Photo of the Week -- The Origin of Fear? 21 Feb 2011

We're all familiar with my well-documented fear of clowns. The dudes just creep me out. I have accepted the fact, gone through therapy, and tried to not let it control my life. That's why, as I was digging through photos of my childhood I was initially surprised to find this gem from a long time ago:

That's right. I dressed as a clown -- the very thing I still wet my pants about upon even hearing the mention of -- for Halloween one year. Which leads me to asking: I wonder what the origins of my fear of clowns were, and when it started? Obviously it was after the day this picture was taken... otherwise my chubby little Japanese face would have been twisted in an expression of inconsolable fear immediately upon seeing my own reflection. Perhaps I don't want to delve into this. It could turn into a Bourne-like scenario where I find out crazy things about my past that were better left buried.


And of all coincidences, I was studying GRE vocabulary words yesterday and here is the example sentence for the word "engender". THIS IS VERBATIM: "His fear and hatred of clowns was engendered when he witnessed the death of his father at the hands of a clown."

I realize children aren't studying for these standardized tests, but this is a demented example sentence. Is this a sign I should just forget about some sort of further education? I mean, am I going to be physically assaulted by a clown whilst taking the GRE? Help?

Happy Monday. I'll be busy quelling paranoia about a clown attack.

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Weekly Selects #43

Why do the weeks go by so quickly...Let's do this:

-On Google Chat Status, from high school friends Jay Z and Boyer, regarding the colossal upset that was the Seahawks beating the Saints in the first round of the NFL Playoffs:

BEAST MODE

and then I found this photo here:

Marshawn Lynch pulls off the rare "backwards leap into the endzone with hand on jock" move

Well, as a WA State native, good on the Seahawks for being one of three teams (the '82 Lions and Browns -- pretty bad company right there) in NFL history with a losing record to make the playoffs and then go on to beat the defending champs. It is the team of my childhood, so this made me happy.

It's unfortunate, however, that watching the NFC West this year was like watching four members of the chess club get into a fistfight: their scrawny and lanky arms flailing ineffectually in futile attempts to land punches; hair getting pulled; eyes getting gouged; and finally having one of them emerge victorious simply because he wasn't as exhausted as the other three. Now that I think about it, though, I think the chess club fight would have been much more entertaining to watch than this division's 2010 season.

--Via Google Reader Share:

Calvin and Hobbes/Fight Club mashup

I felt this was pretty brilliant; I love Calvin and Hobbes. And my favorite line from Fight Club is still when Brad Pitt is getting up from his seat on the plane and says as he's passing by Ed Norton, who has the aisle seat: "Now, a question of etiquette -- as I pass, do I give you the a**, or the crotch?"

It's a good question.

--Via Google Reader, an article about real-life vigilante crime-fighters:

The dude's crimefighting name is Phoenix Jones. He is part of the "Rain City Superhero Movement." Along with a desire to fight crime, he has a skin-tight armored suit, a taser, and an extensive Batman action figure collection that he plays with every night in his parents' basement (that last one is speculation on my part).

I just keep hearing the exchange from the beginning of The Dark Knight:
Batman Impersonator: "What gives you the right? What's the difference between you and me?"
Batman: "I'm not wearing hockey pads."

But hey. More power to Phoenix and The Justice League.

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More From the Ewok Era

Back in my Ewok days, I not only bore an eerie resemblance to the plump-faced, furry little creatures from Return of the Jedi. I also spoke English like one. Yes, my first four years of existence and the spoken English language were at odds with one another, as my attempts at verbal communication were really just a flowing cascade of blathering, inane nonsense. Either I was being lazy (probable), or somewhere in the back of my young, innocent mind I was already trying to frustrate those around me (more probable).

