Does the Security make you feel Secure?

Yesterday, it snowed like crazy. I was worried I was going to have to call Dennis Quaid and ask him to come dig us out before the snow got too crazy. Fortunately, the storm ended just in time for me to go to school.

Last week, they cancelled school because they thought a BLIZZARD OF DEATH was on its way. Now, while it was certainly entertaining, we only got four inches of snow when all was said and done. Yesterday, we got a foot of snow. A FOOT. IN TOWN. And was school cancelled? Well of course not.

I was okay with that, though. I like snow. I went to campus and marched around in the fresh white powder. I watched a football player nail a tree repeatedly with snowballs. It was great.

By the way, we beat those goddamned BYU Cougars. I realize football is not the axis upon which the universe spins, but it was good to beat our arch-nemesis.

But anyway, snow. Snow and Christmas decorations. Nothing goes better with Christmas lights than a good foot of snow. And nothing goes better with snow than a month of Christmas lights, Christmas trees, and Christmas specials on television.

In about two weeks' time, I shall be braving the security lines at Salt Lake International to fly back to Boise for Christmas. I am not looking forward to this. I hate flying, simply because I have to go through security. I'm not a terrorist; far from it. I have never committed a crime in my life (other than jay-walking). I've never gotten so much as a parking ticket. And yet, the moment I cross that automated door threshold, I am treated like I am guilty of terrorism until proven otherwise. My bags are searched, because it's likely I'm carrying bombs. My purse goes through a scanner, my backpack is searched. After all, I probably have a knife or worse, like an umbrella. I better keep my three ounces or less of liquid in my plastic baggie, because if it's not in there, dammit, it's probably made of chemicals that will detonate as soon as I touch them. And now, they search me, because I'm probably the kinky sort who keeps explosives in my underwear. I have my choice of either participating in the production of pornography, or being molested. This is all, of course, to keep us safe.

Funny, I feel like I've heard that phrase a few times before in my life. I think Bradbury said something along those lines. Or maybe it was Orwell. No, wait, that's right, it was Hitler. My bad.

Anyway, I'll opt for molestation, because as Mel Gibson can tell you, once something's on a computer, it never goes away. Ever.

Now, if I say this violates my religious beliefs, that is definitely a red flag. Only terrorists would say something like that. If I say this directly violates the Fourth Amendment, also known as "that fine ditty about searches and seizures," than I am un-American. Only someone who hates America would have such an understanding of the Constitution and Bill of Rights, right?

Of course, if I refuse all this, I could always use some other form of transportation. Well, I can't drive, because I don't own a car. I could take the bus, although the drive from Salt Lake to Boise is pretty dangerous this time of year. Oh, I could take the train! Except that the train doesn't go to Boise anymore. Damn. I forgot. I know! I'll walk! Sure, I'll get there by Christmas, but I'll probably need to start walking now.

I'm sure my professors will understand when I explain I can't fly because I object to having my Bill of Rights violated.

You know, my roommate brought up an interesting point from an article she read. More people are projected to die in roadway accidents with this increased resistance to the new security measures in the coming year than died in the Wold Trade Center attacks.

So good job, TSA. Way to save lives.

Forecast of Snow with a Chance of Little Blinking Lights

It's the most wonderful time... of the year!

Down here behind the Zion Curtain, Christmas is a season, not a day. There are trees all over Temple Square, there are garlands and lights all over Main Street, and every lamppost now wears a "Happy Holidays" banner.

Christmas is, by far, the best of all pagan-turned-Christian-turned-secular holidays. Sure, those Jesus lovers think it's still a religious holiday, but let's be honest here, people. It's all about the lights, and the shiny things, and the trees, and the food, and the presents.

There's just something happy about Christmas. It's a break from reality. For (in SLC's case, a month) a few days, we all drop everything we're doing, eat food we otherwise avoid, and drink far too much alcohol. We throw snowballs, watch cheesy Christmas movies, and make fires in fireplaces.

And I just love it that it lasts for a month here. This means that even if it is freezing cold, and there is a foot of snow, there are also Christmas lights up, and there is at least one happy thing. Even if this city is run by insane, sexist Sprite-Drinkers, at least we have one thing in common. We both love those little colored lights. Even if we can't agree on funding education, or even making discrimination based on sexual orientation, at least we have those ridiculous garlands with this red velvet bows. For a lot of people, Christmas is stressful- they worry about their weight, or their relatives, or paying for everything. Maybe for some, those decorations are annoying, or maybe even insulting.

But let me tell you about Christmas in Portland. They are politically correct, and they don't do very much decorating. That is depressing. It's not because they aren't acknowledging the holiday or anything, it's just that, at least for me, blinking lights and tinsel and decorated trees are a reminder that we can't take ourselves too seriously. Yes, the economy sucks. Yes, it is cold, and dark, and the inversions are only going to pick up speed. Yes, the political situation is dire, as is global warming, and same with our war in the Middle East. But hey, there are also garlands. And strands of dried fruit. And little blue and green lights wrapped around hedges. It might seem like we're in a hole right now, and that everything is going to shit, but those lights remind me that we're going to be just fine. The decorations aren't about Christmas, not really. We could have just as good of decorations for any other holiday. They're supposed to represent joy, and a pause in our "grim reality." They aren't all dedicated to Christ, they're there to make you smile.

So thank God for that.

The Last Surprise

Here's some MS Paint blasphemy for you- I was inspired just as I fell asleep last night. Because everyone knows Jesus would rather have a party than some boring old dinner. I hope you enjoy my sloppy Paint skillz.

Today is the day before Election Day.

Or should I say ELECTION DAY. These commercials are getting ridiculous. My favorite one is the bit where we're taken to a Chinese lecture hall at some school sometime in the vague future. They talk about how the US failed, like all other empires, because they tried to spend their way out of a recession.

I think it's adorable that the Council for Ignorant Americans or whoever made the ad thinks any professor, Chinese or otherwise, would teach such stupidity. I can't think of any empires that failed because they tried to spend their way out of a recession. They also claim that China will own us, which isn't true. If people were paying better attention, they would have noticed that Japan recently bought most of our debts from China. So we're owned by the Japanese, idiots. It's cute because not only does it portray the Chinese as being evil, but it also acts like this recession (which I believe we're on the recovering end of, btw) is going to be the death of America.

There's another one that features a "Canadian" woman talking about how her government-run healthcare tried to kill her because she had cancer and they wouldn't take care of her. She goes on to say she came to the US and we took care of her. I have this to say- if she had the money to be treated in the US, she would've had the money to get fast treatment in Canada. It's not like they don't allow you to pay for treatment if you have the bank to pay for it.

Stupid politics.

Also, this last weekend was Halloween weekend. When Halloween is on every other day of the week, it just lasts for one night and it's over. But when Halloween is on a Sunday, everyone is really confused about when is the appropriate time to celebrate. This causes the phenomenon I am now dubbing "Halloween Weekend," when people spent Friday, Saturday, and Sunday partying and/or begging for candy. My neighbors had parties all three nights, and it was obnoxious and annoying. I realize I'm supposed to be of the age when partying sounds great, but I'm not. I like sleep. I like lying in bed on a cold evening and reading a novel. I really don't care if people think I have the attitude of an old lady; I agree with them. So it was not appreciated when my neighbors' guests were screaming and shouting in the stairway outside my room.

So in general, I can't wait till Thanksgiving. No more political ads. No partying; who the hell parties on Thanksgiving? It will hopefully be quiet for a few days.

Till that Saturday, at least. And then our football team plays BYU.

Breakfast For Dinner

Is there really anything better than breakfast-for-dinner?

I'm pretty sure breakfast for dinner is the greatest thing ever. It's true. I love many kinds of food, but there is something satisfying about having eggs and toast for dinner. Sort of like you're saying "Screw You!" to meal conformity. Who says toast is for breakfast?

In other news, the monster story/novel is 348 pages long. I'm in a mild panic about this, as it is officially now way to freaking big to be printed by my sad little recreational printer. I think it would grow legs, announce that it hates me, and walk out of my apartment if I asked it to print that sucker out. It would be like mechanical childbirth. It would fry its cute little microchips.

The problem is, I have no freaking clue how to get this damn story to be finished. I have written the beginning, the end, and the middle. Everything is totally connected and neat.

And then I'll be in th shower, or in class, or trying to fall asleep, and suddenly it'll occur to me that I should really develop Phineas's (one of the characters) personality in the beginning of the story better, or that I should incorporate Serris (another character) earlier on, since she is one of the main characters. This keeps happening over, and over, and over. I can't figure out when is a good time to just tell my brain to just shut up and let me finish brushing my teeth.

Maybe I haven't reached that time yet. I mean, if I keep coming up with these ideas, they must have merit, right?

In addition to this, I feel you must know that it snowed last night. Yes, it is freezing cold, and I'm quite confident that the entire Northern Hemisphere is going to freeze, and Dennis Quaid is going to have to come and rescue me when our apartment gets covered by ice. Still. I am so excited, and I can't really explain why. I guess it stems from me living in Portland last year, where it never snows. (Okay, it snowed once, but I was in Boise as it was winter break, and it was only like an inch of snow.) I discovered I like snow way more than I like rain.

And there is something fun about having to wear leggings under your jeans and three layers under your coat. I looked like an idiot as I rode TRAX up to the school and stared at the Wasatch, which is under a nice white dusting. There's just something exciting about the really cold weather. And it's supposed to snow more tonight, and tomorrow, and Wednesday.

