Turn away!

Mr. Cold Sore, the wicked stepbrother of Honda's Mr. Opportunity, is paying a visit to the island of Ryan's face. He's early; he usually doesn't throw his bags at the foot of the stairs until October. And he's here at a bad time. We had family pictures this morning, and I have a meeting with a client tomorrow afternoon. Darn you, you evil, non-curable, starving for attention little virus!

As I said, family pictures were this morning. It's a family tradition to take our picture on Labor Day. We had been planning it for weeks. In early August Chanel, Pantone chips in hand, went searching for the perfect pink and brown shirts and pants for all of us. We were good to go. Until He Who's Name Cannot Be Uttered (aka Mr. Sourpants Cold Sore) showed up last night. It wasn't too bad at 10 p.m., so I dabbed some Vaseline on it and went to bed thinking it would disappear, would go back where it came from, would leave me alone for a season.

No such luck. I woke up to Mr. CS's alarm clock. He wakes up at 6 a.m., and his alarm clock is always set to some contemporary light rock station. I knew I was in trouble when I was asked the rhetorical yet poignant question, "How can we make love when we can't make amends?" I'm not sure Mr. Bolton. I'm not sure.

I was pretty upset that we'd have to postpone our photo until Cold Cut Sore left the building. However, Chanel, ever the optimist, said, "Oh, no worries. We'll just use make-up."

Huh?

Make-up?

Dude, I'm a dude. 100% male. I make Fonzie looks like Boy George. I'm a man's man. I'm the guy Colt Seavers calls when he's having trouble with his lady friends. I'm so tough Hulk Hogan takes two vitamins and says three prayers before we play racquetball at 24 Hour Fitness every Tuesday at 5:30 a.m. I'm hard core. When I go through metal detectors my metal heart sets the alarms a blazin' every single time.

But it was our family picture, yo. You don't mess with our family picture. So I agreed on one condition: I got to pick out the mascara.

Chanel did a Glamour Shots meets Macy's make-up lady job on me. When she was done, the cold sore was gone. You'll have to see the family picture to believe it. Seriously, Chanel should send her portfolio to Wes Craven.

I'm debating whether or not I should enter the make-up trailer again tomorrow so I don't scare my client. Thoughts? You're free to leave a comment to cast your vote, or simply to make fun of the fact that I have yet another cold slaw sore.

Well, I have to go now. I arm wrestled the Cold Sore to see who'd have to do the dishes, and I lost.

I need help

Calling all blog-dwellers:

I am making a short film, and I need your help. If you, or someone you know, lives in any of the following cities, please let me know ASAP:

Salt Lake City
Los Angeles (preferably near Hollywood, or a beach)
San Francisco
Portland (most important, need the most there)

I cannot reveal the premise of my film, but I guarantee that it contains no nudity, drug use, or squirrels.

Also, I have come to learn that essentially every time I open my mouth, people cannot tell if I am serious or not. I am serious. I'm so serious. I'm super-serious.

Seriously.

Thanks everyone!

31:06

Yesterday morning I ran my first race since becoming a born-again runner. It was the Castle Rock Stake's 6K, and a great time was had by all that survived.

For those of you unfamiliar with running terms, 6K is short for 6 Klondikes. Back in the gold rush of the late 1800s a group of 100 unshaven, unbathed men headed towards California with one goal and one goal only; to create a new running race. Only six survived. Actually, all 100 survived, it's just that faced with the decision of either creating a new race or becoming millionaires, 94% followed the money.

There were about 40 of us at the race, including three streakers. I was surprised by the level of runners our stake has. Bro Pyfer, his wife and their nine-year-old son were there. Bro Washburn was there, too. I'm terrible with names, so I couldn't name another person that was there, but I do know the guy in the high council that always talks about baseball was the organizer. A young guy won the race. He just moved here from Vegas a few weeks ago.

