My Wife Kind of Panicked?

Jason Platt of Lehi, Utah went hiking last Thursday. When it was 10 PM and he was not home yet, his concerned wife called search and rescue. Despite helicopters flying overhead and searchers screaming his name, he was not found. Until he walked out of the canyon himself the next morning.

"I got caught in a storm and took a sleeping pill, spent the night up there and then came back this morning." Platt explained. The sleeping pill, he happened to have in his day pack, made the whole helicopter-overhead-and-screaming-his-name search an obviously fruitless activity.

"My wife kind of panicked," he added, "And called search and rescue."

It was 10 PM. Her husband was untold hours late from an afternoon hike. He was not answering his cell phone. It was pitch dark and had been very stormy. What sort of loving, caring wife calls search and rescue for that? She is clearly a real jump-the-gun kind of worry wart.

Like when a pipe in the basement bursts and the water is knee-high. I bet his wife kind of panics and calls a plumber.

Or when the dog is hit by a car and is limping and bleeding all over. Most certainly she kind of panics and calls the veterinarian.

When she has a searing tooth ache for a week, do you think she kind of panics and calls the dentist? I bet she does.

Of course, she could have presumed him face down and dead on some mountain side, planned his funeral, and went out and bought a new car with his life insurance pay out.

Gahanna Police are Punk'd

There has been a bit of a ruckus at the house because of the latest news story to hit the headlines. Originally brought to my attention by David, the news flash has since been confirmed by USA Today and even my own local paper. Apparently someone has succeeded, despite DH's botched attempt in 1985, to place a fiberglass Big Boy statue atop their local high school.

The antic was executed by pranksters in Gahanna, Ohio. I'd say the Gahanna Lincoln High troublemakers are obviously more sly than DH and his buddies to have successfully carried out the caper. DH contends that there is simply less policing done in Someplace, Ohio compared to San Clemente: The Heart of Southern California.

Besides the obvious similarities in the stories, I am perhaps most amused by the statement from Gahanna Police Lt. Jeffrey Spence, in which he suspects this "may" be a prank by seniors. On second thought, DH may have a point about the policing differences between the two towns.

As they clearly need a little jump start, allow me to help out the Gahanna Police Department. While I have no intimate knowledge as to the corny event in their town, this was definitely a prank by seniors.

That narrows the town of 32,636 down to about 275 people. Delete the girls and you are at about 140 students. Cross off the valedictorian and choir president and now you have 138 possible suspects. Nix all the names of students in the computer and physics labs during the next pep rally and there is your list of about 100 likely offenders.

Begin your investigation with the basketball, football and wrestling team captains and anyone with access to a Ford F250 with bolt cutters as well as pulleys and ropes hidden under the backseat.

There. That little tidbit should get the Gahanna Police Department on track. And perhaps they'll even be successful at making sure some poor seniors get criminal records for life.

Fame and Fortune

A special thanks to McGlinch for today's graphic. I made a request on his blog for one of his doodles and while he has no idea who I am, and has no hope for any type of compensation, he did it! So here is my custom Cinco de Mayo Bajio Dude. Isn't he awesome? That'd be he as in both McGlinch and the Bajio Cinco de Mayo Dude.

Our lives may never be the same. DH was on the news. And no, the local burger joint did not report a missing mascot.

In celebration of Cinco de Mayo, DH was laughing it up with a local mid-morning news crew. Showing off some delicious shrimp tacos and tasty green chile chicken salads, we hope all of Utah's taste buds started watering for the fresh fare of Bajio Mexican Grill.

While I should be happy for the free advertising, I can't help but be a bit jealous. After all, DH has become famous. But I am still living in obscurity.

Several years ago, I really thought I had dreamed up an invention that would guarantee us incredible fame, as well as fortune. It was a Saturday night at dinner with our friends when, after securing iron clad promises of secrecy, I first divulged my incredible vision.

I described my idea for a piece of electronics for the television. It would be a computer of sorts, that connects to your TV. Using the remote control, you could access an interactive screen with television programming. Via the guide you could easily select shows to record to the unit's built-in hard drive. Then you could access them at any time from a menu listing all your recorded programs. Pure genius. I know.

But my friends, as well as DH, did not seem overly impressed. They kind of stared at me with confused faces. "What?" I insisted, "Don't you think we'd be rich? It's the best idea ever!"

What followed next was my dinner companions providing me with a brief explanation of a product called TiVo. Honestly, while I can't live without it today, I had never heard of such a thing before that evening.

I guess it's a good thing someone made my brilliant TV recording invention, because now, just in case we don't ever receive a fortune as proof, at least we'll always have the video recording of DH's 15 minutes of fame.

Terror in the News

It is not often that reading the front page of my local paper puts a pain in the pit of my stomach. But yesterday morning, that is exactly what happened.