Of course, I'm sure I will be sick of snow when it's February and everything is under a foot of snow and the inversion is so bad the news is telling you not to go outside. But it's October, not February, and the air is crisp and clear as a little silver bell.Sure, it's cold, but after a long hot summer, I appreciate a little cold.

Oh, and breakfast for dinner, too.

Haiti

I've been pretty silly in the last few posts, but this is a slightly more serious issue.

As we all know, Haiti was struck by a devastating earthquake that killed 300,000 and made at least one and a half million people homeless. There was an enormous response from the US and other countries; celebrities raised millions to try and help this island country that sits just off our shores. Everyone seemed to pat themselves on the backs, and this crisis faded from view after several months. But the problem is not solved.

One hundred and fifty people have died from a cholera epidemic that is threatening to cripple an already-damaged country. It is believed that even more will die before this outbreak is curbed.

I, for one, am shocked. Of all the diseases that are known to wreak havoc in impoverished nations, cholera is possibly the most preventable and most treatable. This is unacceptable, that a country neighboring the United States can have an outbreak of such a ridiculous disease. Where the hell are the celebrities now? Is our collective attention span so short that we can only care about a nation so close to home and so badly damaged for a few months? Cholera is easily treated. There is a vaccine for it. We have no excuse for letting conditions down there get so bad that one hundred and fifty people would die.

We were so forthcoming and so interested in Haiti when this earthquake first occurred. Where is our interest now? They haven't had a cholera epidemic in a century. How could we be alright with simply doing a half-assed job in a country that actually wants and needs our help.

I wish that I could tell people to just go back to donating money to help the relief effort, but I can't tell people what to do with their money, not given the current economic climate. However, I would like to remind people that we don't have a cure for poverty, or HIV, or any of the other things ravaging countries that aren't as fortunate as our own, but we can eliminate cholera. We can eliminate it, and there is no reasonable explanation for why we haven't already done so.

Why eat turkey when you could have zombies?

So, I am trying to convince the Best Friend to come down for Thanksgiving. I could go up to Boise for Turkey Day, but I am lazy. More importantly, my professors think breaks are for homework and studying. However, I want the Best Friend to come down and hang out with me while I am not doing homework.

He is not giving me a straight answer, which is annoying. So I am up with a great reason for why he has to come down for the break. My roommate is going back to Boise, and I will be all alone down here. I do not like being alone at night in my apartment. There are two doors and lots of old windows that seem like they would be easy to force open. I am paranoid.

And I am paranoid because I am afraid of zombies. I'm not going to lie; if you have read my older posts, you know I am obsessed with zombies in some kind of morbid fascination. Some women worry that rapists will break into their house; I say, bring on the rapists. I am not afraid of people. People are easy to overpower. However, I am terrified of the day when I will wake up and hear that low moan that means the apocalypse has come. I'm terrified, and I kind of look forward to it.

However, I look forward to it in the event that my roommate will be here. If she is not here when it happens, I'm afraid I will wake up to this:

I informed my best friend of this, and the long conversation that followed was a discussion on whether or not it would be awful to be a zombie.

Personally, I'm insulted that he would be alright with zombies eating me. He seems to think that my fear of being zombie-food is ridiculous and irrational. I think he would not enjoy being consumed by a zombie.

"I don't want to be a zombie."

"Yes you do, don't lie."

"No I don't! I would rather be raped by Bigfoot than become a zombie!"

I was mad and ignored him for about half an hour.

"I still can't believe you want me to be eaten by zombies."

"Zombies need love, too."

"I hardly see how my being devoured would show them love."

"Trust me, it would."

"Well gee, thanks a ton. Because being eaten sounds like a great way to die."

"But you DON'T die. That's the beauty of it!"

"That is silly."

"True, though."

This also involved me telling him I was going to have to sleep under the couch because I was so terrified of being eaten. He told me to send pictures. I told him I can't take pictures from under the couch. Then I asked why he hates me. He said he hates everyone.

This is still an ongoing conversation. It will eventually end with either him coming down here for Thanksgiving, or me being eaten by zombies and added to their legion of undead.

Gum

I have a massive crisis- I am out of gum.

I love gum. I love how it gives my mouth something to do when I'm in class. I love how it makes my breath minty fresh. I've loved gum ever since I was a little kid.

When my dad owned the Upper Crust Deli, they had a little glass bowl filled with those mini-packs of gum that they kept next to the cash register. You know, the ones with only like five pieces. I used to steal the packs of gum off the counter and eat all five sticks at once. Gum is the greatest. If I had a choice between eating real food for the rest of my life or eating gum, I would pick gum. I wouldn't last long, but at least I would die happy.

My mom sent me a giant package of gum a few months ago, and I have steadily been chewing my way through it. It's that Five Gum stuff,a nd I have to say, the flavor really does last for forever. I have a piece every day, right before I go to school, and it lasts all day long.

By the way, Five Gum makers, I would love to be your spokes-chewer.

However, this morning, I reached into my bag, pulled out my last pack of gum, and realized there was only one piece. I am currently chewing it, and feeling miserable.

The problem is, buying gum is one of those things that I will remind myself to do a few times while I am at home and thinking about it, but the moment I leave to go to school, it will evacuate my cranium. I will go through my merry day, ride the TRAX home, and as I sit down on the couch I will think, "Damn! I need gum!"

And then tomorrow, I will go through the exact same process. It will never end, at least not until someone gives me a pack of gum. I do this all the time. Last year, i ran out of pills for my migraines, and it took me about two months to go and buy more. A few weeks ago, I ran out of facial soap, and it took me two weeks to remember to buy more. It happens constantly, because small things do not stick in my brain the way more important things do. For example, I remember to pay bills, take my pills, turn in my homework, et cetera. But I will forget to fill my water-bottle before I go to school. I will forget to empty the mailbox until it is nearly overflowing with junk.

So I need gum. I don't just want it, I NEED IT. If you love me, you'll give me some.

Drawings

So, it occurred to me this afternoon that I possess a touchscreen computer. And MS Paint. And reasonable doodling skills. Here's what happened:

I may or may not start adding illustrations to my posts. Is it a good idea? Do I have the patience to do it? Suggestions? Comments?

The Gold Star Incident

Sometimes, I lose my mind and my energy level goes through the roof.

Last night was one of those evenings.

It's always odd, because this usually happens on days that have been pretty horrible. Like yesterday, I was tired from lack of sleep, didn't get a grade I wanted on an essay, and my stomach was back to its usual "Let's mutiny against the bitch" self. I got home and tried to pay my tuition, but the school decided they did not, in fact, like my debit card. There wasn't even any new Glee. By the time it was about five or so, I was feeling pretty miserable.

And then my roommate changed the channel to "Come Dine with Me."

Come Dine with Me is a British show on BBC America. It's really the best contest show out there, I have to say. One person makes a dinner, and the other three eat it and judge it. Then another one of these four makes the meal the next night, and so on. At the end, the person with the highest score gets the prize. I think it's like $10,000, except in pounds, but I can't find the little symbol for that.

Well, last night's episode was filmed in Glasgow, Scotland. I love Scotland. I love the Scots. They have basically the most ridiculous accents on planet Earth, funnier even than southerners and Paula Dean. (Hi Y'all!) Even better, one of the four contestants was Asian. Now, I am going to say something horrible, and you'll have to just forgive me.

Asian Scots are the funniest people on earth. You know it, don't lie. You see someone who is Korean, and you expect them to speak with a Korean accent, but instead they sound like Mike Myers in "So I Married an Axe Murderer." It's hysterical. And it's nothing against them. It's like when you meet a really tall, muscle-covered motorcyclist and he sounds like a little girl.

So, after we started watching this, my energy level went from a dull hum to a high pitched WEEEEEEEEE. I started imitating the Scots. I was walking around and saying "cooking" over and over.

When Scots say "cooking," it sounds much more like "cououking." Love it.

I text-messaged my BFF, Matt, because I felt he would appreciate my pretending to be a Scot. He gave me a gold star. After I informed him I was incredibly hyper and might even be hovering above the surface of the couch, he revoked my gold star.

This was around eight PM or so. I spent the next two hours begging for my gold star back. I told him I missed it. I told him I was crying in a closet because I was such a fail. I told him I would have to now be a Walmart Greeter, because I did not have a gold star. He informed me that Walmart probably gives its employees gold stars. I informed him they would never give me a gold star because I was so pathetic. I told him I had been happy and excited, but he had taken my happiness and destroyed it.

Finally, I told him "I was all happy because I had a gold star, but now I feel like sleeping on the floor, under my bed, because I do not deserve a bed."

This made him laugh hysterically, and finally, he said I could have my gold star back.

Was there any point to any of this? Of course not. There rarely is. But now I have a gold star and I can imitate Scots.

Meat Jesus!

My name is Meg, and Jesus watches me watch television.

I'm not joking; last week, whilst in Boise, I bought a Jesus Bank. Because you can trust Jesus with your money.

Given the fact that I actively make fun of religion, this is admittedly an odd thing to have in my apartment. You might think it's odd, but I think it's camouflage. Here behind the Zion curtain, Jesus is our friend. Plus, he holds laundry quarters. Can't get it much better than that.

Originally, we wanted a large, bright pink, fuzzy Jesus. They were out of those. Now, however, I realize I am far happier with the Bank of Jesus.

