vogelsblogger

Monday, January 9, 2012

A VERY LATE FAMILY LETTER... like a year late!

Monday, January 3, 2011

This is just to change the face of my poor, neglected, stepchild of a blog. Happy?

Thursday, August 12, 2010

RIP Jake. R.I.P.

Just found out a friend was killed while on active duty in Afghanistan. It's my belief that he too will have his day:

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The quicker, thicker, picker-upper.

Ashlee and I could tell early on that Max takes after her. That's to say he's laid back, patient, fun-loving and playful. Libbie, on the other hand, seems to be taking after me... high strung, impatient, and anal. Okay, you're right, it may be a bit too early to say she's anal, but judging by her latest display of affection toward paper towel, you know she's going to be clean and tidy. That's my girl.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

FACT:

The theory of evolution is wrong. There's not such thing as 'survival of the fittest', but only a list of creatures that Chuck Norris has allowed to live.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Road trip

Max is always good for a laugh, especially on a long drive when he's exhausted. My laughter is loudest at 58 seconds in...

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Some things in life are constant...

Like my dad giving rides to kids on his motorcycle. More specifically, my dad giving rides to kids (in this case, me - in the rad yellow jacket - and then 30 years later, Max) on his 1982 Yamaha. And you better not forget that totally sweet, sparkling blue helmet! Seriously dad, that thing was a piece a crap when I was three and you still haven't thrown it away!? Rest assured, after mom reads this post the sentimental value of that gem will be two-fold and you'll NEVER get rid of it.

dad

Following my highschool graduation in the summer of 1996, my father and I embarked on a backpacking trip together. I had just come off of highschool sports such as Football and Track & Field and was consequently quite fit. I was able to carry my pack with ease and did so moving quickly. My father on the other hand, was a little older than I was, a little slower than I was and struggled a little more than I did on that backpacking trip. Now, he’d get after me if I didn’t clarify that while I had recently completed highschool sports programs, he had recently come out of a double hernia operation. You heard right. I said, DOUBLE hernia operation.

As we hiked, I saw my father’s struggle and I found myself decidedly hiking a little faster. I lengthened my stride and quickened my steps but not to discourage him. I wanted to reach select locations along the trail where I could drop my pack, turn back down the mountain and meet my father where I could then take his pack and carry it for him. We repeated this cycle for several days as we made our way past cascading waterfalls, emerald lakes, small glaciers and what could have been regarded as near sacred landscapes found only in high elevations.

Now I don’t tell you this story so you know how strong I am, or once was rather. Nor do I tell it so you know that I'm a great guy with Christ-like charity. To the contrary, if I remember right my dad was carrying the Peanut M&M’s and Beef Jerky. Without his backpack, any time spent waiting for his arrival would only have been a test of hunger-filled patience... a test I was not up for taking.

The reason I tell you this story is an attempt to demonstrate the character and behavior that my father had worked so hard to instill in his children. And he tried to instill it not by preaching or by lecture, but by his own behavior and example.

I wanted to help my dad in his moment of difficulty because that is what he has done for me my whole life. In fact, my dad has not only helped me but he has made a habit out of helping all those around him in each of their own moments of difficulty. But this is especially true of his children. It has been my observation and experience that whenever he has seen one of us struggling, one of us hurting, or in any kind of trouble, he drops whatever it is he's carrying and comes to our aid. He helps lift the load that others bear and he has done so as long as I can remember. And he continues to do so still.

The difference between my dad's charitable nature and my own futile efforts of the same is that the ones he's helping aren't usually carrying M&M's or beef jerky or anything else in their pack that he might enjoy after aid is rendered. He does it selfelssly, tirelessly and more often than not, without reward. And I guess that's what I'm most proud of about my father. He's not looking for ways to get ahead of others or even gain from others. Instead, he's always looking for ways to give to others and to get them back on the path to where they ought to be. And he asks for nothing in return.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Fat Guy a Smokin'

It's been a while since I last visited my partner company so I drove down to talk business and I was pleasantly surprised to see an old friend. Or foe. Or maybe just a complete stranger that I've created a lifestyle, personality and character traits for all in my head. Whichever it is, I was pleasantly surprised.