The title of the article read, "Google Deal to Tap into Public Records." I was immediately tense, and a brief glance confirmed my worst fear. California is one of four states to work with Google to remove technical barriers hindering the search of public records. While it seems legal records are not part of the deal, I'm afraid that day is inevitable. And I am terrified, because of the skeletons lurking in DH's closet.

You see, I would not want my friends and family to easily access the story of how in a botched high school prank, DH and his accomplices stole a twelve foot Bob's Big Boy statue and attempted to place the goofy icon atop the San Clemente High School. In their foolish, confused minds of youth, they thought that since their soon-to-be-alma-mater had prime freeway frontage, this would be the most hilarious joke ever.

Perhaps if they hadn't chosen the most policed night of the year, AKA graduation night...
Perhaps if they had not yet successfully placed the sculpture in the pickup truck...
Perhaps if they could have at least made it out of the restuarant parking lot...
Perhaps if Bob's Big Boy had not been valued over $2000 (making this more than just a misdemeanor)...
Perhaps if DH had not turned the legal age of 18 two short months prior to this stunt...
Perhaps if DH had not spent a terifying night in the Orange County Jail...
Perhaps if DH's parents had hired a high-powered attorney (like his buddies' parents did)...

Perhaps then this would be a fun, laughable memory.

Instead, the opportunity for this and more of DH's follies, to be readily visible on the Internet, causes my stomach ulcers to rekindle with firey strength.

I Am My Dog and My Dog is Me?

An article in the Sunday paper has me in a panic. It explores the possibility that our pets are a reflection of our inner selves. If this is true I am in a world of hurt.

First of all my Shih-Tzu, named Cookie, is 20% heavier than the average dog of her breed. Hmmm…I don’t have anything to say on this subject except, so far, not looking so good.

Secondly, she is a mess. When she was younger I would take her to the groomer regularly to style her coiffure and trim her nails. Now, I’ve come to accept that she is a family dog, not royalty, and she runs around most of the time looking like a rag muffin. If that is a reflection on me, my expensive new hair straightening iron is not doing its job.

Perhaps worst of all, Cookie is a barking, raving lunatic. My neighbors must truly be saints, because not one of them has tried to feed her rat poison, yet. I know I too can be full of jibber jabber, especially when I get the opportunity to converse with people who experienced puberty before President George W. Bush came to office, but I hope no one sees me as a yapping crazy lady.

Finally, the saddest realization is: (all you animal lovers just close your eyes for the next few words) I hate my dog. Not that I wish her any harm, at least not permanent harm, but most days, I just detest her food, her smell, her mess and her uppity ways. And if I hate my dog, what does that say about me and how I feel about myself?

All of this is is a reality I am not prepared to face. The more I think about the article, I am convinced it was published in order to drive otherwise sane housewives like me to seek professional counseling.

I feel the need to shake these disturbing thoughts and do something refreshing. Something that will make me feel whole and normal again. Where is my adorable dog? I need some matted hair to rip through with a comb.

Heroes and Killers: A Look at The Virginia Tech Massacre and the Trolley Square Shooting

The recent national tragedy at Virginia Tech is the seeming escalation of similar incidents in recent history. On Monday, April 16, 2007 thirty-two people were murdered at the rural Virginia school, the largest such massacre to occur in United States history. Only two months before, on February 12, 2007, a shooter at the Trolley Square shopping mall in Salt Lake City, Utah took the lives of five unsuspecting bystanders. While the immense tragedy of these and kindred events can fill one with a measure of despair, the sometimes unlikely heroes that arise from such catastrophes can rekindle in our hearts the hope for good that exists in a world noticeably brimming with hate. And we marvel at how some sink to become killers, while others rise to heroism.

At least one hero paid the ultimate sacrifice amid the chaos at Virginia Tech. Liviu Librescu spent last Monday morning as he had numerous Mondays before, in Room 204 with his students. But no one could have predicted his last lesson would be one taught by his heroic actions rather than by his knowledge for theoretical mathematics. When shooter Seung-Hui Cho attempted to storm Professor Librescu’s classroom, the seventy-six year old Holocaust survivor physically held the door shut while encouraging his students to jump to safety. It was not until the last student leaped from the second story window that Cho was finally able to gain entrance into the classroom where he fatally shot Liviu Librescu.

The police responding to the recent Salt Lake City shooting, including a quick thinking off-duty officer, were the touted heroes in that tragedy. Coming to the aid of a public threatened by the disturbed shooter, Sulejmen Talovic, their skillful actions ended the life of the well armed young man before he could take even more innocent lives.

The Trolley Square killer Sulejmen and the Virginia Tech hero Liviu began life in similar circumstances. Sulejmen witnessed suffering unlike a tender young boy should. Growing up in war torn Bosnia, Sulejmen was only four when he and his mother fled on foot after Serb forces overtook their village. For five years he lived as a refugee in Bosnia, before his family moved to the United States, settling at the base of the Rocky Mountains in Utah . While in Bosnia, Sulejmen lived in Srebrenica, only a couple years before thousands of men and boys were slaughtered there in what would later be known as Europe’s worst massacre of civilians since World War II.

