I Love It When A Plan Comes Together... Like Us

Merger Announcement

2009-06-03T14:03:00.000-07:00

Announcement: Jessica and I are joining forces. Yeah, I know we're already married and all (although Jessica's technically still a Raychek - perhaps more on that in another post), but I've realized that I post way too sporadically to actually keep up a blog on its own. So I'm joining hers as a contributor, womany blog decorations and all.

Read our blog at:

www.theworldaccordingtopixie.blogspot.com

My Little Idol

2009-03-08T17:11:00.001-07:00

Last week during dinner I asked Jessica what song she would sing if she made it to the finals of American Idol.

She squinted a bit in a thoughtful, far-off gaze, pursed her lips, and turned to me and said, "Ummm... proooobably Meatball," finishing her answer with subtle nodding indicating that after much thought it was certainly the best choice for an answer.

"Huh? Meatball?" I eloquently replied, swiftly scanning my musical Rolodex for a meatball-related song and finally resting on "On Top of Old Smokey" as the selected song from Jessica's mental jukebox. This made little sense, as I'm sure Simon, Randy, Paula and New Girl would certainly have an issue with her "song choice" at that stage of the game.

"What's MEATBALL?" I asked again.

"I sang it all the time on karaoke, so I'd pick that one," she said.

I stared back -- I was out of ideas. It couldn't be "Old Smokey." I scaled my search back from "Meatball" to all meat-related songs and artists.

Cheeseburger in Paradise? No...

"You mean Meat Loaf?" I asked.

"YES! Of course, Meat Loaf!", she said with a bit of an embarrassed self-giggle. Eventually, we crescendoed into a minute-long guffaw about her mental block, especially when we realized it may have been influenced by her polishing off a meatball sandwich earlier in the day.

Classic. I love my wife.

Randomness

2009-02-06T18:46:00.001-08:00

Jessica went to a stake "Girls' Night Out" thing, so I am home but going to the gym soon.

I haven't "blogged" in a long time, so I thought I would throw up a couple things (the verb seems appropriate given Jessica's week too):

It's official -- I am somehow, some way allergic to baby carrots. I could be allergic to "adult" carrots too, but does anybody really eat those anymore? Seriously, who wants to buy and then peel the "Bugs Bunny" type carrots when the baby ones are oh-so-easy to eat right out of the bag? Anyway, I got a new bag of them I was munching on at work, and then the sneezing started. I think I blacked out in the middle of it, and woke up with tiny chewed bits of baby carrot all over my office. And then I remembered that this has happened on wayyyy too many occasions to be coincidence. So I'm stamping it down as official -- I am allergic to them and I'll devote my life to finding a way to make baby pears without a core that I can just pop in my mouth and down.
Who buys the "middle" gas type? I don't even know its name, but it's in between the regular unleaded and the premium. Do gas stations just keep 10 gallons of that in the back in case someone actually buys it? Is there a law that you need three levels of gasoline? If you're going to go "premium," why not just go all the way?
I love learning things in podcasts -- for instance, two random facts I can pass along: 1. Redheads require on average 20% more anesthesia than non-redheads. It has something to do with the lack of pigmentation and cells not clinging to the anesthesia or something. 2. The chief of the British military is named Jock Stirrups; he was interviewed on a BBC podcast. Seriously? Jock Stirrups? I'm calling that made up...

That's all. You are all loved.

Predictions for 2008 & Beyond!

2008-12-31T20:41:00.000-08:00

For the last two years, Jessica and I have had some people over for New Year's Eve, and we've made it a tradition of making predictions for the coming year (lovingly stolen from Dr. Todd Hillyard). We seal them up in an envelope and open them at year's end, finding that we are parts sooth and parts ridiculous. Here are some predictions I NAILED for 2008:

"I will be engaged or married to Jessica." NAILED IT!
"I will break a bone" -- OK didn't nail it but tore my Achilles so I'm putting this in the "kinda got it" category
"Gilbert and Nicole will get pregnant" -- NAILED IT!
"Matt and Catherine will have a child" -- TRIPLE NAILED IT!
"Earthquakes in Southern California, China" -- I was amazed at this one, I'm opening up a psychic hotline now
"Obama elected President" -- now I'm on a roll
"Housing prices continue to slump - US in recession" -- HOW COME NOBODY ASKED ME?! Also, how come I didn't re-allocate my 401(k) so I wouldn't lose so much? Hmmm...

Here are some I was way off on, for humor's sake:

I will go to Hong Kong twice (none, actually and remarkably. Now that I have friends there I wish I were going finally. Harrumph.)
Jessica will get a new car (apparently I forgot about the whole "married to me" prediction)
BYU will go to a BCS bowl (grrrrrr....)
Celebrity Deaths: Jimmy Carter, Paul McCartney, Bob Barker, Dick Cheney, Paul Harvey, Neil Diamond (no on each count. Maybe next year.)
Patriots win 25 straight games (not even close -- thanks to a Tom Brady injury)

So -- what are some predictions for 2009? Here are some of mine, feel free to add yours in comments and I can check them at the end of 2009:

There will be an exciting new space discovery
Justin Timberlake gets engaged to whoever he's dating (it seems like it's about time)
There will be new "To Catch A Predator" Dateline shows
Two college football teams finish undefeated and 1-2 in the polls
Madonna & A-Rod begin publicly dating (again, it's about time)
International community/UN intervenes in Sudan & Congo
Jessica & I have a boy
Kim Jong Il, Fidel Castro pass away within weeks of each other
Jessica will win a prize of some kind (besides me as her husband)

What say ye? Have any predictions?

News From Around the World

2008-12-10T22:58:00.000-08:00

A couple observations and tidbits from life these days:

Last weekend Jess and I went to Powell's World of Books to get pregnancy books, and she lovingly (OK, strongly) suggested I get a book as an expectant father, so I know what's going on. So I purchased "The Expectant Father," and read the first chapter on Sunday. Now whenever Jessica does something I don't like, I just turn to her lovingly and condescendingly, and coo with a nod, "Yes -- the book said this would happen." She now hates my book.

Speaking of fathers... I thoroughly enjoyed this article in the Wall Street Journal about adults fighting at Chuck E. Cheese pizza parlors across the country. Outbreak of violence at Chuck E. Cheese? From PARENTS?! My favorite portion of the article was this fun anecdote about one incident:

"The biggest melee broke out in April, when an uninvited adult disrupted a child's birthday party. Seven officers arrived and found as many as 40 people knocking over chairs and yelling in front of the restaurant's music stage, where a robotic singing chicken and the chain's namesake mouse perform."

Can you just picture a bunch of adults throwing chairs while Chuck, Jasper Jowls and Friends are automatronically performing their band routine? I hope this is me someday.

By now everyone's heard of Rod Blagojevich, Corrupt Governor of Illinois (can they make this part of the official title of governor in that state?). While I care about the politics of the situation, my real question is: WHAT IS UP WITH THE HAIR?! Every time I see a picture of this guy, I feel like I just time-warped to 1983 and the guy is wearing a rugby shirt with his 501's and Chuck Taylors. Or, I feel like I'm watching a Russian mob boss. Is the man ashamed of his forehead? Did he win a Lifetime Fantastic Sam's gift card 25 years ago? Does he have a second, evil head under there that was actually doing the talking on the wiretap while the real Rod was asleep? Is this the worst haircut since Trump (OK, tied with the current Donald)? I need a ruling on this.

And finally, I heard earlier this week that Zimbabwe's inflation rate is 9.7 sextillion percent -- that means that every day, the value of a Zimbabwe dollar loses half of its value. So people in stores refuse to take a check, since it would be worthless by the time the money is deposited. I think you can buy a soda with the Monopoly money below:

Suddenly, the price of gas here doesn't sound so bad.

Country Music and Two Lines

2008-12-10T22:31:00.000-08:00

Last Wednesday, I got home from church stuff and found Jessica in the den on the computer. Curiously, she was playing a downloaded song from iTunes, which rarely happens when she's on the computer (normally she's writing or reading blogs, or scrapping or day trading or learning Klingon or whatever happens on etsy.com). She said she wanted to play a song for me.

I could tell from the twang and the flash of the name "Clint Black" that this probably wasn't going to be something from MY playlist. With the exception of some Kenny Rogers (and The Man in Black if you count him as country), I hold little affection for country music. But my wife feels differently, and I was in a decent mood so I was more than happy to humor her and listen to a song. We spent about 86 hours doing this before our wedding, choosing songs for the various dances, videos, etc. that often come with the ring.

The song is called "Little Pearl and Lily's Lullaby." I still don't know the words or exactly what the song is about, but I'll always remember it because Jessica pulled out a pink stick and displayed it for me in a way that made me immediately recognize that whatever this pink thing was, it was important. I looked a little closer.

Two little lines... I thought. What could that mean? Oh, here's a legend:

"One Line -- Not Pregnant"
"Two Lines -- Pregnant"

I looked back at the two lines. Are there TWO lines?

According to Jessica, I asked her this several times as she stared and smiled patiently. Soon we were hugging and swaying. I couldn't really dance at our wedding, but I could do it now.

Meanwhile, Pixie was nipping at our heels and calves, wondering what all the hubbub was about. Little does she know what she's in for.

I've really enjoyed my days as Uncle David, but c'mon. This is going to be AWESOME.

AUGUST 9th! We'll keep you updated on the gender, species, etc.

Droppin' Some WSJ Knowledge

2008-11-25T20:47:00.001-08:00

This morning when I walked outside, I almost came inside like Steve Martin did in "The Jerk" -- "the new phone books are here!" Instead, I was feeling that way about the Wall Street Journal.

I love the Wall Street Journal; I try to read it every morning on the recumbent bike at the gym, and it helps the time go by quite fast. But I let my subscription expire (gasp!), because it costs $299 to renew for a year and only $120 a year for new subscribers. Last week I congratulated Jessica on her involuntary decision to subscribe to the paper for me.

Although I know I'm not alone in reading the Journal every day, there aren't many of us left. So in celebration of my (er, Jessica's) subscription renewal, I decided I'll share something I learned every once in a while. Today: PIRATES.

Have any of us stopped and really thought about the news lately? Almost daily we are regaled with stories of pirates off the Horn of Africa taking control of ships. PIRATES! In 2008! How are these pirates getting on board a ship, let alone taking control? Do these pirate ships drive up next to a big cargo ship and gesture with a rotating arm to the captain to roll his window down, and then jump in? Are there random ropes hanging off these cargo ships that said pirates climb up with a rusty dagger in their collective mouths?

If you're loving this Renaissance of Pirates nearly as much as I am, perhaps you'll enjoy this Op-Ed piece in the Journal today, titled: Why Don't We Hang Pirates Anymore?

My favorite part of this piece is that the U.N.'s Law of the Sea Convention states that ships aren't allow to FIRE on pirate ships... legally they are required to, and I quote, "first to send over a boarding party to inquire of the pirates whether they are, in fact, pirates." Whaaaa? Who does this? And how is this "boarding party" chosen? Do these unfortunate souls negotiate to avoid cleaning the toilets on board for the rest of the trip if they participate?

I personally prefer the 18th Century legal code laid out in the piece: "A piracy attempted on the Ocean, if the Pirates are overcome, the Takers may immediately inflict a Punishment by hanging them up at the Mainyard End; though this is understood where no legal judgment may be obtained."

Now, I don't know where the Main-yard End is, but if you're hanging someone does it really matter where?

Anyway, more to come -- on pirates, and so much more.

Fun With Old Pictures

2008-11-16T17:17:00.000-08:00

One of the benefits I have of watching my parents' house is access to some really old and really tremendous pictures. Consider this the first installment of a series of analyses of "landmark" photos in the Fuhriman Archives. I commence this exercise with perhaps the most iconic photograph of the Fuhriman kids -- this one is like that picture of the sailor kissing that nurse in Times Square on V-J Day (and no, kids that has nothing to do with MTV): The Aspen Grove Picture.

Let me set the stage: It was the summer of 1980, and we went to Aspen Grove, a BYU Alumni camp very close to Sundance ski resort outside of Provo. As I recall, it was a week of fun and hilarity, with much drama: I caught a huge fish (or so I recall), Catherine busted open her forehead in the pool, and we have some great video of three-legged races and my mom busting out an epic 40-yard dash that put her on the recruiting watchlist of Portland State.