See, previously when I frequented the aforementioned office on a regular basis, I would walk by a rather obese man in an illfitting shirt and tie. He was always pacing back and forth, having a smoke. It didn't really matter how early I came in, how late I came out, or how many times I left for meetings during the day, he was always out there taking a break and enjoying a nice slow drag. He had become affectionately known as "Fat Guy a Smokin" (I realize, "Smokin' Fat Guy" seems more grammatically correct, but for some reason he was Fat Guy a Smokin').

Some days he wouldn't be there and I customarily assumed he had dropped dead; he couldn't have been too far away from that happening. But the next day, he was always back at his post and my hope for humanity was renewed.

I don't know why I found the guy so interesting. I just did. Maybe I just found watching a fat guy who appeared to already be on the verge of a coronary and smoking a cigarette to be my own little scientific experiment. Maybe I was hoping he was going to prove the Surgeon General wrong and live a long, happy life. Maybe I considered him research material as I too test how unhealthy I can live and still live. Honestly the odds are good that I'll be fatter than him someday if I keep eating as much Hostess as I do (No! No I won't! I vow to the moon and stars that I won't!). Maybe he just made me feel superior because I'm "healthy". Well at least I don't smoke anyway.

Is it because I listened in 7th grade health class when Mr. Patterson told us not to smoke because it was yada yada yada? Seriuosly? People actually need to be told not to smoke? Actually, truth be told, I might because honestly, I always thought smoking was pretty freggin cool. For crying out loud, these people are breathing fire! That's a trick.

Time to fess up because I know I'm not the only one who pretended to hold a cigarette when it was cold enough outside to see your breath. And who wouldn't like to snort smoke out of their nose like a dragon or a mad cartoon bull? You can't tell me James Dean didn't look totally bad with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

Now don't get me wrong. I've never smoked a cigarette and I never will. But if the circumstances were different, I can totally see myself a smoker. And by "if the circumstances were different", I mean, if cigarettes were 1) free 2) tasted like a twix 3) didn't cause cancer 4) didn't make your teeth yellow 5) didn't promote littering and forest fires 6) weren't addicting 7) didn't contain nasty carcinogons 8) and you get what I mean. Well if that were the case, I just might be out there right now with Fat Guy a Smokin', talking about how there's no way that one sprinter is a dude or how bad the Japanese National Anthem sounds. Seriously. It sounds like a bunch of kids banging cymbals.

Here's a side note: There are a few things about myself that are different from most folks. Examples: I love to mow the lawn. Most people like the Dave Matthew's Band. And oh yeah, I occasionally enjoy second hand smoke. I know, I know, I'm supposed to cough self righteously and shun those weak, miserable souls who suckle at the filtered teat of the big, evil tobacco lobby, but I don't. I've had enough crap jobs that involve outdoor, manual labor to become quite a connoisseur of secondhand smoke.

In high school I worked in construction with a one thumbed, burned out, alcoholic hippie named Randy. When I interviewed, it seemed like a good way to learn skills, but we just chopped wood day in and day out for the owner of the company instead. If Randy didn't have a beer at lunch, he would get the shakes. Anyway, I spent eight hours a day chopping wood with Randy, listening to his country music on AM radio and breathing in his exhaled GPC's. GPC's stink. They are stale and uninspired. A poor man's smoke. But there was another guy I worked with there, John Conners. Not the guy from the Terminator (but if he is, we're all in trouble when Skylab attacks with all those red-eyed robots because this guy couldn't lead an army worth a dang). What John could do and did do though, was spend real money on his smokes. He went with Winston Finely Aged Tobacco and I liked the smell of those Winstons. It was sweet, almost fruity. Camel's on the other hand are pretty harsh and Marlboro's are rich, but a little boring, but they do have a real live cowboy pitching for them and that's gotta count for something. Still, I'm definitely a Winston man.

Anyway, I noticed Fat Guy a Smokin' was outside with Fat Lady a Smokin' during my last visit to the office and it was pretty romantic. I imagined they were discussing which kind of ham they are going to buy with that month's supply of Marlboro Miles. Soon they'll get married and have little Fat Babies a Secondhand Smokin'; their low birth weight due to FLS smoking during pregnancy compensated by baby bottles full of Mountain Dew and a steady diet of nacho cheese. Babies love nacho cheese. Soon they'll have a whole clan: Fat Family a Smokin', rolling around town in their maroon colored minivan with blown shocks, hotboxing the carton of Camel's they just bought at Costco. It makes me smile.

