Not all famous Mormons are people I am ashamed of.

Know what's cool? Being smart, and being a writer, and being a Jeopardy champion WITHOUT being a giant pretentious douchebag. Also, being a Mormon who doesn't make me cringe every time someone mentions his name (I'm looking at you, G. Beck).

Although I could be talking about my buddy Alison, currently I am talking about Ken Jennings, who is from the same general area where I now live and maybe was at Emerald City Comic Con when I was also there. I didn't see him, but I saw pictures later.

Ken Jennings did his crazy Jeopardy-defeating streak when I was a freshman in the dorms at BYU, and lemme tell you, we were FREAKING OUT. I was on the Honors Floor, though, so we were kind of nerds.

Anyway, Ken was on Reddit (which I infrequent) answering questions, and he was so charming and real and high-fiveable I just wanted to share some highlights. If you have lots of time you can read the whole cotton-pickin' thing here, but it's awfully long. It's worth it, but if you read the whole thing you may or may not be late for whatever you are doing next.

Here are some screenshots that are just funny:

Click to enlarge!

See how funny he is? In such a inclusive way. His humor has a little bit of something for everyone.

This bit, I think, was my most favorite, and summed up quite accurately how I feel about the disconnect I sometimes feel between being "a Mormon" and being myself.

Who could say it better? Only Jesus.

Here are some other choice Mormon jokes/comments. All well done.

This is the kind of stuff that should be on Mormon.org.

I just like this guy so much. The End.

The Perfect Vagina

The perfect vagina from heather leach on Vimeo.

Remember a few years ago when it seemed like everyone and their mom was getting a bikini wax? I thought it was weird that the current standard of beauty for women's genitals is apparently to look as prepubescent as possible. I still think that's weird. Clearly I don't watch enough porn.*

Anyway, so on Mormon Therapist the other day I found a link to this documentary which details an even disturbinger new trend: VAGINA PLASTIC SURGERY.

I repeat: PLASTIC SURGERY FOR YOUR VAGINA.**

And in this case we're not talking about women with birth defects or harrowing trauma from a vaginal birth gone wrong, or a Frida Kahlo-esque freak accident. We're talking about women who feel insecure enough about the size or shape of their clitoral hood or labia minora to be willing to be PAY TO HAVE SOMEONE TO CHOP IT OFF.

This is not cool, you guys.

This documentary has some graphic imagery, but if you can handle it, please watch it. It has a pretty empowering message. Also, British slang.

*or any porn. Let's be honest.

**specifically, surgery on the clitoris and labia, not on the vagina itself. I am keeping with lexical trends in using the word "vagina" to mean "the female genital area."

P.S. I am pretty excited to see what google searchers will be directed to my blog because of this site. VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA.

2011 Books: the books I didn't like edition

Buy-ology by Martin Lindstrom

I admit to enjoying a Malcolm Gladwell book every once in a while, but often those "entertaining non-fiction" genre pieces turn out to just be one massive exercise in stating the obvious. This book claims to revolutionize our ideas about why people respond to advertisements the way they do, and some of the brain studies he mentioned were kind of interesting. But he seems shocked to learn that people lie. Duh. Of course people aren't honest about why they buy things, because the real answers are usually pathetic. I know this, and I am neither an advertising expert nor a scientist.

Additionally, in his afterward about the 2008 financial crisis, he mentions that since the recession, condom sales have gone up. Lindstrom postulates the reason for this is that in times of stress, people find solace in their sexuality. Or maybe people are just worried about getting pregnant during a financial crisis? Sheesh. Idiot.

Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean M. Auel

Remember Twilight? Of course you do. This is 80s Twilight for the sexually deviant. I hated this book, but I had to finish it because it was part of my banned books project AND I DO NOT ABANDON MY GOALS JUST BECAUSE SOMETHING SUCKS.

I wish I could articulate all the reasons why this book was so awful. The writing was cheesy, and incredibly repetitive. I don't know where/if Ms. Auel got her English degree, but apparently she missed ALL THE LECTURES on showing vs. telling. Here is an exemplary paragraph, written by me:

Krum glared at Ayla, his eyes filled with rage. He was furious. Ayla was sad. Tears ran down her face. She knew Krum was angry. She thought he did not love her. He had told her he loved her before. But maybe now that he was angry, he did not love her anymore. The thought broke her heart. She sobbed.

Imagine 468 pages of that kind of repetition. Hopefully you know understand why this book made me want to claw out my eyes.

Also, in Jean Auel's crazy universe, cavemen did not know that sex makes babies. Somehow, they know that when animals mate, the lady animal gets pregnant, but they have not extended that logic to themselves. Which is basically just an excuse to write a bunch of uncomfortable rape scenes.

Bad writing + bad history + sexual deviance = I will not be reading the rest of the series.

You might think I am joking, but I am SO NOT.

Meat Loaf is the gatekeeper to all things awesome.

This post has been percolating in my mind for the past few weeks, but when Kelsy posted an eerily similar post about the magic of Steve Buscemi, I knew it was time for action. It is beautiful to have the kind of friends who can shout with me, with a glorious mixture of shock and joy, "SO-AND-SO IS IN THIS?!?"

Here is the thing. If Meat Loaf is in a movie, it is either awesome to begin with or it becomes awesome because he is in it. Let's start with the most obvious example.

Robert Paulson in Fight Club.

Not only was this an amazing film, Meat Loaf rocked this particular character by playing him with both affection and a lack of vanity. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, this movie is actually a little bit better than the book, and the book was pretty good.

If you know me, you know this is the highest compliment I can give a film.

