On her way back from a meeting in Hutchinson last week, Carrie stopped off at the Carriage Crossing for lunch and brought me back a big-ass slice of coconut creme pie—or as its known to me, Krytptonite. Because I'm, well … me, I didn't eat it all in one setting but chose to savour a couple of bites each day until I finally polished it off last night.
I tell you what, those Mennonites sure can make one hell of a pie.
For Memorial Day, Carrie and I were planning on catching the new Indiana Jones movie, but after giving it a little thought, we decided going to a matinee would just waste an entire afternoon (and after our action-packed weekend with the Zeilers anything later was pretty much out of the question). Our fall-back plan was to just do exactly what we normally do—hang out with all of the other losers at Borders and Blockbusters.
Usually our weekly trips to these two places are relatively unproductive. But this week was a little different. While we would normally just leave Borders with the undying need to find out what in the hell Manga is, this time we went crazy—well at least Carrie did, picking up a book titled "Go Green, Live Rich" —which I think has something to do with wandering the turnpike picking up aluminum cans—and the equally intellectual People.
High on our score, we hit Blockbusters. First, let me say we had great luck a couple of weeks ago when we rented The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. While it's extremely slow, it's a really good slow. Each frame is beautifully shot and the performances are great. Anyway, based on that past experience, along with the aforementioned Borders success, we took a chance on another movie—Lars and the Real Girl. Not to give anything away, but it's basically about a lonely guy who orders and life-sized doll online and convinces himself she is real. It was pretty odd. I'm not saying it's bad, just really "different." We have to take it back tomorrow, but it was interesting enough that I'm planning on checking out the extras.
If that wasn't enough to satisfy your entertainment craving, here's what I've been listening to recently.
The Kooks "Konk" The Helio Sequence "Keep Your Eyes Ahead" Death Cab for Cutie "Narrow Stairs" Wilco "The Best of Wilco Winter Residency" --thanks Todd
Our Memorial Day Weekend was extra memorable this year due to a visit from our friends Whitney and Chris Zeiler from Kansas City. Whitney and I go back to our short semester freshman year at the University of Missouri -- one short, but very long, semester of living in the same dorm at the edge of campus (with NO DINING HALL), avoiding sorority obligations, and handling one roommate issue after another. We knew we were going to be life-long friends when we discovered we both wanted to be the next Mrs. Harry Connick Jr. and were more interested in watching "Dirty Dancing" at 3 a.m. than attending a Kappa Delta camp out. Fourteen years later ... here we were in Wichita with our husbands and Whitney's two kids, Brady (6) and Addison (3), with a third on the way. The last time they were here, Brady was just two and was content playing with Zoe's dog toys and dancing to Craig's guitar playing. This time around, his taste in entertainment had matured.
We started out the weekend with a trip back to the old west -- Cowtown. We saw cowboys, farm cats, a blacksmith and a bank robbery. I think the highlights were the swing and the newspaper press where Brady got to make his own bookmark.
The next day we took a trip to our modern day Zoo. If you haven't been to the Sedgwick County Zoo, we highly recommend it. Every time we go we ask ourselves, "This is in Wichita, Kansas?" Addison seemed to enjoy her first-ever zoo trip and Brady couldn't see the elephants soon enough.
When we weren't running all around town, we played at the house (as much as you can play at a house where the newest "toy" is a battery-powered mower), watched movies (is it sad that the kids had seen the original "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" and some of the adults hadn't?), and Brady kicked his dad's butt at the Wii. Seriously, you should see this kid's right hook.
After months of research, we finally have something new to occupy our garage. Chances are it's a brand you've never heard of, and to be honest it's a little sportier than what we set out for, but we think we made a smart decision.
The cool thing is it's completely battery powered, so gas prices be damned.
Now we just have to decide on a car.
I haven't had a chance to try it out yet, but I hope to tonight (if the rain holds off) and I'll let you know how it works. Carrie seemed pretty interested in it last night so I may have to share mowing duties from now on which is perfectly fine with me.
I was going to include myself in the last "Cribs-esque" picture, but I was afraid I would end up being like a certain person I know who takes a picture of himself with every new Mac and then I would no longer be able to make fun of him.
