Abhor Day

I was surprised when the Arbor Day Foundation sent me their 2014 Iowa Tree Survey in the mail.

I guess they don't know much I hate my trees.

Don't get me wrong, I'm against deforestation, and I know that trees are the primary reason why we haven't had a second dust bowl. I enjoy trees in paintings, photographs, and poems. Those huge, ancient trees that have tunnels carved through them are magnificent. I like the trees in your neighborhood, and I love that tree in your grandma's yard that held your old swing.

But when it comes to the trees on my own property, I'm in favor of the scorched earth policy. I don't even like the trees on my neighbor's property. Those trees dump as many leaves and branches on my yard as my own do, so they're just as much trouble, and sometimes more. We lived in our new house one full day before a windstorm roared down the street and a tree blew over into our yard from next door. Quite a trick, the way it neatly jumped the property line. In less than 30 seconds I owned another large, useless, piece of junk tree.

So, I laughed when I read that if I fill out the Arbor Day Foundation's survey, AND send them ten bucks, they'll send me this.

As a gift I'll receive ten more trees to plant where I live? You might as well tell me, "Sign here, and in a month you'll have staff infection." When it comes to trees, my glass is half empty. You say "bird song"; I say "bird crap".

So, no. I'm not filling out their survey. But I did take a minute to read the highly scientific questions.

Talk about taking you on a sentimental journey. Why don't they ask, "As a child, did you ever fall out of a tree and break your arm?" or "During spooky storms, do tree limbs ever look like arms and hands that could reach through the window and take your soul?"

Then there's the irony of the bonus gifts and the survey's paperwork.

Do you know how many trees were killed to create the paper that was used to make the "The Tree Book", "The Rain Forest Rescue Calendar", and even the "2014 Iowa Tree Survey"?

Wait a minute... Hey, Arbor Day Foundation, come on over to my house if you want to make some more paper!

Link: My previous rant about trees

Take That, Sneaky Amazon.com!

Today I was reading this magazine to get ready for a lesson on the future of smart phones.

That's when I came across this product review.

Nice. Daphne really could use a hand warmer. I checked out the "Engeryflux Rechargeable" (didn't that also power the DeLorean in Back to the Future?) on Amazon, and not only was the hand warmer on sale, it had over two hundred positive reviews. Sold.

But dang! I need to spend $35 to get this shipped for free, and those sneaks at Amazon priced this at $34.95. So, as Amazon intended, I started racking my brain for what I could buy that would push the total over the hill and into FREE Shipping territory. My problem was that I couldn't talk myself into buying any unneeded books, CDs, or Blu-rays. That never happens. I'm usually really, really good at talking myself into buying unnecessary junk.

So, like I usually do when I'm faced with serious life problems, I went to Google.

That's where I found this nifty website.

I told www.filleritem.com that I needed an item that cost six cents, and...

... Cha-ching! (Again, I checked out the positive ratings first. I just don't throw around $0.06 without thinking, you know.)

Add the Dixon Valve & Coupling TVW7 Red Vinyl Tuff-Lite Washer for Garden Hose Fitting
to my cart, and...

Taa Daa!

Please see this post's title for the wrap-up.

A Legend In My Own Mind: The Todd Johnson Tribute (part 3)

Wayne's World

In March I was invited back to Eric's place for a Friday night sleep over. While we were watching That's Incredible on TV, Todd sauntered into the room and asked, "What are you two fairies watching?" The question was rhetorical because he walked over and switched off the TV. "C'mon. Get yer coats. We're leaving."

Eric and I leapt off the couch and ran to the closet. Without looking back at us, Todd pulled a large cowboy onto his head and made his way out of the house.

Eric laughed, "We got to hurry; he'll leave us if we're not in the truck by the time he starts it!" We were falling over each other trying to get through the kitchen, out the door, and into the night.

The pickup's engine was turning over when we reached the passenger door, but the door was locked. Todd yelled through the rolled down window, "Where's your Wayne Doba hats? I got mine!" He sharply pointed to the cowboy hat on top of his head. "Ya can't get in the truck without yer Wayne Dobas!"

I had no clue what he was talking about, and apparently neither did Eric, "What?!! C'mon, Todd! Let us in!" Todd just laughed and shook his head as he revved the engine over and over.

Seizing an opportunity, Eric quickly reached over and pulled the door's lock knob up and yanked open the door before Todd could react. We both dove into the cab while gravel began to spew from beneath the trucks tires. As we sped away from the farm, Todd muttered to the windshield, "No Dobas, huh? That's pretty damn sad... good thing I brought my magic marker."

