This morning I received the following text from my mother:
"Dear Eli, [Cathie always addresses me in her texts by name in case I'm not sure who she's speaking to] I read the comments some people have said about you online and I don't think you should be concerned because these people look weird. And your family loves you."
This was followed by an equally bothersome, "I won't be reading them anymore! Icky!"
Cathie has earned her "Tellin' It Like It Is" award many times over, which is one of the qualities we love most about her.
Wondering exactly what monstrosities about her precious boy she could have possibly encountered electronically, I ventured onto the www to discover what I feared might exist:
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Snuggie Texts Part II
The response to last week's Snuggie Texts post has been very entertaining and unexpected, getting near 100,000 views in the last six days. Many of us wondered whether Jane would eventually see the post. Yesterday morning while attending a family Christmas breakfast party I received a text from the same unknown number. Below is our text exchange, which took place throughout the day. Please share it via Facebook or otherwise and feel free to like our facebook page. I love you Jane. Keep being you.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Snuggie Texts
Perhaps because I've been in a particularly snarky mood lately, I couldn't resist last night when I got an accidental text from an unknown number. The following is our text exchange over the next 24 hours in its entirety. [For follow up, see Snuggie Texts Part II]. Please LIKE us on Facebook or FOLLOW Stranger on Twitter. Enjoy:
Unknown:
Hey Amanda! This is Jane. I was thinking for Beth's wedding gift we could go halfsies on one of those blocks of wood that says words like faith and hope that they could put on a mantle or hang on the wall. What do you think?
Eli:
Hmmm . . . I saw couples snuggies at K-Mart the other day on sale for 9.99 and I think this is probably more of what she's looking for. It's more practical.
Unknown:
Hey Amanda! This is Jane. I was thinking for Beth's wedding gift we could go halfsies on one of those blocks of wood that says words like faith and hope that they could put on a mantle or hang on the wall. What do you think?
Eli:
Hmmm . . . I saw couples snuggies at K-Mart the other day on sale for 9.99 and I think this is probably more of what she's looking for. It's more practical.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Emails From Craigslist Part II
If you missed yesterday's post, you'll want to go back and read it before you read the continuation of my back-and-forth email communication with a stranger from Craigslist who goes by the name of "Ray."
Yesterday he responded with the following email:
______________________________________
Knick knack Paddy Matt,
Although this email is hard for me to write, I fear this is something that must be done. You have provided your number now multiple times, and my fingers ache to delicately pick up my receiver and gently spin the wheel of numbers until I have dialed the magnificent combination of 8-0-1-X-X-X-X-X-X-X. My heart cannot deny the yearning I feel to hear the voice that answers the phone (what type of phone it is, I know not, though I particularly fancy the idea of it being a Cricket Wireless or, dare I let my mind go wild, an I Phone.). Alas, I cannot allow myself to call because mother has returned.
Yesterday he responded with the following email:
______________________________________
Knick knack Paddy Matt,
Although this email is hard for me to write, I fear this is something that must be done. You have provided your number now multiple times, and my fingers ache to delicately pick up my receiver and gently spin the wheel of numbers until I have dialed the magnificent combination of 8-0-1-X-X-X-X-X-X-X. My heart cannot deny the yearning I feel to hear the voice that answers the phone (what type of phone it is, I know not, though I particularly fancy the idea of it being a Cricket Wireless or, dare I let my mind go wild, an I Phone.). Alas, I cannot allow myself to call because mother has returned.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Emails From Craigslist
My roommate Matt is moving out of our apartment at the end of the month (artistic differences) and so is desperately trying to sell his lease. He recently posted it on Craigslist and yesterday got a very interesting email from someone named Ray:
_______________________________
-Matt
This apartment sounds great, and the move in time sounds ideal for my situation. I was so relieved to see that the rent was so affordable, much better than what I have been paying for the past ten years (my mother has charged astronomical amounts, but I've stayed to tend her cats). Please let me know more about the apartment and roommate. Regards,
Ray
_______________________________
Matt responded:
_______________________________
-Matt
This apartment sounds great, and the move in time sounds ideal for my situation. I was so relieved to see that the rent was so affordable, much better than what I have been paying for the past ten years (my mother has charged astronomical amounts, but I've stayed to tend her cats). Please let me know more about the apartment and roommate. Regards,
Ray
_______________________________
Matt responded:
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Technology
I belong in 1950. And not a minute later. This is because of technology. I'll explain.