I'm looking forward to my next race almost as much as Chanel was looking forward to the next Harry Potter. She was one of the devoted fans that bought the book at midnight, and she brought Julia with her so she could be exposed to the thrill and excitement that surrounds HP. She rushed home, blogged about the book-buying experience, then read until a crazy hour of the evening/morning. When I got home from my race this is what I found:

My exhausted readers. I love them.

I think that the Founders Ward Elders Quorum is the best quorum I have ever been in. Everyone is really excited to be a part of it. The lessons always have a lot of interaction. It's great to be a part of this quorum.

Today when we got home from church Julia put a pajama shirt on. Then she said to me, "Dad, I have to take my skirt off now, because people will think I'm a jama-pickin' girl. That would be so embarrassing." I used to love the fact that she didn't care about her hair and how it looked. Now she doesn't want to be associated with kids that select pajamas as their primary articles of clothing.

Back for real this time

Hello dear reader, if you still exist.

I'm back.

For real this time.

I'm going to actually post more than once a quarter.

And I'm going to write really interesting things.

Like this: this evening I helped a new family move into the ward. They were very well organized. I am considering awarding them the "Move of the Year" award. It's a coveted award, so I should probably wait until the end of the year. But they are on the short list.

I'm currently reading Bushman's biography on Joseph Smith. I am developing a deep respect for Joseph Smith and all that he did. The book is well-written. It gives accounts from both members and disbelievers, so I feel like I'm getting a thorough overview of who he really was, blemishes and all.

I haven't been running lately, and my body is fully aware. It's a little perturbed with me. I'll be running tonight around 10 if anyone wants to join me. I'll be the one in the short shorts and the tiny socks.

I wish my friend Dylan wore short shorts and tiny socks. He'd look so handsome.

That's about all for now. We have quite a few meetings to get ready for at work, so as long as I survive (in my mach 5) I'll post regularly.

I'm so stressed!

No, this is not a mirage. The Castle Rocker is back. He's back in black. He's back in the saddle. He's back to business. He's got his back against the wall. He's back to back national champions. He's getting his back waxed. He's got bacne. He's going back to school, to show dad he's not a fool.

(Sources: AC/DC, Aerosmith, cliche, cliche, what UNLV should have been in 1991, a person who doesn't like body hair, me, Billy Madison)

I have decided that what the world needs now, is blogs, sweet blogs. I haven't updated this bad boy since November. A lot has happened in my life. But because I neglected to blog about my life's special moments, I am doomed to forget them. Well, no more.

The real reason I am blogging is because I am very stressed out. My life can't be simple, can it? I need advice from you. Please help me solve my stressful problems.

1. I have a free ski pass for Vail on Saturday. Augghhh!! Why me? As if that wasn't stressful enough, I'm faced with a difficult decision: ski or snowboard?

Do you see my point about my stressful life? Wait, it gets worse.

2. Holly (or as I like to call her behind her back, Holland, or Holly-wood) has a sister in Carson City, or Reno, or some place in Northern Nevada. This sister has invited me and my family to Thanksgiving dinner. I can't decide if we should bring sweet potatoes or yams. Augghhh!!

3. My friend Spencer's wife's son Bryton is almost potty trained. I can't let him beat me! I'm almost there!

4. Some dude named Assumptuous is stalking me. Big time.

5. Ashley Mofat can totally out-surf me.

6. I'm not related to any type of baseball player. No big leaguer in my bloodline. Not even a Single-A batting practice pitcher. But, then again, Heather Abbott's not, either.

7. My buddy K.C. Black saw Krueger cut down the net, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

8. My good buddy Dylan landed a dream job, and I had nothing to do with it! I can't take any type of credit for his success, and it's driving me crazy!

9. I'm trying to include everyone in Chanel's blog world, and I'm stressing that I may have forgotten someone!

Thanks for reading. See you again in four months.

It's your turn

My friend, Dylan Todd, is a lifesaver. He knew I was drowning in corporate America, and that my creativity was being held hostage by stress and non-clinical depression. Yet, he had the determination necessary to pay the ransom, and now my creativity is floating, like something that weighs less than air or something.

