A List of Things I Don't Understand

This is officially post #99 and I will be having a special post for #100 in a day or two, so don't touch that dial. In honor of the fact that my next post will celebrate my sticktoitiveness, this post honors my inability to comprehend certain matters that are probably clear to the rest of the world.

Here it is: A List of Things I Don't Understand (my wife says this is going to be a long list but I'll limit it to only 1o things)

1. Women--I don't really need to explain this further as every man knows what I'm talking about.

2. The Dewey Decimal System--At one point in college, I grasped it enough to find some of the books I needed, but I didn't dare venture out of the social science area lest I get confused.

3. The Difference between Trans Fat, Saturated Fat, and Just Plain Old Fat--Thank goodness they have big stars and dots saying "No Trans Fat", else I wouldn't have known the corn chips were healthy. Does ice cream have "Trans Fat"? I need to know these things.

4. The Fascination with Oprah--My wife just spent a load of money on new bras because Oprah said that 85% of women are wearing the wrong sized bra. Well, if Oprah said it.

5. Volume--As in teaspoons, tablespoons, cups, quarts, gallons, liters, milliliters and the accompanying measurements of weight like grams, ounces, kilos, pounds, etc. I got a 36 on the ACT in Math, but you ask me to put a quart of milk in the bowl and then hand me a gallon container and a cup and I will look at you like the idiot I am. You add in other imprecise measurements like dabs, pinches, dollups, and scoches and I look like Britney Spears in a scrapbooking store, wanting to understand but wholly incapable.

6. Cars and Engines--Ask me the leading scorer off a Division II basketball team and I've got a shot at answering the question. Ask me to identify a car on the road and I will defer to my all-knowing wife. I am so clueless about cars and trucks, I wonder how I even function. My first car--1973 AMC Gremlin.

7. Pet Blogs--I apologize to those of you that have them and love them, but, um....?????

8. Napolean Dynamite--I must be getting old.

9. Glenn Close over Anne Archer--Remember the movie where they cook the rabbit. Fatal Attraction, yeah, that was it. Well, my buddy, Glen, totally agreed that if he had to choose between Glenn Close and Anne Archer, he would choose Glenn Close. Glen, I love ya, buddy, but are you serious?

10. Why Any of You Read This Blog--Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, but, seriously, get a life.

A Note on Genetics

"Oh, how cute. Baby Indy looks just like you, K."

Finally, I am getting the attention I deserve. Someone in a roundabout way is calling me cute. I think they call it the transitive property in mathmatics. If A=B and B=C then A=C. If Baby Indy is cute and I look like Baby Indy then I am cute. Somehow it just doesn't feel like they are complimenting either one of us, though.

"How cute, he gets that confused look just like you, K."
"He's got three chins just like you, K."
"He's losing his hair just like you, K."
"He's got hair on his back just like you, K."

Okay, so that last one is made up, but the compliments of Baby Indy are disturbing me now. I know he has it rough if he looks like me, cause my wife is the attractive one. Our marriage was similar to Billie Joel and Christy Brinkley so how would their kid feel if everyone said, "Hey, you look like your dad"? Exactly.

A Note on Memorial Day

In the blogging world, I am exposed to a huge extended list of political blogs. Extreme left to extreme right and every place in between. Most of the time the vitriolic criticism from both sides leaves me a little disenchanted and disenfranchised from both parties. I consider myself a good American and even an involved citizen, but I think the rancor is childish and unproductive. I get a little tired of it, but today, Memorial Day, I want to take a little different stance.

I love that I live in a country where this rancor and vitriolic discourse is allowed to take place and even celebrated. I have lived in a country where freedom of speech was a foreign concept. I have lived where a libelous comment in a newspaper or a magazine led to severe repercussions. I have seen people cower before authority out of fear and disgust.

I experienced first hand the democratization of a country that had never before experienced the joy of voting and criticizing and disagreeing. I saw the faces of those people yearning to say everything they had held back for 35 years.

At the end of my brief two-year stay in Paraguay, I boarded a plane and flew from Asuncion to Rio de Janeiro and then to Miami. I still remember the feeling I enjoyed when I landed in Miami and saw the flag and handed my passport to the immigration officials. It still gives me chills.

I love that I am an American and that my country and my countrymen believe in certain individual rights. I love that my forefathers fought to maintain those rights and privileges.

