Book Club: New Moon

Two days later, and another book done. This time I decided to stretch the fun out for an extra day, and somehow managed to get to bed before the sun peaked out from behind the mountains. While it seems unlikely, the second book in the Twilight trilogy is possibly better than the first. What could possibly be better than an impromptu relationship with an Adonis like vampire? Unrequited love, cliff diving, and werewolves. That's what. (No spoilers intended; any keen reader should pick these up from clues in the first novel, as well as the title of the second.)

Whatever action elements were missing from Twilight Meyer more than makes up for in the second installment, New Moon. This time the focus is shifted from the perfection of Edward, and Bella's insecurities, and instead follows Bella's attempts to avoid a complete mental breakdown after her life takes some unexpected twists. We get to know Bella's family friend Jacob Black much better, and although he can't compare with Edward's down right perfection, his earthy, boyish nature will make many of the female readers waver in their loyalty.

With Bella's world turned around the dour mood of the second novel puts real perspective on her situation and it is here that the genius of writing in the first person shines through. Changing the rules with any established myth can be an dangerous and potentially cliche thing to attempt, but seeing this new world through Bella's eyes allows us to accept her occasional skepticism and surprise without question. It is much easier to believe what Bella thinks, rather than what we would think, and thus we gladly surrender ourselves.

Although the end comes abruptly (there is a preview chapter of book three at the end, giving false hope of another twenty pages) the best part of New Moon is the scenario set up for future novels. With Eclipse coming out August 7th and the fourth slated for September 2008 I'm excited to have another YA series to look forward to.

New Moon by Stephanie Meyer
Genre: Urban Fantasy (YA)

Good if you're looking for: something to distract you from the fact that there will be no more Harry Potter books

Effort to Enjoy: 2 (out of 5)

Book Club: Twilight

After an accidental reading-enthusiast explosion of book recommendations on an unsuspecting friend I've decided to spare the innocent bystanders and you to my reading whims instead. Welcome to the Subtle Book Club!

I know what you're expecting to review. But no, I'm not going to. I figure you're still going to read Harry Potter 7 even if I tell you that in the end Harry di. . . just kidding. I'm not that cruel. Instead I'm going to tell you about my AFTER HP book.

It's Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and I've been hearing about it for MONTHS. First we talked about it ENDLESSLY in my SciFi writing class (I know.) THEN Stephenie was on numerous panels at the fantasy convention (I said I KNOW) and on top of all that no less than 5 people have recommended it to me, one of them even enticing me with the fact that in her acknowledgments she thanks one of my favorite bands.

I finally got around to starting the book last night . . . and then I finished it last night. The story is about a 16 year old girl who moves Washington to live with her Dad, and starts spending time with a strange classmate. Ok. I'll let the cat out of the bag. He's a vampire. (The inside flap of the book confirms it.) But ladies don't let that put you off! In fact, this is probably better classified as a Urban-Fantasy-Romance. Yes, it has vampires. No, it won't keep you up at night chewing on garlic bread.

While the plot itself might be a bit simplistic Meyers does an excellent job making sure that you are interested in what really matters: the relationship between Bella and Edward. Although mildly concerned about the whole vampire issue, the complexities that it brings to their relationship is what is really intriguing. I've heard from several guys that they find the main male character extremely shallow, but that doesn't seem to stop all the girls from swooning and giggling as they read

Long story short, if you like Harry Potter, Dracula, and any books with characters named LaMaster Scott Gange then you'll love this book.

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer
Genre: Urban Fantasy (YA)
Good if you're looking for: something light that will grip, and entertain, and make you wish you had gorgeous vampires at YOUR school.
Effort to Enjoy: 2 (out of 5)

For The Love Of Beef

I'm aware that I have an unusual taste in guys. My friends have never understood why I didn't join in their reveling over Brad Pitt until they learned that it was because I would rather watch Rick Moranis. When I dreamt that Johnny Depp and Phil Hartman were both hitting on me, I was really excited about Phil Hartman. And do I really need to mention that my first celebrity crush was on Steve Gutenberg? (And not even the Goot from Police Academy. It was the Goot from Three Men and A Baby. I KNOW.)

I'm aware that by posting this I'm setting myself up for severe ridicule. But I have no fear. Why? Because I love Shia LaBeouf and I'm proud to say it. I've loved him since he was the awkward tween-ager in Even Stevens, and now that he's officially old enough to drink I'm formulating my plans to get him hammered so I can put him in my lunch box and trade him with my friends. (That's right Haras. I used your line in reference to Shia, so DEAL.) Currently there are THREE movies in the theaters boasting Shia's name on the marquee:

Transformers

Disturbia

and Surf's Up.

