Hold Your Breath

A video of Kawehena:

A Note from Utah

I haven't had an original thought for a while, so I'm posting an e-mail my father sent:

I hiked up Timpanogos Mountain with my son-in-law, Barry, my daughter, Keiko, and their children. We only went as high as Timpanogos Cave, which has some unusual stalactites and stalagmites. The cave is reached after a climb of about a mile and a half from the ranger station, and a vertical ascent of about 1200 feet. The climb is roughly equivalent to walking up the stairs of the old World Trade Center buildings from the lobby to the observation decks, but doing so along a narrow switchback trail at cliff's edge.

I felt proud of my accomplishment, having reached the cave entrance without having a heart attack. However, just as I was about to return from the cave, I spotted a young Hawaiian boy nearly at the top of the climb, having done it on crutches.

Farting rocks.

Everyone farts. We're human, its just what we do. We know how relieving it feels to just let one rip, and we also know how uncomfortable it can make you if you really have to fart but can't, say because you are in public, or in the company of others whom you do not feel comfortable farting around. Heres our story:

Dave and I have been together for almost 2.5 years, and for the majority of that time we couldn't fart in the company of the other person. In the beginning it was bad. When I moved into Dave's small (but nice) Manhattan studio apartment, I was very self-conscious, even in the bathroom. I couldn't make #2 with him in the next room, for fear of odd sounds and the inevitable waft when I opened the bathroom door. He was the same way. Luckily, our work schedules conflicted just enough to allow for the requisite alone time in the apartment to "handle our business" so we weren't completely full of sh**. But it soon became ridiculous and our bodies were very disappointed, so in this regard we quickly overcame the shame of our humanity. The bathroom became the flatulence etc. sanctuary--anything goes!...as long as it stays in the bathroom.

Yet despite our breakthrough with the bathroom, we still had the problem of farting in front of each other. Or not farting, as it was. Admittedly, there was progress: overtime it went from zero farting in front of the other, to running to the bathroom to fart, even in the middle of LOST (ok, this was just me), to farting just when you knew it would be silent (and praying it wasn't violent). For two years our routine went like this.

And then Dave proposed.

Immediately it became apparent that if I was going to be with this guy for the rest of my life, I would need to learn to fart in front of him. So I let one rip. And then I said "yes."

Nah, just kidding. I didn't do that. But wouldn't it be funny if I did?

When Dave and I arrived in Hawaii--exhausted yet happy--our lives took on a different set of priorities. I don't know whether it was the engagement or the environment, but suddenly, farting in front of each other was no big deal. Now, it happens all the time. And we are much happier and healthier because of it.

Moral of this story? Don't marry 'em until you can fart in front of 'em.

Irreverance of the Day

In The. If you were to say the words, "in the" twice every second, 10,000 times, it would take you 83 minutes. That being said, how often do you suppose the phrase, "pain in the butt" is used on any given day across the country? 10,000 times? 1,000,000 times?

So, why is it acceptable to say "pain in the butt," but not, "butt pain"? Like, "she's being such a butt pain." It's exactly the same thing. In fact, it's better. It's 50% shorter. If everyone started saying, "butt pain," the US economy might see an increase in productivity.

Just a thought.