Oh, and it appears that each of us kids were going through an "awkward stage" of some kind or another. Let's take a closer look:

JEN

In Fuhriman vernacular, this summer for Jen was The Summer Of The Del Monte Hat. I don't believe anyone is aware of the origin of this blessed head covering -- legend has it that a lonseome drifter gifted it to Jen as a tip at her lemonade stand and then disappeared in a puff of smoke, but we've never been able to substantiate that claim. At any rate, the hat in question rarely left Jen's head this entire summer -- even for pictures, where the shade provided by Del Monte hat's considerable bill gives Jen a bit of a Zorro Mask look of mystery. I'm not sure what the Del Monte Hat did to fall out of favor with Jen -- perhaps it was just 6th grade -- but I believe it was last seen on my dad setting up Christmas lights in 2004. The amazing thing? It was actually the newest item of clothing he was wearing at the time; his work shoes were a gift from Sacajawea's son Jean-Baptiste.

CATHERINE

Struggling without the benefit of a Del Monte cap, Catherine is emphasizing her most fascinating qualities: squinty smile, a pigtail perkily flopping off each side of her head, and her buck teeth -- oh, those buck teeth -- gracefully shading her bottom lip and much of her chin for that matter. What tops off this ensemble? Ah, yes, the shirt -- The Roller Queen. Not "A Roller Queen," or even just "Roller Queen." Nope, not good enough for Cath... she's a THE.

"Did you meet Catherine?"

"Not sure, who's she?"

"She's THE Roller Queen."

"Oh well of course I met HER."

Thanks for clearing that up with the shirt, Catherine. And yes, she now has more newborns than she had teeth in this picture. Atta kid!

DIANA

With Catherine, you could tell she was making a college try to keep her eyes open; Jen wisely avoided the issue altogether, but in this picture we see Diana just waving the proverbial white flag to smiling with her eyes open; it's like she just said to my parents: "Yeah, I know you want me smiling. I know you also want my eyes open. But I'm 4 going on 5, I've got these annoying glasses treating my eyes like they're ants under a magnifying glass, and it's not like you're going to see anyone else's eyes either. So just TAKE THE PICTURE!" Those eyes are glued shut... or to make use of a more timely phrase, O-Glued shut.

Di is also going with the statement shirt today -- it reads, "Kids Need Love And Other Stuff." Other stuff being things like a Del Monte cap for the 4-year-old.

ME

As far as not squinting during pictures... I don't think I had my eyes open for a picture until I was 28. This was pretty much as good as it got, a hint of the retina. I've got a "24" shirt on, no doubt an early "shout-out" to one of the best TV shows ever created.

And about my arms/hands -- I have two hypotheses: I was either in Ricky Bobby form and had no idea what to do with my arms and hands during a picture, or I was doing the first ever recorded "raise the roof" for Aspen Grove's tremendous hospitality. Obviously, it was the second one.

So there you have it. The Summer of '80 in a nutshell. Well, this and "Magic" by Olivia Newton-John being tops in the Billboard charts. A few minutes later, we would hop into our yellow, wood-paneled station wagon and plod our way back to Oregon -- the headwounds heal, the fish get eaten, the Del Monte caps make their way to some landfill... but The Aspen Grove Picture lives on. And thank goodness for that, right Dear Sisters?

The Song Remains The Same

2008-11-11T19:57:00.000-08:00

I was listening to Song Shuffle on my iPod at work today (yes, it actually helps me work better believe it or not), and a song came up that I hadn't heard in a while: "Dreaming My Dreams" by the Cranberries. It's not a well-known song; I doubt very many other people would know it, at least by its title. But it's funny, it took me back to a very specific (but rather nondescript) time in my life. It was October of 2000, and I was driving home from work as the sun was setting and I was listening to that song in my Subaru's CD player. Nothing special happened -- but it was so clear looking back on that night driving home. So it got me thinking about other songs and what specifically they remind me of. Perusing my iTunes, I found several:

U2 Joshua Tree: Driving through the Columbia River Gorge in my dad's old Honda Accord, coming back from a soccer tournament in Tri-Cities (in between my dad's orthodontic journal tapes -- NyQuil Set To Words)

More Than Words, Extreme: Walking through the dorms at BYU campus and hearing dozens of freshman guys (fresh off their first 2 Beginning Guitar classes) serenading women from the lawn outside their rooms to this song. This is Unintentional Comedy at its very best.

Best of Bruce Springsteen Album: Driving up through Goldendale on the way to Lake Roosevelt in eastern Washington for a week on a houseboat with the Robinsons. 100-degree heat, Super Big Gulp, Blow Pops and Born To Run. Mmmmm...

Boys of Summer by Don Henley: Summer of (probably) 1985, riding around Oak Hills on my bike, going to AM/PM or Scooter's and staying out until the last of the light was fading away.

Southern Cross by CSN: Tahiti, when I saw the Southern Cross for the first time on a ship and couldn't get this song out of my head for the rest of the trip. Ah, Tahiti...

Life For Rent Album by Dido: This was one of only 2-3 CDs we had on my trip to New Zealand with Cath & Matt. We were driving a RV on the "wrong" side of the road, shifting with our left hand. That was an epic journey, and every song on that album reminds me of how amazing that country is.

Kyrie by Mr. Mister: OK, this one isn't in my iTunes, but I heard it the other day and it reminded me of riding in a car with Chris Erickson. We were listening to the radio randomly and he turned to me and said, "Do you know that song..." and for whatever reason I just blurted out, "Kyrie?" "WHAT?! Yeah! How did you guess that?" Our alpha waves must have been communicating that day, I like to call it a Miss Cleo moment.

Don't Change Your Plans by Ben Folds: Listening to this song in concert in Hollywood somewhere, when William Shatner appears on stage and points to the balcony, where Weird Al Yankovic is chilling with his posse. Quite the surreal moment. Captain Kirk? Like a Surgeon? It was then that I realized I really was in LA.

Pour Some Sugar On Me: Driving back from a field trip in junior high to Mount St. Helens and listening to my BMG-purchased (12 for the price of 1?! No Way!) cassette tape on one of those bright yellow Sony Walkmans with the clip holding the tape in place. I felt cool.

By the way, here are some of my music "firsts":

First music I ever owned: 45 (that's a RECORD, people) of "We Built This City." I got it in my stocking. I don't believe I asked "Santa" for this, so I blame Jen and Catherine for convincing my parents to get this for me. C'mon, it couldn't have been "The Who" or at least The Gloved One? Instead, I'm still knee-deep in the hoopla on this one.

First BMG Purchase: I don't remember all of my first cassettes, but here's a slathering of them: Janet Jackson "Rhythm Nation," Milli Vanilli (awwww yeah...), U2 "Under A Blood Red Sky" ("Hey, This is Red Rocks!"), Def Leppard "Hysteria," and something from Billy Joel.

Oh, and some "Please Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em."

And Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock.

Did anyone NOT do either BMG or Columbia, then forget to turn in random Biz Markie tapes sent to them and refusing to pay for them?

First Compact Disc: Journey's Greatest Hits. Still, awesome. Tied with Boston for best album artwork ever (they may have had the same person do theirs). A beetle with humongous WINGS, equadistant from two illuminated orbs? AMAZING!

I rue the death of the importance of the album cover art -- some monumental artistic expression there, my friends:

President-Elect Obama

2008-11-05T06:39:00.000-08:00

In 2004, I was so frustrated with my choices as President that I ended up voting Libertarian (Michael Badnarik, about 400,000 votes) instead of my other choices. I could not stomach either major candidate for a number of reasons.

This year, I felt differently. I understand the general cynicism around politicians and candidates, but I honestly felt that either candidate -- in spite of their weaknesses and my differences with them in philosophy -- would do a much better job than the current President. McCain brings a moderate Republican view and a practical, experienced voice to the White House. Obama brings a more enlightened view on diplomacy, and from a more general perspective represents a significant shift in how politics is viewed in the US.

I voted for McCain, mainly because of his philosophies on the use and purpose of taxes and his health care proposal (if health care is to survive, we need to view it more like home or car insurance where it's used for significant events and not general "maintenance" -- you wouldn't use your car insurance to pay for an oil change or new wiper blades). But I'm not mad at Obama either. I think he will be a serviceable president at worst, and if he makes some changes to his view on business, taxes and health care could actually help the country a lot more. And generally, I think he's a nice and reasonable man.

But beyond issues, yesterday was a "game-changer." As we watched Grant Park in Chicago last night, I turned to Jessica and opined that our unborn kids will maybe someday ask us where we were when we saw this (for the record, I was working on my laptop and Jessica was doing crafts... so there you have it). I didn't vote for Obama as president, but he will be MY president, and I take courage in the renewed political interest of the company and his platform of post-partisanship, regardless of how unrealistic that may be.

Many will disagree (some vehemently) in either direction -- but that's the blessings of living in a democracy.

I'm glad it's over.

Lookin' Fine-a in Carolina

2008-10-26T15:46:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Will for this picture - not bad!

Our dear friends Austin & Shanda McKeehan and their chitlins have been in North Carolina for 4 years or something, and I haven't made it out to visit them once... even though Austin's owed me a ticket since USC beat Michigan in the Rose Bowl several years back. I suppose I could have gone by myself all this time, but I've been hoping to have someone to take with me. Wait, what's this? I'm MARRIED now?! Well, why don't we go then?

We left last Friday at 6AM, after I got home about 1AM from a business trip to Denver. So I pretty much just stayed up and did laundry and work until I needed to wake Jessica up at 3:30AM for our flight and take Pixie for a decent-sized run to tire her out before our flight. By the tugs on the leash I was getting as I tried to rev up the early-morning engines, I think Pixie was saying, "Geeesh! It's 3:30 AM in the morning! You're never up at this time of morning, let alone running. So WHAT IS THE DEAL?!" Well, we dragged ourselves and our tired dog onto a 6AM flight, landing in lovely Charlotte about 7PM that night. Austin greeted us with his trusty sidekick Will, who successfully pulled Jessica's bag off the conveyor belt in Baggage Claim and, after a few minutes of warm-up time, also successfully began charming my wife with his perceptive statements and tokens of devotion. We were feeling quite at home in Charlotte.

We polished off the evening with Five Guys Burgers. It was tremendous. If you haven't been there, they just opened one up in Beaverton and I highly recommend a trip (we already went again last night), and stayed up late like we were back in college.

Saturday was spent hanging with the kiddos, and watching Coop's baseball game before we headed to the National Whitewater Center for a tremendous adventure there (see Jessica's blog, she certainly does it more justice than I could). It doesn't do it justice, however, to just say that we went there; we were actually running way behind schedule, and Austin had to practically beg the box office personnel to let us on the last run of the day, pay over the phone and bypass half of the orientation (if you've read Jessica's description of the orientation, you'll understand how great that was for us). After thoroughly soaking through our clothes, we sloshed our way to a splendid sushi joint where we dined on rolls and Doctor Dave's Sauce (shhhh! it's secret).

We spent Sunday at church and in naps/football trances before taking a fun walk to see their neighborhood (so perfect it looks like a big movie backlot), polished off with a fantasy basketball draft for me and Austin (I love my team!), and a fun dinner with Shanda's mom there and Shanda on the grill.

We took off Monday afternoon, but not before being treated to some Carolina barbecue and picking up Will and Cooper from school. Earlier in the day I watched Paris for a while, and amazingly she and Pixie got along swimmingly; Paris even got some licks on the palm from Pixie, which made me a bit jealous since it took me about 10 months to get so much as a sniff of a lick from Pix.

Thanks to the McKeehans for being such great hosts! We're amazed that we had such a great time, and that Austin & Shanda (not to mention their kids) showed no signs of being sick of us. I'm particularly pleased that Jessica and Shanda were practically inseparable, even if part of their bonding was the common struggle of dealing with their budget-conscious husbands. And now I will close with my Senior Will-type ode to the McKeehans:

I, David Parker Fuhriman, hereby bequeath to the McKeehans the following:

To Paris: the key to the heart of our firstborn son.

To Will: a black t-shirt to cut down the middle - because really, what else could you askf for? Well, perhaps a candy-bar sandwich (my bad).

To Cooper: More soy butter and more quality time with Jessica.

To Shanda: Two more hands for crocheting (or you could go Bonnie Consolo with your feet -- just ask Austin about that).

