Why do scientists try to disprove miracles?  So a scientist comes up with a plausible theory for how Moses parted the Red Sea.  So what?  God created science.  Why wouldn’t he follow His own rules?

10.  I’ve had friends who’ve lost their jobs.  That sucks.  Having been laid off (ironically, when the economy was good), I know the frustration that comes from working so hard  just to find work.  It’s exhausting.

9. I don’t have the luxury of turning down freelance jobs.

8. Two and a Half Men is still on the air.  (To be fair, this is something I hate all the time.)

7. I started shopping at Walmart.

6. I don’t buy DVDs and download music as much as I used to (this may turn out to be a good thing).

5. The crappy economy is putting a damper on some things I really want to do.  Life goals and that kind of stuff.

4. Even though I lean to the left politically, In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if the government bailout will actually make anything better.

3. There are so many books I want to buy (and, thusly, read), but I hate library books.  I have no idea who’s been touching all those books, and how many of them were taken into the bathroom.  I can’t handle stuff like that.

2. Smaller-sized grocery items.  I know that everything’s a little more pricey these days, but I would GLADLY pay the little extra for the same size carton of orange juice or box of cereal than to pay the same price for a smaller portion.  I feel like the food manufacturers are trying to trick me.

1. I may never get a new pony.

Despite the fact that the groundhog Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow yesterday morning, we all have reason to celebrate: February is the last month of winter.

Sure, there may be snow storms in March, but everyone knows that by the end of February the bitterest cold has run its course.  No longer does the snow melt during the day and refreeze at night, crystallizing it like asymmetrical piles of rock salt.  No longer does it take my whole commute for my car to warm up.  And no longer does the sun set at 5:30.  (It sets at 6.)

February is a short month, which means even if it’s not the official end of winter, we get to it much quicker.

February is also the month where I begin to exercise more.   I consider myself a runner–albeit a doughy, sluggish one–and in January I am more inclined to stay under my warm covers than I am to put on a t-shirt and shorts and carpe the diem.  It’s very easy to blame my girth on January, but February is a brief, 28-day reminder that Spring is right around the corner, and now is the time to get back up to running four and half to six miles.

January is like the roommate you can’t stand, and instead of fighting him/her, you cease communicating directly and vent all your frustrations to a third party, patiently suffering in silence, waiting for the day when one of you moves out.  February is that other roommate who moves in and is exponentially better if for no other reason than he/she is NOT January.  (By contrast, May and June are those roommates you instanly click with but don’t stay long enough.  But you’re just so grateful that you got to know them.)

February has Valentine’s Day, the only holiday that is either loved or hated.  (Do you know anyone who feels indifferent towards it?)  Either you love it because you have somebody to love and you buy into the whole card/flowers/classy dinner thing (simply because you can!), or you hate it because you have no significant other and you bemoan how Hallmark created the holiday for their own sinister, moneymaking purposes, spending the day bravely and defiantly wearing your disdain on your sleeve.  Either way, chances are you’ll end up watching a chick flick before you call it a night.

President’s Day is the nifty smooshing of Lincoln and Washington’s birthdays into the second Monday of February.  It’s like those people whose birthdays are right around Christmas and only get one present with a “Merry Christmas & Happy Birthday” card attached.  Yeah, it’s kind of lame, but at least it’s better than nothing.

In conclusion: February isn’t my favorite month by a long shot, but it’s filled with promise of better things to come.  And you have to appreciate a cold month that knows not to overstay its welcome.

I make no apologies for hating January.  It’s a cold, dreary and gross month.  But now we’re on the tail end of the month, and there are a few things that have made this month bearable.

1. President Obama’s inauguration. I was very happy to watch it on tv, in the warmth and comfort of my apartment.

2. 30 Rock. It’s my favorite show, and I never shut up about it, but this month I have so looked forward to Thursday nights.  I need a good laugh to stave off January, the life-sucking death month, and 30 Rock delivers.  A genuine thank-you to Tina Fey.

3. Good roommates. Sometimes you’re stuck with weirdos, a-holes, d-bags, ghosts (those roommates you never see, but suspect they’re real because you’ll find their laundry still in the dryer or dirty dishes in the sink), “insense burners” (read: pot smokers) or a one-in-a-billion doozy (like the one roommate I had who ate boiled horse feed–this is not a joke).  But sometimes you’re stuck with people you genuinely get along with.  My roommates and I hover at the same level of nerdiness, which leads to long conversations about how much better Pixar is than DreamWorks, Why Labyrinth would make a better video game than it did a movie, and what went wrong with Battlestar Gallactica.  (Confession: I have never seen an episode of BG, but I can BS my way though a conversation about it.)  And, in our defense, if there were females that wanted to have these conversations, I can guarantee we’d have them with the ladies.

4. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. A friend of mine recommended it last summer, but I only recently bought a copy.  A phenomenal read.  I can’t put it down.  It’s the story of a Baptist missionary family sent to the Congo in 1959 to convert the locals.  Nothing goes as planned.  It’s simultaneously thrilling and devastating.  (I also like it because it takes place in Africa.  It’s warm there.)

5. Writing. I wrote a screenplay last year, and it’s being produced right now.  It’s a Christmas movie.  It’s kind of neat to know that a film crew is shooting a movie that I wrote.  (Not so neat when they shoot at my office and steal my desk while I’m away editing commericals, forcing me to sit on the floor to use my computer.)

6. My dad’s dog. Indy is a yellow lab with a hook tail (read: unbreedable).  I don’t judge him because I have monstrous calves and I haven’t bred, either.  He’s such a good dog.  I wrote a dog into my screenplay, and Indy got to be the dog in the movie.  And believe it or not, that makes me want to watch the finished product more than anything else.

7. The GF. She comes home soon.  Time has not flown.  If you’re on the waiting end of a mission, every day is like watching paint dry.

8. Disneyland. I went for the first time last year.  I’m not planning to go anytime soon, but I sure like thinking about it.

9. The Dark Knight. I’m finally going to see it on the IMAX this weekend.  And I finally bought it on DVD.

10. My friend Shay to the LA. Her laugh is infectious.  And easily imitatable.  Which makes her laugh even more.  Oh, and she’s also a good friend.  I think she should marry Batman.

I have decided that this summer I will move out.  I no longer want to live with roommates.  Don’t get me wrong–roommates can be great–but I’m at that phase on my life where I need to live on my own.  Part of living on my own is acquiring, as a  friend once put it, the trappings of permanence: furniture, appliances; you know, stuff.

My sister called the other day to let me know that she and her husband were getting rid of their old couch, and that if I wanted it I could have it.  I didn’t have a place to put the couch (summer’s a ways off, FYI), but my sister successfully convinced my parents to allow me to store it in their garage for the next few months.   All I had to do was move it, and my brother-in-law offered to help me get it out of their house and into a truck he had lined up for me to borrow.

I had come straight from work to my sister and brother-in-law’s house, so the clothes I wore were not really ideal for moving.  But I didn’t really see this as an issue.  All I had to do was move one couch.  No big deal.

Getting the couch out of the house was tricky, but we managed.  Loading it into the back of the truck, however, is where things (well, really, just one thing) went awry.

Hopping onto the bed of the truck, I heard a riiiiiiiip! It was then I realized that I had torn a hole in the crotch of my pants.  This alone is bad news–especially because I had just bought these pants not even two months ago–but things got worse: every riiiiiip! move riiiiiiip! I riiiiiip! made riiiiiip! caused riiiiiiip! the riiiiiip! to riiiiiip! get riiiiiiip bigger.  By the time I arrived at my parents’, the hole now spanned the top of my zipper all the way to my knee.

So you see, kids, I might have saved hundreds of dollars in acquiring some life equity, but lost my pants in the process.  Nothing in life is free.

One of the best things about getting older is the ability to refine your personality.  I look back at the person I was even five years ago, and I clearly am not the same.  I’m better.

My likes (chunky peanut butter!) and dislikes (Two and a Half Men!) are my own; the older I get, the more I realize that my predilection (and, conversely, my antipathy) towards certain things has formed because I like or dislike them, not necessarily influenced by parents, friends, media or nationality.

Which brings me to the point of this post: I hate winter.

I hate winter despite that Utah, the state where I live, has “Greatest Snow on Earth” on its license plates.  I hate winter despite the fact I was born and raised in Canada.  I hate winter despite numerous Christmas specials praising the magical qualities of snow.  (Case in point: that one song in White Christmas: “I want to wash my hands, my hair and face in snow.”  What the hell?)

People think that because I’m Canadian that I should have some natural affinity for winter living.  They are wrong.  When you grow up with six months of winter and then move to a more temperate climate, where each season is more evenly measured, it’s like God answering a prayer for something you didn’t even know you needed.  (There wasn’t a single Halloween where I didn’t wear my snowsuit underneath my costume.  Try being bundled up like Randy from A Christmas Story and then put on your Superman outfit.  It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.)

