My Dinner With Michelle...Obama.

So Ken started out this Valentines week writing about breakups and I got super excited to join the fray! Is there anything better then remembering when you were totally right and justified and able to conjure the exact magnificent phrase at the exact magnificent moment?! Well, there's nothing better, but that's because it doesn't happen and when it does, it's because it's fake.

For example:

Once when I was breaking up with this girl, her name was...let's say Michelle Obama, she was all, "You never take me places anymore!"  and I was all, "Really?!"  I mean, we were sitting in the Empire State Building on Valentine's Day when she hit me up.

"What more can I do?!  Here we are having a lovely night and you are complaining?"

"I didn't ask you to bring me here!  Am I some cliché ingenue in some Tom Hanks movie?!  I'm MICHELLE OBAMA, take me somewhere interesting."

She had me there.  It's true, I was on autopilot.  I had been ever since Christmas when she took me to meet her grandmother.  It was fine, she was nice, but I knew it was over. But it was the Holidays and I'm not one to make a fuss.  The truth is, I had forgotten it was Valentine's Day, and all the nice places were booked...or so I assumed, I didn't really have time to check, I just called New York and when there was a table available, I had to take it.  So what if it was sorta hokey? I was trying, which is more then I can say for Michelle.

"Is this why you wore sweats?" I asked.

"What?"

"Is this why you wore sweats...on our Valentine's date?  Are you just done with this?"

"These aren't sweats. I got them from Anthropologie."

This is what she was wearing:

"Those-are-sweats." I stated slowly and with punctuated pauses between each word. "You wear whatever shoes you want, you showed up tonight ready for a light sprint out of here, and now I know why...I don't take you places."

"I don't want to do this here."

"Are you kidding?!  I don't want to do this here?  I don't want to do this until after St. Patrick's Day."

"Of course you don't.  It's all about keeping the peace with you isn't it.  Well, I can see right through you...I saw how you were with my Grandmother!"

"What are you talking about?!!!"

"You were all weird and distant."

"Pull yourself together, Michelle, I was causal and aloof. I didn't want to seem like some nutcase who's all up in your Grandma's business."

"Are you joking right now?  Is that what you're telling me, that you didn't want my 90 year old Grandmother to think you were into her?!"

"I didn't!"

"I'm leaving. Would you hand me my coat."

"No!  You don't get to drop your bombs and walk out!  Oh, No, you get to sit there coatless while I tell you a thing or two!"

"Keep the coat."  Then she shoves her chair out and it sorta bangs into the man sitting behind her. "Oh, excuse me."  She says, but to him and not me.

"Oh yeah," I jump in, "Please don't let her chair tap interrupt your lovely dinner of listening to us scream at each other at the top of our lungs!"

I could tell the guy was embarrassed to be dragged in, but what did I care?

"You are a real jerk sometimes, Patrick, you know that...a real jerk."  Her face was flush with her own embarrassment.

"You know what, Michelle Obama...I don't think this is working out."

"Are you kidding me?"  Her forehead tilled to one side.

"No, I mean it.  I'm not going to drag this on any longer.  We're done."

"You got that right, buddy."  She came straight at me and I lifted my arms up to protect my face, but she only grabbed her coat and walked out.  She didn't look back, and she didn't pay the bill.  When you are dating Michelle Obama, then you get used to a certain lifestyle and there she was, walking out the door.  

The guy whose chair she hit started this slow clap and soon the whole restaurant was clapping. All I could do was fumble through my pockets pretending to search for a wallet I knew was on my dresser.

In the end I walked out moments after she did, only to meet her waiting for the elevator.  It was the longest 102 floors of my life.

  

Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

We're coming up on Valentine's Day this week, kids. Love abounds! Except when it doesn't. And you know who you are. And believe me - though I am crazy-insane in love with my wife for decades now, there was a time when I treaded the ground of "Having to Figure Love Out." And that inevitably included break-ups. And man, I hated those.

I used to work with a girl named Tobie.* Tobie had lived in Las Vegas for a number of years, but originally heralds from Planet Drama, where she is considered royalty. (*Names have been changed. Kind of. She spells it without the “e.”) Each morning when I walked into the office, I couldn't wait to see what the Crisis De Jour would be. The dramatic episodes ranged from “Last night I talked to my mom for the first time in three years!” to “I lost 1.5 pounds!” And most memorably, when she broke up with her boyfriend of eight months. Or more accurately, he broke up with her. And what, I ask you, could be more dramatic than that?! (Well, if you’re Tobie, then just about anything.)