Either way, bless my dear sisters, who were my interpreters and communication medium to my parents. I imagine it's what negotiations at the UN are like. Let's compare the two scenarios:

UN Security Council, 2003
Colonel Qaddafi, dictator of Libya: (Arabic) اذا كانت الامم المتحدة يفرض مزيدا من العقوبات على ليبيا ، وسوف نستمر في تطوير اسلحتنا من برنامج اسلحة الدمار الشامل.
/Qaddafi looks to interpreter to translate/
Interpreter: Colonel Qaddafi says that if the UN imposes more sanctions on Libya, we will continue to develop our weapons of mass destruction program.
UN Envoy: The Security Council finds this unacceptable.

Dalton Household, 1985
Me: Mawm, i jwio weh3 hoh& goerre ehre?
/mom and dad look at Jen and Juli/
Jen or Juli: He says he wants green M&Ms.
Mom or Dad: Not until after he finishes his dinner.

Seriously, there are home videos where Pops will ask me an innocuous question like "And what did you get for Christmas, Josh?" -- mind you, this is a question he already knows the answer to -- and then I will spout some slurred combination of sounds that will be met by my father's befuddled, non-comprehending silence. You can almost HEAR his puzzled look and agape mouth from behind the camera, and his eyes looking pleadingly at my sisters to interpret his little boy's Ewok tongue. It's pretty classic.

End of story, according to Shigeko, is that one day when I was four I came upstairs and spoke flawless English. I guess with some it just takes time.

Anyway, Sara Boo shared something with me on Facebook that reminded me of this story:

Saw this and it reminded me of the story you told about your Christmas video where you didn't say any english words and spoke Joshese. Enjoy!

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Snowmen Nightmares -- Photo(s) of the Week 15 Feb 2010

Every time I go home, I like to sort through my old bookshelf and grab books that I want to take back and add to my current one. This last time around, I brought back my Calvin & Hobbes books. Bathroom reading hasn't been this good in a long time.

In the context of the snowy crotch-punch that Mother Nature threw at us this winter and the subsequent melting of the snow (we can hope), I thought a comic of one of Calvin's snowman creations would be fitting, along with real-life snowmen created in homage to Calvin's creations:

(thanks to Bill Watterson for not suing me)

"Snowmen prophets of doom." I love it.

Happy Monday, all. Enjoy your week. 

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Weekly Selects #18

-Via TXT from Josh M:

This dude next to me at the bank just withdrew a hundred ones no joke

Uh, well, let's see...you can buy tons of different things for $100, so I'm not judging -- but the possible list of purchases that require 100 separate one-dollar bills is pretty short. So now I'm judging.

-Via IM from White Josh, completely out of the blue:

have you ever been sitting down somwhere and had to ask yourself if you are wearing any underwear? Just had a drafty moment and had to think about getting dressed this morning

Uh, maybe? I have had mornings where I get so little sleep I accidentally put my facewash in my hair and my shampoo in my washcloth, but I'm pretty sure I have not left the house without underwear.


-Via Email from my sister Jen, who actually sent this years ago, but 'tis the Christmas season:



Unfortunately, listening to this has become an annual holiday tradition for me.

I would like to enlist this man to sing a few hand-picked classics, such as: Any Mariah Carey song, just for more kicks and giggles; "The Star-Spangled Banner," because let's be honest, it's time to replace Carl Lewis's straight murdering of the national anthem with a newer rendition, and he would do Mr. Key proud, I'm sure; and last but not least, "Nuthin' But a G Thang." Why Snoop and Dre, you ask? Because the song is generationally-defining, son, and I want to see if this dude's rhythm is as impressive as both his vocal range and command of pitch when he delivers lyrics like "Fallin' back on that ass with a hellified gangsta' lean / Gettin' funky on the mic like a' old batch o' collard greens."

Instant classics. All of them.

Let's end on a good holiday note, shall we?

-Via Facebook from sister Juju, about her daughter, Elise:

I found Elise this morning in front of the Christmas tree. She'd pulled a chair right up to it and was just staring at it and when she saw me said, "Isn't it so beautiful?"

Ah. That's the Christmas season I know and love. And I love my nieces and nephew, because they always help me relive a little bit of childhood.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, all.