For my money it's all about Disturbia. Although he's amazing, the sterile CGI of Transformers kind of turned me off, and even with his cute voice, seeing him in penguin form isn't quite the same.

I know that not everyone will truly comprehend how hot Shia has gotten. Case and point my conversation with Ylime after seeing Disturbia the first time. (That's right! Three times in one week.)

Me: He is just SO cute I can't even handle it!
Ylime: Yeah. He's pretty cute I guess. But he has kind of a big nose . . . (trails off not wanting to crush my dreams with her insightful revelation.)
Me: I KNOW! That's why he's so cute! It just makes me love him even more!
Ylime: Hmmmm. That would make me love him less . . .

So for those of you unfamiliar with his history, (aren't you ashamed!) let's take a trip into the past, and explore the beginnings of who is, without question, my current celebrity crush . . . for this month at least.

After proving himself in Even Stevens, the Disney Chanel decided to give Shia another leg up and put him in the starring role in Holes. It was a proud day for us all. The white-fro was endearing as could be, and watching him teach Zero to read? Kill me now.











Despite Keanu's bad coughing fits (Constantine), and Will's BA-attitude (I Robot), Shia rose to the admirable role of side-kick in both flicks, and made us all wish that we were a fallen angel, or a rouge cop against an army of robots just so we could have witty banter with Shia.






Next came The Greatest Game Ever Played. As far as sports drama's go you wouldn't expect golf to hold your attention much. And what guy WOULDN'T look cute in traditional 1913 fashion. One word: knickers.




Now even though I've only seen bits and Pieces of A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints, the promise of an angst-filled, continually sweaty, school-uniform wearing Shia is enough to make me (insert sexual euphemism here). And his shoulders. HIS SHOULDERS!

"Still, what can’t this talented actor do? He’s able to project innocence that changes to anger in the blink of an eye; he can break our hearts with looks of longing or despair; and his amusing physicality in comic scenes is most impressive. I can’t wait to see what he’s like in five or ten years. Watch your backs, Johnny Depp and Tom Hanks. "

Need I say more?

Call me Cleo

Three years ago I slipped into a physic vortex, as I am rapidly learning. What I'm about to tell you is neither fact nor fiction, for all is but illusion when it comes to the divining arts.

Last night I went shopping with Nicole. Upon the request of Haras we looked for, and found a pair of jeans for her. Any one of the female persuasion reading this will know that buying jeans is far from an exact science. Size is nothing but an arbitrary number in the world of denim, and often the ratio of hips-to-thighs fabric leaves you looking like a beluga whale in a panty hose. (Bad metaphor courtesy of Haras) So, needless to say, I was a little concerned with picking out the right size and color. To my amazement when we got home Haras slipped the prized jeans on (they were only $12!) and they fit like a glove that was made out of denim and fashioned for the lower half of you body. They were neither too big (which would imply that I thought we was larger than she is) nor too small (which would imply that she was bigger than I thought she SHOULD be) (that's what we like to call a Lose-Lose-LOSE situation)

But amidst my personal triumph something slowly began to dawn on me. "This has . . . happened . . . before . . ." I slowly stammered out; quiet enough that my com padres couldn't here me over their own elation. "OH MY GOSH!" I shouted. They both turned and looked at me expectantly. I could see the terror in Sarah's eyes as she searched the floor for the most likely (in her mind) cause of my outburst. But the lurking spiders would live one more night in peace, for what I was about to say trumped them all.

"I dreamt this EXACT thing."

Silence.

I could tell that they were impressed; their blank stares revealing the astonishment that I had known would overpower them. But something was wrong. The stares continued for much longer than they should, they couldn't really be this dense could they?

"I don't think you understand," I continued. "Three years ago I had a dream that for some reason I was buying you jeans, and I was really concerned about getting the right fit and color and everything . . . " A small flicker of recognition showed in their faces and I saw my opportunity to pounce.

"Nicole, you remember! Forever ago when I told you I had a dream that I was on a date with Daryl from home and then two years later I WAS!" Pause for dramatic effect. "IN THE SAME CAR!" More drama. "AT THE SAME INTERSECTION!"

I still couldn't be sure if they grasped what I was telling them, but gradually their countenances changed. By the looks on their faces they were either contemplating the sheer magnitude of what I'd said, or how high the set of costs would be for a small, in home, psychic parlor.

Sarah's final comment summed up what I had suspected all along. "If you ever have a dream about, say, who I'm going to marry . . . be sure and tell me about it."

