myPortico

Since graduating college, I’ve consistently and persistently wanted to leave Utah. Not because I think it’s a bad place. Not because I don’t like it here. Not for any reason other than that I’ve wanted to go out and try new places. Explore. Find adventure.

Additionally, it always occurred to me that opportunities for higher income jobs were greater outside Utah, not to mention a social makeup more in line with what I wanted.

Ex Mrs Portico never shared my vision. So we stayed. She did however concede that if I got a job worth moving for, we could.

So I looked. And applied. And tried to get any job any where.

What always troubled me was the thought that nobody would want to talk to me because I didn’t live there already. Let alone hire me. Why wouldn’t they go local?

The outcome always seemed to answer my questions quite clearly. Out of the 100-200 jobs outside Utah I’ve applied to over the years I’ve had maybe 3 interviews. One did turn into a job, so it hasn’t been a complete loss.

Unfortunately, as I continue to seek employment in other cities in other states, the the thought still troubles me: did so many companies not call me because I was out of state?

Or was it because they weren’t interested.

While at brunch the other day with a group of twitter folks, I met a guy who was leaving Salt Lake to start a job he had just accepted in San Francisco. He didn’t live there when he was hired. In fact, he admitted it wasn’t really on his list of places to move to. But he got the job.

Hearing him speak made me start thinking of all the people I’ve met over the years who were offered and accepted positions in states they didn’t live in. The number was staggering.

It dawned on me, job searches, like dating, like friendships, all come down to one simple, universal truth: if someone is interested they will make contact, if they’re not, they won’t.

If a girl wants to be with you, she will make an effort.

If your friends want to hang out with you, they will call you.

If an employer is impressed, they will bring you in for an interview.

Whether it’s a band trying to get heard, a writer trying to get her book published, or a hack trying to get a job, if people are interested, they will engage.

I always wondered what would happen when I no longer worked at my last place of employment. The people I worked with had become my entire social network. Would that disintegrate, as I predicted, because I no longer worked there, or had I finally found friends who would stay with me through countless years, relationship statuses, and life struggles. Basically, would they remain friends when the pressure of proximity was no longer present?

The old axiom states out of sight, out of mind.

Judging by the number of road trips, parties, gatherings, and engagements I haven’t been invited to, I guess the answer is pretty clear.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Just like the job search, which now enters its 7th month of unemployment, the same sobering lesson applies, when people are interested they will call you, when they’re not, they won’t.

I saw it time and time again when I was dating (before I gave up). I saw it in my marriage. I see it now in my general life. It’s in every thing we do.

I guess when it all comes down to it, I still don’t know if my not living in these cities is making the difference in whether I get calls for interviews or not, but I have to now believe it’ doesn’t. Let’s face it, it’s not like I’m getting calls in Salt Lake either.

As in the job search, as in dating, as in friends, when people want to be in your life or hear what you have to say, they will put forth the effort necessary to hear it, when not…well, you get the picture.

So I guess the answer for moving forward is rewriting my resume, being grateful for the friends and family I have, and, ultimately, becoming a completely different person. A person whom people don’t feel being around is a completely insufferable endeavor. Or at the very least, becoming a person who is not completely invisible.

And I guess keeping the dream alive that one day it will all not be such a futile battle.

So last night I decided to take in some Lemonheads action at Liquid Joe’s, a local venue for music which also happens to be a nice little bar. I don’t go there often, but have been to a few gigs there. Not bad at all. I saw Floater there and that was one of my favorite gigs of all time. The Spazmatics show I saw will stand as one of the most memorable dates I have ever been on. And well, a couple others that showed Liquid Joe’s is a decent venue.

Well, while we waited for the band to take the stage, I chatted with @nicktjohnson and @amyknapp. They are cool and I enjoy hanging out with them. Nick does stand up so I started asking about it. During the conversation he talked about a comedian (who is also server at a local brew pub) he had just seen who had some funny stories about living in Utah. I couldn’t laugh for I was completely blown away.