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Noko: Real. Awkward. Jeans -- Photo of the Week 7 Dec 09

 Josh M referred me to this PotW. Awkward company photos from Noko Jeans, a Swedish company attempting to make jeans in North Korea. Here's one of Mr. Erik Wahlstrom, an employee of Noko who takes jeans production in poor, authoritarian-ruled countries very, very seriously:

This is like awkward elementary school photos we used to take when we were kids, only this is a company with grownups. Maybe we should start the practice of individual photos for a company in the US, and since Nartker is the only CEO that I know personally, I challenge him to start the trend.

At the very least, I would like to see Brett Favre photos like this for Wrangler. Wait, what? You want me to MS Paint it? Oh, here you go:

It would look much better if Brett were wearing all black. And if had freaky eyes, instead of his warm, soft ones and disarming smile. I guess you can't have everything.

I suggest you view all photos that Noko Jeans has posted on Flickr because they're all SO GOOD. Settling on one to post here was what I imagine it would be like to pick your favorite amongst multiple children. What say ye, RoSA Readers? Vote for your favorite Noko'er in the comments. It'll be a nice poll.

Also, two random, unsolicited items for your enlightenment:

1. I have a noticeable cut just above my right eyeball along with some redness and swelling. I may have been in a bar on Saturday night, and may have called a Yale alum a "sweater-tying yuppie nobody", and he may have punched me with his enormous class ring. Or, I probably smacked myself in the eye with my ping-pong paddle because I was following through a little too much. I did put some wicked spin on that ball.
2. Luke Wilson, star of hit movies such as My Super Ex-Girlfriend and Legally Blonde 2: Red, White & Blonde, was in my dream last night, asking me to help finance his next movie, and saying that he would make me a good return on my money. That's like PETA asking me to make a donation and promising that they won't make obscene advertisements with my money. It's just not going to happen. And why Luke Wilson? It's got to be those stupid AT&T commercials.

Happy Monday to you.

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My New Summer Pasttime

Summer is over, and while I will NOT miss the stifling humidity and resultant SwampA**, or large women wearing disproportionately small clothing (OMG MY EYES ARE BURNING I AM SCARRED FOR LIFE), there is a huge list of things I will miss about summer.

Some fun activities that are essential to every summer? Here's a short list: BBQs; swimming; disappointment in more overhyped blockbusters movies (ahem... Wolverine, Terminator); watching Wipeout!; watching the "will he /won't he?" fiasco that is Brett Favre's (non)retirement; eating ice cream and other flavored frozen goods; reading outside in my double-wide fat-person camping chair; wrestling grizzly bears, only in my case I get the bear to submit with an armbar, and I do it shirtless; you know, standard summer stuff.

The new love I discovered this summer: Wiffleball. It's simple. Anyone can play. You don't need a lot of people to play. You try to hit people with a ball. Very rewarding.

More important to me, though, is that wiffleball has helped me reconcile with a long lost friend: baseball. My complaints with baseball are well-documented. It's boring. It's slow. These dudes aren't athletic. Baseball slang is just a bunch of thinly-veiled innuendos. Whine whine whine. I actually loved baseball growing up, but somewhere along the way we had a falling out (partially due to his solid decade and a half of heavy steroid usage).

Wiffleball helped me remember why I enjoyed baseball in the first place by taking me back to being a kid. It reminded me of playing catch with my pops. Of smelling freshly cut grass, watching The Sandlot, and especially of playing Little League baseball.

In Little League, just like every other kid, I imitated the batting stances and the mannerisms of the famous players. I tried to swing my bat like Griffey, tried to crouch in fielding position like Ozzie Smith, and itched my crotch like Cal Ripken Jr. Did I know what I was doing at 9-years of age? No. But hell, these guys were my heroes, and somewhere in the back of my head I thought emulating the greats would help me be great. This thinking, of course, pre-dated my knowledge of things like natural talent, work ethic, syringes, and the Dominican Republic's baseball farm system. So if Cal was going to go to town on his cup region, I would, too.

