This blog post is all about dedication, in that it’s dedicated to my friend Casey Alvarez, who is going to serve an 18-month ecclesiastical mission for our church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). She’s pretty dedicated herself. And I’m dedicated to keeping my word, which is why I’m writing this blog post. So here’s your blog post Case. It’s all about you. This is your post. YOUR POST! How does it feel? You should leave a comment to tell the world what you think…

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[via TheBigBags and MacEssentials.de]

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Today I finally ended my flight from justice.

It all started when we lost our mail key back in October. We went several weeks without checking our mail, which apparently meant that we didn’t live there anymore, according to the US Postal Service. We all had a lot of mail returned to sender, and among that mail was my car registration tags. Of course, I had no idea that this had happened, so when my tags didn’t show up, in classic Nate Kartchner fashion, I didn’t worry about it. And for months and months, it didn’t matter. Even after my stickers had long since expired, I avoided being pulled over. Finally, after months of driving with expired stickers, an officer pulled me over for having an expired registration. Fortunately, my car really was registered, so he let me go on my way, warning me to get my stickers because “you stick out like a sore thumb.”

Then, about a week later, I was pulled over again. This time was a bit more dramatic because as I was looking for my insurance card, I sliced my finger open on a razor blade I had been using to scrape a sticker off of my car. The cop was pretty nice and let me off really quickly, saying only “you need to get those stickers replaced. You stick out like a sore thumb.” I think that they probably teach police officers to say this in traffic cop school to demoralize noncompliant citizens. I thanked him by waving my bloody finger at him and we went on our way.

This is where things started to go south for me. One happy Saturday, not too long after the second traffic stop, some clown rear ended my car. When the cop was doing his accident report, he asked for my proof of insurance, which I was unsuccessful in finding, although I didn’t cut myself this time. Needless to say, even though I had already sustained emotional and spiritual injuries as a result of the accident, the officer issued me a ticket for driving without proof of insurance. I was instructed to appear with my proof no less than 14 but no more than 21 days after the accident on threat of having a warrant issued for my arrest after the requisite period had ended. Needless to say, in classic Nate Kartchner fashion, I didn’t worry about it, even when it had been over 30 days since the accident. In fact, it was kind of fun to think that I had a warrant out for my arrest. Cuz I’m bad, you know?

Shortly thereafter, I had my birthday. I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that my driver’s license expired, but, in classic Nate Kartchner style I just didn’t worry about it. It wasn’t until after my birthday that I realized that I had a lapsed driver’s license, a warrant for my arrest, driving a car that two cops had said “stuck out like a sore thumb.” It was just like begging to get arrested. But don’t worry, I didn’t take care of it. Instead, I just drove really carefully. And I avoided cops like the plague. In one case, I chose to drive around the block rather than pull up where a police officer could have seen my expired tags.

Finally, after several weeks of this, a started to get paranoid. To make a long story short(er), I skipped Calculus to get new stickers and clear up my warrant. After 3 hours, 3 different government buildings, and some flirtation with a desk clerk to get bumped up in line, I was feeling a lot better. And today, I finally renewed my driver’s license. It’s nice to be on the right side of the law again. In fact, I think that that satisfaction shines through on my new driver’s license picture (which looks pretty dang good, I think.) Needless to say, I think I’ll keep my nose clean for a while.

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One of perks of living in Utah is the snow. If you love boarding or skiing, this is your destination.

One of the bummers about living in Utah is the snow. It gets all over everywhere, it melts, it gets salt all over my car. And it’s cold. Boo.

At work, we’ve all gotten pretty sick of the sub-freezing temperatures and snow, so we’ve instituted Summer Day. We all wear shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. We then crank the heat in the office up to about 80 and have a barbecue.

Pretty much the only thing better than this is real summer.

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OK, some of you will remember a post I wrote a while ago entitled “Engagements,” wherein I talked about the need to go big or go home. Well, I came across a guy who is the very embodiment of the idea. How, you ask?

This guy is raising money to propose to his girlfriend - with a Super Bowl ad.

The sheer audacity of the plan is more than enough to win my respect. I mean, who does that?

So here’s my contribution: will you?

