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Hopefully I won't die tomorrow

Aspen is still stripping down to her diaper and hunching in a fetus position, uncovered on her bed at night. Ariah is still running around the house like a mad woman and inventing silly games. Teresa is still suffering from bizarre ailments, the latest of which is neck and back pain. We tried in vain for a good hour to pop her back tonight. And I … I’m living my work-Dad-musician schedule like a robot. On my way to work this morning, the left windshield wiper went out. During a snow storm. While cars were splashing water all over my windshield. Hopefully I won’t die tomorrow.

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I don’t actually have anything to write about donkeys. However, Teresa is feeling sick. Aspen still strips in the night. Ariah is still bursting with boundless bounciness. And I … ah, me. Yes, that bottomless mystery of self. What of me? What am I? What are you? Why are you? But this isn’t about you, it’s about me. I am a boy. I’m not a squirrel or a bird orĀ  a fish. Sometimes I like to crawl up the walls like a spider. But I’m not a spider. I do like fluffy rabbits, however. Not real rabbits, that is. Sometimes I see women in the mirror. But only when they’re standing behind me. Other times I drink beer. Root beer. And thus ends the Chronicles of Cardiac the Crocodile Cretan. To learn more, please visit Or just visit your local barber. Ask for Dave. And remember, never eat soggy waffles.

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Phantom of the Opera – late night sessions

Teresa and I saw Phantom of the Opera at BYU. There’s nothing quite like being in a theater with blasting organ music sending vibrations over your body, epic lighting, and a magical, flying chandelier. The delivery of the performers was too melodramatic for my taste, but it was an incredible production nonetheless. The climax brought tears to my eyes.

Tonight we spent a few hours recording. It seems that the only way to really record a song is in the wee hours of the night. You can try to do it during the day, but it always takes longer than planned, and there’s something about the peace and quiet of the night that facilitates not only progress but brilliance. Though this is assuming you can get beyond the initial crash that hits the body around ten o’clock.

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Daddy-daughter date

Today I took Ariah on a daddy-daughter date to BYU’s Museum of Fine Art. There was a pretty cool exhibit on modern superheroes, supervillains, and monsters. There was also a fifteen-minute video project of an 8 bit Mario world in which the original NES Super Mario finds himself in a decaying, messed up video game world where characters and images are all displaying incorrectly, and he goes on a depressing journey. It brought me back to the magical trippiness of a malfunctioning NES in the 80’s, though I could only take so much of the video. Ariah told me she wants to be a chef when she grows up, and she’s going to practice in her play kitchen. I told her she aught to practice in the real kitchen, but she insisted that the play kitchen would be more adequate for her training.

For the latter half of the day, I orchestrated a remix of the theme from Queen of the Flies.

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Crazy girl

Our little Aspen is a strange sleeper. After she’s been in bed for an hour or so, I go in to check on her and almost always find her body turned ninety degrees, completely uncovered. Lately she’s added a new quirk to her arsenal of toddlerisms. She’s learned how to take off her clothes. So now not only do I find her fast asleep at ninety degrees, completely uncovered, but completely naked save her diaper. To compound the situation … it’s January, and it’s really cold at night. Crazy girl.