I write this because when I played wiffleball for the first time this summer, 18 years after having played in Little League, I picked up right where I left off. I looked at my bat contemplatively before stepping into the batter's box, dug in my feet with my non-existent cleats, took a wide stance and tilted my bat slightly back, just like Albert Pujols.

Even if it was only for a few hours, I was a kid again, imitating the greats. And while the sound of the plastic wifflebat hitting a ball doesn't have quite the same ring that metal on cork does, it still made me smile like a 9-year old as I ran the bases.

Man. Now I want to go watch Field of Dreams.

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Photo of the Week 21 Sept 2009

Walked out of Best Buy with this beauty, and thank goodness for that -- it was the only thing to console me after the BYU game on Saturday. Past experience with rewatching cartoons from the childhood had me fearing that it would disappoint, but I was pleasantly surprised.

See, a few years ago I came upon Thundercats while flipping channels. I loved the show as a kid, so was excited to watch it. I immediately regretted that decision. Dialogue was horrendous; the voices were unbearable; the plot line had no connection with what we call "coherence" or "quality." The cartoon was a confused, jumbled mass of storytelling crap -- basically cast in the Battlefield Earth mold before that mold even existed.

At that moment, I was like Dantes in The Count of Monte Cristo when he found out that Fernand had betrayed him. Thundercats and I had been friends since childhood; I thought it was upstanding and good quality. But no. Like Fernand, Thundercats sucked. And it betrayed and demoralized me with the severity of its suckiness. (I will concede, however, that Dantes may have gotten the shorter end of the Betrayed By Childhood Friend Stick. In a lucky turn of events for me, I was not extrajudicially sentenced to an island-prison to be annually tortured by a deranged prison warden and left to do nothing but stew in my own human waste and vindictive thoughts. Hey, I'm just trying to be optimistic here.)

That experience turned how I viewed my childhood upside down. Was pulling girls' hair really as enjoyable as I remember it being? Was kickball even fun? The Book Fair was worth all of the time I put into circling the books I wanted in the catalogs they gave us, wasn't it? All of my past experiences were under evaluation.

And so I purchased X-Men with some trepidation on Friday and went home to watch it. I attempted to re-create an atmosphere similar to my X-men-viewing from childhood, just so I could get the most out of it: I may have put on some MC Hammer pants, set a Super Soaker next to me on the couch, and poured myself a large bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Something like that. And after watching a fair amount of episodes, I will admit that while the cartoon is not better than what I remember, there certainly isn't the precipitous dropoff between expectations and reality that there was with Thundercats. It's pretty decent.

The lesson: Tread carefully when revisiting pleasant childhood memories. At worst, it will be devastatingly disappointing; at best, mildly gratifying.


Happy Monday, everyone. You'll have this song stuck in your head the rest of the day:

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My Childhood Lookalike -- Photo of the Week 23 Feb 2009

Well, since I ruthlessly slandered James Carville on my initial black list post, I figured I should, in the interests of impartiality, give yours truly the same treatment.

With some help from cousin Matt, who is scanning old family photos, I present my cinematic look alike:


Hold up, JD, hold up! Calling this side-by-side and the one you did with Carville/Gollum 'impartial' is disingenuous.

Wait, how so? I don't get where you're going with this.

You compared James Carville to a grotesque reptilian/alien-like creature deformed by the powers of evil, who is completely stripped of all goodness. You are comparing your childhood-self to an Ewok -- a courageous character from the Star Wars movies adored as a cute and lovable creature. You can't tell me that's fair.

Still not following you.

Forget it. You're impossible. This is like trying to argue with James Carvil--

Hah! Gotcha.

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Homeless Power Ranger -- Photo of the Week 29 Sep 2008

I was searching for pictures for a different blog entry and stumbled on this one, which is funny (to me) on so many levels. First, these posters that parody the abstraction-centered "inspirational" posters, if done well, are hilarious. Second, it's got Power Rangers in it. How is that NOT funny?* Third, people actually devoted the time and money to make this poster. Fourth, it's true. I challenge you to find me anyone who was involved in the Power Rangers TV show who is currently employed.

