A Note on My Eve

If I recall right, God gave the privilege of naming things to Adam and he promptly named his significant other, Eve. Of course, at that point Eve kind of took over because Adam probably did it all wrong and called things names that made little sense or didn't quite "fit" the measure of their creation. You know, typical girl stuff.

Well, my two-year-old is at that naming stage and, to be honest, she is a creative little soul. Here are some of her more creative inventions.

Actual Name--Two-year-old Invented Name

Broccoli--Trees
Frosted Mini Wheats--Hay
Hamburger--Chicken
Steak--Chicken
Pork--Chicken
Chicken--Chicken
Anniversary--Birthdaynersery
Her Ceramic Cat--Elephant Name (we are a little concerned about this one)
Waffles--Awfuls
With--If (As in, "I want to go if you, Grandpa."
Baby Brother--Bud
Vernon Worthen Park--Mervyn Mervyn Park
McDonalds--Donalds
Judd's General Store--The penny-candy store
Kasey Kartwheel Doll--Area (pronounced ah-REE-ah)
Computer--Pewter
Our Neighbor Ray--Grandpa Ray

When she was really little she called all giraffes, "zebras" and she called Grandpa Jones, "Bumpa". Heck, I'd still call him that if his real given name didn't irritate him so much.

A Note to Oprah

"Your readers are all women, and women feel strongly about Oprah. Don't do it."

The wife is in the background yipping about something. I officially apologize to my male readers as I'm sure my wife likes them as well, but I am posting on Oprah today.

Oprah apparently couldn't buy a really expensive scarf or something this week in Paris and is all up in arms about it. Oprah's friend, Gail, said Oprah was humiliated when Hermes would not open the door to let her in after the store had already closed. The article I read was careful not to insinuate that Oprah considered it a racist action, but Harpo, her production company, suggested that Oprah was so infuriated that she will include the incident in a fall show about race relations.

Before I make my remarks, I must say that I think racism in any form is despicable and bigots should be exposed for who they are. I also think that a good definition of racism is calculated hatred and it has no place in a civilized world. But I also think that it is dangerous to label actions of idiocy against blacks as being particularly racist because it implies calculation and hatred, both of which are not necessarily present in every idiotic act. This being said, I wish to ask Oprah to carefully consider the following questions before she publicly labels the intentions of Hermes and its employees as racist.

1. Oprah, why did you expect that they would open the door for you after hours? Was that expectation in any way attached to your status of privilege or celebrity? Would a white women have been let in in the same situation?

2. Did they let in any other patrons after the doors had been closed?

3. Could the actions of the Hermes attendents been directed to you as a celebrity or to you as an American? (I ask this question because it did occur in France to an American celebrity)

4. Given racial history in France, would this action be at odds with that history or in tune with that history?

5. Will Hermes try to paint the picture of a demanding American celebrity demanding more than they were willing to give? (I say this because it makes no sense whatsoever for Hermes to deny her access given her status unless they were prejudiced, stupid, or concerned with the time constraints of their employees. I managed a Fendi shop in Vegas for 4 years. When the door closed, nobody got in. Not even Oprah, or Celine, or Siegfried or Roy.)

If it was racially motivated and none of these alternate scenarios could have been plausible, then I say let them have it. Fire with both barrels.

A Note on the Draft

To my normal readers, I apologize, as I know a post on the NBA Draft is probably not the type of thing you expect here in WilkeWorld, but consider this post, "creative therapy" for the writer. I love this kind of thing.

Kudos go out to my alma mater, the University of Utah. I believe it is the first time that the Number 1 draft pick in both football and basketball came from the same university. It just happens to be my university. Go Utes. Milwaukee got themselves a whale of a player in Andrew Bogut. He is both talented and nasty. He will be a great addition to a team that needed an inside presence.

A few more observations:

The Atlanta Hawks did what everyone expected them to do; they drafted Marvin Williams with the 2nd pick. However, their draft success depends on what they do now. They are loaded with small forward, big guard types like Williams, Josh Smith, Josh Childress and Al Harrington. They are player poor at every other position, so expect them to deal one of those guys to get a point guard at some point. Salim Stoudamire could have been a steal for them in the second round, but he has character issues and could be a bust just as easily as a star.

The Utah Jazz got exactly what they wanted with Deron Williams of Illinois, but I have to question their strategy. With Portland not needing a point guard because they drafted Sebastian Telfair last year, it would have seemed likely that one of the three point guards would have fallen to the 6 slot where the Jazz were originally slotted. I realize that the Jazz brass liked Williams, but is he really that much better than Felton or Paul. I don't think so. So why move up to pay more? I think they got desperate and I think that signability was a big factor in going after Williams. He's married to a white woman, has a kid, and comes from the midwest. I think those were indeed factors in their decision.

The bust of the draft was the selection of Charlie Villanueva with the 7th pick by Toronto. First of all, the Raptors had little success last year with the selection of Rafael Araujo, so they were under the gun with this pick. What did they do? They went and got a guy that, in college, had to be situationally substituted for on the defensive end. The guy has great "us-side", but his down-side was far too evident even in college at UConn. You mean to tell me that if you set Hakim Warrick and Charlie Villanueva side by side, you would take Villanueva? Nice job, Toronto.

Last little thoughts. Channing Frye to the Knicks? This has disaster written all over it. The Charlotte Bobcats could make the playoffs next year in what would be a big shock, but Felton and May sure solidify a pretty competitive team. Another team that could shock next year, my Golden State Warriors. They finish the year with an 18-10 record since the addition of Baron Davis, and then go out and address a need for inside scoring and rebounding with Ike Diogu. I like them. Diogu has a tough time on the defensive end like Villanueva, but at Golden State, Adonal Foyle, a defensive giant, will be behind him at the basket.

The Clippers are still the Clippers. Korolev looked like he was about 14. By the time he can contribute even modestly, his rookie contract will be up, and the Clippers will have to match any offer he has. Just doesn't make sense. Danny Ainge has to be thinking he has some Celtic magic as they got way more value than they could have expected drafting that low. Gerald Green and Ryan Gomes could contribute at pretty low prices.

All in all, the draft will have little effect for several years. I fully expect Detroit and San Antonio to be back in the NBA Finals unless the Heat get Shaq back healthy or the Suns figure out how to play defense in the 4th quarter of games against the Spurs. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

A List of Things That Go Bump in the Night

Dedicated to the little ones I love, I present this list of foot killers.

1. Hair Berets
2. Hair Clippies
3. Doll Combs
4. Brass Tacks
5. Hot Wheels (going back a while)
6. Green Plastic Soldiers
7. My Little Ponies
8. Candyland Pieces
9. Jacks
10. Stray Lincoln Logs
11. Stray Legos
12. Bobbie Pins
13. Pins from Store Bought Dress Shirts
14. Dice

I imagine you, too, can name a few that you've encountered at 5:00 A.M. when your facilities were sufficiently dulled.

