Tuesday, August 31, 2010
28. Looks like I won't be joining the club.
Birthdays for me have never been a big deal. For the past several years, I have requested the gift of waiting to celebrate for a few weeks until my dad's birthday and having a joint party so as to avoid the full brunt of birthday attention. As much as I appreciated the affection of my family and friends, I preferred to have my birthday be as unnoticed as possible. Well understandably, Lorraine wasn't going to let me get away with that this year, as my birthday doubled as our one month anniversary. Let me just say, that the past month has been unbelievable, and I've never been so happy and excited for the future.
My 28th birthday has to go down as one of my all-time favorites. First, Lorraine made me pancakes that said words. She also allowed me to put them on a plate that says "You are special today". I like to think that I am special on other days as well, but I'll take whatever recognition I can get.
Garit took me out to eat at our favorite lunch haunt Wallaby's and we discussed infusing my camera with science.
After work Lorraine took me to a Middle Eastern restaurant called Mazza Cafe and I lost my mind, the food was so good. I highly recommend it for anyone looking for something a little different up in the Salt Lake area. I was like Bob Wiley eating hand-shucked corn.
When we got home Lorraine had made me an amazing cake with jam in the middle and homemade whipped cream topping. I ate seconds even though I was full and I also ate some more for breakfast this morning.
Thanks for everything, my friends and family! It's good to be loved.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Hair Salon Waiting Room: The Tension Builds
Recently Lorraine and I have both become exasperated with our respective hair situations. Lorraine finally broke down and decided to get her hair cut, and I came along. So here I sit, stealing wireless from the Starbucks next door. Hair cuts are always really complicated for me. First, I never know what I want to do. For example, right now, I oscillate between wanting a slight trim, a long hair style, a short hair style, and a self-buzz cut on an almost daily basis. This always seems to be a problem because when I show up to a stylist, I have little to no input, and inevitably, I get an ugly haircut. This leads to complication #2. I work under the assumption that these people are experts on what hair styles look good on me. Therefore, when they finish cutting, and I look at the damage, I am either too unsure, or too nervous to call them out. So the haircut looks stupid, and I'm stuck with it until my next haircut or until I shave it all off. So despite the fact that my hair is driving me crazy, and my hair is broken and split and pretty much awful, I just can't bring myself to do anything about it. Sitting here, in the salon waiting room, I feel the tension build. The inevitable day of reckoning is on the horizon. It is just a matter of time.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Close Call.
Every morning I pry myself away from Lorraine and commute from our Sugarhouse apartment to Pleasant Grove. It is a forty minute commute, but it is against commuter traffic, and therefore is generally uneventful.
This morning I was running about ten minutes late and so I made my way over to the fast lane and hit cruise control going just under 75 MPH, with the flow of traffic. As I neared 90th South, about fifteen minutes into my drive, I saw a man on a motorcycle directly in front of me. He was on one of those glorified freeway scooters and was wearing both a full helmet, and a leather jacket. Thinking nothing of it, I continued on my way, driving directly behind him.
All of a sudden I visualized the man laying his bike down and bouncing under the carriage of my car. I envisioned the whole thing happening before my eyes, and even felt the thumping beneath my feet. I have never imagined an accident like that before, especially not so vividly. It made me so nervous, I immediately slowed down to give myself a generous following distance. As is typical in these parts, someone filled the spot I had just vacated directly behind the motorcyclist. I was very wary, although I couldn't explain why.
Within thirty seconds, traffic ahead stopped abruptly, causing us all to brake hard. The car in front of the biker slammed on the brakes, causing him to do the same. He couldnt stay upright and laid his bike down on the freeway, totaling it instantly. I watched in awe as he bounced and rolled violently, with pieces of his bike tumbling around him, just as I had seen it moments before. The pregnant woman in the car in front of me slammed on her brakes and missed hitting the man by about five feet. Despite my generous following distance due to my premonition, I missed her by even less. I have no doubt that had I not slowed down, I would have been directly behind that bike, and I would have crushed him.