Technology and I have a hard time together (I imagine the feelings are one way. But I'm not totally sure that techology is sans feelings, or that it is apathetic about me if it has them). Already at age 27 I'm that bewildered old man who gets lost in conversations that use words that start with "I" and end with another word that by itself doesn't greatly confuse me, but seems to mean something entirely different in the context I'm discussing here. Normally when people use these words, I nod thoughtfully and respond with something vague like, "communication and entertainment really do drive innovation, don't they . . ." assuming that whatever they're discussing has something to do with either communication or entertainment. I then change the subject to something I'm very knowledgeable on, such as the benefits of having a Snuggy (I'm wearing one right now, and I love it with all of my heart).
Technology and I have a hard time together (I imagine the feelings are one way. But I'm not totally sure that techology is sans feelings, or that it is apathetic about me if it has them). Already at age 27 I'm that bewildered old man who gets lost in conversations that use words that start with "I" and end with another word that by itself doesn't greatly confuse me, but seems to mean something entirely different in the context I'm discussing here. Normally when people use these words, I nod thoughtfully and respond with something vague like, "communication and entertainment really do drive innovation, don't they . . ." assuming that whatever they're discussing has something to do with either communication or entertainment. I then change the subject to something I'm very knowledgeable on, such as the benefits of having a Snuggy (I'm wearing one right now, and I love it with all of my heart).
Monday, September 26, 2011
The Lost Journal Series: Part VI
I'm back with some more entries from 1996. Everything in [brackets] is tonight's commentary.
May 20, 1996 (age 12):
We are practicing for Romeo and Juliet. In the play I 'm Benvolio and Sam is Romeo. I think we are pretty good. I'm sure that we are probably the best of all of the sixth grade classes. I'm in soccer with all of my friends. We always lose. But I think we will win in a couple of weeks. [I had no plausible basis for believing this. Part of our losing streak was due to my teammates and I occasionally sitting down on the field mid-game].
May 20, 1996 (age 12):
We are practicing for Romeo and Juliet. In the play I 'm Benvolio and Sam is Romeo. I think we are pretty good. I'm sure that we are probably the best of all of the sixth grade classes. I'm in soccer with all of my friends. We always lose. But I think we will win in a couple of weeks. [I had no plausible basis for believing this. Part of our losing streak was due to my teammates and I occasionally sitting down on the field mid-game].
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Lost Journal Series: Part V
Welcome back. Enjoy Part V tonight. Again, anything in [brackets] is tonight's commentary.
February 19, 1996 (age 11):
Today was President's day so we didn't have school so we could celebrate all of the presidents. Except my dad said that we don't celebrate the bad ones like Bil Klinton. [Bob has never been one to hide his feelings about politics]. I was going to play football today but it kept raining and I didn't want to get hurt because Jr. Jazz.
February 19, 1996 (age 11):
Today was President's day so we didn't have school so we could celebrate all of the presidents. Except my dad said that we don't celebrate the bad ones like Bil Klinton. [Bob has never been one to hide his feelings about politics]. I was going to play football today but it kept raining and I didn't want to get hurt because Jr. Jazz.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
The Lost Journal Series: Part IV
Tonight I bring you Part IV in my ongoing series. Tonight's entries take you through the end of 1995 and into 1996 with additional commentary in [brackets].
[Before I start on the journal entries tonight, I would like to first mention that at the top of every single page up through page 49, the word "dog" is written in pencil. The reason for this is that sometime in early 1996 I imagined that the best way to get Bob and Cathie to allow a dog in the house was to convince them that I longed for one so badly that it was on my mind literally every single day of my young life. This, I believed, would tug at the heart strings of any loving parent (and I believed Bob and Cathie fit the bill) and would encourage, nay, force them to grant me my wishes. I also operated under the delusion that my parents would likely pick up my journal at one point and read it (because, as you have seen, I was writing some pretty important things at this time that they undoubtedly would have been dying to read) and so I assumed that they would see that "dog" had been written at the top of every page and this would necessarily cause them to believe that the only humane thing to do was to get a dog to appease the wishes of the boy who wanted it badly enough that he actually took the effort to note it briefly on a regular basis in the same place he shared his most intimate thoughts. The problem(s) with this? While I hoped it would appear to be the case, I did not actually write "dog" at the top of the page each time I wrote an entry. Rather, I took a pencil, went back to page one, and flipped through the journal, writing the word on each page, well beyond any entry up to that point (I thought it would be more efficient to do it this way). So, while each entry is done in a different pen color and with ever rapidly evolving child-handwriting, the word "dog" is consistently written in the same rushed sloppy manner, (getting ever so sloppier as my hand started to hurt during the later pages) and with the same faint pencil. And it was written beyond the pages I had actually used up to that point].
