Piling on the praises for Batman

Went and saw Batman Dark knight with Anthony this weekend. I am joining hands with all those who admire and praise the movie. I am a hard movie goer to please. I over scrutinize the plots, the story, the message, the emotion, the delivery, effects, imagery and impact a movie has on me. I am rarely impressed. I enjoyed the movie although, I am sure for an entire different set of reasons than most people. It drives me crazy that I can’t enjoy a movie. Because I examine the story so much I often don’t even pick up on how well an actor is doing in his/her role. I am considering each line not how well it was acted. Until I saw Batman. I was completely floored by Heath. Mouth agape I marveled at how much more he added to the movie with his presence. I am not saying this to honor the dead. Despite what has happened to him since filming, the role was acted marvelously.

Driving to work this morning I was wandering around the radio dial as each station would go to commercial break. I turned to one station as they were commenting that Heath Ledger did an OK job acting as Joker. They theorized that anyone could fill in the part in a sequal… even Bill Cosby. I was surprised to hear this as this radio DJ that was saying this is often gone from his radio show on different acting gigs. As an actor I would have thought he would be able to recognize good acting. At one point Heath says this line “I am like a dog chasing a car. I wouldn’t know what to do if I caught one” 95% of actors out there would just say the line the audience would glaze over it as we anxiously wait for the next explosion or some skin. The way Heath said it made a chuckle rumble through the crowd. Here is a villain that we hate, but we all of a sudden find him humorous and witty just because of acting. When you write something like that, there is no better villain you could create. One you hate but like. One you want to see lose, but also feed bad when they do. You write something like that and it is genius. I think Heath pulled more out of that role and took it a step beyond what the writers even intended. I found myself wishing Joker were in every scene. Until I saw this movie I don’t think I had very much respect for what actors do. For the most part I think they are way over compensated. A movie is made or broken in it’s writing. I present The Office as exhibit A. I have heard several people comment that Steve Caroll is the best actor because in The Office the audience feels embarrassed, feels sorry for, loves, hates, and adores Michael Scott. I submit that it is decent acting, but the writing is what makes Michael Scott such an intriguing role. So many times people confuse good writing with good acting. That’s where we get actors like Keanu Reeves and Nicolas Cage. Up until now I believed the best actors could only bring a movie to the level the writers intended it, nothing more and usually far less. In my opinion, Heath made Batman a fantastic movie out of a good movie. The next time, or if it is the first time you are watching the movie, pay attention to how the tone of the movie drops down just a bit when the Joker is off screen and how it bumps back up a few notches whenever he is back on screen. That is all because of acting not so much writing… and that sort of acting commands my respect.

The Great Breakfast Conspiracy

As promised earlier I have an ongoing series of disputes, related to one night of insomnia. I have been posting my ideas not really to further alienate myself from everyone as it may appear but to promote an ongoing dialogue. I tell you why I think you are silly and you comment back and tell me why I am silly. It all goes along with my previous post. Not much of a talker I prefer to watch people and listen to people's ideas. (It drives Mandy CrAzY!!!) I rarely agree entirely but most people have some valid points. Please comment away on our blog, you can rest assured the next sleepless night my mind will return to your comments and gnaw away on it like the ravenous werewolf it often is at night. So... with no further introduction I digress to my next topic, BREAKFAST!!!!

Every morning when Shelby wakes up, you can count on the first words out of her mouth are "I'm hungry. I want cereal" She takes after Mandy that way. Walker is a bit more like me. When I wake up my stomach is still curled up snug in a blanket of organs. He is sucking on his thumb and snoring. We have all learned that my stomach could digest a bucket of nails with little or no complaint. I even daftly challange him every month or so when my nephew Trevor and I go and purchase a plate of steaming hot tacos from a taco wagon in downtown Salt Lake. Never so much as a gurgle. I can almost count on one hand the times I have tossed my cookies. My stomach is a hearty trooper, rarely dropping a complaint in the suggestion box. But, heaven help the poor soul who wakes my stomach up when it's not ready! He screams and stomps and loads everything on the catapult and threatens to send last nights dinner back, after he sets fire to it. I detailed what happened when I woke him up with milk in a previous post.