Well, seeing that my friend blogs more often than I brush my teeth, I don't think I need to challenge him to blog more. But I am going to issue a blog-related challenge. Dylan, I want you to create a ficticious blog about a pair of twin men that are looking for love in New York City. I will portray one of the men. His name will be David Alexander. I challenge you to set up the blog and create the premise in your introductory entry. Seeing that you spent some time in NYC, and that you have the talent to write for any of the shows that are produced there, I bet this will be a great blog. Forward me the password and login info, and we'll run with it.

A strange pair

RDT would like me to consider the word "illusion" for my blog today. Two people come to mind: Axl Rose and Richard Bach.

Axl is the lead singer for a rock and/or roll band named Guns N' Roses. In 1991 the band released two albums called Use Your Illusions I and Use Your Illusions II.

Richard Bach is an author and part-time Dancing with the Stars stunt-double. He wrote a book called Illusions.

All this is basic information. However, what most people don't know is that Richard Bach is Axl Rose's biological father. Axl himself didn't find this out until 1987. While he was helping his mother move he came across a picture of his mother and Richard at a flight instructor's convention in Dallas. When Axl confronted his mother she simply said, "I felt like a fish swimming upstream until I met RB. He taught me to jump, Axl, and I owe him everything because of that."

Axl contacted Richard Bach in 1990 from Slash's car phone. They agreed to meet each other for breakfast at the Village Inn in St. George. What happened during that meeting will be the subject of my next documentary. Its working title is Welcome to the Seagull. I'm getting most of my funding from Proctor and Gamble, so there will be quite a bit of product placement. I hope you will watch it.

Cave

In the old days, coal miners would bring a bird with them on their excavation trips. The bird let them know if the air was safe. If the bird died, they knew the air was unsafe. They don't do that anymore. At least, not with real birds. They now use big red robot birds with poison sensors. If the air is poisonous, their laser eyes illuminate a deep, Sinclair-logo green.

Street

Flamingo Road.

It cuts the Strip in half.

It leads to the new, pretty homes on the west, and to the weekly motels, smoky casinos and fast food restaurants that feed the preps, jocks, stoners and homeless on the east.

I used to live right off of it. I watched a tagger deface its sign. I watched a van full of Asian tourists flip over on it. My truck broke down on it. Several times. I traveled on it more times than I can count, on the bus, in cars, in trucks, in a moving van, on bikes, on skateboards. I traveled on it with people I loved, people I envied, people that are now all over this country.

The road means a lot to me. I can't imagine my life without it. And, like the city it serves, I'm perfectly satisfied allowing it to live in memory alone. I have a desire to remember it, to keep it alive in my mind, but I have absolutely no desire to see it again.

Ketchup

My job is like ketchup. If it's not shaken up every once in a while, it comes out all watery.

Unsanitary

Unsanitary. The perfect word to use to describe my hands after I caught a pint of puke, provided by my daughter Julia.

What would compel me to catch the puke as if it was crystal falling from a cupboard? I didn't want it to land on the new carpet. I'd do a lot to protect that investment, and catching puke is definitely on that list.

Hopefully tomorrow's word doesn't involve upchucking.

Kind of...

My good friend, Roberto Dylanaski, challenged me to blog more often. I instant messaged him and told him that I perform very poorly when I sense pressure. He wrote back that he didn't know who I was, and that it sounded like I was an L-7 wienie. That Roberto. One funny mo fo.

The topic of the day is blue, as in blue cheese. Did you know that native Americans have used blue cheese through the ages to cure everything from mellon foot to split ends? It's true.

But seriously, blue is the color of love. The blood your heart pumps is blue, until the evils of the world, and oxygen, get ahold of it. Then it becomes red, the color of death. If you want true love, hold your breath.

Check in tomorrow when I blog about something RDT suggests. Hopefully it has something to do with pigeons.

Discipline

Nothing's better than when you try to discipline your child and she tells you how funny you are. It's obvious who my children think the boss of the household is. They don't laugh when Chanel puts them in time out.

Oh well.