Eddie in the Rocky Horror Picture Show

I went to one of those midnight showings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show about a year ago with some friends, which provided me with enough material for the rest of my blogging life, should I ever choose to share it. One of the nice details of the much-celebrated "audience participation" bit was when Meat Loaf's character is (spoiler alert!) revealed to be dead, everyone in the audience chants in unison, "His name was Robert Paulson, his name was Robert Paulson."

Get it?

The song that Eddie performs in this movie sounds exactly like every Meat Loaf song, ever, which doesn't say much for his artistic range, but does say a lot for the credo, "find something that works for you and do it over and over."

Speaking of this credo, Meat Loaf likes to drive buses.

Hoover in Leap of Faith

Even harnessing the power of the Internet, it was hard to find a photo of this role ... I think the film is out of print? But IMDB had one, albeit untagged. Can you find Meat Loaf in this photo?

You found him! Yay!

Have you seen this movie? It's pretty charming. Manages to poke fun at religion without being entirely cynical. Meat Loaf plays the (inexplicably named) bus driver/keyboard player Hoover. He's by no means a central character, but he is a great ensemble member. Note: Steve Martin was way better when he was playing lovable idiots and jerks, not dads.

Dennis in Spice World

Why yes, I watched this movie again on Netflix in order to get

a screenshot of this role. And I was happy to do it.

OK, before you scoff at the fact that I have even SEEN this movie, I ask you, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MOVIE? It is awesome. Hilarious. You don't even have to be a Spice Girls fan to enjoy it (but it's cool 'cause I am one).

Still not convinced? What about this?

Tiny in Wayne's World

Thanks Nostomanic for the perfect prelabeled picture.

Also thanks to Google Image Search for leading me to it.

I repeat. Meat Loaf has a brief cameo in Wayne's World, one of the best things to come out of the 90s.

Quod erat demonstrandum.

Feminism is Not Ded

Temping is a suitable short-term career path for me because I have a very short attention span and like to dabble. If I had to perform some of the occasionally mindless tasks that I do as a temp day in and day out for months on end, my soul would probably die, but as it stands, with me doing something for a few hours or a few days at a time, I usually enjoy whatever it is I have to do, even if it is boring. Also, I feel like I get a nice miniature vision of many different fields and companies. It's like every day is Take Elisa to Work Day.

If I were to make a list of the things I have learned through temping, it would probably consist of all the different filing systems I have learned, how many phone lines I can manage, blah blah blah. I do not think I would list what I learned to do today, which is to assemble and transport 52 mannequins.

Today I worked at a mid-fashion clothing company that I have never heard of before, and for privacy's sake won't list here, but let's just say it's akin to those California-infused preppy clothing stores you see in the mall like PacSun, Aeropostale and such. I was told that I would be performing manual labor of some sort, so I dressed accordingly in jeans, and showed up at the corporate office at eight o'clock this morning.

My supervisor and both my co-workers were male, and here is where the feminism thing comes in. I noticed that I did not seem especially welcome at this position, which was unloading large boxes from a truck. My co-workers talked to each other but not to me, and my supervisor was polite but gave instructions as to exactly what we were doing while I wasn't, technically, there. This got me a little bit on edge, because I figured that they didn't want me around because they assumed, as a woman, I wouldn't be able to lift said boxes. This hurt my pride especially because I am pretty strong, even though I am short. Ever since I was nine or ten (and keep in mind at that age I more resembled a fifteen or sixteen year-old) my dad went to me when he needed help with lifting heavy objects or working on fix-it type stuff, because my brothers were too young. I won't pretend to be able to compete with, like, professional construction workers, but I can definitely hold my own with a couple of doughy office workers.

This turned out to be true.

After we unloaded the boxes I noticed that one of my co-worker's attitudes had changed. He smiled at me and acted friendly. Success! I had proved my worth, video-game style. But the other one still wouldn't even look me in the eye, which gave me a medium-sized chip on my shoulder. His attitude made me feel like I had something to prove, so as we started on out next task, I determined that I was going to be the BEST DAMN MANNEQUIN ASSEMBLER OF ALL TIME.

Here's the thing about being a working woman, at least in my experience. Most of the time, in more cerebral environments like school, blue collar offices and (more often than not) church, I feel like the general M.O. is pretty merit-based and doesn't have that much to do with gender. In my classes in college, for example, I usually felt like I was judged based on my abilities alone. But if I'm in an environment where it still feels like a male-dominated arena (i.e. factory work, manual labor, etc) I immediately assume that everybody there assumes I can't do whatever it is we're supposed to do simply because I am a woman. I start out with something to prove, which is maybe silly because probably a lot of the time no one is thinking anything bad about me in the first place. It's totally dumb.

Anyway, so we started taking the mannequins out of the box, putting them together and wheeling them over to the elevator to eventually be taken upstairs. I should mention that this was an amusingly awkward job because the mannequins were all male. It was impossible to put them together or move them around without grabbing embarrassing parts of their anatomy. The height adjustment valve was very poorly placed and required me to stand in what appeared to be a rather compromising position, with my hand in an embarrassing place. These mannequins were also packing like James Bond on a mission. Don't think I'm just a pervert or a ten year-old boy in a twenty-six year-old woman's body, because every single person who walked into the lobby where we were assembling the mannequins snickered like crazy. This was an Austin Powers level of obvious, entrendre-wise.

Anyway, so the second co-worker and I were able to joke around for a few minutes, then he went upstairs and left me with this other guy who obviously really didn't like me. I hadn't said anything to him at all, so I was left to assume that he had a problem with me because I was a woman. As we pulled out the headless torsos, which by the way smelled like hemp, I thought about the state of feminism in our country, and how in so many ways, we have so far to go.