My response? "Give me a quarter, I read your palm."

Today's Obsession

All right. All right. It's been awhile. ALL RIGHT. I get it. No one even bothers to check anymore because the chances that there will be something new is like . . . less than the number of people who've checked my blog in the last couple weeks. Pretty soon my previous posts are going to be sucked in the black hole created by the lack of interest in my blog. Soaring through wormholes and reappearing out of some vortex they'll appear on the other side of space. I'm not a SciFi nerd. (I like to say quark.)

"So what," you ask mundanely "have you been doing with your ridiculous amount of free time at work?"
"Well," I respond, ignoring the impulse to make a stupid joke about your futile attempt at humour via the juxtaposition of "free time" and "at work", thereby earning your respect and admiration for my superior understanding of social cliche's, "I write a lot of run on sentences."

After much more banter, and several more hilarious and witty retorts by my self, and a few blundered jokes by you, you finally lose your patience and demand to know what I did all day at work, because you KNOW I wasn't working the whole time.

The answer is this my friends. I've discovered a new blog. www.mindyephron.blogspot.com


If any of you are fans of The Office (please say yes!) you'll recognize Mindy as "Kelly" the bimbo-blond-Indian girl who loves pink the color, Pink the person, and basically anything that is awesome. And that's what her blog is. (Awesome, not pink) It's titled "Thing's I've Bought That I Love" and love them she does.

Besides being filled with amazing beauty products (and other stuff) that makes you want to run to the nearest mall, she's also surprisingly funny in that way that professional comedy writers sometimes are. So far my favorite discovery via Mindy is ecreamery.com where you create your own custom ice cream. I created The Pink Panther which is Anise and Black Cherry gelatto with dark chocolate chips. I have no idea if it'll be any good but it sure sounds tempting!

Anyway that's all. Now I'm bored again and I've already read through all the archives . . . on to the next.

Price: $0. It's free!
Cost: By the time I've bought all the stuff I desperately need but didn't know existed before . . . much more than my average paycheck. I think I've got my Christmas list filled out.

The Gals Go Commando (it's not what you think)

Last night we played fugitive (aka commando) with our FHE group. Typically I stage my own personal commando mission to avoid playing these kind of games with a group of my peers. Why you ask? Let me refer you to the time I played capture the flag with the singles branch, and after 20 minutes of not seeing anyone (I'm that committed) I ventured out in the open only to discover that the game had ended. The teams had switched sides. I was now in enemy territory. And no one bothered to tell me.

After that I decided to sit the next 3-4 years out.

Yesterday my prepared excuse was the usual too much homework; I just don't have time; I don't want to go into cardiac arrest while sprinting for the first time since puberty; etc. etc. But riddle me this: If your roommate had offered to dress in a full batman costume (complete with billowing cape and utility belt) would YOU have missed it?

I didn't think so. And while I may not be willing to be the girl dressed as Batman, I'm more than willing to be the friend of the girl dressed as Batman.

That part of the plan went of without a hitch. Unless you call HeWeDoNotSpeakOf returning to his former glory by approaching-the-person-next-to-me-and-talking-animatedly-with-them-without-ever-acknowledging-my-presence-even-though-I-make-witty-comments-worthy-of-at-least-a-courtesy-laugh a hitch.

Personally, I do not.

When our fearless leader first yelled "GO" I thought that Haras had managed to tap into some previously unknown bat-resource as she nimbly maneuvered through the brush, skittered along the fence and in one bat-tastic flash disappeared behind a mound of dirt and gravel. Let me just say here that my gracefulness and dexterity hasn't been in such form since the Preference debacle of '02.

When I finally caught up with her, wheezing and panting, she had already devised our next attack move. Ylime was to be our time keeper (we were told we had an hour) Sarah was the brains, and I was. . . well . . . I think my main contribution was sheer comic relief. There's nothing like a good laugh when you're lying prostrate on some poor old lady's front porch.

Several times during the night I found myself literally "face down in the dirt" and I said "this doesn't hurt" but after about fifty face-first dives into the ditch . . . of destruction. . . (alliteration is my friend) I said "I've finally had enough" and I ambled along the rest of the journey, keeping a distance of at least twenty paces so my cohorts wouldn't see me secretly pleading for a flash flood to wash me away.

The rest of our adventure was a blur of pricker bushes, barbed wire, army rolls, and drops from an 8 foot wall. In the end, no, we were not caught.

Yes, we finished.

Yes, we were the last ones to arrive.

No, the rest of our group was not waiting to welcome us with cheers and high-five's.

