Rhymes with...

I don't know what he was peddling. I don't know where he got the suit. But I thought it was enough weird to put up here.

Reminds me of a slimmed down version of this guy I saw running around not long ago.

Nihilo Sanctum Estne?

I picked the "N" off the front of this hat that I bought at Deseret Industries. It was supposed to be a hunting cap for members of the National Wild Turkey Federation, Utah County Chapter. I thought it was a little more accurate this way.

It comes in handy as a conversation piece, and for laying next to used bullet shells that you sometimes find in the parking lot at Costco. I saw this and literally flipped my lid. WTF, Utah County? 

Get a hold of yourself, Zion! You can't just go poppin' off rounds anywhere you like! You need to reserve that sort of behavior for activities designed to inspire quorum unity and flesh-centric diets! But please... not the Costco. That's a sacred place.

Cheers, team.

Rise & Shout

Oh my loved ones, how I wish I had myself a camcorder lodged in my brain. I would that you could see with your own eyes what lovelies I had seen today in the No-Shh Zone, yea even in the hallowed halls of Harold's own libry. (I spelled it that-a-way on purpose. Say it aloud if you think it doesn't flow better.) 

Now, the No-Shh zone is no stranger to strangeness. I myself have lain prostrate on the floor during times of extreme duress. I have also launched my momentous torso against the backless spinning chairs and mimicked a Clark Kent to clear away the mess of mental overexertion. Quite a thrill, that. But today my hair stood on end, because of these boys:

(I sincerely apologize that this is the only record I have of this. Truly, Madly, Deeply. If you look closely, you can see that the seated boy is donning a very chic Especially For Youth lanyard. Ever classy.)

During my class break, and as though locked in a morbid theatre of some kind, I was privy to not one, but TWO fervent pieces from "Hello Dolly!" A delightful score, make no mistake. Especially when sung, WITH INTERMITTENT DIALOGUE, by two clean cut young ready-to-rip Pre-Missionaries. Side parts, people. Side parts.

They favored my unwilling ear with "It Takes A Woman" and "Put On Your Sunday Clothes". Lovely songs. Lovely boys, I shouldn't wonder. But, I have never seen nor heard such an invasive and shameless alleviation of tension in this institution. I try to reserve the following phrase for when I truly mean it, since I think people toss it around about their own places of residence with reckless abandon, but I think to say "Only In Provo" actually carries some gravity, here. This just happened, and it doesn't happen ANYWHERE else. Except for 1920's New York. Yonkers, specifically.

In case you are unfamiliar with the LENGTH of these songs here are some links:

It Takes A Woman & Put On Yer Sundee Clothes

Cheers, team.