Through a Glass, Darkly

In honor of both Halloween and 30 Rock being back (yay!), I present you with this clip:

And I present the full song for your listening pleasure:

This was posted last week, so maybe you have seen it already, but here is a video from Gizmodo showing the Lego vault, where they keep almost every set that Lego has ever created. The post accompanying it is great, too–I feel the same way about Legos and still get them as presents from time to time. We had to take apart my Hogwarts castle in order to move, and it made me kind of sad. I don’t know what to do with all of my Legos, really, because we don’t really have a place to display them, but I don’t want to take them apart. I suppose I should just disassemble them and put them in separate bags with the instructions so that we can discover them again with our kids one day. If we never have kids, maybe I could just set up one room as a Lego shrine. I am sure Mike would love that.

I actually almost teared up watching the video. I spent a lot of my childhood playing with Legos. They remind me of Grandma’s house, my cousin David, and Christmas. All at once. Together, my brother and I had an awesome Lego town, complete with a house I built from spare Legos at my grandma’s house. He had a Robin Hood set, and we had a few of the knight sets. It was fun to have the knights guarding the town and other strange things. Joseph also had some space Legos, now that I think about it. I got especially excited when the video showed the pirate ship. I didn’t have the pirate ship, but I did have the Eldorado Fortress (I had to do some googling to figure out what it was called). It was definitely my favorite of all my Lego sets.

Mike’s nephew loves pirates and Legos, and I am so sad they don’t make the pirate Legos anymore. They were the best. Bring back the pirate Legos! (Mike’s nephew may be getting Indiana Jones Legos for his birthday this year. It’s never too early to indoctrinate him on the greatness of Indiana Jones. And Legos.)

Mike would like for me to tell you that he beat me at Trivial Pursuit. Which is fine. I enjoy a good friendly competition. My hat is off to him. He should definitely be proud. After all, while I was getting questions about Confederate generals (which I answered correctly) and retired NHL commissioners (which I did not), he was getting questions like the following:

What tune did Jim Weatherly originally pen as Midnight Plane to Houston?

Midnight. Plane. To. Houston. Yeah. He got a pie piece for that. How about this one?

What does the W mean to roving WLAN computer users?

W? Roving? What could that be? Certainly not wireless! Except, yes it is. Another pie piece for Mike.

What fraction of Africa’s rainforests can be found in the Democratic Republic of Congo?

Now, I know what you are going to say here. That could be a difficult question. But let me assure you, as we will discover in just a minute, the number questions are never really that difficult if you are thinking. Unless they are questions for Kari. And this was a question for Mike. And, indeed, the answer was . . . one-half. Another pie piece. This was one of his more difficult pie pieces.

What Democrat cringed in horror at his half-brother’s role in Pumpkinhead 2: Blood Wings?

I actually knew this one from my Quiz Bowl days. Mike guessed correctly, but I thought that everyone knew about Roger and his drug/alcohol problems. Obviously drugs and/or alcohol would lead to one making a movie called Pumpkinhead 2. Another piece of the pie for Mike.

Speaking of numbers and how they work in Mike’s favor, here is a nice little question:

How many winning seasons were fans of the New Orleans Saints able to enjoy, from 1967 to 1986?

Well, let’s see what we’ve got here. Really specific dates? Check. A team not historically known for winning? Check. That can only mean one thing! Zero! And, indeed, the answer was zero. Another piece of the pie for Mike. (Sorry, Scott, for bringing up such a painful subject.)

And, finally, my personal favorite question from this batch:

What U.S. State lost 30,500 hogs to 1999’s Hurricane Floyd?

Hey, Mike, remember when I was in college and there was a hurricane coming through North Carolina and we went to Kelly’s apartment for a hurricane party and then nothing happened to us and then Eastern North Carolina flooded and we felt awful about it later? You do? You mean to tell me you remember Hurricane Floyd hitting North Carolina? Dangit. I guess that’s six pieces of pie, now, isn’t it?

In our house, there is some debate about whether the final question should be selected before or after the card has been perused. Mike insisted that I choose beforehand. So I chose History, often a difficult category, and he got a question about a president of our country who was also, I kid you not, the founder of UVA. He won. But, you know, that’s cool. I’m not bitter.

If you need me, I’ll be on a midnight plane to Houston. (MIDNIGHT PLANE TO HOUSTON, YOU GUYS. HE GOT A PIE PIECE FOR THAT! HURRICANE FLOYD! I will have my revenge.)

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson
done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the
themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

—

Happy National Poetry Month!

Random House is re-releasing the Sweet Valley High series, with updated references (this means cell phones and Elizabeth writes for the website instead of the newspaper) and character descriptions (this means “perfect size four” rather than “perfect size six”). In honor of this glorious event, I would like to share a treasured photo with you. I had the Sweet Valley High board game, you see, and it was a point of contention between me and my dad. I am not completely sure about the details, but I am pretty sure that he did not approve of Sweet Valley High in general (though he did let me read them), and he wasn’t really a board game kind of guy. Card games, yes. Board games, not so much. And, finally, the game required that you steal other players’ boyfriends as you collected all the things you needed for your big date. There was no way he was going to play a game like that.

But. We had a habit of betting things for the Carolina/Duke game. At some point, we made a wager that, if Duke lost, he had to play Sweet Valley High: The Board Game with me. Duke did, in fact, lose that game. He had to play Sweet Valley High with me, complete with boyfriend stealing. And I took a picture of it. With my polaroid camera. Which I now share with all of you.

Stealing boyfriends from other players gave him physical pain. But I made him do it anyway.

Obviously, I was quite excited to read the updated version, if only to revisit good old Sweet Valley High. The Dairi Burger, a site that is rereading and reviewing old Sweet Valley High books, thinks that maybe the 80s yuppie culture won’t translate to today’s audiences. The site specifically talks about the obsession with the rich and how that won’t really translate to today’s youth . . . to which I say, “Have you SEEN how popular Gossip Girl is?” What is Gossip Girl about other than class issues and spying on the lives of rich people? And there’s the Clique series (rich private school girls) and the It Girl series (I don’t know what that one’s about, but I am going to guess people who are rich and/or famous), and . . . you get the idea.

