tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89646987946917180382024-03-13T22:20:48.335-06:00It Just Gets StrangerELIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11231200183264672395noreply@blogger.comBlogger1556125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-69558428433812454622021-04-14T16:38:00.003-06:002021-04-14T16:38:37.581-06:00We Moved<p>Stranger is still a happening place. More than ever, actually. But if you are still trying to access it through a blospot address, you'll want to get with the times. You can find us at <a href="http://itjustgetsstranger.com">itjustgetsstranger.com</a>. Just drop the blogspot and you'll be good. </p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-53619929831900457042021-02-09T19:12:00.001-07:002021-02-09T19:12:58.812-07:00A True Democracy<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">One of the plus sides to living in These Unprecedented Times is many of my friends realized all at once that they could actually just go ahead and get really cute puppies. Key among these was Emily, who lives down the street from me and who decided to get a cavoodle (same as Duncan) named Jude.</span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Since we're all working from home, apparently in perpetuity, it made sense to us to start our very own little doggy daycare, which means every other day we each send our own dog to the other's house so Duncan and Jude can wrestle and nap for 9 straight hours. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5_n-W4i1_pg/YCNAAmS-QLI/AAAAAAAA3UQ/Q7rVa3CRjXkyuunI1leEY21-U6HmqC2XACLcBGAsYHQ/s1963/Jude.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1602" data-original-width="1963" height="522" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5_n-W4i1_pg/YCNAAmS-QLI/AAAAAAAA3UQ/Q7rVa3CRjXkyuunI1leEY21-U6HmqC2XACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h522/Jude.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a name='more'></a></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uH4qo8-spIY/YCNABnuXCnI/AAAAAAAA3UU/NL7ohxKsSL80Xx52mF4nDSoss0VmNmmFACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Jude%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uH4qo8-spIY/YCNABnuXCnI/AAAAAAAA3UU/NL7ohxKsSL80Xx52mF4nDSoss0VmNmmFACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Jude%2B2.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We truly don't deserve our animals. Skylar and I have wondered for the past year whether Duncan is grateful to have us home all the time now. He seemed elated for the first week, but after that we noticed he started stomping out of rooms and hiding so he could nap in peace. If you've ever had a roommate who is home too much and you wish they would leave every once in a while so you could have some alone time, it honestly feels like that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Duncan used to come cuddle on top of my feet while I worked during the day. Now he sleeps on the couch in the other room, occasionally walking into the office to stare at me in frustration if I'm taking a call. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">One thing they don't really tell you about marriage is how quickly you're going to get into the habit of using the dog to argue.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Duncan doesn't really like how messy you left the kitchen this morning. Don't shoot the messenger!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">That was already happening pre-Covid, but then it became so much worse once we were all stuck at home together and Duncan started acting like he was on neither of our sides.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Because our humble abode is a true democracy, all three of us have an equal vote in family decisions, which basically means that when Skylar and I disagree we have to make the best case for what we think Duncan's vote probably is. This usually involves manipulating him to coming over to a certain side of the room to sit next to one of us. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Last night there was a battle over the thermostat. This is a common occurrence in our house. I prefer a balmy 65. Skylar, if he had his wish, would set the temperature in our house at 85 degrees. He'd still complain that it was cold and he'd still drape himself in his collection of international sweaters, but he'd accuse me of murder less if I allowed this.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"It's freezing," he informed me of our 71 degree house yesterday. "I can barely feel my fingers." Skylar sat huddled on top of one heating blanket and with another covering him. "Can we please just turn on the fire before I die of hypothermia?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Sky. It's SO hot in here," I gasped, a bead of sweat dripping down my half naked body. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Fine. Let's let Duncan decide."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Our dog sat, huddled with Skylar on top of the two heating blankets, staring at me with the same quiet desperation that was pouring out of my husband. We turned on the damn fire.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0PJ00RtzLkE/YCNAInMVOAI/AAAAAAAA3UY/AT1snU2J0rYM4BEKpzTm9O8jqCDPmCqGACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Duncan%2B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0PJ00RtzLkE/YCNAInMVOAI/AAAAAAAA3UY/AT1snU2J0rYM4BEKpzTm9O8jqCDPmCqGACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Duncan%2B1.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i> </span></div></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-73584567525140915362021-02-07T18:21:00.002-07:002021-02-08T09:55:30.043-07:00Just In Case Cookies<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A few weeks ago <a href="https://twitter.com/gimmeplants" target="_blank">@gimmeplants</a> on Twitter posted a picture of an absolute abomination called "Just In Case Cookies." We talked about it on Strangerville last week. If you haven't read this recipe or heard the Strangerville episode yet, you absolutely should:</span></p>
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p dir="ltr" lang="en"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Look at this absolute abomination of a “cookie” “recipe” from a ward cookbook <a href="https://t.co/j028nJdLg7">pic.twitter.com/j028nJdLg7</a></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">— 🌿aubreys. (@gimmeplants) <a href="https://twitter.com/gimmeplants/status/1353120592312950784?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 23, 2021</a></span></blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Here's the full picture for easier reading:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0legsbDs4W4/YCBrq5H4p3I/AAAAAAAA3T0/QO7VglTjI1QPQ2pGodZrB9nE3D5Yx9bQgCLcBGAsYHQ/Just%2BIn%2BCase%2BCookies.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1775" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0legsbDs4W4/YCBrq5H4p3I/AAAAAAAA3T0/QO7VglTjI1QPQ2pGodZrB9nE3D5Yx9bQgCLcBGAsYHQ/w555-h640/Just%2BIn%2BCase%2BCookies.JPG" width="555" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span><a name='more'></a></span><span><br />I am obsessed with Just In Case Cookies. They are living rent free in every part of my brain right now. Not even rent free. <i>I'm</i> paying<i> them</i> to be there. They keep threatening to move across town into something newer and in a neighborhood with other kids their kids can play with so I may have to chain them down and feed them through a slot in the door.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The idea that you can just grab any old slop in your kitchen, mix it with butter and other slop from your kitchen, and then expect this to turn into "always edible" cookies is honestly incredible. I want to know every single iteration of this monstrosity that has been attempted by anyone ever.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Well, obviously I realized I had to make them and feed them to Skylar. True to the spirit of the recipe, I did not go shopping before doing this. I just opened my pantry and grabbed whatever was available. And I filmed a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGO9c8lygxg&feature=youtu.be" target="_blank">video</a> of it.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QGO9c8lygxg" width="320" youtube-src-id="QGO9c8lygxg"></iframe></span></div><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I had initially planned to just share this on our <a href="https://www.patreon.com/StrangervillePodcast" target="_blank">Patreon</a> but I thought I'd post it here. Going forward I plan to post occasional ridiculous content like that there, so if you're interested, please go check us out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Next, I need to share some news with you and I need you all to be calm while you read this:</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm honestly kind of scared to tell you this, but I feel like I need to start preparing you now. I am going to be moving away from Blogger very soon. DON'T PANIC EVERYTHING IS FINE. I've been needing to move from blogger for a long time because it's not 2006 anymore and because I need this site to be substantially more functional than it currently is.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I have an incredibly talented web designer and artist currently working on building a site and moving all Stranger content to it. I found him on Twitter and I'm now obsessed with him. Look at this thing he made!</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p dir="ltr" lang="en"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This year my family decided that each of our presents had to be handmade, so this is what I made for my dad. <a href="https://t.co/Nc5aIIWVt3">pic.twitter.com/Nc5aIIWVt3</a></span></span></p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">— Chris Patty 🐮 (@ChrisJPatty) <a href="https://twitter.com/ChrisJPatty/status/1078065910487760896?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">December 26, 2018</a></span></span></blockquote><span style="color: #050505; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know everything probably isn't about me, but the fact that he chose <i>that song</i> is obviously the universe communicating that Chris and I are supposed to be in one another's lives for all time. </span></span><div><span style="color: #050505; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Considering the above, of course I immediately begged him to become Stranger's resident web designer and artist and he agreed. He's been working on building a site for us that will have the classic Stranger feel but with a much better functionality.<br /></span></span><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After the initial shock of change, I think you are going to like it. And if you don't, just pretend you do because I'm very fragile.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Positives:</b> </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You'll finally be able to like comments. In fact, commenting and interacting here will be much much smoother and easier. I know a huge part of the Strangerverse for many of you is the community. We are going to make that community more reachable for everyone. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The site will be <i>much </i>easier to navigate and find content.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm going to be able to publish the types of feature articles I've been doing on The Beehive directly on Stranger instead so you don't have to go to different sites to find things. I'm also going to start publishing really fun articles and stories from other funny people who contribute to Strangerville and you'll be able to find all of those things in part of the site. Stranger historically has been a place for my daily blogging--now it will be that plus a place for great storytelling from really talented people. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">All Strangerville podcast and live show content will be easier to access and navigate.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The regular blogging you're used to me doing will continue to happen, uninterrupted. The daily-ish blog content will look relatively similar to what you're used to, with vertical scrolling through posts.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We'll still be at the same web address. All links to older things will remain the same so if you have Stranger stuff saved anywhere, you won't need to update it. All links will be directed to the right place. You'll still access the content the same way--it will just look a little different. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm not rebranding, so you'll still land on a page with the Stranger and Strangerville logos and tone you're used to.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Negatives:</b></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">THERE AREN'T ANY LET'S JUST HAVE A GOOD ATTITUDE ABOUT THIS OK?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Honestly, no one here is more terrified than change than me. Chris understands that and I can promise you what he's doing is actually really lovely. He keeps sending me updates and links to scroll through how things are looking (it honestly feels like building a house and occasionally walking through it to check the process). Every time I go to check it out, I expect to be very upset but it really does feel lovely and familiar and homey. I hope you'll feel the same way. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This very stupid site has been so valuable to me for the last decade and a half largely because of you. I'm so excited to finally update it and make it a more comfortable landing place for all of us.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sincerely, thank you for all of your incredible support over the years. I'm super excited to bring Stranger well into the 20th century (not a typo).</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Finally, please enjoy this week's Strangerville:</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H8GNA9aslkU/YCBtpad29_I/AAAAAAAA3T8/tb4xRQhdz0QWxmQCn846p24FfD0wi4lewCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H8GNA9aslkU/YCBtpad29_I/AAAAAAAA3T8/tb4xRQhdz0QWxmQCn846p24FfD0wi4lewCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><span><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;">This time in Strangerville, Meg’s children thinks she might be having an affair with Eli, why do people work so much?, and Eli recounts a memory of seeing locals show up on early reality television programs.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Story:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;">Utah’s Reality Pioneers, <em>by Eli McCann (music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Lobo_Loco/Salad_Mixed/allright-in-louisiana-instrumental-id-1303" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Loco</a>)</em></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;">Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter</p></span></span><p></p> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17839784/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe>
</span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</span></i></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-31836008829175272912021-02-03T15:06:00.001-07:002021-02-04T11:34:05.303-07:00Things Are Looking Up<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Skylar no longer has time for basic news. If I'm being honest, I'm jealous of the result, but not of the means and methods to get to that result.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Medical school rotations are somehow even more miserable than my worst expectations. I'm talking about <i>my</i> experience with them, of course. I don't know how Skylar feels about it all, exactly. I can only make an educated guess by collecting the evidence and scrutinizing it. Bags under his eyes. His mysterious disappearance every morning before I wake up. The perpetual state of verging on tears. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He slumps into the house every evening and inhales whatever slop I've just finished cooking. "I only have five minutes," he'll say. That means he's about to take residency on the west end of the couch, put on noise-canceling headphones, and study until midnight.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"What happened today in the news?"<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I admire the desire to stay up to date, and I envy the ignorance in These Unprecedented Times.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But what an incredible amount of pressure to put on little old me. I'm exclusively responsible for curating his view of the world. If I don't want him to know about something like, oh, say, an insurrection at the Capitol, I can basically keep that information from him. I can shape his world view in any way I'd like.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Well there's a new strain of Coronavirus that has now reached the United States," my brain tells me to say.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Someone blew up an entire city block in Nashville," I feel compelled to inform him. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Our state legislature is currently trying to codify their overwhelming trans and homophobia, once again," I start to bombard him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But then I stop myself. I say none of it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Honestly, everything is looking up."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Good," he'll mutter.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He doesn't believe me. I know he doesn't. But I don't think it really matters.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sometimes you just need someone to tell you things are looking up.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bDqnfidIT10/YBsHN30ggqI/AAAAAAAA3TE/DJZNQ-U5LCwYaJ_bH08p1KEXDQBKoFKBACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Study%2B2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bDqnfidIT10/YBsHN30ggqI/AAAAAAAA3TE/DJZNQ-U5LCwYaJ_bH08p1KEXDQBKoFKBACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Study%2B2.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><p><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</span></i></p></span></i><p></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-36476876964746313432021-02-01T19:34:00.000-07:002021-02-01T19:34:21.092-07:00Help me I'm poor.<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A couple of quick things:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">First, your <a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2021/01/shannon-recap-of-1961-byu-film-about.html" target="_blank">comments on the Shannon recap</a> are giving me life. Also, SOMEONE IN THE COMMENTS LITERALLY FOUND HER GRANDMOTHER IN THE FILM. Stranger is 100% adding "reunites families" to its resume. It will go right underneath "once trolled TMZ so hard they had to send a cease and desist." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Second, we launched a <a href="https://www.patreon.com/StrangervillePodcast">Patreon</a> for Strangerville and Strangerville Live. Meg and Jolyn have both been threatening me through local mafia groups to do this for a while but I just haven't because lazy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">For those unfamiliar, Patreon is a way you can support content by paying some small monthly amount to help with production costs. We launched the <a href="https://www.patreon.com/StrangervillePodcast" target="_blank">Patreon</a> because we have some plans to expand, this site, Strangerville, and Strangerville Live in 2021 and we are hoping to be able to do that without forcing Meg to sell one of her children on ebay. <span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">For now we've launched two <a href="https://www.patreon.com/StrangervillePodcast" target="_blank">Patreon</a> options. There's a $3 per month donation basic option. There's also a $5 option that will get you tickets to Strangerville Live when it hopefully returns later this year. I'm hoping to add some additional perks down the road, including June Snapple related merch. Yes, I hate myself for using the word "merch." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">To kick off the <a href="https://www.patreon.com/StrangervillePodcast" target="_blank">Patreon</a>, I'm going to run a drawing of members at the end of February and send out a couple Snuggie or Snuggie adjacent gifts. So go check that out <a href="https://www.patreon.com/StrangervillePodcast" target="_blank">here (patreon.com/StrangervillePodcast)</a> if you'd like to support us like a wonder bra on an Eli at the end of 9 months of sitting in his socially-distanced house eating bags of popcorn soaked in additional butter added after it comes out of the microwave even though my husband has repeatedly told me this practice will "for sure kill" me one day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I legitimately hate asking anyone for anything. When I proposed to Skylar I added "if you want, but seriously no big deal" at the end. This is a problem I have and I wish I could improve, but I've decided to put off any efforts in this area at least until my 40s. Does anyone else suffer from this? Is there a support group?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">So I may completely undermine the Patreon pledge from above in saying this, but honestly, please feel no pressure here. Just by showing up and listening and coming to the shows and reading this very stupid website you are already helping the Strangerverse grow and thrive. And if you are someone that just can't support content financially for whatever reason, there is no reason to feel bad about that. AND there are several other free ways to support us, and these free ways matter A LOT. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Apart from Patreon and/or listening/subscribing/etc., a few super super super helpful things (and I honestly mean it. These things are very helpful for us, and really any content creator on the internet you like. Yes, I hate myself for saying "content creator."):</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">1. Leave a written review for <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/strangerville/id1083323615" target="_blank">Strangerville on your favorite podcast app</a>. Leaving 5 stars is awesome, but adding a short written review is even more helpful. Even a single additional review makes a difference (and a lot of reviews makes a big difference) in helping Strangerville actually gain exposure. This is because of internet science, which is powered by wickedness, but we're subject to it whether we like it or not.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">2. Follow us on social media. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/itjustgetsstranger" target="_blank">Facebook</a>. <a href="https://twitter.com/StrangervilleHQ" target="_blank">Twitter</a>. <a href="https://www.instagram.com/strangervillepodcast/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">3. LEAVE COMMENTS. Interact with Strangerville here on this very stupid website and whenever you see us on social media. The reason this matters, and many of you can attest to this, is that this community and space is so valuable in large part because of the incredibly supportive and fun community interaction. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When you interact here or anywhere we are hanging out, it makes all of this more fun. Also, we've gotten so many of the stories you love from you just speaking up. Shoutout to The Suzzzzzzzz and Amy Rose and many others who have given Strangerville some of the most amazing stories we never would have heard had they not repeatedly harassed me and some of you on this site.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">4. Share Stranger and Strangerville. Share episodes or articles you like on social media. Tell family and friends. Help us gain exposure with your audience, whatever it is. Most of you are here because someone shared something from this place with you. I'm so happy that someone did and I hope you are, too. But even if you're here to hate read, please share. I am in desperate need of more trolls to CENSOR. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And that's about all I have to say about THAT. I love you. And not just because you have great hair. But partly because you have great hair.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Inthenameofcheeseandriceamen.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And now, please enjoy this week's very wild Strangerville:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJER34n9xeU/YBi5RZhiVWI/AAAAAAAA3Sw/S_UES1O3jz03O-BVW-Lwlhp8SWTPh1I4gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJER34n9xeU/YBi5RZhiVWI/AAAAAAAA3Sw/S_UES1O3jz03O-BVW-Lwlhp8SWTPh1I4gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This time in Strangerville, someone shared a recipe for “Just In Case” cookies online and Meg and Eli are very upset. A man has a run in with a dangerous cartel in Mexico. And Meg and Eli are lucky to have survived several close calls while living in eastern Europe.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-weight: 700;">Story</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Cartel, <em>by Tim Stricklan</em>, <em>music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/gillicuddy/Plays_Guitar_Again/01-adventure-darling" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Gillicuddy</a></em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter</span></p>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17750372/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe></span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</span></i></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-71027550682614260332021-01-27T13:07:00.013-07:002021-01-27T13:42:23.183-07:00Shannon: A Recap Of A 1961 BYU Film About A Very Naughty Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EtBUjL0v1Wo/YBHJ62iJSpI/AAAAAAAA3OU/Vq6zTNJit7Ut3ALu-0VorjTbsASJG-WmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s941/Shannon%2BCover.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="941" height="374" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EtBUjL0v1Wo/YBHJ62iJSpI/AAAAAAAA3OU/Vq6zTNJit7Ut3ALu-0VorjTbsASJG-WmwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h374/Shannon%2BCover.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When I saw there was a BYU film from 1961 called “Shannon” I pulled the trigger and that’s how we ended up here. I have not seen this. I know nothing about this film other than its fabulous name. I will be recapping it as I go.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The film begins with a young woman walking around taking roll at some sort of party. You always know you’re in for a good time when attendance is being recorded. The attendees of this event are young women who are supposed to be 16 but are actually all 95.<span></span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RAijz5FCZPw/YBHKNPCFi2I/AAAAAAAA3Oc/f6-r3Tp1WIEEjxTQjrpLx0bOsjmcI-4_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S1.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="879" height="444" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RAijz5FCZPw/YBHKNPCFi2I/AAAAAAAA3Oc/f6-r3Tp1WIEEjxTQjrpLx0bOsjmcI-4_gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h444/S1.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Brace yourself. I’m going to make a lot of comments throughout about the apparent age of these teenagers with hairdos you could carbon date.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The party appears to be a good time. Girls are dancing, talking, saying “hub bub” to each other in the background to create an atmosphere of general conversation, etc.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Suddenly we are introduced to a woman who is supposed to be much older than the other girls, although I don’t know how because so far everyone looks like they could be in my grandma’s Canasta group (apart from the lack of face tattoos). This woman’s name is Martha and she is apparently the youth leader (“Laurel advisor”) of this group of teen gals.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sBbZoKbd_LM/YBHKmNwglJI/AAAAAAAA3Ok/7DcQE0lNRRwCj-A20aRFPw55dDnxr3gdQCLcBGAsYHQ/s877/S2.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="877" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sBbZoKbd_LM/YBHKmNwglJI/AAAAAAAA3Ok/7DcQE0lNRRwCj-A20aRFPw55dDnxr3gdQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S2.PNG" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>I just became very angry realizing Martha is probably only 35.</span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha is upset to find out that someone named Shannon did not show up to this raucous party. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shannon’s absence has been noticed throughout the room. “I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">knew </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">SHANNON wouldn’t come,” one of the Golden Girls says. “This party is much too tame for </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">her</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.”</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vTD6wHZeuIE/YBHKr6m9zmI/AAAAAAAA3Oo/SaoLnwOiOXoZv3YGEPT9SuADevv-6yOtgCLcBGAsYHQ/s875/S3.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="875" height="394" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vTD6wHZeuIE/YBHKr6m9zmI/AAAAAAAA3Oo/SaoLnwOiOXoZv3YGEPT9SuADevv-6yOtgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h394/S3.