Because, yes, they had all finished at least half and hour earlier and wondered if we had been eaten by hyena's because we wouldn't answer our phones out of fear that it was all a ploy to
force us into the open.

Yes, we come to play.

No, we were not happy to be walking home in victory.

Yes, we were glad to accept a ride for the last block before our house.

And yes, I am officially on sabbatical from anything classified as a "night game".

The Lost Art of News Radio

I wish I could write scenes this funny. But until then I'll just have to rip them off from old TV shows.

Dave Strikes Back: Part Deux

Hey, sorry I just sent you an email accidentally. Luckily it was only filled with frivolous and embarrassing things that I had only intended for close friends who have to like me anyway. Feel free to ignore it. Or print it out and post it around the ward to further my growing popularity. Either way, sorry for the bother!
Janay
PS Dave would think this was funny. (Anyone? Anyone? No? OK.)

You were right that I would think it was funny. Still, probably the
funniest thing is where you got this email address from! Granted, I
have five or six email addresses, but I'm wondering how you got this
one...ummm...just figured it out. It was from those mass emails that I
always send out to the Ward (Thanks to the Bishop). Apparently the case
is solv-ed.

Still, I might add that sending emails is only one way to garner
popularity. I'd recommend making flyers and then distributing them to
the neighborhood (that's always worked best for me).

--Dave


You wrote that entire first paragraph just so you could use 'solv-ed' didn't you? I can relate. For instance I intend to include several big words in this email just to prove that I actually CAN spell. *Defenestrate* Also, I tried the flier thing once but I kept getting phone calls from people saying they had found my dog. *Pandemonium* I realized that until I can learn to draw better stick-figures, I should stay away from posting self portraits. *Verbose* I don't really have anything left to say on the subject, I just need another sentence break before I can insert another large word. *Extemporaneous*
Janay
PS *Eschew*

Dave Strikes Back!

This is what happens when you become too cavalier in your email sending rituals; you end up accidentally sending an email full of inane questions and misspelled answers to the roommate of the brick wall you've been flirting at. This is that email. In toe-toe. I hope you are pained as much as I was. Why am I so awkward???

Dear everyone,
I sorry. I hate these too. But I'm bored. And therefore you must be bored too.
> > > 1. FIRST NAME? Janay (nay)
> > 2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yeah, everyone who was born before me. (Duh.)
> 3.WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? During The Queen, when the little girl gives the Queen the flowers and says "these are for you" *sniff*
> > 4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Sick.
> > 5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Thick slices of turkey
> > 6. KIDS? Yeah, I like kids too, but not as much as turkey.
> > 7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? If I was another person yes. If I were me trying to be friends with myself? I'd have better luck invading Poland.
> > 8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? I prefer to refer to it as a collection of 'memoirs' so that when my great-great-great-great grand daughter finds it, she'll think I was important enough to write 'memoirs'
> > 9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Never. It's the language of the devil.> > 10.DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. I keep them in my sock drawer. Right next to my trapezius
> > 11.WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Only if it was into a tub of chocolate pudding.> > 12. WHAT IS YOU FAVORITE CEREAL? Fruity Pebbles> > 13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Never. I just wear them until they are dirty enough to chisle off.
> > 14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Strong enough for a man. PH balanced for a woman.
> 15.WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Peppermint and bubble gum have to duke it out.
> > 16.SHOE SIZE? No. I don't believe in labels.
> > 17. RED OR PINK? Rink.
> > 18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? That I seem to be incapable of making whip cream in the state of UT. (Oh, and that I live in UT)
> > 19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Bruno Kirby (You made a woman meow?)
> > 20.DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? Not really. I'm too lazy and conceited to read everyone's responses.
> > 21. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Very pale. Practically white. Almost see through. I'm a nudist.
> > 22. LAST THING YOU ATE? Shavings of plastic that I gnawed of the end of my pen.
> > 23. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The sound of my brain atrophying. And Jimmy Eat World. (The two are unrelated)
> > 24. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Green. But like a cool green that all the other crayons would think was really witty and original.
> > 25. FAVORITE SMELL? The freezer
> 26. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? A Mary-Kay peddler.
> > 27. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Hair. Usually the kind on their head. (What were you thinking?)
> > 28. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I suppose, although I have NO idea why we're friends. She watches Lifetime Television for Women for goodness sake!
> > 29. FAVORITE DRINK? Rasperry Chrystal Lite
> > 30. FAVORITE SPORT? Adverse weather badmintton.
> 31. EYE COLOR? Like the sea after a storm. (Blue.)
> > 32. HAT SIZE? See 'shoe size'.
> > 33. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? 24-7
> > 34. FAVORITE FOOD? Watermelon
> > 35. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? How about happy movies with scary endings? > > 36. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED AT THE MOVIES? Music and Lyrics (I know I know. But Hugh Grant makes such a cute 80's pop icon!)
> > 37. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Brown. I gave up on nudism around #27.
> > 38. SUMMER OR WINTER? Autmn.
> > 39. HUGS OR KISSES? Both. AT THE SAME TIME. (I like to live on the edge)
> 40. FAVORITE DESSERT? See #15. Does the phrase 'mind numbingly redundant' mean anything to you?
> > 41. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Any one who doesn't have someone to talk to. Or only has someone real dumb to talk to.
> > 42. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? Life of Pi. Absalom Absalom. To Kill A Mockingbird. I would add a fourth but I need my left foot to turn the pages.
> > 43. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Any one who has a raging crush on my and wants to confess their undying love. (Really, don't let the nudist comment sway you.)
> > 44. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? RED DWARF kcts television
> > 45. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Little Miss Sunshine, and A Scanner Darkly (both via the DVD player of course)
> > 47. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? I prefer ROLLING STONES at BEATTLES. That way they gather no moss and take care of those pesky beetles!
> > 48. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? UK (that's the United Kingdom, not a phonetic 'yuck')
> > 49. WHAT IS YOUR PRESENT OCCUPATION? I play with software and say to myself "I must break you."
> > 50. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? That's a bit personal don't you think?


