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Web Eight Hour Lunch


Eight Hours of Recommended Reading

(But only if you're really slow.)

Eight Hours Worth
of other Blogs

I've been to too many blogs to list them all in this column, but you can see the list here.

At Least Eight Hours Worth of Podcasts I'm Not Supposed to Like:

September 2005


The Quiet Song

Thursday, September 29, 2005
9:23PM
One day several months ago, I was trying to play my guitar after dinner. Brynn was climbing all over me, poking me, screaming and driving me generally insane. Finally, out of total frustration, I put together a little tune to quiet her down. I call it The Quiet Song. It seemed to do the trick. You’ll need to turn it up because it is after all…well… quiet.

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If a Bear Shits in the Woods, Can Anyone Hear It?

Wednesday, September 28, 2005
9:16PM
I don’t think so. So why in the hell is the toilet one of the most perfect acoustic amplifiers known to man? It’s not natural! When I’m on the crapper, I don’t think it ought to sound like I’m at the Grand Canyon yodeling with my ass. If I wanted to hear that, I’d buy an Erasure album.

Look for me at your local Home Depot!

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Day Care — It's Not Just for Greedy Shitheads and Satanists Anymore

Wednesday, September 28, 2005
12:34AM
A year ago, fearing for my mental and physical health, I quit a job that paid well enough that Heidi was able to stay home with Brynn. The job market being what it is, I still haven't been able to fully recover my income. Heidi and I both knew that either she had to go back to work, or we'd lose the house.

People who think they know better have actually told us to our faces that Heidi doesn't really need to work. It's a choice we've made. After all, we could sacrifice a little here and there so that Heidi could be there for our daughter. They seem to imply that we've somehow betrayed her.



Look at this kid. There aren't many things that matter to me as much as her well-being. Do you think I want to leave her in anyone else's hands for one second longer than I have to? Of course not! Are things as good as I would like? Never. Complacency is for quitters.

Yes, we could sell the house and one of the cars. We could eat macaroni and cheese three nights a week and stop going to the movies. I'm sure there are dozens of enjoyable things we could cut from our lives that we don't really need, but why? A homeless man manages to survive on what he needs—air, food and water. But is he happy? Would I be?

Growing up as a devout member of the Mormon church, I was always taught that day care was inherently evil. I heard it again and again, “a woman's primary place is in the home, where she is to rear children and abide by the righteous counsel of her husband." (Bruce R. McConkie, Mormon Doctrine). Though I no longer believe in the church, I sometimes still feel echoes of the guilt trip. Mormons call this the Spirit. I call it bullshit.

There is nothing wrong with wanting good things for yourself and your family. For that matter, there's nothing wrong with both parents working if they just (gasp!) want to. The point is, you ought to pursue what makes you happy.

In the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, ramen.

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Lucky Me

Monday, September 26, 2005
12:21AM
As clearly demonstrated in the image below, parenting can involve what seems to be a very generous helping of annoying crap (see right). Fortunately, it’s more than compensated for by the sheer coolness of being a dad. At least it's that way with my kid—your kids probably suck. Sorry to rub it in.



This weekend was Brynn’s first experience with a theme park. It was also her first time on a roller coaster. She’s at a once-in-a-lifetime age where she’s exactly tall enough to ride nearly everything in the park, including the rides she’ll be too tall for next year.

My little girl was fearless. She was just as happy to ride the scariest roller coasters in the park as she was the carousel. It’s hard to describe what it did to my insides to see her, mouth wide open, screaming and giggling with delight for most of the day. It was an exhibition of joy so pure it seemed to radiate from her entire body. I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy to see someone else happy before. It was amazing…*sniff*.

Great. So much for my tough guy image. Why don’t you just go and look at the pictures while I go compose myself.

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Will the Real Beer Please
Step Forward?

Friday, September 23, 2005
About a year ago, I was at a local Chili’s having dinner with my family. The waiter asked what I’d like to drink.

“Corona Extra.”

“Corona Light?”

“No, Corona Extra.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a Corona Light?”

“Yes, I’m SURE I don’t want a Corona Light! I said I want a Corona EXTRA. I’m not speaking Spanish here…well actually I guess I am a little…but that doesn’t matter! I’m paying you. I asked you for an Extra, now go get it!!!”