There is a phrase that is often tossed around that goes "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day" Any nutritionist or so called health expert or physical trainer will tell you... "EAT BREAKFAST!!!" I may be a lone rock swaying in a torrential river of breakfast fanatics, but I'm standing here saying I don't buy it. The only way I can get my stomach to accept any breakfast is by bribing it. He has an affinity for sweets and fats. If I send down oneor both then there is no complaints... but instead of waking up and doing his job and digesting... he weerily pointsts to the squishy gut region and says "Put it over there... with the others, I will get to it some other time. Now LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm tired!" and he drifts back to sleep. I can actually physically see my gut grow bigger every itme I eat breakfast. If I ever had liposuction the doctor would not be sucking out fat, he would see breakfast sausages, pancakes loaded with butter and syrup, Rice Crispies mixed with so much sugar the milk has turned to a sweet sludge and maple bars.

At 10:30 everyday... I can set a clock on it and be no less than 2 seconds off, my stomach wakes up. When he does wake up he's ringing the bell and blasting the fog horn for some food. Unfortunately it is not very socially acceptable to eat at 10:30 in the morning. If I tell people I am going to eat a meal at 10:30 they will look at me like I just announced my intentions to soil my trousers. But, if I do find the occasion to eat at 10:30 the stomach tosses it on the coals and I am good until dinner... that's right, eat 2 times a day. I know that any nutritionists that might read this are gasping for air as they are choking on their celery stick and are at risk of spilling their unflavored, non-fat yogurt. But I think breakfast might not be the most important meal of the day... for me. For Shelby and Mandy it is. I don't need any more breakfast... I am already carrying 40 lbs. of breakfast around with me at all times.

My mental disability

I have a problem. A disconnect in my brain circuitry. Something that does not allow me to function as a normal human being. Something that tags me as abnormal in crowds. I have a speech problem. I don't talk slow or stutter... I just say and talk about dumb things. Imagine yourself at the top of a long and steep road. You are in a car, but a few controls are missing... well, two things are missing... that's all. Everything is there except a little pedal folks refer to as the "brake" pedal and the round thing in front of you called a "steering" wheel. Once you set the wheels going, you are not sure what is going to happen. You could coast to a stop safely a few miles down the road or you could violently veer off of the road, twisting and tumbling through the air in a giant ball of flames spinning out random parts of wreckage. It is usually the later for me.
It's not that I usually say something bad, it is that I usually don't reach the destination. I will describe it like this... In my brain there is a giant projection screen with ideas being constantly broadcast. There is a man in front of the screen managing content. We will refer to him as "El Capitan". He has a suit on and a laser pointer and he is barking commands at people telling them what to do. In the back of the room there is gentlemen. He is short and bald. He has a disheveled appearance about him and he scurries around dropping things and frantically looking for a pencil that is behind his ear. He has on thick glasses that force him to move his head back and forth instead of just moving his eyes. He has a serious organization problem. His job is to scamper in a frenzy into the nasal cavity and turn a big crank that runs my mouth. Next to the crank is a big funnel and he has to drop words in as he turns the crank. We will call this gentleman Smithy. Smithy hunches over in a chair usually mumbling to himself until El Capitan points at the screen and Tells Smithy to go say turn the crank and make the mouth say something about the topic on the screen. Smithy's eyes usually get big and he looks up frantically and says "OH MY!!!!" and then he fumbles around for a notebook and can't find his pencil to jot down notes. In a disarray he jumps up and staggers to his station muttering and patting his pockets as he looks for things.
There is one other person in this equation. His job is to sort through files and find words for Smithy to drop into the funnel. His name is Slacker. He takes great pleasure in watching Smithy flutter around lost. He casually sifts through file cabinets. Some of the cabinets are large some are small, some of them are brightly colored for emergencies, some of them are labeled. Some of them have large words bulging out of them. Some of them have a bunch of small words. To the average Joe there is little rhyme or reason to the organization system here. Slacker knows where most of the words are, but he is no hurry to find them. The more urgent the request the slower he moves. He is not secretive about the humor he finds in making everyone look bad. Sometimes he will give the words to Smithy reversed just to see him scramble and try to rearrange the words as he turns the crank and tries to feed words down the funnel. I have a dysfunctional system here. Once I start speaking a few things usually happen either Smithy can't find his notebook and forgets what we are talking about and so I come to a grinding halt mid thought trying to remember where we were going. Slacker gives Smithy the wrong words so that he can laugh at Smithy and Smithy gets so flustered he loses all of his rhythm or what usually happens when I am publicly speaking is that Slacker takes his time getting words, Smithy starts improvising by putting whatever he can find handy down the funnel, whether that is a bottle of water, a fuzzy, pink stuffed animal, an intern or his left shoe. What usually comes out is so disjointedly boring that El Capitan flops down in his big leather chair in horror as he watches the jumbled hodge podge spew out. The horror dissolves to boredom and then sleep. Smithy runs out of filler and gets tired and Slacker lights up a cigarette and lays down with his head propped up against a file cabinet and works on his smoke ring techniques. He smiles to himself as he imagines Smithy scurrying around mumbling "Oh My! OH GOLLY GOSH DARN MY!!" The whole operation goes sideways and I have no idea where I was going or how to get there. When El Capitan wakes up he sees a sea of blank stares lulled into complete submission of boredom staring back at me.
Luckily I have a different team that works on my words when I write and sometimes the results are better... but every once in a while Slacker walks into the file cabinet room and makes suggestions... just to see if he can get us twisted around a tree in heap of carnage. And that my dear reader, is my mental disability.