I think it should be a new rule that all visitors to the Buckingham Palace (my apartment) must tithe. Tithing, my friends, is found in most religions to some degree, but the Sprite-Drinkers have it down in spades. Thus, we, too, shall require tithing. By the end of this year, it is my dream that we have an enormous Jesus shrine, to prove our devotion. Or to just be ridiculous. One of those two.

Our ceilings are like ten feet high. It's absurd. And it is my dream to line the walls with Jesus memorabilia. Pictures of Jesus, statues of Jesus, pens with Jesus's head on them, I want them all. If someone could find me a Jesus bobble-head, I would love them for forever and make them food.

In addition to this, I've decided I'm now collecting religious pamphlets instead of throwing them on the ground. I feel this will be more entertaining to me, and not so insulting to the sad sack handing them out. I know it must be incredibly insulting to some people to hear I find their religious HI-LARIOUS, but that's okay. I'm alright with insulting people.

Speaking of insulting people, my dear friend ADUM (not his real name, but it's damn close) has recently gone veggie. I've been a lazy veggie since seventh grade, so I think it's a fabulous idea. Meat is icky, at least to me.

But anyway, ADUM is going veggie. One of his friends commented on this update (the Book of Faces) and congratulated him on making the "ethical" decision. Going veggie isn't "ethical." In fact, the only really ethical dietary choice is to abstain from cannibalism, and even that doesn't hold to be true in some places. But ADUM's friend thinks veggies are more ethical than omnivores.

Per usual, my malicious-ness took over, and I replied that veggies are idiots. He asked why. I said veggies are stupid and they don't know what the fuck they're talking about. He asked why I thought this, and I brought up the whole "omnivore" thing. Now, this is when I came to a crossroads. I could either continue being malicious, or I could be a good person and let Mr. Ethical off the meat-hook.

As much as I wanted to continue being a bad person, I clued him in on the fact that I am, indeed, a veggie. I told him I am also a bitch sometimes. I think the sometimes bit is an understatement.

I should have told him some veggie jokes. He probably would not have enjoyed them.

"I am vegetarian. I just let the cow eat it, first."

Driving Miss Crazy.

My name is Meg, and I have a problem.

I need to get a Utah state ID, but I don't want to do it. If I had one, I'd be able to vote here, and, most importantly, I can establish residency. University of Utah is one of those rare schools that allows out-of-state students to establish residency while attending school. Residency would mean that I have to pay about half of what I'm currently paying for tuition. That is a big difference.

So it seems like a no-brainer that I would just go and get my Utah state ID. There is, however, still one massive problem. Getting a state ID makes my Idaho driver's license invalid.

I've been driving for about five years. I'll never forget how proud I was to pass both of those tests and get that little rectangle of plastic that said I could drive. I love driving, even if I don't have a car. Because I don't have a car down here, I don't really see any way for me to get my driver's license. This is why I would have to settle for a state-issued ID card. But if I get one of those, that means I am not legally allowed to drive anymore.

I have no real reason to need to drive down here. I love public transportation and I love walking. However, my need for a license is about the emotions attached to driving. Getting that bit of plastic made me feel like an adult. Having it say I was over the age of 18 was more of a validation of my adulthood than my birthday had been. Being able to carry a license around makes me feel like I am independent, like I am a real person that matters. Like I said, I don't drive much, but that's not the point. The point is that I can drive if I want to drive.

And sure, there are other factors involved. If I got a state ID, I'd be giving up my Idaho residency. I was born in Idaho, and other than last year's little adventure in Portland, Idaho is where I have spent my life. But now I live in Utah, and I love Utah. I'm just also in love with driving, and I'm in love with my home state. I'm just not quite ready to give those up quite yet.

Religion is like smallpox- I don't want it.

I am a terrible person, and I just can't help it.

It's true; when confronted with a situation where I could either a) be an ass, or b) not be an ass, I choose the former. It's like an involuntary reaction to situations I don't like.

Let me explain this a little better. Today, while walking to the TRAX station after class, there was a man handing out copies of the New Testament. One would think I'd just shake my head, or just take one and get rid of it, or whatever. Well, I did shake my head. He still insisted on giving me one, because he was a persistent little twirp. This is when I could have just taken it and gotten rid of it later. I could have made the decision to behave like a proper human being.

But, dammit, I was mad. I was mad that here, in the country of supposed separation of church and state, it was okay for someone to impose their stupid fairy tales on me. I am totally respectful of religion, as long as its followers leave me the hell alone. The moment they try and pass their crap off on me, though, I am offended. In my mind (which admittedly does not necessarily work like other minds) the act of getting in people's way and pressing your personal religion on them is arrogant, and it is wrong.

So, of course, I demonstrated my anger by throwing the book on the dirt and walking away.

This is hardly the first time I have done this. In junior high, a similar thing occurred which concluded with me skipping down Fort Street, ripping pages from the New Testament and throwing them into the road like confetti.

No, this is not how adults behave, I know. But is it wrong for me to feel upset when someone has the audacity to impose their religion on me? You don't see me standing in the middle of a walkway, forcing people to take leaflets on why if god is real, he/she/it couldn't possibly give a rat's ass about us. You don't see me walking around, telling people they'll burn in hell unless they stop believing.

So is it wrong for me to expect them to follow the same kind of decorum?

Look, I know I'm a minority in this here land of Zion, but my thoughts still count. I'm as much a citizen as everybody else here. I do not worship the Heavenly Father, this is true, but they don't worship Muhammad, and there are way more Muslims on Earth than there are Mormons. Religion is personal. Spirituality is personal. We all have our own standards, and none of us should think we have the authority to tell someone else what to worship. That's their business.

Sometimes I might not be as respectful of Christianity as I ought to be, but sometimes Christians aren't as respectful of my beliefs as they ought to be. That doesn't justify tearing up the Bible or throwing it on the ground, but sometimes, when you're as mad as I was, respect goes out the window. It's unrealistic for me to expect church and state to stay separated, because it's not really. That doesn't mean I can't still feel mad when some guy is trying to get me to take a Bible.

Sleep is Great!

Today is Monday. Normally, Mondays are somewhat of a pain in the ass. There you were, sleeping in and spending the entire day in your pajamas, and suddenly the alarm goes off and you're expected to just get up and go to school. It's cruel and unusual, not because I hate school (I love school) but because while I love school, I love sleep more. Sleep makes me not be a homicidal crazyperson. Sleep makes the world seem like a brighter place. Last Friday, I did not get any sleep. That morning I had a migraine, I was cranky, I hated the world, I could barely tie my shoes, my stomach felt as though it was actively melting its way out of my body, and I would have happily mauled anyone to death if they gave me any sass. It was hot as balls and all I wanted to do was go home, take off my shoes, put on sweatpants and pretend I was part of the couch. A homeless guy was hassling me as I tried to get to the TRAX station, and I wanted to throw him into traffic. Instead I yelled "FUCK OFF" at the top of my lungs. I was on Temple Square, and this got me some pretty somber looks. I'm sure I've sworn while walking across Temple Square more than everyone else in this city put together.

Today, it is rainy, windy, and stormy. It's like 65 degrees out, and because I got enough sleep over the weekend, I was chipper and amicable. Even as the rain sprinkled my head, I walked with a smile and thought of all the reasons I love Salt Lake. I refrained from swearing on Temple Square. I even stopped myself from berating the smelly creeper that sat down next to me on the TRAX as I was riding home.

Sleep is good. You know what else is good? Mormons. They are possibly the most entertaining group I've ever lived with in a city. This weekend, in case you live anywhere besides Utah, was Conference. Basically, it's like the Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca. The downtown corridor fills with men in crisp buttoned, collared shirts and women in knee-length, shapeless dresses with sleeves and high collars. My roommate, Genny, and I decided, ironically, to go shopping down at Gateway Mall. It's not that far from our apartment- like six or seven blocks, maybe- but we took TRAX because we're lazy. (Eight blocks = 1 mile in SLC) I knew it was Conference weekend because there was a notice at the TRAX stop that I vaguely recall noticing as I waited for the train to school on Friday, trying not to kill the obnoxious gangsters standing next to me. Being who I am, however, I instantly forgot the notice. So when we got to State street and saw swarms of momos, we were flabbergasted.

In situations like these, I have an interesting involuntary reaction. I start laughing manically, and uncontrollably, for the duration of the awkwardness. This has gotten me followed by employees in Walmart, held back after school, and all kinds of other great rewards. Naturally, people started walking as far away from me as they could, suspecting, I assume, that I was high as a kite or deranged and possibly dangerous. I continued my hysterical laughter all the way down the block and onto the TRAX. And then it got worse. They were on the train, packed like sardines.

Have you ever seen pictures of the commuter trains in India, where people are literally crammed in so tightly that they have to hang out the windows and doorways? That was what this was like, except they were all wearing collared, buttoned dress shirts in some variation of white. We did see one guy wearing a salmon-colored shirt, and we nearly died laughing. When I'm laughing that hard, it turns into a kind of infinite loop. I laugh, and can't breathe, so I laugh harder, and can't breathe. We must have looked like someone let us out of an institution, because the men getting out at the Temple stop looked pretty grateful to be leaving the train. The harder I tried to stop laughing, the harder I laughed. It was never going to end.

And then we got to the mall and went to Old Navy. Genny wanted formal clothes for the career fair. I just like throwing caution to the wind and spending money every now and then. We bought some stuff and walked back out into the hot air.