So I’m listening to her heartbreaking story, line upon line and precept by precept, when I suddenly begin having flashbacks to my own breakups. I start getting knots in my stomach, I get a little moist under the arms, and I find myself looking for the opportunity to assure Tobie that her and I can still be friends, even though we aren’t the ones breaking up. It’s just instinct.

For me, breakups were the absolute worst. I avoided them like they were cancer. Oh, how they pained me to the core of my dating soul. It’s still hard to talk about some of them…

Tess Dresher. Fourth Grade. I can still recall the day she walked up to me during recess and asked me to “go with her.” “Sure,” I answered. And those were the last words every exchanged between Tess and myself. We occasionally sat by each other, and I gave her a very special Peanuts Valentine’s Day card, but we never did speak, or even make eye contact. So I guess technically we are still “going together.” Boy is she going to be mad when she finds out I got married and had eight children. She’ll want to break up for sure. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.

Julia Zimmerman. High School. It was the summer of 1987, and I was sixteen years old – with a license to drive and to date! I knew Julia really liked me when her mom had grounded her and she promptly ignored said house arrest to go to the movies with me. Yes, we were young and crazy in love! I was pretty sure that after the summer of 1987 I could die happy. By fall of 1987 I was so miserable I was praying for death. We went to different high schools and Julia was first to acknowledge that our long distance relationship wasn’t really going to make it. I nodded my head in agreement, but inside I felt like somebody was cramming my heart through a paper shredder.

College break-ups were the toughest, obviously. You've all been there. Sometimes it's almost cliche. But there was genuine pain, due to genuine feelings and possibilities. It might be too soon. I don't think I can talk about it. Her name was Danielle. It was Halloween night. We had gone to a party and we were sitting in my car in the parking lot of her apartment complex. I was dressed as Aladdin, she was Jasmine. Things had been in the pooper for quite some time, and it felt like a stranger walking by could glance in our direction and know exactly what was happening. It was silent for a few minutes, and then I spoke up. Tell me if you've had this exact conversation before:

“I think we should see other people.”

"Define our relationship,” she said.

“What?”

“Define our relationship!”

“Uhm…we should…see other people…but we can still be -”

“Are you giving me the Friend Speech? Don’t you DARE give me the Friend Speech!”

“Uh…NO…never, never. I think it’s just me.”

“OH, NO – the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bit?”

“Noooo! That’s not what I mean at all...”

An eternal silence. Like…three days have passed while we’ve sat in the car. And finally she speaks.

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“I…don’t understand the question.”

“I can’t do this!” she yelled, and bailed out of the car.

Joy to the world.

It was truly painful. Of course, not as painful as Tobie’s overly dramatic reaction to the hair she found in her salad at lunch one day. “I almost ate this and diiiiiiieeeeedddddd!”

I love you, soft serve.

I'm kinda sorta in love with soft serve ice cream. And I know the middle of icy, frigid February seems an odd time to write this epistle. But right now I'm sitting on a white, sandy beach on Castaway Cay in the Bahamas. And I just finished a banana strawberry twist. 

Somehow, soft serve seems less guilty and less decadent than regular ice cream. As if, somehow, being soft means it's also low-cal. "Surely," we all think, "something extruded from a machine must be more akin to yogurt or porridge that actual frozen cream."  And this, my friends, is the primrose path to soft-serve induced fat hell. 

You get to Castaway Cay in the Bahamas aboard a Disney Cruise ship, which is where we are vacationing right now. We feel really lucky to be here, and if you ever get a chance to go, do it. It's as amazing as you think it would be. Great food, great amenities and the diet coke flows from the tap like water. And there is self-serve soft-serve at every turn. Which inspired me to try and eat my own weight in soft serve every day. 

Which is, of course, paradoxical and impossible. You see as you ingest soft serve you immediately get slightly fatter. And so you can't ever eat your actual weight because each bite increases your weight. It's like you're Sisyphus pushing a stone up a sweet, sweet mountain of chocolate and vanilla swirl. 

My wife's uncle owns a soft serve ice cream machine (and now that I've made you realize that was a possibility you want one too, right?). He breaks it out occasionally at family parties and BBQs. And when it is there in front of you, you literally want to put soft serve on everything. Put some on a brownie? Sure! In your Diet Coke to make a soft serve float? Absolutely. On your morning waffle? I'll take mine with strawberries.  Turkey sandwich? Why not?!?