Kids these days

I realize this makes me sound like a wiry old, wrinkly, codger sitting in my well used lazy boy, ritualistically dressed in a flannel robe and plaid slippers who snatches up his weathered cane with a liver spot riddled, bony hand and shakes them in the air like a charged cage fighter taunting a crowd who just saw their favored gladiator crumple under the agony of defeat. But, in my ongoing series of rants I scowl heavenward and howl "These kids these days! Why, in my day we didn't do none of that or have any of that nincompoopery and we was happy, and we liked it that way!"
This morning I detailed my disdain for milk, but I also said I drank it. Beyond milk, I proudly admit that I will eat just about anything. I have the round and plump midriff to prove it. When I was young I dutifully ate everything placed in front of me on a plate. If I didn't, there was a spatula in the drawer that spoke to my butt with stinging words that hissed to me that I would eat what I was told to eat... because there were starving kids in China and somehow me eating more than my share of food was going to save them.

Now I have a son who won't eat anything. He has somehow managed to sustain life on a diet of an occasional Swedish Fish and McDonald's Chicken nuggets every once in a blue moon. I am not sure where he got the gumption to look at a plate of food and say "I don't like it!" During my childhood, the very thought of uttering such blasphemous hogwash caused me to tremble in fear until I had completely destroyed even the thought. It has caused Mandy and I to look at each other in disbelief and wonder how the tables were turned, how our son can instantly stage a fasting protest and stubbornly hold out until his complexion turns pale, he becomes weak and shaky and dark circles form around his eyes, yet he remains resilient to any notion that he try a new food. For many years I thought our child was unique in his obstinacy. But, the more I talk to other parents who have children Walker's age (and it seems to be unique to males) that they too have children to their chagrin that refuse the majority of their nutritional options. And to that I shake my cane over my head and repeat "Heh! Kids these days!"

Recipe

Good news everybody out there in blog-land! I had a night of insomnia and amongst the other strange ideas my brain burped up whilst laying in bed sleepless, I stubbed my toes on a 3 or 4 really lame things to blog about, so brace yourself for a some really lame and random ramblings that my brain decided was important enough to sacrifice sleep time to mull over. Without any further introduction... Idea numero uno!

You may notice some blogs have recipes of the author's favorite meal they have just tried. While I am sitting here blogging waiting for my breakfast to settle before I go for a bike ride (OH! Another blog idea, I better write that down "The Great Breakfast Conspiracy", stay tuned... more to come about that) I thought I would write down my favorite recipe for today:

Take one bowl
fill it about 3/4 to the top with LIFE cereal
add just enough milk so that you can see it peeking around some of the LIFE flakes
stir around the flakes so that they get soggy and the flavors mix in with the milk, because if you have to taste the milk, just by itself, it is disgusting!
Enjoy!

Yeah... it's a recipe for a bowl of cereal but it's one that I like. Apparently I can't get that right all of the time either. Last week I made one of my specialty blends of milk and cereal for Walker and I was informed that I did it wrong. I didn't put in enough milk and his flakes got soggy and there wasn't enough milk to drink at the end. My point was that, that is what makes it taste sooooo good! And that brings up my two controversial points here: Soggy cereal is good! Milk tastes bad! Bear with me as I introduce my two points of debate (that I expect all readers to offer their opinion on, but more about this and I will reveal a mental challenge that I have been silently dealing with for my whole life... to come later in a different blog)

I still can't understand why anyone would want to eat crunchy cereal or Quiznos (I have always maintained that they have their slogan wrong... it should be Mmmm, mmm, mmm... SCRATCHY!) The flavors of these crunchy type foods are wonderful, but the texture is ALL wrong! I don't like the feeling that I just removed the pitcher from a blender and just spent 20 minutes gnawing on the spinning blades of a blender that is set on "frappe". I don't think anything in Man's natural diet is meant to gouge slice and pulverize our mouths. If it was we wouldn't have soft, bleedable gums loaded with nerve endings and blood vessels. If it weren't I would be the first one to sprinkle some Garlic butter on a box of razor blades and toss them down the old gullet.

