Ahhh Doughnuts...

Needing another challenge, I took upon myself the task of making homemade doughnuts from scratch. I wanted to see how hard it really was. I'm not talking about frying pillsbury biscuit dough you buy in a can. I'm talking making the dough, letting it rise, cutting out the doughnuts, frying them, and then glazing them.

The dough really wasn't that hard. Though the recipe I used did call for a specific weight of flour, I had to guess how many cups the equivalent was. Beyond that, the doughnuts turned out okay, all things considered. And who can beat a fresh, warm, all natural doughnut in your hand? Tyler couldn't wait to eat them, and who can blame him - Like father like son.

My Return to Happy Valley

This past week I had the opportunity of returning to Provo for a recruiting event our firm held for BYU accounting students. We actually hosted a dinner for them at the Sundance Ski Resort. My itinerary gave me some extra time to wander through Temple Square (I planned it that way on purpose), so I took our DSLR camera with me to take some snapshots. I've included a few here (see the pane on the right hand side). I've been having some fun experimenting with our new camera but unfortunately didn't have as much time as I would have liked to play around with it.

On my way back through Provo Canyon that evening, I decided to take a detour up the mountain towards Vivian Park. It's this little area up in the mountains where you are away from the city lights with these towering peaks all around you and a clear night sky. This was where I had proposed to Jessica, so I had to make a quick stop to park the car and remember that night. To this day I am awestruck that she actually said "yes." Thanks, Jess!

Looking for good Indian food? Look no further...

When Jess and I were living in Provo and I was at BYU, there was this place across the street from our complex that had the best east Indian cuisine ever called the Bombay House. It is on the southwest corner of University Avenue and 500 West (kiddy-corner from the old Brigham Young Academy building). I have never had Indian food equal to theirs since leaving the area, so whenever I get back to Provo I always make it a point to stop by for a meal.

The minute you walk through the door, the aroma of burning incense hits you and you find yourself in a dimly lit welcome area. The sounds of strange music and a woman singing in a strange language fills the restaurant in a subdued volume. The restaurant is family owned, and everyone is of middle-eastern descent. One time I sat at a table near the kitchen, and I overheard the servers speaking to the kitchen staff in some middle-eastern dialect.

Anyway, the ambience is soft and conducive to quiet conversation with whoever you are with. The atmosphere makes you believe you stepped half-way around the world. Then there's the food (no menu necessary -- I already know what I want):

"For starters, I would like the Vegetable Samosa. Then I'd like as an entree the Chicken Coconut Kurma and Garlic Naan. To drink, I'd like a Strawberry Lassie."

I"ve had Samosas and Kurmas elsewhere, and it tastes like dirt compared to this place (except -- ahem -- of course, any Kurma or Samosa Jess makes). To get a real feel for how good the food is, you'd have to experience it for yourself. Even if you aren't big on Indian cuisine, you have to like this restaurant's food. A perfect date-night dinner.

Why did I study Accounting?

Because I don't really do it anymore. I write evaluations, create budgets, talk to clients, and put out fires. When I was younger, I never said, "When I grow up, I want to write evaluations, create budgets, talk to clients, and put out fires." Well, I did say I wanted to be a fireman, but that's missing the point. Actually, come to think of it, I didn't grow up wanting to be an accountant. Life hit me in college and I picked something that would pay my bills and provide opportunities for me outside work. But the fact of the matter is that my profession does not excite me (yawn). And with that, I'm going to bed.

Get me out!

I've finally decided that the width of my living room is the size of a single car garage. I can outstretch my arms and almost touch both walls of my kitchen. I can stand at one end of my apartment, and if I spit really hard, I bet I could hit the other end of my apartment. How am I able to house a four-person family here? The painful thing about it is I probably pay more for my monthly rent here than all of you homeowners do for your mortgage. I hear stories about how people look back at how destitute they were when they were first married and laugh about it. Yeah, I've been married seven years, have two kids, a college degree, making good money, and my standard of living hasn't increased since I left home 12 years ago. Prozac, anyone?

If it weren't for you meddling kids...

Anybody remember the old ScoobyDoo episodes we watched as kids where, after capturing the villain and pulling off his/her mask, they would always say something like, "And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids!"

Kids have a way of meddling in everything. Once kids come along, forget owning anything nice, and forget having a moment's peace. You have to have the patience of Job, the forgiving nature of a saint, and the astute and clever nature of a fox. They will push you into psychological realms you didn't think existed within you. And contrary to what you may tell yourself before you actually have kids, they will not listen to you (for futher insights on the complexities of parenthood, I refer you to Bill Cosby who eloquently illustrated the plight of parenthood).

Take my kids, for example. By and large, I think people would say they are cute kids. But in looking and interacting with them, you'd wonder how they were fruits of the same womb. Worlds apart. The parenting techniques that worked with the one have no effect on the other. And do not be fooled by the pictures of these sweet-looking, innocent faces. Beneath them are personalities of a devious nature that is certain to keep you on your toes.