Today marks the two-year anniversary of the day we officially became a family of four. At the time, it was hard to imagine that we'd make it to this point, but I think it's safe to say that life wouldn't be the same without our beloved Luka (I know Zoe would say the same—although I'm not sure if she'd use the word beloved).
Unbeknownst to us, before we ever met him (and had to fight Carrie's uncle over him) Luka was a star on the small screen. Here is his debut (as his alter ego "Cutie") on the local news' "Pet of the Week" segment. The sound is virtually gone due to the fact that the clip has been transferred from VHS to DVD and now to QuickTime, however if I remember correctly the woman from the humane society mentioned that he "walked well on a leash." We've yet to see it.
Oh and in case you're wondering, we think Luka is a Gollie—part Golden Retriever part Border Collie, and no, that's not a real breed of dog, but we wanted him to feel fancy like all of those other Puggles, Labradoodles and Peekapoos out there.
Maybe I'm just biased, but after watching this footage again today, I have to wonder how in the hell did this little dude get passed up for almost three weeks?
When The Police played Kansas City in 1983 Carrie and I were eight—needless to say, we missed the show.
Twenty five years later we got a second chance.
So, last Tuesday we each played hookie from work and hit the turnpike—setting out on a journey to mark another act off our concert to-do list and restore a little bit of our rock n' roll street cred.
You might say we were pretty excited. So excited in fact that we somehow managed to roll out of Wichita with a collective $3 in cash—an oversight that became painfully clear as we tried to park at the Sprint Center four hours later. Luckily after hitting an ATM (located inside a convenience store that I'm pretty sure was either a front for some sort of counterfeit bus token ring or the host site for an illegal back-room Mahjong tournament) we were on our way.
First, let me say that we were pretty impressed with the new Power and Light district that surrounds the arena, it actually makes after-hours downtown Kansas City seem like a happenin' place rather than a lost scene from "I am Legend." We didn't have a lot of time to investigate the area (due to the aforementioned parking fund shortage) but we saw enough to actually want to go back.
Once we made it inside, the show was kicked off by a set by Elvis Costello—so to say there was an opening act was a bit of an understatement. Unfortunately, no one told the sound engineer because Elvis seemingly got the same mix those guys from the FreeCreditReport.com commercial would have. Fortunately what the mix lacked in quality, it made up for with sheer volume. Three songs into his set I could relate to the way Peter Frampton must feel when he uses his skull as an amplifier. Luckily, we each suffered enough hearing loss halfway through the set to actually enjoy a duet on "Alison" between Elvis and a bearded Sting followed later on by "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding" one of my all-time favorites.
Then it was The Police's turn.
While the show itself was somewhat low key compared to some other concerts we go to (a somewhat sparse stage and little multimedia effects) it really didn't matter, because this show was really about getting a near once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see three incredible musicians. But while I'm a fan of both Sting (who Carrie and I saw a few years ago) and Andy Summers, for me the concert was all about the drums. Stewart Copeland—in my humble opinion—is quite frankly one of the most incredible musicians in the world. While most rock drummers simply lay the foundation and keep the beat, Stewart creates textures that make the songs come alive. My eyes were glued on him all night as he jumped back and forth from his kit to a large rig of bells, symbols and timpany drums. As a whole the band was great, although there were a few slip ups here and there that came as a surprise. The biggest one actually had nothing to do with the band, some dude accidentally kicked over Carrie's coveted $5 cherry lemonade on his way back from his fourth beer run of the night. On the upside, by this point in the evening he was toasted enough to insist we take ten bucks from him as an apology. Generous drunks are OK in my book.
Here's a few clips we shot with Carrie's phone. The sound is terrible, so you get more of us than of Sting and the crew and I turned the volume down a bit because otherwise it just sounds like they're playing through the PA down at Big Boy.