Milk is gross! We eat lots of gross things, dead chicken embryos, cultured bacteria, McDonald's... to name a few. If we look at history and wonder who the first person was to say "Hmm... I think I'm gonna eat that!" Then we probably would see a lot of very hungry people and probably another group of hungry people standing around to see if that thing killed the first person... if not then they said "Hmm, Ralph isn't dead...yet, I think I'll bite off a piece and see how I like it too!"
I am sure it was an awkward day when someone strolled up to a cow and watched a calf drinking from it's mother's utters and he said to the crowd of spectators "I don't know guys... 50 bucks to try that? How about $75... no $100 and you got a deal" After the milk didn't kill him, we got lots of great inventions like go-gurt, Grilled cheese sandwiches and pasteurization. But, milk individually? Blech! It tastes like how cows smell... like manure. Trust me the guy in history that scooped up a steaming pile of manure and gulped that down spent the few short remaining hours of his life doubled up with stomach cramps, before he died. We now know that isn't good for us.
I have always hated the flavor of milk. In grade school we actually a lady, Stana Wood, who would actually check our trays before we finished lunch to make sure we ate enough. If we didn't eat enough of one thing, she would turn us around and make us go eat some more. There were of course tricks. If you rolled your tomato soup around in the bowl it made it look like you had eaten some and she would let you go. She always picked up my carton of milk and shook it and then would point back to my table where I was sitting and would say "Go drink more of your milk!" My stomach would turn over and I would have to try not to throw up thinking about it. Then I would go back to my seat, close my eyes, tilt my head back and gulp down the rest of the milk and prepare for the horrible after taste. I always envied the kids that had milk allergies, because they got a glass of wonderful, golden orange juice. I am by far NOT a picky eater. I like everything... except plain milk. Love chocolate milk, love strawberry milk I have even tried strange things like es cargo and have enjoyed that. But I put a big "X" in the "No Thanks" column when offered plain milk. Mandy loves it. My kids who won't even eat a quesadilla, love milk. I have even heard them say, on a hot day when they have been playing outside in the heat "I am sooo thirsty! I want some nice cold milk!" I hear that and my brain registers "I am so thirsty and overheated that I think it would be great to swab the toilet seat with my tongue!" and my natural reaction is to scream "Egads! That's disgusting! Have some ice cold water!"

To tie this all together let me share a painful childhood experience to punctuate my disdain for milk and crunchy cereal. When I was young, we obviously didn't have very much money. I was too young and too clueless to pay attention to things like that, but I did notice that the only cereal my mom ever bought was King Vitamin. The MOST plain tasting and THEE MOST crunchy cereal out there. I actually think the cereal puffs were made of foam insulation mixed with rocks and then coated in a heavy coat of impermeable, epoxy enamel. It had no flavor and absolutely scratched the living hell out of your mouth. Each bite was the equivalent of placing a tiny, frantic, sharp clawed cat into your mouth. I am still not sure why, but every day I would get up and have a bowl of King Vitamin before school... and I would finish ALL of the milk in the bowl. On this particular morning I swallowed the last bite of King vitamin with the usual chunks of mouth flesh that was accompanied by the after taste of blood. Then I looked at that half of a cup of cereal in the bowl and my stomach turned over. I thought of Stana pointing back to my chair and telling me to finish it... and like a good little German I dutifully did as the Nazis said. I tilted back my head and poured down the rest of the milk. Trying not to think about the cow smelling flavor in my mouth I headed to the sink with my bowl, but before I got there, my stomach put it's foot down. Had had too much of this nonsense! And it reversed thrusters and without any warning I watched a stream of milk and King vitamin come back up. As I watched in slow motion the milk and the cereal splash on the floor I realized something... Although I chewed that cereal, it was still in it's original shape, I don't like crunchy cereal and Milk probably tastes just like the rear bumper of Holstein. But, on the other hand... I do like rump roast, with some potatoes and carrots... little bit of gravy... Mmmm! Just glad I was not the first guy in history to try that one!