In case you don’t know, the Sweet Valley High series features beautiful twins Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, who are 16 and attend Sweet Valley High with their beautiful friends. Jessica is the “bad twin,” who is inconsiderate and selfish and boy-crazy, while Elizabeth, the “good twin,” works on the newspaper (excuse me, website) and is responsible and considerate. (I always liked Elizabeth better.) They like boys and go to parties and there are hints of sex but nothing ever really happens. Well, this one time, Bruce Patman untied the top of Jessica’s bathing suit, which I found racy at the time. But now I look at the things going on in Gossip Girl, and the bikini top seems kind of tame. Because of that, I think it’s a good choice for middle school - it has the high school drama without some of the material that makes Gossip Girl and its ilk inappropriate for that age.

Because the girls at my school love the Clique series, I have read some of them myself, and I was bothered by the way the girls in that series treat each other. When girls ask for it, if it’s not checked in, I have been known to say, “Wouldn’t you rather read a series where the girls are nice to each other?” and give them The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants instead. Because of my discomfort with some of that, I wondered how Sweet Valley High would measure up now that I am a little bit older. After reading Double Love and Secrets, I have to say that they are pretty much just as I remember them. Though Jessica is catty and selfish and conniving, she often gets her comeuppance. Additionally, the presence of Elizabeth balances out the story a little bit more, and I would be much more comfortable giving these to my middle schoolers than the Clique series, where everyone is just mean to each other all the time.

I hope, as they are updating Sweet Valley High, that they give the series more diversity. The Dairi Burger was right in that one of the major themes was class, which was a little bit more applicable in the 80s . . . I hope that can be expanded so that the series also deals with race and ethnicity as well. Overall, though, I enjoyed this trip down memory lane. I enjoyed it so much that I got out the old board game.

Much to Mike’s chagrin. Well, that’s what he said at first, but then he got into the spirit of it. He played as Jessica, the “bad twin,” and he really embodied the character. He took what used to be a simple game and added some serious scheming.

OMG! He stole my boyfriend!

And, uh, then he won. I am filled with shame. I will distract you by posting that picture of my dad again, just because I can.

The rest of the Sweet Valley High pictures are here!

Seriously, you guys. I have confessed to a lot of quirks here. And those are just the entries in which I was specifically talking about quirks. I think we all know that I have revealed more strange/quirky things than that. Like that time I ate the mint chocolate chip ice cream to keep the peace, or the way I eat pizza rolls and popcorn for dinner when Mike is out of town, or how irate I get when Mike kicks his socks off in the middle of the night and leaves them in our bed. Or how I read while I dry my hair in the morning. Just, you know, some examples.

But, in the interest of friendship, even though Melissa is deserting me to move to Seattle (where, according to this movie I saw, people do not sleep), I will try to come up with seven more strange things about myself.

1. I do not like to answer my phone when I am at home. I like to talk on my phone in the car (I’m a hazard to myself). But when I am at home, I am kind of done with the phone. Usually I do answer it, because I am such a people pleaser. But I often do so with reluctance. (Except when YOU call. I always want to answer when YOU call.) (Please don’t take this personally, anyone. It’s my own issue with needing boundaries, not about not wanting to talk to anyone.) (Look what a people pleaser I am and how hard it was for me to confess that.)

2. My fingernails don’t break. They bend. Under extreme duress, they tear. When I was in middle school, I discovered that this really grossed some people out. I’m still not exactly sure why. And I can’t imagine what it would be like to have really brittle nails.

3. I’m not sure if I have ever talked about our engagement here . . . Mike and I got engaged without ever having been on an official date. Sometimes we discuss this and say things like, “We were so young. What were we thinking?” (In the best possible way, of course.)

4. Mike thinks it is strange that I call wool caps “toboggans.” He thinks that word is reserved for sleds. I also use it for sleds, but AS YOU CAN SEE HERE, MIKE, it is considered American English colloquial to use it that way. So, officially, this should probably not count as a strange thing. But it may garner some discussion, so I am going to leave it.

5. I have never read Of Mice and Men or The Grapes of Wrath. A student asked me the other day, about The Grapes of Wrath, “Was this book good?” and I had to confess to him that I had never read it. I don’t like to pretend that I have read something when I haven’t, because that’s dishonest, but it’s hard sometimes when people assume I have read everything. I have never claimed to have read anything. And, to be honest, there are authors a whole lot higher than Steinbeck on my list. (I did read The Pearl. In case you were wondering. It was fine.) Maybe one day I will post a list of Important Books I Have Not Read And Do Not Plan On Reading just to shock everyone and lose everyone’s respect. Good times.

6. Mike and I talk about poop an inordinate amount. That’s all I have to say about that.

7. It is quite possible that t-shirts are one of my primary love languages. This dates back to my two (TWO!!) Star Trek t-shirts that I wore, without shame, in middle school. I had dozens of band t-shirts in high school and college. And now I wear nerdy/bookish/librarian shirts. I have stopped buying t-shirts for Mike, and instead just send him the link to whatever t-shirt I would buy him except he has a drawer full of shirts I bought him already. Also, he said I am not allowed to buy any more coffee mugs.

I am not tagging anybody. “I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention.”

Yesterday the fragrance of baking filled our home. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Super Bowl weekend can only mean one thing: the Male Bakeoff approacheth!

Let’s review our Male Bakeoff experiences, shall we? The first year that Mike participated, he made a Chocolate Irish Cream Cake and won “Best First-Time Entry.” The second year, he made the infamous Foreskins Hill Cheesecake and won “Most Biblical.” And last year, he made Whore of Babylon Red Velvet Cake and won “Muy Macho.” How would he top those shenanigans? What would he make? And would he win anything?

Thankfully, I am here to answer your questions.

Mike had a hard time settling on a dessert or a theme this year. He made Cranberry Caramel Almond Tart as a trial run, and it was freaking incredible. Seriously. But while he liked the flavor, he wasn’t sold on the presentation, so he ultimately decided to go another direction. But I still expect him to make me that tart again. Because, oh my goodness.

Anyway, may I present Jesus’ Favorite No-Crumb-Wasted Pie. A peanut butter cup cheesecake pie. When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.”

Competition was stiff again this year, as expected.

As you can see, we are not so much about the Patriots at church. Go Giants!

Here is the table full of trophies.

And many of our friends walked home with trophies, including David, who won the “Weirdness Cup” for his “Holy Poop!” Dark Chocolate Bread Pudding, Peter winning “Judge’s Choice” for his Spit-in-the-Mud Mousse, and Matt, who won “Best in Show” for his Grizzly Cake (seen above). (There’s a whole ‘nother story about that, but I won’t get into it here.)