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">should </span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">she come? There aren’t any </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">boyssss</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> here,” another gossiper in a JODI dress quips. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It appears there is a consensus that Shannon is too cool for . . . whatever the hell this is. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I’m two minutes and eight seconds in and I’m already team Shannon. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Martha then takes us to a flashback with a voiceover in which she summons the most Utah of all accents. “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shannon</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Why it was only two weeks ago that I became her LAURel leadAR.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">(Note: the Laurels are a group of girls in a Mormon congregation, ages 16 and 17.)</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This flashback happens in a church building where the Laurels seem to have just been dismissed from a lesson. “Hi Martha,” Phyllis Schlafly says. “How did your first class go?”</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IQ0zoEC_szc/YBHKxUKW3lI/AAAAAAAA3Os/j0-A2cDIRJQpWyHikzWasfg_dWq4gTYmACLcBGAsYHQ/s880/S4.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="880" height="394" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IQ0zoEC_szc/YBHKxUKW3lI/AAAAAAAA3Os/j0-A2cDIRJQpWyHikzWasfg_dWq4gTYmACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h394/S4.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We find out this woman is the president of the Laurels, so she is Martha’s superior.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I hope you’ll enjoy your work in Laurels as much as I do,” she tells Martha. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The two women start talking about Shannon, who reportedly doesn’t always come to class. “The problem with Shannon,” the president says “is when she </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">does</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> come to class, she’s usually the center of attention!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Fun. Sexual. Entertaining. So far I’m not hearing a single actual criticism of this Shannon person.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We must try to get all our girls active and </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">keep</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> them active,” the president tells Martha, referring to church attendance.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fQJqQYDWfQ0/YBHK2iUxZwI/AAAAAAAA3O0/AlKNxJLYn2ADBMbwtqTZrR_CIHZyARXbgCLcBGAsYHQ/s880/S5.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="880" height="392" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fQJqQYDWfQ0/YBHK2iUxZwI/AAAAAAAA3O0/AlKNxJLYn2ADBMbwtqTZrR_CIHZyARXbgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h392/S5.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The flashback ends and we’re taken back to the party where suddenly the doorbell rings. One of the girls answers it. We hear a voice from outside shout, “It looks like this is the right place, Steve. Thanks for bringing me!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The entire cast of <i>The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel</i> is on the couch, and they are all riveted and ready for this new arrival’s grand entrance. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kRDelimjkMI/YBHK9NVzfXI/AAAAAAAA3O4/aZh1lI4ca00Yn_635fVY6_VR-nHjq8CnQCLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S6.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="879" height="392" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kRDelimjkMI/YBHK9NVzfXI/AAAAAAAA3O4/aZh1lI4ca00Yn_635fVY6_VR-nHjq8CnQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h392/S6.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And then . . . we finally meet the illustrious SHANNON.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ER4rPr9tsTo/YBHLDgFVh1I/AAAAAAAA3PA/qTrkeFBx03EYin3GEvCHTrYF57xwiTLEgCLcBGAsYHQ/s520/Shannon%2B1.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="520" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ER4rPr9tsTo/YBHLDgFVh1I/AAAAAAAA3PA/qTrkeFBx03EYin3GEvCHTrYF57xwiTLEgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Shannon%2B1.gif" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Hi girls!” Shannon says to the silent crowd of admirers, fully soaking in the spotlight. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That sleek shawl. Age-appropriate hair. Classic jewelry straight out of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Breakfast at Tiffany’s</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Confidence you could bottle sell at a straight man convention. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shannon is a </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">star</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha goes to introduce herself to Shannon. “Hello, I’m Sister Gregory. Welcome to our”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">but then Shannon cuts her off and says “Hello. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">MRS</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Gregory.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">OH SNAP. A LINE HAS BEEN DRAWN.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This Shannon character does not care for Martha’s religious titles.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By the way, my latest working theory for this film is it was initially intended to be a long advertisement for </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lcpuf0UKKbg" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Bumpit</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bUnkSqwHNZU/YBHLLBQH2kI/AAAAAAAA3PI/NUbaW_9v-g0y3zYSHW5AVbliirQLe45awCLcBGAsYHQ/s876/S7.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="876" height="392" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bUnkSqwHNZU/YBHLLBQH2kI/AAAAAAAA3PI/NUbaW_9v-g0y3zYSHW5AVbliirQLe45awCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h392/S7.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We move on from the party. “Shannon </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">did </span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">attend class,” another sassy Martha voiceover tells us. “</span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whenever she thought there was nothing more IMPORTANT to do!</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” Oh the shade. I can already tell Martha is going to have her hands full with Shannon, who is clearly wild. Somehow. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha goes on to say she “ran into Shannon everywhere EXCEPT CLASS!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There’s a brief montage of Martha running into Shannon around town.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jwza_blmHsI/YBHLQhvWiGI/AAAAAAAA3PQ/JZH6dGFYlnMIEw4D8VS3NWielnTe1fHvQCLcBGAsYHQ/s880/S8.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="880" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jwza_blmHsI/YBHLQhvWiGI/AAAAAAAA3PQ/JZH6dGFYlnMIEw4D8VS3NWielnTe1fHvQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h446/S8.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha did everything she could to manage the Shannon problem. The Shannon problem is so far defined as “doesn’t go to every church meeting and sometimes rides in cars.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha tries calling Shannon on the phone.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Dsl4KKxb9M/YBHLXP9NIyI/AAAAAAAA3PY/AOmMgXzKvYwB3nFEqP7ZsnyhdhOiLn85gCLcBGAsYHQ/s873/S9.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="606" data-original-width="873" height="444" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Dsl4KKxb9M/YBHLXP9NIyI/AAAAAAAA3PY/AOmMgXzKvYwB3nFEqP7ZsnyhdhOiLn85gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h444/S9.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She tries to visit Shannon in her home.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nMHobOl3iQE/YBHLcpuYVDI/AAAAAAAA3Pg/0FrrnlxHRK8t0oQ0_2hSlcgD0oxOg6WjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s877/S10.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="877" height="444" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nMHobOl3iQE/YBHLcpuYVDI/AAAAAAAA3Pg/0FrrnlxHRK8t0oQ0_2hSlcgD0oxOg6WjgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h444/S10.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She writes Shannon letters under a Mr. Belvedere lamp.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sbphKb9k6oM/YBHLg6lqlrI/AAAAAAAA3Po/CfOszrjFBMAZVmBDqdmKmF8xIqrR0LfrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s880/S11.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="880" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sbphKb9k6oM/YBHLg6lqlrI/AAAAAAAA3Po/CfOszrjFBMAZVmBDqdmKmF8xIqrR0LfrwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S11.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Martha needs a hobby in the worst way. This film is already starting to turn into </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fatal Attraction</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">No matter what she tries, Martha just cannot seem to rein in Shannon’s wild lifestyle. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Some time passes, and then we are taken to a Laurel lesson. Martha is at the front of the classroom having each of the girls announce how many times they’ve been to church recently so she can record it in her attendance book. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pr8SCiBVdn4/YBHLlV6xbwI/AAAAAAAA3Ps/BUOK8DakBqkmWWcOWd3PlTBUqv0uAoikgCLcBGAsYHQ/s877/S12.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="877" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pr8SCiBVdn4/YBHLlV6xbwI/AAAAAAAA3Ps/BUOK8DakBqkmWWcOWd3PlTBUqv0uAoikgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S12.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Just then Shannon strolls in. You can almost smell the sin on her. What sin, specifically, I don’t know. But there’s definitely sin happening.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Shannon, what meetings did </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">attend this week?” an already frustrated Martha demands to know.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Well, at least I’m here tonight,” Shannon responds with very minimal sass.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fYVC7L8xqq0/YBHLvvTw_vI/AAAAAAAA3Pw/2KSKpbXKLAIfyVCY4yFZAMunL4mRP5giACLcBGAsYHQ/s880/S13.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="880" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fYVC7L8xqq0/YBHLvvTw_vI/AAAAAAAA3Pw/2KSKpbXKLAIfyVCY4yFZAMunL4mRP5giACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S13.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After an uproarious outburst from the rest of the class over Shannon’s absolutely badass takedown of Martha, Martha tells the girls they need to spend the evening planning for their “Laureling Ceremony,” including making invitations to give their mothers and designing the decorations.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Upon talking to the girls about the upcoming event that OMG I am so excited for because there’s no way it’s not going to be amazing, Martha finds out that Shannon is apparently good at event decorations.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“This was just the opportunity I was looking for!” voiceover Martha says as she’s depicted picking up the phone. “A chance to get Shannon into activity!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">so</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> confused. The film is trying to explain that Shannon doesn’t come to church activities but so far basically every scene Shannon has been in she is at church activities.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LQAaicMzQ_c/YBHL0ID6cKI/AAAAAAAA3P4/LNnnVFmtbOsAVsqnmC4yCkObb4SNrjoMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s876/S14.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="876" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LQAaicMzQ_c/YBHL0ID6cKI/AAAAAAAA3P4/LNnnVFmtbOsAVsqnmC4yCkObb4SNrjoMQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S14.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha pitches the decorating idea for the Laureling ceremony to Shannon who declines, honestly so so politely. “That’s really nice of you to ask, but unfortunately I won’t be there.” Shannon says. “My mother will be out of town and I won’t be able to make it.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha is not pleased. Sinister music I can only describe as “contemplating the murder of the woman you can’t have” broods as Martha slowly puts down the phone.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyLwIch4T00/YBHL5pT0BgI/AAAAAAAA3QA/1SUB6Red1Agmmtqcn4r6yH0EdRBv9h-PwCLcBGAsYHQ/s878/S15.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="878" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vyLwIch4T00/YBHL5pT0BgI/AAAAAAAA3QA/1SUB6Red1Agmmtqcn4r6yH0EdRBv9h-PwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S15.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes, Martha has the personality and energy of a coked-out TSA agent who recently found Jesus, but I want the record to reflect that I think her skin is absolutely </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">flawless</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By way of recap, this grown woman has become completely obsessed and angry over this 16-year-old seemingly-lovely girl (who </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">does</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> appear to attend church, but sometimes misses meetings), because she is not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">as </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">devout in youthful evangelism as she </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">could be</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ok. It looks like it’s already time for the Laureling Ceremony. I thought that was going to be the final scene of the film but it’s coming at us not even at the halfway point. This just goes to show that even after you’ve watched hundreds of old Mormon films like I have, you never know how these things are going to go.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I just got very depressed about my life choices.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In any event, I can tell this scene is going to be amazing. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It begins with Blanche, Rose, Sophia, and Dorothy holding up a banner that says “PEARLS of BEAUTY.”</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3CdtO-LBQII/YBHL_1zdHtI/AAAAAAAA3QI/5KKMBD2SU7EQu1oyOaMF13UYptMVeC6FwCLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S16.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="879" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3CdtO-LBQII/YBHL_1zdHtI/AAAAAAAA3QI/5KKMBD2SU7EQu1oyOaMF13UYptMVeC6FwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S16.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The breathy teen geriatrics monotonically recite: “We represent beauty. Lustrous pearls of immeasurable worth to all women. Those who seek us will find us in purity and self respect, health and cleanliness, cheerfulness, appreciation.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The original wives of Brigham Young are in the audience and they are </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">into this</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7RrgLZxYpRM/YBHME1eWQSI/AAAAAAAA3QQ/znd_uTAmtmMvFpbswBeEBPp8NBlJOwWJgCLcBGAsYHQ/s881/S17.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="881" height="444" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7RrgLZxYpRM/YBHME1eWQSI/AAAAAAAA3QQ/znd_uTAmtmMvFpbswBeEBPp8NBlJOwWJgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h444/S17.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“That which is beautiful is good. That which is good will become beautiful,” the girls continue, summoning the great spirits of the underworld.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Martha is having a fantastic time at this absolute rager, but she can’t help but be upset that Shannon isn’t there to recite all of these mantras about how important it is to be hot. “I’d give </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">anything</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> if Shannon could be here,” she says through voiceover. “I wonder where she could be,” Martha adds, looking off longingly into the distance.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oAQqVzwAkpg/YBHMJ9MMtjI/AAAAAAAA3QY/fnD025WKR2E9UtcIwkS97iQxx4ME50SYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S18.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="879" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oAQqVzwAkpg/YBHMJ9MMtjI/AAAAAAAA3QY/fnD025WKR2E9UtcIwkS97iQxx4ME50SYwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S18.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The ceremony goes on </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">for a while</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. It’s not totally clear what the purpose of this event is. Is it a hazing ritual? Is it performance art? Has someone trapped everyone in this room? Can they leave freely? Is Jim Jones involved?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This one in the front in the white dress and clutching her purse on her lap like she doesn’t trust any of these people seems ready to get the hell out of there and secretly soak in a bath of Cabernet Sauvignon.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfzM47i_7-Q/YBHMO6_eM2I/AAAAAAAA3Qc/Ckyoh2UbWqIQzHhrlObZahustdE_uvSoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S19.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="879" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfzM47i_7-Q/YBHMO6_eM2I/AAAAAAAA3Qc/Ckyoh2UbWqIQzHhrlObZahustdE_uvSoQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S19.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I like to imagine Linda (I decided her name is Linda) wandered into this room mistakenly thinking it was an AA meeting and she isn’t sure if she should wait for a possible break to leave.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">#FreeLinda</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The event finally ends so Martha goes home to find her husband and two sons (who both went to the Deseret School of Overacting) meaninglessly working with tools. Because that’s what men do!</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pxvwoE4bOxc/YBHMUGMoUYI/AAAAAAAA3Qk/oJfFp0oynC0aHy57TEVaIUUju2gIfwx9gCLcBGAsYHQ/s880/S20.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="880" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pxvwoE4bOxc/YBHMUGMoUYI/AAAAAAAA3Qk/oJfFp0oynC0aHy57TEVaIUUju2gIfwx9gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S20.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha’s children have the personalities of overeager EFY counselors who definitely plan to “keep in touch” with the teen attendees. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha explains to the rest of the Cleavers that the girls eat an alarming amount of food, but she somehow managed to bring home just enough cake from the activity for her family.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Martha sits down and starts telling her husband about the Laureling Ceremony. “Shannon and her mother weren’t there,” she tells him. “I guess she didn’t think it was </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">important </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">enough!”</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hCMrH13YoVE/YBHMYSfxylI/AAAAAAAA3Qo/wtiJD71FH0oZFQfsHC8i1C7DSEAJzOaCwCLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S21.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="879" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hCMrH13YoVE/YBHMYSfxylI/AAAAAAAA3Qo/wtiJD71FH0oZFQfsHC8i1C7DSEAJzOaCwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h446/S21.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ok, maybe it’s because I’m a heathen, but I do not understand the importance of the event we just witnessed. It was literally just a handful of teenagers standing in front of their extremely bored mothers reciting lines about how it’s important to be pretty. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I just can’t get close to her,” Martha whines to her husband. “How do you help a girl like Shannon!? I’ve tried everything I can think of to try to interest that girl!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then Martha starts crying a little and if her husband was not so aloof, he would for sure become suspicious and deeply concerned by this point. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Up next, back in the classroom Martha has each of the girls write their names and interests on a piece of paper and place it in a box. The girls and Martha will be drawing names for a Christmas gift exchange and the hobbies are supposed to help the gift giver come up with ideas on what to buy.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PTKBTZJMbpg/YBHMdPSrusI/AAAAAAAA3Qw/2OjgR1MaVkEg2UVcXnCR2UKg9Wxx48PeACLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S22.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="879" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PTKBTZJMbpg/YBHMdPSrusI/AAAAAAAA3Qw/2OjgR1MaVkEg2UVcXnCR2UKg9Wxx48PeACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h446/S22.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha ends up drawing Shannon’s name. An extremely disappointed Martha voiceover reads what’s on the paper. “Shannon Leroy. Hobbies: dancing, clothing, and boysssss.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The three great evils.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Martha is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> impressed.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fduLT_-4hiE/YBHMh8TaSoI/AAAAAAAA3Q4/XT855Hsupa8mWz9-8i-yyB2Y6IjOc36fgCLcBGAsYHQ/s881/S23.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="881" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fduLT_-4hiE/YBHMh8TaSoI/AAAAAAAA3Q4/XT855Hsupa8mWz9-8i-yyB2Y6IjOc36fgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S23.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Suddenly we cut to Martha storming into the house crying. “Do you know what she’s done!?” Martha yells at her husband. “Shannon! She’s engaged!”</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-moXDalPTTww/YBHMmYtJ2UI/AAAAAAAA3Q8/O1I_of_SFake8cvygjLL_QtDvVQexOGPwCLcBGAsYHQ/s874/S24.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="874" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-moXDalPTTww/YBHMmYtJ2UI/AAAAAAAA3Q8/O1I_of_SFake8cvygjLL_QtDvVQexOGPwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S24.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ok. Shannon is 16 and this is objectively concerning, but all of the character development and Martha’s obsession up to this point suggests she’s not upset about the engagement for the </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">right </span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">reasons.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As it turns out, Shannon is engaged to a 21-year-old named Stevie. They’re getting married next summer in front of Shannon’s mother’s fireplace, which based on the tone of Martha’s voice when she explains this, it does not appear Martha is impressed with this wedding venue.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AQe0nm6WnM/YBHMrZRuAjI/AAAAAAAA3RE/CuMdR703g8cTBKH09hMpBnctG8abYnjrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s881/S25.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="881" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AQe0nm6WnM/YBHMrZRuAjI/AAAAAAAA3RE/CuMdR703g8cTBKH09hMpBnctG8abYnjrwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S25.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A few days later the boys and girls from church all meet together to start planning a Christmas activity, which will apparently include a sleigh ride and dance.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I actually know this boy. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fsLMxPok-jc/YBHMvselAkI/AAAAAAAA3RM/uYn5Om6-voYY5Z_TvtVpOmAZzRKrYcFmACLcBGAsYHQ/s879/S26.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="879" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fsLMxPok-jc/YBHMvselAkI/AAAAAAAA3RM/uYn5Om6-voYY5Z_TvtVpOmAZzRKrYcFmACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S26.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He cloned himself 15,000 times and had all of the copies attend BYU with me from 2005 to 2008. I remember them well. They used to raise their hands in Elders Quorum meetings every Sunday and confidently say “it’s only a sin if you act on it.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After the planning meeting concludes, Shannon approaches Martha meekly to tell her she would like to be in charge of the decorations for the dance. Martha is THRILLED.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c0Fy5R7RYtc/YBHMz8GopMI/AAAAAAAA3RQ/_z_knlRGcyQBCGhQrmIL1TSm-ZVYP2rewCLcBGAsYHQ/s876/S27.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="876" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c0Fy5R7RYtc/YBHMz8GopMI/AAAAAAAA3RQ/_z_knlRGcyQBCGhQrmIL1TSm-ZVYP2rewCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S27.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You can tell Shannon is becoming humbled because she’s no longer wearing a Bumpit. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It’s unclear where this about-face from Shannon is coming from, but I’m guessing it doesn’t really matter.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day of the sleigh riding activity arrives and after some fun in the snow, the teens and Martha all gather in a cabin to sing Christmas songs. At one point Shannon and another girl named Susan turn the activity into the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lawrence Welk Show</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by performing a musical number about courtship.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The performance includes hand actions, using their bodies as percussion instruments, summoning hats from nowhere, and a full tap-dance routine. None of this is relevant to the plot of the film in any way, but it’s fabulous. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jy8LN1vJK5U/YBHM5LNgwxI/AAAAAAAA3RU/XVmnvVjGcHQPuCi0Ly-JmJW2bfv2UHLKwCLcBGAsYHQ/s360/GIF%2B2.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="360" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jy8LN1vJK5U/YBHM5LNgwxI/AAAAAAAA3RU/XVmnvVjGcHQPuCi0Ly-JmJW2bfv2UHLKwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/GIF%2B2.gif" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The song they perform is called “Get Acquainted In Style,” which allows for a perfectly seamless segue to the lesson. “Now we </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">all </span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">know how to get acquainted in </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">style</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” Martha shouts like she’s performing in a ward Roadshow in 1990.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Side note: I participated in a ward Roadshow when I was 12. We adapted </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oklahoma!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, South Jordan!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (the name of my home town). We brought the house down with our rendition of the titular number. “Oh, South Jordan where the wind comes sweeping ‘cross my yard!” I played tumbleweed number four.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sister Gregory, how did you get </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">acquainted </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with Mr. Gregory?” one of the kids then asks. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha explains that she met her husband when her horse ran away and Mr. Gregory saved it. They fell in love when they made eye contact. Then he went on a mission and when he came back they got engaged and then married six months later.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha tells the kids that to have a successful marriage they should get to know their partner “really well” first, which she apparently did during those six months of engagement. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You should be able to talk intelligently about the important things of life,” Martha tells them. “Not just about which </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">orchestra </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">is the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">smoothest</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” she explains, demonstrating a keen understanding of the youth of the time.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WUZMyg55CbU/YBHM-J6rZaI/AAAAAAAA3Rc/T_FB2cvj0a4iLFy6ivAA_CC13lVL40SRQCLcBGAsYHQ/s880/S28.