And now that I am acclimatized to living over a thousand miles south of where I grew up, I have come to realize another preference: I like being warm and I love sunshine.  I lived in North Carolina for two years, where summertime is the soggy season, a mishmash of heat and humidity that forces one to perspire with little or no effort.  The summers here in Utah can be oppressively hot, too, but it’s a dry heat.  (Driving with the windows rolled down in July is like charging through the path of a giant hair dryer.)   I recall family weekend getaways to St. George, right on the Utah-Arizona border, hopping in the pool and then lying in the grass, sopping wet, hoping the sun would dry me out like a sponge on a kitchen counter.

One of my favorite, favorite things is to sit outside in the evening in a lawn chair and watch the sun set, seeing the menagerie of oranges, pinks and purples swirl in the sky into the deep dark blue of night.  With or without clouds, a sunset is a beautiful sight.  Like snowflakes, a sunset never repeats itself.

Those memories, and the anticipation of the summer that is surely to come, is what gets me through the bleak winter nights that begin before dinner and last until breakfast.

I often hear people say how pretty snow looks.  And yes, there is a magical quality to a spot of land untouched by shovel or plow.  But in my opinion, a postcard is just as effective.

I should probably live in California or Florida.

1. I hate it when my roommate plays Rock Band.  It’s too dang noisy.  I made a rule he can’t play past eleven.

2. I willingly eat Raisin Bran.

3. Despite having a full head of super thick hair, I am constantly worried about losing all of it.

4. I have no idea who Lil’ Wayne is.

5. I no longer have the energy to perform two shows in a row at ComedySportz.  And I’m usually cranky during the second show.

6. I listen to NPR, partly because I actually enjoy their informative programming, but mostly it doesn’t have all that annoying interstitial noise between songs.

7. I watch TV Land far more than I care to admit.

8. I’m always cold.

9. My current dream is to be a contestant on The Price is Right.  And win furniture.

10. I came up with ten things about myself that make me feel old.

I don’t usually make a big fuss over the new year.  I hate January.  It’s 31 days of cold and dark.  Celebrating January is akin to little kids who get excited for the first day of school: the novelty wears off much faster than you anticipate.

I’m also not big on New Year’s resolutions.  (I’m just fine the way I am.)  It never fails that every time I resolve to do something (whether it be New Year’s or not), God gets out his irony stick and starts a-swingin’. Except this past Christmas I weighed myself, something I haven’t done in a long time.  To my surprise (not really), I was six pounds overweight.  (Those of you who know me probably don’t think I’m overweight.  The bulk of you have never seen me shirtless, so your ignorance is my bliss.)  So I made a resolution to lose some weight in 2009.  Which meant I indulged the last week of December.

But come January 1, I said to myself, I’m running three times a week.  And not eating junk food.  Or fast food.  Or sweet, nourishing, delicious Pepsi.  And absolutely NO candy.

I woke up this morning (late, of course) and went running.  I’m not an avid runner, but in 2008 I ran two 10K races, so I know I’m capable of doing it.  Once cold weather hits, however, I shun the outdoors and dream of spring.  But I decided to summon some testicular fortitude and run my old 3 mile route in the snow.

Whether it be my out-of-shape-ness or my extra girth (or both), I found myself taking a short cut halfway through the run.   (I’ll blame my bad knee.) 2009 is off to a good start.

As some of you may know, I am eagerly awaiting the return of my girlfriend from her mission in Argentina.  (She’ll be back  in a few months.)  I was surprised, upon coming home from my “run,” that my GF’s mission president’s daughter called to tell me she had a package for me from her.  Forty-five minutes later, I had the package in my possession, very grateful that this complete stranger to me had traveled to Argentina to visit her father and was friends enough with my GF to cart a package for me in her luggage.

I open the cardboard box–it wasn’t even taped up!  And what did she send me?  Argentinian candy.  And lots of it.

Good eye, God.

I’m new to blogging.  I started my first blog, yikbo.com, seven months ago.  I write movie reviews.  (In seven months I’ve posted over 60 reviews.  Jealous?)  I love my blog.  It’s hard work writing about movies all the time, especially since I’m not a professional film critic.  (In fact, I’ve seen something like six theatrical releases over Christmas and I haven’t posted about a single one of them.)

I had been contemplating a second, more personal blog, but hadn’t done much with the notion except stake out this domain.

This evening I went to a movie and ran into an old friend.   In conversation she brought up my movie blog, but says she didn’t really care for it.  She said she’d read a blog about me, not what I watch.  I didn’t know how to take that–I work really hard writing reviews, and I kind of like the impersonality of being an anonymous critic.  But I could see her point.  Maybe I really am more awesome than I think I am.  (60% joking.)

So here it is.  I promise nothing.