Basically, I discovered something I have never seen nor heard. Now, I’m quite familiar with the Mormon way of doing things. Not that I take great pride in that fact, or feel less of a person for it, it just is what it is. This is a peculiar people; a people who prides itself on being peculiar. Being different is their whole thing. Ok, got it. Great. So we all know there are certain peculiarities that just make you shake your head and you move on because, well, they’re Mormon and that’s just how they do it—whatever the "it" is.

However, last night’s revelation literally floored me. I thought I’d heard it all. Seen it all. Lived if not all, most of it all. Apparently not.

So there are a couple brew pubs here in town, Squatters, Porcupine, Red Rock, etc. No big deal, they offer great food and lots of beer choices. Any and every city in America has similar.

Well, apparently, it’s considered "fun" for certain members of the dominant religion here when they go to this particular type of establishment to "pretend" to order a pitcher of beer.

Yeah, I can hear what you’re saying, probably the same damn thing I was thinking listening to this story.

Anyway, it goes something like this: A group of 20-30 something righteous members of Zion will sit down at their table and then chuckle to themselves as the server approaches the table. Then one of the party, you know, the "fun" guy of the group, will say, "uh, yes, we’ll have a pitcher," which he’ll say as he’s desperately trying not to burst into laughter. The others in the party will barely be able to contain themselves, eventually giving in to uproarious laughter. According to the story teller, high fives usually ensue.

You see, the joke is that Mormons don’t drink beer. So it’s funny to act like 12-year-old boys and order a pitcher because "we’re Mormon and we don’t drink beer!" Ha! Get it. Isn’t that hysterical!

And people wonder why I never had any Mormon friends and now just can’t be a part of that lifestyle.

Anyway, all I could think is that I’m really glad that nobody I knew had ever done this (that I know of). So maybe we can appreciate that it’s just a small few and not an indictment of the whole group. I sure as hell hope so anyway, cuz that’s just retarded.

Mention the word Disney and you’re likely to get one of a few reactions that typically range from utter detestation to general disdain.

I understand that most people don’t like Disney as a company. As a philosophy. As a way of life.

I am not one of those people.

For better or worse, I appreciate Disney and I am one who is willing to state emphatically, without even the slightest hint of irony, that Disneyland is in fact my happiest place on Earth.

However, my like of Disney is not without an understanding of how messed up it is as a company and how culturally void and unapologetically opportunistic it can be. Disney Channel is mostly bland. Their constant churning of manufactured tween superstars is troubling on numerous levels. And lets face it, they haven’t put out a decent animated film since…well hell, when was the last one? Not even sure.

As Seth MacFarlane was quoted as saying, “Like a lot of animators, I felt Disney is God. Now, it’s become Disney is Satan.”

So it was with real fear and loathing that I heard that Disney was purchasing Pixar in 2005 or 2006. Pixar is simply genius. Disney is the idiot uncle who’s always hitting you up for cash to invest in some scheme. I quickly counted the numerous ways Pixar could be ruined by the juggernaut that was the Disney formula to really bad, straight to DVD movies. Would Pixar’s string of brilliant storytelling, movie making, and industry innovation be ruined by this tired old company?

Thankfully, it was also announced that in the sale, not only would John Lasseter would keep his post as creative head of Pixar, but that he would take the reigns of Disney’s animation studios.

Whew!

Well, it’s now been two plus years since the buyout of Pixar and we have a chance to see some results. Pixar’s latest film, Up, opened this weekend. I saw it with my little girl and her friend the afternoon of opening day.

What makes Pixar great is not the animation. Is not the technical innovation. It’s the stories. The characters. The inventiveness. Up follows right in stride with Pixar’s tradition of bringing completely new storylines to life and doing it in a way that it becomes secondary to the characters actually living it. I don’t know how they do it. But they do it time and time again. Often times, when a story teller goes for a hook, it’s far too easy to latch on to it and lean on it because it’s so “out there” or “wild.” Pixar comes up with something completely “out there” but then lets that story just be there as a device for what truly makes the story rich and valuable: its characters.