*Confession: When the original Power Rangers came out, I used to rush home from school to watch it. It lasted until I realized I wanted to be able to hold a conversation with normal people and not end up in one of those school clubs that reenacts Dungeons & Dragons battles.

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Dream Team -- Photo of the Week 25 Aug 2008

Title: "The Original Dream Team"
Year: 1991-1992?

This was my absolute favorite t-shirt in 4th or 5th grade: The 1992 "Dream Team," the very first time the US was allowed to field professional athletes in the games. If you overlook the fact that Malone and Stockton played for the Jazz, Ewing was overrated his entire career, Pippen was a wife-beater, and Magic was forced to retire because he acquired an STD (due to his Wilt Chamberlain-like off-the-court escapades),¹ these guys were exciting to watch, killing teams by 60+ points.

Just felt like posting this one because of the Olympics just ending, and us taking gold for the first time since 2000. Go USA!

Maybe I should start buying and collecting more of these caricature shirts. I had Magic Johnson, Shaq, and Steve Largent ones growing up.

1 - The players on this year's "Redeem Team" that filled the same roles: Williams and Boozer on the Jazz, Anthony has been overrated his entire career so far, Kidd as the wife-beater. There was no equivalent to Magic...yet.

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Tagged - Enjoy, Sis

So my sister, Juli, virtual 'tagged' me from her blog, because she was "interested to see where [I'll] take this." I think you're supposed to list five things about yourself and then tag five people, or else you will be cursed with your secret crush not liking you, or the plague, or alcohol addiction...something like that.

Listed below are six -- how's that for taking things somewhere, huh, Juli?!? -- that you might not (and didn't care to) know about me.

1. Talk to me after I wake up - I don't always say everything that's on my mind, but if you want to catch me without a filter, do it after I wake up. I'll say exactly what I'm thinking. Anecdotal illustration: Back at the Y on a Sat morning, some friends I was planning on going to go paintballing with called me at 9am (I had forgotten):

-"Hello?" (italics in this narrative indicate dazed and confused)
-"Josh, hey, are you coming?"
-"Huh?"
-"Paintballing. We're waiting for you."
-I start crawling out of bed in my underwear: "Can I play with no pants?"
-"What? Uh...I guess...you could do that...you know, if you wanted..."

2. I punched a girl once - Casey was our FHE dad back at the Elms. For the activity he brought two pairs of boxing gloves and some slips of paper. We were to write who we wanted to see box each other on the slips. I ended up being pitted in The Octagon against a girl that had broken up with my roommate a few months back. I insisted I didn't want to fight her, but she kept coming at me, and the last time she did she swung with her left, I grabbed it, gave her a little tug to the ground, and gave her a little love tap to the right cheek. When I got home, the roommate asked "How was FHE?" "It was fine. I boxed your ex." slight pause -- "Sounds about right."

3. I clubbed a kid with my lunch pail - We might as well get the violent stuff out of the way. I had a sweet plastic Voltron lunch pail in Kindergarten. This kid on the bus ride home kept bugging me, so I smacked him over the head with it. The bus driver guaranteed me I was getting a ticket. When my stop came, I slid right off the bus. She probably mistook me for the other Asian kid on board.

4. I’m a contrarian – For some reason I like to make conversation difficult for people – but not in a confrontational way. I can’t explain it. Two illustrations:

Illustration 1

Friend: “Josh, you know you don’t always have to be contrarian.”
Me: “Yes I do.”

Illustration 2

Friend: “I ran 10 miles yesterday and I am sore.”
Me: “No you didn’t, and no, you’re not.”
Friend: “I’m pretty sure I know what I did and how I feel.”
Me: “Uh huh”
Friend Reconsidering Friendship: “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about what I did yesterday.”
Me: “Believe it.”

