all fall and she lived in Seattle. So finally that magical night was to be at the wedding reception of the neighbor's daughter who happened to be good friends with my "soulmate." You can see how tangled of a web that was woven. Now back to last weekend. I showed up intending to pay my respects and get out of there. Oh how naive I was. The bride forced me to sit down and eat until I could be introduced to my future wife. The evening was enjoyable but you could feel the pressure in the air. After dinner was served, there was a dance so I asked the bride's sister to dance. We were about halfway through the dance when the bride grabbed my arm and practically dragged me across the room to meet this mystery girl. Well the entire room stopped what they were doing and focused all eyes on me. This is because the entire room had heard about our destined meeting at some point over the past few months so they had to see what would develop. So you can obviously see there was no pressure whatsoever. The bride introduced me to this girl and we began talking. Now you might think this is where the story ends. So wrong. Over the course of you conversation which lasted about a half hour, there were at least five people (including her mother) that approached us, interrupted our conversation, and asked how things were going. Now you might think things couldn't get any stranger. Wrong again. About 20 minutes into the conversation the groom's brother approached us. I thought he had a question but how mistaken I was. He asked to cut in and take this girl to the dance floor. The best way to describe my reaction was stupification. I just moved aside and watched in befuddlement. They get to the dance floor and her parents are staring in horror. This is because it was her mother that put the idea in his head. Only her idea was for him to ask her daughter's friend to dance not her daughter. So he just leaves her on the floor in the middle of the song to go get her friend. Just as he gets back to the floor with her friend, the music stops and the dance is over. Hilarious. I couldn't make up that kind of craziness.
Anyway, all in all is was an enjoyable evening.

For those of you who are interested, she was great and we had a good time.