A description: Gateway Mall is an outdoor mall, and it's two whole blocks of shops. The place is two stories, and the second story is more shops connected with a network of bridges and paths. There is a cinema and a planetarium in addition to a bazillion stores and restaurants. It's a wonderful place that, like everything else in Salt Lake, was made especially for the 2002 Olympics.

We noticed the Apple Store, and fiendish delight filled me again. We went in and changed all the iPhone backgrounds to various photos of the Google logo, the Adobe Flash logo, the Android logo, et cetera. After that happy distraction, we went to Barnes and Noble and finally back to the TRAX. And there they were: more Mormons. Child Mormons, female Mormons, Mormon mothers, Mormon daughters, old Mormons, young Mormons, they were everywhere. We rode past Temple Square, and they were swarming around Deseret Books like ants on chocolate cake. We contemplated going in and asking where they kept their copies of Wicca for Dummies, but we decided against it. Genny and I enjoy living, after all.

It was great, and I can't wait for Conference next year. Actually, I can't wait for Christmas, because you just know those Momos go whole hog. Screw political correctness, we're in the land of Zion. Portland's Christmas decorations were infantile and depressing, because liberals are very politically correct. But anyway, holidays are great. Living down here in Salt Lake City is great. Sleep is great. And you knwo what else is great?

Boise. Boise is a great city. Fall Break starts on Friday, and I am going back to Boise for most of the week I get off of classes. If you're in Boise, and want to hang, give me a call, because I'll be there too!

I'll Ping you in the Turtleneck.

Once upon a time, I was a fan of Apple. I've only owned iPods, and I liked iTunes well enough. At least, it seemed to work better than any of my alternatives.

Recently, Google has announced that they plan on opening their own music store. Depending on its efficacy, I fully intend on switching to it. I am a huge fan of Google, and I hope they'll stay as cool as they are right now.

I've owned an iPod of some kind for as long as I've been listening to music that didn't belong to my parents. And I've decided that my current one, an iPod Touch, is the last one. I am done with iPods, and I am done with Apple. I've gone from being annoyed to being flat-out enraged, and there's no reason I should stay with a company I don't like.

The beginning of this was the release of the iPad. As I've mentioned before, I hate the iPad. It has a dumb name, it looks dumb, and most annoyingly, Steve Jobs acted like it was the first tablet ever invented. Never mind the fact that my laptop doubles as a touchscreen tablet. I was severely annoyed by the people who waxed poetic about Jobs and his maxiPad. It got old, and, eventually, the world divided into three groups- those who loved the TamPod, those who saw it as a running joke, and those who had never heard of Jobs and thought Apples grew on trees.

Now, however, the turtlenecked vampire has given us Ping. It is a social Network, or at least, it's supposed to be one. I'm not quite sure you can just "create" a social network- Facebook didn't just come into existence with millions of members, it had to work at it and grow. Same thing with Myspace. Even if Jobs is "magic," I sort of doubt his ability to just bring a social network into being.

And this Ping shit is annoying as hell. Even though you don't have to create an account, there are countless icons crowding iTunes that want you to use Ping to tell people what you're listening to, what you're thinking about listening to, what you like, what you want to like, what you don't like, what you recommend to others, et cetera. It's making me crazy.

I want iTunes to store my music, keep it organized, and let me load it onto my iPod. I don't want anything else. I'm not interested in knowing what other people think of some song or album. I don't care. I don't want to know what everyone else is likes. That is not how I choose my music.

So, yes, I am quite annoyed with iTunes and Apple. Steve Jobs will be losing a customer soon enough, I can tell you that. And something tells me I'm not the only one who'll be leaving.

Rotting Our Brains on the Boob Tube

I watch a lot of television, I'll admit it. I watch a lot of news, a lot of Top Gear, and a lot of really dumb crap. In my defense, I'm doing like four or five other things at the same time- homework, writing, blogging, cleaning, et cetera. My apartment is rather large, and it just feels awkward when its dead silent in here.

I watch a fair amount of TLC. It's fascinating, in the same way automobile accidents are fascinating. One of the best shows on there is "Say Yes to the Dress." I don't care what my mom and sister say, I'm not getting married. In the event I do, however, I am eloping. Screw the goofy dress and gaudy traditions. I will never wear a white goddamn dress, and I will never buy one at a bridal store. So it's amusing and interesting to watch people place so much effort into something I find archaic. It cracks me up when they say things like, "I'm on a budget so I want to keep the price below $2000." Two thousand dollars would cover at least four months' rent for me, dude. Maybe it's because I'm in college, but two thousand on a dress you wear for one day is like paying a hundred dollars for a sandwich.

And I realize there are scores of women who lust for my blood when I call weddings antiquated. I don't mean antiquated for other people; I just mean it for myself. Much as I respect people who have a different religion than me, I respect women who, unlike me, have been planning their wedding since pre-pubescence. I'm not a lunatic feminist; women can do whatever the hell they want. You can be a career woman or aspire to bear four thousand children. Whatever, it's up to you.

But I digress. The new show on TLC that is my latest fascination is "Sister Wives." I stayed up till 11 on a Sunday night just to watch the series premiere. And boy, is it interesting.

Basically, it surrounds this man down in Lehi, Utah who was three wives and a bunch of children. His first wife grew up in a polygamous family, so understandably that is the norm for her. I can't remember, but I'm pretty sure the second wife wasn't in a polygamous family but was open to the concept. The third wife was. The eventual fourth wife wasn't, and has been married before. So there you go.

I don't have a problem with polygamy. I'm an anthropologist, so there's no "correct" way to have a relationship to me. In fact, the only reason polygamy is illegal in the US is because it's a historically and politically-loaded concept. So I have a problem with a forced marriage between a twelve year old and a forty year old? Of course I do, don't be stupid. It happens in the polygamous community, and in the monogamous community, and it's equally as wrong on both sides. I personally would never be in a polygamous relationship, but, as before stated, they'll be lucky to get me to marry anyone. They're not part of the norm, and they suffer for it.

So, I give Sister Wives a thumbs-up, if, for no other reason, it makes for a fascinating ethnographic record.

Another one of my favorite shows is "Glee." Ironically, I really do not like musicals. I find them to be rather awkward, with very few exceptions. However, Glee has a great range of characters and conflicts. Jane Lynch deserves an Oscar for her performance as the She-Male cheerleader coach. It's just an overall great show. However, the beginning of the series has been somewhat lackluster, at least in my opinion. The season premiere introduced two new characters who could potentially rival some of the regular cast. And then they went away. Sue and Mr. Schu teamed up against the new football coach, only to sever ties in the same episode. While there was repeated potential for intrigue, the premiere fell flat for me. I had more hope in yesterday night's episode, as they were doing Britney Spears' tributes. Yet again, the episode ended in an awkward spot with little feeling of accomplishment. I waited the entire hour, in vain, for Kurt to sing one of Spears' hit singles. Even though he was obviously the most devoted Spears fan, he never got to do anything. Supposedly, Artie wants Tina back, but we wouldn't be able to tell save for quick allusions to it. Meanwhile, Rachel has a fit about Finn not being on the football team, and then being back on the team. Mr. Schu's ex-wife, who I secretly hoped we were done with because she annoyed the shit out of me, is back and crazy as ever. Emma won't date Schu, and is instead dating John Stamos, who is supposed to be a dentist with poor taste in gaudy cars. Oh, and they concentrate on those two slutty cheerleaders who have the combined IQ of a toaster.

I suppose the reason it all is falling flat for me is that they're trying too hard to cover too many people. Last season, it seemed like they would use the hour to mostly concentrate on the dynamics of just a few people. Now it feels like they're trying to make too many people into main characters, and it's not working.

Finally, there's "House." I love House, and this season's looking like it will continue the greatness. The whole House-Cuddy thing is fantastic. I have no complaints, except that Thirteen better come back soon. Olivia Wilde is a great actress.

There are, of course, other shows, but I have no complaints about any of them. Hooray for Bones and Fringe. Why is it that Fox has all the greatest shows?

Do I Believe in Writer's Block?

A writer friend of mine (Neysa Jensen) posed the question on her blog of whether or not writer's block exists. The query is a valid one- there are plenty of people who claim they suffer from writer's block, and plenty of people who don't. I was about to chime in with my own opinions when I realized I wasn't sure what my opinion is.

When it comes to writing, I have a semi-emotional view of it. I write every day, whether it's a blog posting, or a few pages on my latest novel, or even a three-page short story. Writing is my favorite thing to do in my spare time because it's a kind of release. Now, I frequently display the emotional aptitude of a turnip, but when I'm writing, my thoughts are more articulate, and my feelings have a certain amount of clarity.

But do I believe in writer's block?

I suppose it depends what your definition of writer's block is. If it's a period when a person is unable to write anything, then no. I can write about anything. I can write absolute nonsense, if that's what I have to do. However, if your definition of writer's block is reaching an impasse on a particular story or essay, then yes, I believe in writer's block. There are times when I am working on something and I just cannot eke out any more words.

When I run into a problem like this, I take one of two approaches. Either the story wasn't meant to be in the first place, or there's something that needs to change earlier in the story.

If it's suffering from the former, then away the word document goes to a file aptly named "Writing Shit in Progress." It is, without a doubt, the purgatory of my hard drive. Every now and then, I go in there, find something that doesn't completely suck, and try to revive it. This was the case with my latest story (can I call in a novel? Is that too formal?). I started it, or at least a version with similar characters, several years ago. I got about forty pages into it and realized it wasn't going anywhere. So straight to "Writing Shit in Progress" it went. After I got twenty pages into the handwritten story about two months ago, I realized it was turning into that story I'd already started.