I love that a bunch of idiots like me gets to blog everyday on every topic under the sun without the worry of censorship. I love political blogs.....wait a minute...let's not get too carried away.

Happy Memorial Day

And to all of the WilkeWorld citizens, feel free to comment as you see fit.

A List of Obsessions

Last night while kneeling down praying at the side of my bed I realized that I, too, am a little obsessive and compulsive about a few things. Today's list of personal obsessions and compulsions is the first step toward real OCD recovery.

1. The fitted sheet on my bed must be properly positioned. My wife does not share this obsession much to my chagrin, and I think she might be purposely skewing the sheet to irritate me and feed my obsession.

2. I've mentioned this before but toenail clippings anywhere near the bed are cause for real concern.

3. All dishes must be thoroughly rinsed before being placed in the dishwasher. They are not to be found with day-old ketchup clinging to them at any time.

4. Bananas must never have the little strings still on them. They must be peeled and in pristine condition to be consumed.

5. Never, under any conditions, should a spot be missed while vacuuming the floor or wiping the counters in the kitchen. If you need to get a better view, position yourself so the light shines right on the counter.

6. The radio presets in the van must never, ever be touched. Again, I think my wife might be at fault here. She is one of those channel surfer chicks. Honey, there are two stations I care about and if I can't find them with one click I am rendered helpless.

7. Leave my mess alone. I know where things are. This is one of those competing obsessions I have with my wife. I keep my jacket at the foot of my bed or in the office or on the floor where I know where it is. My wife, on the other hand, believes jackets should hang in closets. I don't know how many times I have spent the entire morning searching for my jacket only to find out she has hung it in the coat closet. Why would I look there? Same goes for belts and shoes.

8. Books with dustjackets must remain with dustjackets.

9. Pens at rest must be capped.

10. Toilet paper must come over the top of the roll to be dispensed. No other way to do it.

A Note on Sterility

Perplexing problem here at WilkeWorld. I am trying to establish the rule of how long a piece of food may rest on the floor before it becomes inedible. I know that each household has a different rule so I need some suggestions. In Paraguay, we had the 5-second rule but my wife is a little bit concerned that the 5-second rule is perhaps a tad Third World, so I think she might be opting for the 3-second rule.

Here are the particulars of the household. The Wife is quite fastidious about the cleanliness of the home in general and thoroughly mops the floor once a week and sweeps the floor daily if not several times a day. We do have a two-year-old and a teenager so factor that into the equation.

Of course, I am fully aware that the food being consumed will have a great deal to do with the rule's practical application. For example, a Dorito may sit nearly 20 seconds before it becomes inedible while a piece of broccoli need only touch the ground before it is deemed inedible. Actually, Doritos really don't fall under the reach of this rule at all. I mean I've found Doritos days after spilling them on the ground and they are perfectly delicious.

Suggestions, please.

A Note on the Glory Years

So, school's out and today I got the first glimpse of my stepdaughter's yearbook. The school had a solid year. People were cool and cute and popular and nerdy. My stepdaughter showed me the picture that she thought her leg might have been in. A big moment for her, I'm sure. Apparently, "U R a QT" is still the preferred yearbook signing phrase with "HAGS" a close second. I got a little nostalgic.

Anyway, the yearbook got me thinking of the glory days. That's right, it got me thinking of 6th Grade, Mr. Simmons' class. K Jones finally conquered his greatest nemesis and stood atop the podium as Minidoka County Spelling Bee Champion.

The nemesis: Bonnie K

Oh, she was the Yankees, Cowboys, and Celtics all wrapped up in one. She was from a neighboring little town and entered the 6th grade competition as the two time defending County Spelling Bee Champion. She had destroyed the competition (including me) for two straight years and she entered the auditorium with a well deserved air of confidence. We were all in awe of her (on a sidenote, in high school, she let me drive her Camaro. I rock).

The competition began and the pretenders soon fell by the wayside and before long only the two of us remained. I remember it like this.....

"K, your word is buffalo."
"b-u-f-f-a-l-0"
"Bonnie, your word is flocculate."
"f-l-o-c-c-u-l-a-t-e"
"K, your word is haystack."
"h-a-y-s-t-a-c-k"
"Bonnie, your word is somatopleure."
"s-o-m-a-t-o-p-l-e-u-r-e"
"K, your word is angry."
"a-n-g-r-y"
"Bonnie, your word is thremmatology."
"t-h-r-e-m-a-t-o-l-o-g-y"

Ah, the good old days. Minidoka County Spelling Bee Champion. By the way, I am spellchecking this right now.

