On the last leg, I told my teammates that I didn't come to Vegas to drive the losing team to the finish line. Even though I was being sarcastic, they were in no way the losing team.
Besides coming to the Ragnar Relay's Las Vegas Series to be the driver of a non-losing team, I came to spend the weekend with friends and family in a seven passenger car as we worked as a team to relay across a 171 mile course that started at the Clark County Fairgrounds and ended at the Red Rock Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.
We spent a lot of time together and covered a lot of ground. Here are a few pictures to help you get a photo-recap of the weekend.
The team ran all day and all night and then all day again. By the end we were tired and a little loopy (especially Joe before his last leg).
After seeing the race first hand, I might be tempted to do more than drive the next time Robyn asks me to participate.
When you're a Mormon attending Utah's version of Oktoberfest, the only activities you're going to be able to participate in are those loosely linked with, but not at the center of, the original Bavarian celebration. That is, you're not going to be able to drink beer, so you're going to have to settle for Americanized polka dancing, $10 Johnsonville bratwursts (the least Bavarian of all the brats), and the alpine slide.
On Labor Day, Anne and I decided to give it a shot and see how well Utah could do Oktoberfest. We went with hopes of enjoying our German heritage, doing German things, and especially finding some German lederhosen for me und a German dirndl for Anne.
Our hopes were shattered after searching the Oktoberfest market, where all we could find were Mexican bracelets, knockoff sunglasses, and blankets emblazoned with wolves, bears, and other North American (or non-German) animals.
In dire need of a distraction from the very disappointing market, we headed up the hill to wait two hours to take the 30 second ride down the alpine slide. It was fun, but still not German enough.
So, in a last ditch effort to do something German, we ordered and ate the $10 brats (each with a side of $5 sauerkraut), and topped off our meal with some German chocolate cake (the least German of all the cakes--except in name).
While we ate, the polka band made us feel a little bit closer to our German roots. I mean, they did play some polka music...before they ended their set with an Irish jig.
As part of my continuing efforts to initiate Anne to Michael's Weird and Obscure Movie Club, I recently rented Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
(The initiation process has been going on since we started dating, and will continue until she decides to get onto our Blockbuster Online account and add some movies of her choice to the queue.)
I first saw Baby Jane when I was in high school. It was one of those serendipitous meetings. I was flipping the channels late at night and stopped on AMC long enough to get a glimpse of Baby Jane (played by Bette Davis) doing something crazy.
The crazy factor kept me watching intently until the movie ended and led me to eventually renting and falling in like with the crazy characters, the crazy" plot, and the crazy surprise ending.
So next time you find yourself in the mood for two and a half hours of crazy (or, as in Anne's case, you find yourself with someone who's always up for crazy), go out and rent Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
If you're only in the mood for two minutes of crazy, watch this.
Welcome to Michael's Weird and Obscure Movie Club.
After a semi-hiatus from the blog (semi because for 6 months I put up two posts, and they were both the result of a self-imposed family birthday related obligation), I am back.
What brought me back, you ask? Anne would like me to tell you I'm back to blog about the wedding, honeymoon, and subsequent marital bliss that is now my life.
Though entertaining, those subjects will all have to wait. I mean, I like blogging about weddings, but there is something else out there that I love even more (and as that girl from 10 Things I Hate About You let us know, there's a difference between like and love).
Okay, so I'll get to the point.
Tonight, Anne and I attended our first post-wedding concert. Actually, besides the BYU Phil and the Utah Symphony, it was the first concert ever in the history of Anne and Michael.
And yes, there were two outrageously drunk, middle-aged men to the right of us that had the craziest dance moves you can imagine.
And yes, there were two daddy-chaperones (out with their daughters) on our left who had their hands over their ears for most of the show.
And no, sadly, I didn't get any pictures.
But I did live to blog about it, so please, imagine the most outrageous characters you can think of, and know that they were ALL in attendance at tonight's show.
Oh, and if you didn't pick it up from the title, we went to see The Killers at the E Center.
Imagine the glitz, the glamor, and the lights of the old strip in Vegas (their hometown), then imagine taking all that on tour, with a modern man in black at the helm. There were lights, there were fireworks, and there was music. And good music, at that.
Now, I know what you're all wondering. Your asking yourselves, "Why do they call themselves The Killers?" Check out out this Jimmy Kimmel skit below for the answer.
Common sense could've told me that.
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So now that I'm back, maybe I'll blog about the wedding.
Robyn's turning 29, so here's a great picture and a great story to help her (and us) celebrate.
We are a family of fair-skinned sun-lovers. However, it isn't a healthy relationship--when everyone else gets tanner, we get pinker. Robyn isn't an exception to this rule, though I think she wishes more than the rest of us that she were.
Growing up, she spent the most time tanning (or pinking). That means she also got the most warnings about skin cancer from our parents. Despite the warnings, she hated sun screen, and probably can count on one hand how many times she wore it while in high school.
One of the few times she applied sunscreen, she decided to use it only to strategically cover her moles. After the sun had set and the burns had appeared, she was a spotted mess.
And that's why we love Robyn!
She's in Vegas right now for the weekend with her friends, and you can bet she's spending some time by the pool. Let's just hope that she doesn't come home spotted this time. (But if she does, hopefully there will be pictures and blogs to follow.)
28 years ago (don't do the math, it's disturbing), my mom was born. At the beginning of April, we were lucky enough to have her out here so we could celebrate it all together. It was pretty great.
In thinking about this post, I've decided to share some of my favorite mom stories. She's an amazing woman with a huge heart and a lot of personality. If you're lucky to get to know her, you too will be amazed by the woman that she is.
Mom loves music, and has passed her passion on to me. When she was a teenager, she went to a Carlos Santana concert. Alice Cooper happened to be performing at that concert, too. She likes us to think that she went just for Carlos, but I know deep down that she was excited to see Mr. Cooper live.
You must realize that mom has quite a talent to see through facades and look at people for who they are beneath their make-up and theatrics.
I'm sure to her, Alice has always been a nice guy with an affinity for bats.
Now, when I was a teenager, Weezer came out with their single "Hash Pipe." At that point, MTV had taught me what a half pipe was and anyone who knows me now knows that I am very familiar with hash browns...
But the FCC hadn't allowed the media to teach me about hash pipes, yet. Innocently, as we were running some afternoon errands (with some of my friends along for the ride) and listening to "Hash Pipe" on KROQ or Star 98.7 (which was only allowed/tolerated with mom, not dad), I asked my mom what exactly a hash pipe was. In my mind, I think I had concocted some sort of McDonald's snack for skaters.
Mom, who had become all to familiar with hash pipes during her concert days in the 70s, told me the honest truth. I found out that it was a sort of skaters snack that made them crave McDonald's, but it wasn't even close to what I was picturing. I'm sure my friends thought I was an ignorant idiot, but to them, my mom was a superstar.
So, on that note, happy (belated) birthday to the coolest mom around.