The man lay motionless on the interstate, his leather jacket scraped and torn, his leg positioned awkwardly, but his head completely intact, minus some major gashes in his helmet. He was conscious, and thankfully one of the witnesses to the accident was a nurse. I stood by as he told her, in what I'm sure was a state of shock, how bummed he was that he'd ruined his new helmet. Anyway, I think he's fine. The ambulance arrived about fifteen minutes later and took him away on a stretcher.
As I stood on the freeway, emergency lights flashing, I watched the traffic merge into the three right lanes, rubbernecking as they passed. I watched two bikes drive by, two riders on one, one on the other. All three without helmets.
This morning I was running about ten minutes late and so I made my way over to the fast lane and hit cruise control going just under 75 MPH, with the flow of traffic. As I neared 90th South, about fifteen minutes into my drive, I saw a man on a motorcycle directly in front of me. He was on one of those glorified freeway scooters and was wearing both a full helmet, and a leather jacket. Thinking nothing of it, I continued on my way, driving directly behind him.
All of a sudden I visualized the man laying his bike down and bouncing under the carriage of my car. I envisioned the whole thing happening before my eyes, and even felt the thumping beneath my feet. I have never imagined an accident like that before, especially not so vividly. It made me so nervous, I immediately slowed down to give myself a generous following distance. As is typical in these parts, someone filled the spot I had just vacated directly behind the motorcyclist. I was very wary, although I couldn't explain why.
Within thirty seconds, traffic ahead stopped abruptly, causing us all to brake hard. The car in front of the biker slammed on the brakes, causing him to do the same. He couldnt stay upright and laid his bike down on the freeway, totaling it instantly. I watched in awe as he bounced and rolled violently, with pieces of his bike tumbling around him, just as I had seen it moments before. The pregnant woman in the car in front of me slammed on her brakes and missed hitting the man by about five feet. Despite my generous following distance due to my premonition, I missed her by even less. I have no doubt that had I not slowed down, I would have been directly behind that bike, and I would have crushed him.
The man lay motionless on the interstate, his leather jacket scraped and torn, his leg positioned awkwardly, but his head completely intact, minus some major gashes in his helmet. He was conscious, and thankfully one of the witnesses to the accident was a nurse. I stood by as he told her, in what I'm sure was a state of shock, how bummed he was that he'd ruined his new helmet. Anyway, I think he's fine. The ambulance arrived about fifteen minutes later and took him away on a stretcher.
As I stood on the freeway, emergency lights flashing, I watched the traffic merge into the three right lanes, rubbernecking as they passed. I watched two bikes drive by, two riders on one, one on the other. All three without helmets.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Want To Trade Your Peanut Butter Sandwich For My Caviar?
Sunday before last, Swell Season came to Salt Lake and we really wanted to see them. Unfortunately, tickets were a little out of our price range. The day before, Lorraine excitedly told me about a promotional contest that Whole Foods Salt Lake was doing on their Facebook page. The request was seemingly simple: "...Post your favorite brown bag lunch. We'll pick our fav!" Simple right?
Lorraine eagerly entered her selection:
This, Lorraine informed me, was in fact what she had eaten for lunch the day before. She explained, "Sure, it's pretentious, but I really want to see Swell Season!" I congratulated her on her solid plug of several Whole Foods products.
For those who have never shopped at Whole Foods, let me break it down for you. Their produce is all organic. Their chickens have never seen cages. Their beef has a better quality of life than you do... Minus the whole slaughtering thing. Ethnic foods abound. Health nut moms walk hand in hand with dreadlocked vegans. Tattoos and piercings are considered favorably when applying for positions there. In a nutshell, this place is way cooler than me.
Slowly, other entries trickled in. Each one more outlandish than the next: "Roasted eggplant" ..."nappa cabbage" ..."a thermos full of pho" ..."Ezekiel sprouted grain tortilla". I couldn't take it anymore! The indignation rose within me as this farce was paraded before my eyes. All pretenses of a "brown bag lunch" had been abandoned as the contest quickly spiraled out of control. I had to bring it back on course. I had to compile the perfect brown bag lunch.
Lorraine typed as I dictated each item after painstaking consideration.
"a pizza lunchables..." Plural or singular, it mattered not. I had to bring these people back to the lunchrooms of America.