A Note on Sibling Rivalry

As many of you know all too well, my wife and I are attempting to potty-train our two-year-old. We have tried many motivational techniques in an effort to accomplish this feat with little to no success. She just doesn't seem to be motivated at all.

Well, today, my daughter mentioned that she needed to visit the facilities (she usually does this after the peeing or pooping has already occurred). However, this time the expected mess was still internalized so my wife quickly polished the old loo and hoisted the daughter atop it. After a few minutes, peeing took place but the pooping was a distant possibility. Undaunted, my wife tried convincing our sweet princess to throw caution to the wind and let 'er fly, but she just wouldn't really even try. Then my wife came up with a genious offer.

"Dearest," began my wife, "if you go poops in the potty, I will give you some of your sister's candy."

Oh, the wheels started turning then. She'd been offered candy and chocolate before, but never Sister's chocolate and candy. So the devious little monster concentrated on the task at hand and produced the goods. I think we may be on to something here.

On a related note, as I told this story to my co-workers, one of the gals mentioned that she had to resort to throwing Cheerios into the toilet to motivate her son to pee in the potty. She called it target practice. Again I am the victim of a mother who did her job too efficiently. I was potty-trained well before the Cheerios were needed.

I wonder if Fruit Loops will work just as well. Hmmm..........
Well, I'm outta here. Nature calls.

A Note on Imaginary Homicide

I again want to share a story about my little niece, Katie (not her real name).

My sister and her husband live near Washington, D.C. and were moderately involved in the events of 9/11 as my brother-in-law is a lawyer and represented some victims' families following the events. This being said, one evening little Katie, who was probably only three at the time, woke up in the middle of the night screaming to high heaven. She was frantic and refused to calm down despite the efforts of both my sister and her husband. My sister was sure that the eruption had something to do with 9/11 and wondered how she might reassure her that all was going to be allright

Eventually they managed to ease her concerns and she calmed down enough to give them the following story.

"Mom, you know Tina, right?" Katie sobbed.

My sister did remember that Tina was Katie's imaginary best friend. She was African and, despite the fact she was imaginary, she managed to make Katie's real friends quite jealous.

"Yes, honey." replied my sister not knowing quite where this was going.

"She came to play and told me that I wasn't real. I'm just imaginary." Again she sobbed uncontrollably. My sister and her husband both laughed, but their laughter just worsened the situation. Imagine the consternation she faced knowing her imaginary friend said she, Katie, was imaginary. After many hours of parental therapy, Katie fell back to sleep.

Several months later, they asked Katie what had happened to Tina. They hadn't heard about her in quite a while.

She replied that Tina had moved to Arizona to live on a reservation, but she got bit by a snake and died. They asked if she was going to the funeral. "Nope. Tina's mom isn't having one."

A Note on Serendipity

An ex-girlfriend from high school e-mailed my mother a few years ago and asked how I was doing. My mother responded that I was hopelessly single and living in Las Vegas to which my ex casually suggested I look up an old high school classmate who was also single. So began the serendipitous relationship with my wife.

I never looked her up, but one day I got a phone call from her telling me she would be visiting Vegas and suggesting that we get lunch or dinner or something. Well, she showed up and looked amazing, but I was crazy busy so we arranged to go to breakfast. Breakfast was pleasant as we caught up on the high school gossip and recounted the almost 1o years since we'd seen each other. I, however, didn't see any real possibility for a relationship as we lived a long way away from each other, so we parted with a hug and a handshake and wished each other a pleasant life.

I really didn't think too much of the encounter after that day until nearly five months later when I planned a trip to her area of the country visiting a friend who was lining me up with a few girls he knew. I remember packing my bags and rummaging through my single guy filth trying to find some change for a taxi when I stumbled across a piece of paper with her home phone number scribbled on it. "What the heck?" I thought and tossed it in my pocket. Four months later, the love of my life and I got married.

Serendipity is a funny thing. It jumps on us with no warning and no preparation and surprises and delights us. I think serendipity is God's way of throwing us a bone every once in a while.

To the citizens of WilkeWorld, I want to know the role of serendipity in your lives. How did it find you and how did you take advantage of it?

