Train Wreck

My nephew just sent me this video saying that it was funnier than it was probably supposed to be.



It reminded me of this video. I'm trying to find words to describe it, and none come close.

Train wreck?

Awesomely bad?

A comedy of errors?

Yeah, nothing is strong enough.

Enjoy!

Nathan vs. the Little Giant

My parents have officially moved to Utah. Have I said that already?

The other day, I was helping them hang pictures, and I had to hang one at the top of a stairwell. As tall and thin as I am, it was pretty much impossible to do without an extension ladder.

Since my parents don't own one, I skipped over to the neighbor's to borrow theirs.

The wife said they had a Little Giant and took me into the garage to get it.

(Tangent)
This was my first encounter with a Little Giant. I thought it was going to be awesome to use such a versatile ladder. I had no idea it would weigh 485 lbs.

... And that one small fact is the source of my shame.
(End Tangent)

It was mounted on a couple hooks and tucked in a corner right in front of their family suburban. I walked up to the ladder without any real concerns and heaved upward.

It didn't budge.

As my face slowly turned a beautiful shade of crimson, I adjusted and heaved upward again.

I think it shifted about an inch.

As I tried to deny my defeat and try again, the wife shyly said, "Oh, my husband can get it down."

Yes. I know I don't have an ounce of muscle mass.

Yes. I know most 5-year-old girls can beat me in an arm wrestle.

On my third attempt, I managed to get it off the hooks and onto the ground. It was touch and go there for a minute as I almost staggered backward into their suburban, but I managed to avoid any lasting property damage.

As I stumbled away under the weight of the heaviest ladder ever made, she asked if I'd like her son to help me.

Trying to recover the last vestiges of my pride, I told her I was fine and made it back to my parent's house. It wasn't until I got there that I saw the bruise.

Little Giant: 1
Nathan: 0

Film Crews and Mortification

My sister-in-law just got a nice check for letting a popular TV show film a scene on her doorstep.

A few months ago, she heard a knock at the door and found a guy who wanted to know what her interest would be in letting her house be the scene in an upcoming episode. They own a cute little green New England style home in California with white trim. At first she was a little hesitant, but once they mentioned compensation, she jumped at it.

(Tangent)
And wouldn't we all jump at the chance to get paid just for picking the right house and enslaving ourselves to a mortgage?
(End Tangent)

I should mention that this sister-in-law has four children under the age of six (within five years of each other), including a set of twins. Needless to say, she is a busy woman and life can get pretty crazy.

When the guy came back to draw up the contract (specifying what the crew is allowed to do and where they are allowed to film), my sister-in-law nervously started mentioning that if they needed to plant any flowers in the yard or if they needed to spray paint the lawn green, she would be just fine with that.

The guy sort of shrugged and made a vaguely affirmative grunt.

When the fateful day came, my sister-in-law, brother and their kids were away on vacation, so her brother was on site to represent the homeowners.

The TV crews arrived along with the actors. At one point, my sister-in-law got a phone call from her brother.

He said, "Yeah, I don't think you need to worry about planting flowers or spray painting the lawn. It's a white trash scene."

My sister-in-law was mortified and suddenly extremely grateful she was anywhere but her house.

Later, her brother mentioned that when they saw the couch in the living room (which has more than a few rips in the fabric), the crew enthusiastically said, "Oh! We should put that out on the porch. It would look perfect."

Personally, I can't wait to see the episode.

Walmart

Yesterday, I was walking out of Walmart when I noticed a guy vigorously scrubbing his underarms with the disinfectant wipes they supply to clean the handle bars of the carts.

I used to say that if you want to get an accurate snapshot of humanity in all its forms, the best place to go is the DMV.

I think Walmart might be a close second.

And regarding the nice gentleman attempting good hygiene? At least he gave it the old college try.

Next week = Death and Mayhem

So ... I'm in a masters program right now, which I'm doing on the side of my full-time job.

I'm currently enrolled in a class with weekly deadlines, and next week I'll start an intensive class taught all day, every day of the week.

I hear it is horrible with major class work during the day and then a nightly paper before getting up and doing it all again.

But since I seem to love doing stupid things, I figure this isn't anything out of the ordinary.

So, hopefully I don't die.

Fingers crossed.

Special Agent Nathan

Last night, I was on the phone with my sister, and I missed a call from my brother.