The latter is easier for me to fix. Recently, while working on The Monster (not its title, it has nothing to do with monsters), I came to a point where the progression of the plot had slowed and gotten awkward. At that point, I was about 170 pages into it, and I was not about to abandon it. I went back about thirty pages and found a place that could be altered to revive the plot as a whole. The story roared on, and now it's closing in on 300 pages.

So does writer's block exist? I guess my answer is "only if you let it exist." If you're emotionally invested enough in it to the point where you aren't willing to send it to virtual limbo, then there isn't a block. There's just something that needs to be changed.

And I guess the second part to asking whether writer's block exists or not is considering your writing style. I suppose it's impossible to assess whether or not writer's block exists simply because everyone has a different writing style. There's no "correct" writing process. I don't suffer from any writer's "block," per say, but that doesn't mean no one suffers from blockage.

I Have a Blog? Oh, Yeah...

So, it's been awhile since I made a post. I could blame it on how busy I've been with school, but that would be a lie. I'm remarkably good at budgeting my time when I try, as it turns out. The biggest thing that has been eating my time is my latest writing endeavor.

It started out as a distraction. You see, I had only just finished a zombie story I'd been writing over the last year, and my typical strategy is to place a period of time between the writing and editing processes. This is not my creation; I got the idea from Stephen King's On Writing. Anyway, I started a new story between writing and editing. It began as a lighthearted story about a preacher from a religion that I created to parallel the monotheism of Christianity/Judaism/Islam who goes to serve at a school run by the church. This transformed, over the course of six weeks, into a 280-page monster. It is officially the longest story I've ever written in my life. It got much darker, much more complex, and much more interesting than it had originally been.

It also has yet to give any indication that it's finished. I write anywhere from five to ten pages a day. I wrote the ending two weeks ago. Now I'm working to fill in the gaps and elaborate on details. In case you didn't know, I'm more of a short story person. I like to create stories that fit neatly into a few pages. I've written a couple of stories that ended up being 100-150 pages, and I felt accomplished. This creature, though, is a thing all by itself. I have yet to run into a block or get tired of the story. I don't feel like I'm stretching out parts simply to make the overall product longer. The big difference between this story and my other ones is that 280 pages later, the story has yet to feel tedious.

But enough about the monster. I'm sorry to report Mormons for Dummies has been placed on temporary leave until I do not have school upon which I devote my attention. Mormons are, of course, hilarious. The other day, I earned myself a few good glares by shouting "Jesus Christ" on Temple Square. I was trying to get home when I got stuck behind a crowd of tourists. Another time, I was nearly run over by a woman in a Mormon Utility Vehicle (aka a minivan) who was not paying attention to the red light and was instead looking for parking. Like I said, Mormons are hilarious.

On a not entirely unrelated note, I love Salt Lake City. I really do. I'm surprised by how quickly I've adopted it and its quirks; it took me an entire school year to decide I semi-liked Portland. Salt Lake and Portland share a few things in common. For starters, the homeless people here are just as crazy as the ones in Portland. A few days ago, I observed a man carry on a conversation with a mannequin in the window of a suit store. It was fascinating. Salt Lake also has a decent public transit system. Ours is called TRAX, as opposed to MAX in Portland. We also have a good bus system.

The biggest difference, though, is the most important one- I love University of Utah. I absolutely love it. Portland State did not feel much like a university; it felt like a grouping of buildings where people went to class. The U feels like a real university. It's the kind of campus you see in the movies, with sloping grounds, towering trees, and people hanging out in common areas studying or playing instruments. The University of Utah is perched on a hill, set against the Wasatch Front. Our stadium is visible from virtually everywhere in the Salt Lake Basin. You can tell the city of Salt Lake has fierce pride when it comes to the U- the "drum and feather" logo is visible in business windows and flying from flags in front of homes. Everyone on campus wears their spirit gear with pride. It's a school that brags cutting-edge research and an excellent football team. Utah is a community in every way Portland State wasn't; I'm going to a school I enjoy and can be proud to attend.

So that's what's going on in my life. Thus far, moving to Salt Lake has been the best decision I've ever made. Two years ago, if you told me I'd be happy to be living here, I would have laughed. However, two years ago I was confident in a lot of things that turned out to be wrong. I never would have guessed that I would be studying anthropology, or writing a giant novel, or living in Utah. After the last two years, I've decided that assuming I know where I'm going in life is a dumb idea. I know a few people going into college, and the biggest thing I'd say to them is that it's bad to try and find something to do for the rest of their lives. All we can do is find what makes the present meaningful, and just go along with that. I moved from Portland to Salt Lake and I'm happier than ever. Nothing is fixed.

Hand Washing the Hard Way

I'm not afraid of germs.

It's quite weird, actually. I'm OCD about a lot of things, but germs are not part of that. Of course, I wash my hands, I scrub down cooking utensils, et cetera. But you're not going to see me opening doors with a hand-towel. I'm not going to refrain form picking up my pets just because they're dirty. When it comes to germs, I figure the amount that are beneficial or at least harmless far outweigh those that can make you sick. I take the approach of "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

So this shit makes me nuts- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqchsFwhSNQ&feature=player_embedded.

That's right- a hands-free soap dispenser. I mean, how dumb can you get? On the website for this stupid little tower of plastic, they even have a troubleshooting section.

Troubleshooting.

We're trying to turn our hand-soap into an electronic. This is insane, people. Why do we need to complicate soap? I mean, think about it. The only time we use soap is when we are about to wash our hands. Who cares how dirty the soap pump is; we're about to wash all the germs away, anyway. Not to mention, unless you have an automatic sink, you'll be touching the knobs, anyway, which defeats the purpose.

It's not even water-proof. Why would anyone make an electronic product that sits next to a sink all day and can't even stand up to water?

Not to mention the amount of money you're going to have to spend on this puppy. It requires four AA batteries. You have to replace the soap periodically, and those little refill cartridges aren't cheap, either. This is an investment that generates money long after you've bought the product. It's the reverse of what any rational consumer wants in a recession- instead of paying for itself, it only costs more as it ages.

It's nuts. I can't think of any situation where this would be a wise purchase. One review suggests that perhaps you are trying to re-create the hands-free experience of a public restroom. In that case, does the dispenser come with a decal I can stick to the wall that looks like a stall door? And how about an audio track of people doing there business, so you won't feel alone, just like in a public restroom. I'm just going for authenticity, here.

It has all kinds of things that can go wrong. It's like the new iPhone- if you hold it incorrectly when you pick it up, it malfunctions. If you let soap build up around the nozzle, it will malfunction. If you don't switch it off before moving it, it malfunctions. One review sites one possible use as being for a cook, so you don't have to handle raw meat and then touch the soap dispenser. But you'll still be washing your hands, so it doesn't matter.

The reasons some will buy this is that we, as a collective society, are afraid of germs. Think about it. What is the point of an automatic toilet? You'll just wash your hands, anyway. People carry around hand sanitizer. I mean, people started wearing face masks because they were afraid of the pig sniffles, which don't actually protect you much from germs.

The truth is, our fear of germs makes us willing to invest in false senses of security. It doesn't seem to matter whether or not it's actually reducing the germs, just as long as we feel like we're staying cleaner.

Germs are not bad. A few of them are, but proportionally, they're outweighed. We would not be able to live without the beneficial germs living in our systems.

And seriously? Troubleshooting for a freaking soap dispenser? Give me a break. Soap doesn't need to be complicated. It shouldn't be complicated. Chemistry is complicated. Calculus is complicated. Washing your hands is not complicated.

Leaving High School: A Year Later

Today, I read a blog post about filling out a "Five Years Later" questionnaire for high school. It was highly entertaining, and I felt myself agreeing with most of what the blogger had to say about his high school experience. It got me thinking about my own high school experience.

I've been out of public education for about a year now, and even after slogging through a year of Portland State's errant nonsense, it was still better than high school. I got to take classes that interested me, and I got to ignore ones that didn't. This makes me wonder- why isn't high school more like college?

They claim to be preparing us for college, but I've found that's a load of nonsense. They make us take tests in the eighth grade to tell us what we should do with the rest of our lives. They want us to select some kind of "track" based on said indication. And that is a load of shit. They didn't even offer classes in Anthropology, and look what I'm studying now, fools. Even given this "track," we're all required to take a bunch of classes that mean nothing. I finished Health in one day online. I finished Technical Reading and Writing in not much more time than that. And yet, neither of these classes did me any good except for filling high school requirements.

Why can't requirements be broader- why can't they just say, three years of math, three years of science, four years of English, and then have a wide selection of classes from which we choose? Why can't creative writing fill an English requirement as easily as AP Literature? That's how it works in college. Why can't we take two biology classes instead of one biology and one chemistry? What difference does it make to some district official?

The way public high school works is counter to how a university works. If no one took a class here at the U because it looked uninteresting, then they would stop offering it. In public high school, we had to take certain classes whether we wanted to or not. If given the choice, I would not have taken Health. I doubt anyone would. This would motivate the district to build a better, restructured curriculum, not to stick with the same song and dance that we heard in junior high and elementary school. The body parts don't change; there is no point to beating us over the head with the circulatory system. Sports medicine, for example, should be a suitable substitute. We should've been able to take classes that interested us, not ones that make us hate learning. I'm lucky that my love of learning won out over my hatred of public school, because I know people who refuse to go to college for fear of the same boring beating they had in high school. That makes me sad, because I think this is why people would rather borrow lies and propaganda from talking heads than learn the facts on their own. I think people have been scared away from learning because they're only impression was the one given to them by public school, and that wasn't learning. It was testing, and repetition, and memorization. Public school has nothing to do with learning; it is a three-ring circus.