A Note to Update

First topic: WilkeWorld Diet

I am doing well. No soft drinks of any kind since I began. I did have the incident with the Wendy's drive thru attendant, so some of you claimed that I cheated the diet. I'm sticking to my story and I think the Duke would have done just as I did, sensitivity training notwithstanding. I did eat a few fries once at an Outback, and my wife severely chastened me, but, on the whole, I have done remarkably well. It is so hard to resist dipping stuff in the ranch dressing though. I am adding one additional rule to the diet. No eating after 9:00 p. m. I am a snacker and from this point forward, nada.....

Second topic: Canasta World Championship

K and Wife--3
Grandpa Jones and Grandma Jones--0

Grandma Jones was severely handicapped throughout the night as we allowed Baby Indy to coo and gurgle much to her distraction and delight.

Last topic--Guinea Pigs

My wife has officially forbidden me to blog on the raw shrimp fiasco as she claims that the readers will think she is a bad cook. I, therefore, will honor her wishes and say that only I ate the final prepared dish just so that we would have a healthy driver in case of complications. So far...so good!!!

A List of My Favorite Songs

Indigo, a blog friend, just now tagged me for a meme. Well, you all know how I feel about memes, but I have not yet addressed the topic of music on this blog yet, so I felt that now would be a good time to do so. Indigo, I hope this will suffice.

I now present the WilkeWorld playlist:

1. It's My Life--Talk Talk. I know that No Doubt remade this song recently, but I still prefer the original. I also dig the original video that includes numerable pictures of random animals. It fits right in here at WilkeWorld because, well, I say it does.

2. The Devil Went Down to Georgia--The Charlie Daniels Band. You can never have too many dueling banjos. Here at WilkeWorld, we like dueling banjos.

3. Djobi, Djoba--The Gypsy Kings. We are not without our culture here at WilkeWorld.

4. Ring Around the Rosie--The 2 yr. old version. Just because it brings a smile to my face.

5. Home, Home on the Range--Grandpa Jones version. It was the one song that I heard my father sing with gusto. It brings back loads of great memories.

6. I Hope You Dance--LeAnn Womack. I have my totally selfish reasons for including this here but it definitely belongs on the soundtrack.

7. Rock of Ages--Def Leppard. Because it rocks.

8. In The Mood--Glenn Miller Orchestra. Its just a classic and needs to be included, plus I am a bit of sucker for good horns.

9. Stand Down Margaret--English Beat. I know this is a political song, but I just think it is so smart and so musically addictive.

10. The Theme from the Bridge Over the River Kwai. One of my stepdaughters favorites and a favorite of mine as well. I think everyone pretty much likes it.

There you have it. The WilkeWorld playlist. My wife will be a bit disappointed that ABBA is not included and I have to say I am a bit torn up that the Carpenters didn't make it either. Oh, well.

A Note on Cheating on My Wife

Before everyone gets in a huff about this post, let me say that I don't cheat on my wife except at canasta if she happens to be on the opposing team. That being said, I am always intrigued by the way that the spiders work on Google's AdSense. When I began blogging I naively believed that I would be instantaneously popular and thousands upon thousands of people would flock to my site. So....I signed up for Google AdSense hoping to cash in on my imminent popularity. To date, I have earned a whopping $.57 but I have learned some interesting lessons.

When I signed up, I was informed that Google would randomly peruse my site and find the most appropriate ads for my site. They would do this using spiders or keyword locators. At first the ads were simply for blogs, but as I added more content the spiders would get more accurate. Well, all was peachy until this week when I posted "A Note on Cheating the Diet", "A Note on My Wife", and "A Note on Personal Idiocy" (where I mentioned my Mormon mission). The wonderful spiders can't interpret content, they can only see key words and feed them back into the master program often coming up with interesting results.

As of this writing, the ads at the bottom of this page are as follows: Is Your Wife Cheating on You?, Meet Sexy LDS Singles, LDS Temple Pictures, and Infidelity Investigators.

Yes, my site is a haven for cheated upon LDS men searching for eternal happiness. Oh, the wonders of modern technology. I am a little concerned that my entry entitled, "A Note on Poop" may just make my site unreadable. Lock up the women and children, WilkeWorld is now PG-13.

A Note on Poop

Yes, the title of this entry is a bit indelicate, but when you are dealing with a two-year-old, you talk like a two-year-old.

We are poddy training my little girl, and we have struggled keeping her motivated, so when she mentions she needs to visit the facilities, I jump up and take her straight away. Well, the following is a discussion I had today as I sat on the floor of the bathroom talking to my two-year-old as she tried to poop.