So I guess I'm interested in Fat Guy a Smokin' because I'm a judgemental prick. But you know what, if you enjoyed this post... even a little bit... than you're judgemental too. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Welcome to the mire.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Banff Film Festival 2010!

Ashlee and I were able to go to the Banff Film Festival this year and we saw some sweet flicks. If you don't know what the Banff Film Festival is, you ought to be ashamed of yourself because I'll bet you know what the Sundance Film Festival is and that is nowhere near as cool. Here, I'll prove it:

My favorite films this year were "Finding Farley" and "First Ascent: Alone on the Wall". The latter chronicles 24-year-old Alex Honnold's landmark free-solo (yup. I said free-solo) of Zion National Park's "Moonlight Buttress" (V, 5.12+, 9 pitches) as well as his free-solo (uh huh, said it again) of the "Regular Northwest Face" route (VI, 5.12a, 23 pitches) on Yosemite's Half Dome. The fact that he climbed Half Dome's 600+ meters in 2 hours and 15 minutes is a miracle in and of itself considering it takes most 2 days to scale the wall. But more impressive to me was his cool, relaxed candor while climbing Moonlight. He's 1200 feet up, not roped in, and CHIT CHATTING with the camera guy as he goes.

Now mom, I know you don't speak climber jargon so I'm going to translate that last paragraph for you. It reads; "Mum, you probably shouldn't watch these clips because you used to freak out about me bunny-hopping curbs AND if I remember right, you white knuckle the couch when you watch anything akin to this."

Let it be known that Alex Honnold has gained international climbing renown and I submit that he change his first name to CUHrazy! Seems more fitting to me... CUHrazy Honnold. I report. You decide.

Mom, breathe.

And let go of the couch.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Hey 2009... You Stink!

All hail 2010! ...and can I just clarify here and now that it's pronounced "twenty-ten" NOT "two-thousand and ten". You don't hear people referring to "one thousand nine hundred ninety nine" do you? No. They say "nineteen ninety nine".

Anyway, muchas gracias 2010 for pushing 2009 out the way. Can I ask you another favor? As long as we're getting rid of 2009, can you get rid of a few other things too?

Velour Sweatpants with stupid things written on the butt - Ladies, this ain't sassy. It ain't sexy. It's played out. And it was trashy as a tramp stamp tattoo before it got played out. If your hind quarters are worth looking at, trust me some schmuck will look. But don't compel his glance with this misleading, desperate commercial. "Juicy"? What is that supposed to mean anyway? "Pink"? Well that's just down right confusing. It ought to say, "I wish I was younger than I really am." I realize that's a pretty long slogan, but most of the women I see actually wearing these things in line at Cafe Rio have plenty of ad space to sell.

Lady Gaga - I have no idea how this lady is still somehow popular. Am I to understand that all I have to do is wear stupid hats and ridiculous makeup and I can be famous?

The Swine Flu Panic - For one, it really wasn't that bad after a quick dose of Tamiflu and two, it's gonna be a while before we see another photo like this one. Thanks a lot Babe.

Everyone freaking out about that danged Mayan curse that dooms us all to parish in 2012 when the Earth reverses it's rotation - the way I see it this: if the Mayans new anything about anything, there would still be Mayans.

Twitter - NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND WE REALLY DON'T NEED AN UPDATE EVERY 5 MINUTES! I don't think it's a coincidence that the application begins with "twit".

Glen Beck & Keith Olberman - seriously what is a reasonable non-hateful person to do?

The dirty Yankees - now how can the Yankees win the World Series!?

The dirty dirty Lakers - I realize that's a picture of Oklahoma Thunder's Kevin Durant rather than a filthy Laker but honestly I couldn't stomach the idea of posting a photo of a Laker on my blog, much less be happy for them for winning another NBA title. Kevin Durant on the other hand is the coolest.

And while we're on the subject, take a look at this abomination! It's a hybrid of all that is unholy. A Yankee hat in Laker's colors. It's as if Satan himself birthed this concentrated evil spawn strait out his very own fiery domain.

