George Bush on My Voicemail

Now, I thought it was cool when I had a voicemail from Thurl Bailey on my cell phone. Well, that's nothing comparing to getting a call from the Commander in Chief. That's right - George Dubya called me on the phone yesterday. If my dang cell phone wouldn't have been out of batteries I could have chatted it up with the guy, but instead he just had to leave me a heartfelt message about why he thinks I should vote for Chris Cannon. That sure was thoughtful of him to call and remind me to vote. What a sweetheart.

Other GWB-related posts:

Get Your Photo on w/ George W.
George Bush vs. Seth Cohen
Spencer vs. George Bush

Baby's First Vacation

We survived our first post-baby vacation last weekend. We took Paige with us to St. George to the annual stay-at-a-condo-with-the-Pearsons trip. The first challenge was getting her there. She hates being in her car seat, so we didn’t know how well she’d do with the 4 ½ hour car ride. We debated whether to head out Wednesday night after Traci got off work and hope that she’d sleep the whole way there or go Thursday morning. We chose the former.

The car ride worked well. Because it was around her normal bedtime, Paige slept most of the ride. Unfortunately, the transition from the car to her pack-n-play crib was too much to ask. She woke up and was ready to party, which was fine. I’ll hang with Paige at 1 in the morning in St. George, right on. But her party meter ran out after about 20 minutes and then she was tired and crying. At about 4 a.m. she finally decided to go to sleep.

Fortunately for us, the Pearsons are madly in love with her and, I think, were all waiting outside of our bedroom for the first signs of her morning awaking. When Paige got up at 7:30 a.m. Traci and I just passed her off and went back to bed. It was our first chance to sleep-in in the past seven months.

The trip was pretty relaxing despite the 110 degree heat. I had a bit of stress when everyone was at the pool and I was alone in the condo. When I made my way over to the pool, I locked the door behind me – not realizing how the keyless entry worked – and successfully locked us all out of the house. Luckily we had the number of the condo owner, the only problem being that it was inside the locked condo. I would have single-handedly wrecked the whole trip if Makell’s friend Emily didn’t weigh 75 pounds and climb like a monkey. I boosted her up to the second floor and she grabbed the railing like a gymnast. She snuck quietly in through the balcony door. Hallelujah.

Paige loves being in the water, so she had fun at the pool. All she wants to do in the water is jump up and down, so it’s good that we had a lot of different hands that were willing to bounce her.

Traci loves going to the pool, so she was happy. I love watching cable. I watched the disappointing U.S. soccer match, a million of episode’s of Run’s House, The Hills and Pimp My Ride, so I was happy as well. We got to meet our friend Susie for lunch, Traci’s dad taught me how to play racquetball and we skipped church on Sunday. Huzzah for vacation!

Greetings from Southern Utah

Paige is already a regular fish at the swimming pool here in St. George. She woke up bright and cheery as ever this morning after keeping her mom and dad up until 4 a.m. this morning. Traci and I...well, not so cheery. But how could you stay mad at that face?

The Sutherland's Residence: Now LoveSac Free

The Sutherlands are now LoveSac free. Because I was only paid in propane LoveSacs and propane LoveSac accessories during my six months interning at the company, our house was literally filled with LoveSacs and LoveSac accessories.

However, the novelty runs out quickly when you're trying to shove the 6-foot, 85-pound thing through the bedroom door every time you want to clean the carpets.

The LoveSac has found a new home in Traci's sister Jillian's bedroom. We only lent it to her. Since LoveSac filed bankruptcy they may become extinct, you know, and then maybe it'll be a collector's item.

Arena Football's Semi-Charmed Life

Today was ArenaBowl XX. You're right, "XX" does mean 20, which means that Arena Football has been around for 20 years. Who knew? Though Traci and I had a lot of fun a weeks ago when we went to see Utah's expansion team, The Blaze, somebody's got to talk to the marketing folks at the Arena Football League.

I turned on ArenaBowl just in time for the half-time show. The performance was by none other than Third Eye Blind. And the best part? Yes, they were playing "Semi-Charmed Life." Were all of the marketers and event planners sitting together, brainstorming, when someone said, "I've got it! We'll get Third Eye Blind for the half-time show of our biggest event. They were huge in 1997!" Did they completely overlook the fact that Jon Bon Jovi, who strangely enough still is a really big star (just ask my sisters), owns an Arena Football team? Couldn't they just ask him?

If the game wasn't exciting enought, ticketholders were also treated to a free Third Eye Blind concert after the show. Napoleon Dynamite says "lucky."