"Daddy."

"Yes, Dear."

"Poop comes out of us and is like chocolate, huh?"

"Uh...., yeah....."

"But I don't want to eat it, cause it tastes yucky."

"Uh...., yeah....."

Sometimes I am at a loss for words.

A Note on The Wife

This is the beginning of the end here at WilkeWorld. For those of you paying attention, the wife has begun to comment on the blog. If things weren't bad enough with Grandpa Jones putting me into place, now the Wife is tracking my every move. Things were good for a while, but now I really have to watch my p's and q's.

Okay, honey, here are the rules for your comments.

1. You may only say nice things about me.
2. If you say mean things, I will release the two-year-old on you.
3. If you and Grandpa Jones concur with each other on your posts, I will have to delete one of you (i.e. no ganging up)
4. Remember that I love you and that you presumably love me, despite the fact that you are burying me in Malad.
5. You are not to encourage my mother to comment in any way.

I think that about does it. Sorry to have to drag the rest of the citizens of WilkeWorld into this family dispute. Carry on.

A Note on Morbidity

My wife and I have had this argument a plethora of times but for some reason the events of this week have brought it up again. Let me review...

1. I bought my wife a knot ficus about 6 months ago and she has all but killed it. It now sits by her tub with nary a leaf to be found.

2. I found out that one of my neighbors directed the tearjerker film, "Where the Red Fern Grows". You know, the film where the dogs die at the end and I cry uncontrollably.

3. We visited the town of Blanding, Utah on my last trip and took a picture of my Granddad and Grandma's headstones.

4. A close friend recently passed away.

Well, now on to the argument. I have always envisioned a scenario where my wife and I would be buried side-by-side atop a hilltop with pretty flowers blossoming above our graves. We would also be buried somewhere that has meaning for the both of us. Perhaps where we both grew up or where we live now. A place where family would visit and feel of our collective spirits. Well, my wife has informed me she will be buried in Malad, Idaho.

Malad, Idaho?

Her family has a plot there and she insists that's where we will be buried. She has never lived there, nor have I. I don't want to be buried in Malad, Idaho. Nothing against Malad, but we have no connection as a couple to Malad. My wife, however, says that if I die first, Malad it is.

Should I really care or should I keep angling for a burial somewhere else? I know that nobody wants to think about this kind of thing, but if I don't think about it now, I will be buried next to I-15 in Malad, Idaho.

A Note on Work

"When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in a confederacy against him." --Jonathan Swift

If this is true, I must be a super-genius.

A List of Personal Idiocy

As my wife will attest, I am just this side of idiocy most of the time. So to honor that idiocy, I offer up this list of personal disasters that attest to my idiocy.

1. At age 32, one day after getting engaged to my wonderful wife, I put my underwear on backwards. Not inside-out, backwards. Yeah, the confusion at the urinal was overwhelming.

2. I once elbowed a girl in the head on a first date while making "my move".

3. I am lucky not to spill on my shirt at least once a day.

4. I never check to see if there is toilet paper on the role.

5. I once ate 10 tangerines, because I thought that eating fruit would ease my diarrhea.

6. Every morning I do up my pants completely before I put on my shirt causing me to undo them.

7. I have gone to work with black pants, blue socks and black shoes.

8. I have fallen out of a moving bus.

9. While on my Mormon mission to Paraguay, I believed that the natives were giving me fruit punch spiked with Sprite when they were really giving me fruit punch spiked with vodka.

10. Forgot to take out the garbage last night and now my house stinks and my wife is looking at me with disgust.

A Note on Cheating the Diet

The rule clearly states that there is no upsizing or biggie sizing of any combo meal.

Well, here's the situation.

I approach the Wendy's drive-thru microphone and clearly order a #2 combo meal with a Caesar side salad and a regular lemonade. The lady then says, "Would you like to biggie-size that lemonade for only 24 cents more?"

I think about it, but calmly and definitively say, "No."

I then pull around to pay and another girl hands me my food and a biggie-sized lemonade. She seems a little embarrassed and explains that she accidentally filled a biggie-sized cup but didn't want to waste it, so if I wanted it that would be no problem. I, of course, explained my diet dilemma but before I rejected the biggie-sized lemonade, I contemplated the rules of the diet. I could not upsize or biggie-size anything in the combo, but if someone else does it and then offers it to me for free, I haven't actually cheated the diet.