(Tangent)
This is the popular brother with all the nieces and nephews. He scuba dives, he got certified to sky dive, and he used to work for the Secret Service. Now he works for another government agency.

Anytime he's around, all the kids want to see his gun or his badge, while all I have to offer is my business card or the report I just edited.
(End Tangent)

When I called him back, he said he already got what he needed.

It turns out he is tracking a pedophile who fled authorities in Utah and is currently hiding out in California. They have his cell number, and they are going to find him by getting his location from it, but first he had to find out if it was still active. He wanted someone with a Utah number to call him, pretending to have called a wrong number. Before I called him back, he found someone to do it for him.

I was THIS CLOSE to having a part in a covert op.

THIS. CLOSE.

The Perfect Day

Do you remember My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding?

(Tangent)
I love that movie for many reasons, but one of them is how similar it is to my family and my in-laws. My family is falling out all over the place with too much noise and everyone talking over each other. When we go to my wife's family, it is nice and quiet, and I can actually get a little reading done.
(End Tangent)

Do you remember the scene when she is finally working in the travel agency and happy, peppy music is playing in the background and she's spinning around in her chair, filing documents, making reservations, and using all the military terms for repeating letters (Alpha, Charlie, etc.)?

That is me today. It all started with hearing Good Life by One Republic on the way into work this morning.



All day, I've had a breezy attitude thanks to the vibe of the chorus, and all my appointments have been with students who have been doing what they should and getting good grades because of it.

Now I'm just waiting for the moment when (metaphorically speaking) I get up from my chair and get whiplash because I'm still attached to my headset.

(That was a poor excuse for a segue back to My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding, for the majority of you who probably couldn't read my mind.)

Pockets: A girl's best friend

My daughter has a thing for pockets recently. If we go somewhere, she has to stuff half her bedroom into her pockets.

Well ...

The other day, she wanted to wear the following dress:



Do you notice a problem?

Yep. No pockets.

But that doesn't stop someone like my daughter.

She discovered a handy place to stuff all her junk.

Can you guess where it is?





(scroll down)







That's right. All afternoon my daughter waltzed around the house looking ... mature for her age.

Fortunately, she was oblivious about what she looked like with the extra ... padding.

I can't even do this with my hands.

Unstoppable

You know that movie Unstoppable?



It's about the train that won't stop.

Yeah, it sounded boring to me too.

I heard it was about colliding trains, and I thought, "Great, a two-hour movie about a 5th grade word problem."

At 7:30 a.m., an express train traveling at 60 miles per hour leaves Santa Fe bound for Phoenix, 520 miles away. At the same time, a local train traveling 30 miles an hour carrying 40 passengers leaves Phoenix bound for Santa Fe ...

Well, my wife and I watched it the other night, and I have to admit ...

... 5th grade word problems are more intense than I thought.

Stunted Development

When I was 11 years old, my parents moved to Utah for 3 years, which really did a number on my friend quotient.

This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here, here, here, here, here or here.

Having no friends during the "tween" years can be risky. It means there is no one around to tell you to stop wearing a cape or to put the LEGOs into storage.

The term "late bloomer" doesn't even begin to cover it, and I can only hope that the photographic and video evidence of this time period is at a minimum.

One example is my miniature replica of the U.S.S. Enterprise from Star Trek. I got it for Christmas, and this sucker is about 1 1/2 feet long and has buttons on it to make photon and warp speed sounds.

Yeah, pretty much awesome.

Anyway, despite what is socially appropriate for a kid my age, I spent months flying that thing around my house, pretending to shoot all the figurines and books lying around on the shelves.

The best thing that could have happened would have been for someone to snap it in half. However, I recently went through some personal history boxes and discovered my old, trusty U.S.S. Enterprise.

Is it bad that I had the distinct urge to pull it out and start flying it around again?

Fathers and Sons

For those of you who don't know, the LDS church has a yearly tradition where fathers and their sons go camping overnight to commemorate the restoration of the priesthood. It usually involves scorched pancakes and runny eggs for breakfast and all the other typical camping shenanigans.

For several years, I've gloried in the fact that I don't have any sons and am therefore exempt from attending.

(Tangent)
It's not that I hate camping. I actually enjoy it.