World Cup Fever (Hup Holland Hup)

(Oh the homoeroticism that is professional sports)

I've already got a mild case of World Cup Fever. I made the trip to my inlaws (we don't have cable) at 6:45 a.m. this morning to watch Holland take on Serbia & Montenegro. I even wore my Dutch jersey. Since the Pearsons were all still asleep when I got there, I tried to be very quiet. When Arjen Robben scored in the 18th minute, I whispered "Goaaaaaalllll!"

I'd like to call in sick to work tomorrow to watch the U.S. game, but I've got fire extinguisher training at work. It's a big day at work.

Not Without My(space) Daughter

In all of my job searching I guess I should look into working for MySpace. With all of the child predators and the like, I think they probably need a lot of PR work.

From Yahoo:
"A 16-year-old honor student from Michigan tricked her parents into getting her a passport and then flew off to the Mideast to be with a West Bank man she met on MySpace.com, authorities say."

Here's my thought about the whole thing. I don't think this story would be getting the amount of coverage that it has if she wasn't meeting a guy from the Middle East. No one would have cared if a girl went off to meet a dude in Canada or even Italy. Why? Because we in the U.S. think that all Middle Eastern men are swarthy, hairy-chested women smugglers who are going to take our women captive, never again to return.

That made me think back to a high school education highlight from my own life. Mr. Brian Hughes coached basketball and taught driver's ed at Murray High. I remember that during our driving lessons he would have us drive him on his personal errands - to the post office, to the Subway, to his mom's house. Very classy. He also taught World Civilizations.

I attribute the fact that I know nothing about world history to Mr. Hughes' class. When we got to the section about the Middle East, we watched "Not Without My Daughter," the movie where Sally Fields gets married to an Iranian. He takes her home for a vacation and then never lets her go back to the states. She then goes to crazy lengths to escape and get back home.

It took us like three days to watch the movie. That was our entire education on the Middle East. On behalf of the hundreds of sophomores that took your class, Mr. Hughes, I would like to thank you for contributing to our cultural ignorance. And thank you, Mr. Hughes' mom for the carrot cake that you gave us the day we stopped by your house on our driver's ed route.

Seve vs. Evan, the new Stretsch Armstronng?

“I could be most of these kids’ mom,” Traci said as we waited around Kilby Court for Seve vs. Evan show. I’d guess that most of the kids were between 14-17, so that would mean Traci would’ve given birth when she was 12. While the age difference wasn’t quite as dramatic as Traci made it seem, we did feel really old.

The evening was weird. Seve vs. Evan is a two-man band from Provo that I’ve been wanting to see live. Seve plays the keyboard and sings while Evan mans the drumkit. All of their songs sound like they were ripped from the soundtrack of 8-bit Nintendo games. The strangest part about the band, though, is that apparently kids can’t get enough of ‘em.

I wasn’t ready for the fanaticism surrounding the band. Seve vs. Evan was the opening act for a touring band, yet the place was packed with kids waiting to see them. The second the music started the kids all went absolutely nuts. Feet were a-dancin’ and everyone new every single word. When the band reached the bridge of their first song everyone started doing some choreographed dance where they did the underwater move –you know, when you plug your nose and pretend to be under the water. When everyone had boogied down to the floor I am sure that there were only two heads visible above the crowd – mine and Traci’s, because we didn’t know what was going on.

My first thought was all these kids were idiots, dancing around to this stupid music with the collars up on their polo shirts and their girl pants so incredibly tight. But then I had a flashback: a young Spencer and Ty skankin’ to Stretsch Armstronng every weekend, sometimes accompanied by Ryan MC in full Rude Boy motif.

Are Seve vs. Evan the new Stretsch Armstronng? There are a lot of similarities– quirky lyrics, danceable tunes, hugely popular with kids in Utah County. The polar opposite is the size of the presentation. There was something exciting about a small stage packed with musicians jumping around. Conversely, Seve vs. Evan are the epitome of minimalism. But keyboards are very comparable to horns, in that both are generally played by geeks.

So what’s a 26-year-old to do? I like the music, but I do feel a bit like a child predator hanging out with all these kids. I guess I’ll just have to listen to the CD at home and dance with Paige.

Check out Seve vs. Evan

June Consumption

Music

AFI - Decemberunderground
The Bouncing Souls - The Gold Album
The Cardinal Sin - Hurry Up and Wait
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium
Taking Back Sunday - Louder Now
Goo Goo Dolls - Let Love In

Books

An Ordinary Man: An Autobiography by Paul Rusesabagina and Tom Zoellner