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="880" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WUZMyg55CbU/YBHM-J6rZaI/AAAAAAAA3Rc/T_FB2cvj0a4iLFy6ivAA_CC13lVL40SRQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h446/S28.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This film is actually making me question my own marriage. The only thing my husband and I ever talk about is smooth orchestras and I honestly feel so stupid for thinking that would be a firm foundation for a meaningful relationship. What are we going to do if we ever face real problems together? Solve them with an oboe?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Over the coming days Shannon takes charge of planning the decorations for the dance. There’s a very long montage of her directing people to staple shit to walls and furniture. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9BKagm3lbaY/YBHNDQYxfVI/AAAAAAAA3Rg/WbR4HOHLszElSk_vP6LbMspTHY7pVUmhgCLcBGAsYHQ/s878/S29.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="878" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9BKagm3lbaY/YBHNDQYxfVI/AAAAAAAA3Rg/WbR4HOHLszElSk_vP6LbMspTHY7pVUmhgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S29.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At one point during this, Martha approaches Shannon. “Oh hi, Mrs. . . . I mean </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sister</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Gregory,” she says, signaling some sort of religious conversion. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1M6iRw1th0/YBHNI7YFTNI/AAAAAAAA3Ro/65_HKkNVuUwiK7b-UpLb6F7hWP4OjeHcwCLcBGAsYHQ/s877/S30.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="877" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1M6iRw1th0/YBHNI7YFTNI/AAAAAAAA3Ro/65_HKkNVuUwiK7b-UpLb6F7hWP4OjeHcwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S30.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The day of the dance arrives and the dance hall looks spectacular, or so we’re told a dozen or so times via some very clunky dialogue between Martha and her Phylis Schlafly. There’s just one thing missing.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Shannon! She’s nowhere to be found!</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RyLjm4yg3ns/YBHNNUDisSI/AAAAAAAA3Rw/Z9HxUzi5x9UnpIS2ONyvWdcyvhVl14-PACLcBGAsYHQ/s878/S31.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="878" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RyLjm4yg3ns/YBHNNUDisSI/AAAAAAAA3Rw/Z9HxUzi5x9UnpIS2ONyvWdcyvhVl14-PACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S31.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After the dance Martha goes outside to wait for a bus. Through voiceover: “If I could just do something to make Shannon accept me as a friend. As I stood in the snow, I prayed that Shannon would accept the Laurel ideal of womanhood, and make those ideals her own.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I can only assume we are referring back to that activity about good things being beautiful.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Suddenly Martha sees a box with a pearl on it in a store window and she gets an idea.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Aje6vLH7dqk/YBHNRg_uRVI/AAAAAAAA3R4/vzuDLRwkmiAIVy3jpxdUSebBX2vMXuRQQCLcBGAsYHQ/s882/S32.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="882" height="444" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Aje6vLH7dqk/YBHNRg_uRVI/AAAAAAAA3R4/vzuDLRwkmiAIVy3jpxdUSebBX2vMXuRQQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h444/S32.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha buys the pearl box and then writes a letter to Shannon. “For all you value most highly, I send this little box. From one who treasures you. A Friend.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha leaves the gift on Shannon’s doorstep. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The next morning Martha’s very annoying children open their Christmas gifts. “Oh boy! Gee wiz!” they shout at random.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V1oWjYoKnfI/YBHNViX4C5I/AAAAAAAA3R8/mu1lTXrScEEWm-tnUSuLwBS5WE9-HYSjACLcBGAsYHQ/s878/S33.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="878" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V1oWjYoKnfI/YBHNViX4C5I/AAAAAAAA3R8/mu1lTXrScEEWm-tnUSuLwBS5WE9-HYSjACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S33.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“We’re sure lucky! Gee, this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had! Thanks mom and dad!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The kids then give Martha her present. It’s a camping stove. Apparently this gift is hilarious because Martha and her husband laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen in their lives as soon as the kids are out of earshot.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pN-N6WdnfLc/YBHNZ4VLccI/AAAAAAAA3SA/J1fTRGGb7rc4lusakJycpsAoQpzOeDHagCLcBGAsYHQ/s872/S34.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="872" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pN-N6WdnfLc/YBHNZ4VLccI/AAAAAAAA3SA/J1fTRGGb7rc4lusakJycpsAoQpzOeDHagCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h446/S34.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There is no amount of time I could spend with this family and not need a Xanax.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Later that evening Shannon shows up on Martha’s doorstep. Shannon is crying. She tells Martha she got the gift and wanted to thank her. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Shannon says the gift somehow made her realize she only had two treasures: the card Martha wrote and her Laurel necklace. “I don’t have another thing that’s really important.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ok, admittedly, I haven’t seen this Laurel necklace, and maybe it’s fabulous, but seriously? Also, that note? I know not everyone is a poet but it honestly felt like Martha was phoning it in a little. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TE0dwF1F9LY/YBHNeANSvWI/AAAAAAAA3SE/tloF400V1VIKmWHtOtJUdCSVY0zUZo85ACLcBGAsYHQ/s876/S35.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="876" height="448" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TE0dwF1F9LY/YBHNeANSvWI/AAAAAAAA3SE/tloF400V1VIKmWHtOtJUdCSVY0zUZo85ACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h448/S35.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I’m sorry, and I know I shouldn’t expect much from a film made by the same university where a science professor once apologized for having to teach my class about evolution, but this character development was not earned. We are given no path between the abominable car-riding Shannon of last week to this humbled Shannon who cares deeply about her Laurel necklace. If the point of this movie is to establish that a youth leader can get a hold of a wild teenager, maybe they could have shown that happen?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Shannon says she didn’t come to the dance because Steve didn’t want to go. So she gave him his ring back. If I’ve ever heard of a good reason to break off an engagement, it’s “my </span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">fiancé</span><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> didn’t really want to go to the church dance.” </span></span></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Martha is elated. She embraces Shannon, crying, and breathily says “I’ll help you Shannon. We women have to stick together!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Help her with what, exactly, I’m not sure. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m_xwGK0---E/YBHNi-9ZyRI/AAAAAAAA3SM/iyg_vSFoD4AMUSrvkK_w5CHC7W7Bzw2XgCLcBGAsYHQ/s874/S36.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="874" height="450" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m_xwGK0---E/YBHNi-9ZyRI/AAAAAAAA3SM/iyg_vSFoD4AMUSrvkK_w5CHC7W7Bzw2XgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h450/S36.PNG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh Shannon. Oh </span><span style="color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shannon</span><span style="color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” Martha continues to whisper as romantic music plays them out and the credits roll. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And that’s how it ends.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I need a drink. I wonder if Linda is free.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.296; margin-bottom: 18pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></span></span></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-81636354478251750602021-01-24T18:14:00.001-07:002021-01-25T09:39:05.375-07:00If We Ever Do Meet Again It Will Be Zion To Me<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We decided to take the weekend off and drive down to Zion National Park. This was a risky thing to do, we admit, considering our last few attempts to visit the place. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Zion is one of the most beautiful places on the face of Oprah's green earth. The problem is, everyone else on the planet has figured this out. When I was a child we would go to Zion on a whim and have the place basically to ourselves. Now Zion sports Disneyland-like lines nearly every day of the year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A few years back we tried to visit in March and the trails were comically crowded. Like, to the point where we were literally shuffling our feet in a four-mile long line of people for an entire day. Every hike felt like navigating the subway during the worst possible rush hour. After that trip I decided that I would never return and would instead just have to live with my memories of the park.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Unrelated side note: there's a Mormon film from the 90s called "Legacy" about the pioneers coming across the plains and there's a scene where the husband of the main character has to leave her to go to war. When they bid farewell he says "we'll meet again in Zion!" meaning he'll come find her in the heavenly destination the Mormons were traveling to settle (Salt Lake City). And she says back, weepily, "if we ever do meet again it will be Zion to me!" Well, some absolute monster taught Skylar this phrase a few years ago so now whenever I leave the house he shouts it at me as I shut the door.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Skylar's friend Emma really wanted to go to Zion. She's a physician and I don't know if you've heard, but physicians have been having kind of a hard time for the last year for some reason. I don't know. I just sit in my quiet house alone all day and talk to the lamp. Her name is Shelly and she thinks I'm super funny and we're pretty good companions but we've been in a fight for like two weeks because she ate the last of the guacamole and like, it's not that big of a deal but she won't admit it and honestly that's the part that's bothering me. Also I found out she's a serial killer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Since Sky and Emma had the weekend off, we tried our luck. We were able to rent a cabin inside the park, which we thought was a good sign since normally the place is booked out far in advance (in our experience).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We arrived near midnight to the pitch-dark canyon where a sleepy woman named Jan directed us to our spot.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The cabins are simple, but they do include indoor plumbing and electricity. Sky went into the bathroom as soon as we walked in and we heard him say "oh! Looks like we've got a little friend in here!" And he said it like he discovered an adorable deer we might want to take home and raise, so you could imagine I was a bit surprised when he followed this pronouncement up with "there's a dead mouse in the toilet!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Look.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm a brave and strong man. I'm probably still powered by all the toxic masculinity with which TV raised me in the 90s. I can handle a lot of upsetting things with dignity and grit.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But rodents? No. I have nothing to prove when it comes to rodents.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I literally almost ordered everyone to the car to drive the four hours back home. We could have made it by sunrise. Shelly wouldn't even be awake yet.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But before I could declare a forfeit on our weekend in nature, Emma had somehow summoned a power ranger or something who walked into the cabin to check out the situation.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Did you try to flush it?" this man who has the worst job in this world asked Skylar, who told him he didn't dare to try in case the mouse was "too big" and might clog the toilet. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I don't know whether this was a reasonable concern from my lawfully-wedded spouse who should be much more terrified of these things than he is. I of course refused to go look at it to find out its size.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The employee then casually told us, "we've actually been trying to catch this mouse for a while. It's been living mostly in the neighboring cabin. Every time we get close to capturing it, he escapes. Well, until <i>now</i>."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Skylar, who is never too tired to make supportive small-talk politely responded, "what a lovely ending to a beautiful story."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The mouse was apparently flushed, and then I did not sleep for the two days we called this place home. I did not shower. I did not pee or poop. I lived in a state of paralyzed fear.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But the hiking was lovely.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Thanks, I think, to a snow storm and it being a cold January weekend, we largely had the park to ourselves. I honestly think this is a total fluke. Please do not decide to go visit Zion based on this writing or the below pictures I took there and then come back to me and complain that you got meningitis from the close quarters in what is supposed to be nature. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIuTacuQl64/YA4W0EXY9mI/AAAAAAAA3Kg/RkOntCzI_F8Y-Eogg-betrdeIXJ0Cc5FACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIuTacuQl64/YA4W0EXY9mI/AAAAAAAA3Kg/RkOntCzI_F8Y-Eogg-betrdeIXJ0Cc5FACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Z1.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-054t3DLRYkk/YA4W0OxPGrI/AAAAAAAA3Kk/y3v9-CHRlFsyKQNSYPvxLsdDBiEWrrhqACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-054t3DLRYkk/YA4W0OxPGrI/AAAAAAAA3Kk/y3v9-CHRlFsyKQNSYPvxLsdDBiEWrrhqACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Z2.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SBz33fER6Ec/YA4W0KUM93I/AAAAAAAA3Kc/kmn4YgTOnSwntkcZ8EMsbqVI89tJChzKwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1899/Z3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1899" data-original-width="1654" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SBz33fER6Ec/YA4W0KUM93I/AAAAAAAA3Kc/kmn4YgTOnSwntkcZ8EMsbqVI89tJChzKwCLcBGAsYHQ/w558-h640/Z3.jpeg" width="558" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UglsjGUxEfE/YA4W0jnxo3I/AAAAAAAA3Ko/yE4Im0DvQAANhiv5J5OGKNrJQeztqfVeACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UglsjGUxEfE/YA4W0jnxo3I/AAAAAAAA3Ko/yE4Im0DvQAANhiv5J5OGKNrJQeztqfVeACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Z4.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I3ppLYYV0Vo/YA4W0_sPJuI/AAAAAAAA3Ks/XdGWWC4deuQt5dOqH0186MybEKXxdXB3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I3ppLYYV0Vo/YA4W0_sPJuI/AAAAAAAA3Ks/XdGWWC4deuQt5dOqH0186MybEKXxdXB3QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Z5.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BkDXhnrlj0E/YA4W1WSCFrI/AAAAAAAA3Kw/BwhZkXbqjNQtLjbMMdsKLQQKBJ6tZTDKgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z6.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BkDXhnrlj0E/YA4W1WSCFrI/AAAAAAAA3Kw/BwhZkXbqjNQtLjbMMdsKLQQKBJ6tZTDKgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Z6.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d1ycsgLPIc8/YA4W1mBUkKI/AAAAAAAA3K0/1SJGYAQFj3khccQZFZrHLqkQeF-tI1pQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d1ycsgLPIc8/YA4W1mBUkKI/AAAAAAAA3K0/1SJGYAQFj3khccQZFZrHLqkQeF-tI1pQwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Z7.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x2QUYDNWT8M/YA4W2IjrEjI/AAAAAAAA3K8/T-9O4eJHavU736acxp8rmNLef1jkeRYkwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x2QUYDNWT8M/YA4W2IjrEjI/AAAAAAAA3K8/T-9O4eJHavU736acxp8rmNLef1jkeRYkwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Z8.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-juvi0f3-nGY/YA4W2nR-pOI/AAAAAAAA3K4/PgswsHd2iNEkU1SI7e57PJWRe0cxQr2qgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Z9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-juvi0f3-nGY/YA4W2nR-pOI/AAAAAAAA3K4/PgswsHd2iNEkU1SI7e57PJWRe0cxQr2qgCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Z9.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Also, in case you were wondering, the hiking was absolutely terrifying and included multiple places where we had to slide on rocks with 1,000-foot drops on both sides of us.</span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p dir="ltr" lang="en"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Hello. Please hate this video of my husband sliding down a rock with 1,000 foot drops on either side of him. (Sliding was safer than trying to walk it.) <a href="https://t.co/uH5NTd0tVA">pic.twitter.com/uH5NTd0tVA</a></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">— Eli McCann (@EliMcCann) <a href="https://twitter.com/EliMcCann/status/1353506155998273536?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 25, 2021</a></span></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In sum: Zion is the most beautiful place on Earth but never ever go there because it's almost always way too crowded, there are mice in the toilets, and my husband doesn't value his own life nearly enough.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Please enjoy some Strangerville.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dNqslO384Hs/YA4YQZlWBzI/AAAAAAAA3LU/tsD4WOcWbAMco95gKIMy5EqihUHfkX_xgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dNqslO384Hs/YA4YQZlWBzI/AAAAAAAA3LU/tsD4WOcWbAMco95gKIMy5EqihUHfkX_xgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838;">This time in Strangerville, there was an inauguration and it was peaceful, Meg and Eli discuss career crises, and Rebbie Brassfield shares her experience of feeling very unqualified to create an ad campaign for Pepsi.</span></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-weight: 700;">Story</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Selling Sex As A Virgin, <em>by Rebbie Brassfield (Music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Les_Hayden/Proverbs_1720/Les_Hayden_-_Proverbs_-_09_Three_1479" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Less Hayden</a>)</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter</span></p> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17643503/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe> </span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></span></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-75331901856320125812021-01-19T18:39:00.004-07:002021-01-20T08:45:45.196-07:00An Impossible Way To Live<p><span style="font-size: large;">My husband, who art in heaven, hallowed be his name, decided to become an absolute terrorist two nights ago.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Look. He's stressed and exhausted and exhausted and stressed and I am the June Cleaver to his Ronald Reagan or whoever the hell she was married to. I cook him meals. I cheerlead him out the door every morning. Well, <i>not literally</i>. He leaves at like negative eleventy o'clock every day and I'm for sure not getting out of bed for that. But figuratively I slap his butt in a "good game" kind of way as he heads off to the hospital or affairs or whatever it is he does all day.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I'm the most supportive spouse of all time. I'm so supportive they should name a bra after me. A good one. One of the ones from the commercials of women jumping in slow motion where they have the voiceover from Jennifer Aniston or whoever is in charge now soothingly saying "finally, a bra <i>for </i>women, made <i>by</i> women." One of those. They should name one of those after me considering how supportive I've been.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So now that I've educated y'all on how incredible I am, you are prepared to gasp and pearl-clutch when I tell you that Skylar what's-his-bottom INTERFERED WITH MY BEAUTY SLEEP two nights ago.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It all started when I announced that I was going to bed. I had just spent my evening doing some very hard knitting labor while watching trash tv and I was EXHAUSTED from these goodly pursuits while Skylar sat quietly for several hours "studying" on his "laptop" so he could learn to become a "doctor." I put some words in quotes so you would read them in a mocking voice because hopefully that will help pull you more to my side on all of this.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So I said, "time for bed . . ." and I even said the dot, dot, dots out loud so he would understand that I was communicating the obvious through verbal ellipses. The obvious, being that he should go to bed right then with me so I wouldn't be disturbed by his late arrival as I was already dozing off.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Well, my lawfully wedded whoever was like "I need to <i>study</i>," and I want you to read that quote in a whiney mocking voice because I still want you on my side here. And he said he was going to stay up for another hour or so and I was like "WELL DON'T MAKE ANY SOUNDS BECAUSE I NEED MY BEAUTY SLEEP" and that absolute monster just said "ok" instead of "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL WHETHER YOU GET SLEEP OR NOT."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I went to bed, which means lying on my back for one hour staring at twitter and occasionally replying to someone "LOL totally!" Finally I passed out.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I don't know how long I was asleep when I was suddenly jolted into consciousness in the twilight hours by the sounds of the absolute criminal who not two years ago made me pay for two black bow ties to wear at a wedding even though we already had two black bow ties that were apparently "not the right shade"</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span><span style="font-size: large;">I was awakened by <i>that</i> man clankity-clankity-clank washing the loudest dishes that have ever dished in the history of dishing from inside our tiny kitchen not TWO ROOMS away from where I lay in solemn slumber.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I stormed to the scene of the crime and demanded in such a polite way for an explanation on "what the hell" he was "doing at one freaking thirty in the morning!" Well, he apologized and said he was stressed out and couldn't sleep and so he decided to clean, which like, yeah. I guess he could be doing worse things with his anxieties. But he could also be doing <i>better </i>things with them. Like cleaning quiet stuff. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Could he not find a duster? What happened to silent dusting?!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I stomped back to bed, like a person who is on the right side of history. And I slumbered once again.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">No one warned me that sometimes marriage is impossible.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XYV5cNyrn6E/YAeIwc-6Z0I/AAAAAAAA3KM/Z5AjyvxrJkcIQmaAMr-ZAfLC3FT19uXZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Studying.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XYV5cNyrn6E/YAeIwc-6Z0I/AAAAAAAA3KM/Z5AjyvxrJkcIQmaAMr-ZAfLC3FT19uXZQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Studying.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><p><i><span style="font-size: large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</span></i></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-23030922661211664922021-01-17T17:51:00.003-07:002021-01-18T09:08:36.795-07:00Dishes<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Did you have company in here today?" Skylar was asking it sarcastically, and I knew that was the case, so I guess that's why I responded "just my handful of potential suitors who won't attack me in the comfort of my own home office."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The inquisitive ambush was prompted by the five empty glasses strewn across the desk where I was was working. Skylar was already in the process of reaching around me to gather them up before I even finished playfully threatening infidelity and divorce.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I don't know how it happens, <i>really</i>. I don't remember bringing them all into the room throughout the day. I feel like I only use one glass, shepherding it back and forth between the kitchen and my little office to retrieve water when I'm thirsty or bored. And yet, somehow half the cast of Beauty & The Beast is huddled around me by the time Skylar wanders into the house that evening, demanding to know why I've decided to be so wasteful. <span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Shall we go take a peek inside your car?" I sometimes challenge him whenever it seems like he needs a "he who is without sin among you/stone casting" lesson. Sure, maybe I gather and hoard dishes in corners of our home, but only Skylar brings them to his car.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It's the strangest habit, really. The kinds of household items he thinks are made for "on the go."<span></span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Why?!" I yelled at him recently when he climbed into the driver's seat of his Subaru holding a glass filled to the very top with water and shifted into reverse?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"I'm thirsty," he said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"We have water bottles!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"We have water bottles," my busboy husband muttered as he shuffled out of the office coddling my various dishes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He uses the same arguments against me inside the house as I use against him in his vehicle. But this is really a false equivalence. It might not make sense to gather cups and things and move them into the car or office and fail to notice the problem until they've developed a critical mass. But at least I don't fill the same to the brim and then spill the sloshing liquid to and fro while navigating lane changes on the interstate. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He does this inside as well. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"I made you tea," he told me recently. "It's in the kitchen."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It was nice of him, or so I thought, until I saw the large ceramic mug full of water the temperature of Satan's armpit sweat somehow defying all the laws of physics by bowing out of the top of the cup without spilling. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"How am I supposed to carry that anywhere? A slight breeze right now would flood the kitchen!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Skylar told me to just lean down and sip it until it was safe to transport. "That's what <i>I</i> do."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"No, Sky. That's <i>not </i>what you do. You leave it to cool and then forget about it until there's a full graveyard of forgotten teas spread throughout our home."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm convinced he's never actually tried tea and he wouldn't really like it if he did. He never seems to drink it. He just makes it and forgets about it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Oh shoot!" he'll yell when he comes across a thermos of a chamomile he had prepared nine hours earlier and then abandoned on the kitchen counter. "Oh well." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then he pours it down the drain and places the dish in the dishwasher alongside two dozen glasses he had recently retrieved from the office.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSCaA64S1cs/YATaeftjF-I/AAAAAAAA3Jk/6oLcX_RlYVIwAhO_6mpGv9slNIMve4BcQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Glasses.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSCaA64S1cs/YATaeftjF-I/AAAAAAAA3Jk/6oLcX_RlYVIwAhO_6mpGv9slNIMve4BcQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Glasses.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "PT Serif", Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "PT Serif", Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Now, please enjoy some Strangerville:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lcXYerd254E/YAWyahJY6II/AAAAAAAA3J0/4fCkmKY3AsYKIEWslsaa9MTPDK98d66SACLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lcXYerd254E/YAWyahJY6II/AAAAAAAA3J0/4fCkmKY3AsYKIEWslsaa9MTPDK98d66SACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>This time in Strangerville, it’s our fifth birthday! Eli tries to convince a skeptical Meg that we are in for more peaceful times. And a woman deserves the Purple Heart for surviving what must be the worst dates that have ever happened.