The aforementioned blogger lamented how useless his high school education was, and that his overall experience was quite poor. My own experience was equally forgettable, redeemed only by the teachers who showed a genuine interest in learning, and students' ability to learn. I don't miss high school in the least; I was told by some that I would, and they're wrong. I don't miss the other students, I don't miss the ridiculous requirements, and I certainly don't miss the stupidity of so much of it. If they wanted to genuinely prepare us for college, and not just fill some legal requirement, they would model the schools after universities. They would stop treating students like children and start treating them like independent young adults. High schoolers are immature little imps, and if they were made slightly more responsible for their own education, they might be able to get to college and not act like idiots.

Mormon Report: Meg Buys a Guide

Today, I went to Barnes and Noble and bought Mormonism For Dummies.

I kid you not, the Dummies series seriously makes a guide to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Thank the Heavenly Father.

I won't lie, I felt a tad awkward standing in line holding the September issue of Automobile and my newfound Mormon guide. The checker nearly died laughing as I quietly explained I last lived in Portland, OR, and this is about as far from the damned hipsters as I could get.

So, after walking the half-mile home in jeans- bad idea- I sat down with a tall glass of water, a Monty Python documentary on the telly, and I cracked my new guide to living successfully in Zion. Part one is titled, "What the Mormon Faith is All About."

First thing is first: apparently, they don't like being called Mormons. They'd rather be called "The Church of Jesus Christ." Unfortunately for them, I think this is the idea behind most all Christian sects. I mean, that is where the term Christian comes from, is it not? The term "Mormon Church" is an outright no-no. According to the book, they're okay with being called the LDS Church, but they don't love it.

The best part of the entire book thus far is this- "Some Mormons joke that LDS really stands for 'Let's Drink Sprite.'" I nearly died. I hope they know this is what LDS stands for in my mind from here on out.

So I knew that Sprite-Drinkers spend a lot of time praying, but in the book's checklist of day-to-day life, it says that they pray by themselves, with their families, read scriptures, and they spend at least three hours on Sundays in classes and meetings at the "Meetinghouse"- the Sprite term for the church. (Note that "temples" are sacred and only used during special occasions; meetinghouses are for all the regular stuff)

There are a lot of rules. Last time, I talked about clothes and the LDS lifestyle. In addition to the whole "immodesty" bit, they don't drink coffee or tea, they don't use harmful drugs, they don't drink, and they don't smoke. Sex is an absolute taboo except between a married man and wife. Some go so far as avoiding cola and R-rated movies. R-rated movies? How can they live without zombies and Quentin Tarantino? Finally, no swearing. I would spontaneously combust if someone took away my expletives.

Sundays are all about church; no work or shopping for most. (Orthodox Judaism comes to mind) Monday nights are all about the family, which has good intentions, but any time someone makes something like that a rule, it's bound to feel a tad too oppressive to some people.

Beyond this, they're about charity and fasting. 10% of their income goes to the Church. If I ever hear an LDS person complain about taxes again, I will smack them. They fast once a month (not a bad idea) for two meals. That time instead goes towards a kind of "spiritual feast," prayer, scripture reading, and church services are just some of the fasting attractions. The money saved from said fasting goes towards helping to feed the needy, according to Dummies.

To conclude the chapter, we review what sets the Sprite enthusiasts apart from the rest of Christianity. While this consists of several pages, I'll just cover what stood out most. For starters, they believe in a concept known as "premortality"- souls exist long before they become bodies, and they continue to exist long after their corporeal form has expired. Interestingly enough, those who commit sins won't go to hell- they'll suffer for what they've done, but they can still seek eternal salvation and all the perks that go with that. In true sci-fi fashion, only those who "know God and still rebel against him" will go to "Outer Darkness." More on "Outer Darkness" in the second chapter, and it sounds interesting enough that I'm not going to flip ahead. They believe, unlike most other Christian sects, that God still sends down scriptures. They also believe that only they know all of God's "eternal truths." Most other sects acknowledge other churches, i.e. Episcopalians accept that Presbyterians have merit, however, in the eyes of the LDS Church, only they hold the keys to the castle, as it were. Finally, unlike most who believe "till death do us part," the Sprite drinkers believe that even after death, you're stuck together. So choose wisely, I suppose.

This concludes Chapter One. I probably won't do a review of each chapter- I don't have the attention span. However, I might check in occasionally with a visit to the Sprite Guide. I'm here for at least the next four years, so I might as well absorb a few things about the reigning religion here in the land of salty lakes.

Isn't learning fun?

Mormon Report: an Outlook on Fashion

Capped sleeves are ugly.

I don't care what anyone says, they are unflattering and they're an obvious mark of a Mormon. I mean, who else would willingly wear them? It's like an anemic tee-shirt. Or a timid tank top.

According to what I've read- and believe it or not, a fair amount of research goes into my posts- LDS women don't show their shoulders because they see it as being immodest.

Certainly, there are plenty of Mormon women who wear tanks. I've read the opinions of a few, who say they wear swimsuits, and wear tanks when they exercise, but when they are out in public, they want to appear "modest."

Since when is a tank top "immodest?" I've never understood this. Shoulders are not sexual organs. Neither are arms. So maybe, as one person on the world wide web put it, tanks show off skin, and showing anything off is being immodest.

So I guess if I squint my brain I can kind of see what they mean. But here is where I depart from their fashion advice- the same person claims that flashy clothes distract people from worshiping God. I'd say that God is running counter to his/her/its teachings if our entire purpose is to worship him/her/it.

By the way, I am basing my retorts off one source in particular- certainly, there are other opinions out there, but as this woman is an LDS fashion consultant, I figured her opinion is most representative of what Mormon women are following. Here's her list on types of immodesty- http://www.jenmagazine.com/living/

Her first item is when people "look rich." I have a massive problem with this particular qualm. According to her words, buying lots of stuff means that you obviously have self esteem issues. In fact, that's a big theme in all her complaints. All I have to say is this- have you seen the Temple? I live two blocks from it. It could give the Buckingham Palace a run for its money, at least form what I've seen on the outside. If that isn't "flashy," I don't know what flashy means. Here we have a group of people preaching austerity, and yet it seems like all the LDS buildings I've seen are palaces.

"Jen's" second example of immodesty is "look! I'm scary!" Yet again, she's judging the people who fall into this proclaimed category as somehow being spiritually lacking and having low self esteem. This group includes (apparently) gangsters, goths, emos, people with tattoos, piercings, etc. In fact, I'm pretty sure this one is a blanket group for everyone who isn't rich or the third one, sexy. I certainly fall into this category. According to her ideals, it is against their teachings to be intimidating. Naturally, I am an intense person. I can't really help it. So I'm screwed. But if it's wrong to look intimidating, what about missionaries? They walk around in suits, knock on people's doors, and carry Bibles. I'm thinking that is more intimidating than someone wearing a ratty tee shirt sitting at a coffee shop.

Our third example is about looking sexy. She brings up the whole idea that "media" has objectified women over the years. However, she turns around and claims that the proper goal of women is to get married and have a family. Isn't that more objectification in the opposite direction? So anyway, she claims that dressing "sexily" will scare away potential husbands, and will only attract men who are interested in sex. Well, what's wrong with sex? I know, I know, it makes everyone turn bright red and edge away, but seriously, why is it such a horrible thing to like sex? Why must your only goal in going out be snagging a husband? Why not snag a casual boyfriend? Why not snag nothing at all, and just be happy with the way you look? When a woman wears a low-cut shirt, why does it have to mean she's looking to attract a mate? Why can't it simply be because she likes the way she looks?

Her final example's pretty weak. It's about looking "cool." Her only real explanation is that it is immodest to show off the fact that you're "cool" or "fashionable." Okay?

This particular consultant claims that all of her listed types of immodesty are examples of ways people try to boost their self esteem and gain attention. But isn't it just as bad to judge the way others look? Isn't that drawing attention to yourself, too? When an older woman glares at me at the store because I'm wearing a tank top, the only one drawing attention to herself is the one narrowing her eyes and wrinkling her nose. I don't care how I look to other people. I don't get dressed in the morning thinking, "I need to intimidate someone," or "I want people to think I'm sexy." Yes, I show a fair amount of cleavage (have you seen my boobs? I have to wear a turtleneck to hide those) and yes, I wear tank tops. The only person I'm doing any of this for, though, is me. This is why the Mormon philosophy is flawed- it is passing judgement on people with the assumption that person got dressed only to be a spectacle. Of course, there are plenty of people who dress to impress; don't try and tell me that those missionaries buy those suits to be comfy while they work. Modesty isn't about clothes. My sister wears shorts and low-cut shirts, and she also has a pretty prudent attitude about sexuality. A person can wear turtlenecks and slacks and still be promiscuous. A lot of judgement goes into the LDS belief system, and a WHOLE lot of judgement goes into their attitude about clothes.

Clothes are just clothes. Hopefully, you cover the basics, but bearing shoulders does not an immodest woman make. Beyond that, let your character define your amount of modesty. And don't let people assume you dressed that way for them.

Oh, and Mormons? The Victorian Era called, they want their capped sleeves back.

