New Post!!! Dreams!!!

I guess I should explain why I haven't written anything in awhile. Soon after my last post, I got a phone call from my dear mother, who had only recently read my blog. She didn't like it. She launched into a slew of issues she had with my blog, mainly how if someone read my blog and didn't know me, they would immediately think I was crazy. I don't exactly know how that could by a bad thing, but I suppose I must pursue things in the professional world someday, and I see the logic in her argument. After my discussion with Mom, I realized that this whole event had completely killed any creative thought in my mind. I needed to step away for awhile and figure out how I could do this and please Mom.

Luckily, my answer came in the form of a crazy dream I had last night! I normally don't remember my dreams, but for whatever reason, this one stayed in my head after I woke up so I wrote it down during my morning bathroom ritual. Never had a bowel movement been so satisfying. I present to you my nutty football dream.

I was at an NFL football game. A home game for the Tennessee Titans. Not to strange, so far, until I noticed who the Titans were playing. The Rams. The Los Angeles Rams. Kind of weird. The Rams haven't been in LA since 1994.

You must admit the uniforms were pretty sweet.

My dream quickly informed my who I was cheering for, as I looked down and noticed that I was wearing an L.A. Rams t-shirt. My pa-in-law, sis-in-law, and wife were all at the game with me, but I noticed that they were all wearing Titans gear. I was a lone fan in this massive stadium, the lone fan of a team that technically no longer exists.

After a few plays, the Titans find themselves on their own 2 yard line on 4th down. They decide to punt, but first they took a timeout. During the timeout, my phone vibrated, and I looked to see who was sending me a text. It was from my brother. I can't recall what he was texting me about, but as I responded to his message I wandered a little too close to the backline of the endzone that Tennessee was kicking out of. As I looked down at my phone, I see a flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye and I hear a whistle blow. The ref was calling a penalty. The ref gives me a dirty look, marches out to the middle of the field, turns on his microphone, and says, "A safety will be charged against the Titans..." he then points directly at me and continues, "because this JERK stood in front of me...ON HIS CELL PHONE!!!"

Now I know how Calvin Johnson feels.

I looked up and saw my ugly mug all over the big screens on both sides of the stadium. The boos and jeers were deafening. The ref seemed a bit distracted as he looked up at the press booth and said in an annoyed tone, "DANGIT TRENT DILFER, I'M THE REFEREE AND I CAN CALL WHATEVER I WANT!!" I looked up at the press booth and saw the former quarterback scowl back down at the ref. I don't know how this underachieving QB made it into my dream. All I know is that his presence makes me wonder if it in fact a nightmare I was having.

I wasn't even looking for a Trent Dilfer pic! This was the first

thing that came up when I typed "Clint Howard" in an image search.

This was the only appearance of Mr. Dilfer in my dream, unfortunately. I was hoping for some revelation as to how on earth this man won a Super Bowl.

I made my way to my family thoroughly embarrassed by the events that had occurred. As the booing continued, there was one strain of mocking that stood out from the others. It was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair screaming insults at me.

It's as if someone took a poloroid from inside my brain.

I absorbed the insults like any civilized human being would do, as I was taught that words shall not ever hurt me. However, the crazy lady decided to up the ante a bit and she threw a half empty water bottle at me. The bottle landed harmlessly on the ground a good few feet before it reached me, but that's not the point. People just can't go around throwing half empty plastic vessels at people they don't like. It's what separates us from the animals. I was infuriated that she would actually do something like that. I marched right up to her and put my face really close to hers. I looked her in the eye, then unleashed upon her the filthiest string on expletives that I could muster. It was pretty bad. I can't even begin to hint at the things I said to this woman, as this is a family blog. It made The Jersey Shore sound like Teletubbies with more annoying accents. Needless to say, she didn't appreciate my speculations as to what she did during her private time, so she began to slap at me. Not punches or backhands or anything dramatic like that. They were those little slaps that toddlers hit each other with. This only angered me more, so I did what any other person would do if a Ke$ha look-alike was attacking them and I kicked her in the stomach. That shut her up.