And, yet again, Mike walked home with “Most Biblical!” I mean, hello! If it’s Jesus’ favorite, who are you to argue!?

(Aidan was also a fan.)

Mike really played it straight this year, and his presentation was remarked upon by many people. I am really proud of him yet again. (Also, I am a happy lady because he made two pies, so there is one just for us!)

Let’s get one thing straight. Having a Roomba doesn’t make me lazy. I am a very busy woman, with a job and church commitments and also I am taking two classes this semester! Also, the Roomba gets under the bed. I never vacuumed under the bed. Our standard of living is actually higher now. (Okay, fine, I’m a little bit lazy. I don’t even care. Being lazy is awesome. A robot cleans my floors!)

By “our” I mean my standard of living and Mike’s standard of living, because Big Bunny? She HATES the Roomba. They are mortal enemies in her mind. When she is in the cage and we start the Roomba, she freaks out, as if she is being mistreated in some way. But when she is out of the cage and we start the Roomba, well, that’s when things get awesome, because she hops around, approaches Roomba, and then, when it turns to vacuum in her direction, as it inevitably does, she freaks out and hops away. Lather, rinse, repeat. Do they make Roombas for rabbit cages? Maybe that would win her over.

Speaking of how it turns around, seriously, I am a little bit frightened of the Roomba. Because no matter where I am in the room, that is where it decides that it needs to be. It always turns and comes STRAIGHT FOR ME. So Roomba either has some serious codependency issues, or it is plotting to kill me. You decide. I have this irrational fear of vacuum cleaners coming alive ever since I saw this one episode of Tales of the Crypt in which a vacuum cleaner SUCKED THE LIFE OUT OF PEOPLE. I like you, Roomba, but you stay away from me. At least one room between us at all times.

We want to name our Roomba, but we have had a little bit of trouble choosing a name. I keep saying that Roomba is a boy. Because a robot that cleans my floor, well, that sounds like a boy to me. But Mike says, no, Roomba is a girl, and he constantly refers to Roomba as “she.” Fine, if Roomba is a girl, I want to name her Rosie. But, no again, Mike says that’s too much of a cliche. Our Roomba has no name. And is of unspecified gender. Poor little Roomba.

I have to go now. I am going to watch him/her clean our floor again while eating bonbons. It’s a hard life, but someone has to do it.

Over the weekend, we flew to Florida for my uncle’s surprise 70th birthday party.

Now, when I tell you that we flew on a private plane to go to a surprise party at the yacht club, you know that’s not how my life normally goes, right? But it was nice to pretend that it was. What are you doing this weekend, Kari? Oh, flying to Florida in a private jet. What are you doing?

We stayed in a nice inn right in downtown Naples, which was fun. My huge disappointment, however, was that I thought we were going to have a suite, with me and Mike in one room and my mom and my brother in the other room. I spent many hours envisioning the pajama parties we were going to have: watching movies, teaching my mom to knit. That, I am sad to say, did not happen, because we were down the hall from each other. No one knows where I got the idea that we were going to be in a suite. Apparently I made it up. But doesn’t my brain sound like a fun place to be? Don’t you wish you could have gone to that pajama party?

Anyway, we ran errands and went out to eat and went to the party (he was very surprised, not least that we were there). And then on Monday, when we could finally hang out with my aunt and uncle, my aunt went with us to Cheeburger Cheeburger, because I was demanding hamburgers and onion rings. Don’t ask why. There is no reason. I just WANTED A HAMBURGER. We chose Cheeburger Cheeburger even though we know that their service is consistently appalling. Both of the locations I have been to in Naples have had terrible service. In fact, there were only about four tables that had people, which should tell you something. And there were at least five different people serving tables. But we still didn’t get our onion rings until we had almost finished our burgers. What were they DOING back there?

Anyway, as you can see from their menu, they have a 20 oz burger. And so begins our story.

Sometimes we all say things without thinking. I think this was the case when my aunt said, “Who’s going to eat the pound burger?” You would think she hadn’t met Mike and Joseph, both of whom can put away some food. Normally volume eating isn’t something she approves of, but since this she had asked, she couldn’t take it back. They were both up for it.

Joseph’s eyes frighten me here. He is seriously intense about that burger.

I stuck with a 7 oz burger. Because I am not interested in volume eating, and I have nothing to prove to anyone. (I can’t claim to be worried about my girlish figure, since I was like: ONION RINGS! MUST HAVE FRIED FOOD AND RED MEAT!)

Anyway, as expected, neither Mike nor Joseph had any trouble whatsoever devouring the burger. And also some onion rings. (And later that afternoon, they each had a bowl of ice cream. Joseph also had an ice cream cone. My mom and my aunt began to turn green just looking at them consume food.)

The good news, though, is that eating this large burger really means something. If you finish it, you get to wear a silly hat and also your picture goes up on the wall.

Wow, that face sums it all up, I think.

Still hungry, I see.

The great thing about these pictures is that you get to write a meaningful sentiment at the bottom to be posted for all to see. It’s practically the Pulitzer Prize of eating. You probably saw these pictures in the paper (how could such a momentous occasion not be written up in the paper?), but just in case you didn’t, let me repost them here for you.

Truly, it was a day to remember. Joseph and Mike achieved what mere mortals only dream of.

After that, to finish off the day, we drove around in our limo and drank champagne in our hot tub.*

(*We did not do either of those things. Instead, we flew home on the private jet. Why can’t that be enough for you?)

I don’t normally link videos, but these have given Mike his silly laugh, and that means they really should be shared.

First, we love our epic films. We’ll be going to see this ASAP. (HT: Alissa.)

And we are a little bit afraid of how much this actually seems like us. (Seriously. I don’t want to spoil the joke, but this morning we did actually go to the Farmer’s Market and then to brunch. Yikes.)

For her 30th birthday, my friend Melissa had a murder mystery party. I was an archaeologist who believed that hieroglyphics hold evidence that UFOs have come to earth. Here are some pictures from my expeditions!

Here I am with my friend Indiana Jones. Perhaps you have seen some of his documentaries. We went together on a trip to recover some artifacts. He’s just as nice as you would imagine.

Here I am at Stonehenge. That was a really great time for me, communing with the heavens and those not from our world.