To Austin: My Spring trip idea -- Vegas. Stay gold.

Shameless Plug: O.REGON S.CIENTIFIC WAREHOUSE SALE

2008-10-24T09:52:00.000-07:00

SATURDAY -- TOMORROW!

10AM -2PM

19861 SW 95th Ave.

Tualatin, OR 97062

One of our favorite shows is "The Biggest Loser." I tend to make it up to go to the gym on Wednesday morning a bit easier because the night before I saw a bunch of people in worse shape than me get their collective butts kicked by Bob and Jillian. For those who follow the show, we particularly enjoyed last week's show when what'sherface did the slo-mo "Truffle Shuffle" after her weighing.

But one thing we always roll our eyes about when we watch the show is the pseudo-planted meetings between trainers and Losers (not sure what else to call them) to pitch products. For instance, suddenly Jillian is in the kitchen helping someone prepare their meals for the week. Wow! These Ziploc Zip n' Steam Microwave Steam Cooking Bags are so great -- they really do combine the convenience of microwave cooking with the freshness and healthy eating of steamed foods!

So I'm not going to do that to you - I'm not going to pretend I have some other motive than for your to spend money on my company: I work for O.regon S.cientific, and it was my bright idea to have a Warehouse Sale this Saturday that offers products at 50-80% discounts from our suggested retail pricing. Some of the product is old or in old packaging, but with prices ranging from $5 for pedometers and clocks to $125 for high-end weather stations (that are normally $300), you could find all sorts of holiday gift items and stocking stuffers at the sale. I'll just go ahead and list two of my favorite products you may want to consider:

SmartGlobe: This was the 2007 Educational Toy of the Year, and my nieces and nephews love it. You use a SmartPen to play games and learn about different countries of the world. You know those statistics about how most American kids can't find the world on a map? Miss South Carolina really captured the real problem when she eloquently stated that it's because "some people don't have maps... such as." Well said! But I can tell you that I played the "Find It!" game on this globe against my nephew, and he was able to quickly find places like Sudan, Romania, Singapore and Indonesia. Now the kid's related to me so he's an uber-genius, but still... a GREAT, FUN product for kids that is normally at $130 and is selling Saturday at $60.

WeatherNow: I could tell you stories about this product and the many sleepless nights I spent a few years ago on the phone with Hong Kong talking about this thing. But in the end, it turned out to be a pretty cool product that sits on your countertop and constantly updates with the 4-day forecast for your metro area, including: Hi/Lo temperature, chance of precipitation, wind speed, wind direction, barometric pressure levels, UV levels, severe weather statements, sunrise & sunset, air quality, and even visibility. Pretty cool! In stores you'd pay $130 bucks, but it's only $50 at this sale.

You also get a 15% of coupon to use as many times as you'd like on our website or in our Bridgeport store before the end of the year. Yes, I am that awesome for offering that to you.

So, another reminder about the Sale Information:

October 25th (This Saturday)

10AM - 2PM

19861 SW 95th Ave.

Tualatin, OR 97062

If this thing isn't a success, I think Hong Kong is going to transfer me to our Ugandan operations, so I beg for you to come and to spread the word to your friends and family.

We now return you to your scheduled blog programming. Thank you.

One Growing Job Market In A Recession...

2008-10-15T23:33:00.000-07:00

I'm in Denver for customer meetings, and I just flipped on CNN during their debate coverage.

I counted 14 different people on the sound stage. 14. FOURTEEN! Each with a laptop, presumably half of them preparing for their fantasy basketball drafts.

There weren't even enough seats, so two people stood on the edge of the stage, leaning against the 12-person table like they're picking up ladies at the hotel sports bar.

Assuming 15 minutes of commercials an hour, you have 45 minutes of actual debate coverage. With the host (Anderson Cooper) getting a few extra minutes of talk (let's say 6), that leaves an average of 3 minutes per remaining analyst.

I am so ready for this election to be over.

Slater Fuhriman?

2008-10-09T06:42:00.000-07:00

So one thing nobody prepares you for about marriage is discussions about baby names. You think you know someone until they start telling you the names they love for your own kids. Let's just say Jessica and I have different tastes (and different memories of names).

Slater is a perfect example. Jessica loves this name, to the point that if the name itself were a man I believe she would annul our marriage and marry it and have its own babies.

When I hear that name, this is all I can think about:
Oh, and this:

That's not to say that some of my own favorite names aren't "out there" a bit, but how am I supposed to expect anything more from my son named Slater than to hang out at Max's and wrestle? Oh, and date Elizabeth Berkeley and call her "Momma."

Jessica likes that when she asked on WikiAnswers what the name "Slater" means, the response she got was, "Cool." I hate WikiAnswers. To me, we may as well call our son Screech Belding LisaTurtle Bayside Fuhriman.

So what do you think, friends? Am I being unreasonable? Should I work to get over my fear that with the name Slater our son will be born with a greasy mullet? I ask for your help this fine day...

Free Advice: Don't Da-Do What I Don't Da-Do

2008-10-06T22:04:00.000-07:00

I was a Child of the 80's, and this great montage of old commercials proves it -- I think I recognize at least half of these beauties. CAREFUL -- this is 10 minutes long, and once you pop you can't stop... Some comments to guide your video adventure:

The "how many licks" Tootsie Pop commercial is a classic, but kind of depressing... that was our best available animation?
He-Man Cups -- Had 'Em, Collected 'Em All, Bought the T-Shirt.
The "Karate Kid" action figures commercial is just as wise as Mr. Miyagi himself: "True strength, come from HEART (No, not the "Barracuda" Heart)"
Ronald McDonald, Grimace and Birdie: Are they, along with the rest of McDonaldLand citizens, banished from television forever? Hamburglar? Fry Kids? Whither Mayor McCheese? Let's put an APB out... and yes, I still feel bad for chuckling when kids at school called the librarian in the purple dress Grimace.
Nintendo: OK, I didn't have one of these puppies (I was the mooching next-door neighbor, nice to see you again) -- but what in the samhill was Rob the Robot?! Was this thing real, an actual robot that shipped with Nintendo systems? I just remember the gun for "Duck Hunt."
Tony Danza -- great in his time. Now when I hear his name I think of Elton John's "Tiny Dancer."
Need evidence we were low-maintenance kids in the 80's? Check out the free Play-Doh "Fun Flier." Yup, that's a super-small Frisbee, too small to ever actually fly, so two kids need to stand about 5 feet away from each other and huck it. And yes, this was FUN.
"Simon" -- this game eventually won me and my friends about a dozen orders of breadsticks at Little Caesar's -- they had a "simon"-type machine where if you got enough points you won free breadsticks. This was huge, since we were already traveling a half-hour to get to Little Caesar's on Highway 99 in Tigard (why? I have no idea), so we'd better win breadsticks to make it worth our while. Anyway, I'm pretty sure the band in this commercial is supposed to be Sting and The Police, given the "De Doo Doo Doo" type melody and the singing style of the lead guy. C'mon, "don't da-doo what I don't da-doo?" RIPOFF!

Baby, We Were Born to Run

2008-10-05T22:36:00.000-07:00

First of all, I'm excited to find a reason to use this title, since I love old Bruce Springsteen songs. Back during the BMG "12 CDs for the Price of 1" days, I picked up the Springsteen Greatest Hits and the "Tracks" box set to get my fix of Bruce, and I recommend both of them. Top hits on "Tracks" include "Roulette," "Dollhouse," and "Ricky Wants a Man of Her Own." Any Bruce Springsteen song reminds me of driving down the Gorge Highway, and then over to Highway 97 through Goldendale and up to the Gorge Ampitheater. Great memories!

So why the Bruce song title, Dave? Why the Forrest Gump image? BECAUSE I CAN RUN AGAIN. I spoke to the orthopedic surgeon this week, and after more than 4 months of pain, limping, crutches, Roll-A-Bouts and rehab, I have been cleared to do everything but soccer, basketball, football (tennis, racquetball, chess...) and I'm working on running at full speed. For now, I just jog a bit when I take Pixie for a walk and that's enough for now.

Fun at the State Fair

2008-09-07T18:15:00.001-07:00

Jess and I went to the State Fair on Labor Day -- awesome time. Some pictures, videos and comments:

The highlight of the day was the Jumping Dog competition, including this great leap (not catch) by a nice black Lab:

There are some questionable contests and wins in the State Fair, including this embroidered quilted jacket that I thought might have been dug up in a 1988 time capsule... but instead found that it won a blue ribbon:

And lest you think this is just one crazy outlier, I give you as evidence this entire showcase of questionable judging choices. I didn't take the time to see the contests these things won blue ribbons for, but I'm guessing "Most Likely Clothing Article To Be Found on Clearance at Mervyn's... in 1989."

If you get a 3rd-place ribbon in the "Jarred Dilly Beans" category, do you tell anyone about it?

Or even a 1st place prize... for a "Adult Danish Cookie" (no, I'm not sure what makes this an "Adult" cookie)

And here is Jessica, enquiring after an embroidery machine... on sale for just $8495! On a $1999 table! Don't worry, I already told the saleswoman they forgot the decimal point on this $85 machine. They didn't find that amusing.

Overall, we had a GREAT day! Our Tomato Truck Runneth Over...

Taco Del Fuhriman: Now Serving Pixie Tacos

2008-08-27T23:54:00.000-07:00

Along with learning to live with an actual human since Jess and I got married, I have been learning to live with Pixie (she's the dog you see in half our pictures -- the other half she's the one taking the pictures). This is no small task, since I a) haven't had a dog since Chips treed Andrew Knaupp in the back yard maple when I was about 5 or 6, and b) I am allergic to dogs (and cats, but this didn't seem to stop my family from having them while I grew up).

But she likes me now, is excited when I come home and we have a great time. I do frankly get some/a lot of crap for her being a "small dog," but whatever -- her turds are that much smaller and easier to pick up, and I am comfortable enough in my manliness (Ricki Lake documentary notwithstanding) to have whatever size dog I darn well please.

She likes to play a lot, and one game we taught each other is the one in the below video: I say "Picky Taco," she jumps in her bed and then tries to bite my hand through the bottom of the bed as I fold the bed in two, not unlike a silky blue tortilla of Yorkishness. It may not seem all that interesting to you, but it's hilarious to us:

I Heart Wikipedia

2008-08-25T23:10:00.000-07:00

Yes, that was me. I was the kid laying on the carpet in his living room reading the World Book Encyclopedia for fun. What can I say? When you grow up in rainy Oregon winters in a family of girls and Atari hasn't been introduced yet (at least to my family, not exactly early technology adopters those dear parents of mine), you turn to a) puddle activities, including splashing yourself and others, damming and creating tributaries and collecting worms, or b) reading the World Book Encyclopedia.

Wikipedia, my friends, is my new World Book. It's amazing the type of information you find when you just start searching. For instance, for whatever reason I came across an entry in Wikipedia for "mass hysteria" (probably was reading up on the Jonas Brothers or something) with the following instances:

The Dancing Plague of 1518 in Strasbourg France, where scores of people danced for days and weeks without stopping, to the point of exhaustion and eventually death (And yes, there was evidence of Kevin Bacon shimmy dance moves and Kenny Loggins music found on site)

The 1962 Laughter Epidemic in Tanzania that apparently began at grammar school when someone told a joke that people laughed at -- and kept laughing, and laughing... interestingly and ironically scientists believe the incident began as a result of stress. Go figure.

The widespread belief in South Korea (still today) that leaving a fan on overnight could result in death. I can unequivocally refute this one, since I sleep with a fan on about 350 nights a year.

The Loveland Lizard of Loveland, Ohio that when first sighted in 1955 was said to smell of "alfalfa and almonds." My, such a nice-smelling lizard! I think this one may just be ALF, folks...

The New Delhi Monkeyman (seen below looking like The Great Gazoo (who has HIS OWN WIKIPEDIA ENTRY HERE) from the Flintstones with the helmet) which set off panic in the streets of New Delhi in 2001 and was last seen boarding a plane to Moscow (really?! Boarding a PLANE?! How does a monkey man get a passport?)

And this is just what I found in about 15 minutes of time.

And rest assured, NONE of this was in my World Book.