A Note on My Anniversary Trip

So the wife and I went to Zion over the weekend to get away from it all and we left the two-year old with Grandpa Jones. At first he was excited to have her visit, but the prospect of a two-year-old struggling with potty-training eventually got to the stoic old man.

"You're bringing diapers, right?" he desperately implored.

I wondered exactly how everything would go over but she was a typical angel for him and now he is bloated with confidence and convinced that all of the problems we are having with her are due to poor parenting. I'm sure he will attest to as much. I will just say, Grandpa Jones, that working her to the point of exhaustion will indeed assure a compliant grandchild.

As for my trip, well, Baby Indy cried the entire night so the wife got no sleep whatsoever. Happy Anniversary, Honey.

The photo taken above is from my wife's private collection. She took it about a year ago on another trip through Zion. I just thought it fit the mood here.

A Note on Dementia

"May I take your order?"

"Yes, I'd like the shrimp scampi and a coke."

"And for you, Ma'am?"

"I guess I'll have the sirloin. Medium well. Oh, and an iced tea."

"Great. Will that be everything?" I expected to hear perhaps that they'd like an appetizer or a side salad. I was not prepared for their answer.

"Judy hasn't ordered."

"Judy?" I thought maybe they were waiting for another friend that was running late. After all, there were clearly just the two of them, but they began to chatter as if Judy was right there.

"Judy wants the steak and lobster," intoned the middle aged gal sitting to my left.

Not wanting to be rude to the empty chair where Judy apparently sat, I asked matter-of-factly, "How would Judy like that done?" Great, I was facilitating the dementia by playing along. Mind you, I kept looking for the cameras and that annoying Allen Funt.

Judy apparently told her two cohorts that she would like it done medium, so I took the order and my confusion to the chef. We debated the situation vigorously in the back and everyone scoped out the "wackos", but we decided that the customer is always right. So loaded up with three plates and another table setting, I presented the offering. Shrimp scampi for the gal on the right, sirloin steak for the older gal on the left and the steak and lobster (at $21.95) for my new friend, Judy.

Judy, surprisingly, never ate even a bite of her food, so I kindly offered Judy a doggie bag. No, came the response. She just wasn't hungry. Whoa! You mean to tell me an imaginary friend is going to order steak and lobster and just not eat a bite and not take it home. If it was my imaginary friend, I would have demanded that she give me a few bites.

I presented the bill. The older gal plopped down the cash and the two (three) of them cruised right on out of there. They even tipped pretty good.

I bussed the table and was tempted to eat the steak and lobster, but maybe Judy got her germs all over them. I decided just to dump it all. Safer, really.

A List of Possible Posts

Just thinking out loud...

Which one of the following stories makes the most sense to blog on next?

Falling out of a moving bus
Having a machete thrown at one's head
Waiting on an imaginary patron at a restaurant
Fisticuffs with the mayor
Crazy Paraguayan people I met on the mission
The bet that led to my marriage
Selling women in Tijuana
Mosquito attack
Wacko church moments
My stalker

Just thinking out loud here....

A Note on Steve Winwood

Brianna over at Counting to Three is a meme virgin and so when she tagged me, I felt obligated to do the meme even though she is a big Justin Timberlake fan and I find that slightly repulsive. Anyway, Brianna, here it is. For the rest of the citizens, I should remind them that this list is different than the WilkeWorld soundtrack that I published earlier.

Total Volume of Music Downloaded on your Computer: None. Absolutely squattola. I have no idea how to even do it. I know that an Ipod is a music saving device, but I've never seen one and I have no idea how it functions. I still have a tape-player in my car instead of a CD-player. I am musically idiotic.

Last CD Acquired: Kenny Chesney--When the Sun Goes Down
Last CD Purchased: Best of the English Beat

Five Songs that Mean A Lot to Me and Why:

The Finer Things--Steve Winwood: I am driving from Paul, Idaho to our home in Heyburn, Idaho following the breakup with my high school girlfriend when this song comes on the radio. It doesn't really have any significant meaning other than it takes me to a specific place at a specific time.

Dead Man's Party--Oingo Boingo: Heard this interminable song at a concert in the late nineties, and I am convinced that Danny Elfman is a genius. It was so much fun. I actually met him at my store a couple of years later and his girlfriend was a little too free as she took her shirt off in the middle of the store for all the world to see. What happens in Vegas.....

I Say a Little Prayer--Diana King: This is the first track off the soundtrack to My Best Friend's Wedding and the song I heard every morning for nearly three years, cause my wife had that CD in the clock/radio as the "wake-up" song. I hate this song with a passion, but its catchy, which enfuriates me even further.

The States Song: You know the one that we all learned in 4th or 5th grade that begins with "Alabama, Alaska, Arizona...." This little song has meaning because my stepdaughter once sang that song for almost 4 hours on a trip one time. No, not one time, several times on several trips. It really bogs down around Nebraska and the "New" states but comes back with a vengeance with a resounding "Wyoooooooooooooming"

Ants Marching--Dave Matthews Band: I know the words to a precious few songs and this is one of them. I love DMB and this is the best song they have with Warehouse a close second. "Lights down, you up and die" Love it.

There you have it, Brianna. A completed meme. I'd like to thank the Academy.....

A Note on Patience

Well, here in WilkeWorld we are experiencing a hangover of sorts from our big day as Site of the Day at Michele's. What fun!

To do some site cleanup, I will update the citizens on the WilkeWorld Diet. 5 lbs down. A lot more to go. I hesitated to post on my progress because a pound here or a pound there on a fat guy could just be the result of gas, and I didn't want to post my progress only to retract it. I am motivated, however, to keep on keeping on (to quote Shaleen). I told my mother that I was motivated to lose the weight for one reason. She responded, "Sex?" No, but thanks Mom for the visual. No, I'm motivated because my 20th reunion is coming up in a few years and I don't want to show up there 100 lbs more than when I graduated. My wife is still hot, but I don't want my classmates to criticize her judgment. The word of the day....patience.

More news. I got published for the second time. Yeah!!! My post on a Memory of Oxkintok will be published here in a few days. No, they don't pay anything but its good exposure and now I can say I've been published twice. That can only help in the future. Again....patience. I do have delusions of grandeur when it comes to this.

Lastly, the stepdaughter has been gone to see her dad for the last several weeks and is scheduled to return the first week of July. We love her so much its hard to be without her for so long. We can't wait for you to get home, Sissy. Patience......

A Memory of First Dates

Thankfully, I am happily married and no longer have to trudge down this long and desperate hallway any more, but for a time, I was a single man destined to attend many first dates. This is one such affair.

I met her at church. She had an easy, comforting smile and a quirky, granola-like personality. She wore the Birkenstocks and cotton sweaters. I'd admired her for several months before I got up the nerve to ask her out. She'd been dating a friend of mine so when they broke up I had to wait the appropriate time before I could proceed.