November 28, 1995 (age 11):
Christmas is coming and I'm really excited!!! Christmas comes every single year. [Glad we cleared that up]. A little while ago I was on an airplane ride with my uncle, Jared, and another kid my uncle took. [My uncle is a pilot, fyi]. First we learned about planes, then we went flying and Jared almost threw up. [I'm positive this isn't true but it's clear that in 1995 I was looking for any reason to criticize Jared in my journal]. I will probably be a pilot when I'm older unless I decide to be a lawyer, like in the court rooms instead. I think I could get the judge to do whatever I tell him because I could just explain to him what is right all the time and he would have to listen. And I would ask people questions and they would all say the right things. [I have since learned that things don't exactly work this way]. We're going on a field trip tomorrow and my mom gets to go. I hope she doesn't try to kiss me on the cheek! [For the record, this was a valid concern. Cathie's cheek-kissing only happened in public, was done solely for embarrassment purposes, and continued to take place with some regularity through at least 2007]. I started Jr. Jazz today! This is my second year! I can tell that I'm going to be a lot better this year. [Sadly, still no, kid].
December 15, 1995 (age 11):
I went to school today. It was o.k. I'm really excited for Christmas. We have a train and a vilige [village] under the Christmas tree. It hasn't snowed yet and I want it to. [That's it. This journal does not belong to me]. I went to piano lessons today also. I didn't do very good. [Is it because you didn't practice? Yes]. I [and the journal entry ends here after that one lone word. Although there is a drawing at the bottom of the page that appears to be a bed that has been scribbled out. No explanation for this].
January 10, 1996 (age 11):
Last week it was Utah's birthday! It turned 100. We had a big assembly at school and we sang a song about Utah. [My close friends know that if you catch me on a good day, I am usually willing to perform this song with the hand actions in their entirety. Most people who were children in Utah in 1996 still seem to remember at least fragments of the song which has since become the official state song). As a preview to hold you over until you next see me in person, I'll just tell you that it involves marching, enthusiastic swaying, big hand gestures, and contains lines such as: "Utah! People working together! Utah! What a great place to be!" and "This is the PLACE!" I remember spending an embarrassing amount of time in school learning the choreography to this. (Ours didn't look exactly like this, but you get the idea)]. I'm reading a book called "My Brother Sam is Dead." It's a really good book. I have over 350 rubber bands tied together. [This thing went everywhere with me for the better part of one year until it was mysteriously lost. I still have my suspicions that Bob and Cathie had something to do with its disappearance. Maybe it ended up "running away" like Gigi (my baby blanket) did in 1991. I'm not sure whether I should be more embarrassed that I believed that story or that Bob and Cathie actually had to make it up because I was still carrying my baby blanket around at age 7]. I'm almost done with my life. [I read this several times before figuring out what I was talking about. And no, this isn't a suicide note. Life was a goal/level/state-of-being(?) in Boy Scouts and apparently in 1996, I had almost achieved it].
That's all for tonight folks. Tune in next time for more insights into my 11 year old mind, including the continuation of the dog story.
~It Just Gets Stranger
[Before I start on the journal entries tonight, I would like to first mention that at the top of every single page up through page 49, the word "dog" is written in pencil. The reason for this is that sometime in early 1996 I imagined that the best way to get Bob and Cathie to allow a dog in the house was to convince them that I longed for one so badly that it was on my mind literally every single day of my young life. This, I believed, would tug at the heart strings of any loving parent (and I believed Bob and Cathie fit the bill) and would encourage, nay, force them to grant me my wishes. I also operated under the delusion that my parents would likely pick up my journal at one point and read it (because, as you have seen, I was writing some pretty important things at this time that they undoubtedly would have been dying to read) and so I assumed that they would see that "dog" had been written at the top of every page and this would necessarily cause them to believe that the only humane thing to do was to get a dog to appease the wishes of the boy who wanted it badly enough that he actually took the effort to note it briefly on a regular basis in the same place he shared his most intimate thoughts. The problem(s) with this? While I hoped it would appear to be the case, I did not actually write "dog" at the top of the page each time I wrote an entry. Rather, I took a pencil, went back to page one, and flipped through the journal, writing the word on each page, well beyond any entry up to that point (I thought it would be more efficient to do it this way). So, while each entry is done in a different pen color and with ever rapidly evolving child-handwriting, the word "dog" is consistently written in the same rushed sloppy manner, (getting ever so sloppier as my hand started to hurt during the later pages) and with the same faint pencil. And it was written beyond the pages I had actually used up to that point].