Dave will think this is funny.

I Dislike Dirt Under the Fingernails

In the case that you can't read this amazing feat of geeky-organization, click here.

My initial response to discovering such a treasure trove of geek-dom was that of pure elation. I only qualify for the second tier of geekiness! (Not speaking Klingon has really paid off this time! jiH par butih!) But then I began to take a closer look at my discovery.

Although the knowledge that I will never purchase a replica fantasy sword (Sorry Eragon) brings me great relief emotionally (not to mention socially) I still feel a bit uncomfortable with geek-science as a whole.

Besides the fact that this higherarchy makes no allowances for fans of British Television (where do all the Dwarfers belong?) my qualm is this: while we might enjoy pointing a finger at the lower-tier-members and saying "well at least I don't do THAT" I think it's time we step away from the stereotypes that anyone dressed up as Darth Vader at a convention will most likely never conceive children.

Case and point? Allow me to share a story told by my Fantasy Writing Professor. (And yes, I'm in a fantasy writing class. And no, my class mates did not find it funny when I suggested that the name for my fictional city be Xanadu. Thank you Haras.)

A man I talked to last month at church claimed that calling people nerds was a threat to national security. He said that by insulting engineers and mathematicians, we are driving people away from those professions, and therefore making the United States have a more poor crop of people who can grow up to keep us on the cutting edge of technology, letting other nations get better at it than we are. Interesting theory, one that I think is wrong for such a long list of reasons it's hard to begin naming them.

Upon further consideration, I think it's all time that we embrace our geeky tendencies. Whether they be rooted in conspiracy theories about Elvis' death, or an inclination towards C-level sitcoms in from the '90's. You know who you are.

Side note: I totally just found a site that offers a Red Dwarf role playing game? D&D look out! There's a new cat in town!

By the way, who are all these SciFi television fans who AREN'T Trekkies?

These are the DAVES!

Typically I try to keep my blog devoid of any real life experiences that don't involve bathroom humor. But since I have nothing better to do, coupled with the fact that the only interesting bathroom drama involves the toilet water being a different color every time I go in there, I've decided to make an exception. Seriously though, it went from purple to pink to blue to clear, then back to blue. It's wiggin me out.

So. I know a lot of Daves. (Hopefully you picked that up from the video, and the song is now ingrained into your frontal lobe and will replay in you head for years to come. Sorry Haras.)

In particular there is one Dave I know (I know) who likes to joke around . . . a lot. So much so that Ylime once said that she felt like she had to work hard to keep up with him.
Shortly after I showed her a deep thought that I was using on a gift. The one that says "Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine. I guess that's why several of us died of Tuberculosis."

Ylime was confused.

In my attempt to explain it to her I quickly became exasperated with the buzz kill of having to explain a joke, and I exclaimed, "Dave would have gotten that!"

Well, you know me, some of you, it didn't stop there. Soon "Dave would have . . ." became our comment for everything.

"Dave would have thought that was funny."

"Dave would have asked me about it."

"Dave would have run that red light!"

As the days went by we became increasingly aware of the fact that we were going to have to tell Dave about this joke at some point because, after all, he would think it was funny!