"a capri sun..." I've never seen soccer moms break out thermoses of pho at halftime.
"flaming hot cheetos..." As I recall, elementary school kids in South Texas weren't suffering from ulcers as a result of too much roasted eggplant.
"and a go-gurt." What's lunch without a healthy dose of probiotics ...and high fructose corn syrup?
As we clicked on the comment button, immortalizing my entry, a monument to real American brown bag lunches, we knew what was at stake. A connection between myself and Lorraine would quickly be made. Their sensibilities would be offended at my brazen entry and all that it implied. We were sacrificing our shot at a great concert. It was a small price to pay.
Lorraine eagerly entered her selection:
This, Lorraine informed me, was in fact what she had eaten for lunch the day before. She explained, "Sure, it's pretentious, but I really want to see Swell Season!" I congratulated her on her solid plug of several Whole Foods products.
For those who have never shopped at Whole Foods, let me break it down for you. Their produce is all organic. Their chickens have never seen cages. Their beef has a better quality of life than you do... Minus the whole slaughtering thing. Ethnic foods abound. Health nut moms walk hand in hand with dreadlocked vegans. Tattoos and piercings are considered favorably when applying for positions there. In a nutshell, this place is way cooler than me.
Slowly, other entries trickled in. Each one more outlandish than the next: "Roasted eggplant" ..."nappa cabbage" ..."a thermos full of pho" ..."Ezekiel sprouted grain tortilla". I couldn't take it anymore! The indignation rose within me as this farce was paraded before my eyes. All pretenses of a "brown bag lunch" had been abandoned as the contest quickly spiraled out of control. I had to bring it back on course. I had to compile the perfect brown bag lunch.
Lorraine typed as I dictated each item after painstaking consideration.
"a pizza lunchables..." Plural or singular, it mattered not. I had to bring these people back to the lunchrooms of America.
"a capri sun..." I've never seen soccer moms break out thermoses of pho at halftime.
"flaming hot cheetos..." As I recall, elementary school kids in South Texas weren't suffering from ulcers as a result of too much roasted eggplant.
"and a go-gurt." What's lunch without a healthy dose of probiotics ...and high fructose corn syrup?
As we clicked on the comment button, immortalizing my entry, a monument to real American brown bag lunches, we knew what was at stake. A connection between myself and Lorraine would quickly be made. Their sensibilities would be offended at my brazen entry and all that it implied. We were sacrificing our shot at a great concert. It was a small price to pay.
I Am The Lizard King. I Can Do Anything.
The other day Lorraine and I watched a special about monitor lizards on Nova. It was really good. Jim Morrison, eat your heart out.
Watch the full episode. See more NOVA.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
First Order of Business
...Okay now that my mortal enemy Be has been vanquished, and his blog-spam-bomb has been banished to the dark abyss of deletion from whence there is no return, I can now post the happy news that you all probably know.
Lorraine and I are married! WOOOOOOOO! WOOOOOOOO!
Our adventures have been legendary. Highlights to follow...
Lorraine and I are married! WOOOOOOOO! WOOOOOOOO!
Our adventures have been legendary. Highlights to follow...
DAN'S BLOG STRIKES BACK!
親愛的敵人
我希望你會感到疼痛,
可恥的是你自己的祖先,
我希望酒店繼續蓬勃發展,
在中國台北,
停止欺騙自己
你是完全中國的母狗,
的問候,丹
This is a little message for my spammer-friend Be. I finally got around to deleting his spam comments, and I decided to write him a little note. Feel free to plug it into Google translator. Make sure it says Chinese. Enjoy :)
Now that my blog is cleaned up, I am feeling revived. Many more posts to come!
我希望你會感到疼痛,
可恥的是你自己的祖先,
我希望酒店繼續蓬勃發展,
在中國台北,
停止欺騙自己
你是完全中國的母狗,
的問候,丹
This is a little message for my spammer-friend Be. I finally got around to deleting his spam comments, and I decided to write him a little note. Feel free to plug it into Google translator. Make sure it says Chinese. Enjoy :)
Now that my blog is cleaned up, I am feeling revived. Many more posts to come!
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