Eric and I exchanged a worried glance as those two words, magic marker, hung in the air above us like a guillotine blade waiting to drop.

For the next half hour Todd entertained us with his daredevil driving. The truck sped through back road stop signs and weaved from one side of the dark road to the other. Then, without warning, Todd slammed on the brakes and sharply turned the steering wheel to the left. The truck slid sideways until it ground to a stop, its nose now facing the opposite direction.

By the time I peeled my palms off the dashboard, Todd was out of the truck and jerking the passenger door open. "Since you sissies ain't got yer Doba hats, we'll have to do something else!" He held a long, black marker in his right fist and he yanked off the cap off with his teeth like a solider pulling a pin from a grenade. Then he climbed into the truck.

When Todd was done with us, Eric and I were sporting what looked like black caterpillars underneath our noses.

Todd got back behind the wheel and looked over at his handiwork, "That should do the trick!" And with a laugh he threw the truck in gear.

By the time we got to the mall in Sioux Falls - I had no idea where we were until I recognized a few of the city's landmarks - it was near 9:30 p.m. and the stores were closed. But the mall's side entrance led to a theater, and that's where Todd was taking us. Man, I was excited. Going to a movie - any movie - was a special occasion. Going to a movie with Todd Johnson was going to be unreal.

Of the three "Now Showing" movie posters, which one do you think Todd picked for us?

Yep. Todd was taking us to The Funhouse. And yes, the deformed mouth looked scary as all get out, but when I read the poster, one letter also stood out. 

The R.

Nothing shouts "Hey kid! You'd love this!" louder at a 12-year-old boy than that letter R. But how were we going to get in? There was no way Eric or I looked 17. Todd confidently walked towards the ticket booth, and my heart started to climb up my throat. Wait a minute! Isn't this against the law? We'll get caught! We're going to get into trouble! Serioulsly, big trouble!

I'd like to tell you I was a huge, junor high rebel, but that would be a lie. I was always afraid of getting into trouble.

I also wasn't the only one who was worried. Eric nervously called to his big brother,"Todd? How are you gonna get us in that movie? We're not old enough!"

"Shhh!" Todd also hushed us with his hands, and he doubled checked that we were out of the ticket taker's ear shot, "We're gonna be fine. I'm 17, and you've got your 'stashes."

Confused, I asked, "What do you mean? We don't have anything stashed anywhere."

Todd walked over to me and leaned in close, "Your stashes! They're right under your noses, Numbnuts. You've got a mustache on!" He pointed under his own nose for emphasis, "We are gonna be fine. C'mon!" And then he got in line to buy tickets.

I was stunned. He had planned all of this out? He knew he was taking us to a R rated movie? And his solution to getting us in was marker mustaches? We were sooo dead.

It didn't take Todd any time to get to the gal who was working in the ticket booth. We were the only people in the mall's hallway. That also meant there was nowhere to hide.

Tipping his hat at the young woman, Todd drawled, "Howwwdeee. Like to buy three of dem tickets to yer Funhouse."

"Okay... who are these tickets fer?" Already the gal was playing along.

Todd pointed at us, "Just me and ma posse."

"Ummm... The Funhouse is rated R. Your posse doesn't look old enough to see a movie that's rated R. Do they have I.D.s?"

"They don't need no I.D. These gents got themselves mustaches! You can see 'em for yerself." Todd motioned to the two boys who barely stood as tall as his shoulders, "Men, wiggle them 'stashes for the little lady."

We approached the glass and did our best to wiggle the stain above our lips, but all that did was make the girl laugh. I don't think it helped that I couldn't stop shaking my lip and my butt at the same time.

"Cute. But I'm going have to see proof that they're 17 before I can let you in."

Todd slowly shrugged his shoulders once and heavily sighed. "Fine. I guess we'll take three tickets to watch that sweet Gary Coleman do his thang..."

With a smile, but no comment, the gal handed over three tickets that had magically slid out of the stainless steel counter top. Actually, I was a bit relieved. That mouth on the Funhouse poster was pretty intimidating. Once we passed the ticket booth, Todd shoved us towards the theater's bathroom.

Like the lobby, the bathroom was empty except for us. "Okay, I don't care what these tickets say, I'm not paying money to watch the Different Strokes kid do jack. What you guys are going to do is act like you're going into that theater number two, and I'm going to buy popcorn. When the girl turns to fill up the bag, haul ass into theater three. Got it?"

