Francis Church to Virginia

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Brush with fate

My toothbrush retired today. Not of its own volition, of course. Toothbrushes don't just shrug their bristles and say, "ehhh, i've had a good career. Made it through two tubes of Crest. I think I'm gonna go pursue other things. Maybe start up my own gig scrubbing showers or sumpin'"

No, toothbrushes just don't do that. Because they know that once they are done with the whole teeth-thing, they'll likely spend their silver years molding under a bathroom sink as the designated home "utility brush."

Since my toothbrush wasn't going into the night peacefully, I considered it my duty to take action. Show him who was boss. Exercise management control. So I brought him in for a little career counseling meeting.

Me: You know, Brush, I really appreciate everything you do for the company. Your dedication is unmatched.

Brush: Oh...thank you. I do my best y'know. Fight tooth and nail *chuckle* for this company...

Me: Tooth and nail. Ha. Funny. Yeah, the thing is that we've had some complaints about your uh bristles. They're too soft. And your blue indicator line faded away months ago...

Brush: You really believe those marketing scams? They make those blue lines fade away YEARS before you actually need to replace us. That's how Procter and Gamble makes its money, chief. They're rollin' in the greenstuff because of those indicator lines. I'll bet the guy who invented that is laughing his head off in Aspen, eating some kind of expensive French dessert at an overpriced ski lodge.

Me(muttering):Yeah well...at least his teeth will be clean...

Me: Ok look, the point is, you're done. You're yesterdays salami, Sunday's paper, The Old Kid on the Block. You've had a good run, but the show is over. It's time to call it Q. Pack up. Ship out. Move west. Try your hand at other things.

Brush: Are you firing me? After everything I've done for you? Just like that?? No notice!! I can NOT believe this. Remember when I worked overtime for you before that second date? Ten minutes of brushing. Ten minutes!! Huh? Remember that?

And what about the time I showed up to work even after you had just eaten fourteen oreos--I knew it was going to be a dirty job, but did I complain? Not once. Not a word. I was granulated for weeks. And did you ever even have the decency to buy me my own holding container? A cheap jerk like you, not a chance! Most of the time I was relegated to the second drawer or that horribly smelly leather travel case you own. And let me tell you now, man, that leather case is sprawling with bacteria. It's like an H1N1 spring break in there. And the drawer isn't much better. Hope you get strep throat, boss.

Me: Look, do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I want to move on to a new TB? We Heywoods are cheap. If I had my druthers, I'd just boil you for 30 seconds and call it good. But there's this little thing called the American Dental Association...

Brush: Oh, pish posh on the ADA!! Don't bring them up. They have nothing to do with this and you know it!

Me: Oh yeah!

Brush: Yeah!

Me: We'll choke on this, brush: "The ADA recommends that consumers replace toothbrushes approximately every 3–4 months or sooner if the bristles become frayed with use." And you are FRAYED!

Brush: No, I ain't afraid of anything. Fine. Send me to the showers. I'll scrub your mildew. But you better double and triple check your brush before every use because one day SHAZAM I'll show up in that VirusChamber you call a drawer and you'll be brushing your teeth with Comet reside. You just wait, Heywood, I'll have my revenge...

In the Last Days...

A writer for Slate said this about Mormon culture. Interesting.

If I had a million minutes...

I think I might try to write a few books. Not because I think I could write them well (I don't have the raw talent for that, which is why I work in the business world), but because I think it would be fun.

The first few books I would write:

From Deacon to Dating: A Guide for LDS Teenagers. I would write this in a style much different than, say, a John Bytheway book. There'd be a lot of lists. Practical pointers. Tips. I think the style would be like a modern men's magazine (not a dirty men's magazine, but something like Esquire, GQ or ESPN:The Magazine).

A satire of LDS romantic fiction/anything that Stephanie Meyer writes. Self-explanatory. Have you read that stuff? Someone needs to respond.

