Budgeting with the Blakes

Living on a budget has its ups and downs. Christy and I have been striving to make due with just one of our incomes so we can throw the other one into savings and investments. It really makes you think twice before not returning your DVD rentals on time, or buying that third Mr. Goodbar.

For the most part it has been an exercise in self control. Is our spending governed by need or want? Is our lifestyle frivolous or sensible? Can I make it two weeks without buying a CD or eating at Café Rio? Can Christy make it two weeks without buying a pillow or a new cutest-skirt-ever? I’ve had to shut down my auto deposit to Wendy’s and Blue Bunny ice cream, and I actually look at the readout screen before recklessly swiping my debit card and pressing any old green “OK” button.

A new leaf has been turned over. We now have a snappy little budget, drawn up in Excel, complete with formulas and color coordination. We’re both looking for ways to cut back. I’ve decided to save money by not getting my hair cut anymore. That will save ten dollars every two months, which equals sixty bucks a year! A $3000 savings over the course of a well-lived life.

Paramount Drifter

There’s nothing like going into a movie expecting an uncomfortable two hour bore-fest, and coming out pleasantly surprised and even a bit moved. At the risk of sounding like someone who wears pink shirts, lotion, and hair product I’m going to go ahead and say it: I liked The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. The premise was a little bit weird to me, but then again I’m not a girl, and I’ve never had a magic bond with any of my pants…except for maybe my “green jeans” but that is another story entirely.

Three of the four plot lines worked well for me, and the weak link wasn’t so bad as to ruin it for me. Don’t get me wrong, there were moments of cheesiness, and it was too long, but overall this is a good movie, and I will recommend it to anyone who got a lump in their throat at the end of My Life and Old Yeller. If you didn’t, then you’re better off sticking with Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

There are experiences you get in the theatre that you just can’t replicate at home. Right before the movie started there was a particularly scruffy looking drifter that sat down on our row a few seats to the right of Christy. We noted him because he was alone and outwardly didn’t seem like the kind of guy that would be taking in a PG teen chick flick. During a particularly touching moment, when tears were starting to well in Christy’s eyes we heard a loud discharge come from the drifter’s direction. Luckily we didn’t smell anything, but the sound was enough to break the mood. Later still, and at an equally inappropriate moment, he proceeded to yak on something, like a dog on a chicken bone, or a cat working a hairball.

When the movie was over a teen girl squad in front eyeballed us in a funny, accusatory way. Perhaps they thought we were the perpetrators.

I’m anxiously awaiting the sequel. I’m sure it will be as Little Men was to Little Women. They should call it, The Brotherhood of the Traveling Briefs.

A Joyful Sound

Last night as I was upstairs reading I kept hearing these high pitched squeals coming from downstairs. “eeeeeeEEEEEE!!” Christy does that, when she’s happy about something. This would be a good example,

“Hey Christy, wanna go to the Love Sac theater and see a Julia Roberts movie?”

“eeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEE!!”

That, of course, was before we thought about what might really happen on the Love Sacs in those theaters.

Her joyful outbursts went on for several minutes before she exclaimed, “I LOVE THIS SHOW!” several times at the top of her lungs. I decided to go down and investigate. It turns out she was watching Fox’s new hit television show "So You Think You Can Dance?" You’ve seen portions of it, I’m sure. Lots of beautiful people popping and locking, pouting their lips into a mirror, and shooting disheveled looks at each other that say You-Got-Served-nah-nah-nahnah-nah!

I had to see what all the fuss was about, so I went downstairs. While the dancers flipped and twirled their way into my wife’s heart, I went into the kitchen to make a Chocolate Oreo milkshake, then sat down to watch a routine or two. One particular dancer, Craig, who could be on the cover of Straight Teeth magazine and the Ensign simultaneously, took the stage without a shirt on. Of course, he is cut and sexy and moves gracefully.

“Man he his hot!,” Christy said. “Look at his body.”

“Yeah, does my stomach look like that?” I tried to say, but I had a mouth full of milkshake.

As Craig danced his last routine shirtless, I could almost hear Christy holding back on the other end of the couch.

“eeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE!!”

A Perfect and Just Weight

Dr. Phil, there is brightness beaming from your bald head. I admit, somewhat sheepishly, that I watched an episode of Dr. Phil last night, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The theme was about “controlling individuals” in the home.

I’m just giving anyone who reads this a free ticket to punch me in the face if they ever see me do any of the following:

-Chastise my basketball playing son/daughter for missing those two shots in the game where he/she scored 14 points.
-Tell my wife that she needs to shut her “suckhole” because she is “stupid.”
-Ask my child, who brings home a 95% on a test, “What happened to the other 5%?”
-Make any sort of attempt to arrange the marriage of any of my children, because finally I have found an in-law I know I would get along with.
-Tell my wife, who has stayed home for years with the children, rearing them with love and kindness, then happens to earn $40 on the side, “Finally you have contributed something to the family.”

Unbelievable! I suppose you might not need the consent of a free ticket if you hear those things, and may punch me in the face anyway.

This morning I read in Deut. 25:13-15.
“Thou shalt not have in thy bag divers weights, a great and a small.
“Thou shalt not have in thine house divers measures, a great and a small
“But thou shalt have a perfect and just weight, a perfect and just measure shalt thou have: that thy days may be lengthened in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”

The word “perfect” that is used in here could be construed to mean that the Lord is exacting the 100% that psycho-death-mom was talking about last night. But rather, I think that that he is merely showing us that they key to happiness is in creating a healthy balance. That doesn’t mean we need compromise integrity, goals, potential, education, fun. But there is a divine stream of communication involved in achieving that balance, and it doesn’t involve the shutting of any suckholes.