November 28, 1995 (age 11):
Christmas is coming and I'm really excited!!! Christmas comes every single year. [Glad we cleared that up]. A little while ago I was on an airplane ride with my uncle, Jared, and another kid my uncle took. [My uncle is a pilot, fyi]. First we learned about planes, then we went flying and Jared almost threw up. [I'm positive this isn't true but it's clear that in 1995 I was looking for any reason to criticize Jared in my journal]. I will probably be a pilot when I'm older unless I decide to be a lawyer, like in the court rooms instead. I think I could get the judge to do whatever I tell him because I could just explain to him what is right all the time and he would have to listen. And I would ask people questions and they would all say the right things. [I have since learned that things don't exactly work this way]. We're going on a field trip tomorrow and my mom gets to go. I hope she doesn't try to kiss me on the cheek! [For the record, this was a valid concern. Cathie's cheek-kissing only happened in public, was done solely for embarrassment purposes, and continued to take place with some regularity through at least 2007]. I started Jr. Jazz today! This is my second year! I can tell that I'm going to be a lot better this year. [Sadly, still no, kid].
December 15, 1995 (age 11):
I went to school today. It was o.k. I'm really excited for Christmas. We have a train and a vilige [village] under the Christmas tree. It hasn't snowed yet and I want it to. [That's it. This journal does not belong to me]. I went to piano lessons today also. I didn't do very good. [Is it because you didn't practice? Yes]. I [and the journal entry ends here after that one lone word. Although there is a drawing at the bottom of the page that appears to be a bed that has been scribbled out. No explanation for this].
January 10, 1996 (age 11):
Last week it was Utah's birthday! It turned 100. We had a big assembly at school and we sang a song about Utah. [My close friends know that if you catch me on a good day, I am usually willing to perform this song with the hand actions in their entirety. Most people who were children in Utah in 1996 still seem to remember at least fragments of the song which has since become the official state song). As a preview to hold you over until you next see me in person, I'll just tell you that it involves marching, enthusiastic swaying, big hand gestures, and contains lines such as: "Utah! People working together! Utah! What a great place to be!" and "This is the PLACE!" I remember spending an embarrassing amount of time in school learning the choreography to this. (Ours didn't look exactly like this, but you get the idea)]. I'm reading a book called "My Brother Sam is Dead." It's a really good book. I have over 350 rubber bands tied together. [This thing went everywhere with me for the better part of one year until it was mysteriously lost. I still have my suspicions that Bob and Cathie had something to do with its disappearance. Maybe it ended up "running away" like Gigi (my baby blanket) did in 1991. I'm not sure whether I should be more embarrassed that I believed that story or that Bob and Cathie actually had to make it up because I was still carrying my baby blanket around at age 7]. I'm almost done with my life. [I read this several times before figuring out what I was talking about. And no, this isn't a suicide note. Life was a goal/level/state-of-being(?) in Boy Scouts and apparently in 1996, I had almost achieved it].
That's all for tonight folks. Tune in next time for more insights into my 11 year old mind, including the continuation of the dog story.
~It Just Gets Stranger
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Lost Journal Series: Part III
Tonight I bring you part III of my childhood journal entries, full of adventure and enlightenment. Everything in [brackets] is commentary from tonight.
August 15, 1995 (age 11):
School started yesterday and I am in sixth grade. I have a nice teacher named Mrs. Southwick and she has to take care of her new baby. [Again with the babies . . .]. I hope her baby behaves itself soon so she can come back.
August 31, 1995 (age 11):
Today I played with Sam and we played in his backyard. I can ride my bike without using my hands. I think I'm pretty good at riding my bike but I have to be careful because I'm also really good at soccer [false] and basketball [even more false] and if I get hurt it will be really hard for me to continue to compete how I know I should. [Getting hurt and removing me from these sports might have been the best thing that could have happened to me and my reputation for competency]. Paul [not totally sure who this is] grabbed a 5th graders arm and started pinching and scratching it. [No further explanation about this or why it made it into the journal]. We had a firedrill at school today while my class was in COMPUTER!!! [No?!? That's crazy!]. Doug has been soo bad that Mrs. [illegible] kicked him out of the class and made him go to Mr. Pullin's room for ONE WEEK!!!
September 5, 1995 (age 11):
Mrs. Southwick came back today. She moved people and I'm not even sitting by Sam or Tim anymore! She gives more homework than the substitute!!! And I thought she was a nice lady at first! I guess I was wrong!