What to do? A movie? Miniature golf? No. I really wanted to make a good impression. Aha! A play. I went to the trusty Las Vegas Journal Friday Edition where all good things for the weekend are spelled out amidst the gentleman's show ads. There it was. The community theater was presenting "Of Mice and Men". Excellent. I will seem cultured and its not a musical.

She was up for just about anything, so we arranged to meet at the theater. I arrived first and paced nervously hoping I wouldn't be stood up. I wasn't. I cracked a joke when she arrived and she laughed genuinely. A good sign. (The tense shifts)

The play begins. She's never seen it before and can't remember the plot. Excellent. She likes it. She wonders what will happen next. I, of course, know the ending and sense that I should prepare her in some way. She leans forward as they run away. She is on the edge of her seat. I should do something. She will be so disappointed and shocked.

I sense my opportunity. I will place my arm gently on her shoulder so when the shooting takes place I can reassure her in her grief. I quietly lift my arm off of the armrest and begin to extend it out across the back of her empty chair aiming for her delicate shoulder. Then.....

Pow! Lenny shoots Squiggy.

She lurches back toward me in shock and sadness. My elbow. My elbow. In slow motion I see my elbow unable to dodge her pretty little cheekbone. The crunch is heard all the way on the Strip and her face and head recoil in abject horror. Saliva slowly dislodges from her mouth as her pouty lips turn a pretty little black and blue shade.

I...didn't...mean...to...elbow...you...in...the...face.

She looks at me like a deer in the headlights. "So I guess dinner is out of the question?" I quip with a huge hint of defeat.

Typical chick.

A Note on Late Nights

Oh, the things you'll do for your kids.

"Daddy, Daddy!!!" my 2-year-old screamed at the top of her lungs at 1:45 a.m. My wife, of course, awoke first and dashed down the hallway with surprising lucidity at that hour. To her horror, the scene was not pretty.

"Honey!" she, too, screamed at 1:46 a.m. I stumbled clumsily out of my luxurious digs and ambled my way down the hallway to find my little angel covered in vomit. Not your run of the mill vomit, but vomit induced by a calculated mixture of chocolate milk and red Twizzlers. The chunks hanged precariously from her recently quaffed hair. And then she said the words no father wants to hear in that situation.

"Hold me," she cried pitifully.

I wanted so badly to tell her that mama would hold her, but the wife was dry heaving in the corner so I held out my arms and my frightened little one fell into them. So, with both of us dripping vomit at different angles we sloshed to the bathroom where Mom was preparing a warm bath.

Note to self--Twizzler chunks dipped in chocolate vomit do not break up in lavender bath salts.

Rinse, repeat. Yeah, that's right. We repeated this procedure three times during the night and before I knew it I was lying in a heap on the living room floor watching Madeline in my newly donned PJs thrusting the puke bucket into my angel's face as she quivered feverishly.

As we speak, she is back to her normal self, but for a precious day and a half, we had lethargy-girl. It wasn't so bad. I will gladly take a bit of vomit to the shoulder for a day of peace and quiet.

A Note on Rabid Fun

As promised, I present to the citizens of WilkeWorld John Cowart's stellar blog appropriately named Rabid Fun. John's blog is being featured here at WilkeWorld due to his outstanding suggestion that the Sea Cow be the official mascot here in WilkeWorld.

I don't know exactly what prompted this self proclaimed Fundamentalist Christian to show such an affection for the beloved creature, but his suggestion was well recieved here and garnered him this honor.

I also don't know exactly how John came to find us here at WilkeWorld, but he has been with us for awhile infusing my belaboured postings with his wit and intellect in the form of comments. He actually has two sites that he manages with his adept skill. The Rabid FUNdamentalist is a humorous website that features his books, columns, and papers. While being a page that focuses on a variety of religious issues with a healthy dose of theology, John's site also includes articles with titles like "The Girl in My Shower" and "Warnings and Illicit Kissing on Christmas Eve".

John is rightly self deprecating and even goes so far as to question whether he is a fundamentalist or simply a fundament. I particularly liked the article on the Sea Cows of Jacksonville, his home town.

John's other site is his blog entitled Rabid Fun. In it, he and his lovely accomplice, Ginny, tell of their escapades and wanderings. I especially liked it when John mentioned that his children got invited over to watch Japanese enema films. John, I hate to say it, but enema and anime are vastly different viewing experiences and, for your kids' sakes, I hope they got to see the anime.

In one of John's responses to a question about his blog persona, he mentioned that his entries are often prefaced with "Another wasted day in a wasted life." Well, citizens of WilkeWorld, I can tell you that a visit to see John will not be a wasted endeavor.

Thanks again, John, for the suggestion.

A List of Unsavory Characters

I am not much of a meme person, but I thought I'd try to start one today and see where it takes me. The idea is to list 10 television characters that you relate to personally. Now we are talking about the character here and not the actor that plays the character. Hopefully at the end of this exercise you will know a little bit more about me and in doing the meme you'll learn a little about yourself. So here is my list of unsavory characters. Consider yourself tagged.

10. Monk from Monk. Monk is the obsessive compulsive detective who is very observant in a freaky sort of way. Tony Shalhoub plays Monk and does it admirably. I think I relate to him because he doesn't think like everyone else and I sometimes wonder if I don't either.

9. Magnum, P.I. He's funny and good looking and he lives in Hawaii and gets to ride in TC's chopper all the time. Okay, so I'm nothing like Magnum at all, but I would so like to be. I relate to that. My wife likes the Ferrari, especially.

8. Cliff Clavin from Cheers. He is the useless knowledge king. I admire a man who dedicates himself so fully to minutia. Oh, and he loves his mom.

7. Norm from Cheers. Norm is pretty simple. People seem to like him and he seems to like them. He is also very dedicated to his beer. I, personally, don't drink, but if I did, I would occupy the corner barstool and everyone would shout my name when I came in.

6. Archie Bunker from All in the Family. Okay, this is a bit of an odd choice, but Archie was tortured by the idiocy around him. Most of it was inflicted by his family, which doesn't apply to me, but, at work, I see myself as Archie all the time. I'm not as caustic, however.

5. George Jefferson from The Jeffersons. The guy has a mouth that doesn't shut up. He's a hard worker and a hard player. Plus, I love saying the word, "Honkie".

4. Fred Flintstone. C'mon, Fred is the man. He has a sidekick and a hot wife and the cutest kid. He also drives a great car and gets to bowl all the time. Fred is a hero of mine to be honest.

3. Remington Steele. Again, I don't think I am all too like him, but I wish I was. He has an accent, too. Oh, if I had an accent, chicks would think I was so hot.

2. George Costanza of Seinfeld. My mother has said for years that I remind her of George. Gee, thanks, Mom. George is a guy who can screw anything up, but, at the same time, he is brilliant. He is also ridiculously picky when it comes to his women. I guess the fact that I didn't get married until the ripe old age (in Mormon terms) of 32 got my mother to thinking. I have never bought cheap envelopes, however.