Yes, hard ice cream is also amazing. It's like soft serves older, cooler brother who's traveled the world and contracted a fudge ripple in Vietnam. But it still feels great to be a kid and swirl that soft twisty goodness onto a cone until it's so high it starts to lean over under the weight of its own deliciousness. And just keep telling yourself it's basically the same thing as yogurt. Greek yogurt. Greek yogurt with flax seeds and kale. And just keep telling yourself that lie as you climb that mountain, Sisyphus. 

The Budget Crisis

So, my wife and I are budgeting...it's fully the worst! I mean, I think a person should be able to buy whatever he wants whenever he wants regardless of his ability to pay for it right that second...or in the near future.  Luckily, I married a woman who completely agrees with me.  And now we have to budget.

The hardest part is seeing something you want, and then knowing that last month you would have just got it because you were irresponsible and rash, but this month you are know you were stealing from your children's collage funds (they better be smart!) and planning to finally buy that island before mortgage insurance gets any worse. So you put down the thing and walk away.  boo.

One night, I had just finished climbing all the way to the top of my high horse and I told my wife that she didn't need to just buy the same premium brands that she was used to buying.  "We are in Budget Mode! You need to be buying whatever is cheapest! It's all the same! Walmart just care more about us, so they mark their brands down to help us in our budgeting."

Yesterday, I was feeling like I had a bit of a stomach bug, and so I was eating gently...Chicken Noodle Soup and Saltines.  I opened the cupboard and there they were, 'Great Value Saltine Crackers' I was so proud, we were doing our part, Walmart loved us, and I got the food I wanted.

Well, after using both hands and feet to open the plastic sleeve, I noticed that the first cracker was a bit darker then I was used to, but I popped it in my mouth and dug in for a second.  Burnt. Third. Burnt. Forth. Burnt...Every single cracker was down right brown!  They looked burnt and they tasted burnt especially when you ate one after the other after the other.  It was like they went over the Nabisco's house and went through the garbage and packaged its castoffs at a 'Great Value'.

"That IS what they do!" My wife (clamoring up the side of her high horse) "That's exactly what they do! You think Nabisco can crank out one perfect cracker after the other, are you crazy?! They are not wizards! They sell the trash to someone else who sells them for cheaper then the good stuff!"

So there you have it.  I had stomach problems last night and got to eat both, burnt crackers and crow. I'm sure it was worth it...I mean, we saved 38 cents Daisy can go to collage. But what I was really hoping in writing this is you would just send me a check for a Fafillion dollars, so I can have whatever I want.  I mean, you did read this blog, that should be a fair exchange.  And while I wait for your check...who writes checks anymore, just send a white tiger in a gold helicopter with a money order...and while you do, I'll be eating Feerios for breakfast.    

The Many Faces of Google

You may have heard that Google Fiber recently arrived in Provo, Utah. If you want to know what  exactly that means, read this short article by my friend and yours, Christian Faulconer (the David Letterman of Provo), who actually toured the Google Fiber facility.

My home was officially Google Fibered last week, so I'm a fan. But I'm probably also inclined because our family got to be a part of the ad campaign! And now, since you didn’t ask, I’d like to give you some “Behind the Scenes” of the Google ad. Some “The Making Of” goodies. Some DVD bonus features.

It all started when Google decided they needed a gi-normous family, in order to back up their slogan for Provo: Bigger Broadband for Bigger Families. Yup. That’s us. We are officially a family of 10. But at the time of filming, back in December 2013, we were still getting used to our size, as Hillary had been born only 3 weeks earlier. And it was mid-December with Christmas fast approaching. So, not to brag, but, you know...we were kind of out of our minds and barely keeping it together.

For example, I remember one Sunday morning my 8 year old came into my room to tell me he was ready for church. Judging by his pants, he was either anticipating a flood, or had grown 5 inches overnight. His white shirt - his white short-sleeve shirt in 22 degree weather - looked like it had been wadded up in a tennis-ball container since summer. His hair looked like it was in a fight with itself. We locked eyes, and without blinking, I said, “Lookin’ good, bud; go get in the car.”

So, back to our story, the ad folks from Google came out from San Francisco and showed up at our house the day before filming, so they could do that thing where directors make their fingers into squares so they have a “camera view” as they scan the area for what they plan to film. They were super nice and friendly and encouraging - which is how they tricked us into going through the hassle of taking down our Christmas decorations for the commercial.