But there is nothing fun about cowering by yourself in your tent while a bunch of 8 year olds run around shooting stuff with BB guns and the rest of the camp applies war paint to their faces to prove their masculinity in a rousing game of capture the flag.

In moments like that, I can't help seeing "Lord of the Flies" references.
(End Tangent)

Well, this year, our bishop (the local leader of our congregation), decided to be funny and put me in charge of breakfast.

As a result, I had no choice but to fill the back of my truck to bursting with pancake mix, syrup, eggs and juice and trek up the canyon.

While it wasn't the most painful experience of my life, I will say that it was just a little awkward to be all by myself and still have the biggest tent of the whole group. It's the only one we own, and we got it so we could camp as a family with enough room for whatever we would need.

I kept joking that I should have brought a flatscreen, a Wii and a generator.

... maybe next year.

Kids say the darndest things

I can only imagine the number of mispronounced words I said as a kid. I'm betting my parents have a whole list hidden in a safe deposit box, just waiting for the day when they can bring it out to achieve maximum embarrassment.

Unfortunately, I don't have the patience to set up the same goldmine because I just heard the best one ever come out of my daughter's mouth and I can't help but post it for all the world to see.

This afternoon, I brought the mail home, and in the pile was the newest Friend magazine.

Immediately, she yelled:

"My fagazine, my fagazine!"

Best. Day. Ever.

Frilly Scarves

Did I miss something?

Since when could men wear frilly scarves without the risk of getting an atomic wedgie or their head shoved in a toilet?

If I'd worn one of these, I wouldn't have made it through junior high.



And yet, I keep seeing these everywhere on campus.

Don't poop your pants ...

This blogger posted the following video and I had to steal it.

My niece and brother-in-law just ran a marathon over the weekend, and I'm betting most of this went through their head at some point.

I, myself, have never run more than half a mile and don't plan to unless I'm chased by a bear. And even then, I might try out that fetal position trick instead (that's how much I hate running).

In any case, I'll never know what running 26.2 miles is like, but this video gives me a little insight:

This makes me happy

So ... I know the lyrics mention "we're going at it tonight," which probably isn't the most wholesome message, but I can't help smiling when I hear this song.

I think it's the beat that yanks me into a good mood, despite all the horrible drivers on the road.

A little advice.

The next time you have a major surgery and you get out of the hospital and your parents ask which fast food restaurant you want to stop at on the way home and the closest one is Burger King so you tell them to go there and you walk inside and you can see flies buzzing around everywhere and the guy behind the counter looks like he hasn't had a shower in months and probably doesn't even remember what a shower is and the people "making" the food look like they would rather be out pulling the wings off of butterflies ...

DON'T EAT THERE.

I didn't get that memo, and I spent the next two days throwing up (which probably did a number on the work done by the doctor).

My Surgery

But first a little background.

When I was 14, I had a weird surgery.

The cartilage in my rib cage was ... extra productive, and it grew WAY to long. The pressure built up (unbeknownst to me) until I got thrown from a horse, at which point it began to buckle inward and push on my lung.

The fancy name for this is pectus excavatum.

(Tangent)
I'm convinced that doctors purposefully come up with random, convoluted names for things, mostly so they can sound smarter than the rest of us.

And it works.
(End Tangent)

In the hospital, the prep video they showed me the night before was for an open-heart surgery (since they didn't have a pectus excavatum surgery video). The doctor said the only difference is that they weren't going to lift my heart out of the chest cavity.

I spent a week of recovery in the hospital eating Jello.

(Tangent)
My first solid food was toward the end of the week, and even though the noodles tasted like soap, it was STILL heaven on earth.
(End Tangent)

Everything is fine now, but the doctor neglected to tell me one minor detail.

For the rest of my life, I'll have a numb spot about the size of a dinner plate on my chest. Granted, I still would have gone through with it had I known, but it was an unsettling feeling to realize I could no longer feel anything there.

I'm the Mommy

My daughter likes to pretend.

A lot.

Practically every waking minute is spent pretending to be jellyfish or unicorns or She-Ra.

One day, she decided to give us a little role reversal. First, she told my wife that she was the daddy. So, my wife tried to deepen her voice and increase the frequency of cool and leaving off the "g" in -ing words in her vocabulary. Then my daughter turned to me and said, "Daddy? You're the mommy." Since I already have a high voice, it wasn't much of a stretch. So I tried to act sweet and nice and completely enthusiastic about everything she did.

