The Preview Tent

I thought the music was oddly familiar and then I heard that voice, a voice that spoke to women about women for so long. Sarah Jessica Parker was pitching the new Sex and the City movie.

Leah had to hide. Quick. So we used my coat to make our standard movie preview tent.

We are weird. But you already knew that.

My parents thought it was pretty damn funny. We hid under the coat and mumbled so we wouldn’t hear what Parker wanted to tell us.

Then we would emerge and watch a preview about some horror movie that we wouldn’t be caught dead at. Then it was right back under the tent and more impromptu conversation until the preview ended.

This is our pre-movie tradition. We have decided that previews say too much about films these days. They give away the best action scenes, the best lines and sometimes the entire film.

So when we know we will be seeing a movie, be it Sex and the City or The Dark Knight, we burrow. Try it sometime. No really, please. Because we know we look like crazy people when we hurriedly duck under a coat and have a conversation about why we don’t like wallpaper or the pros and cons of getting a new alarm clock.

But if you do it too, then maybe we can start a trend. Just remember to bring a coat.

A Snow Monster

With great amounts of snow come great snowmen.

At least that’s what the makers of this monstrosity thought.



We are not sure what this giant is holding, but it could be a weapon. It appears that he has a stomach wound as well. Still, he appears happy. That could be because the forecast calls for more snow.

Deformity Poll

Last week’s poll uncovered the great Christmas split. You respondents either liked giving gifts (40 percent) or visiting family (40 percent), when asked what is the best part of Christmas. A few of you said you liked shopping. One would admit that getting gifts is the best part. I understand, I followed the safe route too.

I picked visiting family. That probably means so much more now that Leah and I have moved away. If I was asked the same question last year, I would have been a gift giver.

During these holidays, I’m spending time with friends as well as relatives. And this week’s question comes from one of my greatest friends, Tiffany Rowland.

Here is Tiffany’s question: If you were forced to live without a nose or without thumbs, which would you pick?

Let me make this clear. If you pick no nose, you have NO NOSE. It’s just a mangled piece of tissue. If you pick no thumbs, you have to survive with your remaining digits. No prosthetics. None!

I would love to hear your reasoning. Please comment on the blog or send me an email.

The Tables Have Turned

When I was a little kid with a head cold, bedtime was full of danger. I would prop my little head on my little pillows in my little bed and wait.

Inevitably, I would get a little scratchy irritation in the back of my throat, the kind that would drive you mad if you didn’t take care of it. All it would take was a simple cough, but that was what I was fighting against — coughing.

I would try to swallow fast, move my tongue around or simply ignore it. Nothing worked. The irritation grew and biology kicked in. My hands would shake with all of the effort I put in to not coughing.

But I always lost. I would try the half cough and when that wouldn’t work, I would bury myself into the pillow and cough there. As exhaustion crept in my reaction time would lengthen. And sooner or later, I would cough out loud. Just once. But once was all that was necessary.

My eyes would dart open and my ears would be on red alert.

Then I heard my parents’ door open. Then I heard my mother walking up the stairs. Then she would open the door.

And then I was sucking down nasty cough syrup from a medicine cup.

NOOOOOOO!!!!

I waged the battle over cherry cough syrup for years. I was never victorious.

But the tables have turned. My parents moved their room upstairs. Their old room in the basement is the guest room that Leah and I are now sleeping in during our holiday visit.

And as I’m getting myself ready for bed, I hear my mom coughing. And I smile.

Don’t worry mom, I remember where you keep the nasty cherry cough syrup. I’m on my way.

Christmas Memories

The heating vents in my parents house serve as a makeshift intercom system. So early in the morning, my two brothers and I would inch our way to the vent in my bedroom and then wildly yell for my parents to get up.

This was our Christmas tradition. We always thought we startled ma and pa. We found out later that on some years, my dad sat there waiting for us to yell, wondering why we weren’t as excited as he was.

After getting our orange and a book of Lifesavers in our stocking and unwrapping a whole load of toys, we would enjoy breakfast and wait for the second wave of Christmas.