The day of the shoot, two different crews were there from 9:30 a.m. to about 4:30 p.m. The morning was for the film crew who rearranged the house, set up lighting, wardrobe, make-up, etc. Meanwhile, I went to work for a couple of hours and came home around 11:00 a.m. When I pulled up to the house, it was a complete and awesome spectacle. I had to park down the street, as my house was surrounded by trucks, cars, and equipment. The garage was full of racks of clothing and craft services. I so badly wanted to know what the neighbors thought was going on.

I walked in the front door, and in addition to my family, the house was buzzing with another 25 people. The furniture was different, lights were everywhere, a woman I didn’t recognize walked by holding Lucy, my two-year old, and they were deep in conversation. Then I saw somebody I knew - my five-year old, Becca. She was already in new wardrobe and make-up, and my goodness - she was gorgeous. She looked like a movie star. She hugged my legs, careful not to wipe her lip gloss on my pants.

Our master bedroom had been converted into “the changing room,” and our daughters’ room had become “hair and make up,” with several salon chairs. Some poor man almost lost his mind trying to figure out if all the kids had been through both rooms and were ready. The house sounded like a dinner party and smelled like coffee. I met the creative director and account executive from the ad agency and part of the team from Google. Lots of handshakes, lots of “thank yous” ... they were really warm and lovely people. Full of genuine compliments about how great my children were. (And if you ever want to win somebody over, tell a dad that his kids are amazing.)

First we shot our portion of the commercial. That’s Katie and Garren at the kitchen table on a tablet - they are supposed to be doing homework, but they’re watching Thor 2 trailers. Then there’s Abbie on the laptop, emailing friends. And that’s Tanner, running from the kitchen to the couch, to join the rest of us who were watching The Avengers on a TV that isn't ours, but the kids desperately hoped was one of the perks of the job. So most of us just had to sit there, acting natural. (Hillary nailed it.) Except Tanner. He and the director had a special relationship. It went like this: The director would say, “Just one more time, Tanner.” And Tanner would whisper to me under his breath, “I just want to watch the movie.” This happened 23 times. He was a trooper.

Then we all broke for lunch. The film crew packed out their gear, and the stills crew packed in theirs. The producers materialized the most delicious craft services, but they also ordered a bunch of pizzas for my kids. My kids loved them for this.

Everybody was so kind. They interacted with my kids, we all told stories, they asked about my career and our family. It was clear that minds were blown and pants were pooped by the fact that we had 8 children and yet we were magically void of any meltdowns, spills, injuries, or wardrobe malfunctions. The gods of advertising smiled on us that day.

Then they took a family photo of us.

Then we did a photo shoot in our kitchen. Katie was in the front, holding a frame where the gifted designers would later superimpose our new family photo. Behind Katie were all our children - a mix of baking, cleaning, and playing with electronics. And that is the billboard currently making the scene all over Provo.

As the day was wrapping up the delightful wardrobe lady came over and told me that she was going to leave us the wardrobe used for the shoot. Awesome! Then they told us they were leaving the rest of the craft services with us because nobody wanted to haul the food away. Dinner is served! And the photographer said they would make sure we got the family photo.  Christmas in December!

Then, my favorite part. The gentleman from Google came over to me and said, “I’ve been watching your kids all day. My wife and I have an 18-month old...and we plan to have more. I watch your kids and I get excited - thinking of my children being as good of friends as yours are.”  And as fun and exhausting as the entire day was - that was the moment when my day was made. Yes, we are a big family. Yes, that often means things aren’t on time or wrinkle-free or at a low volume. But sometimes, against all odds, it means maybe you get to be a force for good in the world.

c.c.l.

Ken wrote an interesting post on pop music. Music really defines us, doesn't it? For example, when I want to be defined as "cool" I just ask Brett Merritt what he's listening to, and then I listen to that. When I want to seem educated and classy, I turn classical music and talk about Dvorak. When I want to define myself as mysterious and sexy, I have a playlist for that! And nobody cares.

But Lisa and I have a very special game we play in the car (ONLY AT STOPLIGHTS) which I like to call Christopher Clark Sign Language. It's not really sign language, as you'll see, but a really bastardized form in which I pretend to know sign language. Heads up: if you actually know any form of sign language, you will be horrified by the video below and I apologize. But for the rest of you....

I present....