1. Raymond Barone of Everybody Loves Raymond. I am Ray Barone. Let me count the ways. Hot wife. Cute kids. Mom's favorite. Mother cooks better than wife. Foot in mouth disease. Love sports with a passion. Brothers are both dufuses, but I love them. Debra consistently gives Ray the look my wife gives me.

There you have it. Provided for your blogging pleasure. I look forward to your lists.

A Note on Sea Cows

The citizens have spoken. Sea Cows it is. We are officially adopting the Sea Cow as the WilkeWorld mascot. The WilkeWorld Sea Cows. It has a nice ring to it.

My wife is now turning her nose up in disgust. Her claim is that the blog revolves around her, and, by adopting the sea cow, we are latently calling her a sea cow. Honey, that is so wrong. You can't swim very good at all. Apples and oranges.

In honor of this occasion I will be posting a link in my blogroll and here to a great organization begun by Jimmy Buffett that actually fights for the manatees and dugongs around the world, but especially in Florida. Any profits incurred by this blog will go to the actual adoption of a manatee. I think it costs $35, so it might be awhile, but I think it is well worth it. Any real good we can accomplish here in the blogosphere would be tremendous.

Congratulations go out to John Cowart for his outstanding suggestion. I am preparing my review of his blog that will be forthcoming.

Go Sea Cows! Go!

A Quick Note on Father's Day

A golf bag. Yep, that is exactly what I asked for. That drove me nuts for the last two weeks. What makes it worse is that Grandpa Jones knew before I did. The wife spilled the beans.

Speaking of Grandpa Jones, he is claiming victory at Canasta this evening cause he won the last game. This is typical of Jones Family game theory. Any scenario in which we end up being the winner is deemed to be the most accurate scenario. The official score: 2-1 Good Guys.

And finally....I want to thank all of the good fathers out there. You are a wonder and a special strength to your children. Keep up the good work. Be good men.

A Memory of My Father

Thanks Dad for everything you do.

Thanks for being the baseball coach for our Minico Auto Parts team that lost every game.
Thanks for wrestling with all of us and letting us pin you every so often.
Thanks for taking me to Father and Son outings.
Thanks for climbing to the top of the hill with us at Harrisburg.
Thanks for taking us to the Oasis for Oasis burgers.
Thanks for letting us sit shotgun.
Thanks for being there after every date.
Thanks for encouraging me to smoke a pack of cigarettes so I'd hate them. (BTW-I never did it)
Thanks for teaching me to box out and dribble with my left hand.
Thanks for teasing my girlfriends (He once said my girlfriend was a lot cuter than I said if she'd just get her teeth fixed).
Thanks for letting me drive the AMC Gremlin.
Thanks for letting us try to stay up all night long on New Years Eve.
Thanks for reading my blog.
Thanks for taking my kids to McDonalds.
Thanks for holding Mom's hand.
Thanks for telling me you loved me.
Thanks for being a wonderful example.

Thanks for being my hero.
Happy Father's Day.

A Note on Incarceration

A few quick updates before I get to my real post.

The mascot voting continues with the Sea Cows now holding a commanding lead over the Doppelgangers and Wonders. Thanks again for your comments and votes. The drill team and the band will be formed later on. I already have dibs on the tuba.

The results of the last Canasta competition were mixed as Grandpa Jones and his lovely wife split two games with the defending champions. I did not cheat as was fully expected.

I am still holding on to the WilkeWorld Diet. I have lost 4 lbs. and I've got to say that I'm feeling much better. No carbonation makes a huge difference. Added to the fact that my wife and I now walk several times a week, I am bound to have the pounds just fall off.

Now to my real post.

I am a captive in my own house. Yes, the two-year-old has decided to become a championship quality wrecking ball, so my wife has resorted to locking all the doors in the house. This evening, I come home from work and go to change into my jammies, but, alas, Alcatraz is locked down tighter than a drum.

I want to go to the bathroom. San Quentin.
Stepdaughter's room. Sing Sing.

Is there any door that's not locked?
Yes, the hall bathroom has been allowed to have visitors. I enter gingerly. It is a disaster zone. Foamy soap is on the wall and the counter, toilet paper has been unrolled and then rerolled and then unrolled partially. Wet Dora panties litter the floor. Tank tops and skirts of varying hues are wadded in corners.

I emerge shellshocked and glance reluctantly toward the couch where my wife lies in an exhausted stupor. She reaches in her pocket and without a word she hands me an Allen wrench.

"Long day?" I hesitantly blurt.

No response, but glare tells me plenty.

A Note on the Finalists

After much deliberation and creative license, I present the mascot finalists in no particular order. These mascots will be listed and offered up for your vote which will continue for a couple of days until the one I want to win is in the lead. So, without further ado.....

The Finalists.

1. The WilkeWorld Sea Cows--this mascot comes to us by way of John Cowart, who mentioned the always famous and much imitated manatee. I took some creative license and changed it to sea cow, because I think it is a funnier name and conjures up images of farm animals chewing their cud on the tropical beach somewhere. John, of course, played up the image of the sea cow as a vicious crocodile killer which prompted a vigorous but well-intentioned debate from Terry who is obviously a manatee activist there in Florida. The pros--Fat and humorous. The cons--doesn't get many chicks.

2. The WilkeWorld Wonders--not my favorite here, but both Wendopolis and Colleen came up with this one and for that I have to make it a finalist. I got thinking about it, however, and it could be the darkhorse. I especially like the idea of a loaf of bread as the mascot. It somehow seems fitting that something so inert could be the mascot. The pros--Nutritious and masks the taste of bologna. The cons--Limited shelf life and taking the twisty off could burn too many calories.

3. The WilkeWorld Doppelgangers--Terry came up with this one and I think the idea of an evil twin fits right in here at WilkeWorld. Of course, you know me quite well, and the Wilkie Collins tie-in may have swayed me a bit. I kind of anticipate this doppelganger to be a svelter version of me lying on the beach somewhere scaring all the tourists. So, yeah, good mascot choice. The pros--mischievous and handsome. The cons--hard to control and bad breath.

Please vote in the comment section for your favorite. Thanks to all who participated. I liked all of the suggestions but had to eliminate them for various reasons.

G-pa Jones--I think you were taking a pot shot at me with your suggestion.
Travis--Beet Truckers was a close fourth, but considering they almost killed my namesake, I had to eliminate them.
Lucy--I looked up Wambas and found that they are mountain bikers from Western Australia or African Tribesmen, either of which would have been interesting, but I think I didn't understand the real meaning.
Hollie--Jackalopes rock but they creep me out a bit.
Shaleen--Ditto with the Oompa Loompas. They're creepy.
Thaoist--Wildebeests were a possibility, but I refuse to be associated with a creature that looks too much like me.
Janie--My first dog was a husky and so nostalgia was on your side, but I was afraid that non-citizens would think we were all too husky. What would they do to the drill team.
Texasblu--PotatoHeads was also in the running until the very end when I decided that my Idaho roots don't run deep enough.

Thanks again, all.