Utah Culture

A conversation with some Nevada cousins got me thinking...what can we do to change the notions?

Utah = Zion
Democrat = Evildoer
Testimony = Instruction
Riches = Righteousness
Calling = Status
Beggar = Tramp

A Billy Sook

Today at lunch I walked into a Barnes and Noble and picked up the latest from Shel Silverstien, a children’s book called Runny Babbit. I read about ½ of it and found myself laughing. All the characters, which are animals, speak in a “topsy-turvy” language. Or rather I might say, a turpsy-tovy language. Silverstein reverses common letters in the sentence to play with rhyme schemes an annunciation.

At one point Runny get the “picken chox” and his friends nurse him better with “sea poup.” I couldn’t help laughing at a switcheroo like “Runny ficked his pood up with his ears.” It isn’t his most brainy work, but kids will love it.

Song of My Father

Yesterday my Dad turned 63 years old.

Dad has those smiling eyes, the kind with permanent crow’s feet at the corners. He is a fan of cheap haircuts, however crooked. He knows his way around a kitchen, and makes a mean ensemble of dutch-oven cuisines. He loves German chocolate cake and Shwann’s Ice Cream. On a hot day he drinks lemonade with ice cubes. He was my Scoutleader, for a time, and devised terrific troop cheers while visiting the latrine. He loves the companionship of dogs, and a well cooked lamb roast. He knows the concept of good budgeting, and revels in driving an ugly old car into the ground. He has a contagious laugh that all of my friends recognized. He loves early mornings, and the smell of sage brush. Dad is patriotic, is fascinated by American history, and shakes with pleasure when he gets around military rifles. He loves his brother, and they get together often to laugh and cuss over BYU football. He’s never grown facial hair, though he probably could, and he’s now starting to turn gray. He labored many years on his own farm; he herded sheep in his youth, and knows how to do stoichiometry. “All roads lead through moles,” he would say. Dad knows how to tell a good story, and was adept at convincing his kids that there was a vicious beast called the Side Hill Gouger that lived in our potato cellar and ate naughty children. Dad is a father in the holiest sense of the word.

Dad would give the shirt off his back, the shoes off his feet, his bed, his home, and everything he owns if he thought you needed it. He’s got a head start on heaven based on his selflessness alone. Dad has always treated my Mom with love, respect, and flirtatiousness. He is the father of six children, all of whom have firm faith in Jesus Christ, which is saying something. Two of them have special needs, which is also saying something, because Heavenly Father arranged their care under Dad at some point prior to his birth. Whether he knows it or not he followed the Spirit on many occasions, saying something to me that I needed to hear, and certainly affecting the trajectory of my life for the better. He has a deep, full-bodied love of the gospel, and is my hero.

I love you Dad, Happy Birthday.

When Friendly Crosses the Line

I’ve been trying to go to the gym lately because, you know, I’m not a beefy guy. Let’s not kid ourselves, if I spent an entire decade in the gym I wouldn’t be able to qualify as beefy. There were times in my life where I tried to overcompensate, like going out for football as a sophomore in High School. The water boy got more field time than I did. I know for a fact that I played at least one series of downs. I even ran the ball for 15 yards on one extremely lucky play. But in reality all I got out of that season was a calloused rear-end and some torn cartilage in my knee.

After my workout this morning I was in the locker room changing my clothes for the work day. Right during the draftiest portion of the change—one garment away from full-blown nakedness, a young fellow one bench away decides to strike up a conversation.

“Did you have a good workout today?”

Blink. An uncomfortable silence broke as I turned around to see who was addressing my pastey white backside.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Me too. Worked my legs today. That’s always a tough one.”

“Mmm Hmm.”

Luckily there was no follow up conversation. I should have flexed my bum for him, but that may have sent the wrong message. I love friendliness. I love friendly people. But, dude. Seriously. Could you wait ‘til I put some clothes on?

Origin of Life

Over the next few years Harvard researchers will conduct the “Origins of Life in the Universe Initiative” in which they will receive one million dollars in funds annually to investigate the inception and evolution of life in the Universe.

According to CNN the project “begins with an admission that some mysteries about life’s origins cannot be explained.” That being said, however, David R. Liu a professor & member of the research team said “My expectation is that we will be able to reduce this to a very simple series of logical events that could have taken place with no divine intervention.”

Now, I’m no Harvard professor. I’m about the furthest thing from it, so take this for what its worth, but isn’t it a bit DANGEROUS to go into a multi million dollar study setting out to prove a preconceived notion? His wording of “my expectation is that we will be able to reduce this…” seems like another way of saying, “we will do everything in our power to eliminate any idea of divine intervention.” Fine. Fine. No doubt the will do just that. But at the same time they admit that there are some mysteries that cannot be explained.

I’m an open minded person. I certainly don’t discount evolution as a general concept, and believe that science and religion can co-exist wonderfully. I think many will be surprised someday at just how much true science and true religion are one in the same. I’m just worried that entering a study of this magnitude with the end goal of proving any one particular preconception is a step in the wrong direction. It is that kind of close mindedness that stunts scientific advancement.

Provo River Parkway

Provo River Parkway: Thank you for your leafy branches and squiggled path. Thank you for your wayside wheat, your swingset, and your swimming hole. Thank you for your shaded canopy, your calloused spine, your babywalkers. Thank you for your many colors, especially the green. Thank you for your timeless time and the columns of lolling dusk light. Thank you for your much needed and always cherished conversation.