Fall

I love fall in Colorado. The trees like volcanoes are bursting with colors, leaving ashes of leaves all over the sidewalks and roads and lawns. The air is crisp, just cold enough in the morning to let you know change is happening, but warm enough in the afternoon to drive with your windows down. Snow is beginning to cover the tops of the surrounding mountains.

I'm looking forward to winter as well, though I admit I'm not sure how we're going to survive the days in which the highs are lower than Julia's age.

Dad and daughters

Tonight me and the girls are hanging out. I have a soundtrack for this photo to help you feel like you're actually in Castle Rock on a Monday evening with us. Go to http://www.neilyoung.com/prairiewind.html and click on "It's a Dream."

Julia's in my lap as I type. Lauren's crawling around the room looking for another crayon to eat. Chanel ran out for a few minutes. When she returns we'll be whole. In an hour Julia will go to sleep, Lauren will snooze for an hour and then scream like mad. Julia will yell in her sleep just loud enough to get one of us out of bed to check on her, but not loud enough to wake herself up. We live with howling nocturnal kids, and sometimes it's very frustrating. But put $1 million in front of me and ask me which I prefer and I'll flush the money down the toilet. Soon enough Chanel and I will get eight hours of sleep a night as our girls sleep peacefully. Until then, we'll enjoy the fact that it's us they want at night.

Missed it by that much

Luke and Sandy came to visit us from Vegas this weekend. We went to Boulder today, which is a perfect example of a college town. We ate at The Sink for lunch. The restaurant serves fantastic food in an artsy, bohemian-style setting. I had a veggie burger and vegetables. Upon completing the meal I proclaimed it the best veggie burger and vegetables I have ever eaten. We'll definitely go back the next time we're in the area.

The real purpose of this blog, however, is to lament the fact that I was three seats away from catching a foul ball at Coors Field Thursday night. That is one of my dreams: to catch a foul ball at a major league park. There was a family with children sitting next to us, and of course they were excited to catch the ball. But honestly, if I was thinking clearly, I probably would have jumped right in front of the little kid and caught the ball with my bare hands "like a man," as Luke would say.

I am going to catch a ball someday. And when I do, I'm going to write the longest blog ever in honor of the monumental achievement. If you look at the picture closely, you can see the lucky family that walked away with the ball seated to my right.

I was so close.

My Sgt. Pepper's

The Beatles's 1967 album cover is still the coolest cover ever, next to, of course, the White album. The more people you can identify on it, the more you feel like you belong to a hip club, a club with very few members.

I've decided to make my own Sgt. Pepper's cover. The SP cover has 87 people and/or items, so I'll match that number. I will deviate from their format slightly, though. A collection of people, such as a music group or a sports team, will count as one item. The list is in no particular order, so don't get offended if you are listed as number 67. But, if you're number 1, you're probably pretty important to me.

Post a comment and tell me how many of these nouns you know of:

1. Chanel Kathleen Adams
2. Julia Barbara Adams
3. Lauren Grace Adams
4. RDT
5. Candace
6. Sadie
7. Michelle
8. Spencer (the person, not the store that sells fart pills)
9. Avry
10. Bryton (the person, not the setting of the Graham Greene novel)
11. Neil Young
12. Pearl Jam
13. Dave Grohl
14. Arsenal
15. John Dos Passos
16. Jack Kerouac
17. Brian Wilson
18. John Coltrane
19. Alexander Courtney
20. Tyler Christian
21. John and Pat
22. Kathy, Luke the Duke, Ryan
23. Snickers
24. 1990 UNLV Runnin' Rebels
25. All natural bratwursts
26. Rebecca/Evan/Colton
27. G.B. Hinckley
28. First Presidency/70/ et. al.
29. Joseph Smith Jr.
30. James Joyce
31. Beatles
32. Man U
33. Nirvana
34. Krispin Porter +Bogusky
35. Wieden+Kennedy
36. Coors Field
37. Sam's Town Buffet
38. The Bravo Truck
39. Bert
40. Albert Adams
41. Dean Martin
42. The Rock (the actual rock in CR, CO, not the wrastler [spelled that last word intentionally])
43. The library (not the one west of U.S. 95 near Boulder Highway in Vegas)
44. Krshul
45. Mad Dogg
46. Eric Peterson
47. Mo Tab
48. Wet n' Wild
49. Hooded sweatshirt
50. Giant bicycle
51. Man purse
52. RCA Lyra MP3 player
53. Agency
54. Mylicon
55. Pit
56. Falmer
57. Paris
58. Herman Melville
59. Woody Allen
60. Adams Sandler
61. Pink Floyd
62. Ron Fick
63. Powell's
64. The United States
65. The Office
66. SNL
67. Kids in the Hall
68. El Parral
69. Jim Rome
70. Greg McFarlane
71. Winnie
72. Adweek/Advertising Age
73. Steve Forsythe
74. Susan Berkley
75. Elizabethtown
76. Mark
77. Holly
78. Jaren, Kyle and Nathan
79. Miles Davis
80. Frosties
81. Mrs. Pac Man
82. STP (the group, not the dead dinosaurs)
83. FOIA
84. Trains
85. Pink Lemonade
86. NYC
87. Chips and Salsa

Of books and movies and music and vacationing family

Chanel and the girls are in Las Vegas right now. Fittingly, I borrowed Thomas Wolfe's You Can't Go Home Again from the library on Wilcox. I read about it in a Kerouac piece found in Atop an Underwood, one of my favorite gifts from Chanel. She wrote something so beautiful on the inside that every time I read it I feel like the world is mine to conquer.

I just finished Dos Passos' The 42nd Parallel, a fantastic book about America right before WWI. It opened my eyes to a lot of things. Many of the feelings expressed by concerned people about the so-called war in Iraq were expressed by similar-minded people in 1914. I always thought every American was in full support of the U.S.'s efforts during the great world war, but this book has shown me this is not the case. I had pictured in my mind rationing and sacrificing for the greater good, but there were people that thought it was a mistake, and that we were only in the war to send the working class to the battlefield in order to avoid strikes and unions. In one particularly moving section, a group of people are kicked out of a restaurant because they won't stand during the playing of the National Anthem. One of the people say "You show your support by standing during the National Anthem, I show my disapproval by remaining seated." The group is physically removed, a person in the crowd asks the band to play the anthem, and everyone tries to sing the song, only nobody knows the lyrics.

The 42nd Parallel is really good, and becomes quite a fast read once you are absorbed into the characters and their lives. I was really drawn to J. Ward Moorhouse, probably because I love advertising and he becomes quite the tycoon.

I am going to start reading You Can't Go Home Again, and should be finished by 2011.
This afternoon I took advantage of the alone time by watching Woody Allen's film September. I think it's excellent, even though it's a drama and very depressing. Allen seemed to write the film without trying to be too funny or too impressive, and I think that's when he's at his best. I recommend that you watch it, as long as you are not single or prone to fits of depression.

Right now I'm digging Coltrane's A Love Supreme. The love he is referring to is God's. In his words, "This album is a humble offering to Him."




Ok, I'm going to read now. I have a big empty house and I've got to do something with myself.

Listen

I highly recommend you go to www.neilyoung.com right now and listen to one of his latest albums, Prairie Wind. You can listen to it for free, if you can figure out how to navigate his Web site. I listen to it whenever I get the chance with Lauren Grace. "It's a Dream" makes me want to cry because it is so beautiful and simple and true. "The Painter" is a wonderful song as well.

You can listen to Living with War for free, too. It's too politically charged for me, in spite of the fact that I lean left. This album leans so far to the left that it often loses its balance.

Neil Young is great. I recommend picking up Decade if you want a nice collection of his early music.

Insert Blog Tile Here

My buddy Dylan said he drives by my blog slowly to see if the lights are on. I love that visual. Well, I'm home, and I'm feeling fine as cherry wine (thanks Senior O'Brien).