A Note on Blog Mascots

The thought occurred to me that I have no mascot here at WilkeWorld. LA has the Lakers, Boston has the Red Sox, Dallas has the Stars, but here at WilkeWorld, I have nada.

So help me out. What makes a good mascot? Give me some possible ideas. First and foremost, WilkeWorld's mascot should inspire respect but, at the same time, represent the spirit and feel of WilkeWorld. That means no domestic cats, cause they never do what I want them to.

I will take suggestions for the mascot until Thursday morning at 7:00 AM, MST, at which time I will take the top three suggestions and offer them up for your vote. The blogger with the winning suggestion will win an all expenses paid trip for themself and a companion to WilkeWorld on Internet Airways. No, but I will feature their blog as a note on my site. In the event I get like two suggestions, I will throw caution to the wind and name it myself. To give you some idea of where I'm leaning, I offer up this list of the 10 best mascots.

10. St. Louis University Billikins--Any university with enough guts to select a Buddha-like character for a mascot deserves all the praise in the world.

9. The Shelley High School Russets--Any high school that has a potato as a mascot deserves similar praise.

8. Nebraska Bugeaters--That's right. The Cornhuskers were originally known as the Bugeaters, which makes little sense, but gets them mentioned here.

7. Cal-State-Long Beach Dirtbags--The university's baseball team employs this name much to the chagrin of the flooding rivers everywhere.

6. Jordan High School Beetdiggers--I imagine that in other parts of the country, mascots like Beansnappers, Applepickers, and Bananapeelers are par for the course, but here in Utah, we like our beets dug.

5. Idaho Vandals--Yes, I know that the Vandals were an ethnic band of Northern Europeans but I still get a kick out of the image of drunk Idahoans sprawled out in front of sorority houses dreaming of the spoils of war.

4. Cal-State Irvine Anteaters--Nothing inspires like an anteater.

3. Kuna Kavemen--Again Idaho rocks. Isn't it clever how they changed the C to a K? We Idahoans can spel.

2. Stetson University Hatters--Well, what else would they be called?

1. Cal-State-Santa Cruz Banana Slugs--Is there any doubt that this is the best all-time mascot? Those crazy Californians get the top spot 'cause their just so wacky.

Anyway, citizens, I look forward to your submissions.

A Note on the Good Ol' Days

Jo over at Chez le Laquet tagged me earlier this week and I have been slow to respond, so without further ado, I present 5 Things I Miss from my Childhood. Okay, so I have a little more ado before I unveil it. My wife helped me with this as we both lived in the same area and as she just informed me, she is a genius. Any faults in this post should be attributed to her.

5. The Summer Vacation. I am tempted to become a teacher just to get my summers back. I remember the day after school let out every year. I would wake up at about 9:00 in the morning and stumble into the kitchen to see that my mother had made German pancakes and I just reveled in the joy of no school. We always had a big trip planned to look forward to and all my friends weren't doing anything either. It rocked.

4. The Snake River. I miss the Snake because it provided so much entertainment. On a boring day in the middle of the winter, the Snake had something going on. Three-wheelers on the ice, treks out to Goat Island, some kid falling through the ice. It was especially exciting during the aforementioned summer vacation when we would load up the tubes and tube down the river or jump our dirtbikes into it off the ramp at the neighbors.

3. Naps. I wasn't a big fan of naps as a child. In fact, I doubt that I took them at all, but I MISS THEM NOW. Kids, if you are out there in the blogosphere somewhere reading this, go lay down and take a nap! This is the only time you will get to! Please don't cheat yourself!

2. Cold Soda in Bottles. My wife and I both recall extricating a cold beverage encased in glass from those old erector set dispensers. Move the bottle along the track and then pull really hard so the bottle can escape the clutches of the machine. I know they're still around, but I rarely see them. I think the small bottles were only a dime. I remember when they went to a quarter. What a ripoff!

1. Sleepovers. I grew up 20 miles north of a town of 5000, so the chance to have a sleepover was a big production. Mothers had to be called and schedules couldn't conflict. If everything fell together just right, we could have a sleepover. I remember one such cherished event when I went to my friend, Mark's, house. We planned it for months and then when the day arrived, we spent the better portion of the day setting up rules for our club, which we quite cleverly called the Jedi Knight's Club. We then spent the rest of the day sword fighting with willow switches. BTW--at every sleepover I ever attended, I had to eat a food that was forbidden at our house. Red beets, sauerkraut, coconut and lima beans somehow found their way on to the menu at every sleepover.

This is my little gem and my first official pic here at WilkeWorld.  

A Note on the Last Days

"...before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the LORD...he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers..." Malachi 4:5-6

Well, pack your bags and get ready for the fireworks, cause if this morning is any indication, I think the great and dreadful day is imminent.

Yep, in fulfillment of the prophecy, my two-year-old put me in time-out this morning. She caught me doing something wrong, directed me to the time-out chair, and then went in and started the timer on her Little Tykes oven. In our house, its one minute for every year so...you do the math. I sat there for a while.

My crime--tickling. Apparently it is against the rules of the household to tickle a two-year-old when she is not properly equipped with a diaper, pull-up, or other absorbent apparatus. This rule was established in the Infamous Grandpa Jones Incident earlier this week. After my punishment we had to discuss it and apologize and give each other hugs. It was all resolved and I am now very remorseful and repentent.

Now if I could just get her to send me to bed early.

A List about Grandpa Kay

This year we are having the inaugural Jones Family Reunion (which I assume will involve much boasting, bragging, and ingesting of all things delicious). In honor of this great event, I want to write a few words about my Grandfather, Kay. You will notice that my online persona is also K Jones, which tells you volumes about the respect and love I have for this great man. In his honor, I present this list about all things Grandpa Kay.

1. He drank a lot.
2. He stopped following a run-in with a beet truck.
3. He named all of his dogs--Mike (he had a number of them)
4. He was most noted for his storytelling ability.
5. He almost told my sister that he loved her, but couldn't quite pull the trigger, despite her constant, nagging encouragement.
6. He was an awesome cribbage player.
7. He would show up at our house and just honk his horn for us to come out.
8. He liked to take us to pick up baling twine and feed the sheep, cows, and horses.
9. I once saw him give mouth to mouth resuscitation to an almost dead calf.
10. He knew every cow, sheep, and horse in the herds.
11. He took us to get Oasis burgers during the summer.
12. He liked to fry up Rocky Mountain oysters and eat them.
13. He showed up to church only when my sister coaxed him into it.
14. He thought my younger brother worked harder than me.
15. He loved his daughter-in-law very much cause she took care of him.
16. He limped everywhere cause when he was little the doctor didn't set it right.
17. He swore a lot.
18. He remembered the last Indian war.
19. He couldn't stand to eat or look at the fuzz on a peach.
20. He was a good man.

I hope Grandpa Jones will add to this list and share it at the reunion. We miss you Grandpa Kay.

Don't mind the teardrops on the screen, they're just like Windex.