Monsters hiding under your bed because they need the screams of children as an energy source for powering their world? Genius. Toys living their lives when their “child” is not around? Super heroes forced into hiding as the populace becomes upset with their antics? But it’s the characters that we remember. Not the animation of Sully’s fur. Not the “wackiness” of the premise.

So needless to say, Up was simply awesome. The montage of the couple growing old was so sweet and done so well that I cried a little. The story was absolutely adorable, and Ed Asner as the old man was great.

Pixar is alive and well and I for one am ecstatic.

So how is Disney fairing?

Well…I watched Bolt this weekend. As the latest movie to be released by Disney that I know of, and most definitely a movie produced under the hand of John Lasseter—shortly after Lasseter joined Disney, he had the original writer/Director removed from the project when the first cuts didn’t meet his expectations and change requests were resisted (American Dog, source, imdb.com)—Bolt left very little to be desired.

What bothered me most though was how Bolt is basically Toy Story had it been focused on Buzz Lightyear instead of Woody (Bolt) and Toy Story 2 had it been about Jesse (Mittens). Is that Lasseter’s grand vision for Disney? I hope not. Throw in the requisite, studio-forced insertion of the company’s prize horse du jour, Miley Cyrus, and you have basically another indication that there’s not really much we can expect from Disney animation anytime soon.

Good thing Pixar is still on its game.

There’s no manly, non-blond way to say this, but I got locked in my house last night.

Yes, IN my house.

IN.

IN. MY. HOUSE.

My head hurts just thinking about the reality that I was locked in my house. I wish I were joking. I wish it were a prank. I wish that I were going to be following this up with a well-timed and shocking, “Syke!” where everybody laughs at the irreverence of such an audaciously sarcastic joke.

Nope.

Locked. IN my house.

Yep, I really got locked in my house last night.

Rushing to pick up my child, I stormed out the door and slammed it shut behind me. Realizing I had forgotten my phone, I turned to unlock the door, retrieve the item, and rush out again.

Key in the hole. Turn of the knob. Nothing. Push. Nothing. Turn. Nothing. Spare key. Nothing. Right condo? Yes. Push. Nothing.

DAMMIT!

Door would NOT open.

Wouldn’t budge.

I began to question myself and wondered if the effect of having had all the windows opened and the slight breeze outside had created some sort a vacuum-tight seal on the door.

But that of course would be ridiculous. Yeah, almost as ridiculous as being locked in your own house! Which eventually happened.

That door was stuck. For 10 minutes. NO-EFFING-THING!!!

I would need to turn to the inside of the house if I were going to make headway. Dismantle the beast. For that, I’d need to get inside. Option 1) front door. Shit! Option 2) deck. Double Shit!

I’m on the third floor. Climbing up my deck. Insane!

So of course, that’s what I did. I recruited the downstairs neighbors to let me climb up their balcony to my deck above. No natural physical strength or agility. No insurance. No sense in my head. Sigh.

I made it and cut the screen to climb through the window and stared at the door knob from the inside to see the same thing. My door would not unlock, open, move, or budge in any way.

My neighbor stood on the outside. I on the inside.

45 minutes of tearing at that effing door knob apart, staring at it, breaking pieces off, and generally being baffled that my lock had seized to the point of irreversible locking produced nothing.

The best part was reducing myself to the point of calling a locksmith to ask how to unlock my lock so I could get OUT of my house. Quite possibly the lowest low point of my life.

Finally—and I’m not really sure how I did it—I somehow freed the latch and the door slowly creeked open.

I looked at my neighbor and he at me and we laughed the uncomfortable laugh of two guys who had witnessed something that ought not be shared by grown men. Two men fighting a door knob for 45 minutes trying to get someone OUT of a house may as well have been time spent in a Turkish prison. You just don’t recover from that and manliness will never be a recognized trait from that point forward.

So I escaped my own house, what have you done today?

A busted lock.

A climb to remember.

The door knobs.

What a pain in the bum.

Having a potential employer tell you they’ll “keep your resume on file” is like having a girl tell you at the end of a first date “thanks, it was fun, let’s do it again some time” as she awkwardly reaches out to shake your hand.

It’s best to just let that ship sail on by.