We both nodded, but I was feeling a bit sick. I hadn't sneaked into anything before. Swallowing hard, I followed Eric and we walked as slowly as we could towards the doors of theater two. Todd went to buy the popcorn, and same girl who was in the box office came over to work the snack bar. Since she was keeping an eye on us, we actually opened the doors and entered theater two, but we kept the doors open a crack to watch for our chance. As Todd predicted, the gal did have to turn her back on us, and that's when we bolted down the velvet rope and into theater three.

I held my breath for a full minute, absolutely sure an alarm was going to go off or someone would scream, "What are you kids doing in here!" But I was wrong. There were only about ten other people in the theater, and none of them even bothered to look our way. But just to safe, we sat at the very end in last row of seats and tried to make ourselves as small as possible.

On screen a trailer for The Final Conflict: Omen 3 was playing, and as the narrator read, "The power of evil is no longer in the hands of a child..." a hand slammed on my shoulder and gripped it tight. I jumped and turned to see Todd's grin shining in the dark. "What are you fairies doing in the back row? You can't see Wayne Doba from back here!" And with that, Todd led us to the front of the theater.

Again, I was sure we'd be busted by drawing attention to ourselves, but again, no one said boo to us. Well, at least until the opening credits for The Fun House began. That's when this appeared onscreen:

I didn't ever pay attention to names that appeared in a movie's credits, so I was really startled when out of the blue Todd jumped out of his seat with both fists raised above his head, and he started shouting, "YEAH! ALLLL RIGHT! WAYNE DOBA! DOOOOH BAH! DOOOOOH BAH! DOOOOOH BAH!" Todd was dancing a celebratory jig in front of the audience.

As expected, a voice boomed from the darkness behind us, "Sit down!" Surprisingly, Todd didn't overreact. He stopped dancing, flipped off the darkness behind him, and sat down. My guess is that he didn't want to miss any part of the movie.

The only thing I can tell you about the seeing the actual movie for the first time is that within five minutes, up on that great big screen was a naked girl in a shower. It was A-mazing! And it was because of Todd that I got to see her.

When the movie was over Eric and I got up to leave, but Todd shot an arm across our chests, "Wait! There's more!" He pointed to the credits that had begun to crawl up the screen. When "The Monster: Wayne Doba" appeared, Todd grabbed his hat and started waving it over his head as he hooted and hollered, "WAYNE DOBA! DOOOOH BAH! DOOOOOH BAH! DOOOOOH BAH! DOOOOOH BAH! DOOOOOH BAH!" He kept this up until the credits were over and the lights had come on.

It was past midnight by the time the truck rolled to a stop in front of their house, and when we got inside sleeping bags were waiting for Eric and I in the living room.

The next morning I was wakened by a foot lightly kicking my leg, "Time to RISE and SHINE, boys! Breakfast is ON!" Todd left the room, and Eric sat up in his sleeping bag and giggled, "Todd made breakfast! You can smell 'em. Last time he made over a hundred!"

"He made a hundred of what?"

Eric slid out of his bag, "C'mon! Let's go eat!"

I wasn't sure if I had heard Eric right, but the smell coming from the kitchen made my stomach growl, and I realized that in all of the excitement of last night, I didn't have dinner. My stomach rumbled again, and I unzipped my sleeping bag in pursuit of what ever Todd had made.

When I entered the kitchen Todd Johnson surprised me for the last time. On the middle of the kitchen table was plate holding a foot high pile of something. On closer inspection, I realized it what it was. Pancakes. Todd had made about fifty pancakes, each one the size of a quarter. Mini pancakes aren't anything new now, but in 1981 I hadn't seen anything like them. It was hilarious. I couldn't help but think, nothing this guy does is normal. Who even thinks this kind of stuff up?

Todd reached past my gaze, grabbed a fist of pancakes and shoved them in his mouth. He then walked towards the door, but before he left he said with his mouth full of cake, "What in the hell happened to your faces? You've got crap scribbled all over ya." Eric and I looked above each other's upper lip and burst out laughing.

Fin

That was the last time I would get to visit Eric's home. As spring turned into summer, Eric got bigger and so did his responsibilities on the farm. By eighth grade we were taking different classes, and while one of us had chores after school, the other was in a sport's practice. With a school class of only 40 students, you wouldn't think it would be possible to lose track of someone in such a small group, but that's actually pretty easy to do. One moment a person is standing right in front of you, and then the next moment they are fading into the fabric of your background. Rock solid friendships can turn out to be nothing more than handfuls of wet sand. On the day I graduated from high school, I don't think I even thought to tell Eric Johnson goodbye.