This is when we got the talking to. My mom would tell me to be patient when we got over to grandma’s house. That I should make sure I hug them and talk to them and maybe even get something to eat before ransacking her Christmas tree.

I would promise her I would be good and I would think about being good the whole drive over to her house.

I would think stuff like “Just don’t look at the tree.” Or “I’m old enough now that I can wait for presents all day if I have to.” And sometimes “Maybe Kris or Adam will blow it first.”

Her tree stretched from floor to ceiling and was always elaborately decorated. The bottom branches, however, were usually concealed by the mountains of gifts. Sometimes they were in massive bags. Bags big enough that I could have crawled inside. I was mesmerized.

I would give my grandma a firm hug, wish her a Merry Christmas, and in the cutest voice I could muster say “Can I open presents, now?”

The Gift of a Poll

In a tired stupor at 6 a.m., Leah and I stood on the moving walkway at the Baltimore airport. Then Leah blurted out in a tone of total amazement: “IS THAT CHEESE?!”

Yep, it was yellow cheese sauce in a big puddle in the middle of the carpet. Not more than a second after she spoke, a dude not paying attention stepped right into the middle of the biggest glop.

I’m very proud of Leah and I. We burst into laughter after the cheese-footed man was far out of earshot.

Lesson everyone: If someone says “IS THAT CHEESE?” watch where you step.

I’m telling you this to explain why I’m a little late on today’s poll. Leah and I were airborne for a good part of the day.

Before I give you the new question, let’s recap last week’s polls, which asked for your favorite and least favorite bugs.

Favorite: Dragonflies (35 percent) and Butterflies (28 percent)
Least Favorite: Earwigs (38 percent)

Earwigs! Really? You all hate earwigs more than mosquitoes, spiders, hornets. More than camel crickets?! Where are you running into this scary hoard of earwigs. They can’t possibly bother you as often or as thoroughly as those blood sucking, stinging creepy crawlers, can they?

I picked the potato bug as my favorite for two reasons. I liked them when I was a kid and I liked watching my brother Adam play with them.

And I picked mosquitoes as my least favorite bug, mostly because they like me so much. I get attacked annually.

OK, let’s switch gears a bit. Here is this week’s question: What is your favorite part of Christmas?
Visiting with family
Buying gifts
Giving gifts
Receiving gifts
Returning gifts and getting what you really wanted

Now remember, be honest.

The List

She’s making her list. She’s checking it twice. Leah’s gonna hit a bunch of restaurants she likes. Leah’s on her way to Utah, oh yeah.

For weeks, she has been working on a long list of food shacks we have to hit while in town. She is excited about seeing her family, but she is really really excited about grabbing some chow mein from the Panda Express. They just don’t have this chain out in Philly or DC for some reason.

Outside of Panda here are other restaurants that made the coveted list. Note, these are in no particular order.

Sampan: For the tasty hot and sour soup and egg rolls.
Su Casa: Lunch special, ‘nuff said.
Café Rio: Veggie salad. Who am I kidding? For the tomatillo ranch dressing that comes with the veggie salad.
La Frontera: Tasty tamales.
Rio Grand Café: Chips and salsa and a guacamole taco
Greek Souvlaki: Tzatziki (cucumber yogurt) and pita. Yep, she is really into dips — including me.
Coachman’s Diner: Nostalgia and their perfect eggs.
Bombay Express: Chicken tikka masala, hopefully with her mama.

Legal notice: This list is subject to change due to Leah’s cravings, the suggestions of other people or quality advertisements.

Craig’s List of Unusual People

Khan the Destroyer has left. So has my coworker Tommy. The two of them moved into a nice home near Capitol Hill, leaving me in this little basement apartment with an empty bedroom.

That’s no good, so Tommy wrote up an ad on Craig’s List to help me find a new roommate. We got a pretty diverse crop of candidates.

One from Russia, another from France. Lawyers, nurses, students, journalists, professional boxers. Yep, I got one woman named Mary who says she is neat, quiet, not a drug addict (always a plus) and she beats people up for a living.

Another woman, Elsa, wanted to bring her pet snake, which she assures me has not had a “mishap” with any other roommates before. Um, no thanks.