"Roar" by Katy Perry

Sleepwalk with Me...or Rather, Don't.

Okay, so Milo just walked by my office door and off into the night?!

I mean, okay, so about 15 minutes ago I was watching TV and I hear these soft footsteps and then they sped up and got much louder, and, since I'm sure that every house I live in is super haunted, my first thought was that the devil was slowly deciding to come for me but then he really made up his mind and started running for me.  Because Milo is small and because I was looking for the face of a eight foot demon, I didn't see Milo until he was standing right in front of me.  That's a funny thing about being a parent, sometimes your kids scare you.  Once I woke up and Daisy was standing at the end of the bed...just standing there...creepy...go to bed.

I should preface this evening with the fact that Milo, during dinner, had pointed to something in the kitchen and said, 'Shark'.  And then on our after dinner (freezing) walk he stopped and waved at nothing and said, 'Hi.'.  So...well, I mean, there you go.

So after I realized that it was my 20 month old son and NOT the devil, I was able to put him back in his crib...which he has recently figured out how to get out of with the silent stealth of a ninja. So I get him to bed and back to the couch, and a half hour later, I see Milo, footy pajamas and all, walk steadily past the living room door way, he doesn't even glance over at me.  He walks into the dinning room when I yell, 'Milo, go to bed!' and he bursts into tears.  I run over, cause I was only being stern in sort of a funny way, but my wife tells me sometimes it just comes across as being real stern. Anyway, I pick him up and I realize that me might have been sleeping and when I yelled it woke him up.

I do not want a sleep walking 2 year old.  I mean Paranormal Activity aside, he can't be walking around the house at 2:30 in the morning putting things in blenders and seeing how long his face can be in the toilet!  Now I can't sleep.  I'm the Dad and I protect if I'm asleep how can I keep him from figuring out what happens when you stick your tongue socket. So, I thought I would blog...I hadn't and I needed to, so it's good...but it's also, ya know, 10:30...midnight is coming soon and I don't know what I'm going to do...hang on, he just woke up...

So Milo really just wants his Mommy.  Isn't that sweet?!  He just loves her guts, she's been in bed for an hour cause she teaches an early class tomorrow, but his high pitched but loving scream somehow woke her right up!  They are in there now and everything seems real nice and quiet...quite quiet and quite nice...quiet...quiet and nice....well, it's very late (10:38) so I'm gonna head of to bed.  

And the Nominees Are...

Did you watch the Grammy Awards last night? Me neither. But are you going to look up clips on Hulu sometime this week? Me too. (Are you going to eat ice cream while you watch? ME TOO! We are, like, total twinners!)

Anynote (did you see what I did there?), ah, music. I adore it, in all its varieties. Except not so much Metal. And I will freely admit that I do not have an extensive library of sitar music. But I really am a music junkie. And I love how music can take you to a very specific time and place and frame of mind. And so, since nobody asked, I will now share with you my own musical award show: The Faux Grammy's. 

There will be no live performances, per se. (And by “per se,” I of course mean, “of any kind.”) But perhaps you may find yourself entertaining thoughts of your own music lists. And if so, then my job here is done. Actually, my job here is done, regardless of what you do.

The Song that Immediately Takes Me Back to High School:

And the nominees are….

• With or Without You – U2
• New Sensation – INXS
• You Be Illin’ – Run DMC
• Pour Some Sugar On Me – Def Leppard
• Wishing Well – Terence Trent D’Arby

The Song that Immediately Takes Me Back to College:
And the nominees are…

• Nightswimming – R.E.M.
• Selling the Drama – Live
• One – U2
• Stay – Lisa Loeb
• Dissident – Pearl Jam
• Loser – Beck
• Dreams – The Cranberries
• Runaway Train – Soul Asylum

The Song that Makes Me Feel I’m in a Dentist's Waiting Room:

And the nominees are...

• I Love You – Climax Blues Band
• You Are the Woman – Firefall
• We Just Disagree – Dave Mason
• Escape (The Pina Colada Song) – Rupert Holmes
• Shining Star – The Manhattans

The Song that Take Me Back to School/Church Dances in My Youth (’85 to ’89):

And the nominees are…

• Open Arms – Journey
• Crazy for You – Madonna
• The Flame – Cheap Trick
• Melt With You – Modern English
• Oh L’Amour – Erasure

The Song I Should Not Listen to In the Car Because Suddenly I Am Driving 35 Miles Over the Speed Limit:

And the nominees are….