I never really saw Todd again, either. I had heard a rumor that he had left the farm to join the military, but no one ever confirmed that. All I ever really knew of Todd were the stories I have just shared with you.

That is, until I remembered that we have this thang called the interweb, and I could use it to see what happened to my junior high hero. With such a common surname, I thought I'd have mountains of web pages to scale before I found the right Todd Johnson, but that wasn't the case. I Googled his name +Rock Valley+Iowa, and the search engine lead me straight to Todd's obituary.

Sad, I know.

After reading Todd's Life Legacy, I decided that it really didn't do his memory any justice. At least not my memory of him. In my mind, Todd will forever be that fearless kid in the hall with a good sidekick and a mischievous magic marker. So, I wrote this post to honor that memory.

Last night I watched my Funhouse DVD after Charlotte went to bed. I was messing around with some other projects as the movie played, but as it ended I put everything down and waited for Wayne Doba's name to appear. When it did, I threw my fists above my head and whisper-shouted to an empty room, "Doba! Doba! Doba!"

Todd, thank you for the memories.

A Legend In My Own Mind: The Todd Johnson Tribute (part 2)

Kids in the Hall

At that point in my life I hadn't personally met Eric's older brother, but I had seen him at school. On two different occasions Todd was impossible to miss; his presence was announced by a yell in the hallway.

The first time I caught Todd in the act was when I asked to go to the bathroom so I could get out of math class. I was taking a leisurely drink at the fountain when I heard shrieks coming from an adjacent hallway.

"Todd! Get down from there right now!"

"Meeeeooooow!'

As soon as I heard that exchange, I ran/ walked towards the commotion, and then peeked around a red brick corner.

Right away I could see the Johnson family resemblance. He had the same blond hair, even broader shoulders, and between both hung a faintly older version of Eric's face. But that face sure wasn't where you'd think it would be. Todd had climbed on top of a long embankment of lockers, and as he was crawling on his hands and knees, he was mewing like a cat. It was hilarious.

"Now stop that, Todd! And get off of those lockers!" When the woman reached up to grab Todd's wrist, he pulled his arm to his chest, " hisssssed" at her, and then batted at her hand with quick jabs as if it was a string of yarn. He hissed again and turned and quickly crawled away, meowing and spitting as he went. "Todd! You come back here!"

Eventually the row of lockers ended at a classroom door frame, and when Todd came to the edge, he began wiggling his butt as if he was preparing to leap the chasm to the next set of lockers.

But before he could move, a science teacher opened the classroom door and blocked his jump.

Then it was two against one, and with nowhere to crawl, Todd was forced off his perch. As the teachers escorted him to the Principal's office, they passed the spot where I was standing. Todd had been silent while the three walked towards me, but when he locked eyes with this skinny seventh-grader, we both burst out laughing at his performance. As they led him away, his eyes sparkled with mischief.

A couple of months later, we were deep in the grip of a dark Iowa winter, and Todd began battling imaginary ninjas in the hall. With the exception of the band department, I think everyone in the school could hear his Bruce Lee imitation. I was lucky enough to hear and see him from where I was sitting in study hall.

As he hopped from foot to foot, he punctuated each shout by mimicking a martial art move.

"Hiiiiiiyaaaaaaah!" [fake karate swipe]
"OOOOOOOOOwah!"[fake karate punch]
"Ohhhhhhhhh...NA!"[fake karate kick]
And the nonsensical, "CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!" [chopping action with hand??]

Within thirty seconds, teachers were descending upon him. Since my study hall supervisor had also joined the fray, I walked to the doorway to see what was going to happen.

"Todd! Quiet down and get to class!"

"Hiiiiii... Nooooooo!" [slaps away a teacher's hand reaching for him]
"AAAAAhhhhhh... ACK! ACK! ACK!" [I swear he was doing bunny hops while yelling the "ACKs"]

A circle of four teachers began to close upon him, but he kept hopping and chopping. Most of his "moves" were awkward at best, but one sidekick was particularly impressive. I think his foot stopped in the air near eye-level.

And it was this kick that did him in. The P.E. teacher grabbed his suspended ankle, and with only one leg to stand on, the battle was over. Again, Todd was taken to the main office for whatever punishment awaited him.