Growing up during World War II, Liviu was still a toddler when Hitler came to power legally. He lived much of his early life amid unfathomable persecution. Though untold millions were victims of the widespread Holocaust genocide, miraculously, Liviu survived. Several years passed before he escaped Communist Romania, and eventually made his way to the rolling green hills of Virginia.

Sulejmen Talovic and Liviu Librescu. Each began life as most of us could never imagine. Both were survivors of their murderous, warring homelands. Yet each fashioned a strikingly different life from the other.

One dropped out of school before obtaining a high school diploma. Another was an internationally renown professor of aerospace engineering. One was a loner, opting for isolation over companionship. Another was a family man, well esteemed by friends and colleagues alike. One came to the United States, unable to forget the evil that had beset him in his youth. Another came to the United States having survived evil, only to come face to face with it again. One was a killer shot by heroes, the other a hero, shot by a killer.

Will the Real Dick Cheney Please Not? Come to BYU

John Spernak of Connecticut claimed to be Vice President Dick Cheney a few days ago after leading police on a high speed chase. Besides being just plain crazy, what reason would anyone have to make such a preposterous claim? Seriously, who would want to be Vice President Dick Cheney right now?

The poor man is being shunned in his own back yard. Wyoming native Cheney is scheduled to speak at Brigham Young University’s commencement exercises in April. My western state alma mater features a student body and staff that is largely Republican. This would lead one to think that hosting the Vice President as the keynote speaker would be considered an honor. Apparently, there are more than a few at BYU who are not feeling so warm and fuzzy about Vice President Cheney’s visit. And if anyone at BYU, (besides the school's spokeswoman Carri Jenkins) is happy about the choice, please speak up! All the noise from web sites advertising protests, online petitions opposing the speech and letters to the editor expressing displeasure is seemingly so loud, that if there is an alternate viewpoint, I can't hear it.

I am not exaggerating how bad it is. You know there have even been threats. That’s right. Just remember where you heard it first. I’m talking serious stuff too, like threatening to not attend even one more BYU football game in Lavell Edwards Stadium or to never purchase another BYU sweatshirt. Ever.

With a variety of scandals from torture, to Scooter Libby, to Halliburton lurking in Mr. Cheney’s shadows, perhaps he is too shady of a choice for BYU. It sounds like he could be more of a threat to the Cougars than the Utes at a homecoming game.

For some reason, I'm just not that worried. Perhaps I'll even attend Cheney's speech. If I go I'll need something to wear. Maybe DH can pick me up one of those cool navy hoodies with the white 'Y' at the bookstore. Size medium please.

Spanish Fork (pronounced Fark) Spelling Lesson

Perhaps you haven't heard about the latest technological innovation for the small Utah town of Spanish Fork (pronounced Fark). Their mayor has expanded his nifty little e-mail system for the residents of their tiny town in order for them to communicate with him better. It is amazingly simple. Got a swimmin' pool in yer basement 'cause the neighbor kids figgered out how to undo the fire hydrant? E-mail water@spanishfork.org. Did yer dog darn near fall out the back of yer pickup when ya hit a road pit on the west end of town? Send notice to pothole@spanishfork.org. Truly, I am not making this up. These are actual working e-mail addresses in place for the inhabitants of Spanish Fork (pronounced Fark). But be sure to spell it the way it should be spelled and not the way it sounds. I would suspect e-mails sent to pothole@spanishfark.org are not monitored.
I wonder if I could set up something similar for myself at home. Does S1 need a ride to the mall? He can e-mail carpool@momswaytoobusyaskdad.net. Did D2 run out of clean underwear? She can simply log-on and send a message to laundry@maybeitwillfitinthesecondloadofwhitesImdoingnextThursday-wewilljusthavetoruntoOldNavyinthemeantime.com. As I contemplate this, the potential benefits are endless.
Supposedly it's been quite beneficial for the people of Spanish Fork (pronounced Fark). They've had graffiti@spanishfork.org in place for some time now and as proudly proclaimed by Mayor Thomas, "This town is clean of graffiti."
You know, I find that absolutely amazing! Seriously. No graffiti in Spanish Fork (pronounced Fark) whatsoever. I'm mostly astonished because I don't know how the mayor was alerted to all the troublesome markings. How did all those Spanish Farkians spell graffiti correctly, that is with two 'f's and only one 't', in their e-mails to Mayor Thomas? This thinking is in no way intended to question the intelligence of the citizens of Spanish Fork (pronounced Fark). It's just a tricky word to spell.
In fact, to verify that graffiti is a commonly misspelled word, I did a little Internet research. Unfortunately, I got this not-so-helpful Google suggestion at the top of my search results: "Did you mean: commonly misspelled words". Yep, you guessed it. I misspelled the word misspelled.
Dang! It's never cool when you are dumber than the people you are attempting to ridicule.