Here I am with King Tut. This was my most recent trip to Egypt. Soon my work will be published and the world will understand the truth about these ancient writings and what they teach us about other planets.

And, finally, here is another picture from Egypt. It was a lovely trip.

Mike was an entomologist. Here is a picture of his costume:

Those are shorts that he had on. And also knee socks.

Here is a partial picture of my costume. I do not yet have on my glasses or my foil hat. But, behold my awesome bone! I got that bone at school. And check out my t-shirt. I had a fun time with this costume.

I don’t want to give away the ending, but, apparently, when I say that I will date anything, I mean that I will date anything. Even vicious murderers.

Here are Emily’s pictures. In which you can see my tin foil hat. I know that’s what you’ve been waiting for. (The one of my hat floating in the background makes me laugh very hard.)

Speaking of Emily, here she is with her husband John. I mean . . . here are Amanda the movie star and Bud the sleazy lawyer. (Amanda and my character had a few, how do you say, issues with each other.) Bud’s jacket/tie combo was a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

I had never done anything like this before, and it was very fun. People were in character and got into it more than I thought they would, which made things especially awesome. Like Emily (Amanda) telling everyone how awful I (Carly) was all night (which, to be honest, was basically . . . true. hee hee). We weren’t supposed to know about each other’s characters beforehand, but since I was helping Mike with his costume, I knew he was an entomologist. And I knew from the information that I was given that the entomologist and I were not going to get along. At all. Because the entomologist was a terrible person who had done something awful (conveniently, the entomologist didn’t know about the awful things that the archaeologist had done. Three words: Cask. Of. Amontillado.). We spent all day Saturday “arguing” about what a terrible person the entomologist was. I choose to believe that this only enhanced our scenes at the party. Happy birthday, Melissa. And also, can Mike and I send you our therapy bill?

(Special thanks to Brian for his photoshop skills. Those pictures were even more awesome than I dared to imagine.)

My dad would always change this “NOEL” to “EL NO,” so my mom set it up that way for him this year. Dwight approves.

For some reason, this one makes me laugh a lot. I think it’s the look on Dwight’s face (which makes no sense . . . he has the same look in all of his pictures because he is A PLASTIC BOBBLEHEAD) combined with the fact that he is slightly taller than Santa. Though he is much more fit.

I said, “You won’t be able to balance that on a bobblehead.” So then of course my brother had to.

Brooklyn Bridge Park.

Author’s note: Keep in mind that our upstairs heat is not working.

MIKE: It’s going to be cold in here in the morning.

KARI: You know what would be awesome?

MIKE: No.

KARI: If we got the coffeepot ready and then brought it up here so that, in the morning, we could turn it on while we were still in bed. Hot coffee while we’re still in bed!

MIKE: Really?

KARI: Yeah, what’s wrong with that?

MIKE: Sure, while we’re at it, why don’t we get a George Foreman up here? I enjoy having breakfast in bed. I like waking up to the smell of bacon, sue me.

KARI: That’s not really the same thing.

MIKE: Yes it is.

KARI: No, it’s . . . totally . . . different.

MIKE: No.

KARI: Oh my lord, I’m Michael Scott.

MIKE: Don’t expect me to help you when you burn your foot.

KARI: I will probably scald my hand on the coffeepot instead.

MIKE: I’ll have the plastic wrap ready.

Sweaters with apples on them: 1.

Sweaters with apples on them worn by me: 0. (I hope you knew this already.)

Times I sang the “Jeans Day” song this morning: At least 5. (I got to wear jeans! To work!)

Times before this week I have been jealous of Mike getting to wear jeans on Friday: However many Fridays there have been this semester, times 100.

Number of kids I gave copies of A Wind in the Door to: 2.

My happiness about getting kids to read Madeleine L’Engle: 1,000,000 times infinity. I use my powers for awesome.

Middle school books I am excited about reading: At least 20.

Things I broke: 0. (I think.)

Things I blew up: 0.

Things I accidentally set on fire: 0.

Number of kids I overheard saying, “She’s nice. I hope she stays.”: 2. (sniff)

Times I was asked, “And how old ARE you, anyway?”: 3.

Times someone said, “I’m sorry, I thought you were a student!”: At least 10.

Times someone said, “You look 15 minutes out of middle school yourself.”: Just 1.

Age I am: 28. I am 28, okay? hehe.

And, most importantly . . .

Times stabbed: 0

In an age in which fortune cookies are more likely to give lame advice than actual fortunes, my brother recently received what is, without dispute, the greatest fortune of all time. No, seriously. That’s not hyperbole. What did it say?

“God will give you whatever you want.”

Oh my gosh, you guys. It was his fortune! In a fortune cookie! That means it must be true! Now all I have to do is convince my brother that he wants good things for me, and . . . voila! I also get whatever I want! I bet you all wish you knew my brother. Well, I’m not sharing him.

We keep trying to convince him that he should play the numbers on the back of that one. They seem guaranteed to win. If that’s what he wants.

If bookstores and websites can put out books full of Harry Potter predictions, why can’t Mike and I get in on that game? Well, we don’t have a publisher, but other than that, why can’t we get in on that game? So, here is our giant post full of our best Harry Potter predictions. You don’t have to pay to read our post. And, when we are more right than all those books, we will laugh in their faces. Laugh, I say! And so, in no particular order, here are the predictions of Mike and Kari, sometimes with the added bonus of percentages that mean very little. You may notice that we don’t completely agree on everything. I should go ahead and confess that this post is less about gloating over Borders or MuggleNet, who would care very little. That’s right, it’s about eternal Harry Potter gloating rights. We’ll revisit this post after Deathly Hallows to see who is the most right.

Gentle reader, I desperately want to be the most right. But I am sure you know that about me already.

QUESTION: How many times will Kari cry?

MIKE: Twice per chapter.

KARI: Are we including the party? Because, embarrassingly enough, I have had to fight back tears at midnight when all the kids are cheering. Kids cheering! For a book! I love that! So, once at the party, three times during the book itself. And then, after finishing, for the rest of the day.

MIKE: Three times during the book itself? Know thyself! I amend your answer for you. Ten times at the very least.

QUESTION: How many times will Mike cry?

MIKE: Five. I mean this is it. The end.

KARI: Mike will only cry if something happens to Ginny.