A Note on Miss Manners

Overheard at my store today, while helping two emergency room techs and their wives.

"We had a weird one this week. A guy came in with a spoon stuck in his eye."

Disbelief from all who were listening.

"Yeah, we asked him how it got there and he said he had a seizure and he stuck it in his eye."

Disbelief continues but heads begin to nod in understanding.

"So we asked him if he was taking any medications or if anything like this had ever happened before. He said, 'Yeah, just last year the same thing happened, I stuck a spoon in my eye.'"

I interjected out of sheer disbelief, "You mean he lodged a spoon in his eye not just once but twice?"

"Yeah, we sent him up to psych."

And to think, these people are driving the same roads as all of us. Scoop that ice cream carefully!!!

A Note on Blog Integrity

Citizens of WilkeWorld,

Hear ye, hear ye....

Every so often I have a poignant question to ask of other bloggers and diarists and today is one of those days. Does your blog reflect the real you?

I ask this because I read so many great blogs and I wonder if the people behind the blogs are the people I read about or is there some creative license with your blog identity. Is Michele really the hip, sassy, trendsetter we all seem to think she is or is she some beer swilling trucker hiding in the basement of a Canadian Quonset hut? I think I know the answer to that question, but anonymity allows us a modicum of freedom. How true are you to your blog?

I think I have been true to my real persona here in WilkeWorld. My wife looks at my blog entries with the same disdain as she does me in real life, so I think I'm pretty honest here. I take a little creative license every once in a while, but I hope that I'm about 97% fact and only about 13% fiction (FYI, I always give 110%).

Your thoughts????

A Note on the Indian Rug

Old and itchy,
hardly worth keeping,
It rests uncomfortably,
cradling
our
fleeing memories.

Strands of wool
still
grasping the loom,
weaving a
family's
heritage.

A heritage of strength
passed down
and
placed,
like an Indian rug
atop
the piano.

Thank you,
Oh, my Fathers.


I wrote this poem in response to a prompt at the Alchera Project. I rarely write poetry, but for some reason I pictured an old Indian rug that sits on my mother's piano and it inspired me a bit. It was passed down through the generations and my mother now places all of the wedding photos of her children on top of it. It must be worth quite a bit, and it is definitely beautiful. My siblings and I have had many discussions about who gets it when Grandpa Jones keels over. Again, I will rarely bore the citizens with my poetry, but I hope you'll indulge me just this once.

A Note on Age

When I look in the mirror, I see a much older guy than I am. I know that its me, but the George Hamilton grey streaks in my hair just don't make a lot of sense. The other day my wife actually found a grey hair (note that I spell it 'grey' not 'gray', it seems younger and hipper) front and center. Right there on my forehead. I can't be this old.

Here is further proof that I'm not as old as the mirror seems to think I am.

Scooby Doo is still pretty darn entertaining.
I still have a tough time making it through church meetings.
I love Froot Loops.
I still talk to dogs like their my bestest friends.
My mommy still makes me my favorite meals for my birthday.
I would rather get toys than clothes for Christmas.
Legos are still the greatest invention known to man.
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the original) still gives me the creeps.

Here is the counterargument.

I can't watch MTV or even VH1 now, the music is just too loud. I now listen to Country. Argghh.
I've threatened to call kids' parents if they don't "Keep it down".
I can make it through Dave Letterman without falling asleep.
Pixie Sticks give me a headache.
My parents seem like reasonable individuals.
Instead of playing video games, I blog.
I want to go to sleep at 9:00 but I can't.
Stuff we wore in high school is now back in fashion.
I read the paper on the toilet.

I'm 36. I still don't believe it.

A Memory of Oxkintok

I looked at the labyrinth wishing I had brought my flashlight. I mean I didn't come all this way not to go inside, not to see what the real mystery was. I hadn't endured the horrible bus ride, the breastfeeding and the heat just to take my token picture. I wanted to go inside. The Tzat Tun Tzat. It even sounded mysterious. Was it a prison? A little Alcatraz in the middle of the Yucatan? Why hadn't I brought a flashlight?

A trollish little man with sparkling teeth and an oddly pleasing smile appeared out of nowhere and approached me cautiously. "Quieres entrar? Traigo torcha," he muttered in broken Spanish. "Yes, I want to go in." Are you kidding me? The little man had a flashlight to boot.

I looked Asterio up and down. He had probably taken hundreds of portly gringos into the labyrinth in his day. "How much?" I knew better than to expect it wouldn't cost me. "Nada," he laughed, sounding a bit like Igor jingling the keys. He scampered to the door and urged me to follow him. The sweat that only a fat guy gets in the tropics dripped down my nose. "What the heck?" I reasoned. "You only live once."

Hoping to lighten the mood, I asked my cohort if he'd ever seen any aluxes, or goblins, in the area. "Only at night," he replied with a nonchalance that seemed a little unsettling.

Asterio entered and I followed right on his heels. At first, the way was lighted by the windows and doorways that perferated the Labyrinth. I could kind of tell where we were going, but we got deeper and deeper into the Labyrinth, and I got disoriented. Asterio seemed to go faster and faster. I heard him up ahead of me and I could see the flicker of his flashlight. Was it running out of batteries? The passageways seemed smaller. I could feel my hair brushing against the smooth limestone. I heard other noises. The wind? I couldn't tell. We were too deep inside to tell.

I heard something. I couldn't see anything. I felt like I should do something. What? I was paralyzed as something hit me in the head. I screamed and tried to rid myself of it. It moved. It moved? Oh, great, something is attacking me. My arms flailed about, my legs stomped feverishly, and my head shaked uncontrollably as I flicked and convulsed against the unseen enemy.

Asterio giggled sheepishly and I heard him turn slowly and flash his light at my feet. "Murcielago," he said matter-of-factly, "I'm too short."

Guided tour of Oxkintok's famous Tzat Tun Tzat--$10 (paid as a tip)
Getting hit in the head by a live bat--priceless.

A Note on Evil Wives

My wife is withholding.

That's right, withholding. She refuses to tell me what she is getting me for Father's Day. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but the last two days she has been on a big shopping spree looking for my gift and she is so excited to present it. Again, not normally a big deal, but she said that I told her several months ago exactly what I wanted and she is going to get it. There's the rub. I don't remember what I said.

I am tearing my hair out as I write this. A book? No. A tie? Thankfully, no. A CD? I don't think so.

I have no idea. It must have been something great, but I--just--can't--remember--what--it--was.

Honey, please tell me. Pretty please. I double dog dare ya.

A Note on Outrageous Lists

As many of you know, I am a list fanatic. Well, the Discovery Channel just aired a special on the 100 Greatest Americans. I anxiously awaited the special but wasn't able to view it, so when my wife handed me the list she copied off the internet, I scanned it thoroughly. Now I realize that any list is subjective and ultimately flawed, but this list is so bogus I couldn't pass up the opportunity to flay it publicly. So here are the 10 most egregious inclusions in the list and my alternate suggestions:

10. Tom Cruise--Now Tom Cruise is a decent actor and some Americans might deem him a great actor, but a great American? He has just recently humiliated himself on Oprah's show and his own publicity people have struggled to spin him into respectability. Notable omissions that could fill his spot--Lewis and/or Clark of Expedition fame or Davy Crockett.

