The genetics of popcorn eating

Question: How do you eat popcorn?
Do you eat it like a debutante, picking one piece at a time off the pile and carefully poking it into your mouth?
Or do you grab a big handful of it and shove it in like it's the last food you're ever going to eat?
Or maybe you're somewhere in the middle and you grab just a couple of pieces and eat them as a respectable human being would.
Unfortunately, I fall into the second category. My dad, who loves popcorn, always ate it that way and, naturally, I followed in his footsteps.
The other day I was watching a movie on Netflix, so I threw some popcorn in the microwave. Nothing like a nice warm bowl of popcorn to enhance the movie-watching experience, right?

Hey, I'm not a cross dresser, I'm shopping for my wife

It's Christmas Eve, 2011. My shopping is done and I've been breathing easily for several days now.
My wife's presents are wrapped (thanks to my daughter) and safely under the tree. I won't lie to you, it feels pretty good to be done.
As a guy, I know what it's like to Christmas shop for a woman. And not just any woman, either. I'm talking about shopping for the wife.
Look, I realize in some cases wife-shopping isn't that difficult. She tells you she wants jewelry and you go to the jewelry store and buy what she wants, no problem.

Here's to the cavemen who lunch

My wife and her friends go to lunch together several times a year. Because I'm not a complete buffoon, I've never tagged along with them. Why would I, right? It's a girl thing. I imagine they sit around and talk about stuff that doesn't concern me. Stuff like ... well, I couldn't even begin to guess. Girl stuff, I suppose.
The point is, my wife and her friends enjoy their little luncheons and I'm glad they do. After all, I figure they need the time together, away from their husbands, so they can bond.
This is hardly breaking news, of course, but guys also like to bond. What's more, there's a need to bond, just like the ladies have.

Rocking out in your car? Oh yeah! Turn up the volume like it's Friday night

As I type these words, it's Friday evening. The sun is setting and it's quiet around my house.
That's certainly a far cry from the way it used to be back in the fun-loving days of my youth.
Yep, I know what you're thinking: "Geez, this guy loves to blather on and on about his younger days. We get it! The good old days were awesome, and everybody gets old. Give it a rest already."
While it's true, reflecting on those good old days is a staple of the middle-aged man's mind, that's really not what today's blog entry is really about. Instead, I'm thinking about music ... good, blood-pumping, loud Friday night kind of music.

It keeps getting colder while I keep getting older

Ah yes, another sign of age. How exciting!
Because I grew up in Texas, where the summertime humidity hangs in the air like a thick, invisible fog, I never had too much trouble getting used to the cold when I went to college in Idaho. From there I lived in Vancouver, Canada for a time and became even more accustom to cold weather.
In fact, I actually began to enjoy it. I don't know, it just felt ... romantic. Seeing the snow and feeling the cold, frosty air was like living in a Christmas song, like each new snowy day was like "the most wonderful time of the year."
Even after getting married and settling down in Utah, I never really minded that cold air, especially compared to that brutal, dry summer heat that practically buckled your knees just walking out the door to go get the mail.

In our Christmas letters, it's always a wonderful life

*Sigh* Today we're reluctantly tackling a delicate subject, one that is divisive, potentially flammable and could, in fact, earn me some enemies.
I'm referring to Christmas letters.
Look, I know they're popular. In some families, writing them is a longstanding holiday tradition. They're a great way to keep up with friends and family. They're a great way to share a year's worth of experiences (and possibly a photo or two) on fancy paper.
I understand the appeal of writing them, I'm just not sure why anyone reads them.

Becoming friends with your grown-up children: What a concept!

If you're a young parent, the thought of actually becoming your child's “friend” may seem like a weird, far-off concept.
But I'm here to tell you it can happen.
As they usually do on Sunday evenings, my oldest son and his wife came to our house for dinner yesterday. They've done so almost weekly for nine months now. It has become a comfortable tradition, something we all seem to enjoy.
Why is this such a big deal? Well, for starters my son and I went through a fairly tumultuous period from the time he was 14 or 15 until he left home at 19 to serve a mission for our church. As parents and teenagers often do, we shouted at each other on a regular basis.
Harsh words were said; feelings were hurt; tears were shed.