And this is what so impressed me about Todd Johnson. Not only was his comedy inventive, random, and physical, it was dangerous. He was willing to get in trouble for his art. Goofing around and trying to be a class clown was one thing, but being taken away by an entourage of teachers was on a whole different level.

The next day I overheard some older students talking about Todd. While serving a day of in-school suspension, he had disappeared from the room the teachers had put him in. He was later found inside a locked custodial closet, pounding on the door and yelling that it was illegal to lock kids in closets and that he was afraid of the dark. Apparently Todd knew his way around in the space above the ceiling tiles.

I don't know what they did to him after that.

A Legend In My Own Mind: The Todd Johnson Tribute (part 1)

I know this story is too big for this blog, but as I'm considering how to tell it, I don't see how the story could be made smaller. Maybe I'll surprise myself, and this won't be too big after all. Perhaps it just seems big in my mind because all of this happened when I was in 7th grade, and everything looks bigger through a child's eye.

Okay, time to drift back to junior high and revisit a childhood hero of mine, even if it that's hard to do.

A Room With A View

In my small world, the most popular comedians in 1981 were Bill Murray, Steve Martin, and Robin Williams. Bill was singing "Do Wah Diddy Diddy" in Stripes, Steve had an arrow shot through his head, and Robin was an alien from the planet Ork. Watching these professional comedians on TV or in a movie was a lot of fun, but that doesn't mean comedy is restricted to professionals. I know people who have made me laugh longer and harder than any movie ever could.

For a couple of years I had a friend at school named Eric Johnson. Eric had wispy, blond hair, broad shoulders, and I cannot remember ever seeing him angry. We were in the same class in 6th grade, and we went to bible camp together the next summer. Like a lot of my classmates, Eric lived on a farm in the country, and he was usually too busy working it to have friends visit.

One fall day my mom surprised me with the news that Eric's mom had called, and I was invited for the afternoon. Once I got there, Eric excitedly gave me the tour of his farm's buildings. We also spent several minutes reverently studying his father's Kenworth Semi-truck before he drove it off to work.

After watching the truck roar to life and rumble away down the gravel road, we went inside his house to mess around. Eric quickly led me up the stairs to the bedrooms, and he giggled, "You gotta see this!" "This" as it turns out, wasn't in Eric's room like I suspected, "this" was in his older brother's room.

Todd Johnson was a junior in high school (an adult to us), and his room wasn't like anything I had seen before. There might as well hung a sign above the doorway proclaiming, "Here Be Monsters!" because in the world of Todd Johnson, bloody vampires, the walking dead, and creatures from beyond stalked the land. I didn't even know where to stop and look. Every square inch of the walls was plastered with posters, pictures, and hand made collages of severed hands, reanimated brains, and the frothing mouths of demons.

I was in awe. No room was ever cooler than this.

The ceiling light had a pull-chain switch, and a headless Barbie doll dangled from the end of the chain. Half expecting an explosion, I tentatively tugged on Barbie's feet, and the light clicked on. You could now see that rubber masks and issues of Fangoria, Gorezone, and Famous Monsters of Filmland covered the floor.

"Here! It's right here!" Eric reached into Todd's dresser drawer and pulled out a picture that would take my breath away. Giggling, Eric handed me the image of a vampire baring her fangs as blood from her mouth ran down her neck and over her... well, let's just say she was topless. I was stunned into silence. In that picture was everything a twelve-year-old boy ever wanted to see. In the span of three minutes, Eric's older brother had reached champion status.

"C'mon!' Eric ripped the picture out of my hands and tossed it back in the drawer. "Let's get out of here before we get caught."

I See What You Did There

Nicely played, Family Video. Nicely played.

Just Another Sunday Lunch at the Monson's

When You're Three, All the World's a Stage

Despite the weird snow storm this morning, I took Char downtown to the Science Center of Iowa while Daphne took her middle school band to large group contest. My survival plan was to wear her out as much as possible.

We really liked playing with the air gusts that could blow balls into the air.

Then we took the centrifugal force ride for a spin.

Channel 13 does noontime weather reports from the Science Center, and they have the green screen running all the time for kids to pretend they are on TV. Char's not quite tall enough to be on screen, but you can see her raising her arms in the bottom left of the monitor.

But Char wasn't too worried about being on TV, she was just excited to be on the stage. Check out her dance routine.

Tomorrow morning Char's Sunday school class is singing front of the church. Hopefully she'll keep these moves to a minimum...