I quickly grasped the lemonade and winked at the gal and sped off. I don't think I cheated. Am I wrong?

A Note on Marital Bliss

A blog friend and her husband recently celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary and I was struck by the fact that the biggest argument during their marriage revolved around the saving of an injured bird.

In honor of Anita and her hubby, I offer up a list of issues that ought to be discussed fully before committing yourself to marriage.

1. Dying bird etiquette. Should a bird or cat or other sympathetic animal be found on your property knocking at death's doorway, what will you do as a couple? Save the animal? Let it fend for itself? Hit it with a broomstick? This should be discussed.

2. Which side of the bed will each of you sleep on? This topic can be a hotly contested one, but certain practical matters should be considered. Who should be closest to the bathroom? Who should be closest to the door? The window? The radio? Do you have bad morning breath? Who is closest to the air conditioning vent? Where you sleep will be a defining decision in your relationship. Make it carefully with much thought.

3. Shopping as a couple. The first time I went to the outlet mall with my wife, I was under the impression that we were looking for a particular item and that when we found it we would leave. Oh, how terribly wrong I was. See, women, we need a goal or at least a time frame to help us manage the endeavor. If my wife would have said that we would be there three hours, I would have positioned myself in front of a big screen TV and popped some popcorn, but instead I got angrier and angrier as we walked leisurely through an Old Navy outlet. The rules should be established early on so we are all clear on them. When we find the perfect pair of pumps we leave, capiche.

4. The household chores. I do the outside stuff (i.e. the mowing, weeding, shoveling, edging) while the wife does the inside stuff (i.e. the cooking, vacuuming, dishwashing, washing the clothes). Wait a minute. Taking out the garbage is both an indoor and outdoor chore. What happens then? These things need to be ironed out before operating any heavy machinery.

These are the basics. Advanced discussions could include proper toilet paper loading, appropriate hair in the drain etiquette, itching and scratching appropriateness, and perhaps even backseat driving etiquette. Good luck to all.

A Note on Inadequacy

My wife is currently going into the other room to watch "Dog, the Bounty Hunter" (Don't ask, we all have our vices), and she is taking Baby Indy with her. I want to indoctrinate him with guy shows, but it looks like the Mrs. beat me to the punch.

Baby Indy can now focus on objects and he constantly fixates on me--quite often with a furrowed brow that seems to express some concern. Its as if he is thinking, "I got sent to this guy? Really? This must be a joke, right?"

I want to set him straight. Yes, Baby Indy, it is a joke. You were really supposed to go to Victor and Maria Hernandez in Arequipa, Peru and your name was supposed to be Juan, but in a big mix-up at the bus station on Cloud 9, you got on the wrong bus and wound up here with me. Its really not that bad. True, you will never have adequate access to a bathroom facility, and you will rarely win an argument without resorting to physical force, but the meals are pretty good and your cousins are cool.

It will be okay. Really.

Hey, kid, stop looking at me like that.

A Note on the WilkeWorld Diet

The wife indicated to me this weekend that she has lost 20 lbs since the birth of Baby Indy. She then looked at my belly and seemed rather disappointed that I had not lost a commensurate amount of weight. I get the message honey. A diet is in order.

Rather than poll the citizens of WilkeWorld on the best way to lose my sympathy weight, I am instituting the WilkeWorld Diet--a diet of my own creation that will in some way prove healthier than the current situation. I am committing myself here to follow this diet for the next two months and I will keep the populace informed of my progress or lack thereof.

Here are the particulars of the WilkeWorld Diet:

1. No Soda or Pop or Coke or whatever you call carbonated drinks. Lemonade and Fruit Punch are both legal alternatives as are Gatorade and all juices.

2. Burgers are legal and appropriate but not in combination with fries. A different option in the combo meal must be chosen.

3. No upsizing or Biggie-sizing of any combo meals.

4. Ethnic food is encouraged with the exception of any fast-food joint that begins with Taco.

5. Ranch can be used as a dressing on salads but may not be used as a dip for anything else.

There you have it--the WilkeWorld Diet. Every week I shall update the diet with additional rules. If you have any suggestions please submit them in the comments and I will probably ignore them.

A Note on Hairdressers

We all gathered at Grandpa and Grandma Jones' house this evening for a Mother's Day shindig. My wife and I and my three kids and my brother and his family including his little three-year-old daughter who pals around with my little girl who's two.