The time was determined, we would approach him at the ward activity and share with him the glory of our amazing discovery. We went. We waited. And he didn't show. Did someone say buzz kill?

Later that night we bombarded him at Ward Prayer accusing him of ditching on purpose. And rapidly began our assault by declaring "we talk about you all the time!" accompanied by much touching of the elbow.

Perhaps this is a good time to mention that recently I've been trying to flirt with his roommate (somewhat unsuccessfully. Like trying to flirt with a brick wall. "Oh what nice mortar you have!" But a cute brick wall, one that's really funny, and looks even cuter when he hasn't shaved that day.) Needless to say, it seems my flirtatious energy pointed at the roommate (aka He we do not speak of) misfired and was deflected back at the Dave I know (I know).

What is the point of this story you ask? To explain why on V-day I will be alone in my pajamas watching Idol.

Strange Things Are Afoot at the Circle K

For Haras, and anyone else who doesn't know what a W.C. is. This one's for you.

It seems that a little old English lady was looking for some rooms in Switzerland. She asked the local village school master to help her. A place that suited her was finally found and the lady returned to London for her luggage. She remembered then that she had not noticed a bathroom, or as she called it, a "water closet". So she wrote to the school master.

He was puzzled by the initials "W.C.", never dreaming, of course, that she was asking about a bathroom. He finally asked the help of the parish priest who decided that W.C. stood for Wesleyan Church. This was his reply:

Dear Madam, The W.C. is situated nine miles from the house in the center of a beautiful grove of trees. It is capable of holding 350 people at a time and is open on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday each week. A large number of folks attend during the summer months, so it is suggested you go early, although there is plenty of standing room.

Some folk like to take their lunch and make a day of it, especially on Thursday when there is organ accompaniment. The acoustics are very good and everyone can hear the slightest sound. It may be of interest to you to know that my daughter was married in our W.C. and it was there she met her husband.

We hope you will be there in time for our bazaar to be held very soon. The proceeds will go towards the purchase of plush seats which the folks agree are a long-felt need, as the present ones all have holes in them.

My wife is rather delicate, therefore she cannot attend regularly. It has been six months since the last time she went. Naturally, it pains her very much not to be able to go more often. I shall close now with the desire to accommodate you in every way possible and I will be happy to save you a seat down front or near the door, whichever you prefer.

School Master

Why I am destined to die alone.

Sarah, the ultimate puppet master . . .

Panic in the WC

Apparently when you are a 45 year old female working at a software company full of men, you lose all respect for the sanctity of bathroom privacy and feel the need to the intimacy of your experience with the other patrons.

This may include farting, gushing, dripping, blowing, hacking, gurgling, blasting, squeaking, sneezing, groaning, slapping, moaning, and whimpering.

I do not jest.

Your only hope is to sit quietly in your stall to avoid detection, or bolting out the door before you're forced to make eye contact with the perpetrator.

Oh, and also I'd stay away from the dishes that were recently washed in the bathroom sink.

Happy Birthday Elvis!

Now I know that everyone is expecting an Elvis post by the one and only Haras, especially considering it's his B-Day and all. (I'm surprised you didn't know that) But I think you'll also be surprised at what I DO know, and what I have learned from living with a true believer.

And by "true believer" I mean someone who stays up late at night reading conspiracy theories about how Elvis is still alive. By the way, my particular belief lies with the theory of his identical twin, Jessie, not actually being a still born but that their parents hid him away and later Elvis and Jessie switched places, thereby accounting for some rapid weight gain, and the misspelling of Elvis' middle name on his grave stone.

But that's just me.

Another thing I've learned about Elvis from Haras is the mesmerizing hold that a set of Elvis luggage can have on a person. I mean this goes beyond normal wants and desires, it's like the set has a personality of it's own, and every time you come within it's presence you're have no choice but to bow down to the magnitude of it all.

Plus it's super-cute.

Then we come to the random bits of trivial that not every layman would know. Things like Elvis impersonators from Jerusalem can be decidedly more attractive than you'd expect.

Having two life size Elvis cutouts in the windows of your condo can propel you into mini-celebrity status within your ward.

It is dangerous to question the necessity of throwing a birthday part for Elvis when face to face with a "true believer".

And, one thing that I've felt the reality of deeply, if you blab about your roommate being a "true believer" expect that your secret love of Star Trek will not be a secret for long. And also that people will know that when your hair is greasy enough, it looks wet.

But, if all the "true believers" are right, Elvis is now 72, and living happily on the top floor of Graceland. May he live long and prosper.

I'd like to Bond with some of that James!