5. I like baby food – Believe it. When I played in all-day soccer tournaments those little gerber glass jars of fruit puree (not that veggie puree…gross) had tons of nutrients needed to get some quick energy. Maybe that’s why I love those Naked and Odwalla smoothie drinks so much. They taste the exact same and cost about the same per ounce.

6. I make up words - As you all know from my B.E. entry, I make up words. This isn't all that unique, though, because I think a lot of people do. I do, however, specialize in verbs that represent a tendency that someone has, and base it on their name. Some examples:

• "Go ahead, just James Joyce me." JJ is an author famous for employing stream of consciousness. If I'm talking with someone but they keep getting tripped up b/c they can't seem to organize their thoughts, this is the phrase I use. (trans. "Just spew out everything on your mind and we'll sort it out later.")
• "He/she totally Paul Walker'ed that." I use this with actors and movies a lot, mostly with The Fast and the Furious franchise -- correction, let's call it a debacle -- in mind. (trans. "He/she took a movie that already looked horrible based on previews and made it even worse with their horrible acting.")
• "I just got my trash Shigeko'ed." I love my mom. One of the many loving memories I have of my childhood, I remember her always licking her thumb and aggressively scrubbing something off of my face. I didn't like it. (trans. "I was just treated in a rough manner by an otherwise well-intentioned individual.")

And the list goes on.

I break the mold and end the tagging here. I’m more of a reformer than any of the presidential hopefuls claim to be.

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A Dear Friend I Never Met

I'm not going to lie. Even knowing what I do about the purpose of our lives here and the role that death plays, I don't deal with it so well. Not when it's someone who continually inspired admiration in me while also instilling the courage and self-confidence to be a little better, and, to steal one of his phrases "stand a little taller."

So on Sunday when I heard the news that my church's president, Gordon B. Hinckley, passed away, I avoided reading anything besides press reports with the basic facts. Anything more would have made it real. I didn't want it to be. I wouldn't let it.

But as the days have since passed, family and friends have sent articles paying tribute to him, expressing not only their feelings of a collective sense of loss, but also love, and joy for a man who passed through and is now reunited with a wife he adored, was met by countless thankful individuals, and was no doubt told "well done, thou good and faithful servant." I knew that if I didn't sit down and tap this out it would never hit me like it needed to.

I know this can't do it justice; especially in a forum where I usually complain about this or that. I know I can't list all of the accomplishments that were the result of his tireless efforts for the Work. But I can offer a small tribute to a true friend -- even though I never met him.

My prophet passed away on 27 January 2008. And when I say "my" I don't mean to be possessive, but personal. He was the first prophet I remember well. He was the one providing constant guidance and encouragement throughout my teenage years. He was the one who delivered the "Be's" to an 18-year old college freshman who was struggling to find his way. He was the one that sent me to serve a mission in Japan amongst a people I love. He helped keep me on the straight and narrow after I got back.

President Hinckley was the leader of a church of 13 million + members, growing by an average of over 300,000 members each year. But to every individual who ever heard or saw him speak -- regardless of whether they ever met him -- they always knew of the love that he had for each one of them as individuals. Given the time, he would have gladly sat down with every member to listen; and, perhaps more importantly, encourage.

And that's what he did: He encouraged. With an endless amount of humility, love and optimism. He helped us believe that we could lengthen our stride. When he taught the "Be's" he was telling us to develop our character rather than to just "do", because becoming who we need to become requires changing. And as hard as change is, he instilled a confidence in each of us that we could do it. There was never a sense of "he doesn't understand" -- he had had his struggles (I still love the correspondence with his father from his mission in England), and gladly shared them. There was never a sense of haughtiness about him -- rather, he was the most humble of men, which, along with his sense of humor, made him and his message so much more real. Does anybody remember in a 1997 General Conference when Elder Nelson gave a speech praising President Hinckley? Here's how it went when President Hinckley reached the podium:

"I thought we were conducting General Conference. It's turned out to be a funeral...He's taken extreme liberty. I challenge him to a duel down in the basement of the tabernacle after this session."