One guy promised that he was “not interested in any riff raff.” I almost gave him the room just because I love the phrase riff raff. I need to use that more often.

Another said: “I am not a slob at all — not that anything is wrong with that.”

After sorting through them all, one person shot right to the top.

All I will say right now is that she is from Utah and she likes basketball. And that makes her OK with me.

Success is Sweet

A little reconfiguring here, a little rigging there and suddenly I accomplished one of the greatest feats of my adult life.

I can now watch my TV in Philly from anywhere in the world. Yep, you read that right. The amazing part is that I got the Slingbox to work, especially because I don’t really understand the thing. It’s hooked to my Internet connection and my cable box, which have made some sort of mutual agreement to beam the image to my laptop. Pretty sweet.

The first time I got the picture to show up on the computer screen, I threw my arms in the air and shouted “Yes!!” as if I just scored a touchdown or hit a game winning shot. So why did I buy a Slingbox? Well, so I could watch other people score touchdowns and hit game winning shots.

I can now take my beloved Utah Jazz anywhere I go.

Leah thought my celebration was pretty funny. What she doesn’t know is when she wasn’t around it continued — all night long. I did a little dance. Pumped my fist. And cheered myself.

Now if can just get the Jazz to win some games, so I can cheer for them too.

I’m sure some of you are wondering what could possibly be a few of my other greatest achievements? This isn’t a complete list, but here are a few I came up with.

I hit a 20-foot shot for $1,000 between the 3rd and 4th quarters of a Jazz-Spurs game.

My father helped me install an over-the-stove microwave. I’m still amazed that thing hasn’t fallen off the wall or started a fire.

I convinced Leah that I would make enough money to fulfill all of her wishes. She is most definitely a sucker.

Irritation and The Eyelash

My left elbow itches something fierce, but I’m not sure I should scratch it. I’m lying in bed, trying not to move. Listening to Leah’s shallow breaths.

She is in the middle of finals and the stress of it all is pretty overwhelming. This has affected her sleep, as it would my sleep and probably any other sane person’s sleep. So I’m trying to be a nice common law husband and do what I can not to annoy her.

But I’m fidgety by nature. And my left elbow itches something fierce. Oh yeah, I already told you that.

Very carefully, I move my right arm under the sheets. Slowly, I scratch and instantly feel an incredible sense of relief, like walking out of a desert to find a fresh water stream.

But then my right thigh itches. And then my neck itches. And then my left cheek itches.
Everything itches. I’m trying not to move. I don’t want to wake her up. So I try to think of something else. I try to ignore all of the little irritations that are driving me mad.

Then my left eyelash itches. And I totally lose it.

MY EYELASHES! My eyelashes have never itched before. Ever. But now, when I’m trying not to move, my eyelashes join this ridiculous game of “let’s see if Matt can itch everywhere at once.”

I move slowly from itch to itch and this time I don’t feel relief. Now I’m just annoyed.

Leah shifts in the bed, her shallow breathing becomes something like a sigh.

That’s it! I get up, grab my pillow and slip out of the room. Before I lie down on our couch, I go crazy, itching everything from my knees up to my hair. And yes, I finally take care of that major eyelash problem.

Outta Here!

See Ralph and Georgette sleep on Leah's comfy chair.



See Georgette get very nervous that I'm taking her photo.



See Georgette run.

Squirmy Poll

Before I lay down the new question, let’s recap last week’s poll: What is your biggest fear?

My quick reaction is if we forced poor people to speak in public we would be really mean. But if we stripped people of all of their money forced them to speak to a crowd while standing on a ledge of a really really tall building, we would be down right evil.

Fear of heights led the poll with 8 votes, followed by public speaking and poverty at 6 votes each. Illness and rejection are apparently not too scary.

Maybe this poverty public speaking from high places thing could replace our country's use of simulated drownings as a interrogation technique. Just a thought.

As for me, I’m one of the two people who picked “illness.”

OK, we are going to give you a Residual Laughter first. Two polls for the price of one.

Here's the first question:

What is your favorite bug?
Butterflies
Ladybugs
Potato bugs
Ants
Dragonflies

And the second question:

What is your least favorite bugs?
Spiders
Mosquitoes
Hornets
Earwigs
Camel crickets

Gotcha!