Finally--FINALLY--this guy turned to me and asked me what "I like to do." I'm terrible at answering that question, by the way. I think I need to take up knitting again so I have an easy answer.

"Oh," I said. "I like, um, swimming, and ... sci-fi."

His pasty face lit up. "Really? Me too!"

And then we were friends and talked about nerdy things for the rest of the afternoon.

THE END

MORAL: Sometimes someone appears mean and scary but it turns out they are more afraid of you then you are of them (like bears, and not like that little girl from The Ring). For example, maybe you think someone doesn't like you because he doesn't like working with women, but it turns out he is actually just afraid of all women, except ones who are equally excited about Tron Legacy.

A Sad Thing.

Lots of good things happened today, but that's not what I'm thinking about right now.

All throughout today, I kept thinking about how Eazy-E died. I don't know why his death was on my mind today in particular. He died in 1995.

If you don't know who Eazy-E was you can read a bit about his life here. He was an incredibly gifted rapper who rapped about what he knew best: dealing drugs, gang violence, and lonely sex.*

In February 1995, he went to the doctor because he hadn't been feeling well for a while. He thought it was asthma. It turned out to be AIDS. Not HIV. Full-blown AIDS. He died a month later. He was 31.

The more I think about it, the sadder it makes me. Not only that he died of a horrible disease at a time where no long-term treatment existed, but also that he had such a destructive relationship with his body that he didn't realize how sick he was until it was too late. He had such a sad, short life.

I like to think about Jesus hanging out with Eazy and Tupac and Notorious B.I.G. in Heaven. I think they would all have a good time. It's a lot less satisfying to picture Him with Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob. They had their turn earlier, right?

*I might be projecting there. But it always sounded lonely to me.

"As strong as our faith is, with all the mixed messages attacking it, it can also become very fragile."

--Bishop Richard C. Edgely.

On Saturday, I road-tripped down to Portland with the lovely Erin. We were there for less than a day but were able to squeeze in eating Lebanese food, buying terrible movies at Deseret Book and being with the equally lovely Cassie as she went through the Temple for the first time.* It was, of course, unspeakably lovely, albeit a trifle whirlwind. But that's how I like to roll.

Erin and I were discussing some of the frustrations of life in a singles ward during the loooooong drive back, seeing as it was so rainy one could not drive at an acceptable speed. Whilst we were talking, ELC said something that stuck with me.

She said, "Some people come to church for external reasons."

The conversation went on from there, but I kept thinking about that sentence the next day during Sacrament Meeting.

I am not sure if everyone goes through this process like I do, but I have to talk myself out of leaving the Church on a fairly regular basis. It almost became a joke between me and some of my friends at BYU. "Hey, Wills, what are you doing later? Well, after you have dinner at your grandma's, would you mind talking me out of leaving the Church? Thanks, I appreciate it. Bye."

I have written before about my many intellectual struggles with the Church, which have only been made worse by my serving a mission (hilarious). Conversely, the more I struggle, the more I realize that if I leave the Church, it would all be for nothing. Well, not for nothing, but if I really wanted to leave, I would have done it already, right?

The fact is, I don't want to. And hopefully, because I don't want to, I never will.

Here's where the external vs. internal binary helped me out so much.

So, lots of people my age go to church for social reasons, to make their family happy, to find people to date, to have local support system, to have someone to go to for help when you move, etc. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, but it does kind of miss the point of worshipping Jesus Christ and serving others and all that idealistic Bible business. Those would be external motivators to be involved with the Church. They aren't bad, just motivated by things other than your own thoughts and feelings.

Internal motivators, on the other hand, would be introspective things like a love of God, a desire to improve, etc. Obviously, hypocrisy plays a role here as well, because some people go to Church with the goal of seeming pious when in fact they do whatever they want when no one's watching. That's more obnoxious than the kids who come to Church looking for friendly times. Thus, it is possible to have a seemingly internal motivator actually be an external one. But generally, I hope you get what I'm saying.

Here's the thing. I have NO external motivation to go to Church. I'm not crazy about most of the people there, bless their hearts. I would have a perfectly viable (and less arbitrary) social circle if I hung out with people I actually had things in common with besides belonging to the same church. My family doesn't care one bit whether or not I'm Mormon, in fact many of them would probably be delighted if I cut loose with them once in a while instead of being a Mormon stick-in-the-mud.**

In fact, most of the reasons I have for wanting to leave the Church are external ones. Get it? It's not like I don't believe in God or struggle with the possibility that the Church isn't true. When I want to leave the Church, it's because I feel so fed-up with some embarrassing policy or some obnoxious people that I feel like saying I GIVE UP. Jesus shouldn't have to put up with this crap and neither should I.

But the trouble is, He does. The trouble is, it's still true.

My reasons for leaving are external, but the things that keep me from doing so are all internal. I believe in God. I love the Book of Mormon. I love the Temple. These people are crazy, but most of them mean well. Abandoning my internal motivations for external reasons is just as immoral as doing things for external reasons when no internal motivation exists.***

Additionally, the things that I love the most about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are some of the most internally focused. Take family history work. If the doctrine about eternal families isn't true, do I gain anything from doing it? Nope. Don't make any friends or meet any hotties at the Fam. Hist. Library, I can promise you that.

Ditto with the temple. If this is all a gigantic hoax, no one has been hurt by the things we've done in the Temple. But no one has really been helped, either. Either these things mean nothing, or they mean EVERYTHING. Those are the things that I feel the strongest attraction to.

Here's to doing things because they're right, and not because anybody cares except God, assuming He exists.