I've Been Everywhere, Man A book about truck drivers. There's gotta be some cool stories floating out there. Heck, I could even write a memoir. Quit my job as an accountant and drive truck for a year across the country. Learn Trucker Talk. Freight turnips and trusses and plastic combs across the continent. If at all possible, the book would have a foreword by C.W. McCall (unless he's dead).

Brothers don't shake, brothers gotta...

Crazy.

NY Senkyoshi

I loved this. Watch it.

9/9/09

I coulda sworn that I joked with a friend of mine of the fairer sex back in the day that we would get married on

9/9/09.

Or was it 8/8/08? Maybe 7/7/2007?

Huh. Well. Whoops. Missed that hay ride.

Here's to the auspicious 10/10/10, 11/11/11, or 12/12/12.

Pro's Ranch Market

At the advice of my aunt, I stopped by Pro's Ranch Markets, a big-box Mexican grocery store on Southern and Stapley.

If you go on a Saturday, be prepared for pandemonium. Key limes, 99 cents for four pounds? Beans selling in giant bins by the truckload? Tortilla machines operating with six-sigma efficiency? Puts Food City to south-of-the-border shame.

When I saw massive barbecue racks smoke firing chicken outside, I knew had I found my new favorite food store. My hypothesis was only confirmed when I encountered a pastry aisle, tropical fruit drink bar, and "deli" that really should be classified as its own Mexican restaurant. And that was just one third of the floor space!

I might have been the only white guy in the building. I bought a bag of beans, some garlic, peppers, and freshly made tortillas. I think I also bought a grapefruit soda called something in Spanish that I can't now, even one day later, remember.

And I might have even made a friend. As I was eating in the crowded food court (ahh the Pro Ranch cooked food! My new favorite Mexican restaurant--in a grocery store!), an older man with a Nacho Libre mustache noticed me devouring a smoke-grilled chicken burrito a little too quickly. He saw that I didn't have any napkins, and so he grabbed a few out of his bale-sized stack and handed them over towards my plate. I don't think he spoke English, and I can't speak a lick of Spanish, but we shared a moment of instant understanding--good food like this, on a crazy, crowded day like today, needs a coupla napkins.

Have someone in coach fiddle for me...

I know I'm a few years late, but I love this article.

Yeah, but...it'll costya...

Some say learning cost accounting is like riding a bike--after you first figure it out, the concepts come naturally the second time.

I say cost accounting is like riding a grizzly bear. If in fact it doesn't kill you the first time, you by heck don't want to get on for another round. What are you, stupid??

But that's just me.

Hey Dave, how'dya spend your weekend?

Like this:

Assuming no other material misstatements are found, an independent auditor determines that supplementary information is not fairly stated relative to the basic financial statements taken as a whole. In this instance, the independent auditor should:

a)Issue a qualified or adverse opinion
b)Issue a disclaimer of opinion
c)Issue an unqualified but modified audit report, adding a paragraph to describe the auditor's position on the supplementary information

That was not smart...thaat was not smart.

Tuesday: Nausea on the light rail. Everything inside my body wanted to be on the outside. Stomach involuntarily emptied. Sprite for dinner.

Wednesday: Sprite and a piece of toast for breakfast. Sprite for lunch.

And then...by six...I started to get hungry.

So I ordered Papa Johns (used my free coupon.)

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

Two thumbs. Up.

I'm serious about Up. It's one of the best movies I can remember seeing in the theater.

Don't take my word for it.

Read this and this.

Get Up Off of That Thang

Disney/Pixar has done it again.

Go see UP. You won't regret it.

(review to come. Maybe)

Welcome to Heber City

It's been a few years since I've lived in Heber City, but the town still has a place in my heart.

It's a fact. Heber has grown. Despite the number of second homes and resort sites springing up to attract vacationers, many new developments have brought people who actually plan on staying in the valley for longer than a round of golf. To these newcomers, propriety dictates a hearty Heber how-ye-do.

But let’s not kid ourselves in pretending that a quick handshake is welcome enough to the new folks. Why settle for mediocrity? Read on to discover seven creative ways to welcome the new guy to Heber City, Utah.