Things I want to tell you but that I'm too lazy to put in paragraph form.

Currently my viewing count of Casino Royal is up to 3, with the possibility of a 4th by the end of the week.

One of those times involved a fire-alarm not potent enough to pull me and Haras out of our perfect seats.

We may or may not have cheated our way into extra rain checks after said showing.
And by 'we' I mean Haras. I, on the other hand, was forced to quickly stifle a "well yes, my good man, we have in fact received the proper dosage of rain checks that you were so obliging as to bestow on us earlier, and no we are not in need of any additional ones because that would be deceitful, and dishonest."

It came out as "Wuuuhhh yeeeaaaahhhshssup"

The only thing worse than being in a theater filled with couples, is realizing that you and your roommate are still wearing your ugly Christmas sweaters from a party earlier that night, and that you actually do look like the sad lesbian couple you always joke about being.

With each viewing I’m convinced that Haras and I will undoubtedly fill the show with multiple inside jokes that will entertain us for months, but I end up becoming too flustered by the magnitude of Daniel Craig to be witty.

Instead I find my self grinning stupidly for two and a half hours and giggling every time he has his shirt off.

The lessons I've learned from Bond have given me a sense of reckless abandon which allowed me to successfully navigate my way around a possible encounter with a friend I did not wish to talk to.

Said encounter may have involved frantic tiptoeing through isles, numerous back flips while pondering the paradox of being half monk half hit man executing all moves with Bond-like composure, and finally seeking refuge in the Spanish section of the library.

But without the back flips.

I only do back flips when no one is watching.

Something D-O-O Economics

It was my first year attending Education Week at BYU. The few years previous I had stayed at our friends house, babysitting, while my parents left before dawn and came home looking like they had finally been voted off the island. For some unknown reason I found this terribly appealing and I anxiously awaited the year that I turned 14 and was eligible to attend. For those of you who have not been fortunate enough to attend Education Week, let me explain one thing; Education Week, while wonderful and uplifting, has the innate side effect of sucking a persons will to live. It's what your week would be like if you tried taking 40 credits each semester. It's like the tour de France of classes, but without the shorts. It's like that scene in the Matrix where Keanu "learns" kung fu, except that you don't know kung fu. You don't even know your own name. And by the end of the day, all your capable of is slinking back to your car and praying that your auto-pilot will take you someplace with a recliner.
Most of the week had been spent listening to analogies about dating and football, and scribbling illegible notes in a water damaged notebook. On a whim my Mom and I attended a class together, what it was actually about I have no earthly idea, but apparently it sounded enticing at the time. What I do remember is a story the speaker told about a support group that uses laughter as therapy. But instead of watching funny movies or telling jokes, they participated in a group activity guaranteed to produce loud, obnoxious, unrestrained laughter for the enjoyment of all. Sitting in a circle, the would in unison recite the mantra "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. . . " until the entire group had broken form and were laughing of their own volition.
Needless to say I found this wildly funny, and in my Education-Week-induced-delirium I spent the next several minutes trying (unsuccessful) to muffle the sound of my hysteria. For a few moments I was under the misapprehension that I might get away with it, but It wasn't long before my Mom realized that I wasn't having a seizure. After trying (unsuccessfully) to shush me without attracting too much attention, the inevitable happened. It only took one sideways glance at each other, and soon we were both shaking with full 6.0 magnitude. Somehow, despite our obvious knack for inconspicuousness we attracted the attention of several other students surrounding us, and just as an earthquake begins at the epicenter, so did the ripples of laughter begin with our inability to contain ourselves. It started in the back corner of a classroom that holds 900 people, and within seconds it had traveled all the way to the podium where the speaker was forced to pause in her dialogue and question (unsuccessfully) what was happening. That did nothing to quell our fits of giggles, and in the end we had to mutually agree not to look at each other throughout the remainder of the class for fear of an aftershock. We were unsuccessful.

A bear in his natural habitat, a studebaker.

You Are Fozzie Bear

"Wocka! Wocka!"You're the life of the party, and you love making people crack up.If only your routine didn't always bomb!You may find more groans than laughs, but always keep the jokes coming.

The Muppet Personality Test

The Jig Is Up: Part Deux

A while ago I was kindly reminded that I have neglected to include one of my most infamous experiences as an incompetent person. And since I have no online-shame, I'll share this experience with you as long as you understand one thing; I've learned my lesson. That said, allow me to set the scene.