</span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Story</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Four Dating Rules, <em>by The Suzzzz</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter</span></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17573783/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</span></i></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-52998028838711230132021-01-12T18:11:00.001-07:002021-01-12T18:11:23.553-07:00Companionship Inventory <p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When Skylar and I got married my mother<span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%;">—</span>the woman who birthed me into this world<span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%;">—</span>the being from whom my body emerged through a process she has since called "a bloody massacre"<span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%;">—</span>the person is supposed to live her life in absolutely loyalty to me<span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%;">—<i>that</i> mother </span>committed an absolute hate crime against her only son.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She didn't mean to hurt me, <i>I think</i>, when she told my husband<span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%;">—</span>the man who swore to worship me in front of all the angels in heaven at an extremely expensive party where <i>I had to pay for napkins that must have been made of pure gold considering how much they cost</i><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 107%;">—</span>my mother gave that man advice that has resulted in a scheduled and weekly torture session for me ever since.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"Good marriages require you to be on the same page," she told him. "So I'd suggest you pick one night a week to have a planning session where you can talk about what you have going on over the next seven days, schedule quality time, and discuss any areas where your relationship might need work."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Well, Skylar what's his name frickin loved this idea. And the next thing I knew, a recurring event was added to our shared calendar on Sunday nights. "Companionship Inventory."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Skylar had just learned this phrase from some absolute monster of a person who decided to start teaching him Mormon lingo so Skylar could slip it into conversations with me at random. Within just the few weeks before this, he had told me "the Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight" and to "return with honor" when I left the house. But none of his new phrases caused me as much immediate emotional pain as "companionship inventory."<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">For the uninitiated, "companionship inventory" is a thing Mormon missionaries do on a regular basis. It's essentially the activity my mother proposed we try. A companionship of Mormon missionaries assigned to be together at all times sits down and talks about the schedule and then they have a heart-to-heart about any problems going on in the missionary companionship. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you mention the words "companionship inventory" to anyone who ever served a Mormon mission, the vast majority of those people will immediately start experiencing an eye twitch.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Pretty much everyone who has had to do it has at least one horror story. Like when one of my companions asked me if I was gay and attracted to him and I was like "NO and HELL NO" when really the answer was "obviously yes and HELL NO." (Lots of hygiene issues). And then I had to spend the next ten weeks pretending to be totes masc and way into sports games so as to convince him I was telling the truth.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">So when my husband, the future mother of my kidney stones, decided to put "Companionship Inventory" on our shared calendar, telling me that we were going to follow my mother's advice, I suddenly became a 19-year-old closeted Mormon missionary in far western Ukraine with a haircut that I describe now as "British Presbyterian lesbian from the 90s."</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbXwLlC4UnQ/X_4FMIrbVZI/AAAAAAAA3Bc/DYpq-wVfd1cyVk5Ih1KcmJkdmFviQi0CACLcBGAsYHQ/s604/Les.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="604" height="478" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbXwLlC4UnQ/X_4FMIrbVZI/AAAAAAAA3Bc/DYpq-wVfd1cyVk5Ih1KcmJkdmFviQi0CACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h478/Les.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Just hearing Skylar say those words and then put them onto our calendar took me right back to that time. </span><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The next thing I knew, I was being commanded to take my seat on the living room couch for our inaugural companionship inventory, which began by Skylar looking me straight in the eyes and saying, "tell me what you like about me." When I started listing attributes of his personality, he interrupted and said "that's all fine and good, but am I hot or not?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sunday evening companionship inventories have been happening ever since. We go through our calendar for the week. We plan what needs a plan. Then Skylar ends it by saying "what can I do to be supportive of you this week?" I strain to come up with something, but I do anyway because it feels like I'm supposed to. He thanks me for the feedback and then nods encouragingly at me in a way that clearly says "<i>now ask me . . .</i>" So then I roll my eyes and say "and what can <i>I </i>do to be supportive of you this week?" to which he responds, "nothing. You're perfect just as you are" and I don't know why it always catches me off guard when he does this and makes me look bad because he went first and I actually came up with something that looks a lot like criticism of him as a partner.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then we go to bed, Skylar smiling, me in a huff because I'm somehow still living the life of a 2003 Mormon missionary. Except, I guess it's a little better this time. Because I have wine now. And, I suppose, a companion I quite like.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Please enjoy this week's Strangerville:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RzIaGega6Fk/X_5G0zMrRlI/AAAAAAAA3Bk/wG3qHdu_gmc0EW20ly9uhnRLD56-ZTcwACLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RzIaGega6Fk/X_5G0zMrRlI/AAAAAAAA3Bk/wG3qHdu_gmc0EW20ly9uhnRLD56-ZTcwACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #383838;">This time in Strangerville, how was your Insurrection Day? Meg and Eli discuss it. And Eli shares a story about what it felt like to close out 2020.</span></span><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Story</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A New Kind of Peace, <em>by Eli McCann (music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Some_Serious_Folk_and_the_Pernicious_Pennywhistle" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Our Friendly Beasts</a>)</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17481431/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe><span style="background-color: transparent;">
</span><i style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</span></i></p></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-17925950218676625912021-01-10T15:10:00.003-07:002021-01-11T09:38:48.861-07:00Happy Birthday, SkyMan<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Today is Skylar's birthday. I spend a lot of time on the internet gushing about him or sharing with you the absurd things he does, like drink Pepto Bismol as a snack, or charge a karaoke stage while high on cold medication and bring the house down with a surprising rendition of "It's Raining Men." </span></p>
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p dir="ltr" lang="en"><span style="font-size: large;">I periodically like to remind people of the time my husband showed up in sweats, high on medication, and forced himself onto a karaoke stage. <a href="https://t.co/Kfy7uGZDGR">pic.twitter.com/Kfy7uGZDGR</a></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">— Eli McCann (@EliMcCann) <a href="https://twitter.com/EliMcCann/status/1348364825089384448?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 10, 2021</a></span></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There are surely people who follow me here or on one of the six thousand social media accounts that is currently rotting my brain and who start to roll their eyes the dozen times a day I start a tweet with "MY HUSBAND." I don't blame you. If I wasn't me I would totally follow me just to to make fun of me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But I can't help it, and you wouldn't be able to either if you were fortunate enough to be married to Skylar. <span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Literally every single morning I wake up, see him next to me, and feel a rush of adrenaline. Frequently I find myself amazed that I ended up having the life I have<span>—a life with him. It feels like I'm living inside of the best possible dream a person could conjure. Several years ago I met this very weird man who felt more like home than any place I've ever lived, and that man actually wanted to marry me.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span>When we talk about partners we often have a tendency to self-deprecate</span><span>—to describe our love in terms of comparison. "I don't deserve him." "I can't believe someone so wonderful would want to be with someone like <i>me.</i>" But in reality, his goodness, his love, his constant support, his cheerleading, all of him has made me feel significant. He doesn't make me want to be a better person; instead he's just convinced me that I am a better person. And I think that has in fact made me a better person.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm a better person because of him.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">For a long time I thought romantic love was supposed to be an emotional rollercoaster. I believed it had to be a painful and agonizing journey interrupted by spurts of bliss and euphoria. Love seemed exhausting to me, even if occasionally worth it.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Falling in love with Skylar, which I can see now I truly did instantly, showed me that valuable and sustainable romantic love is never painful. The life you build with someone you truly love can be filled with dashes of monotony, moments of frustration, touches of angst, and spurts of euphoria. But the love itself is the balm that smooths all of that out and makes every piece of it precious. </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">That's how I feel with Skylar every day. That he makes every piece of this life we have together precious. </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love that I can catch his eye from across the room at a party and we both know we're going to talk about the same thing in the car on our way home.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love that he will squeeze my knee under the dinner table at work functions when a speaker says something uncomfortable.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love how he talks to our nieces and nephews like they're his best friends and he just hopes they feel the same way.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love how he scolds me for not washing the dishes well enough, and then he washes the dishes well enough.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love when he gets his words mixed up to the point that I don't know what he's trying to communicate, and then he'll say "oh, you know what I mean."</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love how fearless he is in asking for things and getting what he wants.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love his sense of justice.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love how he says he wants to go "on a coffee run" and then he orders tea.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love that he calls our family members just to chat.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love that whenever I travel for work I want to come home the entire time because I miss him.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love you, SkyMan. Thank you for letting me celebrate another birthday with you. </span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-DiEsuMAco/X_t6JCXY1OI/AAAAAAAA3BE/9S_vH081nm4AzXwfzQ91LYv62h8kbz0fACLcBGAsYHQ/s1308/Sky%2B6.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1308" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-DiEsuMAco/X_t6JCXY1OI/AAAAAAAA3BE/9S_vH081nm4AzXwfzQ91LYv62h8kbz0fACLcBGAsYHQ/w406-h640/Sky%2B6.jpeg" width="406" /></span></a></div><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hLaL_XY1w-c/X_t54OG-VbI/AAAAAAAA3As/i9S4OkqCmxYzQVrJZMSikqcmde0AdUesQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sky%2B4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hLaL_XY1w-c/X_t54OG-VbI/AAAAAAAA3As/i9S4OkqCmxYzQVrJZMSikqcmde0AdUesQCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Sky%2B4.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cw_2jJcbklU/X_t53-DIGzI/AAAAAAAA3Ao/QEoTijm2AWMyuHgcGIqQaepmc3qQSu9UgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sky%2B3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cw_2jJcbklU/X_t53-DIGzI/AAAAAAAA3Ao/QEoTijm2AWMyuHgcGIqQaepmc3qQSu9UgCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Sky%2B3.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpnUqjCEuA4/X_t53zQ4qgI/AAAAAAAA3Ag/zoATRcppK8Moj0aHDHEkDcxBSlwvoA-eQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sky%2B2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GpnUqjCEuA4/X_t53zQ4qgI/AAAAAAAA3Ag/zoATRcppK8Moj0aHDHEkDcxBSlwvoA-eQCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Sky%2B2.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KQg-3PDJDOo/X_t531lyWzI/AAAAAAAA3Ak/4gaEXAjHSiMuavjuexfXje_Py2VJIW--wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Sky%2B1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KQg-3PDJDOo/X_t531lyWzI/AAAAAAAA3Ak/4gaEXAjHSiMuavjuexfXje_Py2VJIW--wCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Sky%2B1.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kqiIEWhnN6I/X_t6RajTG3I/AAAAAAAA3BI/Ds-wrL9_UVEOBjO15cjl_g7rpY60alDkACLcBGAsYHQ/s1236/Sky%2B5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1236" data-original-width="797" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kqiIEWhnN6I/X_t6RajTG3I/AAAAAAAA3BI/Ds-wrL9_UVEOBjO15cjl_g7rpY60alDkACLcBGAsYHQ/w412-h640/Sky%2B5.jpeg" width="412" /></span></a></div><p></p><blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</span></i></blockquote> <script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-65749564675809896512021-01-07T10:50:00.005-07:002021-01-07T10:51:36.356-07:00Treehouse in the Mountain<p><span style="font-size: large;">Skylar is turning 31 thousand, or so you'd think the way he complained about his aching "dainty ankles" today when we went snowshoeing for a few hours in some mountains 40 minutes from our house. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We decided to retreat to this place after Sky's parents found an absolutely adorable treehouse turned into an airbnb here and gave us a gift card for it. It's Sky's birthday this coming weekend so we booked the only two days available for this place in the next many months to come and headed eastward on Tuesday afternoon.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The treehouse is truly off the beaten path. Far into the snowpacked back canyons beyond Park City. The instructions on how to get here, as provided by the owners, were essentially, "do not use gps, for the great explorers of our time have yet to chart this corner of the earth. Drive east until you see a large tree that looks like a bear then take the second star to the right, straight on til morning."<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Beyond that, the directions did come with some terrifying warnings that were basically "you will absolutely die if you try to drive here in anything other than an army tank. We mean it. Unless the national guard is prepared to life-flight you into the treehouse, make your peace with God and don't plan to see your family again."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We took Sky's Subaru because of the four-wheel drive and we bought chains for the tires, just in case. When we got to the "beaten path" portion of our journey, it didn't seem like we needed the chains. It was a sunny day, it hasn't snowed much this winter, and we were only three miles away from our destination.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Well, Stranger, what we next encountered was the actual bobsled track used for the 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics. At several points we almost careened off of the road. I saw the spirit of Nancy Kerrigan and heard the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing at one point. When I got too scared to keep looking, the ghost of Mitt Romney took the wheel.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Because we were driving straight up a twisting ice rink, I didn't dare stop the car to put on the chains. I was certain if we didn't keep momentum, we would slide to our deaths. And I don't want to die having never met Cher ten times.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Pre-bobsled track Eli and Skylar of yesteryear while planning this trip were like "and then we'll frivolously drive down to Park City once or twice to get ice cream or something! It will be great!" But the moment we parked the car on flat ground in front of the treehouse, we decided this is where we shall lay to rest until the great polar bear in the sky calls us home. I think. I haven't been to church in a while so I'm not sure how it all works anymore.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The treehouse is amazing. It sits on the backside of Mount Something-or-Other. Since we are at such high altitude that this is technically considered outer space, there are about three or four feet of snow surrounding us. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sHPZ-E87gyM/X_ZdJ4OdOfI/AAAAAAAA2-w/KCB0X9v0sV8pHMg-M2qVNoG1wgW9pkYfACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sHPZ-E87gyM/X_ZdJ4OdOfI/AAAAAAAA2-w/KCB0X9v0sV8pHMg-M2qVNoG1wgW9pkYfACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/T1.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">The treehouse sits up on stilts and includes two stories, connected by a very steep and dangerous set of ladder stairs. The place is pretty tiny, and the owners did what they could to maximize space, including this interesting choice:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0p9k9fBtUT0/X_ZeffjSLGI/AAAAAAAA2-4/MPoLG7ihzdcE2TIjmnqNo-KGs4d8AyNUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T12.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0p9k9fBtUT0/X_ZeffjSLGI/AAAAAAAA2-4/MPoLG7ihzdcE2TIjmnqNo-KGs4d8AyNUQCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/T12.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">When Sky saw this he gasped and said "how efficient! The sink is in the shower! It's the bathroom for the modern working girl!" And I fell the hell in love with him all over again.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The place is gorgeous, and includes incredible views of snow-blanketed mountains on all four sides.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bfzlNQ02lbo/X_ZfDoUB8BI/AAAAAAAA2_A/rU6I9Eg-JhkW48VRF6ieOdxPHnnUF6oQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bfzlNQ02lbo/X_ZfDoUB8BI/AAAAAAAA2_A/rU6I9Eg-JhkW48VRF6ieOdxPHnnUF6oQwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T7.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f0DV2_kzjA0/X_ZfLyStb7I/AAAAAAAA2_M/PJLc9Qpezg0C6LioR6jBxW-k8eKGlY_PgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f0DV2_kzjA0/X_ZfLyStb7I/AAAAAAAA2_M/PJLc9Qpezg0C6LioR6jBxW-k8eKGlY_PgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T8.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg-XKzdqar0/X_ZfMfH35WI/AAAAAAAA2_Q/G4fbNcVMxQwW33RQxyoaUUx--xw_0JCXACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kg-XKzdqar0/X_ZfMfH35WI/AAAAAAAA2_Q/G4fbNcVMxQwW33RQxyoaUUx--xw_0JCXACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T9.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKSMxuPbUK8/X_ZfE2ViiMI/AAAAAAAA2_I/sJE6pDgKoWwk7QQb2VxdNYHx0Ig4PhReACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T10.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKSMxuPbUK8/X_ZfE2ViiMI/AAAAAAAA2_I/sJE6pDgKoWwk7QQb2VxdNYHx0Ig4PhReACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T10.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bKmcZEksaO8/X_ZfEokNj8I/AAAAAAAA2_E/gvpW6AFuB6odohnoTjdIAEL2ZtSIv9ufQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T11.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bKmcZEksaO8/X_ZfEokNj8I/AAAAAAAA2_E/gvpW6AFuB6odohnoTjdIAEL2ZtSIv9ufQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T11.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">The bed includes an incredible and large window above it so you can watch the stars as you fall asleep. And since we are exactly eleventy trillion miles from the closest human being, we could see the full Milky Way, and y'all, it's quite pretty.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y76mvmqpvvQ/X_ZgslYtx8I/AAAAAAAA2_o/rKV99KptsMkWhysxgNBQYf1KIksWiCgdwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T6.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y76mvmqpvvQ/X_ZgslYtx8I/AAAAAAAA2_o/rKV99KptsMkWhysxgNBQYf1KIksWiCgdwCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/T6.jpeg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>And while we love this treehouse with every fiber of our beings and we've written it into our wills so that it now must split our collection of 20th century lava lamps with Duncan and the cast of The Facts of Life (DON'T ASK), this place has one extremely alarming feature. There is a giant hole in the floor next to the bed. This hole was created for the ladder stairs. <i>See supra</i>. </span><div><p><br /></p></div>
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p dir="ltr" lang="und"><a href="https://t.co/xnFyjhzVw2">pic.twitter.com/xnFyjhzVw2</a></p>— Eli McCann (@EliMcCann) <a href="https://twitter.com/EliMcCann/status/1346608460977242113?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 6, 2021</a></blockquote><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I 100% expected my life to end through that hole. I considered that hole to be a portal to the afterlife for Eli McCann. And I told Skylar this. "I'm going to fall through that in the middle of the night when I get up to go to the bathroom," which is a thing that happens every night and nobody warned me that would start happening in my mid-30s and I'm very angry about this. In my 20s? In my 20s I peed like twice a month. And only because I was bored. Now? I have a constant river running through my body. I swear I pee 35 times more than I drink. It's a scientific miracle that should be studied by NASA.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Skylar agreed that this was a death trap for me so we spent a good portion of our bedtime routine time placing barricades between a potential stupor-walking Eli and the architectural terrorist on the floor of the room where we planned to sleep for two nights. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The barricade worked, and I only hit my shins like five times. But I've lived to tell the tale. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We spent the afternoon trying not to be glued to the television to watch the absolutely disgusting insanity unfolding in DC thanks to the president and his mob of mouth-breathing idiots, and instead snowshoed our way through the mountains, like we were living Frozen's version of The Sound of Music.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NdEKg5h8ab0/X_aQQuFOQoI/AAAAAAAA2_0/8NIc0Oxm_gI5xnsE9czXmBpxVeX3k8r7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NdEKg5h8ab0/X_aQQuFOQoI/AAAAAAAA2_0/8NIc0Oxm_gI5xnsE9czXmBpxVeX3k8r7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E0QUhJfGJx4/X_aQUmPKneI/AAAAAAAA2_4/SAAovqUtaAYQyFSBSaAxFAok6QpooSF_ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E0QUhJfGJx4/X_aQUmPKneI/AAAAAAAA2_4/SAAovqUtaAYQyFSBSaAxFAok6QpooSF_ACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/T3.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w38STRV2hWo/X_aQU_DFVeI/AAAAAAAA2_8/LcNxQgCjc0s_SWz8i1hsD_v2COn8QVbDACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w38STRV2hWo/X_aQU_DFVeI/AAAAAAAA2_8/LcNxQgCjc0s_SWz8i1hsD_v2COn8QVbDACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1TuOowopDN0/X_aQWGsNm0I/AAAAAAAA3AA/XrrHSpjDGAUJNx1e46GHZ9jaci96-nZrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/T5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1TuOowopDN0/X_aQWGsNm0I/AAAAAAAA3AA/XrrHSpjDGAUJNx1e46GHZ9jaci96-nZrgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/T5.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Happy birthday, Skyman. This weekend I probably better sit you down and share with you the unfortunate next steps for your changing body as you proceed into your 30s.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></span></p> <script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-36674101471276796812021-01-03T16:18:00.001-07:002021-01-03T16:18:20.620-07:00The Year Of<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I explain this every year but some of you are forgetful and some of you are new and I love the sound of my own voice, so I'm going to explain it again. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I don't do new year's resolutions because they suck and I'm edgy and like to rebel against societal norms. I used to do resolutions. But then on January 2nd I would swiftly break every single one of them with reckless abandon. Then I'd be like "welp. I guess that didn't work out. There's always next year." And then I'd continue being the colossal suckface you all know and love. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then in 2013 I was in Palau and I was deeply depressed. The new year had started. I had been suffering from a state of mental fog and I was in the pits of despair, feeling trapped and hopeless. One day while sitting in my office I just had this epiphany<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>it was basically that I was the only person who could change my situation and so if I didn't want to keep feeling the way I was, I needed to do something about it. After some introspection, I decided that a lot of my struggles stemmed from an attitude problem. I had fully decided that my life was a sad one, and I was viewing each day from the perspective of defeat.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I didn't set any specific goals to deal with this. Instead, I almost instinctually pulled out a sticky note and wrote "Year of Attitude" on it. I stuck it to my computer monitor. I decided that in 2013 I was going to continually think about what "attitude" means, what I wanted my attitude to look like, how working on my attitude might improve my emotional/physical/mental wellbeing, etc. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Instead of having a goal I could "fail" to achieve, I had identified sort of a state of being to strive toward. Having a bad attitude about something one day didn't make me want to give up on the whole idea. It instead motivated me to try harder. "I just had a bad attitude about that. That's not the kind of way I want to be during The Year of Attitude."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It was so empowering and effective and it completely changed something within me. By the end of the year I felt like a better person. More confident; more at peace; happier; prouder of myself. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">So I decided in 2014 I would pick another theme. And I've kept up this practice ever since.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2014: The Year of Honesty </b>(Being more authentic about myself and my feelings; this is the year I came out to my family and friends)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2015: The Year of Standing Up For Myself</b> (Mostly in the workplace; making sure I was not too afraid to speak up and voice my opinions)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2016: The Year of Productivity</b> (Being more thoughtful about how I spent my time and making good use of it by spending it with purpose)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2017: The Year of Creativity</b> (Starting new projects and learning new hobbies; this is the year we launched Strangerville Live and I learned to knit)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2018: The Year of New</b> (Striving to try new things and avoid routines in my down time)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2019: The Year of Health</b> (With a focus on learning to eat less meat, more fish, and developing habits that would help me feel good physically)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2020: The Year of Perspective</b> (Attempting to be less uptight about things that truly don't matter; oh boy, did this one turn out to be important in 2020)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Each of these years and themes have been extremely valuable to me. I've found that spending an entire year trying to focus on one state of being has helped me develop habits and practices that I've been able to carry on from year to year. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As I've thought for the past several months about what I want my 2021 to look like, I keep coming back to this idea that social distancing and the pandemic really exposed something in myself I want to give my attention. In 2020 I saw myself develop some unhealthy habits and coping mechanisms.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And so I've decided I want 2021 to be my <b>Year of Wellbeing</b>. Similar to a year of health, I want to give thought and effort toward understanding and embracing moderation. I want to spend time focusing on how what I take into my body and mind affects how I feel physically, emotionally, and mentally. I want to be more aware of my tendencies to seek instant gratification when it comes to what I eat and how I spend my time and I want to get into a habit of challenging those decisions by thinking about their "cost."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When I get to the end of 2021, I want to be able to say that I feel like a more well-rounded and disciplined person.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I want to hear what you hope for yourself for 2021. Whether it be a theme like I've described, more traditional and specific goals, or something entirely different. Please, share with the class!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And while you think about it, please enjoy this week's new Strangerville:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cjdYqa17RDE/X_JNzcmIdmI/AAAAAAAA2-k/OonHvN3Ee8Eqfq5es5YTN2boQ6hdTeeiACLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cjdYqa17RDE/X_JNzcmIdmI/AAAAAAAA2-k/OonHvN3Ee8Eqfq5es5YTN2boQ6hdTeeiACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This time in Strangerville, please please please do not take any medical advice from Strangerville. Please. We don’t know what we’re talking about and we don’t want anyone to die because of things we’ve said. Also, enjoy Eli’s story about how he tried to get his husband to believe in ghosts.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Story:</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Mink Creek Ghost, <em>by Eli McCann <em>(music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Loyalty_Freak_Music/WITCHY_BATTY_SPOOKY_HALLOWEEN_IN_SEPTEMBER_/Hello_Regan_" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Loyalty Freak Music</a>)</em></em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Production by Eli McCann & Meg Walter</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17393948/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i style="font-size: x-large;">~It Just Gets Stranger</i></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-49214660129154320792020-12-31T10:25:00.004-07:002021-01-03T15:56:48.757-07:002020<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yeOAQ8ZkEt8/X-4KN-oOZoI/AAAAAAAA298/rlUKjH0r0ysYcxmsFi2sSP7dSlo37tPvgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1018/Eli%2BPalau.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="1018" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yeOAQ8ZkEt8/X-4KN-oOZoI/AAAAAAAA298/rlUKjH0r0ysYcxmsFi2sSP7dSlo37tPvgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Eli%2BPalau.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It was June. I went for a run around my city. This was a Saturday and it had been a very hard week in the exact middle of a very hard year for all of us. Riots had broken out across the United States after George Floyd was killed. People were upset everywhere. We were all heartsick. </span></p></span><p></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It's hard to put to words what that time felt like. We were several months into a terrifying worldwide pandemic by that point. Our lives were really shut down. There was bickering and yelling and turmoil over nearly everything in a lot of our communities. It already seemed like things were about as bad as they could get when things suddenly got so much worse.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I remember seeing the videos and articles and feeling helpless and sad and embarrassed at how much I didn't know what to do. I was thinking about that while on my run that Saturday when I suddenly came down a hill into the city center to find a large crowd and literal fire. They had overturned a police car and set it ablaze. I steered myself around the riot and ran the five miles back home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">That evening our mayor announced an early curfew because of the unrest. Around 10:00 PM I took Duncan out to go potty. I immediately noticed how quiet it was. Quiet in a way that caught my attention. I guess I thought before that moment it was always pretty quiet outside at my house at night. The sounds of cars humming down surrounding roads is such white noise to me that I never notice it, to the point that its absence is sort of jarring and unsettling.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I was barefoot, but I decided to walk out to my street anyway. Once I got there I just kept walking. I walked east one block until I arrived at a road that is usually pretty busy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There were no cars. Nothing. The street was completely empty. I walked into the middle of it, still barefoot, and looked down it as far as I could see in either direction. Nothing was coming or going. No sounds other than those from a very delicate breeze. It was the most uncomfortable peace I can ever remember feeling.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As I stood there for a few minutes, taking it in and fully breaking the curfew of which I was well aware, I remember thinking that I would feel that moment for the rest of my life. I don't know if that really makes sense, but that was the thought I had. It was such a point in time<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">—</span>so visceral<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">—</span>so memorable<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">—</span>so specific. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We joke about the cliché, but truly, this year felt so, uh, well, Unprecedented.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There were ups and downs, sure<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">—</span>that's always the case. But 2020 was different. More complex than usual. The ups were quieter and harder to parse; the downs were loud and widely synchronized. Because everything was so strange, it's hard to know how we'll think about it all in the years to come. However that works out, I think I'll always remember this time through small moments rather than big events because I don't know how to digest it otherwise. But I don't know.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Small moments.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In 2020 I sat at the base of a waterfall with someone I love. I wrote a lot. I was in the British tabloids for a week. I ate too much junk food. I ran 200 miles every month. I learned how to be still. I discovered my neighborhood. I worried. I woke up to an earthquake. I woke up to a hurricane. I knitted three and a half sweaters. I cried a lot. Like, <i>a lot</i>. I watched my husband disappear into medical school rotations. I got to use the word "husband." I went fishing in the equatorial Pacific. I wore a mask. My face broke out. A lot. Like, <i>a lot</i>. I gained weight and stressed about it. I gained weight and decided not to care too much. I took the dog on long walks. I hugged Skylar when I was upset. That helped.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It's strange to get to the end of this year and simultaneously be happy it happened while wishing it didn't. I'd undo the mess in a heartbeat if I could. I'd take away your pain from it all if I had that ability. But I don't want to trade in the lessons or memories in the process, if I can help it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In my year-end post for 2019 I wrote:</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"It occurs to me from time to time . . . that circumstance doesn't beget joy. On some level joy is a choice<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span>one that I'll probably spend my whole life trying to figure out how to make, even and especially during times when that particular choice feels less reachable."</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What a funny thing to have written just before I'd need to call on that wisdom and find out whether I really had it.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I started 2020 deciding this would be my Year of Perspective. I of course had no idea what was to come. I didn't know that theme would be the most challenging and important one for me to work through this year. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What started as an effort to be less uptight about inconsequential things turned into sort of a quest of survival as the world seemed to collapse around me. Everything began to feel so apocalyptic, and that had the remarkable effect of jolting me into putting my usual worries into perspective. That's for sure. But also, deciding that I was going to try to take in every piece of bad news with a dose of thought and a deep breath made the worst of this so much more manageable for me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I found myself studying tragedies people have experienced in the past. I noticed early on that my mind and my hope gravitated to the parts of those stories that showed what was gained. The parts of those stories that showed how people overcame their own apocalypses. It made me look at our current situation differently, and wonder what we might later be grateful to have gained from this forced investment. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm proud of me and I'm proud of you for being here. For being good. For being resilient. For being at all. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I love you.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Normally I end this post wishing that the next year <i>just gets stranger </i>for us all. But I'll refrain this time, and hope, for once, the strange takes just the smallest of breaks.</span></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-3375058069066787202020-12-28T17:47:00.000-07:002020-12-28T17:47:11.522-07:00The Most Viewed Posts of 2020<p>It's time for one of my favorite annual walks down memory lane. Below I've corralled a ranked 10 posts from this very ridiculous website. These are the pieces you most viewed from 2020. Please enjoy.</p><p>And to truly kick it off, here's a picture of me hiking with Skylar and a dozen of his sweaters:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t-PntHep4lU/X-p78sel1II/AAAAAAAA29g/tIkNi9WHQiIBsaxhIHDK7R3Vxfjr6JkaACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Hiking.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1263" data-original-width="2048" height="394" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t-PntHep4lU/X-p78sel1II/AAAAAAAA29g/tIkNi9WHQiIBsaxhIHDK7R3Vxfjr6JkaACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h394/Hiking.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/12/a-good-finder.html">10. A Good Finder</a></b></p><p>Coming in at number 10, I wrote about Skylar's absolutely outrageous unrealistic expectations that I should be able to find things inside of stores. <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/09/anniversary.html">9. Anniversary</a></b></p><p>It was a quick post about what I was feeling after one year of marriage with Skylar.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/02/heated-blankets.html">8. Heated Blankets</a></b></p><p>My husband may have a circulation problem, and he manifests it by complaining to me constantly that the house is too cold. </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/10/best-in-business.html">7. Best In The Business</a></b></p><p>Skylar likes to compliment my boobs as a form of distraction. It works.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/07/my-mothers-spaghetti-canning-recipe-no.html">6. My Mother's Spaghetti Canning Recipe No One Asked For, Which Was Rude</a></b></p><p>Stranger is basically a recipe blog now.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/11/the-urge-to-be-happy.html">5. The Urge To Be Happy</a></b></p><p>I wrote about sometimes fearing that my marriage will be taken away from me through one Supreme Court case. </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/01/the-year-of.html">4. The Year Of</a></b></p><p>I revealed my theme for 2020. One that turned out to be wildly prophetic.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/01/children.html">3. Children</a></b></p><p>I wrote about how complicated it can feel to want children but not know how to get them.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/06/the-thing-about-2020.html">2. The Thing About 2020</a></b></p><p>We took a quick breath in the mid-point of this year.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/03/girl-scout.html">1. Girl Scouts</a></b></p><p>The most viewed Stranger post from 2020 was about Girl Scout cookies. I witnessed a very strange turn of events starring an amazing girl scout and my tweets about it went viral.</p><p><br /></p><p>P.S. I also wrote a lot of articles for The Beehive. Some you might want to check out:</p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/a-new-kind-of-peace/">A New Kind of Peace</a></b></p><p>A reflection on what good came of a crummy year.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/how-near-to-the-angels-a-byu-film-recap-im-sorry-to-throw-at-you/">How Near to the Angels</a></b></p><p>A BYU film recap for the ages.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/were-coming-to-the-beehive-state-come-on/">We're Coming to the Beehive State</a></b></p><p>About the time my mom wouldn't buy me a recorder in fourth grade.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/the-mink-creek-ghost-a-probably-true-but-hopefully-not-true-story/">The Mink Creek Ghost</a></b></p><p>Skylar refused to believe my very scary ghost story.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/classic-skating-the-number-one-trigger-for-puberty/">Classic Skating: Puberty on Wheels</a></b></p><p>I'm pretty sure I'm banned from our local skating rink for the things I did there in the 90s.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/boy-scouts-a-quest-for-the-eagles-nest/">Boy Scouts of America: A Quest for the Eagle's Nest</a></b></p><p>This is probably my favorite piece of writing I did this year.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/how-do-i-love-thee-a-very-disturbing-recap-of-a-byu-film-from-1965/">How Do I Love Thee</a></b></p><p>Another BYU film recap.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/the-mayan/">The Mayan</a></b></p><p>A trip to Utah's Thunder Down Under with my parents in 2000 turned out exactly as you could expect.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/love-is-for-the-byrds-a-byu-film-recap-no-one-asked-for/">Love is for the Byrds</a></b></p><p>Another BYU film recap.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/an-unsettling-chance-to-breathe/" target="_blank">An Unsettling Chance to Breathe</a></b></p><p>A reflection on what it was like to suddenly get thrust into a pandemic.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/utahs-reality-tv-pioneers/">Utah's Reality TV Pioneers</a></b></p><p>Memories of seeing people from my home state on reality tv for the first time as a child.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/word-of-wisdom-cinematic-masterpieces-from-the-80s/">Word of Wisdom</a></b></p><p>Recaps of the worst films I've ever seen in my life.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/earthquake-drill/">Earthquake Drill</a></b></p><p>We woke up to an earthquake and all hell broke loose.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/the-byu-honor-code/">The BYU Honor Code</a></b></p><p>Some reflections about being closeted at BYU a decade ago.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/is-technology-really-all-that-bad/">Is Technology Really all that Bad?</a></b></p><p>Not if it lets us laugh.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/so-online-dating-wasnt-just-for-weirdos/">So Online Dating Wasn't Just For Weirdos?</a></b></p><p>We owe some apologies to the online daters of the 90s.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/the-titanic-problem/">A Titanic Problem</a></b></p><p>The story of going to see Titanic with my parents in the 90s.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/did-you-hear-steve-martin-is-mormon/">Did you hear Steve Martin is Mormon?</a></b></p><p>A piece on the rumors we spread about the religious beliefs of celebrities.</p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-55105721418012487462020-12-22T17:56:00.004-07:002020-12-23T11:17:54.909-07:00We Are Very Angry With Matt<p>Matt has decided to move away from us, which is absolutely a hate crime and an act of terror. He sprung the news on us a few months ago.</p><p>"I'm buying a house in Las Vegas because I hate you and refuse to consider your happiness as I make my big life decisions." </p><p>Ok, he didn't say that last part out loud but that's what I heard nevertheless. </p><p>Obviously we are not pleased with Matt leaving us, but we are even more not pleased with his outrageously unfair decision to take Mr. Ollie Pants with him. Ollie has tried to remain neutral in the matter because he doesn't like to see humans at war, but I'm certain he's devastated about the whole thing. </p><p>The move is happening at the end of the month and since Matt already sold his house in Salt Lake City, he has taken up residence in our basement temporarily. Or so he thinks because he doesn't know we've purchased chains and an incredible amount of dungeon equipment that should keep him in place for many years to come.</p><p>He showed up over the weekend with a bed he decided he doesn't want to take with him on his move of betrayal. We spent the better part of the evening folding a queen sized mattress in half and shoving it down the narrow set of stairs in my house that was built for malnourished 19th century pioneers. Now he's spending the week cleaning stuff and fixing shit in an effort to fool us into not being mad at him. And we hate that this is working.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>I really only have myself to blame for this mess. Just before the beginning of These Unprecedented Times I foolishly decided to set Matt up with my friend Jace. I met Jace many years ago when we were both totes straight and into sports games and trucks bro. We sort of lost touch and then last year I found out he was a raging homo so I immediately set him up with the only other gay I know.</p><p>I knew they'd be a good match for many reasons. The main ones: both are responsible and quietly non-dramatic and too pretty for their own damn good. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EToOXMV-rxs/X-KUQL0jasI/AAAAAAAA28E/APC_jNJAmN0RoHZgiJwXJUUoclt7TqY3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s560/Matt%2B2.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="560" height="482" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EToOXMV-rxs/X-KUQL0jasI/AAAAAAAA28E/APC_jNJAmN0RoHZgiJwXJUUoclt7TqY3QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h482/Matt%2B2.PNG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7F5KUa6BBEA/X-KUQF_AXKI/AAAAAAAA28A/_XYKB_G3fvoQbYWVnnZX-iAuJwMcNYhFgCLcBGAsYHQ/s590/Matt.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="586" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7F5KUa6BBEA/X-KUQF_AXKI/AAAAAAAA28A/_XYKB_G3fvoQbYWVnnZX-iAuJwMcNYhFgCLcBGAsYHQ/w636-h640/Matt.PNG" width="636" /></a></div><p>But I didn't realize they were going to <i>immediately</i> fall in love and then decide that they needed to start a new life together in Satan's butt crack.</p><p>I tried to inform them that it's very hot down there but they said they already knew that and that this was basically the reason they wanted to move there. That, and because Matt's childhood best friend Gabby lives there and she and I have quietly been in a very brutal human tug-of-war for many years. One which she has apparently now won.</p><p>I met Matt just before I came out. He's been like family to me (and to my family) ever since. I love the hell out of him and don't tell him I said this, but I'm outrageously happy that he has found so much happiness and I'm even probably happy for him that he's so excited about moving and starting a new chapter.</p><p>But I'm not going to let him know it until he paints my garage.</p><p>P.S. Please enjoy this week's Strangerville:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B1Pg0cltZTs/X-KVMeOGbyI/AAAAAAAA28Q/vLwBv5h7dB0gvUs8akCMzMXENSXlvm9RACLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B1Pg0cltZTs/X-KVMeOGbyI/AAAAAAAA28Q/vLwBv5h7dB0gvUs8akCMzMXENSXlvm9RACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">This time in Strangerville, Meg and Eli are pro Big Brother and hereby welcome government surveillance into their lives. Also, a woman finds herself in a bind when her mother sets her up for a sleepover with a girl from school she barely knows.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Story</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Sleepover, <em>by LRE (music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Ayla_Nereo/By_the_Light_of_the_Dark_Moon/Ayla_Nereo_-_By_the_Light_of_the_D_3" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Ayla Nereo</a>)</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Production by Eli McCann, Meg Walter, & The Beehive</span></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17259122/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe>
<div><br /></div><div><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-23317069985460387442020-12-19T15:06:00.002-07:002020-12-21T10:42:43.263-07:00Strangerhood of the Traveling Snuggie, Part 3<p>First off, <a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/a-new-kind-of-peace/">I wrote a piece about what it feels like to close the chapter on 2020.</a> It was incredibly cathartic to write this, in a way I hadn't really anticipated when I sat down and started typing. I would love to have you check it out. Special thanks as always to Josh Fowlke for the absolutely incredible artwork.</p><p>Second, the Traveling Snuggie has made it back home, sort of unexpectedly. Brooke (featured below) had it and she emailed me to let me know she would be in Utah for the month of December and so she offered to bring it to me if I wanted to see it. I had anticipated having it continue its journey, but I admit that I was selfish and couldn't resist getting ahold of it after its long journey.</p><p>When I started Strangerhood of the Traveling Snuggie a few years ago, I honestly didn't think people would actually be very interested in participating. I thought at most a couple of you near Salt Lake City would sign up and we'd do this for a few weeks and have a small shared laugh over it. </p><p>What ended up happening was hundreds of people emailed me and wanted to participate. People from all over the country (and world). Everyone was so enthusiastic and delightful about it. The Snuggie ended up hitting 50 or so of your homes all over the United States (I was too scared to send it abroad, but maybe we need to have an international version?). </p><p>You all took it and added little trinkets and gadgets along the way. You created a travel book to write notes to one another and you sent information and keepsakes along with it to represent your town.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--KM2PTPvQaI/X95456uI4DI/AAAAAAAA27s/kq9pNzrMSpoCt_R0sw1yCGrrEZOvHx1oQCLcBGAsYHQ/s4032/Notebook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--KM2PTPvQaI/X95456uI4DI/AAAAAAAA27s/kq9pNzrMSpoCt_R0sw1yCGrrEZOvHx1oQCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Notebook.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M31bdSP2VJA/X9540a2a4AI/AAAAAAAA27g/dD5ab3aIykwSEEKdrMcmK5lVFrFrSx31wCLcBGAsYHQ/s4032/Travel%2BBook%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M31bdSP2VJA/X9540a2a4AI/AAAAAAAA27g/dD5ab3aIykwSEEKdrMcmK5lVFrFrSx31wCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Travel%2BBook%2B2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>Along the way, we had some really incredible stories and encounters and, at the risk of sounding too self-important on behalf of our purple blanket with sleeves, the Snuggie ended up being a really important thing for a bunch of people. Take, for example, Tracy, <a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/strangerville-podcast-chemo/">who shared her story on Strangerville early this year</a> about receiving the Snuggie the day before starting chemo and then taking it with her as her security blanket and "holding onto it for dear life." Tracy talked about how this stupid little thing helped her feel like she wasn't alone and there was a community of weirdos (you) who were with her for one of the scariest things a person can go through.</p><p>I had so many lovely interactions with you through this process, and that has been such a gift to me. </p><p>During 2020, it was difficult to keep this going. When things started to shut down, Amy Rose happened to have the Snuggie in her possession and, not knowing whether shipping something like this could spread a disease we didn't know existed until just a few months ago, we decided it would be best to just pause things for a while. </p><p>Eventually we felt ok about sending it on and it made it through several more homes before landing in mine. </p><p>I intend to restart this, probably next year. I don't know whether to retire the current Snuggie and send out a new blank slate or just put this one back out there. I'm open to suggestions.</p><p>In the meantime, please enjoy our latest round of photos. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x1VV5_7p-h0/X95wm4lyscI/AAAAAAAA25U/pOVGfiYcIPQPq4s28T1EMpw-LaDCU1KRgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Brooke%252C%2BHuntington%2BBeach%2BCA.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x1VV5_7p-h0/X95wm4lyscI/AAAAAAAA25U/pOVGfiYcIPQPq4s28T1EMpw-LaDCU1KRgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/Brooke%252C%2BHuntington%2BBeach%2BCA.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Brooke, Huntington Beach California</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fUHwM6yoalA/X95wm0VPxQI/AAAAAAAA25Q/sHhX5BYCNNk7uj67CDNviMs7P-aKPX-qwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Carrissa%252C%2BCanton%2BMI%2B1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fUHwM6yoalA/X95wm0VPxQI/AAAAAAAA25Q/sHhX5BYCNNk7uj67CDNviMs7P-aKPX-qwCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Carrissa%252C%2BCanton%2BMI%2B1.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Carrissa, Canton Minnesota. Carrissa received the Snuggie on the day of her dad's viewing. She wrote, "It was a rough day . . . . I was getting ready to leave to go to the funeral when I opened the door to find this mysterious package on the door step. On a day where I felt very much alone, getting the Snuggie was like a little hug from the universe."</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--muZcd9jX3Y/X95wm02OyKI/AAAAAAAA25Y/-F22wS6f10gdBX2kp5RatYLs4kDppl1BwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Carrissa%252C%2BCanton%2BMI%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--muZcd9jX3Y/X95wm02OyKI/AAAAAAAA25Y/-F22wS6f10gdBX2kp5RatYLs4kDppl1BwCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Carrissa%252C%2BCanton%2BMI%2B2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lC7sivhlb5s/X95wntOQaeI/AAAAAAAA25c/0ECM3u-Q4Mk889naa3exHP9GJZL6d7eegCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Carrissa%252C%2BCanton%2BMI%2B3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lC7sivhlb5s/X95wntOQaeI/AAAAAAAA25c/0ECM3u-Q4Mk889naa3exHP9GJZL6d7eegCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Carrissa%252C%2BCanton%2BMI%2B3.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HHVjGyyAybQ/X95wn2OXdvI/AAAAAAAA25k/ZK_KUAQ5XcUPg61nENHLNp4KCYXJcEJXACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Jessica%2BAlbuquerque.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HHVjGyyAybQ/X95wn2OXdvI/AAAAAAAA25k/ZK_KUAQ5XcUPg61nENHLNp4KCYXJcEJXACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Jessica%2BAlbuquerque.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jessica, Albuquerque New Mexico</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vTLmKVdrk7M/X95wnzhxlLI/AAAAAAAA25g/WCORZQ_opEINSTmByn3_5Jv3xuNlKTMEQCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kristin, Bellevue Nebraska</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vTLmKVdrk7M/X95wnzhxlLI/AAAAAAAA25g/WCORZQ_opEINSTmByn3_5Jv3xuNlKTMEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ts-iIz9yLLo/X95wn8KofPI/AAAAAAAA25o/Dzayk4NtPtctnqPOIjWyx2OdkQwK8a5hwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ts-iIz9yLLo/X95wn8KofPI/AAAAAAAA25o/Dzayk4NtPtctnqPOIjWyx2OdkQwK8a5hwCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B3.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VyZrtXfLUgY/X95woGYXvXI/AAAAAAAA25s/fXVvSgtWHFAY1f1ps6CKTVfDvZf2ksLygCLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VyZrtXfLUgY/X95woGYXvXI/AAAAAAAA25s/fXVvSgtWHFAY1f1ps6CKTVfDvZf2ksLygCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B4.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_4ja-oOp5No/X95wopq_ksI/AAAAAAAA25w/GVjjAwOVy0Y-qCnleEtUEkbpRdO2wkyCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_4ja-oOp5No/X95wopq_ksI/AAAAAAAA25w/GVjjAwOVy0Y-qCnleEtUEkbpRdO2wkyCgCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE%2B5.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_ef8Bods9Q/X95wpD3W8fI/AAAAAAAA250/tfjluxfjjHUr0QtnNCWPDYyrqEVtK4KDACLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_ef8Bods9Q/X95wpD3W8fI/AAAAAAAA250/tfjluxfjjHUr0QtnNCWPDYyrqEVtK4KDACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Kristin%252C%2BBellevue%2BNE.