GOOGLE ME HAPPY!!! (iphone webkinz tmz transformers youtube club penguin myspace heroes facebook anna nicole)

This post is dedicated to the dashing, beautiful, capable, Immigration-hatin', budget-balancin', Republican Rico Suave, Jason Chaffetz. May the rest of us one day aspire to be as awesome as you tell us you are.

After adding a little widget called SiteMeter to the BWP, I noticed something interesting:

Most of my foreign blog visitors (alright, anybody coming from outside the Northern Utah Area) were being fed into Boyd Where Prohibited not because of the wildfire-like word of mouth that's spreading across the English-speaking world. It's not because of the crazy-good quality of writing that pervades the walls of this thing. Sadly, it's not even because of other bloggers linking to me.

Nope, most visitors get drawn in because of the titles to either one of two stories:

"We Heart Penguins"


"Stephenie Meyer Sucks the Blood Out of Literature"

Google "We Heart Penguins" and my 2007 post about the cute little black and white creatures is the first thing that pops up. The same result if you google "Stephenie Meyer Sucks" (that made me happy in a not-so-nice, but ever-so-intoxicating way).

So in that vein, and in an attempt to make my blog UBERLY POWERFUL IN ONE FELL STROKE--I've slipped the 10 most searched items on Google last year into the title of this entry. Hopefully I'll have 300,000 visitors per second within the day. I'll let you know once I register my first million...

But, wait! That's only the FIRST great experiment being conducted in this post.

The Second? A little thing called Erico Narcissicus. The greatest blog-venture of all time. Ready for it? Wait for it...

Wait for it....


I hereby TAG every single person in the world.

BOOM! There it is!

I know, I know..."That's So Ambitious!" you might say. Or "WOWZERS! That boy deserves the Nobel Prize for "'Aint Gonna Happen!" But this isn't just any tag; oh no... this is the first tag of its kind.

You see, instead of writing about yourself and sharing some small bits of your life with other readers out there, you're going to write about ME.

Yep, I'm going to take a step over that imaginary boundary between good and evil, embrace the blood-sucking leech that is my Id, and slough off that faux exterior of humility.

I'm going skinny dipping in the glorious mountain lake of my soul. And you know what? The water's fine. Come on in, amigos!

Enjoy, and to everyone reading this entry, consider yourself tagged!

Simply write a response to the following topics and post it on your blog. If you don't have a blog, go ahead and write it and post on your fridge:

Name Five Things You Love About Eric

Name Five Things You Were Doing Five Years Ago That Could Potentially Relate to Eric

Name Five Things You Wish You Could Give To Eric In The Next Five Years

Name Five Things You Will Give To Eric In The Next Five Years

If You Could Be Eric for Five Days, What Would You Do? Why?

If You Were Stuck On A Desert Island With Eric, What Would You Bring To Make Eric Happy?

Name Five Beautiful Things That Remind You of Eric

Name Five Emotions You Associate With Eric

If you need something to inspire your personal muse, just refer to the adorable, awesome baby picture that is me at two-years.

Thank you for your participation. Let the Six-Billion-Post Marathon Begin!!!



The following comes from loyal reader, future executive, and fantastic friend Kyle E. Witherspoon, esq., in response to the last article. I loved it so much, it's getting its own spot on the EBV. Thanks, Kyle! OFFICE MEMORANDUM TO: Mary Richards FROM: KSL Executives RE: New Required Procedure for Translating Thought to Oral Communication. Dear Mary: The following procedures shall now be followed any time you wish to say something that was not scripted out ahead of time for you: Step (1): Immediately clap hand over mouth, so as to avoid accidental discharge of idiocy. Step (2): Immediately turn off microphone. So as to avoid accidental discharge of idiocy in the event that Step (1) failed and your mouth remains uncovered but your forehead is bruised or your nose is bloody. Step (3): Inform your colleagues that you have a thought you wish to express. (All of your co-workers have been told to immediately drop what they are doing should you make this statement). Step (4): Write the proposed statement down. Step (5): Read it back to yourself silently. Step (6): (The most important step) THINK. HARD. Step (7): If, despite these efforts, you still believe the statement is necessary, immediately hand the proposed statement to the nearest coworker whose education extends beyond the realm of finger paint and duck-duck-goose. Step (8): If the co-worker finds nothing wrong with the statement, immediately ask him/her what the last thing they watched on television was. If the answer involves "Nick-at-Night","Bob Saget", or the E! network, start this process again at Step (6). Step (9): THINK. HARD. AGAIN. Try to focus on whether you are compairing sudden death or dismemberment with an inconvenience. If you are, drop the paper and back away slowly with your hands over your mouth. If this occurs while you are in the doorless traffic helicopter, back away nonetheless. Step (10): If you still cannot find a problem with the statement, turn your mic back on, and say the statement slowly and clearly over the air. *If, upon your doing so, you notice cars around you beginning to run off the road in shock, return immediately to the studio for further instructions Yours, The KSL Management


Tragic Traffic?!