Once, Twice, Three Times A Baby

2008-08-15T07:48:00.001-07:00

Back in March I got a call from my sister to call her when I get a chance. Now, I love my sister and we're tight, but it's not like we have urgent business to discuss all that much. I had a couple options of what was going on that made her call with a request for a call back soon:

she was coming to Oregon to visit (if you know Catherine, this is not unusual -- she falls asleep wrong and wakes up in another state if not another country)

she had a free ticket to go with Matt and her to Djibouti or something -- also not unusual, given that I traveled with her to Austria for a week one time on 2 week's notice since Matt had a trial come up, and we kind of ended up in New Zealand on a whim.

she had her identity stolen and needed to borrow mine (she's had this happen before, but thankfully for her she didn't need mine at any point)

She was pregnant.

She and Matt have been trying for a looooong time, so naturally I was hoping it was the last option (I mean c'mon, Djibouti in March? Not all that exciting. Everyone knows that's the off-season on the Red Sea). I popped in my oft-reviled Jawbone headset on the way home and gave her a call from traffic. I don't remember the whole conversation, but the Cliff's Notes version is:

Cath -- "Dave, you know how we've been trying to have a baby?'

Dave -- "Yeeeeeeeeaahhhh" (with an ever-increasing pitch)

Cath -- "Well, we're pregnant with five."

Dave -- "Babies?!"

Well, after several months of drama, bed-rest, and daring road-trips to my wedding, my sister gave birth to three healthy babies (one girl, two boys) on Tuesday! Such a blessing, we are so grateful that everything went pretty well and babies and momma are OK. Thirty toes and thirty fingers. I can't wait to meet them! They haven't decided on names, but I have a couple suggestions:

Alpha, Bravo and Charlie

Peter, Paul and Mary

Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato

Snap, Crackle and Pop

Butcher, Baker and Candlestickmaker (OK, I guess Maker could be a middle name)

Alvin, Simon and Theodore

Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria

CONGRATS TO MATT AND CATHERINE!

Random Musings...

2008-08-09T21:43:00.001-07:00

I've been writing and crying and whining on this blog thing for several months now, but what more do you REALLY know about me since I started it? What, that I'm incoherent under general anesthesia? That I don't enjoy watching R.icki Lake give birth? That I'm great at picking out hot chicks in pageants? That I have a weak Achilles tendon? OK, but what BESIDES that? Here are some things I've been thinking about as I sit in the Salt Lake City Airport Courtyard Marriott, Room 345:

When I was about 5 years old, I was convinced that I had invented skipping. Don't ask me why I thought that, except that perhaps I was the first person in my neighborhood to do it. That may be true, except for the likely fact that my older sisters had probably skipped in front of me before... so actually I must have just been delusional, my friends.
Try as I might, I never feel like I have put the right amount of ice in any fountain drink. It's frustrating and annoying, but I always tenderly touch the lever of the ice dispenser, rhythmically tapping the lever like the pecks on Jessica's cheek as I leave each morning (awwwwww....) until I feel as if I've gone OVER the amount of ice I would like. What is that amount, you ask? It's the amount where the last morsel of the last cube melts just as I take my last sip of the soda. And yet, I have never found that perfect amount.
I think too much about ice at the soda fountain.
When I misspell a word when I type, I have to go back to the beginning of the word and restart. Absolutely inefficient, but in my mind for some reason necessary ( I did it twice in this sentence alone).
If I decide to re-phrase an entire sentence or paragraph, instead of selecting the entire paragraph and pressing the Delete key once I will feverishly press the Delete key or just hold it down. Again, inefficient. Is this some disorder I should be aware/scared of? Can someone let me know?
I put the over/under on my crying moments during Olympics coverage at 10. First of all, I plan on watching a lot of it, and second, I am a sucker for the heartstrings-pulling stories with soft camera tones and Kenny G soundtracks that NBC and that jerk B.ob Costas pull out almost every hour.
I already turned in my man card after watching the R.icki Lake documentary, so don't ask for it again after that last bullet point. It's being held for me until further notice at the Mad Greek Deli on West Union Road.
Most surprising artist I have lots of songs from on my iPod: Sade. I have her Greatest Hits.
Second most surprising iPod artist: Positive K ("What's your man got to do with me?" "I got a man" "I ain't tryin' to hear that, see?")
Jessica found 3 gray hairs on my head a couple months ago. I blame work.
I always choose the aisle on a plane. If I have checked luggage, I choose an aisle in the back of the plane (less likely to have someone next to me and I have to wait at Baggage Claim anyway). If I only have carry-ons, I try to get as close to the front as possible (I once stowed away in the cockpit just to be the first off the plane).
If I'm flying internationally, I always order a special meal -- initially I went with kosher (if a rabbi blesses it, it CAN'T be too bad), but it got annoying because every individual plate had to be shrink-wrapped which took a lot of time and effort to get off. I now opt either for low-fat or high-fiber meals when available. At any rate, the special meal is the way to go since you get your meal before anyone else and it makes you feel kind of special (OK, maybe that's just me. And there's another way to feel special on a plane: fly First Class, punk!)
Songs that always get me going when I work out: Snap's "The Power," The Who's "Baba O'Riley" and Cake's "The Distance."
I would rather drive an extra 15 miles if it means not sitting in traffic. If you want to see me at my worst, sit with me in traffic. I hate all of humanity and wish various and sundry plagues on anyone in front of me who lets someone cut in front of them. I'm ashamed, but it's true.

OK, perhaps that's enough information for now. I'm tired, and still crying from Mr. Costas' last tribute to Nicaraguan table tennis.

One Small, Limping, Semi-Step for Dave

2008-08-03T23:15:00.000-07:00

There are some famous steps in the world...

Neil Armstrong's ALLEGED first on the Cheese Planet...

The Spanish Steps of Rome (everyone says these are amazing, but they look pretty normal to me. Help please?)

And of course, the 5 steps set forth by those sages of the 80's, The New Kids, to "get to you girl":

1. We can have lots of fun (that's a capability, not a step)
2. There's so much we can do (See above)
3. It's just you and me (Thanks Captain Obvious, but where did our court-appointed supervisor go?)
4. I can give you more (We knew that when we first heard you)
5. Don't you know that the time is right (It WAS)

But in terms of my most important steps, the one I took out of the orthopedist's office Thursday ranks up there. After more than two months of some kind of hindrance or contraption on my leg, I left the office with two shoes on my feet (never mind the lifts I have to wear, thus breaking the Little Person's Code of Ethics made famous by Seinfeld) and with pride in my heart.

As I awkwardly and break-dancingly sauntered down the hallway, a tough old man with tennis elbow turned and looked at me and, with a tear rolling down his whiskered cheek, loudly started a slow clap -- first 2 seconds between claps, then slowly decreasing the gap between claps and joined by an ever-increasing mass of mangled-limbed humanity that crescendoed into an enormous ovation as I herky-jerkied into the elevator and down to my waiting automobile.

Wish I had a camera, so I could prove to all of you that I am totally not lying and didn't practically trip on my spaghetti leg the moment I left the waiting room. I wish.

Another New Video: Honeymoon Recap!

2008-07-26T12:51:00.001-07:00

Here's a video from our last evening in Puerto Vallarta as the sun set over the ocean. Our hotel is in the background, as is the beachfront restaurant we ate in on our last night. Our eloquent thoughts (and my fly-fighting skills):

Pixie To Grandpa: You're a Phony!

2008-07-26T12:20:00.000-07:00

The cardboard version of Grandpa came out to meet Pixie for the first time, and she treated him with utter contempt. Let's hope the actual meeting works out better...

A Plea For Help -- To Nicole

2008-07-22T21:31:00.000-07:00

Nicole Dewey, Jessica's too shy to ask herself... but PLEASE INVITE HER TO YOUR BOOK CLUB! Shhhh, don't tell her I said anything, but how can you say no to THIS GIRL?!

Saturday Fun: Pets in the Pearl

2008-07-20T21:38:00.001-07:00

Today was Pixie's 3rd birthday, so to celebrate this weekend we took her in the car with us to Pets in the Pearl. Ever since the Fourth of July and the World War III Pixie thought was going on outside, she has suffered from severe separation anxiety when we leave the house together... to the point of charging the door and growling when Jessica attempts to leave. So just taking her with us somewhere was a treat in and of itself for our little Pixie.

Pets in the Pearl is a charity-oriented festival with booths from local pet-oriented business and organizations. Among the honored guests were the Winterhawks mascot (Tom-A-Hawk I believe, which has rocketed up the list of "Names for a Son If We Have One"), Lumberjaxx (local pro indoor lacrosse team -- hey, we take what we can get) and Blaze of the Trail Blazers which is a big dog. By the way, Pixie barked at and hated each of them, no surprise if you've met Pixie before.

We had a great time at the festival and Pixie had an even better time, sniffing a lot of butts (dog butts, not human) and getting at least 5,000 tail wags in. We finished off the festivities with some Hot Lipps Pizza, highly recommended for their slices of BBQ Pork and Asparagus, Roasted Garlic, Shitake Mushrooms and Goat Cheese. Pizza's come a long way, hasn't it folks?

Enjoy the pictures!

A Doggie Bakery with some elaborate cakes. We could have bought our wedding cake from this place, but we got a Diva Cookie for Pixie instead.

The First Sniff -- this is like the first pitch on Opening Day of the baseball season. Batter Up!

What's important about this picture is what you don't see -- a slightly odd (OK, very odd) looking man dressed all in black about to walk by Pixie. She then attempted to attack with full vigor, barking to the point of conniption and making her parents quite proud. She hates and fears all non-normal things, like she's stuck forever in junior high.

This is a classic picture - the llama intrigued by Pixie, and Pixie leaning back with all her might to avoid this hideously hairy creature from approaching her. Hopefully you can blow up this picture to see Pixie's leg leveraged against Jessica's arm, trying to launch herself out of her mother's grasp and away from this curious camelid.

OK, so you can't blow that one up, so here's a closeup of Pixie. Gotta love the terrified look of her animal friends... Lassie she's not!

Cat on a leash. Not sure what to say here...

I Know Beautiful Women: Miss Universe Competition

2008-07-20T21:03:00.000-07:00

So clearly I have good taste in women (For more evidence please reference "Fuhriman, Jessica Leigh"), but how do you REALLY prove your prowess in such a field? How could I validate the fact that my view of beauty is superior to those of my friends? Answer: Miss Universe Competition.

As you've read before, for the past few years the Deweys have hosted a beauty pageant competition that spontaneously began one night when we were playing games and a Miss USA pageant broke out on television. Since then our scoring and methodology has dramatically improved, also helped by the Deweys' decision to get Tivo so we could stop and compose ourselves between the non-stop pageant action.

This year, I had Miss Venezuela picked as my front-runner from the beginning. Why, you ask? First of all, I caught the ending of the Miss Venezuela pageant last year in a hotel room in Hong Kong and I realized that they were all, well, hot. Whoever won that contest had to be, well, REALLY hot. I don't know if it's the water, the tropical weather or the socialist agenda of Hugo Chavez, but something is going on in the Bolvarian Republic of Venezuela.

Secondly, in my extensive research I saw that Miss Venezuela hadn't been a Miss Universe in a dozen years! A travesty...

I went into the pageant with a definite list of top contestants based on beauty and a bit of pragmatism. For instance, in the Top 15 round I knew I would be selecting:

Miss Venezuela (she always makes it and she's hot)

Miss USA (TV ratings, baby...)

Miss Vietnam (host country -- RIGHT GILBERT?)

Miss Japan (Miss Japan won last year, and this year would make the semi-finals to avoid embarassment in the home country even if she had a goiter the size of Mount Fuji coming out of her neck)

Czech Republic (Jessica is part Czech, so it make sense that Miss Czech Republic would be hot and nice)

After a tremendous performance in the Top 15 round (I picked 11 of them), I slumped in the Top 10 where I got last place (only chose 5 of the Top 10). But I tooootally redeemed myself in the Top 5 competition, where I picked all of the Top 5 -- including my Miss Venezuela selection.

I won't bore you with the rest of the details, but the final results included an astounding win of 149 points for me... including a selection of Miss Venezuela to win it all from the beginning, netting me bonus points that made it a massacre of my fellow competitors, who now hate me. In fact, Jessica is disgusted that my "icky taste always wins." Icky taste, says my new bride? Hmmmm... :)

I have a sinking feeling that my hot streak ends with next year's Miss USA, but I'll be sure to let you know.