Nancy Pelosi's face - when a middle aged man has an obvious case of hair plugs, it's hard to take him seriously. Clearly it is a man who is so consumed with his own physical imperfections, that he subjected himself to a painful and futile effort to conceal something that isn't worth hiding in the first place. It is a man that lies to himself every time he looks in the mirror and that is a man I cannot trust. Similarly, when a woman has stretched and botoxed any natural expression away from her face forever, it destroys her credibility. Pelosi does not portray herself as a confident woman of authority. She comes off as an insecure divorcee trying get back in the dating game as she drives her Mazda Miada to the 50 and older singles bar. I don't care for her politics in general but she is so ineffective at persuading anybody to follow her, the more she's in the public light, the more damage she does to the far left political spectrum. That's just fine with me. So I don't necessarily want her to go away. I just want her face to go away. Be considerate Nancy. Most people have HD TV's now. This request also applies to Jerry Jones.

Kanye West's robot voice - I don't know Kanye's music. It isn't my taste so I don't care what he sounds like. And I don't really care if he makes an idiot out of himself at a make believe awards show. Nor do I care if he hates George Bush. But I seem to hear a lot of unsolicited music (commercials, at parties, basketball games) that feature that stupid robot voice effect. This one. Well guess what Kanye, Cher did that a decade ago. As did Kid Rock. So I guess I shouldn't blame it all on Kanye. But my issue with this lazy little device is that it makes it impossible for me to ignore mediocre music. And that's really all I want to do. Your music doesn't have to be good. Just uneventful but I can't tone that Optimus Prime thing out.

When the slogan of the show questions if the subject is legitimate history, maybe it should be broadcast on the Alien Bullcrap and Ghost Chasers Channel and not the HISTORY channel! Despite all the deeply relevant and fascinating historical subjects that could be the object of compelling and challenging programs, the freaking History Channel more often than not kills its time chasing Big Foot, validating these idiots and confusing Nostradamus with Alexis De Tocqueville. But every once in a while they do talk about actual history. A few weeks ago they did a week long focus on the Kennedy's. It was fascinating. I ate that stuff up. But too often they cop out. Look, I realize that the History Channel knows what it's doing. They're chasing ratings. It's what a TV station does. This means there's apparently an audience for "Haunted History" and "Monster Quest". I am not among that audience. I wouldn't mind this that much if the Discovery Channel didn't also kill all of its time with fishing, truck driving and logging reality shows. Is it too much to ask that I feel a false sense of productivity while I waste away time in front of the TV? Give me interesting infotainment that fools me into thinking I've actually learned something. Then I can repeat what I happen to remember in conversations providing me with the illusion that I am a well informed intellectual... all without touching a book. The History Channel is seriously letting me down.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

For the love you lousy ice-cream scoop! Whamysposedo* now?

*yes, "whamysposedo" is a real word... in Utah. In fact, it's not just a word, it's a complete sentence around here.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Truth

This song has been running through my head... and my heart.

That probably has something to do with the fact that although I'm 32 I am the exact same person I was when I was 22. Maybe I should apologize because this probably isn't the most responsible attitude for a grown man to have but screw it. Tom's song reflects that childish defiance of which I am too often guilty and consequently punished.

You're probably more familiar with The Ramones cover. They did alright, but it doesn't compare to the brilliance of the Tom Waits original. His music has been a pretty trendy flavor amongst cultural snobs which is odd because there's a smokey barroom quality to the gritty blues Tom plays. And it's defined by Waits' voice. If you thought Dylan's voice was ragged and dirty (I consider that a compliment) then wait till you listen to Tom. Like Dylan, Waits' vocal quality is appreciated not so much by how it sounds but by how it feels. And don't be so short sighted to suggest that it is "bad singing". It sounds exactly how he wants it too.

Here. Play it again but this time listen to what he's saying.

When I'm lyin' in my bed at night
I don't wanna grow up
Nothin' ever seems to turn out right
I don't wanna grow up
How do you move in a world of fog
That's always changing things
Makes me wish that I could be a dog
When I see the price that you pay
I don't wanna grow up
I don't ever wanna be that way
I don't wanna grow up

Seems like folks turn into things
That they'd never want
The only thing to live for is today...
I'm gonna put a hole in my TV set
I don't wanna grow up
Open up the medicine chest
And I don't wanna grow up
I don't wanna have to shout it out
I don't want my hair to fall out
I don't wanna be filled with doubt
I don't wanna be a good boy scout
I don't wanna have to learn to count
I don't wanna have the biggest amount
I don't wanna grow up

Well when I see my parents fight
I don't wanna grow up
They all go out and drinking all night
And I don't wanna grow up
I'd rather stay here in my room
Nothin' out there but sad and gloom
I don't wanna live in a big old Tomb
On Grand Street

When I see the 5 o'clock news
I don't wanna grow up
Comb their hair and shine their shoes
I don't wanna grow up
Stay around in my old hometown
I don't wanna put no money down
I don't wanna get me a big old loan
Work them fingers to the bone
I don't wanna float a broom
Fall in love and get married then boom
How the hell did I get here so soon
I don't wanna grow up

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Why am I a Mormon?