1) Bring over a calculator and coolly report their portion of the bond amount for the new high school. $60 million divided by…

2) Casually mention that the high school’s wrestling program is perennial state champions. Drop names (Cael Sanderson…) if you need be. Put ‘em in a headlock and demonstrate the “Dear Creek In the Neck” hold.

3) Invite them to volunteer for Swiss Days. Be positive. Tell him that his daughter is a shoo-in for the Swiss Miss pageant. If that doesn’t work, explain that non-participation is an (Edel) vice that will not be tolerated. Leave with a refreshing joke, like “see you later, hosen." Har!

4) Misdirect him in his search for tickets to the demolition derby. Let’s be honest, some things just can’t be shared.


6) Be prepared to explain that, regardless of whether the view of Mt. Timpanogas is the back or the front, it is the superior.

7) Did I skip #5?

Heaps and heaps...

Is everybody as excited about this as I am??




Get 'er done Cougs!

why DOES the caged bird sing?

Sometimes, when I'm in my cubicle doing work papers
(note: workpapers are folders and folders, files and files, of shoot-me-now tediousness)

hour after hour

I think of this

A Shakespeare Question

Who is more evil, Edmund of King Lear or Iago of Othello?

It's gotta be Iago, right?

The Papa Delivers

In the mail this week.

Papa John's thanked me for my comments and offered to give me another chance on their pizza. They included two complimentary pizza cards to prime the pump for my return to PJ's.

I also received a personal phone call apology. Brian (not Papa John--he's probably busy making commercials) even admitted that their pan pizza wasn't quite up to par and a new recipe was in the works.

I quote Papa's letter.

"Rest assured, Papa John's is dedicated to providing you with a Worldclass Customer Experience."

I've been waiting for this release from the emotional shackles of my innerconsumer. I'm still not sure why "worldclass customer experience" is a proper noun, but I can dream of the wonders such a thing could hold.

And so, tonight, I can finally rest. Assured.

Dear Papa John,

It pains me to write this letter. Honest to goodness, I’m usually your number one fan (I’ve been a member of the “Fan of Papa John’s” Facebook group since 2008). But right is right, and the American Consumer’s sense of duty in me hasn’t slept for weeks.

I think your pizza is great. I really do. Nine times out of ten it comes to my doorstep hot and fresh, made with those trademark “better ingredients” and always accompanied by packets of that wine-of-the-dipping-sauce-world garlic butter jus. Even my grandparents, products of the Depression who would rather eat leftover Vienna Sausage tetrazzini than pay for takeout food, order pizza from you. What can I say? My family loves your hand tossed crust and fresh-tasting pizza sauce.

And so it was with sunny anticipation that I decided to try something new from your menu. I ordered my pizza online for the first time and, while navigating through the process, I noted that I could “upgrade” to a pan pizza for a token surcharge. Feeling a little bit saucy, I decided to take the plunge.

Thirty five-ish minutes later, Arthur was at my doorstep. (I remember his name merely because of its novelty, not because I have personal relationships with my pizza delivery vendors.) Arthur delivered the pizza with utmost class, like a butler trained in the sitting rooms of Mayfair. I took the box with greedy anticipation. I make it a rule to act civilized in life, but come on, man, this is pizza!

I immediately noticed the temperature of the box. It wasn’t boiling. It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t even warm. If lukewarm describes the temperature of a cardboard box you could buy in a 72 degree Office Max supply store, then, yeah, I’ll give you that; it was lukewarm.

I opened up the box. Like every man who is abruptly called upon to revise his entire scheme of values, I was a bit undone. What was I staring at? Could this be my pizza? I’ll admit, I was at first taken aback by the square shape of the pizza. I was expecting round, but tomato tomato (please say that second “tomato” with an accent for effect), shape doesn’t much matter, I guess.