Sorry for the long hiatus. I promise to try and update more frequently. I've been burning to share this since yesterday evening. It's nigh unto unbelievable. So I'm driving southbound on I-15 about 6:30 last night and I flip over to KSL Radio to check out what's on. They have a nice little program called Radio TiVO. (Hope they have the copyright stuff all straightened out for that). It's essentially a recap of all the big news in Utah and Nationally from the previous week with two hosts-- Mary Richards and Adam Thomas. In their own words, I get to enjoy "everything from gas prices to construction on our roadways." It's OK, and kind of fun to review some of the bigger stories of the week--including the Obama Sock Puppet Monkey Incident. (Nice black eye for Utah). So, I'm tootling along, minding my own slightly-speeding business, enjoying the drive, when out of the blue, Mary makes the following comment-gem about the "horrible week for traffic:" Mary Richards:"There was this fatal accident...this distracted driver doesn't see this stopped car and runs into the back of it and kills two people. 19-year-old (girl) and her little brother...who is 14 were in the back seat of that car and they were killed. But in taking care of that accident, crews...that was only the beginning. Awful enough that these two people were killed, there was a HUGE backup of traffic waiting for the scene to be cleared and what it did to the road was what was awful." Really?! What it did to the road was what was awful?! Two teenagers have lost their lives because someone was texting or otherwise distracted and the mess the accident creates is the truly awful thing?! At that moment, I tried in vain to vomit. However, some inchoate part of my soul warned me that if I rolled down the window and vomited directly onto the street, the mess I would make in doing so could create a traffic tragedy on par with the Black Death. So, mostly because I did not want to be mentioned on next week's Radio TiVO myself, I opted for quiet disgust instead. After the initial nausea, though, I keep praying that Mary's gonna retract that statement or make some correction of what she intended versus what she said. "There's NO WAY she really meant that, right? Right...? Please.........?" Wrong. To my dismay: Nothing. Not a peep. What I do get is a minute or two analysis of how HORRIBLE, TRAGIC, and MIND-NUMBINGLY AWFUL the traffic backup was. Listening to Mary and Adam, these people must have been stuck in traffic for HOURS! How they could live through that mess is a miracle. I mean, come on, people! These unfortunates might have missed some of their favorite summer TV reruns!!! Horrible. Tragic. Awful. But then, the capstone. Mary outshines herself. In her most sympathetic tone, our most sensitive Radio TiVO anchor aches for those people stuck in the traffic caused by the fatal accident: "I really feel bad for people who were out in that. They had to clean it up though! They had to re-do that whole thing." Those poor traffic goers. Imagine if their AC had gone out! Worse, think of those poor, poor UDOT employees. Forced to do what they get paid to do!! But you wanna know how KSL's Radio TiVO segued out of that? THE VERY NEXT SEGMENT WAS--I KID YOU NOT--HOW CEREAL BOXES HAVE BEEN SHRINKING OVER THE YEARS. HORROR! TRAGEDY! AWFULNESS!!! I'm sorry if the sarcasm is laid on a bit thick at this point, but I don't know how to more forcefully express my angst at this complete insensitivity. I wanted to reach through the radio and bonk Mary Richards on the head, grab her by the shoulders and shout "Are you serious?!" Two young people lost their lives. That is the tragedy. That should serve as a warning to drivers everywhere to stay alert and attentive at all times. That cannot be compared to traffic woes. Who knows what they could have done, what they could have been, where they could have gone? And now they can't. My heart goes out to their family. Nothing will ever compensate for that loss. And I'm sorry that some of our local reporters lost sight of that.


Poetic Prerogatives

Bear with me on this one. I'm taking my creative lit liberties. In times of distress, why do we rack ourselves with tears? Leaping, grasping at, pushing airs together...until the clap. One day I'll make it--no hinges, no joints, no seams--just perfection. "Veins in marble can't be cut," it whispers, but...Even as I shiver, alone in a crowd, I feel. Yet do I feel it, stoke it, breathe it all in- Or do I forget myself, unmaking what I wrote already. Until that last step, that final stop, that silly thought: Ere I die Remember, please those Immortal cats 'N their eternities. On a less poetic note, but a more important one, one of my dear friends gave me this quote today, and I'd like to share it. "For you, my dear friends, the sky is the limit. You can be excellent in every way. You can be first class. There is no need for you to be a scrub. Respect yourself. Do not feel sorry for yourself. Polish and refine whatever talents the Lord has given you. Go forward in life with a twinkle in your eye and a smile on your face, but with great and strong purpose in your heart. Love life and look for its opportunities, and forever and always be loyal to the Church." --President Gordon Bitner Hinckley. Let's go twinkle! ;D