So much fun it felt like it was illegal

On the 4th we went and tried a new experience. Shawn had invited us to Evanston for the 4th. We did not have any plans so, we agreed. That morning we went to North Ogden for the parade. Of course the kids got so much candy that they began shaking and then vibrating. They both looked like they were fuzzy from the candy induced hum. I was disappointed. Melanie ALWAYS gets free t-shirts, so I made her stand by me. I love the free t-shirts. Alas, the only people, Jiffy Lube that had shirts only had one 2 or 3 shirts left and they didn't even look at her as she screamed at them. FINE! I guess I won't advertise for you for FREE! JERKS!!!
Then we piled in the Durango and lazily wandered towards Evanston as the kids slipped into diabetic comas. Evanston has secretly been supplying Utahns with all of their vices for well over 200 years. Once you sight the city in your windshield you are greeted by billboards touting Fireworks, Tobacco, booze and porn. You can buy it all there, just don't get caught bringing it back across the border, cause what happens in Evanston, the Utah Highway Patrol wants to stay in Evanston.
As dawn slowly inched out the sun the town was already getting busy with their festivities. I could hear fireworks popping and fizzling in every direction around me. In my mind I cursed them "Save them for when it's dark!" But when it did become dark enough to see the fireworks I realized there were PLENTY to go around. Shawn's house sits up on the bluff overlooking Evanston. We pulled our chairs into an empty lot across the street and I sat there with my mouth agape. I found it was all I could do. I was rendered speechless. I was surrounded by a panoramic 360 degree non-stop fireworks display of Thor like proportions. Every where I looked there were fireworks shooting into the sky, reds, greens, blues, pinks, white and orange bursts lit burst into exuberant displays of twinkling, showering pyrotechnic marvel. At one point the fire department drove by. It seemed illegal to have so much fun and so my knee jerk reaction was to run in the house and pretend like we weren't home. The fire department just waved and purred on up the road. Evanston is to the 4th what Mardi Gras is to New Orleans. That town puts on a party so grand it probably threatens to wipe itself off the map every year. I chuckled to myself as I thought of the thousands of people stuffed in a stadium, shelling out hundreds of dollars and sweating in the agonizing heat to see a few short minutes of fireworks at the Stadium of Fire, then waddling back to their cars with stiff legs and sweaty cracks, just to sit in their cars for three hours just to get out of the parking lot. If they were lucky the could finally flop down on their beds at 2 in the morning. I was enjoying a lengthy full omnipresent firework show, no traffic and within walking distance of a bed. After seeing all of that I was reduced to one word "WOW!"

Unfortunately right before dawn a dust storm blew in and assaulted my allergies. I had to admire the show through watering and burning eyes while my nose dripped like a leaky faucet. The only problem I have now is that any future fireworks displays will now seem lame, half-hearted and just plain crappy, unless they are in Evanston. Driving home the next morning I had to pick my way through piles of shredded firework carcasses. It looked something like Normandy the day after D-day. Most of the town had stayed late into the night attempting to set the sky on fire, so that morning seemed especially bleak and desolate adding to the feeling of the day after invasion aura cast over the city. The other great thing about Evanston... gas that is at least 20 cents cheaper. That fact alone almost made the trip to Evanston free.

Walker's Summertime Activities

Walker was excited to start T-Ball this year. He was put on a new team and had two great coaches. Coach Maddock and Coach Kirk. A lot of the games were rained out, but he had a great time at the others. He improved this year, and didn't run the bases like a bird. It's fun watching him do things that he loves.

We love the Community we live in. There are many things I could say about living in Nibley. We have great neighbors and friends, and beautiful views all around. One of my favorite things to do here in Nibley in the summertime is to join the Childrens' Theater in June for the Heritage Days Celebration. Walker and I have participated two years in a row, and have really enjoyed it. This year the play was the Pirates Of Penzance. Walker's age group were little Pirate Kings and they sang the song "I am a Pirate King". They did a great job. I helped with the production by directing the 5-6 year old girls who played little Ruths. I taught them their song and Choreographed their dance. It was a great time.

Just as school was letting out Walker let us know that finally one of his baby teeth was loose. We were very excited for him. He wiggled it for about a month and the other night he finally pulled it out. I was shocked as I looked in his mouth to see his permanent teeth had come up behind the loose ones. He looked like a shark with two rows of teeth. Well the tooth fairy left him four quarters and he can't wait to loose another.