Even with my iPod pumping music, I didn’t really hear it. I was lost in my thoughts on the way to the train. Maybe I was thinking about how to start an article, or what to buy my family for Christmas or maybe I was fantasizing about winning the lottery again. It doesn’t really matter.

My feet were moving, but I was on autopilot.

And that’s why I didn’t see it coming.

The bark.

It was more like a half snarl, half growl, half bark. I know that is three halves and that’s impossible. But you were not there and if you were, you would agree with me.

I instinctually jumped to face my attacker. I threw out my right forearm to give it something to sink its fangs into other than my exposed neck. And I found myself staring at a great big German Shepherd with a great big German Shepherd head and great big German Shepherd teeth.

The beast had leapt from behind a tree to catch me off guard.

But it didn’t pounce. My arm has no teeth marks. Instead, that mean looking face turned into a goofy dog grin, with his big tongue hanging out.

It was canine for “Gotcha!” That mutt turned around and pranced off, leaving me with my heart in my throat and my hands shaking.

Never again.

I keep an eye out for that sneaky beast every day now. I’ve ruined his little game. The next time he tried just a half bark, but he didn’t really give it his all because he knew that I had spied him. The last time he sneaked up, I looked him in the eye and he just turned around and shuffled off.

Fool me once, shame on you dog. Fool me twice, shame on your owner for letting you roam the streets freaking out unwitting pedestrians.

My Niece Mia: Red for Rosy Cheeks

This is a post from my dad. If you don’t feel comfortable calling him dad — maybe because he isn’t your father — you can call him Steve. Dad, er, Steve has agreed to occasionally send me a post on my adorable niece Mia, who is 6 years old. Enjoy!



After some movie where the Bee version of Jerry Seinfeld falls in love with a human, Mia escorts me into her room and tells me that I’m going to do her hair and makeup.

OK, I'm up for it. I sit her down on a garbage can turned up side down, pick up some pretend scissors and start on her hair. She stops me before I can make a single pretend cut, rips the pretend scissors from my hands and pretends to cut her own bangs. She doesn't trust me to pretend to cut her hair. And I kind of understand.

She throws the fake scissors to the ground and hands me her make-up brush, which is a paint brush from a kids paint set. We also use two crayons. Yellow to “lighten up her face.” Red for “her rosy cheeks". I go to work, starting with red on her cheeks then I go to the make up brush. I rub it over her eyebrows, then across her eyelids and under her eyes. Mia is getting that look on her face. She's disgusted. I keep going, brushing it across her forehead, across her lips and on her chin.

She is really pissed now.

I start to laugh.

She is livid.

"You’re making me look like a man!" she yells, before she storms into the bathroom, climbs up on the toilet and checks the damage in the mirror.

Commuter Reading

He whips the station wagon around the corner at 50 mph. The tires squeal. His eyes don’t leave the rear view mirror where all he sees are the insane looks on these monsters lusting to taste his blood. He stares at the hoard — and shivers.

He finally looks forward just as he approaches his house. Slamming on the breaks, he jumps out and runs toward the open garage. He has to close that door. He has to.

Right before he does, one of them emerges from that shadows and …

And the Metro pulls up to Friendship Heights. My stop. My bookmark (which is one of my business cards) slips between the pages. I grab my backpack and walk a mile home.

Just another day of commuter reading.

I don’t mind it most of the time. I devour The Washington Post on the way to work and dip into a book on the way home. I’m better read here than I ever was back in Utah. But every once in awhile, my stop comes way too soon. The doors open and the other commuters spill out while I try to rush through a few more sentences just to find out what happens. Does he die? If not, how does he escape this one?

But when I do that, I normally panic. Skip words. Read the same sentence twice. Get nowhere. Then I scramble to get myself out of the train before it takes me to who knows where.

From time to time the urge to keep reading is just too strong. I plant myself on a cement bench in the dimly lit cement tunnel and read until the chapter ends.

More often, I just pick it up the next day, knowing I have about 20 minutes before I have to stop mid-sentence and start the walk home.