I had a weird day at work. I was asked to write a "scope" for a project in Vail, and I don't know if I did it right. I sent it to my supervisor...we'll see what he says tomorrow.

I am currently writing the treatment for a screenplay, entitled "The Twelver." As I'm writing the treatment I'm getting new, and I think better, ideas. I'm looking forward to collaborating with my hip friends. I want it to be a smart, fresh movie, patterned after middle-aged Woody Allen and any age Cameron Crowe. Stay tuned.

Lauren's sitting beside me on the floor. She falls backwards every few seconds to get a better look at her dad. Hilarious.

That's all for now. I'm turning the light off now.

Create

It's a bummer that I get my creative desires as soon as my body blows out its night stand candle. I want to stay up late, listen to Death Cab for Cutie, read Kerouac and Joyce, play my guitar, and just be hip. But my eyelids are heavy and all I can think about is how much sleep I'll get if I go to bed right now. Seriously, if I go to bed right now I'll get six hours and 40 minutes. I just want to say forget it, I don't need you, Mr. Sleep. You're like Chinese food. I think I've had enough, but then I'm tired an hour later.

I love to ponder (yes, ponder is the perfect word) about where my friends are right now. RDT is in Idaho, surrounded by beautiful pieces of art, many of which he has created. Eric Peterson is in Kansas City..."it's just a 1, 2, 3,4...5,6,7,8,9!" Krshul's in Vegas. So are Mr. and Mrs. Mark Hutchings and the Dunsmoors. Cindy Morgan's an L.A. Woman. Mad Dog and Lisa are in NYC. We're in CR, CO. And we're all connected by my thoughts, as if they are a physical entity, keeping us together like a spider web of love and concern.

There's wars and bombs and train derailments and heart attacks and strokes and guns and slaps and fear and screams, right along side the laughter and beauty and success and freedom and hope, and it's all together happening right now. Sometimes I'm focused on one side, sometimes the other. It's times like this that they are equal in my mind, and I feel a balance, I feel like everything's going to be fine.

I hope to one day write. Chanel told me she thinks I hate to write, and I told her she was right. I do hate to write. It's the hardest thing in the world for me to do. There are so many people who do it so wonderfully. Like Keith Bearden, whose influence on my writing was instrumental in my creative writing attempts in high school, Dylan Todd, who can write with such clarity and beauty and hipness without seeming to even try, and the greats like Kerouac, Dos Passos, Fitzgerald ("blue as the sky, boys") and Saroyan. When I write I think of them, and I want to be as good as them, and when I'm not I want to curl up in the corner and fall asleep, give it all up and get a factory job and just forget about everything. I really need some sort of motivation, but life is too good. I can't write when I'm happy, and I've never, ever been happier. So, what I'm saying is, I want to write, but I'd rather be happy than published.

You were probably startled that my blog had been updated. Hopefully the next one won't be written months from now.

Father's Day 4.0

Today is Father's Day. This is my fourth Father's Day as an actual dad, and it has been by far my best. Chanel made me some sweet Broncos pajama pants, complete with pockets. She also gave me a cool shirt that says "New York. Paris. London. Rome. Castle Rock." I really think CR belongs in the same category as those other cities, but I'll save that for another blog. We had some amazing steaks, vegetables and a potato dish. Had a waiter brought this meal to me at a restaurant I would have demanded he escort me to the kitchen so I could shake the hand of the epicural genius that developed the tasty masterpiece. But it was Chanel, so I gave her props and ate like a man that hadn't eaten in a number of decades. Man that woman can cook. I mean she can really cook. She can also make me feel like I'm the most special, most loved man alive. I love her like absolutely crazy.

I'm really thankful that I have the opportunity to be a father. A talk given in church today helped me understand how important the role of father is. The speaker gave statistics about homes without fathers, and it seems that the kids in these homes don't fare as well as the kids in homes with dad around.

I love my girls. I choke up when I think about them growing up and getting married. I want to be a cool dad when they start dating but I'm pretty sure I'm going to be Rambo and hunt down the potential escorts with my big machine guns, hand grenades and machettis. I want to protect them at all costs.