Note: I wrote this a couple weeks ago and apparently forgot to post it. I guess I’ll leave it up to you to decide if I should have left it forgotten.

Being the totally awesome, hip dad that I am, I indulged my 9-year-old by taking her to see the new Hannah Montana movie.

Now because I know all four of my readers and their feelings toward (against!) pre-packaged, shamelessly marketed pop music/entertainment, I will start by admitting—and confirming—that yes, the movie does in fact suck. It’s strange to me to think a) how incredibly HUGE this franchise is and b) how that fact didn’t compel the writers, producers, directors, and studio execs to try to make it at least moderately artistic and intelligent. I mean, seriously, how many story formulas can you throw into one movie and how many ideas can be recycled and rehashed? Well, I think this movie proves the answer to both questions is quite a few.

But did I hate it? Will I, like so many of my movie snob, intellectual peers, vilify it with the full measure of my venomous indignation? Not so fast.

For those of you who don’t know, either because you don’t have a 9-year-old girl in your house or because you have standards, Hannah Montana is the story of Miley Stewart (Miley Cyrus) and her family’s attempt to keep a normal life while living the dream life of a teen pop superstar as her alter ego, Hannah Montana.

In this demographic, it’s not a bad concept. In fact, it’s not a bad storyline in any demographic. Just look at Super Hero and spy movies. The idea of a secret identity which gives you access to acting out some inner desire is dern near universal. For instance, my wish is that I had invisibility. That way I could hide Carrot Top’s props and sabotage his shows and then mess with his eyeliner collections in hopes that he paints his face various shades of yellow. But that’s just me.

Chances are, you have dreamed of being a super hero of some kind, complete with super secret identity. Or maybe you’ve dreamed of being secretly famous. Kind of like me. Maybe you too have dreamed of being the super wealthy, 26 year-old kid who can walk into the Maserati dealership in your baggy shorts and “worn” basketball shoes and after several smug and snobby derisive comments, you plop down 200 G’s and say, “suck on that Douche Bag Car Salesman.” (Or Maybe I’ve just seen Pretty Woman too many times.)

So that’s the basic premise of Hannah Montana. Secret identity done for kids in celebrity motif.

Got it. Great. Super. Okay, so what about the movie? Cheesy? Check. Bad story lines? Check. Rehashed plot twists? Check. Benny Hill/Looney Toons-esque romp where character must be in two places at one time and others look for her as she tries to satisfy two separate but seemingly equal responsibilities by quick cut, passing through various door and passages as everybody barely misses each other? Check. Predictable ending? Double check.

But let’s be honest, it’s a kids movie. While in the theater watching this train wreck, I started thinking what I would have done differently had I been the writer. I instantly turned to one of the things that bugs me to no end about movies: when the character can’t be honest.

Situation: Girl asked out on a date by handsome boy. Girl says yes. Twist: already committed to important engagement at same time. Solution: try to do both at same time. WTF?!? Wasn’t that already done in Mrs. Doubtfire!?! Even manic Robin Williams couldn’t make that funny.

But what do you do in place of it? “Hey, duderino, it turns out I have a prior commitment I didn’t know about and can’t make it that night, can we go out the following night?” “Sure hot stuff, that’s great. And thanks for being honest with me and not forcing me to sit in a diner while you spend 15 minutes of movie time bouncing between scenarios because the truth frightens you.” “Hey, man, you’re welcome. See you tomorrow night.” End of scene.

Not too interesting. The other option is, she tells him she can’t make it and it further fans his suspicion that she’s not really into him. This of course fuels a fight where he takes off on his horse (yes, the boy in the movie is a cowboy and does ride a horse) and in his distraught, teary-eyed state, doesn’t see the log crossing the path and is therefore unprepared for the horse’s sudden, unexpected jump. Struggling to regain control, he sees the upcoming branch too late and is unable to duck in time. The large, sturdy branch knocks him violently off his horse and the fall snaps his neck leaving him permanently paralyzed. It’s in the hospital room that she realizes that there are consequences for every decision, but many of life’s heartaches are completely out of her control. She must choose how she lives and enjoy the simple pleasures and beauties in the world.