I was cleaning out my little brother’s room a couple of days ago, and I came across an interesting little pamphlet entitled “Men of Metal: Eyewitness Accounts of Humanoid Robots,” purporting to be an excerpt from a book written by a British journalist who had chronicled the paranormal happenings in the countryside surrounding the town of Oxford, England. When I was a kid, I was a sucker for Sasquatch, the Loch Ness monster, the Abominable Snowman, the Bermuda Triangle, and pretty much everything else. So naturally, I was fascinated by this new twist of the paranormal. As I started to read, I became engrossed by this well-written, believable account of a journalist who was investigating the reports of giant androids roaming the Oxford countryside, aiding motorists who were in danger. As his investigation proceeded, he came across the name of Dr. Colin Mahew, a design engineer and robotics enthusiast who was involved with the Mini Cooper’s design team. Though his questions to the good doctor were fruitless, the journalist was led to believe that Mahew had “overengineered” the Mini Cooper to allow it to be retrofitted to become a gigantic android. The pamphlet’s arguments were interesting and didn’t smell of conspiracy theory, but being the unbeliever that I am, despite my early interests, I packed the pamphlet away, intending not to think about it again. However, I had this nagging recollection of a graphic design site that I visited some time ago that featured some transformer-esque Mini Cooper androids. So today I decided to let the all-powerful Google answer my questions.

What I turned up wasn’t really shocking, actually. These androids actually exist! In fact, they can be seen starring in this commercial. But seriously, apparently the marketing firm that BMW had hired placed these false book excerpts in Automobile, Rolling Stone, and other magazines to create a buzz. There were fake websites created to corroborate the story, thus lending credibility to the tale of android Mini Coopers. Ultimately, the hoax was unveiled in the form of toys and a prominent ad in downtown New York. So in the end it was all just a clever marketing ploy, but it was definitely memorable, and somewhat viral. There was definitely a lot of discussion previous to the hoax’s resolution. So that’s the story. There are no giant android-Mini Coopers roaming the Oxford countryside. That’s because they’re in Oregon, hanging out with Bigfoot.

See, Einstein reads this blog too. (www.hetemeel.com)

So I was helping a friend of mine find some pages on whaling for a school assignment. As I Googled such pointed terms as “Whaling for Dummies” and “How to Whale” I was linked to some incredibly helpful pages. I thought I’d share them with you, my loyal readers.

First we have “The Infamous Exploding Whale” page. For those of you unfamiliar with the topic, apparently, the Oregon State Highway Division used 1/2 a ton of dynamite for “whale-removal purposes.” And yes, the site has video. Enjoy.

On a slightly less-related note, I also came across “Little-Known Literary Facts” by David Lubar, in which he claims that the working title for Moby Dick was actually Whaling for Dummies. Other interesting tidbits include the true origins of Finnegan’s Wake and why Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy both wrote such freakin’ long books.

Today I began my vacation to Maryland, and thus far it’s been a pretty eventful trip. I mean, I saw some lady totally wipe out on the stairs, I was able to see a SR-71 up close, and I saw pretty much the most obvious sign I have ever had the privilege of personally witnessing. We flew into Dulles International Airport just outside of DC, and after the several-hour flight, I paid a visit to the gentlemen’s room to freshen up. After washing my hands, I turned to evaluate what given means had been provided for me to dry my dampened digits. Much to my dismay, I saw the dreaded bank of electric air dryers. Typically, this means that I just dry my hands on my jeans and have done with it. However, in what appears now to be a flash of inspiration motivated me to give the air dryers a chance. As I went to turn the thing on, a notice on the dryer caught my eye:”Do not operate with wet hands. Risk of electrical shock.” Are they serious? I mean, why install a bank of dryers if you can only use them when your hands are dry? Maybe I’m missing the point here, but I don’t think so. Needless to say, I saw an old-fashioned paper-towel dispenser (if it ain’t broke…) and I beat a hasty retreat after contributing in my own way to rainforest destruction.

In retrospect, I’m a little concerned about flying back to SLC as a result of this experience. Either I need to be concerned about a management that feels that such a sign is necessary, or I need to be worried about my fellow passengers who necessitate such a sign. In any case, the intruding reminders of the reality of the presence of idiots around me has once again made my world feel a little less safe.

Not that I’m much of a drinker, but I do appreciate a REALLY BIG AD for beer every now and then. Check it out. (But only if you’re over 18.) It’s really big.