See Nicole's scorecard below, including her quite scientific analysis of the Top 3 which includes the comment: "Miss Venezuela: just hot":

Dave's Birthday

2008-07-15T08:59:00.000-07:00

Posted by Jessica

Yesterday Dave turned 33 and we had about 20 of his best pals over to wish him well and eat some sugar. The night got pretty rockin'- check out the dance party pics!

The dance party begins!

Max joins in the dancing by pointing his toe.

Kaitlyn pirouettes like a pro.

Sam plays the air guitar. Max looks on in fascination.

Note the accomplished Sam demonstrating an impressive break-dancing move

Bust a move!

My favorite pic of the night:

Questionnaire Extraordinaires

2008-07-13T19:04:00.001-07:00

I'm doing some research for the Miss Universe pageant tonight, because my friends and I have a competition each year for Miss USA and Miss Universe (see my earlier post on Miss USA where I smoked the competition). And why not be prepared with some favorites going into the event, right? (nodding my head, as most of you read on either in horror or complete denial that I would enjoy pageants) Right.

On the Miss Universe website, the contestants are asked "What is something unique that has happened to you; some interesting thing about you?" GREAT QUESTION! And here are some of my favorite answers from those I read:

Albania: "I AM DELIGHTED TO ADMIT THAT THIS IS MY VERY FIRST AMAZING AND UNIQUE EXPERIENCE. " (Note: ALL CAPS not necessary. I blame the person transposing as Miss Albania is far too pretty to have made that mistake on her own)
Angola: "I was in an airplane crash, escaping from an invasion in my city, during the civil war." (Uh, OK, you win. That's ridiculously unique and interesting, holy cow)
Antigua: "I have recently developed an interest in the different types of snakes located around the world." (Thank you Wikipedia!)
Argentina: "Sometimes I feel I am psychic because I have paranormal experiences." ("This pageant is clear")
Bolivia: "On one occasion, when nobody knew what to do, in a compulsive and sudden action, I saved my father`s life." (Wow. You and Angola are kicking some trash right now on this question, I have to say)
China: "When I was in drama school I played many different roles." (And when I was in Math class I did a lot of equations... is that unique too?)
Finland: "My parents said that I never hit puberty! " (Judging by your picture, I would disagree with your parents)
Guatemala: "What is interesting about me is normalcy. I am unique because of that." (COPOUT!)
Hungary: "I still do not know who registered me for this pageant." (she's writing a book titled "How to Accidentally Get to Miss Universe")
Nigeria: "WINNING THE BEAUTY PAGEANT, MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN NIGERIA (UNIVERSE)." (Easy now, Miss Nigeria, let's not get carried away already...)
Ukraine: "Once I had a dream that I was competing in the Miss Universe competition, and a year later, I won in the national contest..." (You and Miss Argentina should talk)

Teriyaki Terror: My Bizarrely Negative Review of a Japanese Restaurant

2008-07-13T18:17:00.000-07:00

So normally I'm not THAT picky about the places I go to eat, I think -- I like the place to be clean, the food to be free of gristle, and the service pleasant and prompt. I figure most establishments could accomplish this with some decent hiring practices and a somewhat competent management staff.

Recently, a previously-closed restaurant that I used to frequent is now open "Under New Management." It used to be one of my favorite places for quick, healthy teriyaki food at a decent price, but even under new management I will never set foot again in that place, for one reason:

About 18 months ago, I went by the place. I hadn't been in a while, since I had found another teriyaki place a bit further away that didn't have any gristle in their chicken and it was worth heading to (I'm a stickler about chicken -- one bad experience with chicken at a place and I'm a veggie or steak guy from then on). But I was in a hurry and thought I'd give this place another try. It was later in the lunch period -- maybe 2 or 3PM -- and so when I walked in the place was empty.

I stood at the counter for a few seconds, which feels like minutes when you're waiting for someone to come take your order. I waited a bit more, and then peeked around the corner to try to get the attention of someone that I was there and would like to actually spend money at their store. At first, I didn't see anyone, which was strange. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement on the floor...

There was a regular-sized person that appeared to be wrestling a "little person" on the ground of the kitchen. Actually, it wasn't much of a wrestle, more like a headlock on the little person -- kind of like Rocky Balboa's lock on Thunderlipps (Hulk Hogan) in "Rocky III" where Thunderlipps is reaching for the ropes to pull himself up. Anyway, normally you either get one of two noises in a situation like this (or at least I'd expect one of two noises -- it's not like I've seen a lot of wrestling matches and submission holds on the floors of eating establishments): laughing, as in "we're goofing off and this is fun if a bit unhygienic" laughing, or yelling, as in "someone call the cops because I'm being robbed or killed or something here" yelling.

What I got was absolutely no noise. No laughing, no yelling, not even the squeaking of sneakers on the tile floor in the kitchen. It was definitely the weirdest thing I'd ever seen in any quick serve restaurant (the weirdest thing I'd seen at any restaurant was a cold, dead, alcohol-soaked pigeon on my plate in Hong Kong but that's a story for another day). I had to make a quick decision, and so I did the following:

I quickly surmised that these were both employees at the store -- I had been served by the little person previously, and I thought I recognized the other from the kung-fu grip that she'd had on my credit card before and the matching polo shirt that is the store's attire. So I figured that at the very least this was not a robbery or murder of some sort (perhaps it was too soon to judge that, but oh well -- I'm no Matlock here people)
I was not going to make any noise to alert them that I knew they were there. I had already cleared my throat or made some sort of noise (like I'm in the woods and letting the cougars and bears know I'm coming down the trail) so they were either too engaged in their struggle or just couldn't hear me -- either way, I felt it best if I just slowly backed out of the place and left. I remembered that they didn't have one of those beeping motion sensors when people come in and out of the store, a good thing or I would have had to book it once I left the store to avoid being recognized as the patron in such a strange situation.
I determined that I was never going to eat at that restaurant or its sister restaurants across the Western US. In fact, I don't think I would even go back to that location if it totally switched to a Thai restaurant or something like that. Once you see two people wrestling on the floor of the kitchen, it's like seeing a ghost or something... you just leave the place be.

Out of curiosity, I went by the place on my way to Quizno's later that week, and it was closed under "Winter Hours" (really? Winter Hours? Are you a beach towel shop in Lincoln City or a teriyaki store in Tualatin?), and soon after it was closed for good.

What's the moral of the story here?

If you see two people wrestling on the floor of a restaurant's kitchen, don't say anything and slowly back away. It's just better for everyone involved.
If you own a restaurant, don't let your two employees wrestle on the floor of the kitchen, or you'll lose business.

I'm no Aesop, but I'd say those are preeeeeeeeety darn good guidelines. You're welcome for the tip.

Honeymoon!

2008-07-05T17:48:00.001-07:00

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves for the most part, but some interesting tidbits about the honeymoon:

We missed our flight on Sunday AM and spent Sunday at the Courtyard Marriott LAX. It was actually great! Gave us a day to unwind, had a nice hot tub and functional air conditioning.

The pool at the hotel was the best part -- wet bar, infinity edge, and great view of the ocean from our balcony.

About 2PM every day, a muddy current would come by the hotel and make the ocean water very murky. Luckily, we spent our time in the pool and didn't have to concern ourselves with the contents of said murky water. I'm guessing it wasn't chocolate churned by waterfall, Mr. Wonka...

I have apparently joined a nice fraternity of "middle-aged men who tore their Achilles tendons and were in Mexico a couple weeks ago." I had more discussions than I would like about the circumstances of those surgeries and injuries, and hopefully I wind up in better shape than the other guys. Whew...

Jessica and I had a couples massage one day in which Jessica swears the woman kissed her ankles and wrists one by one (let's just be glad she stopped there or there could have been trouble). I cannot substantiate this, as I was enjoying my massage (Bon Jovi music playing in the background) and hoping my masseuse wouldn't either re-tear my Achilles or pop my shoulder out of socket. Success!

I got burned after caking myself with SPF 15. Jessica looked fine as usual. I will now only use SPF 50 in the sun and go to a tanning salon if I really need to look tan.

This was the hotel room we had the first night in the London West Hollywood, a new hotel right off Sunset Boulevard with a great view of Hollywood from our balcony. We ordered some great room service from the Gordon Ramsay restaurant, but we didn't see much of the hotel 'cause we left early the next morning. Gorgeous place though, and huge rooms!

Us at the airport waiting for our flight. My cripple-ness allowed us to get on the plane earlier than everyone else, and we think our seatmate in our aisle was an air marshall since he had to be on the aisle (my moans and groans about my window seat and my leg condition notwithstanding), and immediately before takeoff he whisked off to a first-class seat with the full knowledge and approval of the flight attendants.

For those who did not have the honor of meeting my knee scooter (actual name: "Roll-A-Bout") that I rented for the wedding and honeymoon, here it is. In many ways, this thing was a godsend -- I was so sick of crutches by this point, and all I had to do with this was kneel and scoot. Unfortunately, it was still a workout in the hot Puerto Vallarta sun and humidity, so my little knee pads were soaked with sweat and my back started to hurt from the position and the constant lifting of the scooter to change direction (note to manufacturers -- how's about a steering wheel?). I was, however, the source of amusement of many individuals who had never before seen such a contraption or who perhaps thought I had a bionic leg (doesn't it kind of look like a fake leg from the back?)

Our view from the balcony at the Marriott Casamagna resort. It was a nice room overlooking the ocean with a clear view of the aforementioned Wonka-like current coming in during the afternoon. We also had a perfect view of the sun setting from our angle which was tremendous. The bad of our room? A weak air-conditioning, and an overly-agressive "mini-bar checker" guy who seemed to have a knack of arriving at the most inopportune times and taking his job a bit toooooo seriously. We consider him the Dwight Schrute of the resort. I mean, the mini-bar's not going anywhere people...

Our room and bed! I am already sunburned (sigh)...

Here's the great pool we were at a lot of the time -- good food and bevvy service poolside, a nice infinity edge, and the perfect depth. We loved it!

I'm sure our nickname around the resort was "the bionic leg guy on the tacky scooter and his hot wife" -- in the one above, we're heading to downtown PV for a day of hilarity and introspection.

After much wandering around Puerto Vallarta for a nice souvenir with little luck but lots of sweat, we toiled up the hill on a cobblestoned street to Si Senor, a great restaurant with lovely tacos but even lovelier air conditioning. I drank 37 Coke Lights here.

I know what you're asking... and no, I don't know what she's doing with me either. We're here in the humongous hotel hot tub, where we successfully cleared out the water-squirting teenagers with our sheer mind power and a couple mean half-turns from Jess.

Our beachside dinner! The atmosphere was great, including a close-up of cruise ships leaving port and blowing their horns, and a great sunset of Peruvian ceviche and boulliabaise. Jess had some un-good shrimp, though, thus spoiling her meal a bit. But look at the view!

Happy on our honeymoon -- we LOVED IT!

Lucky

2008-07-01T08:23:00.000-07:00

I am feeling lucky lately:

Lucky that my Achilles tendon issue held up and didn't totally ruin our wedding, reception or honeymoon
Lucky that we got married on June 21st and not a week later, since my sister would not have been able to make it then (bedrest thanks to incoming triplets)
Lucky that we found a great, unique and beautiful reception venue that worked with our budget
LUCKY to have friends and family there to support us and celebrate with us on our special day and also at our reception in Portland
And most of all, LUCKY to have found the love of my life. As great as our courtship was, marriage is so much better. We talk the same, we laugh the same, we just don't leave each other anymore and that is truly special. At one point during the honeymoon we were laughing so hard I think I was crying, and we promised each other that we would always have that much fun. Certainly there is a reason why there is the colloquial term "honeymoon period" -- I know things will not always be so easy. But there is nobody I would rather meet challenges with than someone like Jessica who makes me stronger, smarter, kinder, funnier and more resilient than I could ever be alone.

I love you Jess.

The rest of you are pretty OK too.

What You Never Asked (and never wished to know) About Tendon Surgery Recovery

2008-06-04T06:54:00.000-07:00

So it's been an interesting week!