This Morning's Pick-Me-Up

Sometimes when we are at school our daycare provider will email Daphne and I a picture of Charlotte having fun, or she'll write up a quick story about what Char's been doing or saying. It's amazing how much these emails can brighten my day.

Here's a picture of the email I received this morning. (GTG stands for "Good Time Gang" which is the name of Char's preschool.)

You'd think Thanksgiving was coming instead. What a little turkey... 

(We bought the Valentines on Sunday, so making it to Wednesday is actually pretty good for Charlotte.)

...You Might Be A Parent

Remember Comedian Jeff Foxworthy's "You might be a Redneck" schtick?

"If you buy wine and cheese at the same place you buy gasoline... you might be a redneck."

Okay, I made up that redneck joke, but you get the idea. In a similar vein, I've been making up a list of characteristics and/or behaviors that are unique to being a parent of a little kid. It's not the most creative idea, but it is fun to play with. Here's what I have so far:

If your alter ego is the Tickle Monster... you might be a parent.

If the cars in your garage constantly door ding each other ... you might be a parent.

If you have ever listened to "The Wheels on the Bus" while you were alone in your car... you might be a parent.

If you have ever been late for work because you couldn't find a certain stuffed animal... you might be a parent.

If you judge a public bathroom by its changing table... you might be a parent.

If you shower in a space littered with brightly colored plastic toys... you might be a parent.

If you have ever covered a cut on your own finger with a Hello Kitty band-aid... you might be a parent.

If you just found out that a popular nightspot that you wanted to visit has been closed for two years... you might be a parent.

If going to McDonald's means going out for dinner... you might be a parent.

If you have ever said to another adult, "I have to go potty"... you might be a parent.

If you haven't even heard of this year's Oscar nominated films, but you watched Cinderella twelve times last month... you might be a parent.

If you are tired of winding the toilet paper back into a roll... you might be a parent.

If you know the secret hand signal for string cheese... you might be a parent.

If reading a book requires making sound effects and doing multiple voices... you might be a parent.

If you don't recognize any of the stars on the magazines at the grocery store, but you can name every one of the Bubble Guppies... you might be a parent.

If you have ever applauded another person's bowel movement... you might be a parent.

PS. If two or more of these statements apply to you, and you're not a parent, then you might want to consider professional help.

All That and A Can Of Chips: Pringles Koozie

If I leave a full can of Pringles unsupervised, there's a good chance Char will find it and consume 12 inches of chips before I'll even notice. Ask me how I know.

Now I buy the 5 inch little brother in case my parenting skills slide...

Yesterday, I noticed that you can put a 12 oz. aluminum can into an empty 2.36 oz (67 g) Pringles container. Slip a cheap koozie around the can, and it all fits snugly together.

Yea! It's time for arts and crafts.

Step 1) Let's assemble the team. I've got the spray glue, the empty cans, and a promotional koozie I found in our junk drawer.

Step 2) Spray adhesive onto both sides of the koozie. (If you don't have spray glue, then I bet you could smear Elmer's glue on the koozie, and it would work just fine. You'd probably have to wait overnight for the glue to hold, tho'.)

Step 3) Spray inside the Pringles can.

Step 4) Quickly place the koozie inside the Pringles container.

Step 5) Slide the aluminum can into the koozie to help set the koozie's fabric against the sides of the container, and you're done.

How dapper. Time to "Grab & Go!", or go start your own ETSY store.

Addendum: I punched a few holes in the bottom with a screwdriver. This relieves the pressure inside the Pringles can, and I can slip out the empty container much easier. 

Okay, that was fun. What else can we make into a koozie?

Ummmm... no.

I'm Going To Publish A Hot And Steamy Photo From My Weekend

On Saturday we took Charlotte to a new Mexican restaurant located in a strip mall near our house. Char has now broadened her tastes beyond chips and rice, and she'll put down half a taco if she's in the mood. 

I'm not a food critic, and I don't have a refined palate, so my measuring stick for judging a Mexican place is the quality of their beef fajitas. What can I say? I'm a meat guy. This time I went with El Torito's flat iron steak fajitas, and I'm glad I did. Although it was only 20 degrees outside, the plate came full, sizzling, and steaming. Just looking at it makes me feel happy.

The side plate of garnishes looked pretty good, too. The shredded cheese was a nice addition, but I'll be honest and admit I didn't even put a dent in the refried beans or rice. I had enough to contend with with the steak and veggies. I'll only post a little picture of the side plate; it's not steamy enough.

What? That's it. What were you expecting?