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VNGc_kVEk88/X95wpRMfsXI/AAAAAAAA254/5A1QtqM3bt4Xr_vajhM8j09S6tiW3slAACLcBGAsYHQ/s875/Miscatine%252C%2BIA%2BKim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="602" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VNGc_kVEk88/X95wpRMfsXI/AAAAAAAA254/5A1QtqM3bt4Xr_vajhM8j09S6tiW3slAACLcBGAsYHQ/w440-h640/Miscatine%252C%2BIA%2BKim.jpg" width="440" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kim, Miscatine, Iowa</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XDMXURWxIe0/X95wphiIcQI/AAAAAAAA26A/mvHlEy7QgQ4Xg2Dq1xurGZCe47Q8GaP-ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Molly%252C%2BBethel%2BMO%2B1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XDMXURWxIe0/X95wphiIcQI/AAAAAAAA26A/mvHlEy7QgQ4Xg2Dq1xurGZCe47Q8GaP-ACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Molly%252C%2BBethel%2BMO%2B1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Molly, Bethel Missouri </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DdQkKAEWds4/X95wpjD2bZI/AAAAAAAA26E/P3msONEnnQgnc6Guz51KtjgQnXSGFk-PgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Molly%252C%2BBethel%2BMO%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DdQkKAEWds4/X95wpjD2bZI/AAAAAAAA26E/P3msONEnnQgnc6Guz51KtjgQnXSGFk-PgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Molly%252C%2BBethel%2BMO%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hPniXuRxbu0/X95wqALr-4I/AAAAAAAA26Q/GaSjXx-1f00bIUxLRQQlsUCcYoFlIHIlgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Nicole%2BOmaha%2B3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hPniXuRxbu0/X95wqALr-4I/AAAAAAAA26Q/GaSjXx-1f00bIUxLRQQlsUCcYoFlIHIlgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Nicole%2BOmaha%2B3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nicole, Omaha Nebraska<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFzEhx5cRxo/X95yxlxCTII/AAAAAAAA27A/v1IgE-p7TuALGKUd9PHNyQiAyXFQ7PENgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Nicole%252C%2BOmaha%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFzEhx5cRxo/X95yxlxCTII/AAAAAAAA27A/v1IgE-p7TuALGKUd9PHNyQiAyXFQ7PENgCLcBGAsYHQ/w479-h640/Nicole%252C%2BOmaha%2B2.jpg" width="479" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xPQral-PDno/X95yyYtU48I/AAAAAAAA27E/lotEV4s1g9UZ4BYQ_6Ibt07L93huoWQ4gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Nicole%252C%2BOmaha%2B1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xPQral-PDno/X95yyYtU48I/AAAAAAAA27E/lotEV4s1g9UZ4BYQ_6Ibt07L93huoWQ4gCLcBGAsYHQ/w479-h640/Nicole%252C%2BOmaha%2B1.jpg" width="479" /></a><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ue4orPLJI88/X95wqEgJmoI/AAAAAAAA26M/4XlojBAoHiwnVXt2E0BBBzIHOpsF3vdzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2016/Nicole%252C%2BKalamazoo%2B.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ue4orPLJI88/X95wqEgJmoI/AAAAAAAA26M/4XlojBAoHiwnVXt2E0BBBzIHOpsF3vdzQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/Nicole%252C%2BKalamazoo%2B.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nicole, Kalamazoo Michigan</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E9qfSrVbUAo/X95zcovoxpI/AAAAAAAA27U/33JUMCPV1Wcvk65exX66b3rBm9mpzLAIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Eli.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E9qfSrVbUAo/X95zcovoxpI/AAAAAAAA27U/33JUMCPV1Wcvk65exX66b3rBm9mpzLAIgCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/Eli.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Update: Per the comments below, <a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/search/label/Strangerhood%20of%20the%20Traveling%20Snuggie">here's a link to access the prior Traveling Snuggie posts</a>.</div><br /><div><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-22325063434421856842020-12-17T10:19:00.002-07:002021-01-15T11:06:29.311-07:00A New Kind Of Peace<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YYcWZar8zeU/YAHO0mVVTBI/AAAAAAAA3CM/6aDLjubLt7cDHBABZEQmbBl5e94SofXhACLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Stop.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YYcWZar8zeU/YAHO0mVVTBI/AAAAAAAA3CM/6aDLjubLt7cDHBABZEQmbBl5e94SofXhACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Stop.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I was just about to leave work for the day when my husband called me.</span></p></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Class has been canceled. They’re sending everyone home,” he said.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Skylar was deep into his second year of medical school when the university announced that due to reports of coronavirus reaching certain parts of the United States, campus would be closing.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Minutes later I scrolled through Twitter to find an endless stream of virtual fearmongering from the online masses about impending shutdowns of nearly every supply chain. “The state liquor stores are going to be closing soon and we don’t know when they’ll open again, so everyone plan accordingly,” one friend announced on Facebook alongside a picture of a line of people that wrapped up and down the wine aisles.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I drove home. Over the next two or three days, Skylar and I doomscrolled through article after article about what a lockdown meant, worst case scenarios for the global pandemic, photographs of Italian hospitals with dying people strewn about hallway floors, and predictions on how long this would last.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I just read something that said this could take 18 months. A lockdown for 18 months,” a friend texted me. My heart sank.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I ran into the living room in mismatched socks, a block of cheese with teeth marks on it in my left hand, and a sloshing glass of red wine in the other. It was 2:00 PM. “I don’t know if I can handle this if it goes on for 18 months,” I remember yelling at Skylar.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A few days later we woke up to an earthquake. We spent the rest of that day trying to work despite several unsettling aftershocks.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I don’t know if anyone who didn’t live through it will ever really understand how much those early weeks of These Unprecedented Times truly felt apocalyptic. The lack of answers. The conflicting reports about whether or not we should be buying masks. The inaccessibility to testing, and the concern that the testing might be inaccurate anyway.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Once it became clear I wouldn’t be working in my office again any time soon, I decided I should probably go pack up my computer monitors and some other supplies and bring them home. Skylar and I had a long conversation about whether this was safe and what precautions I should take during my short journey, as we wiped down with Clorox a three-week supply of groceries I had just bought.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I headed downtown that afternoon. The streets were empty. All businesses closed. No other cars on the roads. I had to stop to get gas on the way. I used my pinky to push buttons and then drove the rest of the route to my office holding it up, like I was at a British tea party, until I could access some hand sanitizer.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My workplace was dark and quiet. I loaded some things into a box and then drove home. Skylar made me leave my shoes outside, immediately change my clothes, and then scrub my hands and arms.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A lot of that sounds silly now, of course. And maybe it would have sounded silly to a lot of people even then. But hearing there was a deadly disease spreading across the earth, that it was easily transmitted and we didn’t quite know how, and that if we got that disease there was a decent chance no hospital would be able to help us, made extremism feel reasonable. Maybe it still is. I don’t know.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After two weeks of this, I found myself at an emotional low. Skylar noticed that I was spiraling and he responded by issuing a weekend moratorium on accessing the internet. “This is for your own good,” he told me as he collected my devices, like I was a teenager who was being grounded for getting a D in algebra.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">That Saturday I painted the garage door, a household chore I had been neglecting for two years. I made cocktails and cooked while listening to several pop culture podcasts. We ended the evening by taking the dog for a walk and then watching <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Airplane!</em> in our basement. The social media cleanse did the trick, and for the first time in fourteen days I started to feel like I had some perspective again.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Over the next several months things sort of changed and sort of didn’t. I stayed home, working, and finding new ways to use my time since so many of the old ways weren’t possible anymore. We learned that the virus was mostly spread through the air, and that wearing masks made a massive difference on transmission rates, but there was still no vaccine or foolproof treatment and social distancing would remain crucial. So I kept staying home.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I knitted every evening while Skylar lay on the floor under a pile of blankets, studying and complaining that the house wasn’t warm enough. I ramped up my covid-safe hobbies and even tried to invent some new ones. I went for 15-mile runs every other day. I learned to cook Indian food. I became a vegan for one week. Well, four days, if I’m being honest, and I’m not sure I am.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I tried to keep busy with my work despite an omnipresent pit in my stomach warning me that I might be the next victim of the quickly dissolving economy. I tried to write more. I tried to fix things around the house.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I didn’t feel like I was doing any of it well.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And because of that, each day I found myself marinating in something of a subconscious guilt. Negative self-deprecations became my unwanted mantras.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I’m such a slob.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I’m not eating as many vegetables as I should.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“My social skills are atrophying.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I need to wear pants more.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I can’t believe I just wasted two hours silently sitting on the front porch with the dog.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I felt these things about myself, apparently under the impression that back when I used to drive to work and see other people, I got much more done and had much more to be proud of.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">All year I tried to force myself to give myself a little more room and grace for what I perceived to be my failings. “Give yourself a break,” I would think. “This is a hard year for <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">everyone</em>. It’s ok that you aren’t accomplishing much. <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Give yourself a break</em>.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I braced myself for a disappointing end-of-year reflection. I planned to consider 2020 to be a wash. To just accept that I had failed it according to any normal metric. To not be too hard on myself when I looked back and realized I didn’t have much to be proud of. Would any of us, really?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">*****</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">On Thanksgiving morning I sat in the kitchen chopping some potatoes as Skylar checked the temperature of our roasting turkey. The dog was lying by the front door because it’s warm there during the day in our south-facing house.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Skylar was in the middle of telling me some story—a memory of a childhood Thanksgiving gone bad. He was only about halfway through it when a rush of warmth came over me. I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe it was because it was Thanksgiving and I was in a grateful mood. But it suddenly just hit me how much I loved him and how incredible it was that I got to spend so much time with him without distractions during 2020—the first year of our marriage.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Well, I’m thankful for that, at least,” I thought. There was at least one good thing to come out of this year.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I know. <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Gag.</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But as I keep reflecting on what this year has meant and what is worth valuing, I don’t know. I wonder if, in some ways, we’re about to slide into home with something of a skewed perspective. I hear friends talk about closing the chapter on 2020 with a shrug and a mass discarding of all rearview mirrors. We’ve collectively acted like these recent months have been nothing other than a tragic waste, best forgotten as quickly as they were sometimes devastating or stressful.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Whatever anyone is feeling about this year, I have no doubt it’s fully justified, especially if your experience has been much more tumultuous than mine. At the risk of jinxing myself, I admit my family has stayed healthy and mostly employed and I know so many ache for the luck I’ve had, even if I still experienced some pains along the way. Who am I to lecture anyone about what they should think about their own experience?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Even still, I have been wondering if maybe instead of giving myself “a break” for all of my perceived failings, a more careful review of what I’ve been through might merit some small round of applause. And I wonder if that might be true for you, too.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you’ve grown closer to your family this year, maybe that’s cause to celebrate.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you’ve set needed boundaries with your family this year, let’s raise a glass to that, too.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you’ve learned this year to cut out distractions so you can focus on what actually matters most to you, maybe you have even <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">more </em>reason to be proud of yourself than usual.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you’ve ended this year with more compassion and love for your neighbors, I mean, really, what measure of character and grit could mean more than that?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Hell, if you’ve got anything good to say about yourself at all at the end of a year like this, I’ll high-five to that. Or, I would. If there wasn’t a pandemic. Or if I was a BYU student at the end of a date to the Creamery and Color Me Mine.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I suspect that if we all held up an honest magnifying glass to our lives right now, we might find that we were a lot more “productive” during 2020, and in the most meaningful ways, than we would have been in any “normal” twelve-month period. It may not have felt so along the way as we stayed home and worried and cried and struggled in our homeschooling and fought off the occasional panic attack. But I’m starting to wonder if the only way many of us really have failed this year is in our ability to see how proud we should be of ourselves for what we’ve managed to be and become when it really wasn’t fair to demand much from any of us at all.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And even <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">that </em>failure is understandable. Who could expect any of us to engage in some accurate self-reflection when the world feels a little apocalyptic?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">*****</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This morning Skylar and I took the dog for a walk around the neighborhood. He told me about the medical school rotation he just finished. He gave himself a hard time, joking about how useless he feels around physicians who have been practicing medicine for decades. “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I comforted him without any evidence beyond my belief that he could never seem useless.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He reached into my jacket pocket to clasp my hand that was already there. “I’m freezing,” he told me. “How are your hands always so warm?”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We walked that way for a while, chatting, laughing, adjusting the beanie hats I had recently knitted, not really in a rush to get anywhere.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We talked about what we wanted to cook for dinner—something with vegetables—<em style="box-sizing: inherit;">we really should be eating more vegetables</em>. We resisted the temptation to give one another too many clues about what we had each planned for the other for Christmas. I forgot to be proud of myself for putting on pants.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There’s a quote in the series finale of <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">The Office</em> I think about often. I tell you this at the risk of sounding like someone whose personality is based on <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">The Office</em>, which, I don’t know. Maybe that’s accurate. In any event, Andy is reflecting on his nostalgia—the good times he had in the workplace he always kind of hated, because that workplace really sucked.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them,” he says, fighting back a tear.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I, like you, I’m sure, certainly never plan to think of 2020 as “the good old days.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Even still.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As Skylar gripped my hand and giggled to himself about a truly godawful pun he had just made up—I mean, really. <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Godawful</em>. I realized then that these are probably the moments I’ll most remember and choose to cherish from 2020. The quiet neighborhood meanderings. The quality time. The conscious decisions to worry more about the things that matter and shed the things that don’t.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I don’t want to forget these moments, or what they represent about how much we’ve changed for the better. Throughout the rest of my life, when I look back on this time, I want the pride in my scars to overpower the angst. I’ve earned that. You’ve earned that.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Even if the Pandemic didn’t quite set the scene for any kind of “good old days,” here I am, stupidly hoping that very small pieces of it might be just that. Because, I might as well?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">That may be a naïve perspective, or one that fails to fully grasp or be sensitive to our collective trauma. But it’s the one I decided to strive to have as we wandered the neighborhood this morning.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The neighborhood where we smirked and sighed and spoke and strolled.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">At our now normal pace.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In an ongoing place of some kind of pause.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">With a new kind of peace.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">(Design: Joshua Fowlke) (Editor: Rachel Swan)</span></em></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-51107691859916318152020-12-13T18:18:00.000-07:002020-12-13T18:18:08.546-07:00Hedgy<p>A couple years ago my friend Anna got Duncan a little stuffed animal hedgehog. She called it "Hedgy" and this quickly became Duncan's very favorite toy. My little man was <i>obsessed</i> with Hedgy. He would carry him everywhere he went. One time Sky and I were out of town and Anna was watching him; she sent us a picture of Duncan and Hedgy sitting on the front porch looking off into the distance together.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KIYGP7vflpU/X9a5CnhmwpI/AAAAAAAA24U/WslRXFTvBqMMJ_JE-CkTlJWCR1E33mk7ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1156/IMG_0265.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="1148" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KIYGP7vflpU/X9a5CnhmwpI/AAAAAAAA24U/WslRXFTvBqMMJ_JE-CkTlJWCR1E33mk7ACLcBGAsYHQ/w636-h640/IMG_0265.jpg" width="636" /></a></div><p>When that first Hedgy started looking worse for the wear, not at all helped by the fact that some of Duncan's friends got ahold of him and ripped his guts out, Anna got Duncan a replacement Hedgy. We tried to get rid of the first Hedgy carcass, but Duncan flipped out when we attempted to take it away from him. He would go stand in front of the garbage can, somehow aware that that's where we had thrown it, and cry. He loved the new Hedgy, but he loved the old raggedy one, too. <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>We're pushovers, so we just let him keep the Hedgy carcass. </p><p>Eventually Hedgy number two suffered the same fate as his predecessor, so Anna got Duncan another one. And then another. And then another. And then Skylar started ordering these damn things in bulk. And the next thing I knew, we had somewhere around 30 Hedgy carcasses spread out all over the house and yard. And I know this sounds crazy, but Duncan legit knows them all. He loves each of them individually and deeply. He would 100% leave the ninety and nine Hedgy carcasses to retrieve the one if it somehow got lost.</p><p>He goes through phases where he wants to play with one of the indistinguishable-to-us Hedgys for a few days at a time. He'll bring one to me and drop it so I can throw it for him. I will literally toss it over to a pile of other Hedgys and he will run to them, sniff around until he finds the one he had originally chosen, and then brings that one back to me to do it all over again.</p><p>It's like they're all his children and he's trying to make sure he spends quality time with each one.</p><p>We've gotten used to this madness, to the point that we don't really notice all of the Hedgy carcasses anymore. We only tend to realize they are around when someone else points them out to us, <a href="http://www.itjustgetsstranger.com/2020/09/dead-rat.html">as was the case recently with The Perfects who thought our back patio was full of dead rats because they could see a Hedgy wasteland through the fence</a>. </p><p>With all of this in mind, you can imagine the trauma we experienced recently when a Hedgy was lost forever.</p><p>We had just gotten home from somewhere and the house was cold so Skylar turned on our gas fire in the living room. This thing could be safer, we admit. It's open--no barrier or shield of any kind. It was only a matter of time that something like this happened.</p><p>We were in the kitchen so we don't totally know how it all went down (and Duncan can't tell us). I think we had only been out of the room for a minute or two when I walked back in and saw Duncan, silently standing in front of a burning Hedgy that had somehow landed in the fire and then rolled back out onto the tiled hearth. </p><p>It honestly looked like he had done it on purpose, but I know that couldn't be. Duncan won't normally go near the fire when it's on and he would never intentionally harm a Hedgy. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VUN52eGO5ho/X9a5LSjNewI/AAAAAAAA24Y/aDNG84-okncOKLnCMLGCS069JwC8P73PACLcBGAsYHQ/s4032/IMG_0264.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VUN52eGO5ho/X9a5LSjNewI/AAAAAAAA24Y/aDNG84-okncOKLnCMLGCS069JwC8P73PACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/IMG_0264.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A non-burning Hedgy at the scene of the crime, staged for this story.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Skylar and I used (ruined) a spatula to push Hedgy back into the fire and the three of us watched it burn while Duncan sat next to us softly crying. </p><p>It's been 8 days and he still occasionally walks to the fireplace, looks at it longingly, and then sulks away.</p><p>I think my dog might need a good therapist.</p><p>Please enjoy a new Strangerville:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yLtNTLiUDsw/X9a5gqUqZdI/AAAAAAAA24o/wy1RfLZfya0j_nQgIPiR1xhhBKWYTVhJACLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yLtNTLiUDsw/X9a5gqUqZdI/AAAAAAAA24o/wy1RfLZfya0j_nQgIPiR1xhhBKWYTVhJACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This time in Strangerville, a crime has been committed and it involves ice cream and marital tension. And a man shares his recipe for smoked oregano and college hijinks.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Story:</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rocky Mountain High, <em>by Scott (music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/ProleteR/Curses_From_The_Past/ProleteR_-_01_-_April_Showers" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">ProleteR</a>)</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Production by Eli McCann, Meg Walter, & The Beehive</span></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17165915/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe>