Those fathers out there that are reading this know what I mean when I say I love my girls. I can't explain the deep love I have, the joy I get when Julia hugs me or Lauren Grace smiles at me. My heart melts when I'm around them. The world stops spinning and all my troubles go away when I see them. No matter what happens to me professionally, I will always be their daddy, and that means the entire world to me. I thank God for giving me a miniature view of what He feels for all his children.

I'm thankful for Chanel. She is an incredible mom, and an awesome wife. I don't know how she does what she does, but I'm very glad that she does. We're best friends. She has helped me become the person that I am. What a cool chick.

In other news, I built a bunk bed for the girls. I have a hard time building sandwiches, let alone beds, so I decided to document the monumentous event. Check out the progression photos.

Finally, what blog would be complete without a few artsy shots of Lauren Grace?

Visions of Jack

I'm really not in the mood to blog right now. I don't have that burning fire-like writer's desire in me, and that makes me a little upset. Kerouac would write for hours and hours straight, he'd write like mad, like a bullet train he'd type away all through the night. I wish I could do that, but my attention span is very short, and I don't want drugs and alcohol to help me stay awake all night. One day I will write a novel that will be considered great years after I die. Or, I won't. Either way, I just don't feel like blogging right now.

I think it's funny that when you spell check your blog the word blog is considered a misspelling.

Isn't this a cool picture of Lauren Grace sleeping in the back seat of our car?

I love this town

It's been over a month since I posted my last blog. It would have been longer if my close friend Dylan hadn't persuaded me to "get my blog on."

I have decided to express my love for my home town in this post. Every morning I wake up, look out my window and thank God that I live in the world's greatest town. When you think of Anytown, U.S.A. you think of Castle Rock, with its rolling green hills, corner cafes, bridges in the heart of downtown, and trains that blow their ever-traveling whistles to let you know they've just been through America and they're ready to tell you all about their travels before they start them all over again.

Some day I plan to put into words the feelings I get when I look at my town so you can fully comprehend how great it is to live here. That may take a while, so yesterday I decided to take Lauren Grace with me around town to snap some photos of this wonderful corner of the earth. Check them out:

This is "The Rock," a cool formation that can be seen from all over town, and from I-25 as well. It's our Golden Gate Bridge, our Statue of Liberty, our Sears Tower, and I love it. One day I'll climb it. If I survive I'll post pictures.

It may be difficult to tell by these pictures, but Castle Rock offers some amazing views. The Wal-Mart roof can be seen in the photo on the left. The photo on the right was taken from a Catholic church parking lot.


I am fascinated by bridges, especially if there's choo-choo trains on them (center). The one on the right is downtown, and it spans a little river with a walking trail beside it. A few weeks ago they had a plastic duck race down there.



"Downtown, let's go downtown." Downtown Castle Rock is a perfect example of a classic downtown, before Sam Goody and Sports Authority and Baskin Robbins took over America's landscape and pocketbooks. The top center photo is a shot of a sweet ice cream shop called Olde Towne Creamery, which service ice cream made from the milk of Boulder, CO cows. Top right is a shot of a rockin' music shop that I need to check out.

I am going to post more photos this evening. Please post a comment and let me know what you think of this place. And remember, our basement bedroom is always open for visitors.

Awake!

For only the second time in Lauren's life I am awake with her and Chanel is alseep. It's 11:15 p.m. Denver time. How am I awake this late? It's easy. I had a tuna fish sandwich for dinner at 10 p.m., and now I'm experiencing something similar to a sugar or caffeine rush. I call it a fatty omega 3 rush.

Now Lauren's fussy. I have to go.

Where's the tumbleweed and slot machines?

We made it. It took 18 hours, but we made it.

My brother Alex and I drove from Las Vegas to Castle Rock last Sunday/Monday. We left at 7 a.m. and arrived at the CR Days Inn at 2 a.m., exhausted and thankful to be alive.