Actual speculative discussion of theories and ideas below the cut. If you don’t like thinking about this stuff, beware. (But we don’t know any spoilers. It’s all speculation from the books and from things she’s said.)

(more…)

At least, not if you’re a librarian. Check out this Amazon review of Pride and Prejudice.

Would you rather hear about the M. Ward concert I went to last night, or the awkwardness I had at the grocery store this morning? Both? Really?

Okay.

I’ll start with the awkwardness. I am well-known for awkwardness at the grocery store, what with the apple-lanches and the having to ask tall people to get things off the top shelf for me. But today, today was the beginning of the tote bag revolution. I want to stop consuming so many plastic bags. So I took tote bags with which to carry home my groceries. (If you have tote bags you aren’t using, and you don’t want to join the tote bag revolution, will you please send them to me? I need more tote bags.) But let me get to that in a second. First let’s talk about how Mike hates certain scents so much that I had to stand in the dish soap section and sniff Palmolive until I could find one that I thought he would tolerate. Yes, that’s not embarrassing at all. Back to the tote bags now. I had several tote bags, and as I approached the cashier, I caught her eye and said, “I brought my own bags.” She . . . just kind of looked at me. And nodded. Now I am the crazy dish soap-sniffing, tote bag-carrying lady at the grocery store. Fantastic. When she started ringing up my groceries, she . . . put them in the plastic bags. So then I had to take them OUT of the plastic bags and put them in my bags. Not only do I sniff Palmolive, now I am crazy militant tote bag lady!

The cashier finally caught on to what I meant and started handing me my groceries for me to bag myself. She said that she had never seen anyone bring their own bags before. But . . . even Oprah is in on this bag thing! Surely I cannot be the only person at my grocery store who brings her own bags! (Apparently I am the only person at my grocery store who brings her own bags. And I only started today.) I told the cashier that I was trying to save the environment, and she seemed to like that. I also apologized for any inconvenience. I bet she will be telling people all day about the crazy militant tote bag (Palmolive-sniffing) lady. Oh, well.

How about M. Ward? Do you want to hear about M. Ward?

I am not the M. Ward fan in our family. In fact, I kind of have a problem with his voice. I have less of a problem than I used to, because Mike has worn me down. He has played M. Ward until my defenses collapsed, and there are times I almost think I like him. I KNOW! I hardly know who I am anymore!

Mike and Alisa went to see M. Ward back in September, but I didn’t go. This time, though, Mike insisted that I had to experience M. Ward live, so we drove to The Orange Peel in Asheville to see him. Here is the thing about me and Asheville. There’s part of that crunchy/earthy thing that appeals to me (see above, with tote bags). But I also like wearing makeup and tailored clothing. So I don’t think that I completely fit in in Asheville. Also, I like bathing. I decided last night that I am getting too old for the concert thing because I don’t like standing for that long, especially in a large crowd of unwashed people. Give me a concert with assigned seating, I say. Also, I like to go to bed much earlier than this concert allowed me to. Because I am old.

Since we were the first people in, we managed to score seats during the opening band. But we wanted to be closer for M. Ward, so we gave up our seats and made a move toward the stage. I should tell you that before and during the opening act, we entertained ourselves by playing games such as, “What in the world is she wearing?” “Look at that awkward first date,” and, “Why are there twelve-year-olds at this concert?” Did I mention that I am old? Because I am. So old. There were mere children at this concert. There were also women wearing tapered pants who should not have been wearing tapered pants. No one should wear tapered pants that look like that. Our favorite game, though, was, “Drunk or stoned?” The guy directly in front of us was, we believe, both.

So, finally, M. Ward came on to the stage, and we were really close to him, and he played really nice music. He is incredibly talented. AND! Most importantly, his voice didn’t bother me so much in concert. I felt kind of bad for being so close, because we were surrounded by people for whom the concert was apparently a spiritual experience. That was how into it they were. I, however, only knew a few songs. I was an interloper.

I think I would have enjoyed it more if he’d had the full band (especially because, without the band, he did not play “To Go Home”), but, at the same time, when he was the only one making music, it was easy to see how talented he is. I definitely came away with an increased appreciation for his music. I might even let Mike put his CDs on my iPod.

My favorite part was the last song, “Rollercoaster.” M. Ward said that he needed someone who could play piano to come up on stage with him. I think we all thought he was joking at first, so we all kind of stood around awkwardly. But then, finally, a guy named Brian made his way up to the stage and M. Ward taught him the part he needed him to play. I have long told Mike that we need to make sure our children, especially our sons, know how to play piano. I feel that this vindicates me, because every time Brian played the piano, the crowd erupted. The whole concert had a very intimate feel, not just because I was one person from the stage, and Brian getting to play the piano on stage is a perfect example of that. Good times for all.

Anyway, I am glad I went, even if it was a late night (I’m so old). I am sure Mike and Alisa can give you a better review of what was actually played, but this will have to suffice from me. I am very busy, you see, planning my next awkward adventure at the grocery store.

Mike and Trey dance with a pickle.

Luckily Brandi caught this moment (from the greatest day of my life) on film.

I’m currently reading Ken Jennings’ book (don’t look at me like that. How can I resist a book with blurbs from both Will Shortz AND A.J. Jacobs?!) and I’m enjoying it. It’s about his time on Jeopardy and also about the history of trivia, specifically trivia competitions. The two topics merge together well - people who would care enough about Ken Jennings (and Jeopardy!) to read his book are probably going to be the kind of people who care about trivia. It’s not, after all, the tale of his torrid affair with Alex Trebek. (I guess that’ll be his next book.) From watching the show, I knew he was a geeky sort of guy with a sense of humor, and that definitely comes across. He seems like a likeable guy.

Speaking of Ken Jennings, Glarkware (creators of many fine shirts) recently featured this shirt as one of their “Now or Never” deals:

I saw it, showed it to Mike, laughed, and promptly forgot about it. This week, though, Glark linked to a picture of Ken Jennings himself wearing it, which came from Ken Jennings’ own website. And to that, I say . . . HEE.

(And just because I can . . . here’s my favorite Ken Jennings moment. Again. I hope he mentions it in the book.)

Category: Catching Some “Z”s.

Thursday, September 7: $400

MIKE IN HIS BEST ALEX TREBEK VOICE: A swift, black and white equine of Africa.

KARI: ZELEPHANT!!!!

MIKE: . . .

KARI: WHAT IS a zelephant?

