Easter

My wife and I were buying Easter candy the other day, despite the fact that our children are well past easter basket stage. They like it and it's a fun tradition.

It's not like it's new this year, but I really only just put it together how much Easter candy offerings have changed since I was a kid.

If you grew up in the 70s, you might remember the old cellophane-covered, prepackaged Easter baskets. The basket usually had some creative pastel colors woven through it. In each basket was usually the following: A stuffed bunny, a chocolate bunny, jellybeans, Peeps, Robin's Eggs (malted milk candy) and bubble gum eggs.

The Easter bunnies were always hollow. So as soon as you bit into it, it sort of crumbled. The chocolate wasn't all that good either, but hey, it was chocolate. Now, they have solid chocolate bunnies in exotic flavors and brands. You can get a Dove Chocolate rabbit, you can get a Reese's rabbit, you can get a White Chocolate rabbit. The choices are seemingly endless. Jellybeans are varied too: Starburst, Sweet Tart and lots of others.

I was never much into Peeps, so I have trouble understanding the modern enthusiasm for them. Someone at my office brought in a package of chocolate Peeps once so I tried them. Nope. It just tastes like Peeps with a vague chocolate hint.

Another Easter memory is the annual showing of the 10 Commandments which, in those days anyway, always ran during the Easter season. It was a win/win for the networks. You had the Christian and Jewish people covered with religious programming during both high holy days. Sometimes they'd even show one of the many Jesus-themed movies like The Greatest Story Ever Told. I miss those traditions, but truth be told I don't have the patience to watch them now. It's faster to read the four Gospels in one sitting than watch either of those movies.

One of my favorite Easter stories is the short story "Easter Weekend" by Eugene England. I took a writing class from him in college and love his writing style. He taught me more about writing and finding my voice than any other teacher. I'm sure he would love the explosion of blogs and independent writing that is so much a part of the modern writing landscape, particularly those that feature LDS voices and stories. He felt it was important that all the stories get told: faithful, faithless and in between.

Happy Easter everyone!

Dummies Talking to Each Other

After my grandfather's funeral, I was standing at the cemetery waiting for a ride back down the hill. My younger brother had gotten ill halfway up and I had to carry him the rest of the way. There was a truck giving people rides back down and I was going to be on that truck one way or the other.

As I sat there waiting, two of my grandfather's brothers were nearby having a conversation. A third brother approached and by way of greeting said, "One dummy talking to another." My grandfather and his brothers were boisterous, fun-loving men. This was just a playful greeting, not intended to be taken seriously. I laughed and thought about how brothers are brothers no matter how old or young.

I've often thought of that greeting as I see people talking, especially if they are particularly dumb.

It's even more relevant now in the digital age. The internet, particularly social media, is full of dummies talking to each other, oftentimes passionately arguing over things about which they have little or no actual knowledge.

If people made an effort to think before they post, we'd have a lot less cyber noise. The problem is everyone has a soapbox. While some people use Facebook, Twitter and other social channels as a method for staying in touch and sharing news and photos about themselves and their families, others have decided that every two-bit cheesy photo with a dopey quote should be shared liberally. They seem to think every half-formed thought is worth sharing.

I'll admit to being guilty of trying to be funnier than I actually am and sharing way too many photos of my dogs. I do try to think about what I post before posting it. That's more than some people seem to do.

Parades

I don't know why I never noticed it before, but the holiday season is bookended by two parades: The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and the Rose Parade. Admittedly, the I've always paid less attention to the Rose Parade because it marks the end of something good, rather than the beginning. Still, it's always fun to check in and see some of the floats.

Macy's Parade has the benefit of being on Thanksgiving and ushering in the Christmas season. As a kid, I'd get so excited to see the giant Underdog float:

There's no need to fear!

The other float I always associate with the Macy's Parade was Snoopy:

If you can make to the end, the best part of the Macy's Parade is seeing Santa at the end. Of course, with DVRs now, it's way easier to watch the parade and skip the stuff that you don't care about. In my case, it's the endless Broadway numbers. I don't mind one or two, but it's enough already. 

So as I watch the Rose Parade today, I bid farewell to the 2012 Holiday Season. Happy New Year!

Beach

Lately, I've been really wanting to go the beach. We went last year and the year before to Avon, N.C. which is where we usually go with our friends and family. It's more fun to go with a group because there's always someone to talk to on the beach. Prior to that, it had been two years since we'd been there. But for some reason, all summer long, I've been thinking about going to the beach. I see cars loaded for a trip and assume that's where they're headed, especially if they have an OBX sticker on the window.

Growing up, beach trips were always the high point of my summers. Even though the Carolinas (where we usually went) weren't far away, it was always so exciting to watch the landscape change as we got closer to the coast. One of my earliest memories is being at Myrtle Beach, S.C. with my parents and my mom's cousin's family. I got salt water up my nose for possibly the first, but not the last time on that trip. I was probably three, maybe four years old. 

At some point, my dad decided that Myrtle Beach was too commercial. So he decided we would go instead to Holden Beach, N.C. about 50 miles north of Myrtle. Dad liked it because it was quiet, you could fish or be on the beach and not be surrounded by millions of people. The bad part part for me was there was nothing else to do. If it rained, there was not a shopping plaza nearby. There were no amusement parks. Nothing. Then one year, he picked a house with no TV. So I couldn't even pass the time that way. The next time we went there, we had a house with a TV at least, so that was good for nights and during times when we couldn't go out to the beach. Holden Beach is a small island and our house was on the Inland Waterway which cuts the island off from the mainland. We had a dock and a little private sand area where I spent hours chasing Fiddler Crabs. 