As I walked back to my family I felt a wee touch of guilt in my soul. I was really worried that my father-in-law had heard me say and do those awful things. I was worried that he would disapprove of my actions and as a result, disapprove of my marriage to his daughter. Before I could see his reaction, my wife got into my face and gave me a stern talking to. "HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT!? THAT WAS TERRIBLE!! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!!" Truth is, I was a bit ashamed. However, that shame was short lived as my father-in-law came to the rescue. He looked at my wife and said, "You saw what happened. That woman threw a water bottle at him. She deserved it."

The last thing I remember from the dream are the sweet feelings of calm and acceptance.

Do I endorse kicking women in the stomach? Of course not. You can calm down now, Mom.

Things I Have Learned (Recently) Pt. 2.

When I first decided to write about things I've learned about (recently), I didn't really have a set number for what I was going to write about. So here are a few more things I've learned...recently.

3. My Wife Keeps On (and Will Keep On) Surprising Me

Marie is a wonderful woman. When we were dating, I was drawn in by how much of an all around good person she is. She loves musicals, loves to hike, and takes care of infants for a living. Because of this I was shocked one day when I was watching Superbad on FX and she comes in the room, sits down, and starts watching it with me. Remember, this was on FX, so the language in this movie was heavily edited, but I was watching it because there's a lot of other things in the movie that make me laugh. She started watching w me during a certain scene, which I'm not going to describe with my words. I'll let this picture do the talking for me:

I happen find this particular situation in the movie to absolutely hysterical. However, with my pure, innocent wife sitting next to me, I sat in silence, expecting to be reprimanded for watching such off-color things. In no way could I expect what happened next...she was laughing. She actually thought it was funny. I was shocked. She even started asking me questions about the plot of the movie like she was genuinely interested. I felt I had walked into the bizarro-world. To add to my surprise, one of her favorite shows these days are re-runs of Curb Your Enthusiasm, she enjoyed Season 1 of Dexter, she thought Pootie Tang was hilarious, and she LOVED Iron Man 2. I don't know whether to be turned on for liking all of this awesome stuff or to feel guilty for soiling her pristine mind with my filth.

4. The Rapid Decline of Our Youth, Though Depressing, Is Only Good for Me in the Long Run

A little while ago I wrote a post about emo kids. Oh how I hate them. But why should I let hate dominate my life? I figured I should look at things in a more positive light. I figured I should try and find good things in a crappy situations. As I make my way to work everyday, I look at things that are happening all around me. Since it is summertime, I notice a lot of teenagers walking around the streets enjoying their break from school. I also notice that most kids look the same. If they don't dress a certain way, then they dress another way, and so forth. Allow me to illustrate.
If you are a teenager, you probably look like this:
And if you don't look like that, then you probably look like this:
If that isn't your style, you perhaps look like this:
And if none of the above apply, you look like this:

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you your future of America. Sure, these kids look like they come from different backgrounds and situations, but they all have one thing in common: I want to punch each of them in face. I realize that it looks pretty bleak, but there is nothing to fear! Whenever I see these morons, it fills me with a sense of comfort and optimism! Why? Because the wasted potential of these retards will only make my boringly average self look like a genius! So keep doing what you're doing, teenagers. Your self-handicaps will only benefit me in the end. Justice does exist in the universe.

I think I should end this now on a positive note. I always feel pretty good about life after I think about how sad kids are these days. If you read this, you might want to check back on Friday, as I am going to have some pretty big news for you all to see. Stay tuned.

Things I Have Learned (Recently).

It truly has been a long time since I've written on here. No doubt all three of you have been on the edge of your seats, biting your fingernails to the bleeding quick in anticipation for my next post. Quite a few things have changed in the time that has elapsed between then and now, and the past few months have taught me a lot. So, this post is dedicated to the things I have learned since the last time I wrote a post for this here blog.

1. I look good.

Back in December, I took a long, hard look at myself and decided to make some changes. I'm not one to have New Year's resolutions, but when you work up a sweat from getting in and out of your car in the middle of a Utah winter, I made an exception to my rule and set a goal to lose some weight.
This is me last Thanksgiving engaging in one of my favorite physical activities. Some people jog, others climb rocks, I tried to see how much food I could shove down my gaping maw in a meal. The plus size...er...side to all this is that I was never hungry. The down side was that my physical appearance reduced my love life to smelling Marie's hair while she was asleep. In January, I dusted off the gym pass and began working out every day before class. I also started walking to UVU, which makes perfect sense because it takes about as much time for me to walk there as it does to drive (not only was I morbidly obese, I was also incredibly lazy). After a few months of hitting the elliptical, I started lifting weights, too. I gave up sugar on every day of the week except Sunday and began what people call "portion control" (see: borderline self-starvation). As a result, that shirt with the bursting buttons you see in the pic up there actually fits me now, and I was finally able to return all those bras Marie was letting me borrow.