Jessica has lovingly chronicled my surgery and immediate recovery (most of which I do not recall, except a 45-minute conversation I had with a unicorn about #2 lead pencils and why the #1's never took off), as well as my shower techniques. A few new things about this past week after surgery:

I felt great when I first got home... it was the middle of the first night when the general anesthesia wore off when I jolted up in bed and thought Pixie was gnawing on my tendon. I gingerly propped myself up and downed two Percocet to make the pain stop, which it eventually did... but that was not fun.
I grew a red beard! I supposed I'm on strike from working at the office, so I figured I would grow out my beard a bit to get a status check (yep, still red! yep, still AWESOME!).
As long as my leg is elevated and iced, everything is good... at first when I got up to go to the bathroom, it was hooooorrible. Pain, swelling, fumbling on crutches... I got back to the couch and my toes looked like giant purple impressionist paintings of their true selves. And yet, 30 seconds of elevation and they were as good as new.
My mom is back! For the first time in 2 years, she came back to Oregon to view the carnage and to help with wedding things for a bit. To say she was a bit uncomfortable at first would be an understatement, but soon she was into her groove of "where should this go?" and "let's get these things squared away" and "if I made a casserole, would you eat it?". Oregon must bring it out in her.
I haven't been outside in more than a week. Too far and too hard. I do keep the windows open to remind myself of what the world sounds and smells like, but the life of a hermit is quite overrated, if it's rated at all.
Once I can run again, I am going to Forrest Gump it and just keep doing it. My left leg will look like a garden hose by the time the cast and boot are off.

That's it for now. More later when I clear the roots off between my butt and the bed.

Showers Have Gotten Decidedly More Complicated

2008-06-03T14:50:00.001-07:00

Posted by Jessica

First Dave has to stuff his leg into a giant garbage bag.

Then he tapes the top air-tight.

Then he stuffs his leg into a second garbage bag. And tapes it again.

Then he hobbles to his shower where he gets to sit in a lawn chair lovingly stuffed into the stall by his helpful fiancee. He rests his foot on a small up-side-down tupperware container and uses his pitcher for rinsing. The whole cleansing ordeal, which took him 5 minutes pre- gimp-ification, now takes 45. During the process, from outside, one can frequently hear loud thumps and crashes and muted growling grumbles. One knows better than to inquire or offer assistance though, lest said muted growling then becomes directed at one.

Looks fun, right?? :)

The other invitations we considered...

2008-05-30T13:33:00.000-07:00

But we liked the one we chose the best:

I sent this design to my fabulous friend Natalie, a graphic artist, and she was able to create an identical invitation. Then she even designed coordinating inserts- it all turned out PERFECTLY and was exactly what we wanted! What a fabulous wedding gift she gave us- THANK YOU NATALIE!!! :)

The surgeon impressedly pronounced the tendon "shredded"

2008-05-28T21:23:00.000-07:00

Posted by Jessica

Dave was jazzed for his surgery!

But he was sad he had to wear a girly gown.

But then he tried it on,

and liked how he looked

because of his purple bows.

Then he asked me, "If I'm totally out of it, what if I accidently pee during surgery?"

I said he shouldn't worry about it. But he was worried.

"I didn't bring an extra change of clothes!" he insisted. So he made the nurse let him take a last-minute pit stop.

Once he came back, relieved in more ways than one, he was ready to have his temp taken,

get painfully poked

and get hooked up to his new best buddy, the IV.

The hospital wanted to be very sure that the correct leg got operated on, so they asked Dave 25 times if it was the left one (which it was) and finally wrote a big 'YES' on the front and backside of the calf to be sure. Apparently you can't be too careful. Maybe telling us this was meant to make us feel better that the correct leg would indeed receive the operation. Instead, we had to wonder about a surgeon who couldn't be trusted with his knowledge of lefts and rights.

Dave got to wear a special hat,

and enjoyed both special socks and ballerina tights for the duration of the procedure.

They wheeled him away

and then he was gone.

As soon as the surgery was over, his doctor came out and pronounced the tendon 'shredded'. He was quite impressed. He said he'd fixed it up though, and everything had gone perfectly.

When I was allowed to see Dave, about an hour and half later, he was groggy and woozy. He was peering around with his eyes squinched almost shut, wagging his head from side to side.

"Hi!" I said. "How are you feeling?" A swirly-eyed stare came instead of an answer. He didn't seem to recognize language, but I continued politely.

"The doctor said everything went really well," I told him.

"Is that a question... or an answer?" he belted drunkenly, in a thickly-slurred voice, much too loud for the room.

"Ha ha," I laughed nervously.

His voice was hoarse and raspy when he told me that right before he fell asleep he became very worried that only the word "Yes" was written on his leg.

"I mean WHAT IF," he bellowed sloppily, "they knew it was the right leg but didn't know what to do to it? They should have written 'Yes. Please fix the Achilles tendon.' "

"Yes, yes, of course they should have," I cooed comfortingly.

The nurse came over to ask Dave how he was feeling and generally chat a lot about the book I was reading, the church he goes to, his wife, his favorite author, the ENTIRE plot of three books by that author, and other things I've since forgotten. Every time he paused for a breath, Dave would bellow, "Gotcha!" Dave 'gotcha'ed him about 17 times in 5 minutes. Most of those times, 'gotcha' was not a response that fit the conversation. The nurse didn't seem to mind though and seemed intent, instead, on sharing as much of his life story as possible before I could get away. I felt a tad alone, on Planet Crazy.

On our way home, we needed to stop at the drug store to pick up the prescriptions. A large Rite Aid loomed on our right.

"Turn left!" Dave slobbered, pointing to his right. At least, we learned today, he wasn't alone in that confusion.

Kicking Me While I'm Down

2008-05-28T07:33:00.000-07:00

Many thanks go to my lovely fiancee Jessica for "telling my story" as I asked her to do the night of my Achilles fun. Now, just like Achilles of old, you know my weak spot (apparently when I was dipped in the River Styx they held me by my heels AND my shoulder) and that is the best part of the worst stuff.

Yesterday we went to consult with an orthopedic surgeon, a sprawling office that certainly needs a moving sidewalk since half the people there are on crutches. He concluded, based on a "squeeze the calf" test I'm sure took years to perfect, that my Achilles is fully torn. He offered two options:

Cast up to my thigh for 4 weeks, lower-leg cast for 4 weeks and then "Golden Girls" reruns for 6-8 months before I can resume athletic activity
Surgery, followed by 2 weeks in cast, then 2 months in a boot (most of that with crutches), back running in about 6 months

Upon hearing our options, Jess and I felt like we'd been offered the option of lethal injection in either Bubble Gum or Tutti Frutti flavors -- in other words, neither option was good but we may as well enjoy the little choices we have. Our response to the doctor was basically, "How soon can we cut?"

The answer is: Today at 1PM. So I'm going under the knife today to repair the tendon and start the rehab process. Through all of this, Jess has been an absolute champ, helping out however she can and at the same time dealing with the ramifications of this from the wedding perspective. It goes without saying that this isn't how we had expected the wedding plans to proceed from this point. We'll certainly make the most of it, but for now we're stuck in our current location, coordinates 120 degrees Shock and 150 degrees Ugh (I believe this is near a Shari's in Clackamas but don't quote me on that).

Memorial Day Weekend Begins With a Bang... er, a Rupture

2008-05-25T00:50:00.000-07:00

Posted by Jessica

Today, we played with Pixie,

Dave and his friends played some soccer,

and Dave wound up here:

But when the Urgent Care couldn't help us, we had to go to the ER. The upside was Dave got a wheelchair and a cool gadget to buzz him when his room was ready.

We enjoyed this sign on the wall.

Dave was diagnosed with a ruptured Achilles tendon.

He was fitted with a splint/cast and a super-snazzy knitted toe-warmer.

He was told to see the specialist on Tuesday to discuss surgery options and is not to put an ounce of weight on his foot before then. Additionally, he was strongly advised against showering before then, lest his cast get wet. Even though he came straight from his sweaty soccer game. We got some Vicadin and crutches and were on our way home six hours later. Dave spent the remainder of the evening fitfully switching from one uncomfortable position to the next on the couch in his sleep.

Though when he hobbled through the door with his crutches Pixie initially believed he was a vicious attacker sent to murder her family and thus promptly barked hysterically at him for half an hour, once she realized it was him and and he was hurt, she didn't leave his side all night.

Poor Dave!

Birds in My BBQ II: The Great Starling Hunt of 2008

2008-05-14T22:37:00.000-07:00

You can read below about our intrepid feathered friends who had taken residence in my BBQ. At last report, all we had were three Cadbury eggs to show for the pounds of white turd on my deck and the delay of grilling season by two months.

As of Saturday, however, we got a lot more than we bargained for.

We had been hearing the newborn baby starlings screaming for their mamma for about a week, and Jess wanted to just get some simple pictures of the little ones -- not much, just a lift of the BBQ, a couple pictures, and we'd close the BBQ and let Shadrach and brothers percolate for another week or so before they flew the coop (literally -- and let me get distracted and note that the term "literally" is unfortunately overused and is now used in many instances as a substitute for "totally" -- as in, "that Angelina Jolie better not count her chickens before they hatch -- literally." Well, c'mon, as granola as Angelina and Brad are, I doubt they're "literally" breeding chickens along with their 27 kids, so let's just all agree to moderate our use of the term, nnnk? Sincerely, Vocabulary Dork).

What happened was a comedy of errors:

Jess opens BBQ cover to reveal three rather large Starling babies (Mom had apparently been injecting the worms with HGH -- is that BGH in this case?)

Starling babies scatter -- two towards the back of the BBQ, and one plays dead or lazy and kicks it in the nest

Baby Starling #1 steps between the grill and the BBQ cover, so if we closed the BBQ cover it would crush him into tiny little starling pieces

Jess attempts to encourage Baby Starlings to head back to their nest -- instead, they jump out of Said BBQ and onto the deck floor, precariously close to a 12-foot drop onto concrete

First attempt at corraling Baby Starlings towards the middle of the deck results in one flying/floating off the deck and another hiding between deck edge & BBQ

Dave sent below to a) look for first floating Baby Starling and b) catch second Baby Starling in case he falls off the edge

Second Baby Starling falls off edge.

Second Baby Starling lands softly on squishy back lawn, sending Jess flying down the steps to get him back in the BBQ. First Starling is now halfway to Tillamook, pleased to be out past curfew with his good-for-nothing adolescent Starling friends.

Jess impressively catches Second Baby Starling in her hands and gets him back into the BBQ. Lazy Baby Starling meanwhile has not moved.

Jess searches for First Starling for 2 hours with no luck.

First Starling sends postcard titled "Fiji -- Wish You Were Here"

Quite an adventure -- we've been happy having them here, but also happy when they're gone in a few days. Daddy needs his grill!

I Watched R.icki L.ake Give Birth Naked In A Bathtub

2008-05-14T18:57:00.001-07:00

Really, that about sums it up.

I'll turn in my man card now.

Oh, you want to know MORE?! Are you SURE?! OK...

For several weeks now, Jess has been very interested in seeing a documentary called "The Business of Being Born." Sure, I thought. I love documentaries! And although childbirth wasn't tops on my list of topics I'd like to see a documentary on, I was pleased that Jess was interested in a boring documentary and so I was strangely interested in watching this with her.

And then it started -- and two minutes in, I thought "OH..... CRAPWITHCORN. BIRTHS."

Not your normal births, mind you, where a woman struggles and a curtain the size of Rhode Island separates the business side from the party side, and ne'er the twain shall meet. This is primal birth being shown my friends: warm tub, grunts, and then suddenly -- a baby emerges from the water like a little manatee.

The first one was OK -- had to look away a bit, but not bad. By the 12th description of a natural birth I was squirming a bit. Then suddenly R.icki L.ake (yes, the "Cousin Paternity Tests" R.icki L.ake) swifts us into the world of her second birth, and she captured it all on home video. I'll recap that portion of the film:

Ricki is pregnant and opts for a home birth

Ricki is in pain, wandering around her kitchen in moans and grunts

Ricki is in her bathtub giving birth -- aaaand, there's the baby

Ricki is breast-feeding and grateful for the experience

The rest of the film was a blur of natural births, grainy depictions of turn-of-the-century (that's from 19th to 20th) deliveries and me digging my fingernails into my eyelids to scrape away the memories.

Do I have a problem with midwives or home births? Absolutely not. But do I want to ever see that documentary again?

Let's put it this way... I'll see the entire "Ernest Goes To" movie set and "Teletubbies" reruns before I check that documentary out again. The way I see it, seeing the birth of a child is like watching any other home movie -- there's a right time and place for it, and it's a lot more interesting and exciting when it's your own.