9. Rush Limbaugh--Yes, he's a notable lambaster of all things liberal, but great American? He had an addiction problem and got fired from Monday Night Football. Notable omissions that could feel his spot--Henry Thoreau, Walt Whitman, or Thomas Paine.

8. Christopher Reeve--Activist, inspiration, bad actor? Yes. One of the 100 Greatest Americans of all time? No way, Jose. Notable omissions that could feel his spot--Clara Barton and/or Paul Revere.

7. Dr. Phil--I love Dr. Phil, but to suggest he is actually one of the Greatest Americans of all-time is like saying the Clippers are one of the 20 Best Basketball Franchises of all-time. Notable omissions--Stephen F. Austin or Francis Scott Key.

6. Michael Moore--I don't even want to get started. I know that people revere this guy like an American hero, but he is an entertainer with an agenda. Yes, he is talented, but a great American? I'd like to replace him on the list with P.T. Barnum or Gloria Steinem.

5. Madonna--She is to feminism what bratwursts are to fine dining. I think Madonna has talent and influence but I would prefer such icons as Mae West, Elizabeth Cady Stanton or Jane Addams to represent my America.

4. John Edwards--???????? How about Robert E. Lee or General Douglas Macarthur or even James Monroe?

3. Ellen DeGeneres--I so didn't want to go here because it makes me seem indifferent to the gay and lesbian community, but Ellen Degeneres as one of the 100 Greatest Americans? She had a reasonably successful sitcom and a nice little talkshow, but...? Perhaps a better choice would have been Babe Didrickson Zaharias or Sandra Day O'Connor or Shirley Chisolm.

2. Brett Favre--I love Brett Favre and think the world of him and his story and all his hard work and drinking and winning stuff. I especially liked his acting ability in There's Something About Mary, but this might be the most egregious error of the whole list. I could list a thousand other Great Americans before I might choose Brett Favre. How about Steve Largent, Bill Bradley or Tom Osborne? Now I wouldn't include them either but they outrank Brett on nearly anyone's list. Notable omissions--Sitting Bull, Geronimo, Chief Joseph and Blackhawk.

1. Martha Stewart--Media mogul and convicted felon. I can see how Great American gets associated with Martha but is the American public higher than a kite? Notable omissions--Thurgood Marshall, W.E.B Du Bois, and Betty Crocker for goodness sakes.

My wife has just informed me that I am stirring up a hornet's nest with this post, but I'm sticking to it. If anyone gives me grief about Christopher Reeve, let me just mention Stephen Hawking as another great American with a disability.

BTW--I didn't even take any shots at Laura Bush, Hugh Hefner, or Michael Jackson, but I probably should have.

Additional Note: Stephen Hawking is British. My bad. Perhaps I missed that one because he doesn't have a distinguishing accent. Yet, no one has challenged my Christopher Reeve comment. Interesting...

A Note on the Road Trip

Road trips rock. Here is the play-by-play.

Saturday,
8:45 a.m.: I arrive at my brother's abode for our 9:00 departure.
9:00 a.m.: Still waiting for other dudes to arrive.
9:30 a.m.: Still missing party members, we decide to drive to their homes.
10:00 a.m.: All 5 of the guys picked up, we hit the grocery store for appropriate stock (Soda pop, Doritos, ATM money)
10:05 a.m.: We hit the road.
10:06 a.m.: First official rendition of Neil Diamond's "America".
10:10 a.m.: First demand to turn that crap down.
10:11 a.m.: Begin discussion of PS2 College Football tournament/extravaganza (for those not in the 'know', we were discussing the merits of college football teams, not real teams, but computerized teams that inhabit a Sony Playstation game).
2:20 p.m.: End discussion of PS2 College Football tournament/extravaganza. Yes, that's right girls. If you ever want to know what guys talk about when you are not around. Idiocy like this.
2:30 p.m.: Act like idiots at tailgating party.
5:30 p.m.: Game between U.S.A. and Costa Rica begins. After 3rd goal, brother drenches everyone with water in his excitement.

Sunday
12:30 a.m. Leave game and go to Sonic. Argue about how much everyone owes. Brother mentions gas money. More arguing ensues. Arguing extends to Playstation tournament.
1:00 a.m. Arrive at sleeping destination. Go to sleep.
7:30 a.m. Wake up. Debate begins on whether to shower or not.
8:00 a.m. Unshowered men pile into minivan and begin debate of virtues of Shawshank Redemption, Braveheart, Saving Private Ryan, and Schindler's List.
12:01 p.m. Arrive at home and showers for all.

That sums it up. And my wife thinks we are all so shallow.

A List of 101

Lest you all think I'm super-egomaniacal, this list is part of a meme for the Alchera Project, which I am particularly fond of. The goal is to make a list of 100 useless facts about yourself. In essence, A 100 Things About Me. Well, I am changing it a little to be 101 Useless Facts About Me That You Would Have Known If You'd Have Read My Blog. How's that for a ridiculous title? Anyway, I am listing one useless fact from all 101 blog entries. They will be in chronological order with the first fact coming from Post #1, A Note on Pregnancy and ending with a fact from Post #101, A Note on Being Tom Jones. Here goes....