This is a picture of me 40 lbs. later and on a hike up Squaw Peak in Provo. I wasn't exactly sure what a hike was up until this picture was taken. When Marie approached me and suggested that we go on a hike, I thought she was challenging me to some Madden on my PS3. I think my expression sums up how I felt when I found out what she really meant.
I love it when people ask me how I lost the weight. I could tell them the truth and say that it is as simple as exercising and listening to your body, but that would be too easy. I tell them that I throw up after every time I eat or I simply say, "cocaine is a heck of a drug." That last one doesn't seem to go over very well with the church crowd.

2. Working At In-N-Out Is Not As Fun As Advertised

I had the opportunity to open a new In-N-Out Burger in Orem last November. I gave up my job as a manager at Los Hermanos to do so. I wish I could say that I didn't regret it, but I did. There were a few things that bothered me about working at In-N-Out, and I will summarize them to give you an idea of what it was like for me. First and foremost, people take their job way too seriously there. It may have the best reputation in the nation in the category of fast food joints, but what a few of the people there failed to recognize is that a fast food joint is still just a fast food joint. A good example of this would be their order inputting system. There are several ways you can enter a burger into the computer and still have it come out the way the customer wants it. The cooks, however, only want it done a certain way. I entered an order for a burger and it wasn't to the cook's liking. He came up to my register and informed me that I did it wrong. I try to be a good co-worker, so I apologized, he said it was okay and we both went back to work. A little later, I made a similar "mistake." The cook came up again, grabbed my shoulder and told me to turn around. I didn't immediately do so, as I was taking an order for another customer at the moment. My attention paid to the customer and not the cook seemed to upset him (his burger-flipping time must be extremely important). When I was done I turned around to see what he needed. With a restaurant full of people waiting to make an order he stands on his toes to be at eye level, holds the ticket with my "incorrect" order on it in my face and says through clenched teeth, "That's strike two, bro."

Really?

Sir, I know In-N-Out pays you decent money to flip a burger. The burger is the business. However, you're wearing a paper sailor hat and kind of look like a gay elf. What do you think gives you the right to get in my face and snarl threats at me like you're a Colombian drug lord in a direct-to-VHS Steven Seagal movie?

The fun doesn't end there. Another thing that drove me nuts about that place was the sheer stupidity of the customers. Every shift, after a big rush, there would be quite a few dirty tables that needed to be wiped off and sanitized. Imagine for a moment this all too common scenario: You are out to eat with some friends. You have 4 booths in the burger joint, and all of them are dirty. There's nobody else in the restaurant but yourself and your friends. There comes along a worker and he looks like he's about to wipe off some of the booths. What do you do?
A. Wait 15 seconds and let the worker sanitize the table to give you a clean eating space
or
B. Go ahead and sit down at a booth covered in so much ketchup it looks like a murder scene.
Too many of those morons chose option B. Have some patience, people.
Speaking of stupid customers, they ruin everything. One night Danny Glover came in and just wanted to get a burger. He placed his order and stood waiting for it to come out. Some moronic BYU student noticed that it was really Danny Glover and all of a sudden he was mobbed by Napoleon Dynamite-quoting retards grabbing a bite to eat after their 80's dancing. I normally have a hard time with empathy, but I truly felt sorry for Danny Glover when he had to go wait in his car for his food because too many people were bothering him for pictures. Those insensitive jerks. I hate BYU students. Poor Danny Glover.
Not that everything at In-N-Out was bad. The managers there were pretty awesome, for the most part. I also got to meet some pretty nice and cool people there. Basically, if you worked at In-N-Out and are reading this now, then you are one of the cool ones.

I am out of time for the moment. I am going to continue sharing things I have learned with you at a later date. I will be in touch.

