Surprize birthdays and ice cream

So I called HB, father of Sydnee, to ask what her favorite treat was. You see, yesterday was her birthday. I know it was Lex's too, but Lex doesn't live here and she didn't cut my hair when she was here last. So, Cameron, Pam and I decided to have a surprize birthday party for her. It turned out incredibly well. Here's why. Syd hates surprize birthday parties, especially when they are for her. By the way, HB, said Syd would like any type of ice cream which is good because we got vanilla.
Pam, made a sign with balloons and put it on the door. She also put candles on some brownies and made some decorations. Cameron invited some of their homies and I provided the comic relief. There was only one problem. The cash register broke at Syd's work and she had to close up and didn't get to our house until around 10pm. We were expecting her more like 9ish which all well and good except Pam goes to bed around that time -- having to get up at 5am each morning.
So, Syd comes in and turns beet red. I'm not sure if it was from embarassment or something else. That's when she informed me that she hates surprize parties. Nevertheless, the festivities were fun. Syd got in a few zingers to some of the crowd. In fact, Sydnee got the last laugh. As everyone was leaving, she asked if anyone wanted to go out for a beer. Pam and I didn't go, we had to get to sleep.

Surprize birthdays and ice cream

This is a test.

I believe that I can write anything, or for that matter nothing, and get the same amount of comments if I was to write something profound or funny. This post is about nothing. I'll keep track of the comments. CS's comment won't count because I already know what it will say...."new post please". Lacy's comment won't count because she will say she doesn't read blogs but once a week and doesn't let P-lope watch TV. Devry's comment will count though, because she helped me set up the blog stalking thing where I can see who is on my blog. Come to think of it, Dev, you don't have to comment at all. I'll just assume you have commented because you helped me. Dana's comment won't count because she is openly an Uncle Jeff promoter (see one of her previous posts). Mallory's comment will count because she never comments on anyone's blog. Lindsay's comment won't count because I'm still eating sugar and that's a bad thing. Larry, Cliff and HB couldn't give a rat's A.S.S. about blogging, so they won't comment. Cliff's kids won't comment because they have their own blogs (very good ones I might add) and frequent each others' daily. Lexie is headed to the nation's capital to convert President Obama so she is too busy to comment. Pam, my beloved wife and facilitator of happiness, doesn't get the whole blogging thing and thinks I'm just wasting time. But, she is funny now. Let's see, that leaves anyone who just happens to stumble on my blog. No comments there because they don't know me. Oh wait, cousin Rhea has commented once in a while, but she won't comment because she knows I'm conducting a test and since she has Arnett blood in her she won't bother because it's not really about her (you know the A.S.S. thing). Wow, this post really was about nothing.

Token Mormon

So, as many of you know, Pam and I are friends and confidants of some less fortunate people who have some challenges with regard to substance abuse. Over the years, our home has become some sort of half-way house for those who either have felt or do feel the need to use stimulants -- whether it be drugs or alcohol. I personally feel somewhat responsible for a few individuals that have entered into the subtance abuse category because of my introduction of the wonders of the guitar to them. It makes me believe that Elder Gene R. Cook was right that the steel string guitar is of the devil. That's why I usually only play a classical guitar now. On occasion, I do succumb to the temptations of the the steel strings and pickup up an acoustic or electric guitar. I do so, wondering what would Jesus play? It's a good question. Would he play the harp? Afterall, it is the instrument of angels. The only problem is, some of it's strings are wound with steel. Would he play the violin? I think not. Again, steel strings. How about the piano? Oops, steel strings. Which begs the question, if a piano, harp, and violin are okay to play in sacrament meeting, why not a guitar?
So, it appears the only true instrument that should be allowed and hallowed is the organ. It's no coincidence I deal with organs. The organ has no strings, although it is electric which could be construed by some to be associated with electric guitars. Nevertheless, the organ is the purest instrument known to mankind. It could be equated to speaking the Adamic language. It is pure and undefiled. The first organs were based and built on the principle of pumping air through chambers or pipes. Can you say Tabernacle organ? So why then aren't accordians played in sacrament meetings? It's based on the same principles as the organ and isn't electric. It's only a portable organ. So, here is my proposal. I am starting a petition to have the accordian made the official instrument of the Mormon church. What's more, I am adding to the petition that my sister, Candace Sue Walker, be the official accordianist for the Mormon church. I am delivering my petition to the church offices as soon as I get 27,000 signatures.
Speaking of substance abuse, one of my former guitar students who is now in a somewhat famous band, needed a ride from the airport last Saturday. I picked him up and took him to his house which he shares with a married couple about his same age. This former student is, or was a member of the church, and his married roomates are also. None of them are involved with the church due to their belief system and recreational choices. They don't necessarily have anything against the church other than the word of wisdom and judgemental members. But then who doesn't have problems with either of those. I'm fat and judged to be an old coot. Anyway, while I was at his house, a couple of other younger fellows showed up. They were from Snowflake, AZ, a predominantly Mormon community and they were Mormon. One of the guys is a glass blower. I asked if he made decorative things like trinkets and ornaments. He replied he made bongs and made a good living doing it. I realized I was in the presence of those who liked to recreate in a different way than I did so I just made an off-hand remark that I was the token Mormon in the bunch. To my surprize, the bong maker asked my former student if he could score a dime. I've heard of dime-bags before, so I quickly exused myself and said to continue on with their pursuits of happiness after I left.
To make a long story short, which is impossible now, I saw my former student again yesterday. He wanted to explain to me why the bong blower went ahead and asked for some garden of eden happy plants in my presence. He thought when I said I was the token Mormon in the group, I meant I was a toking (meaning canubis smoking) Mormon. Totally understandable if you make bongs for a living.
Accordians forever and long live bong makers.

Time

I found this "whatever" written by "whoever" and thought it had meaning "forever."
Please no comments on this from anyone who reads my blog -- especially from anyone under the age of 50. If you are over the age of 50, you won't comment anyway. Come to think of it, if you read my blog not matter what your age, you won't comment either. So, to make it easier on you, I forbid you to comment. Comments will not be accepted. If you leave one it will not be read. It will just go into the cosmos un-understood or un-recognized, un-solicited or un-derworn, un-digested or un-related, un-founded or un-documented. No comments please. Thank-you for your cooperation in advance.


Except for the morning glory night takes the warmth away
Time is the bridge to evening, then it just slips away

The hand that stands to feeds presumably is gone so far away
I've heard that it never really did leave us, it just slipped away

Children grow old and get weary, their dreams never far away
They rise and fall from glory, while time just slips away

Raindrops fall then expire, leaving just traces to fade away
Flowers lose their own beauty, while time slipped away.

Anon