I feel that He does.

I'm not giving up yet.

*Erin was actually going through the temple with a separate friend at a different time. But saying it up there would have messed up the narrative.

**Except then who would be the Designated Driver?

***Which isn't ALWAYS immoral. But that's a post for another day.

A memo I missed and another I didn't.

I won't try to pretend that I was a tomboy when I was little. I did climb trees and collect bugs, but I also played with dolls until I was in fifth or sixth grade (but secretly). I never was much one for sports or roughhousing. However, I completely MISSED the whole Princess thing that most girls supposedly go through at some point. Do you think it's an exaggeration to say that most girls have a princess phase?

I never played with make-up or pretended to be a princess. I never had a Disney Princess costume or insisted on pink everything or screamed at my mother, "MY REAL MOM'S A PRINCESS!"

OK, I did once. But it was in jest.

I think the whole princess trend which is manifesting itself in very strange ways is finally starting to ebb. I hope so. It doesn't seem like the catalyst for healthy thought patterns in little girls. I'm glad I missed it.

However, lest you think it's an urban myth, I have several distinct memories of looking at my various Barbie dolls and feeling sad that I didn't look like them. How messed up is that?

In sum: American culture screws up little girls in a vast myriad of ways.

Check out the rest of this series here or the other work of Dina Goldstein here. Genius.

Make my day.

I love film. I also love movies. I love both, but I have a hard time with film festivals. I love to see new, creative film projects that often deserve more accolades than they ever receive, but I hate having to navigate my way through all of the terrible pieces of filth that they show at film festivals. And it's not because I'm a prude, because if you know me you know I'm not. However, I have noticed that a lot of independent filmmakers seem to think that in order to stand out in such a competitive industry, they have to include gratuitous violence, maybe because gratuitous violence sticks in people's memories? I don't know if that's why they do it, but I do know that it bothers me.

At Bumbershoot on Monday, Cassie and I attended two short film festivals: one intended for families, the other featuring short film by local filmmakers that were intended for adults. At the latter event, the final of the four films was honestly one of the most disturbing short films I have ever seen, and I am pretty open when it comes to what films I will try (I don't avoid films because they have a certain rating, for example). I think maybe the violence was supposed to be funny (It featured an old man getting shot in the eye, a pregnant woman getting shot in the stomach, and three other people getting shot in equally gruesome places) but it made me sick to my stomach. I don't understand why someone would feel inspired to make a film like that. It didn't make any point about violence or crime, it didn't make me think, all it did was make me sad. Like The Jungle in short film form, although that was created with a purpose in mind, so perhaps that's a poor analogy.

I know I must sound very puritanical and uppity right now, but it's film like the one we saw that make me not want to go to film festivals. You just never know when you'll wind up watching violence that's pretty much pornographic--created with no purpose beyond hitting you in the stomach.

That being said, the family film festival had several really charming pieces of film that I am sharing with you now. One is embed-able (?) the other is not. But please watch both of them because they are well-done and deserve whatever attention my measly blog readership would garner them.

This one is really funny, reminds me of something Pixar would do.

Click here to watch the other, which is simple and adorable and just really great.

Did these films just make your day? I'll bet they did.

In which I prove something definitively.

David and I have an ongoing debate that will likely never be resolved. The debate is thus: which of Christopher Nolan's movies is better, the Dark Knight or Inception? I vehemently argue for the former, my brother for the latter.

This might make me some enemies in the online world, but frankly, I do not care. I liked Inception, but I did not find it the mind-blowing experience many other people did. I predicted the ending when I read a review of Inception on Slate--which isn't to say that I'm especially smart, just that the ending was that predictable.

Also, I am getting sick and tired of Leonardo DiCaprio's furrowed brows. He is going to look eighty years old in a few months.

Conversely, the Dark Knight is not only comic book-licious, it has Heath Ledger in the role of a lifetime. Also, Christian Bale in button-down shirts. Some actual surprises. And characters who are actually memorable instead of just "Joseph Gordon-Levitt in a vest" and "the girl from Juno playing a student of architecture."

To indicate how precisely my thumb rests on the pulse of American film, I found this email that I sent to Bob in February when I was sick. I have no memory of this dream or of writing him this email, so I must have been REALLY sick.

"Today I went to sleep and I had this CRAZY dream in which I had CRAZY dreams and worried that I was maybe CRAZY (in the meta-dream). Then I woke up five hours later and Facebook was different and my fever had broken. Maybe I am better now??????"

So basically, I and everybody else already knew Inception existed before it did. Ergo, Dark Knight is better. Now all I have to do is show this to my brother.

Also, this is a cool song about a dream. I have dreams about my future children as well. (I assume that is who they are.)

Ain't Nuthin' But a G Thang (I promise this will be the only pun)

I would like to register a complaint. If you shy away from TMI, stop reading now, and don't say I didn't warn you.

Dear Victoria's Secret,

I was about to make a joke about having found out your REAL "secret," but that's a little too punny, and I'm trying to get away from that (see above). So let me just start out by saying that I am really, really, disappointed in you guys. You have broken my heart. Or rather, the upper ventral region of my torso, in general.

For years, I have been a loyal customer. I do believe I have 300-400 dollars worth of VS swag in my top drawers. Expensive bras--many of them bought on sale, but nevertheless at a much higher cost than the cheap cotton slings one can buy for 3-10 dollars at Target or Wal-Mart. I believed in your product. I believed in you. I believed that you had the best interests of us top-heavy gals in mind. That was how I justified spending all that money at your product. I do not currently own any bras from any other stores.