Taffy Nation

In an industrial area of Salt Lake sits a big building adorned with cartoon like letters and two cartoonish guys that are as creepy as they are intriguing.

What happens in there? Well, the name gives it away. It’s called Taffy Town and it’s probably some wonderland of sugar and peppermint and salt water and taffy. Lots and lots of taffy. But that is just a guess. I've never been inside.

Utah is full of salt water taffy. Maybe we like it because it has salt in the name and salt is something Salt Lake City has a lot of. Or maybe Utah just has a bunch of kids and kids like taffy.

Either way, I grew up thinking that salt water taffy was a Utah creation, a delicacy exported from my home state to all of the other children in the world.

I apparently was wrong. It appears that salt water taffy first came from New Jersey and is now made all over the place.

Take a look at this!



This is Florida taffy packaged to look like D.C. taffy. Nooo! I feel so ashamed about my ignorance and yet I still think salt water taffy should be a Utah thing. In fact, I demand it.

Consider this a formal request for every other state to stop making taffy. To stop marketing taffy. Or at least fake like it came from Utah. That would make me feel better.

Thank you for turning my faulty childhood logic into a reality.

The Ultimate Destroyer

Khan has been my protector for some time now, which is why I first called her Khan the Exterminator.

I now prefer Khan the Destroyer, though Jen, her owner, prefers The Warrior Princess. But I just don’t think that doesn’t really cover all of this kitty’s special abilities.

She destroys bugs. She destroys rugs. She destroys my sanity by constantly whining for wet food. And she tries to destroy pillows.

Let me explain that last one.

Khan goes absolutely bonkers when one of us puts down a spoonful of wet smelly cat food. She forgets to breathe while she eats. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t chew anything. So consequently she pukes — a lot.

Her latest target? Tommy’s pillows. His sheets. And his comforter. All at the same time.

Yes, Khan may be a princess, but above all she is a destroyer.

Scaredy Poll

Let’s recap last week’s question: Flight vs. invisibility.

Not exactly a unique question but one of the more thought provoking. Turns out that a majority of you would take to the sky. The vote was 18 to 10.

I decided to throw this one on the blog after hearing a segment on NPR’s This American Life. John Hodgman, you know, the guy on The Daily Show. Maybe you know him as the PC guy in the Mac commercials. Yeah, that guy.

John Hodgman posed the question to people and the answers were great. One guy just wanted to fly so he could visit Paris regularly. One gal really wanted to turn invisible so she could shoplift. Apparently she really likes expensive sweaters.

Hodgman guessed that men mostly lean toward flying and women toward invisibility. That picking flight had a tinge of nobility (or at least indicated a big ego) while invisibility indicated a person with something to hide (or someone who loves gossip).

My friend Isaac apparently picked invisibility. He doesn’t buy its villainous tinge. I would pick flight. Only because I have no intention of being a spy. I don’t want to know what people say about me when I’m not around. And I don’t need sweaters.

But with flight, I could escape the city when I want to, get to work in a zap and dunk a basketball. I’ve always wanted to be able to dunk.

OK, now to this week’s question.

What is your biggest fear?

Here are your choices:
Heights
Public speaking
Rejection
Illness
Poverty
The Utah Jazz not making the playoffs.

Since I will probably be the only person who picks that last one, I will leave it off the official list. But it is a scary thought.

When Snow Attacks

Washingtonians have a bit of a winter tradition. The first time white flakes fall from the sky they run around is circles and scream as if they were engulfed in flames.

Schools close, the government shuts down and everyone is horrified. It snowed! SNOW is on the ground! How are we going to survive?! The only people who are happy when it snows are the cab drivers who gleefully pick up freaked out pedestrians who will pay loads of cash not to have to walk in … in … s-n-o-w. Yuk.

Leah’s friends even told us that when word of the first snow storm hits, panicked people rush to the grocery store to stock up on bread, milk and toilet paper. Don’t worry mom, I have bread, milk and toilet paper.

Funny thing is, snow is not that rare here. I will give the poor Washingtonians this: Sometimes it freezes and that means everything from the sidewalks to the staircases are glazed with treacherous ice. My backside is still a little sore from a few falls I took on freezing sleet back in 1999.