A Quick Ride

SUMMER RACIN', vol. II The other night, my brother Timmy and I were headed out to the airport to pick up the folks from their multi-week vacation in the motherland (Norway). During the trip, we had to make a stop at the Anderson Foothill Library. While Timmy was inside haggling for books from the Hold Shelf and trying to take the latest Stephenie Meyer book forcibly out of some poor youth's hand, I was hanging out in the car. Dad's car. The 2001 white Toyota Camry. Vroooooooooom! While fiddling with my seat belt and pondering the nature of the glove compartment, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a face that I swore I recognized. Turning, ever so slightly, I glimpsed the man, the machine, the machismo that IS... Ralph Becker (and aid, close in tow). Mayor of Salt Lake. Small town celebrity. I mean, this man has TOUCHED David Archuletta, where most of Salt Lake has only been touched BY the Arch. That's a huge distinction. It was an honor just to be in the same parking space, let alone the same zip code. Well, as fortune would have it, Timmy came out to the car just at that moment, moaning something about "The video wasn't on the hold shelf for ME, it was just on the hold shelf." And I caught his arm, pointed to the next car over and he said "Oh! That's Ralph Becker." And that's when the street race began. Pulling out of the library parking lot as if he didn't know what was going on, Ralph Becker's Aid nonchalantly signaled left, when in fact he turned right. Timmy's veins engorged, his knuckles gripping the faux leather steering wheel, looked over at me, raised his cupped hand and said "Shall we, brother?" "Indeed, brother!" I roared, meeting Tim's hand with my own, and we were off! We peeled out of the library parking lot at a leisurely pace, allowing Mrs. Johnson and her kids to cross the sidewalk first. But from there it really picked up. We pulled up along side the BeckerMobile waiting its turn to turn left onto Foothill Avenue. Muttering something about "He didn't need to change the City logo...that was an unnecessary use of city funds...!" Timmy gunned it as soon as the light turned green. Still, Ralph Becker's Aid feigned ignorance and meandered through the light. FOOL! We screeched out of there and smoked our way up to 45 mph in a matter of seconds. White lightning had us rolling!!! That wouldn't be enough, however. Although we had all the power that a V6 Japanese engine can afford, we were forced to stop again at Sunnyside and Foothill by the man--to borrow a word from the Stephenie Meyer lexicon for burgeoning big word readers, the "omnipresent" red light. "NO!!!!" we both screamed. Slapping the dashboard and whooping in frustration, I could just imagine Becker fidgeting with his street light remote control, trying to even up the fight. You KNOW that mayors all have that remote control, right? Well, there we were. Revving the engine, staring down Ralph Becker' s Aid. The excitement of the moment had me shivering, the sweat rolling down my neck and soaking my collar. Timmy kept grinding his molars and alternately slapping his head with his hands trying to vent the frustration. We counted down the pedestrian walkway...fourteen...ten....eight....five....three... two... one... "VRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!" Off we flew, leaving the BeckerMobile in a cloud of our dust and asphalt. And yet Ralph Becker's Aid persisted in his stony faced naivete, plugging along at a comfortable 40 mph, smiling away at life and the birds. "What are they playing at?!" I croaked. "They're gonna try and fake us out!" Timmy panted, still refusing to let the steering wheel breathe. "Not on our watch!" I offered hopefully, still wondering what possible motive Becker could have to NOT engage us in road warrior combat. ....and suddenly, the BeckerMobile vanished. Gone. Like a puff of smoke or a campaign promise. "Like I said," Timmy whispered, "shifty as a crow, that ol' Becker." Wondering why Timmy had slipped into ol'-timer speak, I rocked backwards as my face started to melt back into my skull. Timmy had punched it. 40 mph....45...47...50! We were cruising down 400 South, whipping past fast food chains and the Main Library. 51. "Lay up, brother!" I cried from the seat fabric, tears staining the upholstery. "She can't take much more!" 52. "Have faith, brother," Timmy said, squeezing my hand reassuringly. 53. "Grrbdifflhgiench!" I managed to moan as the G force pressed the air out of my lungs. 54. "WE GOT HIM!!!" Timmy declared heartily, raising both hands in the air and slamming them down into the dash in triumph. "Haaarudlfem, Beidcker!" I stammered, trying not to black out. Peeking out the passenger window, though, I could see that we had beaten Beaker to his lair--the City County Building. Rolling lazily into the parking strip, the little white city vehicle carrying the mayor himself like some chariot of ire angled in at 45 degrees and took her spot. And to the end of my life, I will swear that Ralph Becker's Aid opened the door, humbly stood at attention, saluted us, knuckles to brow, and wiped a tear from his eye. Driving with Timmy is always exciting.