I have, fortunately or unfortunately, been fulsome in the chest since I was about ten. For years, I tried to hide them using an ill-conceived combination of sports bras and big t-shirts, but when I was in college, I discovered that in some circles, having large breasts is considered an asset, one to be shared with the world. My best friend insisted that properly fitting bras can do wonders for one's figure and self-esteem, and because she shopped at Victoria's Secret, so did I.

I have been measured at Victoria's Secret quite a few times, and every time was told I was a D (in my early twenties) or a DD (later on). This I accepted without question. I was given very little information about how a bra is supposed to fit, and so accepted my VS bras without reservation.

Until last weekend. My girlfriends and I were laying about talking about our breasts (as we are wont to do) and Leah suggested we figure out how much our boobs weigh so that we can subtract it from the "weight to feel bad about" equation. I mentioned that, having the smallest breast size, mine would likely weigh the least.

Me: Isn't it weird that my bra size is so much smaller than yours?

Leah: What is it?

Me: DD.

Leah: What? No way.

Me: That's what they've always said at Vicky's.

Leah: Well, yeah. But how far do their sizes go?

Me: Up to a DD ... Oh my gosh.

Leah: (pokes me in the sternum, because that is what friends do) Um, your bra is NOT fitting you properly. That is supposed to be AGAINST your skin.

Me: WHAT?

Bridgette: It's a plot!

Leah: Why don't you try on one of B's bras. She's a G. See if it fits any better.

From my experience trying on my buxom friend's bra, and being fitted at Nordstrom (which carries bras nearly to the end of the alphabet), I discovered that I am not, in fact, a DD, but rather a G. Even the poor sap at Nordstrom, who I think must have been new, had trouble figuring out my size, but Sarah made it happen with her chutzpah and Nordstrom's measuring tape. But it's a sure thing now. I am a G.

aaa/aa/a/b/c/d/DD/e/f/G.

You bastards. I could see stuffing me into a bra ONE size too small, maybe, but THREE SIZES TOO SMALL?

Do I look like the Grinch to you?

I feel so lied to. To add insult to injury, it's not like there's a big market for used bras, even really expensive ones. I hope your water bras flood your headquarters and destroy your entire evil empire.

Also, Bravissimo, I think you have won yourselves a brand new customer.

Hs and Ks,

Elisa

The Seven Deadly Sins, Day 1: Greed

I haven't decided exactly what I want to do with this week's theme--if it should be a reflection on a specific example or a list, or just a free-write. So, in the seat-of-my-pants spirit that birthed blogging back in the '90s, I am just going to start writing and see what comes of it.

I think I am about as greedy as the average American. I don't care as much about having nice things as some people, but I would like, for example, an iPhone. I don't even know why. Wait! Yes I do! Because of the Google Maps app. Anyway, I also buy clothes at thrift stores even when I probably shouldn't.

Right now I cannot afford to be greedy because I have lots and lots of medical bills. However, that did not stop me from buying a six-dollar book today. I shan't tell you what book it was.

Greedy also has a non-acquisition connotation, I suppose. Of all the Deadly Sins, Greed is the only one that relates directly to coveting, which is one of the Ten Commandments. Or rather, NOT coveting is one of the Ten Commandments. That makes sense because if you want something but don't want to earn it for yourself, that might cause you to break other commandments like "Thou Shalt Not Kill" or "Thou Shalt Not Use Credit Cards."

Wait a second! Coveting is more related to envy than greed, isn't it? Eh, it's kind of a toss-up.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am PISSED that I no longer have access to the OED through the BYU library. That should have been a lifelong perk, for crying out loud! Was that a greedy thing to say? Shut up.

Anyway, the markedly inferior Merriam-Webster dictionary defines Greed thusly:

"A selfish desire for more of something than is needed."

That makes sense. So if I want an iPhone, that's not greed, but rather coveting, but if I want TWO iPhones for some strange reason, that's greed.

I don't want two iPhones, so I guess I'm solid. Next.

Just kidding! I don't know if I have anything else to say about Greed, though. Except I didn't know it was a backformation from the adjective "greedy." I thought it was the other way around. Who knows if the stupid Merriam-Websters even know what they're talking about, though. I SERIOUSLY CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT THE OED.

I think the only thing that I genuinely want more of than I need is food. Which we'll save for Day Five.

OK, done. I'm not even going to edit this.

I Can't Believe I Haven't Blogged About X, Day 5: Pet Peeves

This post has been in the works for a million billion years. AND HERE IT IS!!

Some people have lots of pet peeves. I only have a few. Which gives me the right to take them very, very seriously.

My Pet Peeves:

1. When people leave their grocery carts in the parking lot instead of returning them to the designated area. I never worked as a cart wrangler (or whatever they're called) but I imagine it is one of the most annoying jobs in the world. I don't like it when people make other people's bad jobs even worse.

2. When people leave garbage in the movie theater. Similar to the justification for #1 but also, seriously, can't you pick up your own trash? Just throw your candy wrappers and popcorn cups away. Not that hard.

3. When people take pleasure in killing living things. This particularly bothers me with spiders. I love spiders. All they want to do is live and make the world a better place by eating all the mosquitoes!

4. When people mispronounce my name. Rhymes with Teresa, guys. Once again, not that hard. Also, that's an S, not a Z. Please go home and practice your alphabet. There is no excuse for so many people in this crazy world to get Vilja Hynynen's name right and yet mispronounce mine. V, you said you wanted a "shout-out" on my blog. Does this count?