Meanwhile, Dad's sister had her own beach house in Myrtle Beach. You might think that would translate to our using it frequently or even sometimes. You would be wrong about that. I don't know if my parents felt awkward asking or if it simply wasn't available. Whatever the reason, we only visited twice. One time, we went down and found out there was a hurricane warning for the area. This was before the days of iPhone weather apps or live radar maps on the Internet. I don't know how much the weather forecast was looking at Myrtle Beach as the hurricane point, but we arrived on a Friday night. My mom got so worked up about the hurricane that by morning, she was practically in hysterics. It was already raining and she wanted to get the heck out of there. For some reason, Dad gave up and we left that morning. My brother and I were beyond disappointed. Our vacation had originally been planned for one week at the beach and one week visiting family in West Virginia. Given mom's mini breakdown, we spending the entire vacation in West Virginia. To add insult to injury, we saw a weather report on TV that confirmed the storm had indeed amounted to nothing and sunny skies were expected for the week.

The only good thing that came from our 24 hours at the beach was fireworks. In Virginia and West Virginia, you couldn't get real fireworks. But as a consolation prize for our aborted trip, my dad let us stop at one of the fireworks stores in South Carolina. This was unlike anyplace I'd ever seen at the time. It was like a massive supermarket filled with fireworks of every kind. I bought bottle rockets, Roman Candles and these little mini rockets called "Zizzz Birds." They were so named because of the "zizzzz" sound they made when they took off. We shot them all off in my grandmother's yard when we got to West Virginia. One of the Zizzz Birds took a strange turn and headed straight for the porch where the grownups were watching, much to all the kids' amusement. 

There was one other high point of that trip. As we were driving, Dad tuned to a radio station playing a Beatles retrospective with interviews and live clips. For a Beatle-head like me, it was close to heaven. We kept listening as long as the station's signal allowed. It was also on that trip that I heard the band Queen on the radio for the first time. It was Killer Queen and I thought it was beyond amazing.

The next time we went to the aunt's beach house, we went with our cousins. These weren't the cousins who owned the house. This was my dad's other sister. Their kids were the same age as me and Doug, except they had a third son who was doomed to be left our and/or picked on his entire childhood. I was super excited because hanging out with my cousin Steve was second only to Christmas and my birthday on my internal kid calendar. We planned all the cool stuff we were going to do without the nosy supervision of our parents. I spoiled it all by walking in front of a car on the street on the first day we got there. My uncle Edgar pulled me out of the way just in time, but Dad was so mad at me that I was grounded for the rest of the trip. This meant no bike ride expeditions through Myrtle Beach. No trips to the arcade or beach without adult supervision. Nothing. 

Meanwhile my stupid brother Doug and my older cousin Randy were permitted to come and go as the pleased. They tortured us with stories of their (likely invented) adventures around Myrtle Beach. 

Steve, Mark and I on one of our expeditions.
Note my hand full of Polaroids.

Steve and I were just starting to really notice girls and I had a new camera. We spent a lot of time trying to surreptitiously snap shots of the women sunbathing. Unfortunately, the camera was a Polaroid. It was one of those noisy ones which spit the picture out immediately and you could watch it develop, so there was no real way to be sneaky about it. I think I still have the photos somewhere too. If you squint, you might see a bikini.

Fifteen Guitarists

Fifteen guitarists that will always stick with you\\

The rules:  Don't take too long to think about it.  Fifteen guitarists that stick and maybe had something to do with how you play.  List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.  Tag fifteen friends, including me, because I'm interested in seeing what guitarists my friends choose. 

Mick Jones

John Lennon

George Harrison

Glenn Tilbrook

Jimi Hendrix

Pete Townshend

Stevie Ray Vaughan

Steve Jones

Neil Finn

Keith Richards

Davey Johnstone

Eric Clapton

Angus Young

Chuck Berry

Dale Garrard/George Carlston

Music Library A-Z

1. Go to your music library on your computer or music player, and put all of your songs in alphabetical order.

2. For each letter of the alphabet, list the first song that appears for that letter.  If you have no songs for a letter, list "none" or skip. 

A.T.H.F. (Aqua Teen Hunger Force) - Danger Doom

B-I-Bickey-Bi-Bo-Bo-Go - Jeff Beck and the Big Town Playboys

C Moon - Paul McCartney & Wings

D'yer Mak'er - Led Zeppelin

E Too D - The Small Faces

F-Hole - Squeeze

G-Song - Supergrass

Hackensack - Fountains of Wayne

I - Petra Haden

Jack Champagne - The Muffs

K.C. Moan - Memphis Jug Band

L.A. Woman - The Doors

M.O.R. - Blur

N.I.B. - Black Sabbath

O Girlfriend - Weezer

P.S. I Love You - The Beatles

Quadrophenia - The Who

Rabbit, The Bat & The Reindeer - Dr. Dog

S.O.F.T. Elastica

T.N.T. - AC/DC

Ubangi Stomp - Warren Smith

V. Thirteen - Big Audio Dynamite

Wack M.C.'s - Del Tha Funkee Homosapien

X - none

Ya Ya - John Lennon

Zak and Sara - Ben Folds

Dog Strategies III

I have a dog who is a little too smart for his own good (or mine). I've written before here and then again here about how he works out sneaky ways to get toys and bones away from his sister. Now he's trying to pull a fast one on us. One of his bad habits is eating tissues. He'll get them any way he can. He's smart enough to know he isn't allowed to do this, so like any addict, he's modified his tactics in order to get his fix. When he finds a tissue he either tries to grab two or he tears the one he does find in half. Then he keeps one tissue in his mouth hidden, and allows the other one to be visible.

On two separate occasions, we have caught him with a tissue and told him to spit it out ("leave it!" is our command for this) which he dutifully does. After I disposed of the first tissue, I noticed he had a second one he was just finishing up. He pulled the same con on Shauna today. I don't know whether to be annoyed or proud. :-)