A few minutes later, I took her on an errand to a store. All the way there, she kept saying things like:

"Mommy, are we going to the store?"
"I like your hair, mommy."
"Mommy, will you read me a story?"

This was all fine until we pulled into the parking lot and I realized the disastrous effect her little game could have once we were in public. So, I told her, "Ok, when we get into the store, I'm not mommy anymore. I'm daddy."

Fortunately, she picked those 30 seconds of the day to listen and actually got the message.

I can only imagine the looks I'd get if she kept referring to me as the woman of the relationship.

Stunted Development

When I was 11 years old, my parents moved to Utah for 3 years, which really did a number on my friend quotient.

This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here, here, here, here or here.

So, what does a boy do when he's bored out of his mind and completely friendless?

That's when he turns to his nephews and nieces. Fortunately, I had a gaggle of them living about an hour away, and their mother was willing to bring them up for visits. When I knew they were coming, all my creative juices would spring into action. While there were many more examples of crazy hyperactivity on my part, here are the highlights:

1. Creating a "haunted house" in our basement, complete with spinning flashlights, rooms strung with toilet paper and "eyeballs" and "brains" lurking in the double sinks of one of the bathrooms.
2. Hosting a bike parade on July 4, complete with streamers and flags to decorate the bikes.
3. Organizing a drive-in movie. This was the most cumbersome, because I had to collect boxes they could decorate and use as cars. We had duct tape parking stalls, an admissions booth with a ticket collector, play money and a snack bar.

I think they had fun, but I'm mostly impressed with my mother who let me routinely tear apart the house for each of these ... productions.

Living in a Dictatorship

Sometimes I wonder who is really in charge in my house. I like to think that my wife and I are the ones making the decisions, but every once in a while, I start to second guess myself.

My daughter has started asking us our opinions:

"Mommy, Daddy? What's your favorite color?"
"Mommy, Daddy? Which crayon do you want?"
"Mommy, Daddy? Should I wear my pink shoes or my brown shoes?"
"Mommy, Daddy? Should I watch Dora or Sleeping Beauty?"

While I'm indifferent to these questions (except for the last one, which I will always emphatically resist Dora), no matter what answer I give, the response is always the same:

"No, you like yellow."
"No, you want the green one."
"No, I should wear the brown ones."
"No, I should watch Dora." (cringe)

In a small way, it's kind of cute to watch her exert complete control over her little tiny world.

Of course, it also makes me worried we're raising the next political dictator.

In my (not so) new job ...

First, I have to tell you how much I love my new job. Not to rub it in anyone's face, but it is astonishingly fulfilling.

As an advisor at the local university, waiting for an appointment to arrive is a little like waiting for a blind date.

I feel like I'm sitting at a table with a red rose nestled in a copy of "Pride and Prejudice" or waiting at a park bench with a yellow ribbon in my hair.

(Tangent)
Aren't you proud of the subtle reference to "You've Got Mail" I just made? I'm hoping this establishes me as a sensitively masculine guy rather than a pansy.
(End Tangent)

When the student doesn't show up, I can't help but feel just a little bit rejected.

Still, my total number of "kept" appointments currently outnumbers my number of "no-show" appointments, so I don't feel like a complete and utter waste of space.

... yet.

Stunted Development

When I was 11 years old, my parents moved to Utah for 3 years, which really did a number on my friend quotient.

This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here, here, here or here.

I don't know of a single kid who doesn't love a good cape. Strapping on a cape makes a kid feel invincible, even if the rest of him is dressed in footsie pajamas.

Well, I don't want to spawn a rash of jealousy, but I had the BEST CAPE EVER when I was little. It was made of some kind of satin material, so it billowed perfectly in the wind. It was wide enough, that I could stretch it out to both sides with plenty of room for it to swirl and swish. And, it was luxuriously long.

I still have nostalgic memories of strapping that thing on and running around the backyard. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear I flew a couple times.

The only problem?

I brought it with me to Utah.

As a result, it became my security blanket when I had no one to play with. I'd spend hours in the back yard, whooshing and twirling, fighting imaginary bad guys ... and I was 11 years old.

Years later, as I type it out, it stings just a little.