1. My wife had a difficult pregnancy.
2. I have Welsh ancestry.
3. I believe that honesty is a lonely word.
4. I have purchased "the stuff".
5. I am computer illiterate.
6. I photograph post offices.
7. I yearn to be an anthropologist.
8. Old people frustrate me.
9. My wife wears my clothes.
10. My wife and I try to sell her photographs.
11. My mother is Supermom.
12. I get irritated easily.
13. I'm a rock art hound.
14. I emcee a horse race.
15. I do not own a cell phone.
16. I sleep on a Simmons Beautyrest.
17. I was once an addicted swearer.
18. I forgot my parents' anniversary.
19. I vacationed in Colorado.
20. I have never won the Family Final Four Contest.
21. When I travel, I see everything.
22. I throw cattails at semis.
23. I'm Jimmy the Greek without the hair and the racism.
24. I'm a basketball junkie.
25. I got a new job.
26. My little girl is a lot like me.
27. I'm not Jimmy the Greek at all.
28. I don't like the INAH.
29. I rarely dress myself.
30. I am tremendously humble, just ask me.
31. I speak Guarani.
32. I think I know a lot.
33. I'm a fat guy.
34. I secretly want to be Dick Vitale.
35. My blog has a dress code.
36. I'm a part-time lifeguard.
37. I enjoy boring others.
38. I loathe coconut.
39. I watch birds.
40. I am a U of U alum.
41. My shoes stink.
42. I enjoy embarrassing family members.
43. I'm cheap.
44. I say "rad" as if it was 1987.
45. I think I'm Martha Stewart.
46. I can be serious.
47. I've written half a novel.
48. I frequent the penny-candy store.
49. I have been published.
50. I wanted to call my kid, G.I. Jones.
51. I have foot-in-mouth disease.
52. My server stinks like my shoes.
53. I bite my tongue.
54. I owned Barry Bonds' wallet.
55. I read Spanish novels.
56. I sip lemonade from Dixie Cups.
57. I want to strange Caillou.
58. I struggle with sensitivity.
59. I'm married to a normal woman.
60. I find the name "Billy Tahiti" quite pleasing.
61. I'm not Orville Redenbacher.
62. I'm an acorn.
63. I was a non-pregnant husband.
64. My Eagle landed.
65. I will eat anything.
66. I've been pee'd on.
67. Spam is yummy.
68. I've watched Tron.
69. I eat french fries with fry sauce.
70. I bet on horses.
71. I argue with two-year-olds.
72. I'm a proud Stepdad.
73. I've been known to wash my hair twice in the shower.
74. Bad poet.
75. I'm a conspiracy theorist.
76. I'm soooooo vain.
77. I was malnourished as a child.
78. My daughter has a new 'do.
79. I've given up soda.
80. I fear the INS.
81. I sleep closest to the window.
82. I like John Wayne.
83. I've fallen out of a moving bus.
84. I think John Kennedy Toole was a genius.
85. I will be buried in Malad, Idaho.
86. I am the Man.
87. Not fond of chocolate now.
88. I cheat at Canasta.
89. I like dueling banjos.
90. I ate raw shrimp and didn't die.
91. I have a great-looking wife.
92. I never kill imaginary friends.
93. I believe in bribery.
94. Spelling Bee Champion.
95. Doritos are my favorite food.
96. I wash dishes frequently.
97. Big fan of 'the good ole USA'.
98. I have a hairy back.
99. Oprah frequently costs me money.
100. Although I'm a Spelling Bee Champ, I allow my blog to be misspelled.
101. I am Tom Jones.

A Note on Being Tom Jones

And so begins the next 100 posts....

For those of you who sifted through the archives and dredged up the information I asked about, you will know that my real name is Tom Jones. Yep, Grandma and Grandpa Jones were quite the creative types. That being said, I love my name. It is actually a family name from both sides of my family and, therefore, means a great deal to me, but it has been quite an experience living with this name my whole life.

For those of you too young to know what I'm talking about, Tom Jones is also the name of a relatively famous Welsh singer who now belts out his tunes on the stages of Las Vegas. He is most renowned for his seductive hip-swaying moves and his sexy voice. Tom Jones is also the name of a book written my Henry Fielding. In 1960, the book was made into a movie and won the Oscar for Best Picture. The catch is that the main character is, well, morally corrupt and quite a womanizer. So Tom Jones is the name of a sexy singer, a sinful sexpot, and, well, me.

Add in the fact that I lived in Las Vegas for ten years and worked on the Strip and the fact that I studied English Literature at UNLV for a short time, and you have the dilemma of my life. At least once a day someone will sing "Its Not Unusual to Be Loved by Everyone," or "What's New, Pussycat," or even "My, My, My, Delilah", or they will want me to sing it. I have even heard stories of keys and panties thrown up on stage during fits of extreme drunkenness. Yeah, it's quite the ordeal.

On the plus side, my wife never tires of telling the story of how she went to Las Vegas and got married to Tom Jones. Nice one, honey.

A Note on WilkeWorld (The 100th Post)

Wow, I have written 100 posts. For me, this is quite an accomplishment. After all, I am not really one for commitment. So....in honor of this milestone, I have determined that I will do a quick history of WilkeWorld (my wife just informed me that "history" is a strong word since its been just 3 months). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this trip through WilkeWorld and I hope you'll stick with me through another 100 posts. Onward......

Why WilkeWorld? A number of years ago, my brother signed me up for an online fantasy baseball league and didn't know what kind of username he ought to use for me. Well, he knew my favorite author was Wilkie Collins, a 19th century contemporary of Charles Dickens. Unfortunately, he spelled Wilkie wrong and I've been Wilke ever since. So the monicker for this site is really misspelled. BTW---If you look through the early comments you can find out my real name, which in and of itself is quite comical in light of this blog. Dad, don't give it away.

Favorite Post: Probably this one about living with women. The constant fodder for this blog are the wonderful women that inhabit my world and I honored them with this post. Well, kinda.

Worst Post: This one. I have read many posts like this one and I just think they are all so mundane and thoughtless. I was embarrassed to post this one, but I left it to remind me not to write a post just to write a post.

Most Prolific Commenters:

Grandpa Jones with 39 comments
Travis with 28 comments
Indigo with 18 comments
Anita with 10 comments
Faye with 8 comments

Most Commented Upon Post: A Note on Sterility, Thanks to Michele this note reached, for me, a whopping 15 comments. By the way, for those of you looking to get some quality comments and feedback for your blog, Michele's Meet and Greet on the weekends is tremendously fun and rewarding.

Most Commented Upon Post without Michele's Help: A Note on Blog Vanity. Leave it to you guys to write about yourselves. This was actually quite a fun post to write and the comments are well written and entertaining to boot.

Best Comment: John Cowart's wonderful recollection of his kid's imaginary friend in this post.

Some Stats from WilkeWorld:

100 Posts
87 Notes
8 Lists
3 Reports
2 Quick Notes

3729 Visitors
5876 Pages Viewed

Strangest Google Search to Lead to WilkeWorld: "methodists are stupid" (I believe this post brought them here.

My Blogroll and a Note to the Citizens: I want to point to two other blogs, other than the ones that were listed and linked above, that I read with some frequency. SilverWoods and Wendopolis were both added to my blogroll because both Wendy and SilverBoh are kindred spirits in a sense and I value their unique insight and their candor. Wendy posts nearly every day and always has a great time with her kids while SilverBoh doesn't post enough for his mother but just enough for me to keep tabs. Thanks guys for your support and encouragement.

To all of the citizens of WilkeWorld, thank you for making it so fun. I really believe that WilkeWorld is a place that people can come to and enjoy a laugh or two and feel comfortable. The fun of this blog is in reading the comments and adding to them with your own valuable insight. I hope you will all continue to do so. I promise to blogroll many more of you in the future as I am a little lax doing that now. So give me a holler and enjoy your visit.

The Next 100 Posts--A Preview
I will be introducing a couple of new features to the blog in the future. I am thinking of doing away with my "Reports" and introducing a post called a "Memory". I will also try to figure out how to do some format changes so that the blog doesn't look so Blogger-like. Any suggestions and help would be appreciated.

Lastly, I will hopefully keep Grandpa Jones around for a few more posts. I might even convince my brother-in-law in LA to get off his duff and quit lurking and join the fun. Just sign up for an account so you can comment, Roberto. Thanks everybody.