Do you know what it's like to drive a 26' truck with a car on a trailer behind you in the middle of the night through the dark, dark mountains of Colorado? It's like nothing else. I felt like a mad man. I was slapping myself, trying to keep from falling asleep and careening off the road and into the Colorado River with all of my family's possessions. During especially steep parts of the trip our max speed was 25 MPH.

We were delayed by almost two hours because we had to stop in Cedar City, Utah and allow a U-Haul technician to fix the headlight control unit in the 10' truck my brother Alex was driving. Here's a shot of us hanging out at the Shell gas station near I-15.


Chanel and the girls flew up, but they were also delayed a few hours, thanks to a Vegas visit by Bush. We picked them up at the airport early Monday afternoon.

I really like Colorado. It has snowed twice since we got here 11 days ago. It has also been above 70 degrees. The weather can't make up its mind, which is why I think Chanel and I relate to it so well.

We have a basement. We have a front AND a back yard. We have a fireplace. Our neighborhood is clean and quiet. I see horses and geese during my commute. I love it here.

But there is a drawback. Denver radio is really, really bad. The classic rock station only plays two Doors songs, and plays them quite often. The "modern" rock station (93.3 fm) is decent, but nothing to write home about. And there are a TON of Christian stations and soft rock stations. "Rockford rock" is what Chanel and I call it. For some reason certain groups remind me of Rockford. Hall and Oates. Billy Ocean. Phil Collins. Whoa. I feel sick. I can't wait for our Vegas home to sell. A portion of the proceeds will be used to purchase a CD player for the Hyundai.

During the first few days, I was very homesick. I saw clouds from my backyard and I just wanted to hop on one and ride it back to Vegas. Back to familiarity. Work was overwhelming and scary, so that didn't help. But now that we toughed it out, I am very glad we are here. I still think of Vegas, but I no longer want to go back. Work is going well for now, so I'm happy.

Thanks for reading. I'm going to keep my blogs short, because I know you have a life outside of your computer. Check back often.

Leaving Las Vegas

Monday night, around 9
Less than a week left in Vegas

Hello,

Thanks for checking out my blog. It would be cool if we were together right now, sitting in front of my Dell monitor. I'd watch your lips move as you read these words. Then I'd watch you blush. Then I'd watch you concentrate on reading without "lipping." Then we'd both laugh, and I'd offer to get you a drink as an excuse to leave while you continue to read.

Chanel and the girls are at Disneyland right now, buying shirts and getting ready for the 3+ hour drive home. She went with Kathy, the MIL.

Crazy but I believe this time... I'm listening to the songs I used to produce Lauren's birth CD. Foo Fighters. I'll randomly insert lyrics in this blog. Just lucky we're alive.

At this time next week we'll be in Castle Rock, Colorado. This blog will soon be a historic e-document. But right now it's me and it's real and it's now. I'm scared. I hope we're making the right choice, man. I'm missing the family, the parents and brothers. Have you ever moved away? If so, how was it? How did you deal with the mixed feelings that flooded your mind and heart? Let me know. Shoot me an e-mail and I'll post it.

I wanted more than I could ever...

My angel wings, are bruised...

Here's what's on my mind's stove right now:

Book: Rough Stone Rolling, the Joseph Smith biography
Music: Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters, the first Weezer album, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
Movies: None, really. I hope to gain enough courage to watch King Kong. I recently had a nightmare in which KK was following me through an unknown town.

As always, I'm loving my wife and kids. I miss them. The emptiness this house has without them is almost overwhelming. I just want to go to bed

And in time I've realized it's now wrapped around my neck.

The rusted signs we ignore throughout our lives, choosing the shiny ones instead.

I really can't believe I'm leaving Las Vegas. This is my town. It's who I am, whether or not I want it to be.

I want to live, I want to give. I've been a miner for a heart of gold.

I wonder what life's going to be like in CO. Lately I've been "getting old." Hopefully the move will bring out the Ryan I remember and miss. Take care, and check back often.

Dear sir or madam will you read my book it took me years to write will you take a look?