• Won’t Get Fooled Again – The Who
• Regatta de Blanc – The Police
• Red Barchetta – Rush
• Electric Co. – U2
• Panama – Van Halen

The Song Which I Really Have No Idea How I Know All the Lyrics, Yet Somehow I Do:

And the nominees are...

• Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy – The Andews Sisters
• Parents Just Don’t Understand – DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince
• El Paso – Marty Robbins
• Seaside Rendezvous – Queen
• The Rose – Bette Midler

The Song that Currently Sums Up My Life:

And the nominees are...

• All These Things that I’ve Done – The Killers
• Once in a Lifetime – Talking Heads
• Waiting for My Real Life to Begin - Colin Hay
• Find the River - R.E.M.
• 40 - U2

get the lead out!

I'm so sorry about the short post today, but I'm so busy. I'm way busier than you are. It's not even close. I am busier than you will ever be. Just give up. I won the busy battle. Roma Victor!

I just wanted to tell you something I did this morning. I feel bad about it. But I also feel justified. Here's what happened.

I was driving to work on 800 South in Orem. It was about 9 am. Kids were all in school, and it wasn't too busy on the streets. I was driving behind a woman in a Subaru Forester. She wasn't an old lady, I would say she was about 50. She was also driving under 20 MPH. The speed limit was 35.

I'm not a speeder - I swear I'm not. I can stick to 35 on a residential street. But this was so irritating. So maddening, so so ridiculous. There was a line of cars piled up behind her. Please know that we were not in any crossing or school zones. There were no flashing lights. Just some dumb lady driving the speed of turtle dump and me, with my well documented road rage issues, swerving back and forth behind her.

I know she was aware of me behind her, and I don't think she was going slow just to irritate me. She didn't seem the type. She just really enjoyed driving her Japanese jalopy and didn't care that it was LEGAL to go 15 MILES FASTER.

So here's what I did. I could see her checking me in her rear view. I wasn't tailgating, but I was close enough. Every time she checked on me I made a gun sign with my hands and pretended to shoot her. Not in a joking way, but in a really serious way. Like I was really shooting her. I did this several times. Bang! Bang! Every time. In cold blood. She got the point. Eventually we parted ways and I know she was relieved. I was going to shoot her!

Anyway. I have to go to a meeting because I'm so busy. But I wanted to tell you about it. I feel bad for acting like that. But I also feel justified, because there is no excuse for driving that slow!!! Amirite?

January...

So January is totally the Monday of the year, right?

I mean, December is Saturday and Sunday and your Birthday and then January comes and you know, you've got another year head of you.

Another lagging winter that doesn't know when to quit paired with another fashionably late spring.

Who does Spring think she is?  It's like, we know you're coming.  We get it, you know we want you and you like an entrance, a slow growing, dumb, stinkin' entrance.

I know we are miles off from Spring, but you'd think the way we are dumping our plastics into the atmosphere we might get some early Springing in Utah...though, probably Ecuador would be dust.

My Birthday is in January, but at the beginning, I mean, I'm not one of those people who waited to the middle of the month to get myself born...can you imagine?! No, I was more of a New Years baby, which is sweet in it's way, though I do get presents wrapped in Santa Clause paper, which I find tacky.

As I sit here writing and gazing out my window there is some snow, but we're not snow covered, there is some grass, but very dead, there is some blue sky but it's mingled with toxic grey smoke that surpasses Beijing and legally dictates that I can't build a fire.

But January is only the Monday of the year, right?  There is still February and then March...The Tuesday of it all...Nothing great but it somehow escapes most the blame.

Well, I'm sorry.  It's not my fault, but still I'm sorry.  Though I do think there is something wrong with people complaining about the weather in the land where the choose to live.  It's true that it's the same year after year after year and I really hate it when people from Minnesota are all, 'It's so cold here in the winter!' and I'm all, 'Yeah, so move.' People from Minnesota really bother me when they all say that.

I guess it's the same when people from Utah complain about the weather. It really is the same every year and it's my car that's causing the inversion (though not as much as you and your SUV's, I mean I drive a Honda Fit so I'm doing what I can.)  and I love the snow in the last two weeks of December and I absolutely know there are places on earth where it's Spring all year round and even better a mild summer! But this is my home and I've made my choices and those places don't have my family or cute house or my Honda Fit...seriously they get 45 miles per gallon, I fill up maybe once a month.