Strolling in Batman Land

I'm a huge Batman fan. I use Batman references as often as possible.
I'm also a hoarder and I'm trying to break this habit by going through a filing cabinet I've had since I was ten. The grey rusted thing always squeals when you pull the drawers with a pitch higher than a velociraptor from Jurassic Park. When you look at it, the cabinet looks slumped over and lonely, standing tall even in the biggest pile of storage.
I've found treasures in this slumpy cabinet: journals, drawings I did through the years, books I loved and literature I created and still find a certain emotional attachment in their writings. I also find pieces of Batman paraphernalia.
I used to work for a legal documentation facility, where I helped input data for forms. On my team, when we were ahead of our quota, we would offer to help out others. If you did, you sent an email to the supervisor documenting which ones you were taking.
I was so proud of my creative approaches in these emails. I kept the best one through the years. It's time to toss but I want to preserve my Batman email:

 In my quest to fight crime in Gotham and help the good of the people, I heard a cry from afar. Young Jessica {coworker}, a maiden in distress, was in need of a hero. I, myself, being Batman's woman, am a hero. So I heroically removed the following weights from her sickly back:  {named documents}.  Next time, if you find yourself in danger, just look to me and shine that symbol on the cubicle wall.

I wish I had more opportunities for sharing the Batman love more often in my current job, or my creativity. Thank this blog for allowing me my small attempts to preserve some level of creativity.


Old School Utah Jazz

I felt like this post is incredibly appropriate due to recent events in the magical world of NBA. 
Dave and I caught a game, thanks to a generous coworker. Row 13 vs. the Pistons. Amazing.
Despite the recent games and lovely faces like Al Jefferson and Raja Bell. I can't catch the fever, not when the golden age still lingers in my memories. The age when the only real competition was Michael Jordan and the blasted red jerseys of the Chicago Bulls.
I was a die hard fan. Around ten or eleven, I loved the Jazz more than any sane young girl should. Instead of galvanting with dolls or disney princesses, I fell in love with John Stockton and the "Mailman". I shot hoops for hours and had my own court dreams.
One hot day at Bear Lake I was able to meet one of the famed golden-agers: Jeff Hornacek.
My family arrived for our annual vacation in what felt like a bus full of people, but in reality was probably a small minivan and a sedan. My mom believed in making our own food and so our small trip took at least three boxes of just food to feed our little Tate tribe.
While lugging boxes and dufflebags, my sister-in-law leaned down to me and said she saw Jeff Hornacek walking about the stairs. I almost dropped the box.
I quickly shoved it up the stairs and ran to grab another, in haste of seeing one of my basketball idols. My dad was walking with me when we saw him walk near. I couldn't even look at him I was so nervous.
My dad leans in to talk to him and I flinched, praying he wouldn't say it. It was too late, the words were out before I could stop him, "Hey Horna-check! Good season this year eh?"  NOOOO! My fragile pre-teen world was shattered. My embarrassing dad just ruined my life, mispronouncing Jeff's name.  I couldn't even recover for an autograph. I just hurried up the stairs and let a little part of me die inside.
My brush with Jazz fame sometime in the 1990's still stands magical, despite my silence and my dad's cheesy flub. Oh Hornacek, forgive my dad and I. I am guilty of loving the Jazz too much. My dad was guilty of not loving them at all...or any sport for that matter.


Sarcastic Pediatrician

My daughter's pediatrician is not sarcastic, nor does he mean to be funny. Sometimes he is hilarious...but not until three hours later.
Earlier this week I took the little spud to see him with a rough mucus cough.(I don't keep track of age cutoffs and I want to make sure she's old enough to just get over it or if we need medication).
After an hour wait (with an appointment) we get a quick weight check: 14.75 lbs!  He comes in in his usual brown sketchers, corduroy pants and green matte button up and checks all the usual stuff. He tells me to watch her breathing and how the cough sounds--hoping to stay RSV free.
As a last adding before he sends us on our way he says, "So liquids and rest".  Hours later I think back on his statement...I have a baby...not a toddler....a baby...  She really only does liquids. Even her beginners cereal is still in a fairly liquid form. I couldn't help turning to my baby, "Cameron, I'm sorry. Doctor says no more steak and broccoli." 
Cameron looked at me and coughed thickly at me in protest. Liquids only, sorry kid.



I have this joke I tell myself whenever I pass Hollister at the mall. I can't go inside because rape happens. I mean it's the perfect place. There is minimal lighting and the smell inside is overpowering, enough to cover up the potential horrors that happen in the store.
My niece and I walked around the mall yesterday. As we passed Hollister, I turned towards her and the store to share my piece of advice, "Don't go inside, we could get raped."
As I turned, an older man sat on their couch just inside the doors by himself. It looked like he was wearing stained sweat pants and a t-shirt.  He was sitting in the dark with a plastic cup with "Coke" inside. He definitely looked "sketch".  Made me laugh...my theory has been true all along.
Piece of advice: Avoid Hollister=stay rape free.



Oh my darlin', Oh my darlin', Oh my darlin' Clementine.
Let me introduce you to the newest member of the family: Clementine.
My niece, Melissa, had her about a month ago as a hair model. Clementine has been a source of great joy for us. Post-class, we often went shopping and strategically positioned her against the window to freak people out. It looked awesome.
I had the privilege of finding her a boyfriend at St. Mark's hospital too. I was sitting in the room for a blood check and he happened to be next to me.
The best story isn't even ours story.  To get to school, Melissa takes the freeway.  She wraps Clementine up in a blanket/towel and has the privilege of taking the much faster carpool lane to class. Oh Clementine! She's beautiful.


Stick Ponies

I love my job. While attempting to find a certain reporter to prove something to a coworker, I ran across this gem. I beg you to watch the video. You will laugh.
"Horse herpes outbreak forces rodeo queens to ride stick ponies"
Ref: KSL.com: Nadine Wimmer and Wendy Leonard

Slow news day? I think so. I love Utah!