Hippies and Emos: The Wheel of Stupidity Continues To Turn

I am far from perfect. I make a lot of mistakes. Just ask my wife, or my mom, or my friends, or my employers. But despite my many, many, many shortcomings, I am not a complete failure-- at least not like this:


Where to start? The hairdo? The piercings? The fact that I can't tell if this thing is a boy or a girl? Honestly, there are so many things wrong with this picture that it's overwhelming to a simple mind like my own. Although I have a difficult time organizing my thoughts and articulating my disgust of the fact that there are so many people like this, I do understand why I was lucky enough to not end up in a similar situation and I by my experience I know how you can keep this from happening to your own children.

First off, in order to solve any problem, we need to understand the source of the problem:


That's right. It's your fault, Hippies. And in more ways than one.

Now you may be asking yourself, "But Professor Brandon, how did life loving, color worshiping hippies beget death obsessed, monochromatic emo kids?"

First, Dear Reader, stop calling me Professor. The last thing my already bloated ego needs is the use of such exalted titles to describe my vast intelligence.

Now, allow me to show you the connections between the emo kids and their hippie forerunners. The main connection is that both groups are notorious complainers. Hippies are well-known for their near incessant complaining. They hated war, so they complained about it. They hated getting mace sprayed in their eyes every time they had an illegal protest, so they complained about it (they should have filed for the necessary permits). "Squares" were too intelligent to understand the hippie movement, so they complained about it. Hippie women hated bras, so they complained about them and burned them.

Emo kids, on a similar note, hate getting made fun of everywhere they go, so they complain about it. They claim their parents don't understand them, so they complain about it. Emo girls hate bras, so they make their "boy"friends wear them (okay, this one is pure conjecture. I just can't tell the difference between emo boys and emo girls).

Neither of the groups understand the purpose nor function of clothing. I'll give the hippies a little bit of credit for this one. Their only problem was that they preferred not to wear very much.


This mode of thinking carried its own benefits and risks. If it was an attractive hippie, than not too shabby. However if it was an unattractive hippie or a male hippie (99.8% of the hippie population), then we have issues.

The clothing-related problems of the emos is a slightly different beast. Emos also get some bonus points because they keep their pasty, androgynous bodies well covered most of the time. They do not, however, have any sense of what clothes are for. They know that clothes are made of material. They know that we are supposed to actually wear clothes. But they get confused on the finer points of the purpose of certain articles of clothing. Lets look for a moment at a glove. I wear gloves for several reasons. I wear a latex glove when I clean a bathroom to protect me from bacteria. I wear a glove when its cold outside to keep my hands warm. I wear a glove when I go to bed at night after I put lotion on to keep my hands nice and moisturized. These are practical uses.

The question I pose the emos is what the crap am I supposed to use this thing for.


It's fingerless, so it can't keep my hands warm. The high cut on the palm of the hand would mess up my grip on such things as my steering wheel, my PS3 controller, and push-pops. Completely worthless.

Hippies, unfortunately, caused a change because of their radical views. Luckily, everything they wanted came to pass, but America still bears the scars of their mercifully short-lived hippie revolution. One of the biggest hippie beliefs that led to this gross emo outbreak is to let your kids do anything they want without being held accountable for their actions. Think about it. Emo kids exist solely because parents, siblings, and friends suffer from the residual hippie belief that these kids are simply "finding their way" and should not be corrected. What a load of crap. Parents need to show some backbone and not be afraid to point out their kid is full of it. Which is more loving, correcting your children so they can lead successful, happy, lives or allowing them to be mocked and wallow in self-loathing just so they can "be themselves?" My mom wouldn't hesitate a second to call me on my bullcrap, and I am a better person because of it. My older brothers weren't afraid to beat me up to keep me from doing anything that would hurt me in the long run, and my friends enjoyed helping them. The crazy thing (to hippies) about it is that I am grateful for that. I made me stronger, it made me smarter.

So, Emos, this is an intervention! Take the initiative and break away from your sorry ways. It shouldn't be too hard. Nobody likes you. You don't even like yourself. Wear some colors. Take off the makeup. Get a haircut. And for goodness' sake, wear some gosh dang pants that actually fit you.

In closing, my friends, I give you this to ponder:

Quickly...

The Vikes were robbed. I've seen crappy calls in football games before, but never ones in a high-profile game like the NFC Championship. The victory goes to the Saints, unfortunately, but the game belongs in the deserving hands of the Vikings. I guess there is a silver lining, however, because I look forward to the complete dismantling of the Saints at the hands of the Colts.