But this first storm wasn’t anything like that. It resembled Utah snow. Well kind of.

Here is my report:

Sleep Laughing

I wake up often. Mostly because I have an annoying sleep disorder where my brain tells my lungs to stop taking in air. Consider it subconscious sabotage.

Rarely it’s because of things like this.

And on the best of occasions, I wake up to laughter. Leah’s laughter.

Leah has a few minor sleeping disorders of her own... let me tell you about a few.

She talks in her sleep. When I catch her, I listen intently for something scandalous, some piece of information she would never let slip if she were awake.

Never happens. She normally has pleasant though horribly boring conversations punctuated by giggling. The ultimate residual laughter.

She also routinely elbows or slaps me in the face. This might be partially my fault. I roll around a lot and she tells me I place myself in the strike zone.

One time she reached her hand over in a dramatic arc, laying it on my head. She squeezed my nose and my cheek a few times, then pulled her arm back.

She didn’t giggle that time. But I did.

Jell-O Disast-O

Well here it is. The First Ever Residual Laughter Video Highlighting My Kitchen Blunders!!!

I'm sure there will be a full series to follow, with the hopes that I can get together a DVD compilation for sale sometimes next year. Please forgive the bad audio, the bad photos and the bad editing. I would like to blame Leah, but she was really studying while I was making this thing . . . No, on second thought, I am blaming Leah. Shame on you Leah, for shame.

Enjoy.

Phrogger

I rarely ever drive anymore, but I had an article to write recently that forced me to commandeer Leah’s car and speed all over Philly.

After that harrowing experience, I will leave the driving in Leah’s hands.

Philly is crazy. Philly drivers are even more crazy. And Philly pedestrians are the craziest people in this country.

It’s like all the drivers decided the traffic laws are more like guidelines. Something followed when it suits them, but hey, they are in a hurry, so get the hell out of the way!

Run a red light? No problem.
Turn right from the left lane? Commonplace.
Weave in and out of traffic? Isn’t that expected?

They do have one law that everyone seems to abide by: Aggression wins.

You want to switch lanes? Just do it. You want to turn in front of speeding cars? Do it. Force the other guy to hit you or get out of the way. That is the motto of Philly motorists.

During a power outage, we marveled at how daring people were. Four way stop? Not a chance. Cars just kept going until some brave soul darted out into the intersection claiming his turn. Then he was followed by dozens of others.

The aggression rule isn’t just for drivers, but for pedestrians too. People here think crosswalks are quaint. No one really expects them to walk all the way to the end of the block to cross the street. That would be crazy.

To be honest, I’ve been known to jaywalk a time or two. But not like a Philadelphian. These people don’t wait for traffic to slow and have no problem standing in the narrow space between lanes. Moms will take the hands of their children and stop in the middle of the road as cars buzz by them going both directions. Cops too.

They all play frogger. But they play for keeps.

All of this adds to a driver’s tension. Watch out because a pedestrian can come from anywhere. A driver can turn from anywhere. And it happens enough that there are no stress-free drives. No longer can I let my thoughts drift away as I head down the interstate.

I miss my car. I thought I missed driving. Turns out I missed driving anywhere but here.

Leah and I saw this sticker and thought it should become the mantra of reasonable drivers throughout this city.

Matt Loves Matt Some Matt

Most athlete interviews are pretty boring, stuff about team and not looking past the next opponent. But Terrell Owens of the Dallas Cowboys is a bit different. He is really good, really talkative, really eccentric and really egotistical.

During a pre-game interview recently, he was talking about how much of a team player he has become, but he also wanted to point out that he hasn’t totally lost his infatuation with . . . well, Terrell Owens.

He said: “I love me some me.”

And I don’t doubt him. I bet he really loves him some him. That guy loves that guy some that guy.

This is great!

President Bush loves President Bush some President Bush. Or how about — Big Bird loves Big Bird some Big Bird.

Um, that last one sounds a little cannibalistic.

Interrupted Studying

He always gives me this look when I disturb his reading, says Leah, who took this photo.