<i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-89659089371771163762020-12-10T11:57:00.000-07:002020-12-10T11:57:16.670-07:00I am married to a deeply weird person.<p>Just a few days ago Skylar and I decorated gingerbread cookies. With sweat at my brow, I mixed and rolled the dough and then I carefully baked them with love. We covered them with colorful frosting and other decorations. It was so damn cozy and lovely. </p><p>"What a wonderful husband I am," I thought to myself about this magical experience I created for Skylar. "And now he'll have these delicious treats to munch on for several days." </p><p>I even put them on a Christmas plate my mother gave me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--pQNOzSNdw8/X9JtM5BCEHI/AAAAAAAA234/-wL5Q_XqHYgXTmSFKuA2Bsm5Vg20hIQ1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_0200.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--pQNOzSNdw8/X9JtM5BCEHI/AAAAAAAA234/-wL5Q_XqHYgXTmSFKuA2Bsm5Vg20hIQ1gCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/IMG_0200.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>The cookies then sat on the counter for one day. Then two. Then three. Untouched were they by the man who swore with a blood oath to devote every iota of his being to cherish me.<p></p><p>Then on Tuesday night I heard him say "I really need a sweet snack."</p><p><i>Finally</i>, I thought to myself. He'd finally go eat those cookies.</p><p>A minute later I saw him pour pepto bismol into a glass. INTO A GLASS. Take a sip. Smack his lips. Make that "ahhh" sound like a tv dad who just started drinking a beer. And then say "that hit the spot."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlYzO0blxfg/X9JvBvUeLPI/AAAAAAAA24A/hjoGcJuTRb8o6ql3QK1T6cGlax2uCvFqgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_0209.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wlYzO0blxfg/X9JvBvUeLPI/AAAAAAAA24A/hjoGcJuTRb8o6ql3QK1T6cGlax2uCvFqgCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/IMG_0209.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><p>Look. </p><p>Have I ever eaten Flinstone vitamins as a snack? Sure.</p><p>Did my sister and I used to sneak into the medicine cabinet to drink the grape cough syrup? Yes.</p><p>But never in my life would it occur to me to go drink PEPTO. BISMOL. </p><p>AS A SNACK!</p><p>Especially not while there are delicious gingerbread cookies sitting out on a Christmas plate!</p><p>Gingerbread cookies MADE WITH LOVE!</p><p>I can barely drink pepto bismol for medical reasons. Why would anyone <i>want</i> to drink it. FOR FUN.</p><p>I am married to a deeply weird person.</p><p><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i> </p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-40841762068019765022020-12-06T18:18:00.002-07:002020-12-06T18:18:51.946-07:00Good Ice Cream<p>Look. You know me. You've been reading this site since you were mumble mumble years old. Since back before the war. Since the days of Blockbuster and Myspace. You used to read this site gulping a Surge and listening to Alanis Morissettes's's's new album.</p><p>We go way back, you and me and you and so forth. We go back so far we need a chiropractor to fix it. That joke probably doesn't make sense, but we are so bonded together that you didn't even question it and in fact found yourself suddenly ready to fight anyone who planned to come at me in the comments. And we're so tight that you don't even care about that fact that I censor that crap and don't allow negative comments here because I'm blogger's deep state.</p><p>So, since we are so bonded together, you are 100% ready to side with me in my absolute rage at my husband, who, as you know, swore on his eternal soul to worship and serve me, and he swore it IN FRONT OF THE PEOPLE WHO USED TO CHANGE OUR DIAPERS at the most expensive party we've ever thrown and which "we can totally do all of that within budget" but which we absolutely did not do within budget.</p><p>My husband. Skylar whatshisname. That man. That <i>mannn</i>. Yesterday. He was at the grocery store, and he called me and said "what do you need? I'll grab what you need while I'm here, if you'll tell me."</p><p>I thought, wrongly, <i>what a thoughtful husband I have <u style="font-weight: bold;">and deserve</u>. I shall communicate the most basic of all messages at him and surely there will be no problem and he'll do exactly the right thing.<span></span></i></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>Well, Stranger, who has been with me since Bill Cosby was still whatever, my husband failed. And you'll agree with me once you hear the rest of it. Both because you are loyal to me and because what he did was objectively wrong.</p><p>"Yes. Please get some GOOD ice cream." I told him. "Not that shit you keep buying."</p><p>And look. I know this is a family show and I'm sorry that I swore in front of you. But. BUT. Skylar Westerdwhozitwhatsit. has been buying vegan gluten free sugar free happiness free this or that all year because "I'm sorry that I want you to live a long life" or something. And I've tried to stop him, but to no avail. So I've complained to him about this excessively and in detail.</p><p>He should know when I tell him that I'm no longer willing to put up with his attack on my most basic joys that I expect absolutely reasonable behavior out of him. ABSOLUTELY. REASONABLE.</p><p>"Good." I had said. "Ice cream." I had said. "Get some." I had said.</p><p>I communicated that extremely basic message to this man, who is expected to assign every cell of his gluten free vegan ice cream being to absolute loyalty to me.</p><p>Thirty minutes later he returned home. </p><p>"I got you the ice cream you requested," he said, in a, frankly, argumentative tone.</p><p>And then he pulled it out.</p><p>And reader.</p><p>Stranger.</p><p>Lover.</p><p>I'm not lying to you when I say that what he bought.</p><p>What my <i>dragon slayer and future mother of my children bought</i>.</p><p>Was not normal, good, ice cream. It was not the ice cream of national heroes and interesting people.</p><p>It was. Plain. Vanilla.</p><p>This. This is what MY HUSBAND. The one who swore before all the angels in heaven at a party where I had to pay a mother f-ing company to rent TABELCLOTHS. A party where my bank account was drained so a dozen children we're related to could eat a meal in the mountains. Where that husband swore to make my life better. This is what he bought to fulfill my order of "good ice cream."</p><p>Plain.</p><p>Vanilla.</p><p>Vanilla.</p><p>VANillllllllllAAAAA.</p><p>THAT IS PLAIN.</p><p>Well, when I threw an absolutely appropriate tantrum over this he rolled his eyes and told me that if I wanted something different I should be more specific. </p><p>He acted like this was somehow <i>my</i> fault.</p><p>He acted like <i>I</i> was somehow the unreasonable partner in this partnership of dishonor. </p><p>I think we may have rushed into marriage.</p><p>Please enjoy some Strangerville as a chaser to the horrors I just fed you.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ebk9uYv2ueU/X82AjTriCuI/AAAAAAAA23g/fakLa02t7D4fDyO0wQumaUfwgdgoBvN0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ebk9uYv2ueU/X82AjTriCuI/AAAAAAAA23g/fakLa02t7D4fDyO0wQumaUfwgdgoBvN0wCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This time in Strangerville, 2020 has ruined our ability to actually gauge our own productivity, Meg is terrified for her child to become a teenage boy one day, and a woman ends up at the center of a police investigation after stumbling upon a shocking scene in her college apartment.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Story</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dead Cow, <em>by Laney Hawes (Music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Jackson_F_Smith/Jackson_Frederick_Smith/Cantina_Rag" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Jackson F. Smith</a>)</em></span></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/17075048/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe> <div><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-84298532851203345322020-12-03T11:19:00.004-07:002020-12-03T11:19:38.987-07:00A Good Finder<p>A couple years ago I found this film about dating and marriage produced by BYU in 1956 and I talked about it on Strangerville when I did the four-part series on old Mormon films. Well, I finally built up the stamina to recap it, with screenshots so you can see how exceptionally hot one of the protagonist's suitors was. </p><p>You can read this real doozy of recap <a href="https://www.thebeehive.com/how-near-to-the-angels-a-byu-film-recap-im-sorry-to-throw-at-you/">here</a>. Also, shoutout to Josh Fowlke, our artist at The Beehive, who once again created the perfect piece of art for this recap. </p><p>In other news, my husband, the man who vowed before God to love and worship and support and never criticize and always agree and suffer in silence for me, attacked me out of nowhere the other night. </p><p>There's an ongoing debate in my home about whether or not I'm a bad "finder." Skylar includes "good finder" at the very top of his list of positive qualities he believes he possesses. This topic comes up every single day.</p><p><b>Skylar:</b> Will you please hand me the cumin?</p><p><b>Eli:</b> I don't see it.</p><p><b>Skylar:</b> Did you move stuff around?</p><p><b>Eli:</b> I don't have to because it's not here and that would be a waste of time.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>Then he stomps over to the spice cabinet, moves exactly one thing, puts the jar of cumin right up to my face like people used to do to dogs when they peed in the house back before they got civil rights. </p><p>"It's not that I'm bad at finding things," I tell him. "It's just that I don't really try."</p><p>This is a distinction with a significant difference, in my opinion. But Skylar disagrees.</p><p>"How is apathy and laziness better than inherent incompetence?" he'll yell. "Either way, you are not doing what I ask!"</p><p>It all came to a head on Tuesday, though. Tensions were high enough that morning when Skylar decided to cancel our evening plans. He has some time off this month and so I told him I thought we should schedule actual activities together, because I'm thoughtful and lovely and good at marriage. For Tuesday I suggested we make gingerbread cookies and listen to Christmas music and tell me how much we love me. </p><p>He agreed to that plan but then on Tuesday morning he asked if we could reschedule it for a different evening. </p><p>"Do you mind? Could we do that on Friday instead?" he yelled from the other room.</p><p>"Yeah, no problem," I said back to him, very reasonably.</p><p>Sky was quiet for a minute and then he shouted back to me, "is that really ok or is this a trap?"</p><p>Which, like, yeah it was a trap, but I really didn't appreciate his lack of trust.</p><p>Since he preempted it, I now cannot pull this out with ease later on during a fight when I plan to accuse him of "always changing our plans without even considering whether I'm ok with it!"</p><p>As it turned out, it was better anyway that we didn't have plans that evening because we were called in for emergency medical care. Matt texted us and said he had a cough and sore throat and until he could get results from a covid test he didn't think it was a good idea to go out to get cough syrup In These Unprecedented Times, so he asked us to drop some off on his doorstep.</p><p>Skylar drove. </p><p>"I'll just pull up to the front of the gas station and you can run in and get it," he told me.</p><p>I didn't protest, because I support the concept of division of labor. </p><p>Well, I walked into the gas station and Stranger, I could not see any cough syrup or medication of any kind so I walked myself back out to the car and told Skylar that.</p><p>He seemed a little surprised. "Do they not even have cough drops?" he said, as he put the car in reverse and started to back out of the parking spot.</p><p>"No. They don't even have gum in there," I told him.</p><p>Well this he did not want to hear.</p><p>He immediately and <i>dramatically</i> shifted the car back into drive and screeched into the parking spot once again.</p><p>"Eli Whittle McCann, you go back in there and look harder."</p><p>He said he was willing to accept that maybe they didn't have cough syrup but apparently when I represented that there wasn't even gum he no longer considered me a credible witness of the gas station's inventory.</p><p>I protested, telling him I already looked and I stood by my answer. </p><p>"I'm going to go inside that gas station and I better not find any cough syrup in there!" he yelled at me. <i>Me</i>. Innocent little old me who was just trying to be a good person.</p><p>Then he stormed inside in his <i>ridiculous </i>sweater that somehow still looks good on him, and to be honest, yes, I was a little scared and suddenly not nearly as confident in my assessment that there was no cough syrup.</p><p>Then, not even 30 seconds later he came marching back out of the gas station holding in his arms an entire pharmacy's worth of cold medications. We didn't even need most of it. He just bought it all to prove a point.</p><p>"THIS WAS ON THE VERY FIRST ROW," he yelled it, as if the rows were numbered and this made any sense smh.</p><p>At this point I was commanded to go back into the gas station with him so he could show me "THE AISLE AT THE VERY FRONT OF THE DAMN STORE THAT HAS ENDLESS ROWS OF COLD MEDICINE."</p><p>"<i>AND GUM!!!</i>"</p><p>By the tone and volume of his voice, it was obvious he wasn't in a place to be reasonable anymore so I just did as he said and then we got into the store and the gas station attendant stared at us because what the hell was going on? </p><p>I recorded a video of his absolutely absurd meltdown to preserve the record.</p><p><br /></p>
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p dir="ltr" lang="und"><a href="https://t.co/VLIbFGIxh7">pic.twitter.com/VLIbFGIxh7</a></p>— Eli McCann (@EliMcCann) <a href="https://twitter.com/EliMcCann/status/1333951848718352384?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">December 2, 2020</a></blockquote><p><br /></p><p>When we finally arrived at home he was still scolding me for the whole thing.</p><p>"You're making way too big a deal out this." I told him.</p><p>He ignored me. "Why didn't you at least ask the man who worked there if they had any? Why did you just walk out?"</p><p>"That's not the point," I snapped.</p><p>Skylar rolled his eyes and mumbled, as he walked out of the room, "I'd ask you what the point is, but I'm not sure you could find it."</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cH6z9Ut_mP8/X8kjbvp7_WI/AAAAAAAA22g/8c7RK2ZAhtctat2kxxGYJDIXXHnblT1DwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_0145.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cH6z9Ut_mP8/X8kjbvp7_WI/AAAAAAAA22g/8c7RK2ZAhtctat2kxxGYJDIXXHnblT1DwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/IMG_0145.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">P.S. every time Sky gets up from his study spot on the floor Duncan immediately takes over the heated blanket. Skylar is living with a lot of baggage right now.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-77562554335943093612020-12-02T10:21:00.007-07:002021-01-26T12:54:50.555-07:00How Near To The Angels: A BYU Film Recap From 1956 That Will Make You Feel A Lot Of Things<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wfdM9Cn33n8/YAHPuddBj9I/AAAAAAAA3CU/pDqFGN5JUXI73I5Gt3OyL8ElRuLndd8YgCLcBGAsYHQ/Angels.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wfdM9Cn33n8/YAHPuddBj9I/AAAAAAAA3CU/pDqFGN5JUXI73I5Gt3OyL8ElRuLndd8YgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Angels.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">At some point during my periodic search for obscure, horrifying old Mormon films, I discovered a real doozy. This was about two years ago and I’ve been willing myself to summon the endurance to recap it ever since.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><em style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222;">How Near To The Angels</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">comes at us from 1956, and it comes at us</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><em style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222;">hard</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We begin our story with two schoolmarms dressing a young lady in a white wedding dress.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/HDZJI-E9GMsBvbpj3zE5u4i4iLGCE77RkE2oAART-RdOBsuQ8yBsoh9DwQw9E04cF6RaMMkoBVYVc8BaUS1921qaoirpvyGyYhB_FBnZ5OpgCxOZ9n9yoWtMfdZMVXPoTbwgxzuZ" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The bride-to-be is Janet. “You really think he’ll like it, mother?” Janet asks about the dress.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I doubt he’ll even notice it,” she responds.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Moms gonna mom.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/2NsDCGnZs9Y2HiRQ7ragBc5xEcgEBzp-thY8Klt_ObwGcA-oG36rgmaI4R0jp52dT0JXdZm_p8d_0sH7_daGqIXsXFwJ7gubzQPV-UUZZj__miLLDr3c-MMjaF2Nz603DibJgphG" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet ponders in a sing-songy voice, “Mom, how did such a wonderful man ever fall in love with <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">me</em>?”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Men have been falling in love with you since you were three,” mom counters, lovingly, like she hasn’t just said the first of many horrifying things this film will soon throw at us without any attempt to unpack it.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Marrying a man is the most important thing a woman ever does, isn’t it?” Janet goes on.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mom leaves the room so Janet can pick up a photo of her soon-to-be. She begins an echoey voiceover monologue directed at him.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/LZ4p2ZNUGdj-yi-sEJrIHNJGUIrTQqUD-PUsVczuhd5boQHfHt8jy1rvn_Ea0DaqYgPFN4mgqFiezve4nEuXt-zE-utXBViapWKc2HRhaq4pVkyjxP9WLmDIJuz_uJ1GzpU0oB30" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet contemplates how “wonderful and clean” her man is and then she summons a look of horror as she thinks to herself about “how close” she came “to being denied the greatest of all blessings,” hinting at some questionable past.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It sounds like we’re about to go for a cocaine-filled romp through debauchery. We’re not.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“It seems like only yesterday I was a Beehive girl. And even then, popularity was almost an obsession with me,” Janet continues.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Side note: “Beehive Girl” is what the other writers on this site call me at our team meetings. It’s a toxic work environment but it pays for my wine habit, so I stay.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet says she got mixed up in the “wrong crowd,” and through a flashback she introduces that wrong crowd to us:</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/EBsEBHsGg7lsoVHZ4IBvdzv1UnU5g78qZ3oDKGBaL2zXTQeABm7dkF5E_zJfz-bDtghwURXAHUH2SgMOGZKtAwXBLA4seQDAlab5tWBjENda-ba3F9Nn26OJRXBQ8_yLJ6hQVfZ6" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This is Betty and Babs, and yes, I’m all in on Betty and Babs. They have the kind of names of people who start arguments by spinning a small purse in one hand, chewing gum with an open mouth, and saying, “Now see here!”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Betty and Babs are talking to Janet on the phone, apparently trying to get her to hang out with them. “Gee wiz!” Janet yells. “If I keep missing Mutual someone’s sure to tell my folks!”</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_KhWl5J9dddMITqYpgdZl_rIc1f7xKZYO2x6CVLwhzT2k8YTLhD96vYi68CnsyusZP1hyxhZmz15ghwID2yiZ5hn7NZCdUftFerS7WOS8xEdau7erjrTyhGcTlM01wKkj5QGo3ia" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">For the uninitiated, “Mutual” is an old term for Mormon youth activities where teenagers gathered on folding chairs at the local church meetinghouse so a grownup could explain the differences between “petting” and “heavy petting” just before passing around an unwrapped candy bar to demonstrate that, just like girls, once it’s been touched by so many hands, no one will want to eat it.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet seems ready to tell her friends she can’t come over, but then Betty or Babs or it doesn’t matter who says she just got a new record. “You did!?” Janet yells. “That real cooooool jazz number?! Crazy! Neat! I’ll simply DIE if I don’t hear it!”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet rushes off to Betty’s or Babs’s place to listen to the devil’s music. It’s clear that the purely-instrumental song, which sounds like something you’d hear at a nineteenth-century traveling circus, is a bad influence because the girls start dancing.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/e4tNixzLciR90J_sCrllGEw4xGFPMfKzNJ0oYoAY1A-B0O3fS27uAIDLBrNyLXujXdNFjgLWig9pTNK1JNzeugKcSHMZckJyzkzGJZJto667OisptVOLYjE1Z2dn8_A3K6gTd5f9" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Eventually they collapse on a bed. “Oh Babs, I’m real thirsty. Have you got any pop in the house?” Betty asks. “Are you kidding?” Babs responds like she’s in a seventh grade play and she’s been told by the English teacher she needs to speak as loudly as possible so the parents in the back can hear her. “It’s imPOSSible to keep anything here in the house with MY kid BROTHER. He drinks up EVERYthing.”</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Ed3Ixp50DGgyH_jimjGO2IZj14xeP0OLCoLY6LA4HOda7P1kSvMFcTshVbmFxDDgqPerfqwEHjwOwWWYoI6e5umxPUVOyN1SGpugl_M_xbMuO_ft9lLbVDB-kxIWGrnqHJ6cSghv" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The girls decide to go down to “the service station” to get something from the vending machine. “Neato!” “Swell!” they say at random as they walk out of the room.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Give this screenplay an Oscar!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">They get to the vending machine and make their selections. Suddenly the machine glitches and spits out two “pops” for the price of one.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/ZeJtT1T9uH0S0d_ynmPi-8ETYtWp0KOEHzWxYW8U1Wer9Ds0Y_SfFdlRHNXIaVbBCMPvNwlgLLKteNVlPoazGh1nrf2RlWnziLhBT9iXzXlaq66olGX0jQUSsSYJgHQtAcNTVzNo" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Betty and Babs are all in on this, but Janet isn’t so sure. “I think I’d rather pay for mine,” Janet says about this accidental scheme of thievery. “Not me,” Babs says. “I get a kick out of outsmarting these dumb klugs (???).”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet is not so sure.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/hA-xUcQAVsO9DO0EBEBx_AxndZ-Se0sWjgtEUsHb0AoynZ6-dwIkGKgzkeQ5EBcwr_m-E17DFirUbuvuXi_CcoocEWQX_HyY39ushbDgFlDkA6P2aacblFTn0NtQDduzSipY71lO" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then things get really bad.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The girls go inside and find an open pack of cigarettes. “Should we try one?” Betty asks.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I don’t think we ought to!” Janet objects. “What if our folks find out?!”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Babs tells Janet she smokes “a couple packs a day” and asks, “What’s the big deal?”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Well, first of all Babs, you’re 12.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Just then a man comes in and demands his cigarettes back. Then he looks at Janet. “Say, aren’t you . . . WILL HOWARD’S LITTLE GIRL?!”</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/UtRshm8Q3l-aGmg4-FVIyD29PMqA_rG_PHpL8lKR1u-mTFwbaXK7PhU0yfQHX3sRj6rrABKK59a3ircGQ0liKs-2dy40OiThqEuwluZ8twa43T8izzSzNStke69VdO7eAt67CUAp" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dun dun DUUUUUUUN!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The man threatens to call her father and let him know “what she’s been up to.” The girls leave. A newly scared-straight Janet ditches her heathen friends to go catch the end of Mutual.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And that’s where we meet Sister Stanley.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/Y_VabZoyvUalQu-Xs1oRN-w39WQcJWzoQy85PHWox7AwdtB-vkh2c6XemgRDQTOkWG3CDeD7hDjDzt_IME307yqneUSDqjiZRLKrHTWc7qrOWKlC_TqFZgznw--q-iLI_0iwcdRb" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sister Stanley invites Janet to go to the canyon with her, which probably isn’t supposed to be a euphemism, but then the video immediately cuts to an extremely breathy voiceover by Janet set to romantic get-it-on music.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“That was the most perfect trip,” Janet says of her weekend with Sister Stanley. “It was there that I really became <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">acquainted</em> with Roberta. Stanley. She was <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">wonderful</em>. She took me on . . . sort of a nature ramble. She could cook and swim and . . . well, most of all she taught me to understand beauty. And to feel real. joy.”</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/BMdxMCBAocG2TD6bKJyPq5PjmOG7mF-yLqW8jxDq0c0295ff_KF3jLFCrpuB3hW4cFsiYwgYiQJBaX1zIDueZridYMcWi89mxtnKNgcBuBhAaDmOMvN3d8k5QON0u6zrxJs7NauD" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet dotes on for a while about Sister Stanley.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then, suddenly, Janet starts dating Ted, a high school football star. And this kicks off the beginning of our very g-rated<em style="box-sizing: inherit;"> Mamma Mia</em> prequel.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/8Y1Xq5G2LMwQ67Cu-ZdnE0z8AcEwkcoop9hvajzBFuH06ChxDrpxEcvdNu9kvdRjFE22PJHRT-qkFlWNk7z8VjXkTjFPGsS1awemxFXMNr9b71DIPPVRy0uvvskAzhwIo7OAXt9v" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Ted wasn’t a member of the church, but that didn’t seem to bother me too much. I thought I could just convert him when the time came,” she explains.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ted and Janet go out for a while. They even go to a school dance where the girls perform a very<em style="box-sizing: inherit;"> Handmaid’s Tale</em>-y routine.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/tU0Tzx_DK58Zl8ZmlkHMMXIUX3XTMx_SUx-Ep_zHL-JbFEOvmqE2jk1sHVNzXWYf0WtKFfBJex4DzWKKNF57y729-Bw4Yl0McyzoYlLreZkJb9tQ5OPcLSi8rg0erVGEot0szTVZ" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ted convinces Janet to leave the dance to meet up with some of his friends at a diner where kids are, well, brace yourself for this. What I’m about to share with you can’t be unseen.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">THEY’RE SWING DANCING!</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/gBsSHVGqmBCzh_muIR_MGYTRENojjICDvZQZ5Lluz9LTVRWxijtVIZqs96T8XmDqSv-_eyVS8PKh_pVB_jdm-UGGZL4uIelm51cb5dSr3UjxHCQ5JtUyCAIhe4iSM_DpYlZ4MUEd" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">See this is what happens. One minute you’re dating the non-member football star and the next you’re swimming in a den of jukebox depravity on the wrong side of town.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet is extremely uncomfortable with the environment in which she has found herself. Ted doesn’t give a damn.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/6C0fNHaXkOZZuVzCDrD1dxTTpGy-BAmLEFVg_cChLgspwQAcMMncfUGfbcUsYpq-1UDgr9OFuxYbOaGagHuduAqx8ExsZyflY-uFpxIlsV2joB_T09qFxkCvGy_6nC_oCoSOKsTf" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The lines between appropriate and inappropriate conduct in this film are genuinely confusing to me:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Midsommar</em> women doing a death dance together in a school gym? Good.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sitting in a diner while other people cut a rug to some sick beats? <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Absolutely not.</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Listening to a jazz record in your friend’s bedroom? I hope they give you one of the better rooms in hell.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Undeniable sexual tension in the mountains with Sister Stanley? Hold to that rod.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The kids start ordering naughty drinks, but they never actually say what the drinks are, presumably because the writers of this film wouldn’t have known the names of any alcoholic beverages. “Get us the usual,” one of the friends at the table says. “Give Janet the same as ours. She’ll drink it all right!”</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/fWlD5-oZg5og2siFidxMiDbx0YHoaD1S1TWd6ZRD2qyieAo1NBbb_Q6GI9XgdDzXa17xRt8ADOv6c-UswBuwZX02z1KyEWBokoU4SdZGO3pxqMKqG952-ACLzHTiVltoUKG_-A-G" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet is horrified.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/a4zFf_sWxcdq5AzvZGbjqrw6Afcfx_Cd0NxRXoblybH6UrZ5rLqXEkqeHj7-DCKTpKyV-u7NFKLbktkdoURxJ79ZM-HkVDHoO45lg3bmbZsBAfONfJmbD1IO660trzCFddh3V_Sb" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“How have I ever gotten myself into such a spot?” Janet asks herself through echo voiceover. Janet decides that since Ted likes this <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">very normal and well-lit</em> diner, he must be “lacking.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then Janet starts thinking about Sister Stanley and how good she feels around her. She stands up and demands Ted take her home.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Up next, we meet Kent. And look. I’m going to warn you. A lot of the rest of this recap is going to go very off the rails. But I can’t help myself.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You guys. Kent is a dreamboat. A+++++</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/A82QJRkv-5R8YUQuRnY-e-sd1P9nnCyn3jxR7cJaAnlNodA3OomBca27HpO7UoXTERC2u2z7RyT2zTL7_iFuCm1WKyVqYOeX6bU5Of7yW9h_Lj6ytDj7FrPs7othlCjf21eACn6_" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet. Listen to me. Kent is the one. His voice is smooth like butter. Yes, he has a weird Transylvanian accent for some unexplained reason. But look at those chocolate puppy eyes and that confident swagger! Kent is the man of all men. If you screw this up, Janet, I’ll never speak to you again.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Kent immediately asks Janet out and they walk off together because Janet is living my dream.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet and Kent have a good time. And of course they do because, and I don’t want to belabor the point, but, I mean, look at this man!</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/fCCf-BeF2Zzio__aYbP1YGyQoNwJobewlKTOrySOM7BBY2m6E1eG7o2qKwyj3c-A0K9O2WCck0yOHE32V2FbjkFJ55FzNbKnL4JHEXu0ZEcu_6p5B5vO2sWE6hCG2-U_JHK6XUzz" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What I wouldn’t give to be those sunglasses.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He’s all Timothee Chalamet-ing himself up and down the slopes like he's not the hottest thing to hit Utah since BY and his daddy beard. Who are his grandchildren? Did these genes pass on to present-day? Shouldn’t his posterity be our rulers now? Can we get a <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Where Are They Now </em>on the descendants of Kent?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">OMG THIS IS NOT A DRILL! HE ALSO RIDES HORSES!</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/Q_cc5UM2TJn-KyBDEClQI1IKE_ZjByWNx6aFr0KFJ5hPOt5iOCUQtsZ6-_9QLrEf9TTe3fqBKmEgwLErW0TW-PibFpSZKQhDE7NQATRgljlxv2YJ1Akrww1x3tbMBHmotjnA5rrX" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Turn this film into <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Brokeback Mountain</em>!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">GAH!!! THIS IS THE MOST ADORABLE MAN I’VE EVER SEEN.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/9XgxnwgAkz1gtdbSEifPlo6Mqu1TtDm0q0AQouaf01egY8-duaw6BltvRgjadlb23lI6Kyily3T4ApJPpLbBa3gGUdl87QmBYRye2hbRMHUc6lwnUW-yLyCypAEWpIHbG97J9ciX" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet’s mom, who clearly has not seen Kent and can’t possibly understand why all of Janet’s bad choices shall henceforth be forgiven, confronts her about the fact that Janet hasn’t been to church in four weeks because she’s always hanging out with Kent.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/8S01MP3Loe-2U7MWmUUa3z9RmwnI8jLNHxHT2rp9pczH1dZZjy8qV9n_-Whc7uCmmM71XxyhEMR3Grk5EL1NNaTzQQk1uKwy6-OTowOaQWTLIbQ4AKxEQ7ptoBcvr1H_JE5CnceO" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Look, mom. Janet has been going to the Church of Kent and it’s a perfectly fine place to worship. I would pay all my tithing to that church. I’m basically already a full-time missionary for it. I have been called to serve and you better believe I plan to return with honor. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.</span></em></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Later, Janet is sitting in a car with Sister Stanley. “You’re in love,” Sister Stanley tells her. “When do you plan to be married?”</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/k4gRucOsEaAVhWPTXiOx3sBbEAqst6zpq3DD8rrlrWv49CtOzydby-KCZ1PINR3TKAHdOHGqUnrTe1U1LXgXdglhbn0Z0nfxzndZhMhyzn7oYF_zZ58T_6-5i6P3lrRH6eJZYh27" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sister Stanley tells Janet not to spend time with Kent alone so she doesn’t “wreck” her life.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Boy, I’d love to wreck my life on those probably washboard abs.</span></em></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In the next scene, Janet is at Mutual. “Ok girls,” Sister Stanley says, “What are the three most important dates in a girl’s life?”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Any date is important in MY life!” an unnamed comedian, the true star of this film, shouts.