But, oh the rest of the pizza! The pieces were already broken apart, like it was made of Californian tectonic plates that no longer wanted to live in California. The cheese was only half-way melted. And I’m being generous when I say melted. I probably could have had a more melted product on that pie if I would have used my own sticks of string cheese kept outside the refrigerator for twenty minutes. And the crust! Oh, the crust! What normally should be the LeBron James of a pan pizza—the pinnacle, the climax, the point d’ appui—was a mockery of flour, yeast and water. It lacked any sort of character (not that I want my crust to be honest, chaste and true but...); if I had been chewing on Pillsbury croissant dough, I might not have noticed a difference. Maybe I was chewing on Pillsbury croissant dough. Do you outsource your pan pizza dough to General Mills?

I could go on, but why bother? I think you get my drift. It’ll be a few blue moons and a couple of real estate cycles before I ever order a pan pizza from you again.

With every good wish,

David Heywood

My mother is

Energetic, charismatic, loving, An example, life-of-the-party, friendly, Motivating, diligent, healthy, A little out of control (sometimes), creative, caring, the cream of Westwood, Zealous, virtuous, determined, a water skier, cheerful, Incomparable, happy, fun, “Mashed Potatoes and Gravie, Marie”, No pushover (right Red Ledges?) a Warriorette, easy-going, frugal, compassionate, a December baby, often right, popular, spiritual, strong, faithful, Great



Happy mother's day--

Uh...yeah...almost forgot

Hahahha. I did go a little overboard in college. I forgot about this.

http://www.thezoobie.com

Found in my old BYU papers. Was this a cry for help?

Dear Friend,

Hi-dee-ho neighbors and fellow Zoobies.

Unless you’ve been underwater for the past few years, you might have noticed something. We Zoobies are getting a bad rap. For some reason, the phrase “Zoobie” has become about as popular as a Tahitian Noni salesman. The meaning of Zoobie now brings negative connotations and eye-shifting silence, almost as if we are self-righteous dorks. We’re not, of course (self-righteous, that is. I’ll be the better man and let any Zoobie-hater out there call me a dork, if that makes their black inner souls happy).

Normally, I am just a normal go-to-my-ballroom-dance-class-minding-my-own-business type of guy, but experience after experience has changed all that. The straw that broke the Cosmo’s back occurred a few weeks ago, when I heard a U of U student say “Zoobie” in a tone so snooty, I had to readjust my glasses to confirm that I wasn’t talking to Rick Majerus or Alex Smith. After that day, I knew I had to do something—write a letter to the New Era, picket outside Wasatch Front stake centers, or at least complain to my three awesome roommates (Spencer K. Ball, Ben Ezra Taftson, Alma Richards, and Walley Chessler). My rants turned to rage, my rage turned to fury, and my fury turned to sound. I stopped for a day to read some Faulkner, and then decided to make this post. Here I can protect the good and faithful name of Zoobie, the Lord’s University, and President and Sister Samuelson’s honor.

Yes siree, Bob, I want to tell the world that I’m 100% Zoobie—true blue, through and through. I was born a Zoobie and I’ll die a Zoobie. When I pass on, I hope to be buried in Cougartown, with my headstone facing east—-my heart towards the Y, the mountains, and Zion.

So, blend together a scoop of Lavell Vanilla, some caffeine-free Hershey’s syrup (you can buy it off the internet) and indulge yourself with a malted shake too thick for a straw. Rise and shout—it’s Zoobie time! The Cougars are

Out,

D.B. Heywood

D-Day

I think these pictures are the funniest thing since Al Gore invented global warming. Why?

Exhibit 1. The picture of Beffy and me with the wizard hats. Obviously its in the Disney store. Obviously we are too cheap to actually buy a hat. So why were we sitting in a store taking pictures wearing wizard hats? Because that's how we Heywood's roll.

Exhibit 2. Look at Ryan's expression. It's not fear. Nor is it terror. Not really boredom. What is he trying to express??!!!??! I don't know if the question can be answered. Hands down, Ryan wins the "Mona Lisa smile" trophy of the decade.