—

Friday, September 8: $1200

MIKE IN HIS BEST ALEX TREBEK VOICE: It’s the river that runs through Victoria Falls.

KARI: Hmmmmm.

MIKE: What is the Zile?

KARI: What is the Zississippi?

—

Saturday, September 9: $2000

MIKE IN HIS BEST ALEX TREBEK VOICE: It’s the cardinal number indicating the absence of any or all units under consideration.

KARI: What is zeven? No, what is zine?

MIKE: What is one zillion!

KARI: Zeven is a holy number.

—

I would just like to say that I know Mike doesn’t love his new getting-up-early schedule, but I like it. When we don’t get up at the same time, we don’t get to do the morning bathroom Jeopardy questions together. And clearly, morning bathroom Jeopardy questions are the best way to start the day. (What, like you don’t keep a Jeopardy calendar in your bathroom?)

KARI: What are you doing?

MIKE: I’m looking up what the principal at this school looks like, in case I see her tomorrow.

KARI: That’s smart. So you’ll be at the school tomorrow?

MIKE: Yes. Now I have to try to remember her name. Principal Brady.

KARI: You need a mnemonic device.

MIKE: I was thinking, Brady like the guy who was hurt when Reagan was shot. The Brady Bill.

KARI: Wow, that’s . . . a lot more complicated than I would have gone. Have you heard of a little thing called The Brady Bunch?

MIKE: I bet she doesn’t want GUNS IN HER SCHOOL.

KARI: I bet she is A LOVELY LADY.

MIKE: Look at this woman. Do I want to imagine her in day-glo bellbottoms? I think not.

KARI: Oooooooh, good point.

MIKE: The Brady Bill it is.

KARI: . . . Surely there is something better.

MIKE: Oh, I don’t know . . . what about that quarterback?

KARI: *gasp*

MIKE: You know, the really handsome one.

KARI: Take that back!

MIKE: What’s his name again? Oh, that’s right, TOM BRADY.

KARI: The foul besmircher!

MIKE: Is that really the appropriate insult?

KARI: Do not speak his name in our house!

MIKE: What, TOM BRADY?

KARI: Take it back, take it back!

MIKE: No.

KARI: We hates him! Take it back, precious!

MIKE: I should never have gotten you to start watching football.

KARI: TAKE IT BACK!

MIKE: Good grief. I take it back.

Much later.

KARI: What was the principal’s name again?

MIKE: Ummmm . . .

KARI: Principal Beaver?

MIKE: NO! Principal BRADY!

KARI: Yikes. Sorry about that.

MIKE: Yeah, thanks a lot.

KARI: You? Are so screwed.

I am notoriously bad at Scrabble. What I have figured out is that I am not great at games where there is a lot of visual information to take in, like Nerts or Scrabble. I can’t see all of those things at once. In Scrabble, that means that I create words that start or end with one of the letters on the board, because I can’t “see” it quite as easily when the letters are in the middle.

I also get really irritated when I suck at Scrabble, which is pretty much always. But, come on. If you had to put up with Mike turning your “CAT” into “CATASTROPHE,” you’d get irritated, too. (That didn’t actually happen, but it could have happened. Because Mike is excellent at Scrabble. Similar, equally humiliating things have happened. On a triple word score.) I have gotten so irritated in the past that Mike put a ban on Scrabble at our house. I don’t think we have played since the great ice storm of 2002.

An aside: the first time I remember playing Scrabble was with my grandma. I was probably in late middle school or early high school. My grandma does crossword puzzles constantly and watches Wheel of Fortune every day. She is good at word games. This game of Scrabble was momentous because it’s the first time I remember being utterly humiliated by my grandma in a game. She had stopped letting me win a long time before, but that game of Scrabble was the first time I remember that she didn’t go easy on me. It was not just a loss, it was a devastating defeat that shook my Scrabble confidence.

That changed this weekend, though. A few weeks ago, we bought a cute table to play games on, and we had planned to play Scrabble when Mike got home from youth camp. I am not sure what made him change his mind about playing Scrabble with me, but I was determined to do better, both in the actual game and in my sportsmanship. And so, on Saturday, after going to the grocery store and doing some laundry, we played four games of Scrabble, ate cheese nips, and forgot to make dinner. Here are some interesting facts about those games.

-Mike got the 50 point bonus for using all his letters in one turn. I have never ever gotten the 50 point bonus. (I didn’t even know there was a bonus for using all your letters.) The word, for the record, was “INERRANT.” The last “T” was already on the board.

-We do allow some use of the dictionary, mostly for checking the spelling of words before we play them, but occasionally to see if something is actually a word before we put it down. We are aware that these are not official Scrabble rules, but there’s something to be said for keeping the peace.

-The dictionary we use is the only dictionary we own - a Webster’s that my mom owned when she was in college. It’s always fun to threaten to challenge a newer word that could not possibly be in that dictionary.

-My favorite word that I made was “JIHAD.” Come on, that’s an awesome word. I should be commended for it. I turned Mike’s “HAD” into “JIHAD.” Brilliant. And the “J” was on a triple letter square.

-I got the Q every single time. I am now brilliant at Q-without-U words like “QAT” and “QAID.”

What you want to know, though, is whether I won. At least, I hope you are rooting for me a little bit. The good news is that I finally won the last game we played on Saturday, and won it by quite a lot. The bad news is that it was not a sustainable victory, because we played two more games yesterday, and I won one by two points and lost one by two points. Statistically, those games were a draw. I have not yet gotten to the point where I can pound Mike into the ground on a regular basis. And, let’s face it, I probably never will. But at least I am now spelling words like “JIHAD” and “QUARKS” instead of “CAT.”

I still get really irritated when I am playing badly, and there’s some debate about the way I play the board (Mike says I’m too concerned with making sure the board is opening up, which causes me to sacrifice points instead of letting it open up on its own), but I think there has been some improvement. If I don’t feel so completely insecure about my Scrabble playing (often fed by comments such as, “I would expect you to be better at Scrabble”), I don’t get so upset. So my one victory went a long way in helping me be a better Scrabble player. And Mike swears that he didn’t let me win.

Right after we got married, we noticed that some of our friends had a continuous Scrabble game going on on their coffeetable. That’s the idea we’re going for here, because our new table has little drawers we can keep our letters in. Of course, continuous Scrabble is going to require that we stop a game in the middle, and if this weekend was any indication, I’m not sure that we’re going to be able to do that. And, really, don’t you think balanced diets are overrated? Cheese nips are where it’s at. We’re feeding our minds instead.