5. When people (especially men) speak to me in a condescending manner. Allow me to provide an illustrative example.

Today I took a standardized test called the WEST-B. It's a test for prospective teachers to determine whether they have the basic mental function to be entrusted with other people's children. Literacy, basic math, etc. At the test site in Renton, they also administer specialized tests so teachers can be certified to teach subjects such as math, science, special education, and so one. Consequently, there were a lot of people there.

One has to turn in one's cell phone before taking a test, and while I was standing in line to do this I noticed that the guy standing next to me was cute. I struck up a friendly conversation (it was early, I have no idea what I actually said) and when I noticed he was carrying a graphing calculator, asked what test he was taking. Cute math teacher has to be a win, right?

Not exactly. He got all cocky looking and said, "Yeah, I'm taking the MATH test."

The girl standing nearby overheard and piped up (teachers seem to be a neighborly bunch) "Oh, really? That's a hard test. I flunked it the first time." This last part she said with an embarrassed look on her face.

My new boyfriend, however, thought this was right sportive. He LAID INTO this poor girl, saying something like, "REALLY? You FAILED it? SERIOUSLY? I can't believe that..." Blah blah blah until I maybe wanted to punch him in the face.

Then he turns to me, looking all satisfied and, while doing this weird calf stretch thing that I think was intended to show off his muscles or something, asked me, "So, what are you taking?"

I responded, "The WEST-B. All three sections."

His response was, "ALL THREE? Ha. Good luck with that! You shouldn't have signed up for all three at once! You will be in there right until the bell rings. I like, barely finished." Implying, of course, that if he barely finished, hell if I was going to manage to figure out the instructions.

I finished with an hour to spare. Take that, meathead. He probably can't even read.

CELEBRITY CRUSHES

After such a heavy post earlier this week, I thought I would lighten things up a bit, in an effort to bring some balance to the Universe. You're welcome. Also, I am very excited to announce that, after a lengthy stint at the top, "Man sucking boobs milk video" has FINALLY ceased to become my number one search term on Google Analytics. This is a happy day. It dropped all the way to number four, even. This really is excellent news.

I have no idea how that search leads to my blog, so don't ask.

Anyway, so last night I was at the temple, minding my own business, and a very nice and presumably well-meaning woman came up to me and said, "You have such a pretty dress! Is that your WEDDING dress?"

Here's a Multiple Choice Question. Did I:

A. Burst into tears.

B. Punch her in the face.

C. Both A and B.

D. Smile politely and respond with something I forget what I said exactly, but it wasn't bitter or mean.

The answer is, of course, D. Raise your hand if you're proud of me.

Thank you, thank you.

I got to thinking, though, that not being in a relationship is actually pretty fabulous for lots of reasons, one being that I can listen to this song and it's kinda like a double entendre and two, CELEBRITY CRUSHES!!!!!

I always feel guilty lusting after other men whilst concurrently lusting after a real live man with flaws, especially when he is in the same room or theater with me. But if all I got is imaginary crushes, less stress for me! I have got it made.

Here are some famous people that I have crushes on. This is just a small sampling and is by no means exhaustive.

I would TOTS have sex with Christopher Walken mostly because of this music video. He is smart, funny, mysterious, and can dance. Also, he is from Queens. WIN. I know a lot of people think he has a scary face, but sometimes scary is sexy. Also, I am attracted to his mind, you shallow, shallow jerk.

According to IMDB.com, he has been married to the same woman since 1969, which is both awesome and not good, depending on how seriously I start taking this celebrity crush. Also, I found out just now that he is older than my mom. I don't care.

First of all, hi, Batman. Christian Bale was THE BEST Batman. Better than Michael Keaton, better than Val Kilmer, and CERTAINLY better than George Clooney. I mean, really. I love comic books and I would say I love Batman equally as much as X-men, slightly more than Spiderman and significantly more than Superman, especially after the latest Superman movie, which I hated. My point is, Christian Bale as Batman is really really great.

Also, hi, NEWSIES. Watching Newsies was one of the first times I realized I was attracted to men. Newsies was for most girls my age what Leia's brass bikini in Return of the Jedi was for lots of little boys. If you catch my meaning.

And finally, Rescue Dawn. He's actually not that hot in that movie. But it's a really IMPORTANT movie, and I respect him for being in it, especially since he lost so much weight for the role and I think ate a real snake too. That's badass. It might even make up for the fact that he drinks way, way too much alcohol and is reportedly kind of a douche. NEVER STOPPED ME FROM LOVING SOMEONE BEFORE.

If you think I am talking about you right now, I am not.

Lastly, Alan Rickman. I might only love him because Sense and Sensibility is such a great film, in my opinion better than Pride and Prejudice, or it could be because he was in Galaxy Quest and that movie is really hilarious.

Clearly, I have a thing for deep voices. Don't even get me started on how I feel about Eddie Vedder.

Here is a representative quote which proves I also love Mr. Rickman for his mind:

"I do feel more myself in America. I can regress there, and they have roller-coaster parks."

Oh Alan I would ride a roller-coaster with you ANY DAY OF THE WEEK. Even though IMDB just informed me that you are, in fact, the same age as my mom. I can forgive you for that, as well as for cheating on Emma Thompson in Love Actually.

Oh my gosh, I almost forgot about Die Hard. I love that movie.

Remember that story in the Bible when Jesus was like "Guys, guys, don't eat that corn. We don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

Photo by Carl De Keyzer, copyright 1990, Magnum Photos, from Slate.com

On March 21st of this year, I wrote the following in my journal during a particularly unsettling Sacrament Meeting. The girl who spoke about obedience and prophets, bless her heart, almost certainly has no idea how close I came to leaving the Church because of my thought process that stemmed from her talk.