Part of me wishes someone had exercised a little tough love and ripped it off my neck. And yet, another part of me is glad they let me have my imagination for as long as I did.

But I still cringe when I think how many adults must have seen me glide and pirouette like a moron.

My New Best Friend

I have a new best friend.

I call him Floyd, and he seems to go everywhere with me.

As cool as he is, when we walk into a room together, no one seems to notice me anymore because they're too busy staring at him.

I discovered Floyd a couple nights ago when my lower lip started to feel tender on the left side.

Now Floyd has blossomed into one of the biggest zits I've had in a long time.

I don't know how long he'll be with me, but he is going to be unforgettable.

You would think that now that I'm 30, the Floyd's of the world would leave me in peace.

Evidently not.

BFFs!

Wide Range of Emotions

A friend at work showed this video to me. This kid goes through the full range of emotions in a matter of seconds, not unlike my daughter, the little drama queen.

Garth and Kat - IRL

Have you seen Garth and Kat on Saturday Night Live?

I love watching Kristen Wiig try to guess what Fred Armisen is about to say.



Well ...

Last week I had an "In Real Life" Garth and Kat moment. I was driving with my daugher, singing every song I could think of with her, when she said she wanted to sing a song about the horse in the ocean.

Um ... ???

I told her I didn't know that one, so she said she would sing it for me. She proceeded to belt out a song about a horse falling into the ocean with a whole lot of other randomness thrown in.

Then she said, "Now it's your turn to sing it with me, daddy."

And off we went, my daughter doing her best Garth impression with me tripping all over myself trying to keep up.

As near as I can remember, here is how it went:

There was a hoooorrrrsssseee
Who fell in the ooooccceannnnn
He fell down and doooooowwwwnnnnnn
Into the oooooccceeeeeaaaannnn
It was daaarrrrrrrrkkkkkk
And we tried to find hhhhiiiiiiimmmmm
The horse was in the ooooocccceeeeeaaannnnnn
And when we found hhhhhhiiiiimmmm
We said we would keep him sssssaaaaaaffffffeeeee

I'm copyrighting these lyrics, so don't even think of trying to get it on the radio. I'm betting this will top the Billboard charts sometime next year.

Encore to Turning 30

You may ask, "Nathan, what is the perfect gift for someone turning 30?"

Well, I can't answer that.

Instead, I can tell you what I got.

For the purposes of scientific analysis, I will divide the gifts into groups.

Good: Lots of chocolate, slacks and a dress shirt

Mildly Inappropriate (but still hilarious): Prunes and Depends for Women (because I get "ma'am-ed" all the time)

The last ones were given to me by my neighbors. He gave me the prunes and she gave me the Depends. She used to be my boss when I was a student, and I have to admit that I gave her the same package of Depends when she turned 40.

So, if anyone invites me to a white elephant gift exchange in the near future, you'll probably be able to guess what's lurking in the shiny, wrapped box under my arm.

I am now 30.

... and it doesn't feel any different than 29.

Except I keep feeling the need to run around quoting Pinocchio.

"I'm a real boy!"



It feels like 30 is the official gateway into adulthood, and normally, I would get excited and think that now people will finally take me seriously.

But I don't think that will ever be possible.

Disneyland

A couple weeks ago, we took our daughter to Disneyland.

We scheduled out day at Disneyland on the Friday before President's Day, and that just happened to be the one weekend of the year in Southern California when it decided to rain almost the entire time.

(Tangent)
The next time you take a vacation, ask which weekend I would choose and then DON'T go that weekend.

I have an uncanny ability to summon bad weather whenever I want to do something outdoors.

But hey, at least I can add "controlling the weather" to my list of possible super powers.
(End Tangent)

Despite the rain, it was absolutely magical (and I'm not just being cheesy in the hopes that Disneyland will read this and cough up a couple free passes for next year).

I could go on and on all day, but I only have time for one comment about the Disney princesses.

A miracle occurred that day, and I don't think any of them were aware of the profound experience they got to witness.

On that day, the 18th day of February in the year 2011, the sight of Cinderella, Snow White and Ariel left my daughter speechless.

Just let that sink in for a moment. The daughter (who takes after me in the chatty department) was speechless.

Disneyland really is the place "Where Dreams Come True."

There is also something special about a location where my daughter insists we all dance to the music down Main Street.