Then there are the "Oh my goodness, I've become my father" moments. Just today, I heard repetitive loud banging against the kids' bedroom wall. I opened up the door and asked Tyler what was going on. After about 15 seconds of stammering on his part, I looked around him and decided to use deductive reasoning: "Were you throwing your football against the wall?" "Um, I, um... yeah." I then gave the speech I had heard a thousand times as a kid from my own father -- balls belong outside, our bedroom is not a playground, yada yada yada. We finally compromised and propped some pillows up in a corner so he could throw his football at them.

It's funny how when I envisioned my life with kids -- before they actually came along, my envisioned life was so much more orderly, organized, and stress-free. Everything was perfect. But then these two came along and threw a serious kink in all of my plans. I had everything planned out for my life, and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for these meddling kids.

Drivers Beware...

The greater Phoenix metropolitan municipal government, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to post speed traps throughout the valley to catch motorists exceeding the posted speed limit. I found this out the hard way when my friendly postman delivered my mail the other day.

The way it works is that hi-speed cameras are posted at designated areas with laser/radar guns. When your speed registers above the posted limit, the cameras take pictures of both your license plate and you the driver. Using the DMV database, a ticket is mailed to you with copies of your picture and a request to pay a fine.

The last speeding ticket I received was when I was in high school -- until this past week, when I was notified that I was being cited for speeding on I-10 in Mesa, Arizona, during my visit to family in the area. The speed limit was 55MPH and I was going 66MPH. It was NOT a construction zone (which begs the question as to why in the heck would the speed limit be only 55MPH on a multi-lane federal freeway???).

I am a Californian that lives in Orange County. Anybody living here knows that the speed limit here is more of a suggestion than a law. NOBODY here drives the speed limit (it is 65MPH everywhere in the city, 70MPH in the boonies). To keep up with the flow of traffic, you must go about 80MPH. I have passed highway patrolmen here going 75MPH. Nobody cares. So the fact that I was going 66MPH in Arizona shows my sincere attempt to obey the posted speed limit (I actually thought the speed limit was 65 until I received my ticket). They want to collect $175 from me.

The thing that bothers me most about this is that I didn't recall seeing any signs of photo enforcement in the area. Furthermore, I believe I should have the opportunity to explain myself to an officer and be confronted by a real human being. Or at least tell me that photo enforcement is in place. Plus, give me a break - 66MPH is nothing. Save the tickets for the real lawbreakers that speed down the freeway at 90MPH -- the ones with the whale fin on the back and the cherry bomb mufflers.

After considering my dilemma, I have applied probabilities to a variety of outcomes to determine the shortest time and money needed to make this go away. I have come up with the following two scenarios: If the ticket allows me to take online traffic school to avoid getting this on my driving record and reporting it to insurance, I will pay it. The time it would take me to contest this is worth more than the money needed to make it go away. However, if online traffic school is not an option, I will contest this ticket since I have little to lose, and the incremental cost to my policy over time plus the cost of the ticket would make it more expensive than the time it would take me to contest the ticket. It's a purely economical decision. Now read what my defense and approach is when I actually contest this ticket:

1. They sent me a letter asking me to respond by a certain date if (a) I am in the driver in the picture or (b) if I am not the driver in the picture, provide them the information and identity of the driver so another ticket may be sent to the appropriate driver. They are looking for a resopnse so they can prove in court that I had been "served" my ticket. Since I am obliged to respond, my choice will be (c) none of the above. Because the picture they sent is of poor quality, I will notify them that I am unable to determine who the driver is (whether it is me or somebody else) based on the picture, nor can I specifically recall that I was at mile marker whatever on I-10 in the date in question.

2. If after reading my response they continue to cite me, I will request a hearing in court. It will likely be a few months away. As the date approaches, I will request the manufacturer information of the equipment used to identify my speed, the specifications of the camera equipment used. I will do this because that equipment needs to be maintained and calibrated every so often. Then I will request the maintenance records of the municipality. I will then prepare an argument that since the equipment was not maintained exactly in accordance with the manufacturer's specifications, and given that the equipment has a posted margin of error, the speed I was cited for is inconclusive and cannot be relied on for my citation.

3. When the court date is about to arrive, I will request to postpone the date because I will be out of town, cannot make it to Arizona to appear, whatever. That will give me a few more months to let this fester. After I postpone it a couple of times, it will likely be upwards of a year since the original ticket was issued.

4. When I show up to court, the ticketing officer will need to be there. The burden of proof is on the city -- not on me. More often than not, the officer will not show up because (a) it's not worth the effort for a $175 ticket, as it would cost more to go to court to collect the money than it would to just let it go, or (b) the officer has since transferred to another department, moved, whatever, and is no longer available to appear in court, or (c) simply will not remember, recall, or have researched the matter and will not want to put forth the effort to appear so he won't show up. If the officer does not appear, my case will be dismissed. If on the off chance the officer does show up, I will present my evidence to the court stating that the picture does not clearly identify me as the driver and is inconclusive, the maintenance of the equipment cannot reasonably be relied upon, and ask that my clocked speed and photo not be admitted as evidence.

Hopefully my experience will serve as caution to any "foreigners" visiting the great state of Arizona. Not only do I not like Arizona for the heat and arrid, ugly countryside, but now I have another reason to hate going there. I'm telling you, if it weren't for family, I'd be fine never stepping foot in that brimstone-laden state again. If you have any suggestions to further solidify my approach or defense, let me know.