Number Five

Number Five, or V, is the tallest of the brothers. He is also an Ironman triathlete and a firefighter. He's a wuss. I can totally take him. After all, he is my younger brother. In fact, he's such a wuss, there is nothing he can do about me swiping this recent photo from his family's blog. HA!

Fascinating historical fact: V started the tradition of using my parents' front lawn as additional driveway space.

While he was in High School, after I was home from my mission, I came home one night to find him being dropped off by one of his punk, loser friends. (Well, that's kind of what I thought of them at the time, although time and age have helped me to realize that they were actually good kids - just boys.) His friend had used the front lawn as front-door drop-off service and then kind of peeled out on the lawn.

I might have over-reacted at this point. I slammed the car into drive and proceeded to chase his friend around the foothills of Provo. The chase ensued for probably 75-80 minutes at speeds of up to 100 mph. (Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I don't want to admit the actual time or speeds, or very rough dirt roads we passed over.) When I decided to stop, I came home and asked Number 5 about it.

I remember he kind of laughed it off. I should have, too. There wasn't any damage done to the lawn, really.

Generally speaking, that's him. He kind of lets things slide off and not worry about them if they aren't important. So, from being a ski bum in Chile, to competing in triathlons regularly, to being a firefighter in Park City, he's been rather successful. And, as an older brother I'm a little bit proud of him. But don't tell him that. I'm too proud to let him know.

Happy Birthday, Andy. I love you, Mongo.

The Return of the Malibu

Part III of the trilogy:

The weekend passed. But my precious was calling to me. For the most part, Gollum has retreated, though my precious still called.

In case you are wondering, my precious is a Chevy Malibu LTZ. Hey, what's with the laughter? That was not intended to be funny. Ride in the thing. It's a nice car.

When I bought my Chevy Malibu LT in 2004, I had every intention - at the time - to keep it forever and drive it into the ground. Six years and 96,000 miles later, it was still going strong and getting 25-30 MPG. Take that Ferrari...Porsche...Lexus. HA!

Anyway, various external forces began to weigh on the idea of getting a new car - not the least of which was the ability to plug my iPod into my radio. That feature alone is worth $20,000. But even when I started thinking about it last year, there was one problem with the new Malibu - the interior.



I could not live with myself driving in that. I was born in the 1970's, but please.

I discovered that they finally got wise that some of us had taste in interior color schemes and they offered a solid color. At this point, I might have gone for pink, as long as it was one color.

Nobody in Las Vegas had one with the black interior. I take that back, there was one. That's where we went to look in Part I. I really didn't want black on the exterior, however - especially since I had to pay for it. Why isn't every color of car the same price? Is black or red paint more expensive than Taupe Grey Metallic? I don't think so.

The wonders of the internet led me to my precious - in Salt lake City, deep within the realm of Mordor. With the deal in hand, the Fellowship, including two Hobbits, set off to retrieve the One Car from Sauron (played by Larry H. Miller, well, his dealership, with all reverence to the late Jazz Owner).

Successful, the Fellowship set off to return to the Shire. Less than an hour into the return trip (this particular journey was to only take one day, as opposed to Frodo's), "THWAP!!!". That is the sound a rock makes when it hits your precious in the windshield. Thankfully, there are a number of auto glass repair places all along this particular corridor of freeway.

I would like to point out that it is only in Utah and Salt Lake County that I have ever had my windshield broken. I believe that is why these repair places exist at every exit there.


But these guys were awesome. They took us in and took care of us right away. Please, if you are in Utah County and need a windshield repaired, go to these guys on 800 North in Orem, just off the I-15. They were great. And inexpensive, too. (End Commercial)


Was the trip worth it? My Precious:

The Two Towers

In part two of our trilogy (Part I):

We hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, and Nick, particularly, was quite ready to eat, if not particularly thirsty. We dropped off the ruined tire at Big O to get replaced and mounted on the wheel. (I asked if they could fix it, knowing full well they wouldn't.)

Then we went across the street to fill up on gas - nearly empty.

"Um, Dad. I really need to go to the bathroom again."

This time there was no 11-year-old daughter drama, but we were at Sam's Club, where the pumps are 5 miles from the store. Nick looked over at the Honeybaked Ham Store and asked, "What about over there?"

So we left the car, fuel pumping, while we ran across the small drive to Honeybaked Ham. I stayed by the window to watch the car in case it blew up or, worse yet, in case someone pulled up next to the car and started to pump gas on my dime.

Once he was out and we were back at the car, I felt sure that, by this point, he had to be done.

Smeagol was feeling guilty, so we ate wherever and whatever Nick requested. Then, we went to help my moving friend unload his truck. Until 5 pm. Now the birthday party that ended an hour and 56 minutes ago is actually over and it is time to pick up Matti. It made sense to me that since we were going to be gone, anyway, we might as well run and get the new tire put on the car.

While waiting for the wheel to get put on the car, Nick came up to me and said, "Um, Dad..."

This is where my parenting skills receive the final blow. Apparently, he was so scared of Gollum resurfacing that he didn't even bother to tell me beforehand - he just wet his pants. And we still were committed to go back to help my friend finish unloading.

Thankfully, he has two young boys and his wife was able to get out some dry pants for Nick as a temporary fix.

There you go.

Lesson #1 - Do not let your 7-year-old son have unfettered access to the fountain drinks at the auto dealership.

Lesson #2 - Nothing is so important as to allow Gollum to speak to your children - ever.

Maybe not necessarily in that order...but...you get the idea.