It was a perfect day, and it was wonderful to watch a little girl discover such a magical place for the first time.

Temple Grandin

I just saw the movie Temple Grandin.

For anyone familiar with Autism or Aspergers, it is a must see.

It is a true story, and it was amazing to see how much she overcame, both in dealing with Autism and in leaving her mark on the cattle industry.

And for all those people convinced that Claire Danes is a bad actress, all I have to do is point at this movie. She was amazing and captured Temple Grandin perfectly.

A Request

There is a friend of mine who is pregnant and currently on bedrest. She can't get up to do more than take a quick shower, and as a result, she is EXTREMELY bored.

... so much so that she has burrowed through my entire blog history and read every post.

Can you believe the dedication that takes? I can't even fathom how painful it must be to overdose on the ramblings of Nathan's mind.

The fact that she is still coherent probably means she has an industrial strength brain and should be studied by neuroscientists.

Obviously, she is testing her mental limits because she just sent me an email requesting more posts.

So, Jessie, because you asked and because it breaks my heart to think that you are bored enough to WANT to read this drivel, I'm going to make a greater attempt to increase my blogging regularity.

Think of your email as my blog Metamucil (despite the horrible mental image that phrase just conjured for me).

Pretty Much Awesome

I know it has been a while since I've blogged, but I can't apologize when I'm having so much fun at my job.

However, here is a song/singer that I think I really like.



She also sings this song that I keep playing on repeat.

I think I know where she gets it ...

By now you all know I'm a spaz.

Evidently, my genetics in this area are pretty strong because my daughter is following gloriously in my footsteps.

My wife and I just barely started her in dance classes.

(Tangent)
This is mainly because when she saw her first example of a dance troupe performance during the holidays, she was MESMERIZED.

I kid you not, her eyes were glued to the stage for at least 30 minutes. That was followed by a slightly breathless request, "Mom, can I do that too?"

Normally, I would say the only time we've seen her hold that still is when she is asleep, but I'd be lying.

Even when she sleeps, she tosses and turns like she's in a wrestling match.
(End Tangent)

Well, her new dance class just had a performance, and we got two free tickets to attend. Using it as a Daddy/Daughter Date opportunity, I took her to the concert.

It was more fun to watch her during the performances. The entire time, she sat on the edge of her seat, giggling excitedly during each dance. When they finished, she would immediately clap as fast as her little hands could handle. Then she'd look at me with these pleading puppy dog eyes and ask, "Is there going to be another one, daddy?"

I'd reassure her that another one would start in just a minute, and when the music kicked in, she would squeal delightedly and grab my arm.

She was more excited about this than when Santa gave her one of those ridiculous unicorn pillow pets for Christmas.

Like I said, she is definitely a spaz, and I'm pretty sure I know where she gets it.

Josh Groban is my new favorite person

Anyone who does something like this should be named king of the world for a day.

Glorified Monkey

So, there is a part of my job that involves printing letters to students.

A LOT of letters.

All at once.

On a tight deadline.

These letters are generated at another location and sent to my printer remotely. I have now participated in this process twice, and I can now say with complete authority that every time, something (or multiple somethings) goes wrong.

I will spare you with the details of the comedy of errors that occurred this time (over multiple days) and favor you with my favorite train wreck.

Once I finally got the letters printing, one group kept coming out on two sheets of paper, when it should have fit on one. With more than 1,000 letters shooting out of my printer, I didn't want to be accused of singlehandedly cutting down the entire rain forest, so I tried to cancel the print job and re-run it.

It sounds easy, right?

Unfortunately, because it is sent remotely, the only way to cancel it is to hit the little orange button on my printer. Usually, these particular jobs are sent over in batches. So, pushing the button once cancels an entire group of letters from printing.


But since this is me we're talking about, that didn't happen. The universe always likes to throw me curve-balls, just to see if I'm paying attention.

In this case, all of the letters came over as individual print jobs. That meant that to cancel the 1,000+ letters, I had to hit the cancel button 1,000+ times.

In between each button press, I also had to wait while the printer processed my command. As a result, I spent my afternoon doing the following:

"Press"

... pause ...

"Press"

... pause ...

"Press"

... pause ...

"Press"

I felt like one of those chimpanzees trying to get into the space program at NASA.