The Mormon Report: Volume One

So, at some point, I promised some friends of mine I would occasionally talk about my experiences with the LDS Church down here in Salt Lake. Because I am crude and I have no class, I've decided to call these the Mormon Reports.

A Disclaimer: if you are Mormon, you are reading this, and your blood pressure is steadily rising, please take note- I'm not trying to be disrespectful, I'm simply expressing my point of view, albeit with a potty mouth.

I'm not mormon, never have been, and I have no desire to be one. Yes, I moved to Utah, this is true. I moved here from Idaho, which has its own fair share of mormons. I am vaguely familiar with the nuances of their culture.

But never before have I experienced a Mormon Holiday. Today was what is known as Pioneer Day- they're celebrating the LDS exodus from the eastern US to the Great Salt Lake.

My day started when a fighter jet flew low over my apartment, immediately giving me the impression that we were under attack. But no, it was simply the beginning of the parade. After which, we observed a string of floats with various LDS undertones as they wound through downtown Salt Lake.

Thankfully, the route turned one block from my apartment, sparing us any direct noise. This in itself was somewhat of a miracle, because I only live two blocks from the Temple. There were people camping out along the route starting last night. Apparently, the parade's a big deal.

And then there were the floats themselves. They were culturally stereotypical and politically incorrect. Part of me wanted to watch as an observing anthropologist, and accept that this was a part of their culture. A bigger part of me was outraged by their apparent lack of factuality.

After the parade, my mom and I had breakfast, got dressed, and went out to go see the U's campus. For the record, I love that campus. It's how a proper school should look- enormous buildings, sweeping grounds, giant trees, and wide bike and walking paths. It's a great place.

After this, we had a most enjoyable lunch, and then decided to go have a look at the capitol building. This is probably the most majestic-looking state capitol I've ever seen. However, more mormon hijinks were to be had.

First of all, I was wearing a tank top. According to Mormon creed, shoulders are immodest. Knees are equally immodest, at least in the eyes of some. I've had old ladies glare at me before- I mean, I wear sweatshirts and swear like a sailor- but I've never experienced anything like this. Whole families were avoiding me. As we walked down the hall in the capitol, looking at exhibits, even the children regarded me as an alien and flocked away towards the stairs. It was bizarre.

Finally, the silver lining on this bizarre cloud. As I sit writing this, fireworks of all colors, shapes, and sizes are crackling across the valley. It's quite spectacular. For as weird as today has been, this view is certainly impressive.

I have plans for my Mormon Reports. Not, as I've said, to be offensive, but to simply explore the LDS church from my own viewpoint. Like any other culture, they deserve respect, even if I disagree with them. Their views on some things are trivial and downright offensive in some ways. This said, it's hardly fair to criticize a group of people without attempting to understand them.

Patriotism

I am a passionate person. I'm not lying; I am. I'm passionate about politics, about anthropology, about science. I work hard to do my own "fact finding," rather than let some network tell me what I should know.

And I am an angry person. I'm infuriated by a lot of things- bad drivers, ignorance, old people.

But you know what makes me angrier than anything else?

Being told I'm not American.

This just blows me away. How can anyone tell me I'm not American? I have the birth certificate, driver's license, and passport to prove it. My ancestors got here on the damned Mayflower, people. I'm about as American as they get.

But no, because I have certain political beliefs, I hear that I'm not American. I worked for the ACLU for years. Somehow, that makes me un-American. I believe in taxes. That makes me un-American, too. I think we should make it easier for people to become citizens, rather than having to sneak into the country. That makes me un-American, too.

Who are the people who are making these designations, exactly? Sarah Palin? John Boehner? Mitch McConnell? Rush Limbaugh?

Who the hell died and crowned them oligarchs of America? Who the hell made them the people that decide what patriotism is?

Patriotism is love for and devotion to one's country; it is not the blind following of those who are backed by multi-million dollar campaign funds. In my mind, the highest act of patriotism in our country is to work for the benefit and protection of the people. Funny how easily they forget that whole "of the people, for the people, by the people" thing. How dare they be against public health care? What, are they against the health of the American people?

And what about taxes? How can they call themselves "patriots," and then give tax cuts to the top twenty percent of incomes? Or did they not realize that taxes are how we pay for public programs, like Butch Otter's transportation bill he wanted last year?

Or how about them criticizing Obama for vacationing in Maine, instead of the Gulf area? Isn't that valuing one state over another? Isn't it good that they spent money in the US, in general?

And last time I checked, these people were pretty quick to throw the Katrina refugees under the bus, even though we're still talking about the same area of the country.

No, these "champions of patriotism" are doing a pretty spectacular job of working against Americans. It sickens me that they have run, unchecked, for such a long time. Republicans and Democrats are not looking out for the good of the people; they're looking out for the good of the party. We're so caught up in party politics that we sometimes forget that we all have one thing in common- this is just as much the Democrats' country as it is the Republicans'.

No party has dibs over patriotism.

My best friend in the entire world is a Christian, and a Republican. He and I disagree on a wide range of things, and we are close enough that we can discuss those differences. This is the problem with politics today- we address one another on a group basis, not an individual one. If we stripped away the money, the affiliations, the parties, and just made representatives talk to each other, we would see better results. I make fun of Mormons, Christians, Republicans, et cetera, but it's a lot harder to do so when you know them on a personal basis. I met a woman who was a devout Mormon, and she was also intelligent, considerate, and fairly open-minded. She was not the brainless automaton that I expected to find, even if she was my age and married. I related to her on a personal level, and my biases faded away. She became an individual with a face and a name.

If we all took a little more time to get to know our opposing viewpoints from a personal stance, we could discuss real issues and leave the misinformation and name-calling out of the discussion. In the end, as I've said, we are all still Americans. We all felt pain on 9/11. We all celebrate the Fourth of July. We all share some aspects of life in common, regardless of our party affiliation, our denomination, or our education. We all share about 99.9% of the same DNA. When we get down to it, there is a way to be civil and have real discussions. Everyone simply needs to be willing to reach that point- and I mean everyone. The conservatives, the liberals, the moderates, the Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, the rich, the poor, and everyone in between. No more bullshit. No more trying to designate who is patriotic and who isn't.

Hopefully our collective blood pressure can hold out till then.

Three Cheers for the 208

There are officially twelve days between me and departure from the puddle capital of the world. To say that I am excited would be an understatement.

I am ecstatic. I'm am jubilant. I can hardly contain myself every time I remember I have a little less than two weeks.

Portland's been nice, but I cannot wait to get back to Idaho.

After ridiculing my home state for years, I am fiercely proud to call the Gem State my home. Yes, Idaho has some severe flaws- namely, the state government- but it's home for me. After living in a city, a real one that has few, if any, connections to what "rural" really is, I feel like the people who do not think cattle on the highway is an unusual sight are in short supply. I've been told over the years that us hicks know nothing of the world around us. After experiencing people who cannot think much farther beyond their immediate settings, I've got to say, close-minded people can be found everywhere. They're like cockroaches. It doesn't matter whether you're in Hong Kong or Peru, you're going to find a few of the little suckers.

Liberals can be just as close-minded as conservatives. In my opinion, close-minded liberals are worse. A close-minded neo-con might be racist and might think Christianity is the only belief out there worth mentioning, but close-minded liberals will dump paint on people who wear leather or fur. They're both bad. I grew up with a fair amount of conservatives. My best friend is conservative, and he says things that make me want to clock him.

But I don't. I'm polite. I've been raised to accept the existence of countering view points. Some of the people I've encountered in Idaho are not quite so accepting. I was once told I was going to hell because I don't live like "good Christians." (Speaking of which, what the hell happened to the whole, "love thy neighbor" shit?) Luckily, I don't believe in hell, so I'm not too worried.

Here in Portland, I've also been verbally assaulted by people whoa re shocked to find out that I disagree with them. I don't think capitalism is bad. I think corrupt capitalism is bad. Corrupt anything is bad. I don't think we should all go live on farms. I've been on real farms. They smell horrible. I'd much rather go be an anthropologist than milk cows. Sorry, but it's the truth. I enjoy our stratified labor system. I'm okay with buying food at a store. Honestly, I have more important things in my life than making sure I am entirely self-sustained.

But, as is often the case, I digress.

I cannot wait to get back to Idaho. I can't wait to see my friends and family. I cannot wait to see my lizard, and my dogs, and my cat. I can't wait to go up to my cabin and get a good breath of fresh mountain air.

Fun fact- Portland has a worse air quality than Los Angeles. Good job.

I also cannot wait to be more than 50 feet above sea level. I swear to god, the low altitude has been causing a huge percentage of my migraines. I like living around mountains. The ocean is nice, but nothing beats those craggy peaks and twisting roads.

I've been staying connected to the City of Trees via the Boise Weekly online. It's great- I can stay connected to the restaurant and music scenes from five hundred miles away.

The other day, well, okay, a few weeks ago, they interviewed NPR's Renee Montagne. I personally love her, and I was sad that she was in Boise while I was not.

Someone commented on the article that they hoped the author taught her how to properly pronounce "Boise." According to this commenter, it's pronounced with a soft S, rather than a Z.

I disagree. I say it both ways, and I am from Boizeee.

The commenter's clever moniker was "The Native Idahoan." After reading this, I cam to two conclusions:

1. I am willing to bet this person is incredibly arrogant and I would most likely throttle "Native" until he/she could not breathe.