"The line between thinking for yourself and becoming your own prophet is a confusing one. 'We are false prophets to ourselves.' Wait, what? I wish I had no brain. I wish I didn't have to think about everything so much."

I can't blame this girl entirely, I don't even know her name. But ever since that day, my downward spiral into serious doubt and the personal crisis of faith I experienced in the foyer outside Multipurpose Room One, I have been struggling.

Sometimes I wish I had not served a mission for this very reason. Don't get me wrong, it was the greatest, most important experience of my life. But by the same token, I think I would be simpler, more credulous, and therefore happier if I had not gone. It would be easier for me to believe without questioning. Ignorance is bliss etc.

Before my mission, I was happy to obey rules for their own sake: not always, but more often than not. I recall one time when I wore a pair of athletic shorts to the grocery store because I didn't feel like getting dressed. Wearing shorts above the knee is against the stringent BYU Honor Code, of course, and it technically applies on campus or off--you know, all of the time. I was talking to a friend on the phone while I was walking home that night, and laughingly mentioned that I was "breaking the Honor Code" because of my outfit. Rather than laughing with me as I expected, she responded with horror. "How could you do something like that? You promised you wouldn't."

That sentence, "You promised you wouldn't," is a fairly apt summary of almost the entire Honor Code at BYU. We were asked to kick boys out after midnight and not dye our hair unusual colors not because those things were against the Commandments or even inherently wrong, but because we had been asked not to. Before I was a missionary, that actually worked for me. If someone said to me, "Hey! That's against the Honor Code," I would blanch with embarrassment. It was that easy. Even though I knew in my heart that most of the rules were arbitrary and silly, I still obeyed them.

Lots of people argue that BYU standards or standards like unto them are helpful because they keep you so far from sinning that it never even becomes an issue. Like, if breaking the Law of Chastity is a tree, the Honor Code is a fence around the said tree. I would argue that it's an electric fence and plenty of people who aren't even meaning to get near that tree are regularly and consistently burned by it. Anyway.

When I was a missionary, my distaste for rules took on horrifying new proportions. I was a good missionary, for the record. I worked hard and loved the people and helped my companions. But the idea of "Perfect Obedience" was never my priority. Lots of missionaries would run down the sidewalk in order to make it back to their apartments by 9PM. I walked. I sometimes wore t-shirts with my skirts instead of the requisite blouses. One time, I kissed a 90 year-old man on the cheek. So you see, I may have lived on the edge by mission standards, but I was still a good person. Obeying the rules to the point that I managed to, even, was exhausting. And don't worry, as a former Catholic, I beat myself up real bad about any indiscretions, real or imagined.

My last few transfers in the country I was fed up. I was exhausted and was starting to feel that maybe I (or rather, my lack of obedience) wasn't the real problem here. I started looking at the rules and listening to what other missionaries said about obedience and I couldn't help thinking to myself, "That can't be right." There was a woman in my last area who was only a few years older than me, and she had three young children that I am positive she neglected most of the time. Her youngest son was six months old. I should note here that one of the highly emphasized rules for missionaries is that we are not supposed to hold babies or children. Anyway, one Sunday in my last transfer, I went out into the hallway during Sunday School and heard what sounded like a baby crying. Upon further investigation, I saw that this idiot woman had left her son in his stroller outside the building. In the snow. The baby was screaming his head off, and the other missionaries and I were the only ones in the hallway.

I said to one of the Elders, "Eff this" (or something to that effect) and brought the baby inside. I held him for the rest of the hour. And I'd do it again. So would Jesus, I can assure you.

Probably someone I don't know will comment on this entry and argue, "Well, WHAT IF something horrible had happened because you held that baby? The purpose of these rules is to keep bad things from happening, ever." My response to that is, just like with good things, if God wants a bad thing to happen or not happen, it is going to happen either way. I have spent many years trying to avoid becoming a sign-seeker, trying not to see God as a hallway monitor with a big sheet of paper on which he marks my pluses and minuses. I stubbed my toe? Must be because my prayers this morning were insufficient. That light turned green really fast! That is because I pay my tithing. God doesn't work that way. He is much cooler than that.

Part of me still wonders if maybe I have insufficient faith and that's why I have such a hard time being perfectly obedient. But I don't think so. Rather, I think the real problem here is that sometimes God says, "Thou Shalt Not Kill," and sometimes He says, "Take That Guy By The Hair And With His Own Sword Cut Off His Head." Sometimes the right thing to do is to tell the absolute truth and obey all orders without questioning, and sometimes the right thing to do is disobey the direct orders of a king and then lie to him about it (Thanks, James). I'm not saying that God is the problem here, for the record. But I am saying that trying to apply the same rule to every different situation in existence is oversimplifying. It doesn't work.

Here is my real problem. I can get away with holding the occasional baby or wearing a tank top to the beach (before I was endowed, obviously) but what about the big stuff? I'm still, for all intents and purposes, in favor of Gay Marriage, despite what has been said about it. I've prayed and studied and all that jazz but I still don't have a testimony of Thomas S. Monson, mostly because of Prop. 8, unfortunately. I don't think he's NOT a prophet, but I wouldn't follow him into the wilderness for 40 years, either.

I worry about talking about this with anyone because I feel the reaction would go one of two ways:

1. Horror that I have let my salvation be jeopardized so badly/concern that I am beset by sin so badly as to be beyond repair.

2. Shock that I have stayed in the Church this long and that maybe I should just abandon ship.

Fact: I am not leaving the Church anytime soon. I like it. I believe in God and I enjoy being religious. Also, I really really love going to the Temple and my understanding is that once you leave the Church you can't go to the Temple anymore. Also fact: I am unsure as to what to do next. People are going to tell me to pray. I do that. Study. I do that too. No, no, STUDY SOME MORE. Which seems to be the only thing left.