Uhhhhhh….Yeah.

So is it a good movie? Staring around watching the kids watching and enjoying the movie, I’d say it’s exactly what it needed to be.

The following is an excerpt from the screenplay, working title Oedipus, a copyrighted work with WGA-west. Duplication or use without permission is strictly prohibited.

CUT TO:

INT. LOCAL BAR – NIGHT

Some of the members of the group from the earlier award show are now gathered at a bar laughing and celebrating their day.

TERRY, a boisterous, loud, entertainer type is holding the conversation and keeping everybody in stitches. CARY PHILIPS, MARY ANN, SHELLY, BILLY, OSCAR, and SAM join in.

TERRY
So we’re at the Shop-Rite on 7th and Hudson getting some “late night
snacks”, right? and I’m over looking at the magazines checking
out the latest in how to make your man blow his top, or some shit and
I hear Billy yell out, “Hey, Terry, where you at?” So I yell back,
“Magazines, brother.” And just as I’m about to ask him what’s up, I
turn around to see this roll of toilet paper making a perfect
spiral with its trail of paper lengthening through the air, and
BAMM, right into the center of my forehead.

He draws a circle on his forehead with his finger.

TERRY (CONT’D)
I had a circle mark right here from where the damn cardboard tube
nailed me.

Everybody’s doubled over laughing now.

Billy raises his arms in triumph.

TERRY (CONT’D)
But that’s not the best part though, right.

BILLY
Yes it is, Terry, that’s the end of the story remember?

Completely ignoring Billy…

TERRY
So brainiack here…
(points to Cary)
…challenges us that we can’t knock a ceiling panel out with a rubber
ball.

MARY ANN
Those are some pretty high ceilings, aren’t they?

TERRY
Oh yeah, so I’m all over that bet, right. So I take this ball and
BANG. I hit it but it doesn’t fall. So Billy gives it a throw—BANG—it still
doesn’t fall.

SHELLEY
What, did you think nobody was going to notice?

BILLY
We probably should have.

He’s completely immersed into the story now too.

CARY
Yeah, you should have.

BILLY
You shut up!

TERRY
So we’ve each thrown it a couple times now and the little bastard won’t fall.

CARY
It would have helped if you guys had any aim at all.

TERRY
And that’s enough out of you! Anyway, I’m determined now,
so I take the ball for one last triumphant throw, because that
little fucker’s coming down.

BILLY
So he takes it from his knees with a grunt and—BAMM—CRASH.
There’s shit all over the petites section.

TERRY
So I start jumping up and down like I just sent Kobe’s shit into the
upper deck in the finals when I noticed that Mr. Philips is nowhere
to be found…

BILLY
…but security is.

TERRY
We look at each other and start jammin’ for the door as two of Shop
Rite’s finest start chasing us.

He becomes even more animated as he pantomimes their reaction.

TERRY (CONT’D)
They’re yelling at us. We’re yelling back at them. Cary’s all, “run, run.”

CARY
They’re all yelling “Stop, hold it right there. Stop, dammit, stop.” And
Terry’s flipping them off from behind.

TERRY
There’s no way I’m stopping even though I can see we’re
gonna’ make it…

CARY
Billy, on the other hand wasn’t so foresightful to not get so cocky.

TERRY
Just as I’m getting to the door, I turn around to see Billy with his
pants around his knees, bent over, ass blowing in the wind.

MARY ANN
No way.

SHELLEY
You mooned them?

BILLY
(With quiet satisfaction)
Yes. Yes, I did.

TERRY
Yes indeed he did. But his dismount cost him precious points because
as he’s trying to reload trou the dumb bastard tripped and fell flat on
his face; ass hanging out.

BILLY
Yeah…I didn’t make it.

TERRY
He’s inching his way along the floor, grabbing at his pants trying to get back up.

They begin laughing uproariously and applaud.

MARY ANN
Our Hero!

ALL
Hear, hear.

TERRY
That deserves a toast. To Billy’s ass and the many moons it shone
upon our fair university.