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/1PfR3-lb5hvVW-ebxZafJY4tSCK8jxnJszmmN33YIwz1CQREn6zrM6TqkwIyHU7EAcIBCKb6lF9ax4WmwKEh8KG0Jp-NEdzITG6NWbioQuoEmMMuo7WjJgBEB3pJbroxyP2UDvDY" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sister Stanley explains the three most important dates are birth, marriage, and death. And I’d be horrified by this lesson if I wasn’t too busy being so impressed with Sister Stanley’s chalkboard penmanship.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/C9zEgVzB4PQdsOOGDe_4YqV30Pv99reL8HRh0L-1hYMNHjtOGHQTVR11jtiY_xxXv2neT31X9iNc3HWfO8nSRKeOPsGVa3qin0zlm-8lVUNiRMn2NUKAWr9QDwLVvbqktlmEjwUi" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Look at that kerning!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Maybe Sister Stanley really <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">does </em>have it all.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sister Stanley explains that Marriage is the only of these three important dates you can control, so you should “never settle for anything less than temple marriage. If a man doesn’t love you enough to want you forever it’s a pretty good indication that he’s not the right man for you,” Sister Stanley explains, leaving absolutely no room for nuance.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When she sees him again, Janet tells Kent she’s worried they’re going down the wrong path. Kent tells Janet to relax. “Unwrinkle that pretty little brow. You don’t think I want to marry an old lady, do you?” he teases her as my heart rate doubles.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/mMISvtW3CFspsoYzFWTtSARFQHNJsxDDNSRWb7DFhP-wNwy2oRWghkhdEj5y7-cd_TlzhotA1wDST-SIEOBrEPQOqhZ1wdbwbyYRlWBEwNuP5zDOoB5cqpdyGIv90FZWeHL-q71F" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet asks when they’re getting married. Kent says he’ll go to Vegas with her right away, but Janet says she wants a temple marriage. Kent says he can’t get married in the temple because he doesn’t pay tithing, which honestly is not the thing I expected to keep someone as hot as Kent out of the temple.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Kent sweetly tells Janet he loves her and wants to marry her. She dismisses him like a dumb stupid idiot who doesn’t deserve happiness.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Heartbroken, we then have to meet Tim Morgan. Buckle the hell up for Tim Morgan. Tim Morgan sucks ass. Tim Morgan is the answer to the question, “What would happen if we built a calculator out of funeral potatoes?”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tim Morgan is like if property taxes became a person.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tim Morgan once read Moby Dick and the book got bored of <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">him</em>.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tim Morgan sucks so bad you’re about to even start missing TED.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/k2blyiMZ5R-76kdQbfkpdzrFxBetiUU4wzf9vzcb5PahRjQ6__fYm7Ke-fABtJLl2AqTPqjBeh-G_Kd9TuSm710P6M5BXwBalYGH6gy3obG9MEjmrzhpEgKruSzqTHFBzAjfeHDh" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tim Morgan introduces himself to Janet. “I thought if I was going to marry you, we should get acquainted,” Tim immediately says LIKE AN ABSOLUTE LUNATIC.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“My mission president said he’d give his returning elders just six months to get married. And, oh, I’ve been home five months, three weeks, and four days,” he explains.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/gvwU7asNP7iFzZzKHTH3xERTqdGmV5GoozbzljlEinOjDPY-QB-LrSLKtR9gexcTtirWUZCsejtOCXoVJtrK8kbrhXz8TrA308cwOo8w_t9CVSzOrEdkodQNzSwZfKZUq2XRyxWL" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You guys. I never intended to get invested in this, but I hate Tim so much. I want to go back to 1956 and stuff him in that vending machine where Janet stole the pop.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Would you rather get married in Salt Lake or St. George?” he asks <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">before Janet has spoken a single word to him</em>. “I think I’d rather get married in St. George. Then we can go up to ZionSSSSS for a two-day honeymoon.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tim says this is the first time he’s ever proposed to anyone and asks if he can take Janet home. She agrees.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">They then date for SIX DAYS. SIX. DAYS.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">SIX.</span></span></em></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The timeline is important here.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">By way of recap: Janet made the biggest mistake of her life in breaking up with Kent. Three days later, she meets the Zion Zodiac Killer, Tim. They date for SIX DAYS.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">At the end of those SIX!!! DAYS!!!, Tim takes Janet to meet his family. Tim says his mom had 12 kids and his older sisters are working hard on “breaking that record” already. Then he introduces Janet to his grandma.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/S33nhw0d-4LWsJcs3nnk3mUyTx4sEwpXyGStRoUHDXDN6dQIyrHpoSqvI7v9gEAPFC05fR_oqqRmBBT2QI75xrIfEYXJYhNHNt9w2zAQaTWo0vHW35onXoHrJ7KAUFyc5XOyqIXx" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Come here so I can get a better look at you!” Grandma says. “Ah, I see. So this is the girl you’re going to marry, Tim!”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">WTF is wrong with this family!? Is this a cult? Is Janet being recruited into a cult? Has anyone actually seen Janet since this movie came out? Is Tim Riggins there? Does he still have abs?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We find out at the end of the SIX DAYS of dating that Tim has joined the army and he has to go to training the next morning. Janet is devastated.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“In the week that followed, I found the most important man in my life was the mailman,” Janet says through voiceover.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/lSoqjqFo__gc3yAzTDkx_mXim-QdYfzMlRI2KwTpzQ8C_HsW3n5ZH82D6VkpAWAenbxMYHq2dnF4TgTAeNmrfJNYUC6aGIQY6VQrWlU-vII8q8Z2fPKNO-Xevt-iWPO5daXdoSN5" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I can’t meet any more of your men, Janet.</span></em></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Again, Kent proposed to Janet like two weeks ago. How is Tim even relevant already?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet says she felt conflicted about Tim since her inner-tiger still wanted Kent because, well <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">obviously</em>. So she calls Kent, <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">People’s</em> Sexiest Man Alive 1956, to try to figure out what to do. They decide they should get together to talk.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet then finds out Tim is being transferred to a new military base and he will be passing through town via train the same day she’s going to meet up with Kent, meaning she’ll have a chance to compare her suitors back-to-back.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The big day arrives and Janet runs to the train station to see Tim. Tim’s entire family is there so they don’t get much time to themselves.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tim greets Janet with a handshake because he’s the absolute worst.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/uB_QffnHfPqSFkHLKBHFWAi95SCrWaI-yv__gRyJnCyRhGcukNW_U927HLqj7c9OkbRY4OeRHmJFr4TiSbzEYQTOplPl1VmE8D3okG-eRB8NwpIrvtuYtkPTSzjN2pSvJc-C5WNV" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Tim pulls Janet aside where he asks her to marry him again. I haven’t mentioned this yet because there’s just been so much other stuff to talk about, but Tim’s voice sounds exactly like his face.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/cLi1ERkm5NGKV5Orfbl1B-5VsIcwRKVRdqWZP5KJgSki7UjtzC6ltI-7QDjx77lBuQKCiWPe0akeswtTKdvvKoWFYnk_R8lXlFhliO1yaWhf4kO1wnzbFlMelDsqoocPybNNCUZa" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet explains to Tim that she needs to decide whether she’s going to marry Kent (she leaves out how hot he is, which I feel like is relevant information even <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Tim </em>deserves to know). She promises she’ll write Tim and let him know whether she’s going to marry Tim or Kent. This is honestly like trying to decide whether to move to Switzerland or live under a pile of discarded cigarette butts just outside Elko, Nevada, but Janet is making it sound like a true moral quandary so maybe she <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">is </em>a really good actor?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet goes into the woods and sexy prays for a while.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/KFDYwKfQiN4fIrUi8Gdcd6IZ121jJwh3xq6BRaXidtOCPsaqh-QYdnXHbPeQx_Woqdca4aszQaLLm99kzlG0NJpkYkJEhfNYqFGI6hH_wuVUacgCYvjwpqIiGn_esjKTwoxH7IgW" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then Kent comes over and tells her he’s thought about things and he’ll take Janet to the temple if that’s what she really wants AND OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CAN GIVE AN ULTIMATUM TO SOMEONE THIS HOT AND IT CAN WORK DON’T SCREW THIS UP JANET.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/iP3ck_1Fx1UxT23mv8iYTHF54Wn4EfDByOsfzyP9J6ocRV-AVVJ-nYOjNZa_K-C7Vq6lz5bhUeKNH3X0lDmzgmzfle5qKXl0iM8jKQ_6IIVjji9kG1XlhNf3QWUsFovj-3SaVafi" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I’m genuinely sorry about the language, but there’s just no other way to say this: Janet is a goddamn idiot and she tells Kent this isn’t good enough. She wants <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">him </em>to want it. Kent is understandably perplexed because I doubt he’s ever experienced rejection in his life.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">In the middle of the conversation, Sister Stanley shows up and Kent abruptly leaves to go be an underwear model in Paris or something.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You guys. I was honestly screaming the first time I saw this part. My husband came into the room to see what was going on. I was so attracted to Kent that I felt like I was cheating on him so I lied and said I was watching sports. Then he looked at the paused screen with Kent walking out of the room and yelled “DEAR LORD WHO IS THAT MAN.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet then talks to Sister Stanley about her situation. Sister Stanley encourages Janet to immediately marry the unclipped toenail she has spent a total of six days with.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/88xy9j1YQ85Y4uO8f6MBRE5CTcFF7OTT8eg6yZwzIKbR3Neg81Rr8Z9zTt2Rcc3_IjHTdSXOXuYeqdiul2y9wjci9ADguaekY1gLdhaj2X5Xf2H6hbhqrqHw7BdqJ8kdog89CrDZ" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I’ve decided the only explanation for Sister Stanley’s advice is that she wants Janet for herself, so sending her off to the human version of an outdated phonebook that got wet when the basement toilet overflowed and then it dried out and now it smells like mildew and pee is the next best thing.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">To clarify, this is the objective ranking of desirability of Janet’s suitors:</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">1. KENT!!!!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">2. Kent on skis</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">3. Kent on a horse</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">4. Kent with a flower in his hair</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">5. A picture of Kent</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">6. A memory of Kent</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">7. Sister Stanley</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">8. Babs</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">9. Betty and Babs</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">10. Betty’s kid brother who drinks all the pop</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">11. The mailman</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">12. Ted</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">13. Is 1-4 really unavailable? Like, did you check?</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">14. Tim’s grandma, but only if she’s rich and her health is poor</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">15. The dude who wanted his cigarettes back at the service station</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">16. Any of the swing-dancers from the diner</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">17. That real cool jazz album</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">16,487. Tim Morgan</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Nonetheless, Janet sends Tim a telegram and informs him that she guesses she’ll marry him.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Competitor out of the running. When next I see you, put your arms around me and if I feel like I belong, then I’m ready to talk long-term contract,” her telegram says.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ok, maybe they are a match.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We cut back to Janet in her wedding dress in her bedroom with her mother.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/n85HUv_JNEKM5mXCKM1o0IpRag0iokh2RruDFnRwOvomTXv0BYwT1rXPRR3ihCTPxuzJWyHoKVOZZZ7vXxMjF92_ZELaKVVv8CUnGeiZC7_JIjbkgv7WN0h7Brch8SOQPstu4Xrf" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Janet’s mother says she’s grateful 18-year-old Janet is “finally” getting married because “We didn’t want an old maid on our hands.”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It’s honestly easier to not fight it at this point, you guys.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Suddenly Tim bursts into the room, makes out with Janet, and then kisses Janet’s mom and says “That’s for having her!” as if a kiss from Tim is a gift, smh.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/i27rh3C9wJksdJ_vGtmayPYjUpQq1JVcGavJZgThZsRvtkT_wC-OG-urmykdJXunQCK6WMf6m9RebUV3TxeDJs3e--v5a-S_YiRvbEVIGoMP8IVc2j3_moaQqDmY_S8fUULFDy6N" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The film ends with Janet hugging Tim. TIM!!! while the Tabernacle Choir sings an unidentified high-pitched wordless song that sounds like it was written by ghosts.</span></p><figure class="kg-card kg-image-card" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; padding: 0px;"><img alt="" class="kg-image" data-action="zoom" pinger-seen="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/4KutVrfkQf5KKaTPL24OhN7HnVTv7fsT5x1sIP0KLIas9fQDjmg-ZU7ummtroPqAsFpyYGyYsTp39EUHFrIFTC9NGCo3JECW7e--eF6AZ-PXI4hQ1OZOdoZff2AWLXQm_qFpIVZE" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: -webkit-zoom-in; display: block; font-style: italic; height: auto; margin: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></figure><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We are to understand that Janet is now going to spend the rest of her life with a man who is the living embodiment of the stale marshmallows in a five cent hot chocolate packet that has been sitting for twelve years in the back of a spice cabinet that only has salt and garlic salt in it because the owner of the house thinks any other seasoning is "too spicy" and also this house is in Logan, Utah.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sigh.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">*If you’d like to hear an audio recap of this film and many others, check out our four-part Strangerville series on Mormon films.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/1aHhW7KvWMfmp4lyPqPEat?si=DVIEZr9vQnO0BvNlj2YBdw" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; transition: all 0.5s ease 0s;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Part 1: “Gender Roles”</span></a></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/4Ooumv20SUx03Xr88bAQSE?si=GpvMFa66RzaFQKw4lDEmsw" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; transition: all 0.5s ease 0s;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Part 2: “Family, Isn’t It About . . . Time?”</span></a></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/0AmsnQArcw9TywvEn1VNZi?si=uU_uPqAQS1qeoo6_b5S3mw" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; transition: all 0.5s ease 0s;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Part 3: “Dating”</span></a></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/20YOhcVIKRkNdmHWooXY6V?si=ooDPaQb-SQyHC1Mo5DHsuQ" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; transition: all 0.5s ease 0s;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Part 4: “Death”</span></a></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; margin: 0px 0px 24px; min-width: 100%; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">(Design: Joshua Fowlke) (Editor: Rachel Swan)</span></em></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-80618257113035405562020-11-29T14:06:00.001-07:002020-11-29T14:06:12.597-07:00Frosty<p>For the past several years, Sky and I have basically been the only house on the street to put up Christmas lights. We're frustrated about this because if you go a block in pretty much any direction it's like you've entered the North Pole.</p><p>Our street slopes down into a hill at about the midpoint, which is exactly where our house is. As a result, the east side of our property is about six feet higher than the west side. Because we sit at this spot, our house is very noticeable. So when we erect our lights, they really stand out and represent our neighborhood.</p><p>"Why doesn't anyone else get into the spirit?" we lament every November as we line our walkway with ground-level lights and fasten together a rainbow tree that Skylar begs me to leave in the box because "it's hideous."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2yZRA7N5iWc/X8QHG6LmSfI/AAAAAAAA21g/0P4XsoUyokIK4rcIJBxXSM2EEcrvfGmvACLcBGAsYHQ/s2068/IMG_0017%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1520" data-original-width="2068" height="470" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2yZRA7N5iWc/X8QHG6LmSfI/AAAAAAAA21g/0P4XsoUyokIK4rcIJBxXSM2EEcrvfGmvACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h470/IMG_0017%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UFFtYQUfqn4/X8QHGwbBWJI/AAAAAAAA21c/1-w-UsFwKN8Ckt_X9Jqps7ApuSqbNNYOACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_0019%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UFFtYQUfqn4/X8QHGwbBWJI/AAAAAAAA21c/1-w-UsFwKN8Ckt_X9Jqps7ApuSqbNNYOACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/IMG_0019%2B%25281%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>"It looks like a firework explosion in front of our house!"</p><p>I shush him and we move on.</p><p>We thought we'd spend another year disappointed to be lone wolves among a pack of neighborhood grinches. We had prepared ourselves emotionally for this.</p><p>But then on Friday, as we were setting up our Christmas tree inside, we noticed several neighbors out on their front lawns looking up the street and pointing. It was like that scene from every disaster movie where the protagonist looks out the window and sees people captivated by something not yet pictured so then they walk outside and look up and there's a massive UFO or something at the horizon.</p><p>Except in our case it wasn't a massive UFO. We walked outside to look for ourselves. And that's when we saw it.</p><p>I have described this to several people now and every time I've said "you really aren't understanding how ridiculous this is from my description." I'm pretty sure a picture won't really do it justice, either. But I'll try both here.</p><p>The neighbors up the street in this very small bungalow house have put a GIANT snowman in their front yard. We honestly both screamed a little when we saw it. This this is <i>substantially </i>taller than the house and it takes up basically the entire front yard. I don't even know where you can get something like this.</p><p>I took some very sloppy pictures while driving by it yesterday.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rk4HQW8r-eE/X8QKReLJL_I/AAAAAAAA21s/K59Sa0kveTsOL8T4MPq0GXWbgzm2fCrhQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1818/IMG_0140.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1818" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rk4HQW8r-eE/X8QKReLJL_I/AAAAAAAA21s/K59Sa0kveTsOL8T4MPq0GXWbgzm2fCrhQCLcBGAsYHQ/w412-h640/IMG_0140.jpeg" width="412" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bL-6qhgVOG4/X8QKUryDGHI/AAAAAAAA210/CFOWl-Rxpakjs-m5fHuz4-3Sh4VIP2fEgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1840/IMG_0139.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1840" data-original-width="1170" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bL-6qhgVOG4/X8QKUryDGHI/AAAAAAAA210/CFOWl-Rxpakjs-m5fHuz4-3Sh4VIP2fEgCLcBGAsYHQ/w406-h640/IMG_0139.jpeg" width="406" /></a></div><p>It lights up in the evening--the whole thing turns blue and looks like a spaceship has landed in Salt Lake City. </p><p>It's honestly terrifying.</p><p>Skylar has suggested we start praying to it. </p><p>We like to think this neighbor heard us complaining that no one on the street decorates for Christmas and this is really just a superbly wonderful passive-aggressive gesture. </p><p>But I'm afraid it's something more extraterrestrial than that.</p><p>Anyway, please enjoy some Strangerville:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TxWrWAJlRH4/X8QLPH8fgDI/AAAAAAAA22E/8EAIpP-NfJoZcig1o6Eu8OuNbOAW19JQQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TxWrWAJlRH4/X8QLPH8fgDI/AAAAAAAA22E/8EAIpP-NfJoZcig1o6Eu8OuNbOAW19JQQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Strangerville%2BBanner%2BNew.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "PT Serif", Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">This time in Strangerville, Eli urges you not to take prescription medications that aren’t for you. Meg agrees, and is disappointed. And a roll down memory lane in Utah’s musty skating rink.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Story</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Classic Skating, <em>by Eli McCann (music by <a href="https://freemusicarchive.org/music/gillicuddy/Plays_Guitar/03-pony" style="background-color: transparent; color: #57ad68; text-decoration-line: none;">Gillicuddy</a>)</em></span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #383838; margin-bottom: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Production by Eli McCann, Meg Walter, & The Beehive</span></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/16983908/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/yes/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/10110f/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="100%"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></div>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964698794691718038.post-52505107186975538522020-11-22T17:36:00.002-07:002020-11-22T17:36:33.106-07:00How Not To Buy A Phone<p>Skylar has been begging me to get a new phone since before the war. I don't know how long it's been since I've upgraded, but apparently "too long," or so he told me recently when he held my current one up and pointed out that it was cracked all over. "You even shattered the back? I didn't know you could do that!"</p><p>So he finally got on the internet the other day and ordered me one. Some fancy shmancy new iPhone that is exactly like my previous iPhone, as far as I can tell, except now I have to put in my passwords, none of which I even remotely remember, on all 600 apps I use. </p><p>The phone was supposed to arrive in mid-December, which was fine with me, but Skylar was not satisfied because "I want to play with it!" So he did some research and found out that if he ordered it through Verizon instead of Apple, it would show up more quickly, somehow.</p><p>He cancelled the original order and bought the damn phone again through Verizon and told me I'd be getting an email from the company saying it was ready for pickup at the store near our house.</p><p>Two days went by and my husband, who is apparently not patient, called Verizon to ask them if they had one in stock that I could just come and get, even though they hadn't yet emailed me.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>"The woman on the phone said you can go in now and get it." I got that text while he was supposed to be off at his rotations where I had been previously and consistently told he can't check his phone "so that's why I'm unresponsive during the day."</p><p>I was so sick of the whole gd phone situation by this point but I obeyed his implied command and drove to the Verizon store to pick the damn thing up.</p><p>When I arrived a woman asked me what I needed so I explained I was there to pick up my phone. She responded "we don't have one for you" without even asking my name. </p><p>I told her I had an order number if that would be helpful. She said it would be and told me to read it to her. We were not in front of a computer. We were standing at the entrance to the store. The order number was 15 digits long. I read them to her while she stood and stared at me. The moment I finished reading them she said, "yeah we don't have that," as if I couldn't have noticed she didn't actually type that number into anything.</p><p>"Well, my husband called this morning and he said a woman told him she would set one aside and I could come pick it up."</p><p>"Oh, he probably talked to Sarah. She's an idiot. Like, seriously. Her life is a mess right now. You don't even want to know."</p><p>Obviously now I was invested.</p><p>This employee, whom we'll call Megan, welcomed me to a desk where she sat down and called her manager, who was in the next room over and whom I could hear clear as day. They did not need to be on the phone for this conversation. </p><p>Megan and the manager determined that they did in fact have the phone in stock but they couldn't give it to me because when you buy one online the City of Oz or whatever sends you a specific phone. The ones in the store are only for walk-in purchases.</p><p>"We can just cancel your online order and sell you one here," Megan told me. </p><p>"No, that's ok." I responded. "I don't mind waiting for the one I already ordered in the mail."</p><p>"No!" she yelled. "If we do it this way I get a commission! Please can we just cancel your order and have you buy it here?"</p><p>"That's fine," I responded to this corporate nonsense, trying very hard not to be a Karen because I've worked for large companies with ridiculous policies before and I know what it's like. </p><p>For the next 90 minutes Megan and I went about canceling my order, trying to set up a new phone, erasing my old phone BEFORE WE FINISHED SETTING UP THE NEW ONE, and putting on some protective shield that I was told I had to buy for some reason.</p><p>At one point a blonde woman with her sleeves pulled over her hands walked in. </p><p>"Hey! Get over here!" Megan barked at her.</p><p>The woman walked to us just as Megan gestured to her and said "this is Sarah, that idiot I was telling you about earlier." Sarah snorted what sounded like an entire bucket of snot back into her nose underneath her mask. "Hi," she said.</p><p>It became apparent at this point that the glass screen protector thing Megan had installed was not sticking to the phone. "Fix this," Megan snapped at Sarah. "I can't do it. Because of my nails." Megan then displayed her recently-done manicure at us. Each finger had been topped off with snowflakes, which honestly felt optimistic and lovely to me in a way I can't really explain.</p><p>Sarah began vigorously rubbing her hand sleeves onto the phone with such forced that I thought there was at least a decent chance she'd conjure a fire. Ultimately she handed it over to me. "Hopefully it will just seal with time," she said, in the tone of a surgeon trying to break the news that the procedure didn't go quite as she planned. </p><p>It was at this moment I was sent out the door.</p><p>"WAIT!" Sarah yelled at me.</p><p>I stopped. She came over.</p><p>"You're going to get a survey emailed to you asking you to rank us on a scale from 1-10. Please give us a 10. Otherwise we don't get paid. Like, seriously. Verizon will freak out if you don't give us a 10."</p><p>I drove home. A quarter of my contacts have somehow been deleted. The special glass protector thing has already peeled off. </p><p>The survey was emailed to me today.</p><p>I gave them a 10.</p><p>You think I'm going to side with Verizon Communications, Inc. over Megan and Sarah?</p><p>P.S. I talked Sky into letting me put up our Christmas lights this weekend.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-373mKMan-Bc/X7r4t3L3dtI/AAAAAAAA20M/A31xqPDO6GUT4jMOGp4lBQcw1pFMSAp_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2068/IMG_0017.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1520" data-original-width="2068" height="470" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-373mKMan-Bc/X7r4t3L3dtI/AAAAAAAA20M/A31xqPDO6GUT4jMOGp4lBQcw1pFMSAp_QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h470/IMG_0017.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at my Duncan Punkin in the door!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WQ2NPNayGGs/X7r4t7GVL2I/AAAAAAAA20I/8EaetxHo8yo7RWorNXNshZy5W-tH-0dyQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_0019.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WQ2NPNayGGs/X7r4t7GVL2I/AAAAAAAA20I/8EaetxHo8yo7RWorNXNshZy5W-tH-0dyQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/IMG_0019.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><i>~It Just Gets Stranger</i></p>It Just Gets Strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343152279468062540noreply@blogger.com9