September 6, 1995 (age 11):
Today I got so much homework. I did a maze with chalk on the sidewalk. My sister went to a dance. I walk home from school with my friends. Some people said mean things when we were walking home today but we didn't listen to them and I bet they stopped because I bet they felt really gilty [guilty] for the things they said when they saw they weren't listening to us. I bet they are all thinking about what they said and wishing that they were better. [I'm sure that's exactly what was happening. My 11 year apathy to the "mean" comments, whatever they were, led immediately to regret and self-reflection].
November 6, 1995 (age 11):
For Halloween my friends and I went Trick or Treating. We got more candy than you would even believe. Me, Sam, Tim, and Jared got a jar and we each wrote a note and we didn't tell what we wrote then we stuck it in the jar and burried it in the jar [wait, so was it in the jar?] and burried it on the side of Jared's house. From the big rock its 2 steps and there's a stick. Seven more steps and then there's the jar! We will probably dig it up in like 20 years. Or maybe sooner. [Update: we dug it up less than 6 months later. It was a miracle we found it using the directions I provided. I have no idea why we thought measuring steps from an unspecified rock and a stick lying on the ground would be helpful in 20 years. Fortunately I drew a very detailed map of the location on this page of my journal, marking the exact spot. Unfortunately when we did dig it up, the jar was full of ridiculously useless notes that had nothing to do with anything that could ever matter to anyone. If my memory is correct, the notes talked about how old we were and what we had done that day, including fragments of knock-knock jokes we had made up on the spot. We also each chose to bury an object in the jar but the objects were mostly just small broken toys we had found 10 minutes before in Jared's garage. So all-in-all, not an incredibly successful time capsule experience]. I axadentally broke the back of Sam's little car but he can glue it back on, I hope.
~It Just Gets Stranger
August 15, 1995 (age 11):
School started yesterday and I am in sixth grade. I have a nice teacher named Mrs. Southwick and she has to take care of her new baby. [Again with the babies . . .]. I hope her baby behaves itself soon so she can come back.
August 31, 1995 (age 11):
Today I played with Sam and we played in his backyard. I can ride my bike without using my hands. I think I'm pretty good at riding my bike but I have to be careful because I'm also really good at soccer [false] and basketball [even more false] and if I get hurt it will be really hard for me to continue to compete how I know I should. [Getting hurt and removing me from these sports might have been the best thing that could have happened to me and my reputation for competency]. Paul [not totally sure who this is] grabbed a 5th graders arm and started pinching and scratching it. [No further explanation about this or why it made it into the journal]. We had a firedrill at school today while my class was in COMPUTER!!! [No?!? That's crazy!]. Doug has been soo bad that Mrs. [illegible] kicked him out of the class and made him go to Mr. Pullin's room for ONE WEEK!!!
September 5, 1995 (age 11):
Mrs. Southwick came back today. She moved people and I'm not even sitting by Sam or Tim anymore! She gives more homework than the substitute!!! And I thought she was a nice lady at first! I guess I was wrong!
September 6, 1995 (age 11):
Today I got so much homework. I did a maze with chalk on the sidewalk. My sister went to a dance. I walk home from school with my friends. Some people said mean things when we were walking home today but we didn't listen to them and I bet they stopped because I bet they felt really gilty [guilty] for the things they said when they saw they weren't listening to us. I bet they are all thinking about what they said and wishing that they were better. [I'm sure that's exactly what was happening. My 11 year apathy to the "mean" comments, whatever they were, led immediately to regret and self-reflection].
November 6, 1995 (age 11):
For Halloween my friends and I went Trick or Treating. We got more candy than you would even believe. Me, Sam, Tim, and Jared got a jar and we each wrote a note and we didn't tell what we wrote then we stuck it in the jar and burried it in the jar [wait, so was it in the jar?] and burried it on the side of Jared's house. From the big rock its 2 steps and there's a stick. Seven more steps and then there's the jar! We will probably dig it up in like 20 years. Or maybe sooner. [Update: we dug it up less than 6 months later. It was a miracle we found it using the directions I provided. I have no idea why we thought measuring steps from an unspecified rock and a stick lying on the ground would be helpful in 20 years. Fortunately I drew a very detailed map of the location on this page of my journal, marking the exact spot. Unfortunately when we did dig it up, the jar was full of ridiculously useless notes that had nothing to do with anything that could ever matter to anyone. If my memory is correct, the notes talked about how old we were and what we had done that day, including fragments of knock-knock jokes we had made up on the spot. We also each chose to bury an object in the jar but the objects were mostly just small broken toys we had found 10 minutes before in Jared's garage. So all-in-all, not an incredibly successful time capsule experience]. I axadentally broke the back of Sam's little car but he can glue it back on, I hope.
~It Just Gets Stranger
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