No longer coming to a state near you…

I’m still a little confused by the whole episode. I’m in pretty good shape. I don’t think I needed a light. Living in Utah, the only other thing I could guess is that he was trying to protect me from that eeeevil extra bit of alcohol.

Corona Extra, a beer with which I the lad Doug am well pleased, is made by skilled brewers in Mexico. They spend millions of dollars crafting a beer so good that I think I may be in fact, sexually attracted to it.

Corona Light on the other hand, is made by horses with very little or no training at all. The equipment is considerably cheaper: a bucket, gloves and someone who is willing to help the horse aim. Incidentally, I’m considering pitching a new beer to Modelo: Corona Extra Light. I’ve got my gloves and my bucket, but I just can’t seem to find anyone who’s willing to aim for me.

If you live in Utah, you know that for the longest time, Corona Extra could only be purchased here at an LDS church-approved state liquor store. They charged about three bucks a bottle. It’s the dominant culture’s way of letting us know that we heathens can live here, but by-diddily-iddily, it’s sure as heck going to be on their terms.

Then one day something incredible happened. I saw Corona Extra in the store. Should I believe my eyes? Was it too good to be true? Apparently so. The laws in Utah still state that beer at grocery stores has to be 3.2% alcohol. Corona Extra, according to their site was still 4.6%.

Several weeks later, I was talking to a friend about it. His dad works for Latter-day Spirits (a.k.a. the State Liquor Store) and said the reason they weren’t stocking Corona Extra anymore is because Corona pissed off the Utah Dept. of Alcoholic Beverage Control (ABC).

Now I need to warn you. Anything I say from here on out is purely conjecture. In other words it could be pure bullshit, so think for yourself and come to your own conclusions. I think that Corona was looking for a way to increase profits in Utah. Knowing that most people don’t want a light beer, they decided to kowtow to the grocery store rule and make a Utah-only 3.2% Corona Extra just like Budweiser and the other breweries have done.

If that’s true, I can see how the ABC would be pissed to be losing the high markup to which they were accustomed. So, my guess is they did what they threaten lots of other vendors with: they threw them out. Others have caved under similar pressure, so I’m happy that Corona stood their ground—if that's what actually happened.

In the meantime, how the hell am I supposed to get a real Corona around here?

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The Primary Colors are 1-2-3

Wednesday, September 21, 2005
If the words, “red, yellow and blue” just popped into your head, then you should have a pretty good idea where I'm headed. If not, you will in a minute. As Heidi and I were finishing dinner this evening, we heard a knock on the door. When we're not expecting anyone we usually ignore it, but with the house on sale I decided to answer.

I got up from the table to see who it was. There were two neatly-dressed women standing in the doorway, smiles on their faces. After a slight pause, one of them said, “Brother Humphries?”

“No. Not brother.”

“Oh.” They kept smiling, but they started to look a little uneasy. “Well, we're from the Primary Presidency, and we just wanted to come over to talk to Brynn and see how she's doing.”

“We don't go to church.”

There was a long awkward pause—awkward for them, anyhow. I was happy to let them squirm. In the past, I've been all too quick to shut this kind of a visit down right away. Today I thought I'd slow down a little to see where it went.

They both continued to force a smile. “That's fine. We just wanted to come over and talk to her for a few minutes.”

“I don't want her to go to church either, and I don't want you talking alone with her.”

“Oh no, you'd be there.”

“Of course I would, but you don't understand. We don't attend church as a matter of principle. There isn't any reason for you to talk to her.”

They said something like ok and goodbye, turned around, and walked away. As I closed the door, I realized that I had missed out on a great opportunity. (Don't get your hopes up Mom and Dad. I meant a great opportunity for mischief).

Heidi and I spent the next several minutes discussing how we could totally mess with these two perfectly well-meaning, yet painfully naïve and oblivious women. Here are two of our better ideas. I think Heidi's was the best.

ME: “Sure! Come in! We were just about to have family prayer. Would you mind joining us?”

Then, kneeling down I'd start my prayer in the most frantic, possessed voice I could muster,“Oh Satan, our Evil Lord and Master, we're thankful for this day. We're thankful for our Mom and Dad. Please bless the...ack...ack...cough... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! BEEELZEBUB! (Really contorting my face now). We are LEGION! Weeee haaaates it myyy presssscious! We hates the nasty, filthy Mormonses! We haaaates it!!!” About then I'd start tearing my shirt, rolling on the floor, shaking, drooling and grabbing my crotch.