We mentioned in a past blog that our eyes have recently been opened to the American Girl experience. I'm not sure it's one we'll ever recover from. Reason 59: Here's the beauty salon in Chicago's Michigan Avenue store. Girls stood in line by the dozens with their American Girl doll in hand as they anxiously awaited for their number to be called so little Mia (girl of the year 2008!) could get her hair straightened for her big day of shopping or maybe pigtails to match the new roller skating outfit she's going home with. Ah, decisions. Is it just me, or is the hairdresser on the left taking her job way too seriously? Her expression makes me think she's really debating whether a side ponytail will compliment the doll's bone - or plastic - structure.
Once again, I'm here to apologize for our lack of posting lately. We've both been really busy lately and unfortunately none of the stuff we've been up to has been interesting enough to actually get us to fire up the computer. However that should change this week as we've got some good stuff on the horizon. Until then, as requested, here is the recipe for Craig's cranberry-walnut muscle muffins.
Ingredients: 1 cup whole wheat flour 1/4 cup Splenda granulated sugar 1/4 cup packed Splenda brown sugar blend 2 tablespoons untoasted wheat germ 2 tablespoons oat bran 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda 1 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 scoops Any Whey Protein (this stuff is formulated so that the protein won't degrade at high temperatures—and it's pretty much tasteless) 1 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats 3/4 cup dried cranberries 3/4 cup chopped walnuts 1 cup skim milk 1/4 cup canola oil 1 teaspon vanilla extract 1 large egg (I use Egg Beaters) 1/2 cup boiling water
Preparation: Preheat oven to 375. Combine all of the dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl and make a well in the center of the mixture. Then combine the milk, oil, vanilla and egg (I do this in a separate bowl) and add to the dry mixture. Add boiling water, stir and let stand for 15 minutes. Spoon batter into 12 muffin cups coated with fat-free cooking spray and bake for 20 minutes.
Like most men in their early 30s I've recently found myself looking for something more out of life, a sense of wholeness that can only come from an all-consuming personal quest to bake up the perfect low-fat, high-fiber, protein-rich super muffin.
Mission accomplished.
Made up of oats, raw wheat germ, oat bran, protein powder, dried cranberries and walnuts, my wonder muffins pack a punch. (I wouldn't recommend having one before a long road trip.) Virtually fat-free, each muffin contains about eight grams of protein and more fiber than you'll find in your oak coffee table. And best of all, they actually taste good, just look at this happy customer.
Some may read this and question my masculinity—I say go for it. But before you do, it's probably also important to note that I have also taken up growing tulips. (I just thought you should be well informed.)
On her way back from a meeting in Hutchinson last week, Carrie stopped off at the Carriage Crossing for lunch and brought me back a big-ass slice of coconut creme pie—or as its known to me, Krytptonite. Because I'm, well … me, I didn't eat it all in one setting but chose to savour a couple of bites each day until I finally polished it off last night.
For Memorial Day, Carrie and I were planning on catching the new Indiana Jones movie, but after giving it a little thought, we decided going to a matinee would just waste an entire afternoon (and after our action-packed weekend with the Zeilers anything later was pretty much out of the question). Our fall-back plan was to just do exactly what we normally do—hang out with all of the other losers at Borders and Blockbusters.
We started out the weekend with a trip back to the old west -- Cowtown. We saw cowboys, farm cats, a blacksmith and a bank robbery. I think the highlights were the swing and the newspaper press where Brady got to make his own bookmark.
Addison seemed to enjoy her first-ever zoo trip and Brady couldn't see the elephants soon enough. 
Girls stood in line by the dozens with their American Girl doll in hand as they anxiously awaited for their number to be called so little Mia (girl of the year 2008!) could get her hair straightened for her big day of shopping or maybe pigtails to match the new roller skating outfit she's going home with. Ah, decisions. Is it just me, or is the hairdresser on the left taking her job way too seriously? Her expression makes me think she's really debating whether a side ponytail will compliment the doll's bone - or plastic - structure.
Like most men in their early 30s I've recently found myself looking for something more out of life, a sense of wholeness that can only come from an all-consuming personal quest to bake up the perfect low-fat, high-fiber, protein-rich super muffin.
Some may read this and question my masculinity—I say go for it. But before you do, it's probably also important to note that I have also taken up growing tulips. (I just thought you should be well informed.)