On the way to my parents’ house last night, we were passing through Liberty, a small town close to where I grew up. As we were driving through downtown, I noticed a few dogs on the other side of the road. Suddenly, the four dogs darted into the road and into our lane! There were two big dogs and two small dogs, and they were all barking at us and standing in the road! Every time they moved from in front of the car, Mike would try to move forward, and they would run in front of us again. This happened several times for a couple of minutes. We honked the horn and kept trying to move, but nothing happened. The pack of wild dogs had surrounded the car! We were trapped!

As we sat there trying to figure out what to do, a line of cars formed in the lane behind us. Growing tired of our antics, first one car and then another moved into the turn lane and passed us! That’s right - not only were we surrounded by dogs, but no one cared! It was around this point that I looked at Mike and started laughing uncontrollably. I was afraid that he was going to be upset, so I tried to hide it. Luckily, he finally got free of the dogs and was able to proceed, and he started laughing as well. “We were just attacked by a pack of wild dogs!” I said in between hysterical laughter. “It was like Kujo!”

This, ladies and gentlemen, is one more reason I don’t like dogs. As I told Mike, I would have reached a point where I was like, “Hey, survival of the fittest!” and just driven on, hitting whatever dog was necessary to get out of there. I mean, we weren’t on a dirt road! We were in downtown! There was a turn lane! For the record, Mike says the only reason he didn’t hit them was because he didn’t want to hurt his car. And Mike loves animals. (He did say that if the dogs had started throwing themselves at the car like Kujo, he would have driven on regardless.)

My favorite part of this story was something I didn’t find out until later: When we were telling my parents, Mike confessed that, as the dogs surrounded the car, he reached over and locked his door. That was his natural instinct. I didn’t see this, so go ahead and imagine it with me: A pack of wild dogs surrounding the car, and . . . Mike reaching over to lock his door. Safety first. (Before you ask, my door was already locked. No need to worry about me.)

On the way home, I was secretly hoping that the pack of dogs would attack us again, just to make the story even better. “There’s a pack of dogs running wild in Liberty,” I would say. “The streets just aren’t safe anymore.” However, no such luck. Around the same place where we were attacked, I saw a single large dog standing in a yard. Mike didn’t think it was the same as the ones we saw before, so I’ve decided it was standing guard for the others, looking and listening for unsuspecting cars to attack. As we drove by, it ran to the back yard, no doubt to rally the rest of its gang.

On the 4th of July, I found myself standing by the side of the road (under an umbrella) watching two sets of fireworks go off, one to my right and one to my left. The car stereo was cranked up, patriotic music was playing, and, oh yeah, the two guys I was standing with had patriotic bandanas draped on their shoulders. For whatever reason, people driving by were looking at us kind of strangely. Go figure.

And that probably wasn’t even the weirdest thing that happened this weekend. After all, the setting off of fireworks is enough to make an entire city come to a screeching halt. We weren’t the only car parked by the side of the road, even if we were the only car on that particular road. One of the things I love about the 4th of July is the relentless pursuit of fireworks. People angling for the best spots, people camping out for hours beforehand. Why do people (except Dawn) love fireworks? Why do we drop everything to watch them?

Fireworks make me feel like a kid again, like the last day of school before summer break. Like catching fireflies by the trees at the edge of our yard. Like homemade ice cream at my grandparents’ house. Like I do on my birthday, which is one of the reasons that fireworks and I have such a great relationship. In middle school and high school, we stopped going to see the fireworks quite as much, but I am glad Mike has helped restore the tradition of cheesy music, patriotism, and angling for the best possible view.

You don’t care about any of that, though, do you? You just want to know what could possibly be more strange than standing by the side of the road blaring “America” by Neil Diamond while people drive by giving you pitying looks. There are a few candidates:

It could have been when my shirtless next-door neighbor offered to let me, Adriene, Andrea, and Alisa (Kari and the Three A’s) get in his hot-tub. We declined. Actually, I declined for everyone else, finished playing with sparklers, and told the other three when we got inside. Much squealing ensued. Which was exactly why I didn’t tell them when we were outside. Sure, we can mock him, but we have to do it in the safety of my four walls.

Perhaps it was the real fireworks that people in our neighborhood were continually setting off all weekend long, much to the chagrin of whoever lived next door to them (or so I gathered from the yelling). I remember people setting off fireworks at their houses, but never big real ones. It was especially exciting when one apparently went off while still on the ground, and the yard was sprayed with colorful sparks. There was an extra-special bout of yelling after that one.

But it was probably the proliferation of glowsticks (that almost kept Mike out of the amphitheater), American bandanas (that helped Scott make friends in Target and Mike make friends at the grocery store), and embarrassing dancing that took place at the Kelly Clarkson concert. I very rarely go out in public and act foolishly on purpose, but apparently Kelly Clarkson brings out that side of me. We sang. There was dancing and jumping. There was no way for people to know that . . . we don’t always behave like that. Nor do we always wear glowsticks to concerts. Or accost little children and demand to have our picture taken with their Kelly Clarkson posters. So I’m pretty sure that everyone around us thought we were a truly weird group of people who are freakishly obsessed with Kelly Clarkson. Hence all the, “KELLY CLARKSON, WOOOOOOOO!” yelling. Instead, I think we are a truly weird group of people who are mildly obsessed with Kelly Clarkson. And Adriene, the photographer who does not judge us. At least while we are in earshot.

Having been to see Coldplay with a similar group of people (Susan, that was supposed to make you feel sad twinges. Did it work?), let me say that the overall crowd was much more fun at this concert. And by “much more fun,” I mean “much less drunk” and “much less crowded.” Which made it much more fun. No drunk frat guys looking for diamond rings they dropped. Nobody walking through our huge pile of snacks. Just good times with friends and fun pop music.

Scott pointed out that the weekend was all-American: baseball games, American Idols, and, well, I didn’t make apple pie, but I did make peach cobbler. Close enough, right? I made flag cake! Surely that should count for something!