You know, now that I think about it, I could save a lot of time by just jumping straight to the crotch part.

HEIDI: You should have said, “You bet! You can talk to my daughter, but I want a fair exchange. You can say whatever you want to my kid for an hour, if I can say whatever I want to yours."

***

There are at least 1-2-3 things that bother me about their sudden concern:

  1. They came over to see my daughter unannounced and without our permission—just banged on the door and expected me to hand her over, no questions asked.
  2. I recognize that they came with best intentions and really believe they're doing what's right, yet I have to doubt their sincerity. I mean really, we've lived in this neighborhood for SEVEN FUCKING YEARS, and there isn't anyone here who even knows our names without the aid of a map and church rolls. Our house has been on the market for three months. Has anyone even lied and said they'll be sad when we're gone? JEEZUS QBERT CHRIST! I don't even know who the hell you people are! And you want to talk to my only child about RELIGION???
  3. Oh yeah, almost forgot one. The church isn't true.

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Jingo

I picked up my kid from school today, and on the way home, she told me they played a game called “jingo”.

“Hmm…jingoism is a weird thing to even talk about in kindergarten,” I thought, “let alone make a game of.” So I asked her how to play.

She said, “There’s a card. It looks like a calculator. The teacher says stuff and you put your beans on the card—Jingo.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean Bingo, honey? “ She rolled her eyes and said, “No, Dad. It’s JINGO. With a J. Juh-juh-JINGO.”

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IE Needs a New Cursor

Wednesday, September 21, 2005
12:02 AM
I've been saying this for years. Wouldn't it be cool if your mouse turned into one of these when you pointed to a link?

With all the bullshit about other browsers being safer than IE, I think it's about time. Microsoft needs to grow a pair and tell everyone else to get bent. Think I'm full of it? Read this. When you're done, download a real browser.

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Musings of an Insomniac

Tuesday, September 20, 2005
3:49 AM
I’ve heard it said that time heals all wounds. But I’m old enough to have earned several scars, and the one thing I’ve learned is that it’s not always a good idea to get back in the cage with the animal that gave them to you in the first place.

I woke up this morning having dreamt that I met someone with whom I have not spoken in a long time. Awake, I refuse to speak to this person on principle. Asleep, we had a lengthy conversation. I can’t remember the exact details of what we said, but for a very brief moment as I sat up in bed, it seemed like it would be nice if we could actually come to some sort of reconciliation.

In the time it took me to walk across my bedroom to the bathroom, I realized that it was likely that no such conversation could ever take place—not because I am entirely unwilling, but because of who they are. It’s strange how even years later your mind can try to make sense out of a situation that doesn’t.

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About Procrastination

Here is my online tribute to procrastination. I hate working on sprinklers. I’d usually rather have someone cut patterns in my back with old cardboard boxes, glass and salt.

A while ago, (ahem… almost four years ago) one of the sprinklers in my back yard sprang a leak. It ran fine for a while, but eventually became bad enough that I couldn’t run the zone on the side of the house.

Being the creative genius that I am, it was very easy for me to imagine how difficult repairing it would be. There are a lot of rocks in my yard and digging is a major pain in the ass. So I did what any responsible adult does when faced with an unpleasant task—I ignored it.

The offending part.

Now that we’re selling the house, I finally had to repair it. Five minutes of work and about a dollar in parts later—wow! It works! I’m such a dork.

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Um, Sure I Like Animals…

Chances are that if you're on my site you already knew this. The people at PETA are absolutely stark-raving, foaming-at-the-mouth, clinically insane. It's probably due to a lack of protein. If this video doesn't make you just shake your head in disgust, there can't be much that will.

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Rocky Mountain Hiiiiigh…Colorutaaah

The day after the marathon I took a drive to through the Uintah mountains to Mirror Lake. To say I was hiking would be exaggerating, but I did walk the trails and get some nice pictures.

Mirror Lake

See the slideshow.

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Run Forrest, Run!

This year, old age finally took its toll on my mind. I ran the Deseret News Marathon (my first). All I could think for the last three miles was, "this is the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life!" When I finally saw the 26 mile marker though, I nearly cried gave a manly shout and doubled my speed. The feeling of acomplishment was incredible. I'd recommend the experience to anyone that isn't a chain smoker.

Unghh! My feet!

This is me on a 16-miler about a month before the race.

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