All seemed to go just fine except that the two little girls split the scene early on to go play in Grandma's Play Room. Of course, the rest of us were all too eager to have some peace and quiet so we perhaps didn't monitor the situation like we should have. We didn't hear any really loud sounds and the crying was kept to a healthy minimum, so we figured we'd just enjoy the evening.

After about 20 minutes, however, my sister-in-law sensed that the quiet was entirely too spooky so she ventured into the bowels of the homestead to check in on the two troublemakers. She crept back to the Play Room and listened in, but heard absolutely no talking. She then peaked in to a horrific sight.

The two twerps had somehow sprung the lock on Grandma's sewing box and my niece had conveniently encountered a slick, sharp set of scissors and had proceeded to give them both very elegant haircuts. Needless to say, both mothers were a little exasperated by the development and pretty relieved to discover that hair was the only thing cut by the scissors.

Ahhhh, good times.

A Note on Mothers

My father once described my mother as a woman with absolutely no guile. Aside from the canasta game, I would have to agree wholeheartedly with that statement. My mother has no pretenses and fewer faults.

As a small boy, I remember being called for supper and upon reaching the table, I noticed that we all had only bowls and spoons. I just figured that Mom had prepared a stew or a soup of some kind. I was shocked, however, when she brought out from the kitchen a heaping bowl of dry dog food and set it down in the middle of the table. She then acted as if she had labored all afternoon preparing the delicious meal that sat in front of us. We all thought it was a joke, ha, ha. Mom didn't let it go, though. She promptly scooped some dog food up and started to put in her bowl and then pour some milk over it. She was going to eat it, we all thought. If she was going to eat it, then we would be expected to eat it as well. She let our bewilderment build for a few minutes before she finally let out a little chuckle and told us it was all a joke.

Absolutely no guile, but a quirky dry sense of humor for sure.

I love you, Mom.
Have a wonderful Mother's Day.

A Note on Blog Vanity

Why do you blog?

That is the question I am posing for the bloggers who visit here at WilkeWorld. I guess there could be a number of responses that seem reasonable. Some bloggers blog to promote their business or a product. Some blog to stay in touch with family members and friends. Some probably blog to prevent sheer loneliness. Even a couple of you out there make some cash at this little hobby and my question probably makes little to no sense.

As I talked to my little sister today and mentioned my blog to her, she responded with incredulity. It seemed like a gigantic waste of time to her. "What could you possibly hope to gain by doing that?" she hinted with her silence. I thought about it all day and couldn't come up with an answer that satisfied me.

I probably blog because I'm vain. I mean I like people to come to my site and read my thoughts and respond to them. I know people often write for the artistic enjoyment of writing, but, come on, most of us write to have someone tell us how smart we are or how clever we are. Am I wrong? I spend many minutes a day on Blogclicker or BlogExplosion surfing various blogs. Do I do it simply because I want to know the inane and sometimes intimate details of other people's lives. No. I do it because I want them to come and check out the details of my life. Am I the only one like this?

I know that I've painted myself into a corner here with this post, but why do you all blog? I've got to have a better answer than my own vanity.

A Note on Late Nights with Baby Indy

So here it is, midnight, and its just me and Baby Indy hanging out watching the Dodgers lose to the Nationals. Yeah, that's right Grandpa Jones, check the time at the bottom of this blog entry. I am awake tending Baby Indy and the girls are all fast asleep.

Now for some housekeeping:

WilkeWorld is officially backing two Kentucky Derby entries--Wilko and Buzzard's Bay. We like Wilko because his name fits here in the World and we especially like Buzzard's Bay because his trainer is a local guy from here in Southern Utah and we have to root for the hometown guy. That and the fact that he drew the outside post. Just our luck.

We are hoping that Bellamy Road does not win the Derby. I just don't like George Steinbrenner and his win at any cost philosophy. Interesting note: Bellamy Road--Babe Ruth--coincidence that they share the same initials. I think not.

Grandma Jones' Birthday just passed this past weekend. Happy B-day, Mom. The wife and I gave her a new grandkid and a griddle for her big birthday. I'd say we did okay.

As for Grandpa Jones, he's been a little under the weather this week so we're hoping he's feeling much better this coming week. We've got little ones to pawn off on him.