Here I am, posting at 11:22

when I promised myself I would be in bed by 10:30

so I could be up at 6:00

so I could go running before I catch the light rail to work

so I could burn some of those cubicle calories

so I could be energetic and positive during my workday

so I could carry on that energy as I head home

so I could perhaps meet an engaging young woman on the bus (ummm...chances of that...a billion to .01. I have a better chance of being hit by lightning and then robbed on the bus by Headsize Radio Man. On second thought, that contingency has quite good odds)

so I could ask her on a date Friday

so she could play it coy and say she's busy until to next week

so I could be cool and tell her next week'd be great except I'll be on a jet plane to Utah

so she could laugh chicly and tell me she's free on Thursday

so I could shrug my shoulders and mention that I could spare an hour or so

so she could sigh and casually mention that she wouldn't mind chatting over drinks

so I could suddenly remember that I found a Starbucks card in the dark sands of Huntington Beach with $8.10 still on the tab...but...not that a Starbucks card mattered or anything, because, after all, I am relatively wealthy

so she could smile, showing her Trident white teeth and glittering eyes and say, "sure, call me."

so I could pull out my phone and ask for her phone number

so she could start reading out the digits

so I could suddenly realize that I forgot to charge my phone

so she could say, "this is my stop! The Tempe ghetto! I do charity work here every Wednesday. Call me later tonight, David!" and then walk off the bus, leaving me up and biting my own tail

so I could come home, pieces of a man, bereft of even a spark of self-confidence and dignity.

No, Mr. Sandman. Not tonight. I'm staying up 'til twelve!

Give me a break

A guy and the three walls of his cubicle can get mighty tired of each other.

I think that's why we take water breaks at work.

"Water? Tea? Coffee?", someone in our TRE group asks, like KSL traffic updates, every hour on the 39's.

We stand in the break room with our red plastic cups, talking about love, and dreams, and bacon. Mostly, we talk about sports. And we plan.

We plan our next water break.

MMMBOP

Is MMMPop by Hanson the catchiest song ever released?

I think so.

If you don't agree, tell me what ditty has a catchier tune.

It's called reading. Top to bottom, left to right; group words and phrase them into sentences

I've mentioned in the past that I have book ADHD. I tend to end up reading snippets and chapters of many different books at a time.

My current reading list:

CPA Financial exam study guide: Gag me with an HP calculator. Ok, it's not that bad. What pulse does not quicken whenever the Generally Accepted Accounting Principles are mentioned? Sometimes I simply can't contain myself...

Bonds of Affection: Civic Charity in America--Winthrop,Jefferson, and Lincoln by Dr. Matt Holland: Dr. Holland's class made me sorry that I wasn't a political science major. The thesis of the book is that shared ideals of biblical, or "Christian (as some might call it) love played a distinct role in the formation of America's form of liberal democracy.

I lived with the Hollands for three months in England. I love the Holland family. Professor Holland is now president of Utah Valley University.

Walden: Thoreau writes about his experience at Walden pond. An American classic. I made good headway for a while, but the book started grating on me after a few chapters. Maybe it was because I was working 14 hour days for an accounting firm while H.D. Thoreau kept bragging about his year and half of pleasureful unemployment. I soon realized that, however many good ideas Thoreau may have had, if everyone lived like he did children would surely starve.

Christ and the New Covenant: Another book by a Holland. Elder Holland covers the Book of Mormon's testament of Jesus Christ.

Thinking Strategically: The Competitive Edge in Business, Politics, and Everyday Life: I only started reading this recently. Once I'm through, I'm hoping to be able to gain a competitive edge in business, politics, and everyday life.

Henry V: Shakespeare was genius.

Oh...

I discovered the perfect combination last week. Cheerio's (sans the milk) and Ghiradelli Milk Chocolate Chips.

But then I realized.

Wait.

Anything is good together with Ghiradelli Chocolate Chips.

"Things"

don't mean that much to me.

That being said, I do like




my new truck that I bought from my grandpa. It's a 2002 chevy silverado 1500 V8 pickup.

I'm also crazy about the new Japanese rice cooker I just bought. It can cook white rice, brown rice, cakes, beans,vegetables, stews...the foundation of any meal, I guess. It has a 15 hour time delay--I can (and will) literally wake up to the smell of freshly steamed rice.