The year was 2004, a crazy year for me at BYU. I had been keeping myself busy with school, work, tutoring at a nearby high school, and trying to start prank-wars with my nocturnal roommates. Things had been going well, and my roomie Nicole and I had decided to go out to dinner. We sat down, and were pleased to see that the restaurant was not very crowded and that we could talk undisturbed about what was going on in our lives, and how we were coping with living in Provo. Dinner came and we talked some more, and throughout the meal I began to notice a buss boy clearing the tables near us. For some reason he seemed very familiar, and I was sure that I had seen him somewhere before. At the time I was working a job on campus which required me to help many students in person. As a result I was constantly making claims that I had seen someone before, and that I somehow I knew them. Nicole was no stranger to this, so when I mentioned that I recognized the buss boy she rolled her eyes as if to say "here we go again!" And indeed we did.

After we had finished our meal, and after much debating, Nicole convinced me (in that special way that only Nicole can) that I should leave a note with my number for the cute buss boy. "What the heck!" I thought, "what's the worst that could happen?" Silly Janay. So quickly I scribbled a note on my receipt hoping that our waitress would take pity on me and hand it over to the desired recipient. Note: I want to point out that it was not even an option that I would actually TALK to this guy, because anyone who knows me know that I don't talk to guys, particularly if I'm interested. I'd much rather ignore them to make sure that they don't know of my interest . . . and it usually works. I can honestly say that most guys I'm interested in have no idea that I even exist, so . . . success!

On the way home Nicole and I were laughing about my "daring" move, and began to wonder why we didn't do things like this more often? I mean, we are in Mormon town here, most of the guys we're going to meet are going to fulfill at least our BASIC qualifications.

A couple days later I got a phone call. He told me his name and that he was from the restaurant; I had no idea what he was talking about, but I played along like I knew exactly who he was and eventually my inherent intuition kicked in.

The conversation was going well, albeit very awkwardly, when he asked me "so how old are you?" that's when I knew something was wrong. I was feeling very young at the time so I told him that I would be 21 in a few weeks, and as soon as I said that I realized my mistake. My suspicion's were confirmed when he told me that he also had a birthday coming up . . . he's 17th birthday. Worse than knowing that I had just hit on a minor was when I realized where I knew him from.

He was a student I tutored at the high school for troubled teens.

For once I realized that my inability to approach people of the male persuasion had saved me from potentially an even MORE embarrassing situation.

The conversation ended with asking me to call him back sometime (though preferably before 9pm if possible). After I hung up, I looked over at a curious Nicole and said "THIS is why we don't approach guys Nicole, because of things like this."

Needless to say I never tutored at that school again.

Revenge of the Nerds

Today I took my first step into a bigger, nerdier world. Before I tell you exactly what that step was let me first say a few things in my defense. I have seen Lost. I have believed that something might actually be answered in a future episode, and I've learned that no matter how much people talk on the internet about their theories about the show, that doesn't give them anymore of a life. That said, it's confession time.

With the promise of new and wonderful shows for this fall season, I was feeling optimistic about television. I soon found that my week would scheduled around ANTM, Biggest Looser, Studio 60, Grey's Anatomy and, you guessed it, Heroes. In the past I've had, what I consider, very good taste in TV shows. (for proof of this I will refer to the mutiple seasons of Arrested Development, News Radio and The Office that I own (BTW those are supposed to show that I have GOOD taste)) But this fall's season has me a little caught up in the moment (Live in the now!) and thus my downfall.

After experiencing the deadly mix of a Hero's marathon, and being bored at work, I found myself perusing online forums which postulate about what's in store for the new cult-classic. (it gets worse) After scanning for a few moments I was surprised to see that no one had mentioned the one plot twist that I saw as completely obvious, and I was shocked that it had not even been addressed as a possibility! Well. Being the consciencous television viewer that I am, I could not simply stand by, and let these spoiler-hounds remain in the dark. So I did the noble thing, and I did it with as much humility as I could muster up (I even included a disclaimer that someone may have already pointed out this oh-so-obvious plot twist, and I had just neglected to see it)

I thought that at most I would get a polite response saying that my idea was interesting, or even unfounded. Boy was I wrong. Within 5 minutes my natural curiousity got the best of my, and I logged back on to see if anyone had responded. At first I was confused because I couldn't find my original post, then I discovered that it was about three pages back. Three pages of responses by the Uber-nerds who rule that domain, berrating me for bringing up a topic which had already been debunked by their larger-than-life-super-computer-like-minds. (although they failed to cite their sources, I guess uber-nerds don't NEED to take English 110) Apparently my idea would have been a great one if I had "come up with it TWO WEEKS AGO" I'm ashamed. I guess I'll just take my 12 sided die and go back to playing D&D in my basement.