ALL
Cheers.

TERRY
And, a toast to good friends, our impending fortunes as we take over
the advertising world, and to no more school.

ALL
Hear, hear.

MARY ANN
So Billy, which design firm did you decide to bless with that liberally
shared ass of yours?

(TO BE CONTINUED…)

“She’s waaaaaay out of my league,” he said with his usual sense of wry self deprecation.

He stared vacuously out the car window as the passing landscape became obscured by the fog quickly spreading with each condensing exhale of his breath. Outside, the first vestiges of spring had momentarily given way to the last futile efforts of winter seeking to maintain its long, icy grasp.

She sighed heavily, breaking his trance.

He turned to her, “What.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“I just never understand how people can say that,” she said with a touch of disbelief as though it were a concept that had been on her mind. “How is anybody out of anyone’s league? I just don’t believe that.”

He stopped momentarily to think of how to respond appropriately when he became seized by her form, her beauty, her image. Her long, flowing brown hair cascaded over her shoulder. He followed the line of her thin arm to her delicate fingers which caressed the steering wheel controlling the vehicle as it sped along the snow-dusted city streets. As she turned the wheel to maneuver around a corner, he felt a quick rush of excitement as her hand moved the wheel and so nearly touched her leg just below the cuff of her tan and brown houndstooth pencil skirt.

Although his crush for her had long since passed and they were now comfortably friends with little to none of the awkwardness that comes from more physical desire, he knew full-well that he occasionally remembered the thrill of when they first met and how he wondered what could have been if only…

Right. If only. While she was not the subject of his thought, she was yet another example of its merciless validity.

“I think it’s easier to think that,” he finally spoke, “when everybody is in your league.”

She turned her head to better face him. “Is that what you think?” She exclaimed with genuine surprise.

“Well, isn’t it?”

She began to laugh, “Well, I guess if that’s how you feel it’s how it will be.”

“Oh, so it’s only if I feel I’m not in someone’s league that makes me NOT in their league, and not a more empirical, force-of-nature reality.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that. What, so someone’s ass, or beauty, or the car they drive are all that matter? Is that what puts someone in another’s league and kicks the others out?”

“How would I know?” he exclaimed, “I’ve never been in the league. I’m as far from the higher leagues as an average guy can get. If dating were baseball, I’d still be in T-ball. That’s my league. Setting the ball on a holder to make sure I always get a hit every time. That’s me.”

“She went out with you once.”

“Yeah, bored on a Sunday and looking to score a free dinner.”

“That, according to you, she could have gotten from any number of, what’s the term, major leaguers?”

“They were all out tending to their manscaping.”

Silently, distantly, he traced a circle in the fogged up window. Droplets of water slowly pooled until they eventually broke free and streamed in a rushing mini-wave as gravity took hold.

She laughed. “Confidence can go a long way, you know?”

“That’s what I hear. But you know what else goes a long way? Six-pack abs and a tight ass in designer jeans.”

She laughed harder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s true and you know it! I see these guys all the time at clubs and at concerts and everywhere and they’re the ones with these gorgeous women. They can’t SPELL designer jeans, but they look good in them and that’s all that matters.”

“You’re talking about women who probably can’t spell True Religion themselves, so is that what you want? Some arm candy? Some brainless beauty? Some trophy?

“Of course not…”

She interrupts, “You know, I’ve been out with a number of guys that I know for a fact didn’t call me back because they felt the same way you did, that I was out of their league, but you know, in reality, I had a great time with some of them and would have loved for them to call me back; to have gone out with them again.”

She paused, “Why do you guys do that?”

He looked puzzled. “Do what?”

“Make up our minds for us like that! Why do you decide for us that we’re out of your league? Or the we won’t be interested? You never know what you could be missing.”

“Oh believe me, I know full well what I’m missing. But seriously, if it’s that important, why don’t you call them?”

She stammered finding the words.