Lastly, a quick reminder to remember your mothers this week and treat them like the queens that they are.

A Note on the Kentucky Derby

Thundering thoroughbreds thumped down the track
Running to wrestle the roses,
But high in the stands sat a plump old boy
Putting much pressure on his toeses.

See Georgie Porgie had a quick horse
That was surely going to win,
But his precious Yankees were falling
Right in to the garbage bin.

So try as he might to stay focused
On mighty Churchill Downs,
Knowing the Yankees were tanking
Filled him with fears and frowns.

At the quarter pole he realized
His Bellamy Road would garner the prize,
And then he got a brilliant idea
That brought a glimmer to his eyes.

Yes, the Bronx Bombers barely baubled
Under Joe Torre’s tawdry care,
So what they really needed, he thought,
Was Nick Zito’s obvious flair.

A Note on Short-term Memory Loss

I don't know if this happens to other people, but it happened to me this weekend.

I am taking my daily shower. Steam is engulfing the whole area. It feels delightful. No small children are disturbing me. I go through my little ritual. I lather up with soap and then I apply the shampoo and rinse. I then apply a small dollup of conditioner and again rinse. It feels wonderful. Then the thought goes through my mind. Did I wash my hair already? I'm not sure. I could risk not having washed my hair which means I would walk around with greasy hair or I could rewash. I decide to wash again. I apply the shampoo and rinse. I then apply a small dollup of conditioner when I realize that the conditioner has already been used. I have used it already.

I washed my hair twice.

My wife walks in and asks me what the problem is. I don't tell her. She doesn't need to know she is married to an idiot.

A Note on the Swimathon

About three years ago, we enrolled my stepdaughter in swimming lessons because she absolutely loved swimming and she needed an activity outside of school. She was proficient and pretty fast but always struggled with her endurance. Getting across the pool was quite a chore.

Fast forward three years. She is on the swim team at the local pool and was nominated Swimmer of the Month for the month of February. She has improved leaps and bounds, but her endurance has been suspect at best, so when she declared that she needed sponsors for her team's Swimathon we were pretty sure her accomplishments would be modest. After all, she had only two hours to complete as many laps as she could up to 200 laps. That's a long way. We generously sponsored $.25/lap and felt confident that if she got 70 laps or so she would surpass our expectations.

She was elated that we had pledged so much and asked if she could hit her grandparents up for more pledges. The girl is not stupid, so she played the weak, innocent, little granddaughter for Grandpa Bob and conned $.25/lap from him and then dared Grandpa Jones to match Grandpa Bob. Not to be outgrandpa'ed, he ponied up the exact amount.

Well, the Swimathon was last Friday and the little pipsqueak did all 200 laps in just over 90 minutes. We're on the hook for $50 as are both Grandpa's. She is a machine. Nice job.

A Note on Not-So-Fast Food

Busy weekend here in WilkeWorld.

A typical conversation with the two-year-old:

"Honey, don't twist Baby Indy's arm, please."

"But I want to touch his arm."

"Yes, dear, but please don't."

"Why?"

"It will hurt him."

"Why?"

"Cause he's little."

"Why?"

Oh, it continues like this until tears begin to cascade out of her in waves. She then demolishes her room and refuses to eat. Ah, the joys of parenthood.

So, the Mrs. has been cooped up here in the house for a good week now and she informed me that we would be going for a drive. She didn't care where we went as long as we went. So we loaded up the monsters and took off.

Everything proceeded along peachily when we decided a treat would be a good topper for the evening. The Mrs. even gave me the green light to pick the place. I chose the burger haven, Sonic, and we cozied up to the drive-in microphone and placed our order--a slushie and an ice cream sundae.

It was Saturday night but the Sonic was relatively unburdened with customers (probably because they knew what awaited us). We chatted for a few minutes and then started to wonder about our food. The minutes ticked by and still no food. We did see the mullet-headed attendee slinking about at various intervals, but he seemed unconcerned about us. 10 minutes became 15 minutes, and I would have left if I didn't want that slushie so much. At roughly the 20 minute mark, the well done steaks would surely have arrived, but still no slushie or sundae. Hold on, nearly 23 minutes after our order was placed, Mullet Boy arrived with said order and in his best monotone voice he exclaimed, "$3.56". No sorries, no apologies, no concern that several other cars left because of non-service. Just "$3.56".

Then the two-year-old cries from the back seat, "I don't want ice cream."

"Why?"