This weekend, I'm picking the movie -- "Iron Man!"

My, how times have changed!

2008-05-06T07:26:00.001-07:00

Imagine a world when this was considered a decent option -- 20-something women waiting to be picked up on the side of the road by random strangers? BRILLIANT!

http://blog.modernmechanix.com/2008/04/17/hitch-hikers-get-a-waiting-room-of-their-own/

Weekend in Haiku

2008-04-29T06:48:00.000-07:00

I find myself writing posts that are more Larry King USA Today columns (completely random) than anything about my actual life, so I thought I'd just run through what I did this weekend to make you all extremely jealous.

In haiku, to make it more interesting (and much shorter)

Friday Night

A real date night out
Sushi fills tummy and soul
Spray tan? Are you sure?

Saturday Morning

5AM Photos
Chin up, stomach in, that's good
Jess hot, me not. Ugh.

Saturday Afternoon

Mow, weed, edge, spray, sweat
One eye watching my yard work
The other? The draft

Saturday Evening

Church meeting with Jess!
Why go mess with a good thing?
Sushi one more time

Sunday

Morning church? Us?! YES!
Best fiance ever? JESS!
Games! Dessert? Eat LESS!

Birds in My BBQ

2008-04-26T23:07:00.001-07:00

So... I like to think that I take good care of my parents' house. I mean, Jessica thinks I do yard work all the time and I'm somewhat anal about following the maintenance schedule so lovingly magneted to the fridge before my parents left in June 2006. But I guess I forgot one thing... covering the BBQ over the winter.

Actually, I didn't forget. I tried to put the cover on, but it kept blowing around and smacking the house so that I thought there were hooded/masked men on the back deck poised to attack and steal the $23 in my wallet (actually, the masked men on our back deck happened when I was like 10, but that's another story that I think my family thinks I dreamed but I swear was real. I digress...), so I took off the cover and figured that a hunk of metal could survive a winter without a thin layer of tarp to protect it.

In my spring cleaning efforts (this was not on the maintenance schedule but certainly was implied), I pulled the BBQ away from the side of the house, where I put it so it doesn't blow all over the deck and make the kids next door think my deck is possessed. I had noticed during the first few months of the year, mind you, that there were lots of twigs and that there were a few birds spending a lot of time on my deck. But, knowing nothing better, I figured that just LOOOOVED my deck. I mean, who wouldn't? It's a nice deck, has a great view, and the birds could even catch some fine TV programming through the window at the right angle. Upon closer inspection, I saw some twigs sticking out from under the lid of the BBQ. So I opened it.

Wow.

As you can see from the pictures, there was a male starling and his baby momma who had put together quite the nest inside my BBQ. How they got in and how they chose this spot, I defer to ornithologists (bird people, people) -- but they had a nest in there, with three little starling eggs. Truth be told, they actually look a lot like those hard candy Easter eggs you buy at the store. Go figure.

I called my lovely bride-to-be Jessica (who I ironically actually call "Lovely"), who wanted me to promise not to move the birds, disturb the nest or even talk in the general direction of the nest/BBQ for fear of scaring away the mom (also pictured, or is it the dad? No idea). I had no intentions of messing with their lives, so for the next several weeks if not longer I don't have a BBQ and I've added a few animal souls to my house (beyond Pixie).

This whole story reminds me of perhaps my greatest college achievement -- finding a loophole in the General Ed requirements to bypass Chemistry by taking an Appreciation of Nature class. This was a fascinating class that also happened to enjoy one of the finest male/female ratios in all of BYUdom -- as I recall, there were about 6 men and about 210 women in the class. One of the biggest projects in the class was to identify 100 bird species, and I dutifully carried my field guide around campus and took note of different sparrows, finches, etc. My progress on the project really took off when I headed to the SLC Zoo and identified exotic species like an osprey and a New Zealand kookaburra. At any rate, I aced the class and avoided Chemistry. Oh, the memories...

Anyway, welcome to the birds. I love that there are three of them, and my sister is having triplets in September. Good things come in threes... unless you ask Dwight Schrute.

By the way, I have decided the baby birds' names will be Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-Nego, since they were in the fire (OK, BBQ) and were not consumed. That was one of my favorite Bible stories growing up, along with Moses floating the Nile in a basket.

How I Won Miss USA

2008-04-15T14:13:00.000-07:00

How, you may ask, does a husky, masculine and (dare I say) devastatingly handsome man such as I win Miss USA? You probably asked yourself that when you read the title of this entry, and you should pat yourself on the back for asking such a good question -- it's because of those smarts that you're my friend or family member (or other blog-stalker, you KNOW who you are). I'll answer.

A few years back, a benign break from a board game at my friends Gilbert and Nicole’s house turned into a full-fledged contest. The venue? Miss USA. The object? Guess the judges’ choices for Top 15, Top 10, Top 5 and Miss USA. We thought we'd just amuse ourselves by watching the introduction of each state winner, but we were enjoying ourselves so much that soon after all the introductions, we abandoned the board game and pieced together a rudimentary scoring system for the pageant. Yes, I’m sure at some point we thought to ourselves, “what in the world are we doing? C’mon, are we SERIOUSLY enjoying this?” But we were. Gilbert in particular had some choice lines that I won’t repeat here, but sufficeth to say he spoke his mind on the contestants and who should be moving on to the next round. A guilty pleasure? Most certainly, but if being pleasurably guilty is wrong then I don’t wanna be right. Since that first contest we’ve done a few others, including Miss Universe last year. Classic.

This year there was a real effort to make the scoring equitable – you see, in years past (OK, maybe just last time) I did an incredible job of selecting the Top 15 and the Top 10, only to lose the overall contest on points since I didn’t select the exact order of the winners correctly. I, being the patriot I am, called out for reform and freedom, for the audacity of hope that some day my proper evaluation of hotness would be… well, properly evaluated (my engagement to my lovely fiance Jessica has since confirmed to one and all that my hotness evaluation is top-notch, but that's too sappy and besides the point). So we had fancy scorecards and a printed-out scoring system.

So how did I do? I won. No, not just won. I KILLED. We missed the Top 15 selections thanks to an extra-long Blazers game, but I called 8 of the Top 10 and all five of the Top 5. And when it really counted, I came through with Miss Texas to win it all (she looked like a mix of Rhianna and Beyonce, so I called her "Rhionce"). I don’t know if we counted up the final score, but rest assured I wiped the floor with the others. In fact, below are three scorecards for your perusal. Enjoy:

This is my tremendous work -- notice my "good gaze" comment next to New Jersey, she won me over with that. I actually picked South Carolina to win it all, because she was hot but also because she was on the "Amazing Race" which is one of my favorite shows:

You may noticed that Jessica's is a bit wrinkly -- that's because she was so upset with the inane judges (in her defense, one of them WAS Joey Fatone) that she crumpled her paper and hurled it at me. The emotional pain hurt more than the physical when it struck me... :) Good effort honey! She liked Miss Tennessee a lot, using the term "like a Barbie doll" pretty much every time she mentioned her.

Gilbert did quite well in the Top 10, getting 9 of them right. He promptly collapsed in the Top 5 after talking trash to me -- don't EVER give me a reason to come after you Dewey! You can tell from Gilbert's many cross-offs that he struggled with some of his choices. He's a tough emotional nut to crack, so you rarely see the manifestation of Gilbert's inner turmoil in writing so vividly as you see below:

In the end, a good time was had by all and much hilarity ensued. I'd say we're all winners by having a good time, but then I'd be lying.

The Miss Universe pageant is in August, time to train! Early money is on Miss Venezuela.

The Question -- Before & After The Ring

2008-04-06T07:32:00.000-07:00

Moments before... she has NO IDEA, just wondering why the tripod is so dang important

How unfair of me, and no way to start up a blog! I tease with a picture of my engagement and then wait 6 weeks to give more information. See below:

The Engagement

I was planning on proposing the Saturday after Valentines Day at the beach -- there's a hidden trail past the rock wall on the Manzanita Overlook that takes you down to an isolated outcropping hanging over the ocean, and I always thought I'd do it there. But we had a birthday party for a friend's son that day, so I opted for a very very good alternative -- The Gorge.

Much went into the picture you see below. First, I spent the night before timing at what "beep" on the camera's timer I needed to kneel, open the box, ask Jessica to marry me and get a reaction when the camera snips its pic. I practiced this about 20 times and determined that the 12th beep was the one I needed to kneel on. This would no doubt have been hilarious to observe, as I knelt time after time practicing. Yes, I am a card-carrying dork.

I had gone to the Shane Company the week before to get the ring (yes, I guess all those nasally radio ads worked somehow) and picked out a nice Princess Cut diamond. It's very nerve-racking to go into a jewelry store for the first time without any experience. I actually went in the first time the Saturday before Valentines' Day, which was perfect since it was so busy I could walk around without any questions and view diamonds to my heart's content (which was about 20 minutes -- they start to look the same at that point).

Finally, the day came. Jess told me the week before she wanted to take some pictures in cool places in Oregon with my camera during our trip, which was my perfect cover. We headed out for the Gorge, with Jessica happily snapping pictures with her new camera, totally unaware of what I was about to do. I attempted to smile and play along, but my heart was POUNDING in my chest. She did notice my sweaty palms when we held hands, but that was it.

Finally we get to the Women's Forum Park up on the old Columbia River Highway, which was my targeted site. Immediately upon arriving I saw two problems:

1. There were TONS of people. It was a beautiful Saturday on a three-day weekend, and normally I wouldn't care but at that moment I hated every one of those people. I wanted them to either drive off at that moment or run like lemmings off the cliff.

2. I tried setting up the tripod, and no matter how I tried the camera WOULD NOT FIT in the tripod. I was getting quite frustrated, which Jessica could see but had no idea WHY I cared so much about getting the tripod set up. Why not ask one of the hundreds of people there to take the picture? Well, that would just about be the worst thing in the world if you ask me so I kept trying to fit the square peg in the round hole until my lovely future wife discovered the right plate in the camera bag. It WORKED! Yes!

So I set up the tripod and waited (and waited, and waited) until the crowd thinned out a bit at our overlook. Suddenly there was only one other photographer, visibly entranced by the location and oblivious to us. In one motion, I set the timer, ran over by Jessica, and kneeled exactly at the 12th "beep." I asked her to marry me, she put her hand by her mouth, and I heard the camera click.

At that point, a part of me already felt victory. I mean, I had somehow pulled off an amazing picture that would be legendary forever in my mind. Now, whether it was a GOOD legendary or TRAIN-WRECK legendary depended upon her answer -- which was "Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh..." This was OK, since she had not said "NO" yet, but with each "oh my gosh" I felt like my chances of a "YES" were slowly dwindling... sort of a movement from a shocked "oh my gosh" to a panicked "how do I get out of here, could I perhaps hitch-hike back to Los Angeles immediately oh my gosh."

Finally, Jessica picked her jaw up and gave me a firm YES. We then kissed and walked over to a stone bench by the camera (By the way, as you can see Pixie is ignoring us the entire time probably fixated on a distant squirrel). We hugged and kissed and talked some more, until I realized I hadn't put the ring on. DUH!

It was at that point that people began to realize that we had just gotten engaged and congratulated us. I don't remember what they said, except I think one old man told me in some sequence of words and in some Eastern European dialect that I picked a hot one. I think I thanked him for his kindness as he waddled back to his own wife, who I'm sure appreciated his sentiment about another much younger woman.

Our lives since that romantic Q&A session have been a whirlwind of wedding planning, moving (Jess still lives in another state, but it's Camas and not LA), and realizing every day how happy we are.

More to come on the wedding...

The Question & The Answer

2008-02-18T22:50:00.000-08:00

Not much to say about this one, except that she said "yes" and that I am a happy man. Much more to come...

Why "A-Team" Could Save Society -- The Lost Manuscript

2008-02-07T17:00:00.000-08:00

EDITOR'S NOTE: I thought I had lost this post, but somehow I figured out what the heck I'm doing with this blog thing and found the draft. I haven't re-read, I'm just posting it (making two posts in the last 24 hours, athankya!).

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So for those who don't know where the title of my blog comes from, first of all shame on you. Actually, it's likely not your fault because you're either too young to remember "The A Team" or you were raised in a home so devoid of love and affection that the charitable antics of a band of renegades was not allowed to be shown.