Last year after Birthday Weekend, I thought a lot about how great my friends are, and the only thing I can do this year is repeat that sentiment. I had such a great time this weekend - my only regret is that there weren’t more hours in the day so there could have been more sleeping. But there was so much I want to remember about this weekend - the quiet night in with the girls where we played with sparklers and talked. Going to church with Scott, where we had an excellent discussion about Elizabethtown. The cookout that was attended by so many people I care about and who care about me, which made it much more fun than stressful. Seeing different parts of my life integrate pretty successfully (but how could they not when two adorable little girls were involved?). The s’mores we made as we initiated our new fire pit. Shopping with Dawn and Adriene. Going to Target for snacks (per our concert tradition). The sheer volume of fun of seeing Kelly Clarkson with a bunch of 13-year-olds. Taking Adriene to the airport (and being hungry for pizza at 8am). Watching The Office with Scott and Mike (Dawn was asleep) while baking a cake. Yelling “WAFFLES” with friends who don’t think I am ridiculous for doing so - and having Adriene on the phone when the Waffle House Strikeout Victim actually struck out. And wrapping up the weekend by watching fireworks by the side of the road. It went by so fast, and I’m so glad there are pictures to tell parts of all the different stories that took place. I’ve sort of gotten to the point that this entry has said all I can say right now, even though it’s not everything that could be said by any means.

Mike asked me what I was going to title this post, and I said, “Just ‘Birthday Weekend 2006.’ Should I subtitle it something like ‘This much fun is impossible to top?’” And Mike’s face suddenly looked both happy and sad, and he said, “Yeah, I don’t know if we ever will.” Thanks to all of you who came and made it such a fun time, or sent supplies and presents or called or just enjoyed the many pictures. You are greatly appreciated.

KARI: At work today, they said my eye looked better.

MIKE: Really?

KARI: Yeah, you don’t think so? It’s a little red, but that’s because of my cold.

MIKE: Oh, the redness is better. It’s just more purple underneath.

KARI: My makeup has worn off.

MIKE: It looks like I hit you.

KARI: That’s what I tell people.

MIKE: Well, I made the stuffed pablano peppers for dinner, and the sauce will help open your sinuses.

KARI: Great! Let me taste!

MIKE: Just get a little. It’s really spicy.

KARI: *tastes* Wow! That’s good. It’s really spicy!

MIKE: I know. I’m surprised at how spicy it is.

KARI: But the rice will cool it off.

MIKE: There’s a lot, too. This is supposed to be for four peppers.

Later, while eating dinner.

KARI: This tastes really good. But . . . I like spicy things. I don’t know how you’re eating it.

MIKE: It’s not that spicy.

KARI: Right. *gets more water*

More time has passed.

KARI: So, on the recipe, did it say it was going to be this spicy? Did it have lots of flames or chili peppers next to it or something?

MIKE: No.

KARI: I didn’t know that chipotles were this spicy. Can I look at the recipe?

MIKE: Yeah, it’s in the book over there.

KARI: It doesn’t say it’s this spicy. That’s so weird.

MIKE: *gets refill*

KARI: Will you bring me a tortilla or something so I can cool my mouth off?

MIKE: That’s a good idea.

KARI: I’m just surprised . . . hey, Mike?

MIKE: Yeah.

KARI: How many chipotles did you use?

MIKE: How many does the recipe call for?

KARI: One canned chipotle in adobo sauce.

MIKE: One canned?

KARI: Yes.

MIKE: Not one can?

KARI: Oh, my.

MIKE: …

KARI: How many did you use?

MIKE: *gets can out of trash, laughs uncontrollably*

KARI: HOW MANY DID YOU USE?

MIKE: 18.

KARI: *cackles*

MIKE: I didn’t actually read the recipe. I just used the stuff I bought.

KARI: Well, this has been a very informative meal.

MIKE: There’s a big difference between one can of peppers and one canned pepper.

KARI: My whole mouth is burning.

MIKE: But are your sinuses open?

KARI: My sinuses will never close again.

MIKE: We’re going to have to pour it out.

KARI: I would like to disagree with you, but . . . I’m dying.

MIKE: Farewell, spicy sauce.

KARI: We can use salsa on the rest of the peppers.

MIKE: I really like chipotle flavor.

KARI: It’s kind of hard to tell the flavor when your taste buds are being scalded.

MIKE: Don’t touch your eyes. Now my mouth and my eye are burning.

KARI: This was a dangerous dinner.

MIKE: You’re going to write this up, aren’t you?

KARI: I think people need to know. For safety.

MIKE: Read the recipe. Learn the difference between “can” and “canned.”

KARI: Your mouth will thank you.

KARI: Where’s the guacamole?

MIKE: It was turning brown on the top.

KARI: Sooooo?

MIKE: . . .

KARI: So, where is it?

MIKE: I ate it.

KARI: All of it?

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: You ate the whole container of guacamole?

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: The whole container? That my aunt flew up from Florida?

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: The whole container that my aunt flew up from Florida for both of us to share?

MIKE: It’s the only thing I had to eat today.

KARI: I didn’t even get to taste it.

MIKE: You don’t like guacamole.

KARI: Yes I do! I introduced you to guacamole!

MIKE: It was in the house at least . . . eight hours. You had your chance.

KARI: I was sleeping then! We brought it home last night!

MIKE: And then you left me alone with the guacamole.

KARI: And then I went to work! To make money!

MIKE: I have lost weight since yesterday. The guacamole diet. Just eat chips and guacamole, and you, too, can lose weight.

KARI: What about cholesterol?

MIKE: My diet is for those Hollywood stars who don’t care about cholesterol. They only care about being thin.

KARI: I am pretty sure that your diet is not going to make anyone thin.

MIKE: Look at the scale. You can’t argue with results.

KARI: You are trying to distract me. But I will not forget that you ate the whole container of guacamole. And I got none.

MIKE: You snooze, you lose.

KARI: I was sleeping, yes, but I don’t think I should be penalized for sleeping at night instead of eating guacamole.

MIKE: Those are the rules.

KARI: Did you eat all the salsa, too?

MIKE: No. You like the salsa.

KARI: I LIKE THE GUACAMOLE, TOO.

MIKE: I thoughtfully left you the salsa.

KARI: Did you have any?

MIKE: No.

KARI: If you eat my salsa, I will cut you.

MIKE: It’s just food.

KARI: Says the man who ate an entire container of guacamole.

MIKE: It went really well with the piece of cheese I stole from your bag.

KARI: . . .

MIKE: Please don’t cut me.