2. He/She is probably from California.

I mean, how rude is it, after reading how this person got to interview one of the most widely-known radio people in our age to say, "I hope you taught her how to say 'Boise.'" He/She/It claims that only people who moved to town pronounce it with a Z.

Well, then.

BOIZEE BOIZEE BOIZEE.

Alright, I got that out of my system.

Reading some other comments on various articles, I realized that not very many of the commenters have lives beyond the internet.

One of the most heavily-commented sections is Bill Cope's corner of the BW universe. Admittedly, he has said things in the past that have made me roll my eyes. This said, I admire the fact that he puts himself out there and writes what he feels. You don't see any of the cute neo-con commenters using their real names. One of the most frequent ones is some human by the name of Patience Dogood.

I'm sorry, but unless you are Zombie Ben Franklin, fresh from the grave, you have no right to use that moniker. It is taken. Please go read some Shakespeare and gain some creativity.

The next thing I wonder about these people is why are they wasting their time reading a clearly-liberal editorial writer? Don't they have a tea party to attend?

So, yes, Idaho has some decidedly-backwards people. We have some progressive people, too. We have the hippies in the North End of Boise, we have celebrities up at Sun Valley, we have Mormons in the south, and neo-Nazis in the north. Idaho is the state where weirdos go to find some space.

And that's okay. I'm a weirdo, too.

Being from Idaho keeps things in perspective. The mayor of Portland is under fire for having an affair with a coworker. Yes, this is naughty, but the governor of Idaho would happily do away with public education. One of our governor hopefuls wanted Fish and Game to issue Obama hunting tags. Those are politicians with issues. Affairs are naughty, but who the hell cares? I'd rather have a guy who gets around than a guy with the IQ of his tight-fitting jeans.

It seems incredible to me, but I prefer living with conservatives to living with liberals.

Don't get me wrong, I still think ATVs are ridiculous. I will never think that fridges belong on the porch. I hope country "music" dies a horrible, fiery death. This said, I'd rather live around someone who can drive a tractor than someone who thinks owning a chicken makes you a farmer.

Blog of the Dead: A Salute to Zombies

Let us talk about my favorite genre of fiction- zombie stories.

I love zombies. Absolutely love them. 28 Days Later is, in my opinion, the best movie ever made by man. I mean, Danny Boyle directed it. Danny Boyle, the man who brought us Slumdog Millionaire, gave the world the best movie ever. It is not just a zombie movie- it is a work of art. He uses unique filming techniques and an unusual selection of music. It's incredible. It's my idea of a romantic movie- I mean, come on, only a man who really, truly loves you will kill the undead with his bare hands for you.

Zombies are the greatest. Anthropologically, it's the ultimate "us" versus "other" situation. Psychologically, it embodies our fears of death and the afterlife with the mental dilemma of whether or not reanimated corpses still contain some fragment of the person we knew. Entertainment-wise, there's nothing better than adrenaline-fueled sequences of gore and screaming.

And then there are the masters of zombie fiction. George A. Romero, for starters, who brought us Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead (and it's remake), and all of its subsequent sequels. He gave us The Crazies, a film not necessarily about zombies, but pretty damn close. Just for good measure, he remade that one, too. You know a director is dedicated to his genre when he's the one remaking his movies.

And then there's Max Brooks, author of The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z. I own the former, and it's fantastic. The latter, however, is a true masterpiece. Brooks uses it to critique various governments and the different cultures that span our globe. I love it. Zombie infection is a global problem, and he depicts localized responses to it.

Finally, there are all of the independent and B-list movies. Bad filming, low budget costumes and effects, and cliched scripts are a huge part of what makes this genre. The fake blood, the unrealistic wounds, the well-known roles characters must fill- the weak one, the leader, the person with alterior motives, the dumb one who does as he's told, and the dumb one who's stubborn and is eventually eaten.

Zombie stories are the best medium for examining humanity, in my opinion. A bad zombie movie is simply a festival of gore, which itself can be entertaining, but a good zombie movie can explore everything from gun control, to functionality of government, to xenophobia. In Land of the Dead, zombies are learning how to use tools and weapons. It begs the question, are they really so different from us? Or are they simply doing to us as we did to the Neanderthals?

Like I've said, I love zombie stories. I've written a few of my own. I have an emergency "In Case of Zombie" plan. My friend has a blog devoted to zombies. Obsessed? Well, yes I am. I've loved zombie movies ever since the 7th grade. There's just something undeniably satisfying about them. There's a Facebook group called "Some Days I Wish I Could Just Go Kill Zombies." I am totally zombie-crazed, but that's okay. It could be a lot worse. I could be obsessed with dressing up like comic book characters. Worse still, I could be obsessed with Twilight.

Nope, I'm okay with being zombie crazed. It's not like I'm out of touch with reality or anything. I know zombies aren't real.

But if they are, you know I'll be the first one to say, "I told you so."

What Fools These Mortals Be

Today was "National Explain Magnets to a Juggalo Day," in case you hadn't heard. That's okay, I didn't know it was until a few hours ago, either.

For those of you fortunate enough not to know what a Juggalo is, I will explain. Juggalos are people that follow the band Insane Clown Posse. It's actually turned into somewhat of a cult. Genereally, their followers are on the lower end of the education spectrum, have a tendency to speak in a violent manner, and, as one of the band's latest songs informed us knowledgeable folk, they do not understand what magnets are.

Here is a link for you, it's a semi-valuable waste of nine minutes of your life- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7WXoMp8Ews&feature=fvw.

Now that you have watched the video, you understand why I regard ICP (seriously, guys? what the hell is up with that name?) fans as uneducated individuals with bird-sized brains. These people are, for lack of a better term, idiots.

And they're not idiots we can ignore, either.

I don't agree with censorship of any kind. I think people are entitled to listen to what they want, read what they want, and say what they want. This said, making threats on the lives of other people is illegal. Over the last few years, there have been various incidents where people have been beaten, and sometimes killed, for pointing out the plain truth about ICP- it's the poorest excuse for entertainment our species has ever seen.

Now, I normally have little to do with these people. In fact, the last time I had anything to do with a "Juggalo" was a former boyfriend of mine who listened to ICP and identified himself using that beyond stupid title. I informed him he could either date me, or stick with that crap- I refuse to have anything to do with a group that promotes senseless violence and ignorants. From the snapshot of this "Juggalo" lifestyle that I got, I surmised a few things.

Juggalos are not smart. It's the truth. According to various sources, the average IQ in the US is 98. I'm thinking the entire mass of ICP fans falls well below this number.

Because they are not smart, Juggalos write off any form of intellect. Rather than respect the fact that experts spend years in school to know what they know, these imbecilic creatures regard all intellectuals as "elitists" and claim that experts are "lying." I hope ICP realizes this kind of thought is what created Cambodia's Killing Fields. Then again, I doubt either of those two buffoons have ever taken a world history class.

Juggalos claim to be tougher than everyone else. They frequently threaten to harm anyone who disagrees with them. I find this particularly interesting, because, at least on the internet, Juggalos tend to hide behind cute monikers like "Juggalette64." (Juggalettes are female versions of Juggalos. They are all the same except that the former generally wear bad make-up instead of bad face-paint.) As I have said before, the internet gives balls to those who would not otherwise have any. I generally use some form of my name as a screen-name, and I don't fear people. I had a "Juggalette" once threaten to "beat me up," and I welcomed the challenge. I don't mean to sound tough, I simply don't fear people. Especially not if they need the security of a name like "TwiztedGuy" to feel brawny.

I guess one of the biggest reasons I burst out laughing at these people is not what they call themselves (Juggalo.... Who else thinks "male prostitute?") but the effort they put into adhering to their standards. They wear ridiculous clothing and far too much stage make-up. They all gel their hair into disgusting, spiky masses. The best part is, they claim that everyone else in society is conforming, and that they are unique individuals. I cannot help but laugh. Here they are, investing thousands into buying music, special clothes, hair dye, face paint, and merchandise, and they claim they are not conforming to some standard. I suppose it boils down to the fact that they are as educated as rocks, but still. I'm a strong believer in researching something before you make a claim.

Some fo them try and say that their way of life is a kind of subculture. I'm an anthropology major, and I'm all for respecting cultures. However, the ICP following is no such thing. Every aspect of it has been manufactured. Every part relies heavily on participation within the capitalist system, something their own followers claim to be against. The "Juggalo Way of Life" is a sham. It's a gimmick. There is no creativity involved.

And now, forgive me for being arrogant. It angers me whenever people attempt to tell others how to live, and as much as I despise ICP and their lemming-like followers, I respect their right to exist. What makes me mad is the fact that they not only tolerate, but preach violence and hate. And while the band members themselves say they have the right to sing whatever they like, the fact that their followers practice violence and intolerance is disgraceful. The song I posted preaches against science and expertise and promotes ignorance. This I cannot tolerate. People who preach ignorance, especially people who have a following, deserve to lose their rights as citizens. Those two morons have no right to be spreading hate.

And, luckily for me, no one reads my blog. I'm sure that if an ICP fan out there (really with the name?) read this, I'd get some kind of hate-mail describing how he/she would "kick my ass." Honestly, I wouldn't care. Like I've said, I'm not afraid of people. They can threaten intellectuals all they want, but luckily, trailer trash never amounts to much in the bigger picture.

Again, I apologize for the arrogance and the momentary outburst of anger. It just gets annoying when I think of how hard experts work to recreate ideas about the world, only to have deranged asses like those of ICP try and destroy modern knowledge with moronic lyrics and merchandise.