“Exactly! Because that’s not how it works right? Girls don’t call guys. Especially early on. And why? Because of blah…and blah… and oh yeah: blaaaahhhhhhh. It’s insane! So we score a freak date with some girl who is exactly what we want—hot, smart, successful, stylish, charming, and smells like wings of angels covered in lilac and fairy dust—and we have to say, ‘sorry society, I’m going to forget that I’m average, pudgy, nerdy, balding, and drive a midlevel American sedan and go ahead and think that this chick is definitely into me, not because she’s pursuing me, and certainly not because there is even the slightest hint of evidence in real-world society that tells me this match will work, but rather because I’m a self-centered narcissist who dared play a game in the major leagues and said there was nothing at all wrong with it.’”

“What do you think the hot stud in designer jeans would do?”

“Probably flex his abs and point to his Mercedes parked outside.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT GIRLS WANT!!! How many times do I have to tell you that.”

“Well at least until I can stop pointing at the guys these girls are out with on a nightly basis. That’s when you can stop!”

“Maybe they’re only out with those guys because the ‘nice’ regular average Joe guys don’t ask them.”

“And maybe there’s a magical place where cute girls and average guys lie in fields of grass while cherubs fan them with palm leaves as they feed each other papaya and flying unicorns perform tap dance routines for their merriment.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass!”

“I know, it’s one of my more endearing qualities.”

“Well, fact is, you’ll never know unless you call her.”

He shrugs.

“So you gonna call her?”

“Don’t know; she’s waaaaaaay out of my league.”

I’ve often wondered what it would have been like to live in the golden age of America. For sure, 1944 was a different time, the world was at war, basketball was barely a sport, and cars were the equivalent of suburban warships.

And apparently this was entertainment.

They just do not create entertainment like this anymore and personally, I think we’re all a little worse off for it.

Thanks to @alyankovic for posting this where I could find it. And be sure to stick around to about 1:30, that’s when the fun begins.

This clip blows my mind every time I watch it and makes me kind of embarrassed to know how many muscles I’ve pulled reaching for a bag of Doritos®. Seriously, I can barely bend over to tie my shoe. But darn it if this’n ain’t be some mighty hot (stuff).

Enjoy.

Say what you will about Utah and its very particular, one-of-a-kind levels of weirdness, but it is a pretty cool place.

Never is that more true than when you just load up the car and take off for a sightseeing trip. It’s funny how when you live in a place, you don’t always get out and actually see that place; or especially the places around where you actually live. As Queen Z was once told while in Sienna, Italy, she’d seen far more in the few months she’d been there than the woman who’d been there her whole life. I could say the same for my time in Scotland.

Contrary to common practice, touring is not just for tourists.

So with a 4th-grade class project in mind, and a crazy dad who gets wild ideas he can’t let go of, I packed up the car on Saturday armed with a camera, my two young copilots, and Queen Z and we headed out to scenic Wasatch County.

For those of you who don’t live in or near the Beehive state, Wasatch County is about 45 minutes east of Salt Lake City (or if you drive like I do, about 15). It is appropriately enough, nestled into the Wasatch mountains with its cities, towns, and farms lying out in the small valleys below.

All joking about the country bumpkin, backwoods hick nature of the area aside, Wasatch county is absolutely beautiful. It happened to be a very overcast and slightly rainy day, but that just made for more dynamic contrasts and greens not normally seen in Utah.

I was very much reminded of days spent driving around the Scottish countryside. Flowers in bloom, gray skies over head, and green as far as the eye can see with hills and mountains all around. Stunning.

Needless to say, it was a fun adventure. And if I don’t say so myself, without the obvious pride that comes from being the overly enthused papa, Ali took some amazing pictures.

Yep, as part of this trip, I decided to give Ali a first-hand experience with the topic of her report and gave her the camera to let her document things she saw and found interesting.

We all had a great time.

Ali at Jordanelle Reservoir.


The Provo River as captured by Ali.

Ali shoots a flower.

Another flower shot by Ali.

And yet another flower shot by Ali.

Alex at the Heber Valley Train Station.

The kids at the Heber Valley Train Station.

Trees in the Heber Valley, outside of Midway.

An old gas station in Midway, now a school.

Alex on the old Footbridge in Midway, Utah. Notice the Swiss design.