At any rate, Hannibal Smith (played by the late George Peppard), at the end of an episode of successful underdog-saving, would often smile and say as he clenched his cigar between his teeth, "I love it when a plan comes together." Given that Hannibal was pretty much the coolest gray-haired character ever on television, it became a goal to be able to say that at the end of any exploit. For instance:

TPing a house

Tightly pegging one's pants (hey, it was the 80's)

Getting an A on a test you basically didn't study for

Making up a book to do a book report on (I am not proud of this, but whatareyagonnado?)

Aaanyway, back to my point. A few years ago a friend of mind gifted me a DVD of "A Team" episodes for Christmas, and during my break from school I decided to watch some of these first-season gems. Meanwhile, my nieces and nephews wandered into the room (when there are about 15 people in one house during a rainy Oregon holiday there aren't a lot of places to hide) and started watching with me. At first, I'm thinking, "There's guns and explosions and cars tipping over in this show... should I let them watch this? Will I, on some future Nancy Grace or The View show, be castigated for my early indoctrination of violence into the little growing minds of my nieces and nephews?" I figured I had already ruined Andrew when he was about 4 and came downstairs to find me playing "Quake" on his mom's computer, but the REST of them... how dare I poison their little lollipop-loving minds with such killing and mayhem?

It was then that I realized how good the show really was. Although I deemed it violent in my day, I began to notice that:

Nobody gets killed. When machine guns are used, they blow things up next to people, followed by some tremendous stuntman leaps filmed from below.

When cars explode or flip over in the air, they always show the passengers alive and getting out of the car safely.

There is a lot of smashing of plate glass windows, but no blood or death or really much in terms of injury. When the A Team vanquishes its opponent (remember, in the name of good), their enemies just seem really tired and they get tied up and ostensibly taken to the authorities.

The A Team, while mercenaries, are hired to help "the little guy" in their fights against wealthy landowners, mafia members, drug dealers, gangs, and the occasional just plain jerk.

Suddenly, I was quite proud of the programming I was allowing the kids to watch. What a great uncle I was! They loved the show and wanted to see more episodes. The lesson is (I suppose) that TV programming can send a good message and still kick some butt. I think we need more of that on today's shows. In fact, why isn't any channel showing "A Team" reruns during the writers' strike? I see great Nielsen ratings in the future...

Making Lemonade Out Of Melons

2008-02-06T22:16:00.000-08:00

Those who have known me for a long time know that I just plain don't like melons. I'm not exactly sure why or if it started at a specific time (like my 10-year boycott of mustard when I once put too much of it on a hamburger, but that's another story for another time), but it's even become a more violent, proactive dislike for the dang fruits. Why, you ask, would I openly despise not just one fruit but an entire phylum of them? Because they have taken over fruit salads and cocktails and changed the assorted fruit landscape as we know them.

When I go to a restaurant and I'm thinking about the healthy choice of fruit, I have to ask what fruits are in their mixture. Without fail, it's mostly canteloupe, watermelons, honeydews or some other strange type of melon I've never heard of, topped off with a whole one (usually seedfull rather than seedless) grape and a lonesome, often uncomfortably bruised strawberry. As you can tell by the tone of this paragraph, I don't eat a lot of fruit at restaurants unless they bring me some apples or oranges to gnaw on.

But today, quite spontaneously, I made a change. I was sitting on my flight from Denver to Portland (after a 4-hour overnight layover in Tulsa, long story on that one) where I was tired enough to use some of my upgrade certificates on United to get into first class. They served breakfast on the flight, and when the attendant asked me which meal I wanted I was still half asleep and somehow agreed to an assorted fruit plate without subjecting her to a CIA Rendition-type interrogation on the elements thereof. I should have known, however, that this assorted fruit plate would not only be dominated by melons but would be exclusively and entirely melons. (At that point, why not just call it an assorted melon plate? Just don't get my hopes up with assorted fruit, it's like a video store offering a wide assortment of movies when all they stock are the "Ernest Goes To..." series. But again, I digress...)

What a dilemma -- no other real option for the meal besides a scary omelet-type concoction that I swear I saw move on its own on the guy's plate across the aisle. All melons. And I am hungry. So what did I do? Well, I'm proud to say that I made a conscious decision to EAT THE MELONS. My inner dialogue went like this: "Dave, for many years you've taken a strong stance on eating melons. At times, you have violently opposed their tyrannical rule over assorted fruit plates. But is it rational? Does it make sense anymore, Dave? You used to hate broccoli and asparagus -- now, you gobble them whole as long as they're cooked right. There was even a time many years back when you thought 'Lost' was overrated, and you were way off on that point too. Why not just TRY the melons again with a fresh perspective, and see how they are?"

So I did. I ATE THE MELONS. Not all of them, but I ate all the watermelon pieces and a few of the canteloupe-type ones. Sorry, it's been a while so I'll need to bone up on the melon classifications again. Don't get me wrong, I will still choose a good pear or berry over any melon, but I consider this a decent first step towards an unimaginable reconciliation with the Gwen Stefani of the No Doubt fruit assortment collection.

Happy New Year!

2008-01-05T00:53:00.000-08:00

I enjoy celebrating the New Year (particularly this year, since I had someone to kiss) because of the fresh start. Jessica and I enjoyed some intriguing conversation (well, I enjoyed the conversation anyway, I can't speak for her) about the effectiveness of goal-setting at the beginning of the year and how to go about it. Regardless of whether or not it works, I have my own system that I rather fancy (and no, writing in a British accent is not one of my goals for this year).

I like to break down my resolutions into separate categories of my life: Financial, professional, social, spiritual, intellectual, physical and -- for lack of a better term -- "Grab Bag." In each of these areas I usually have one main goal and other secondary goals; for instance in Financial my primary goal is "pay off private student loans." Those of you who have spoken to me on a regular basis over the last 3 years will perhaps be more pleased than I when that one is crossed off, since I feel like I start half of my conversations with "I can't wait to pay off my Citibank student loans."

Then there are the random resolutions that don't lead up to my main goal in each category, and those go in "Grab Bag." In the past this list has included, "Shoot 82 in golf," "Get Christmas gifts bought by early November," "Buy a $5 cup of lemonade from a kid's stand," and "Complete all-night road trip with Mountain Dew and Red Vines" (crazy delicious in case you were wondering).

Here are some main goals I would like to share with you, since sharing them makes it more difficult for me to quit:

Pay off private student loans (Enough already Dave!)

Write on this blog weekly (This one is especially for Jessica)

Frame 5 of my pictures and hang in my house

Shoot a golf round of 82 (this one is still there)

Read in the scriptures daily, no exceptions (except some exceptions -- no, wait, I guess not)

Hike 50 miles

Work no more than 55 hours per week, including conference calls with Hong Kong and late-night email blitzes

Back to my playing weight (and no, not my sumo wrestling playing weight thankyouverymuch)

I would appreciate your friendly assistance in these endeavors. Let's start with helping on the first one... I take donations via PayPal.

Happy Anniversary

2007-12-19T00:34:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's true. Someone decided to be my girlfriend for a whole year. And on top of that, she is a splendid soul and apparently isn't trying to set a Guinness record for "longest relationship between a hottie and a dork." I think she saw the current record -- held by Courteney Cox and David Arquette -- and gave up on that long ago.

Jessica and I had a couple days together in Los Angeles during our anniversary as I was on my way back from a grueling business trip through New York and Atlanta. Only a year earlier, I had rejected an offer to move to New Jersey that would no doubt have changed my life in many ways (for better or worse, I have no idea nor do I much care at this point) and immediately booked a ticket using my plentiful (at that point) frequent flier miles to head to Los Angeles and see if these feelings I had for an old friend had any merit. Luckily for me, they did -- and amazingly we have found a way to let a long-distance relationship blossom.

Twelve months later, we celebrated at her favorite restaurant (El Torito Grill in Bev Hills), did Christmas shopping and visited friends before returning to the Pei Wei where I first made "the curry face" and won her heart. We drove up PCH into Malibu and back, stopping for a walk on the beach and some frolicking with Pixie.

It's true what they say -- time flies when your girlfriend is an angel.

Curses!

2007-12-02T09:34:00.000-08:00

I had a nice, long rant written about how "The A Team" could save society but when I tried to add an image it got areased and I'm too frustrated to re-write it. Suffice it to say that it touched on the intricacies of "The A Team" and was pretty much the best thing you'll ever read.

Instead, I will talk about college football. Why? Because with the exception of Jessica, it is pretty much my favorite thing right now. I loved that it was so cold and wet yesterday so I could quickly get my To Do list done and sit at home for the rest of the day watching 7 games at once through the wonders of DVR. What was even better was that by the end of the day, there was absolutely no sense left in the world of college football and it was both awesome and sad.

For those of you not familiar with college football... allow me to assume that you have seen and remember the movie "Karate Kid" (because if you don't then we are not friends and you shouldn't be allowed to read my blog).

Let's say that instead of Danny Larusso (Ralph Macchio for those who aren't as dorky as me) entered the All-Valley Karate Tournament and won the first couple rounds. But instead of continuing past the quarterfinals, the tournament directors instead decided to select the top two competitors from the first rounds and automatically put them in the championship. The other contestants (presumably including Danny because he lost some points in early matches even though he won) could compete against someone else on the side but would have no chance to win the title. What would that mean? Johnny Lawrence and most likely Dutch (the curly-haired blonde with the bloodied nose and crazy eyes) would compete for the title, and because Danny didn't win he'd still get bullied by the Cobra Kai and probably lose the companionship of Elizabeth Shue and her calf-high stockings. Does that seem at all fair?

Well, that's how the powers that be select the college football championship. Based on polls and computer models, the top two teams are selected to play for the national championship, and at least 6 other very good teams have no recourse or way to play themselves into the championship.

Can we have some sanity, people? An 8-team playoff? Apparently not, and here's why.

The university presidents and conference directors say no because it extends the season of some teams and doesn't allow them to focus on academics. Well, they should have thought of that before they approved an extra game that teams can play this year. They should have thought of that before they treated these kids differently from the moment they arrived on campus, with free meals and tutors and two days off a week to travel to games. Arrrgh!

It seems pretty easy to let the top 4 teams in Division I college football (out of 118 or something) play at most 2 extra games to actually have a championship. My nephew could draw this up, and he isn't even 2 yet.

Anyway, it was a great day to watch college football anyway, and both of my teams won. I like lazy Saturdays in the Fall.

David Parker Fuhriman

2007-11-17T22:53:00.000-08:00

- November 18th, 2007

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE TO PRESS

DAVID FUHRIMAN, FAMED PURVEYOR OF AWESOMENESS, BEGINS COMPELLING BLOG TO FEED VORACIOUS APPETITE OF FRIENDS AND FAMILY FOR FREQUENT UPDATES

BEAVERTON, OR -- David Parker Fuhriman, in a move of infinite wisdom and egotism, has announced his intention to maintain a web log of entries, or "blog," to chronicle his actions, feelings and dreams to meet the high demand of an adoring few (or none).

The blog, a brilliant idea spawned in the mind of one of Raggedy Ann & Andy's Kinder College's greatest alumni, promises to meet the needs of Fuhriman's parents at the very least, and this list may grow to include his girlfriend, sisters and perhaps even those not connected to him by blood or contractual agreement.

"The idea hit me one day, between my shift at the orphanage and my kidney donation to the Dalai Lama," said Fuhriman, a humble man who never speaks of his vast charitable contributions to society. "If just one person can learn from my -- let's face it, puh-retty dang awesome -- example, then the painstaking hours of assembling this blog will be worth their weight in Papa John's and Jiffy Lube coupons."

Fuhriman has captivated audiences worldwide since he first wrote his exclusive list of "Top Friends" and "Top Girlfriends" in his fourth-grade school journal. That list, now published annually, is considered a litmus test of popularity in the mind of its author, if not in most of the free world. Jessica Raychek of Santa Monica, CA is currently the only member of the "Top Girlfriends" list -- a distinction shared by none that has made her quick friends on Fuhriman's "Facebook" friends list.

It is expected that Fuhriman will update his blog on a weekly basis at least, combining images and words into a Coldstone Creamery-like literary concoction oozing with taste, wit and Heath bar chunks.