Torrie and Yahtzee

A couple examples of why my wife, Torrie, is so great:

We were playing Yahtzee last Sunday evening with some good friends in our ward. Real Yahtzee, with five real dice. It was actually quite fun. Early into the game, I rolled - on my first roll - a full house. I was about to write down a quick 25 points for myself, when Torrie nudged me.

"Go for the Yahtzee! Why not?"

Why not? So I did. Two rolls later, five "3"'s were staring up at me. YAHTZEE!!!

I had a Yahtzee on either my first roll of the game. I was feeling pretty good about getting it that early.

A few turns later, however, I managed it again. YAHTZEE!!

Two Yahtzees. Who gets that many??

Another few turns later, I found myself with 4 "4"'s and one roll remaining. I shook the remaining die, then brought my hand up near Torrie. "Give me some luck, Torrie!!!" She responded by pretending to spit into my hand. At that moment, I knew that I would be getting a Yahtzee. And sure enough, I rolled another 4. YAHTZEE!!

Or how about the roll a few turns later? I had two "6"'s and one roll left. I needed one more six to make the requisite three sixes in order to get the bonus. And wouldn't you know it, I rolled 3 "6"s on my last roll. YAHTZEE!!!

Four Yahtzees in one game. Over 600 points. All thanks to Torrie, who encouraged me to go for the Yahtzee on that first roll. Thanks, Torrie!!!

La Macchina in Italia

One of the first things I noticed while living in Italy was the difference in cars. (Since I spent a lot of my time walking or using mass transit, I noticed a lot of cars.) Cars in Italy are smaller – there are practically no SUVs or trucks. They are also much boxier. And European. (I know. Duh.)

I saw nice motorcycles. In Italy, the King of the Motorcycles was the Ducati. I got to the point where I could tell from the engine sound that a Ducati was on its way, and that I should probably dive for cover. I was never interested in motorcycles before the mission, and I’m really not into them now – but for those two years in Italy….I knew the sound of a Ducati.

I saw a lot of European sports cars. BMWs and Mercedes were more than common sights. A Porsche was an everyday occurrence. My personal sentimental favorite became anything Alfa Romeo. However, there were really three nice brands that were always special to see:

Maserati – I have a special place in my heart for the Maserati. Smooth, really nice, and just classy. My view is that if you see someone driving a Maserati

Lamborghini – I saw only two of these. Wow. That’s all I have to say.

Ferrari – The best. While less rare than the Lamborghini, there is just something uniquely Italian about these cars. Two quick Ferrari stories. I was talking to my dad on Mothers’ Day 2005 outside St. Peter’s Square when I heard the unmistakable sound of a Ferrari speeding past. I said to my dad, “hey, do you hear that noise? It’s an accelerating Ferrari.” We then just went quiet and appreciated the beauty.

Second story: I was walking in the hills between Florence and Fiesole in an attempt to find a local member of the church’s house. We had just descended from the bus and were walking on the shoulder uphill to the next cross-street. I then began to hear the typical Ferrari rumble and quickly jumped off the road just in time to see the red blur of a Ferrari speed past. Of all the ways to go, I think being hit by a zooming Ferrari in the Tuscan hills while on an LDS mission would have to be a pretty cool way to die.

Let me finish this blog entry with one more quick story. I had been in Italy about a year, fully immersed in the Italian automobile world, when one day I saw the most beautiful sight: A candy apple red Chevrolet Corvette. Some rich guy in Rome had spent his money bringing an American sports car over the Atlantic to Italy. I spent twenty minutes on the 90 Express autobus on the Via Nomentana in Rome watching that beautiful testament to American ingenuity battle traffic with a crowd of perhaps ten others, all of us in amazement. What a pretty, pretty car. It was a moment I remember every time a shiny Corvette passes by, such as this afternoon on the main street of the little town in Kentucky where I currently am.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get in my boring Honda Civic and enjoy the good gas mileage as I drive home. Sigh.

Best Song Ever

I like to think that I got a lot of my music taste from my Dad. He listened to a lot of Classic Rock while I was growing up, and so it was only natural that I learned to like a lot of the music that he liked. Queen. Eagles. Jackson Browne. That sort of thing. The classics.

So I have to say I was surprised when one day, a few years ago, we were in the car together. A song came on the radio: “Smooth” by Santana featuring Rob Thomas. A perfectly respectable song, one that I enjoy quite a bit. My dad turned up the volume way out loud and we rocked out to the song. After it was over, he turned to me and said: “Logan, that is the best song. Ever.”

Now again, I need to say that I like the song. But did it deserve the title, “Best Song Ever”? What about “Bohemian Rhapsody”? What about “Stairway to Heaven”? “Hotel California”? What about “Mambo #5”? (Just kidding about the last one.)

After I mentioned my concerns with his conclusion, he simply responded: “Smooth is the best song ever. Case closed.”

After many years I finally came to terms with my dad’s choice. It’s his “Best Song Ever” and it can be whatever he wants it to be.

I went for many years without a “Best Song Ever”. How could I pick a song with such a huge variety of songs that I like?

Well, a few months ago I figured it out. A recent vacation to the Florida Keys solidified it in my mind. The Best Song Ever is “Kokomo” by the Beach Boys. No better song has ever been made. Case Closed.

Feel free to contribute with your best song ever. Just know that, deep down, it doesn’t top the smooth harmonies of the Beach Boys (or, I guess, the Muppets, depending on the version.)