This is why I'm a Mormon:

Friday, November 6, 2009

Matthew 5:39

Look, I know I'm Mormon just like (I assume) are the majority of the girls on the BYU Women's Soccer Team, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm not that really really good kind of Mormon. Don't get me wrong, I mean I am a good Mormon just not a "BYU Good" Mormon. Let me explain...

Sometimes I don't shave and other times I drink Coke and once in a blue moon I might even watch a movie that's rated PG-13 (aside from Twilight I mean) because I 'shall not live by Pixar alone'.

But it's not the aforementioned demerits that make me say I'm not the really really good kind of Mormon. Rather it's the fact that I would not not notty NOT be turning my other cheek on these New Mexico UFC Cage Fighters:

If anyone ever pulled my ponytail I'd be retaliating with some serious Kung Fu fighting. - probably one of the reasons I wasn't accepted to BYU or the BYU Women's Soccer Team either.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

I got an attitude of grattitude!

So I took Max trick or treating and that means Halloween is over and that means I'm trying with all my might to be disciplined enough not to eat all of his candy while he sleeps and that also means it's November which means Thanksgiving is coming up and that means its time to start being more grateful but it doesn't mean that I have to stop using run-on sentences... but lets get back to being grateful.

I'll start by expressing my gratitude that my biking buddies didn't have a video camera rolling when I turfed it on our last mountain bike ride. Now, I realize I broke 3 ribs, bruised my torso, gave myself a wicked charlie-horse, and almost almost almost cried in front of my bros, but honestly none of those things even compares to having the wind knocked out of you, particularly if it's caught on film. I say so not because of the level of pain associated with being unable to breathe (minimal really), but more so because you feel like an idiot rolling around on the floor gasping for air while your friends stare in wonder. Let me illustrate:

I'm also grateful that my friend decided to share this video with me after the accident because there's nothing better for broken ribs than trying not to laugh over and over and over again while he keeps pressing play. "Preciate it" Jeff. I'm also grateful for friends who are just as concerned and helpful in that humiliating moment as the studio reporters were for that poor lady stomping on the grapes. "Oh... Oh no... Youch... Well... Okay. Should we just keep riding?"

"Dad, dissis disgusting"

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Attaway fittytwo!

Friday, October 23, 2009

Glen Beck is the new Stupid

Dear Glen,

I was planning on having the local neighborhood kids get together to rake the leaves from your mother's lawn and maybe come back in a month to shovel some snow from her driveway, but since you don't agree with 'volunteerism' or acts of service we decided to stay home and watch TV instead. But don't worry, we're not watching any of those shows that accepted Obama's challenge to promote "responsibility" and "service to others". After all, you're right, "a campaign to inspire action and a new way of thinking about service" would just be lame. Instead, we'll just keep watching more and more shows focused on crime, rape and murder because encouraging Hollywood to portray and promote a better America is downright communist! Okay, I'll stop with the sarcasm.

In fairness though, it must be difficult to come up with a new conspiracy to be "outraged" about every night. I guess not all of them are going to be winners.

p.s.

Why didn't we hear the same uproar when Bush and Rove enlisted Hollywood screenwriters and directors to talk about how the entertainment industry could help the war effort?

Thursday, October 1, 2009

If wives were to beat up other wives, mine would beat up yours.

What's all this talk about me being spoiled? Listen, just because Ashlee brings lunch to work for me EVERY DAY does not mean I'm spoiled. To the contrary. Rumor has it I am one devilishly-good-looking and very deserving husband who just so happens to be loved loved loved by his mrs (...and that hypnotist was totally worth every penny). Besides, just because your wife doesn't bring you lunch to work (EVER!) doesn't mean you should rain on my parade. It does, however, mean that your wife doesn't love you.

Hey man, don't blame me if you're wife don't love you.

As for me and Ash: we are luvas...