In that journal entry I mentioned earlier, I started very reasonably and methodically laying out what my life would be like if I did leave the Church. I would get my nose pierced, for one. And ... that was pretty much it. Even if I didn't belong to any organized religion, I would still believe in God. I believed in God before I was Mormon so it makes no sense to stop now. Additionally, I am pretty solid about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon being true, so even if I weren't participating actively in the Mormon Church, I would still believe in everything. It's the details of the doctrine that leave me floundering, not the doctrine itself. Ergo, it makes no sense whatsoever for me to stop being Mormon just because I have a few hang-ups about some very specific issues.

Even though I am solid about not leaving the Church now or ever, I am completely baffled re: what to do next. Luckily for me, I went to a Fireside last night and one of the speakers struck me as someone who might be a kindred spirit. She was a feminist doula who talked about sexuality and the Priesthood and all these cool things, and I decided I wanted her to be my friend. I talked to her very briefly and got her email address, so hopefully our conversations can shed some light on how one manages to be a thinking member of the Church without losing one's mind.

If that doesn't work, I suppose I will try something else.

HOLY CRAP EVEN MORE 2010 BOOKS

So many books. So so many. I have no life.

Lois Lowry's first novel, if you can imagine. Really good, touching book. Of course, about an introverted, awkward girl. All books I read are about introverted, awkward girls. It's true! Because they are all good. No, that's not true at all. But the fact is, most of us introverted, awkward girls grow up to be writers.

NO MAKING FUN OF ME ALLOWED. I loved this book. It was a big departure from the usual books I read, because instead of being about an introverted, awkward girl who grows up to be a writer, this book is about an introverted, grief-stricken girl who is not awkward who grows up to date a broody artist type guy, but is not one herself. Still, it was a great read.

This book taught me a lesson that actually had nothing to do with the book itself. It taught me that I could fall in love with a book halfway through. Until about one hundred pages into this book, I was still feeling pretty "eh" about it, and almost returned it to the library without finishing it. Then something in my mind just clicked and I couldn't get enough. I finished it in like two days. It is a really amazing book, just starts out kinda slow. Supposedly like the best Mexican-American book of all time. It was pretty interesting. And it was about (wait for it) an odd introverted kid. It doesn't say (INVERSE SPOILER ALERT) what he grows up to be, though.

The next two books will require some explanation, I think.

I am doing this new thing where I am working my way through the American Library Association's list of banned books for the years 1990 - 2000. I plan to work my way through the last decade, and then 2000 - 2010. It's been a fun exercise so far.

Of the top thirty-five, I have already read the following:

Fantastic book. Simple and beautiful. My favorite Steinbeck by far.

Mediocre. Actually, really boring. Full of really descriptive sex scenes that still manage to somehow be boring. Can you believe it? I can't.

Another work of genius. Anyone who bans this book is an idiot.

I cannot fathom why someone would ban this book. I guess it has ONE very mild sexual reference, and it a really sad book, but it also like, achingly beautiful. When I am a teacher, I plan to read this book to my students.

Yeah, yeah, it's a book about witches. Boo hoo, Christians.* Roald Dahl is still a genius.

Why do people hate this book? Because it deals with math? Or possession? Again, I guess the book is a little scary at parts. But it's also super uplifting. However, I recognize that I am biased because Madeleine L'Engle is my hero.

Poor, poor Lois Lowry. She can't even write a sweet little novel about a quirky teenage girl who moves to a new city without folks getting their panties in a twist. Sheesh. I guess this book could be considered offensive because the parents are kinda liberal and mention the ACLU? Otherwise, I am way stumped. I should say that the parents in this book series are my fictional role models. Artist mom and professor/poet dad? Yes please.

Well, this book does have a really sad rape scene at the beginning of the book that would make me hesitant to read it to a child under the age of, say, eleven. But ban it outright? No way. It's a book about wolves. AN ESKIMO GIRL WHO CHILLS WITH WOLVES NO PUN INTENDED. It's an AWESOME book. People can be silly sometimes.

Life-changing. Has anyone not read this book yet? If not, stop reading right this instant and go read it. It's short, it will only take a few hours. I'll wait.

Have you finished Bridge to Terebithia yet? Good.

Man, I love that book.

So anyway, this entire treatise will explain why I just finished reading this book:

Because my mom was a biologist and a liberal, my brothers and I grew up with a reasonably healthy, open attitude about sexuality and biology. We had lots of books about sex when I was growing up, but I totally wish we had owned this one as well. I imagine that it was banned because of its frank discussion of masturbation, homosexuality, and lots of other stuff that makes people uncomfortable, but I thought the overall tone was respectful about the sanctity of the human body, while still being honest about real issues, without being condescending. Also, one of the best explanations about sexual abuse that I have ever read in a book meant for teenagers. It even has some elements of humor worked in (not into the part about abuse, obviously, but elsewhere). I would highly recommend this book to parents for their adolescent children.

Speaking of homosexuality, this book is essentially "Heather Has Two Mommies" but starring a little boy with two gay dads. He also has a divorced mom who seems to have adjusted to the whole thing quite well. I thought this book was harmless, but also kinda boring. I guess if the whole idea was to drive home the point that homosexual couples do all the same boring everyday things that heterosexual couples do (pay bills, make dinner, etc) then mission accomplished. I wouldn't buy this book for my kids, but I wouldn't be upset if they read it, either.

*Um, JK. I love Christians.