Although this post is titled Walker's summertime activities, I want every one to know that our little Princess Shelby is enjoying her summer too. She tags along behind brother and is happy to do what ever he does. She loves to play outside and swim, and jump on the trampoline and is always happy.

The exodus South

Today I ran into one of my old co-workers. He was at Lowe's picking up some supplies in order to ready his house to put it on the market, so he could move to St. George. I am shaking my head here. Another person in an almost ceaseless rabble of pilgrims making their wagons South. I told Mandy that I don't get it. I don't know how anyone affords living there and what the excitement is all about. I just came from there and folks... it literally is hotter than Hell there. We were driving down Bluff street and I saw some of Satan's minions crawling out of a fiery cave in the ground and they were saying to each other "Let's go back! It's too hot here!" It could be that I felt extra hot driving around in a car with no A/C.

I also tried squinting and looking through a shimmering heat wave as it boiled off of the road, but I couldn't find much that I adored in all of the red rocks and sage brush. There is nothing more calm, relaxing and enjoyable then looking over a valley of firs and aspen trees. The wind slithering between the trees overhead making the quakie leaves twist merrily around shimmering under a cool blue sky and making a happy rustling sound. The breeze washes over my neck and I can smell a thousand things at once, green grass, pine trees, glistening lakes, wildlife, and even a rain storm bellowing over a distant peak. I can hear the trickle of a nearby stream. I stand and wonder if I am the first person ever to plant my feet where I am now. Nothing that seemed relevant the day before even seems important now and yet my priorities all seem clear now. To me, being in the mountains contains the best parts of what this life has to offer. So I struggle to understand what the allure is to St. George.

I have often thought about the first settlers to that area. They were commanded to travel there and establish Zion. As I often do I try to imagine myself in pioneer's shoes. I imagine myself staggering into the Salt Lake Valley after leaving everything I owned back in a nice house I sold for an old gray mare that died two miles out of town. I lost most of my family on the journey and a foot to the frost bite. But, that is all behind me now. I've made it! I'm tired and so I find a small tree to sit under and take a nap. I pull my straw hat over my face and just as I am drifting off to sleep I feel a kick on my leg. I peer over my hat and see a tall thin gentleman in a suit standing over me with his thumbs jammed in his vest. He's glaring down at me with his head cocked to one side and he is chewing on a blade of grass. He says to me "You brother Ungerman?" I stammer in confusion "Well... yes. Who wants to know?" He nods at me as he says "You best not be restin' jist yet. Brother Brigham says he wants you to pack up your stuff and move to a place called St. George. It'll take you a few weeks to get there and once you do get there you will find a barren and inhospitable land void of water or vegetation for your cattle. If the droughts don't kill ya, the heat will! So... git movin!" He says as he shoos me away with a wave of his hand. At which point I would probably reply with a sharp and hasty comment that would surely have my name blotted off of the records of the church.

I also imagine the first person he talked to he said "Brother Brigham said you need to move to Logan. It's a few weeks travel South and the heat is sure to kill you." and as soon as the messenger left telling the settler to move South the settler turned to his family and said "He said Logan was North right? And we were to just keep traveling until we found a gorgeous valley where our cattle can feed on thousands of acres of lush grassland and the area was surrounded by gorgeous mountains that we could hunt, fish, hike and get lumber from... right?" and his family looked back and shook their heads "yes".

I then imagine that same messenger approaching the next weary traveler into the valley and saying "Brother Brigham needs you to move SOUTH to a place called Logan...no, (mutters to himslf) I guess that's up North now. Um... a place called Um... St. Ralph, no, doesn't sound good. Let's try St. Bartholomew... uh too wordy... um, St. George! That's it! It's a great place... your gonna love it. Don't worry in about 200 years they will have something called "Air conditioning" You will be long gone and dead by then. You probably will never see reservoirs built there, interstate highways, airports, Blue Bunny, In-n-out burgers or the temple be built either. But trust me... You 'll love the heat, because it's a dry heat." As he pats them on the back and as they wearily stagger South he will be sure to watch them and make sure they stay heading south until they are tiny specks in the horizon. As he waves to the disappearing travelers the messenger looks around and says "Now... I gotta find someone to move to Las Vegas. That place is even hotter, more arid and even more desolate!"

Don't get me wrong. I like the place. I like to travel there. But, I always sigh as I make that last curve into Cache Valley and I say to myself "Ah! good to be home!" So, I welcome your comments, your pleas, your arguments, your justifications, and your reasons why so many people I know are moving there. I really want know. Help me understand!