And at the end of the session:

"I've repented. Thank you for your kind words. We'll postpone the duel."

There are so many other quotes that I could put up and more that I could say, but then this entry would never end. I love this man. I am sad he is gone, but am thankful for his example. I hope someday I can simply shake his hand and choke back my gratitude and say something simple:

"Thank you."

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Movie Review: "Transformers" at IMAX

That's right. You read the title correctly, and you'd better believe I'm gonna go there.

I decided this past Saturday that I needed a respite from my rigorous college-football-watching schedule and went with a bunch of guy friends to check out "Transformers" on IMAX. Something about throwback movies based on favorite childhood cartoons brings guys together. I can't explain it.

It's cliched, I know, but I guess in some ways we're all still children at heart, and "Transformers" has this inexplicable way of being almost generationally defining -- not in the sense that Vietnam defined a generation...please, I'm not stupid enough to make that poor of an analogy -- in the sense that if the Transformers cartoon gets brought up in a conversation, all guys in the group who watched it as a kid automatically belong to an unspoken brotherhood. Or how about the one kid in intermediate school who inevitably wrote his "My Hero" report on Optimus Prime.

Anyway. Transformers. Important to my generation. Not the point of this entry.

I like to think as I've gotten older and supposedly more mature (that's debatable), I've come to enjoy movies for any of the following reasons: good humor, good dialogue, character development, intricate plot lines, the ability to engage me emotionally...and sure, maybe even the chance to sit around afterwards and talk about it with friends and family.

"Transformers" had none of these, yet I still enjoyed it, because I got exactly what I expected when I walked in: poor dialogue, cheesy lines, zero character development (I walked out of the theater wondering why they couldn't have at least delved into the hidden complexities of Starscream's brooding character a bit more), a plot line that had me continually asking "Wait, couldn't they just have...?" and "How were they able to...?", and characters that could have all died and I could have cared less, with the exception of Optimus Prime. It was 2+ hours of action, explosions, car chases, and CG robots duking it out, and it was awesome. Don't think we weren't cheering periodically throughout the movie. That's really all there was to it.

More than meets the eye? Not even close.

But that's not why I went.

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Grade School Lunch - Status Symbols Start Early

Growing up and going to grade school, how many of us brought our lunches from home? And how many of us were jealous of those kids that always had Kudos Bars as the sort of 'dessert' portion of their lunch? You know, those bars that were disguised as semi-healthy granola bars, but were really the M&M / Mars Corp. pre-cursor "gateway" candy bar to future chocolate addiction? Hopefully some of you are nodding your head in agreement right now, or else this entry will be completely worthless.

(Funny anecdote. The day after an 8th grade basketball game we were sitting at practice, and our coach said "Kudos to Chris for grabbing 14 rebounds yesterday." Chris couldn't make practice for some reason, so the next day my buddy Alex and I saw him and Alex said "Dude, Chris. Coach Sotka said he was going to give you a kudos bar for grabbing 14 boards in the game yesterday!")

My parenthetical stories aside, did you ever notice how Kudos bars just kept getting smaller and smaller each year? They started out the size of a candy bar, but they kept getting shorter until they became equivalent to a Fun Size candy bar. How pathetic is that of Mars? I guess I shouldn't blame the company...that extra 2 or 3 inches of artificial, synthetic chocolate that they pump out by the ton must be costly.

While I'm talking about grade school lunches... I remember being jealous of the kids that had, in addition to the Kudos Bar, the Lunchables and Squeeze-its. The cool kids always seemed to have them. I guess what you brought for lunch served as the status symbols in grade school. But I guess in retrospect I'm okay with my parents having avoided paying extra money for a shrinking pseudo-candy bar, 6 oz of flavored sugar water, and processed meat and cheese with enough cholesterol to clog my little 10-year old arteries just so that I could fit in.

Hmmm. Empty calories and no sense of real fulfillment. I guess the status symbols of childhood really aren't so different from those of adulthood.

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