Boots Vs. Buddies Update

Money spent thus far: $54.57
Items mailed: 4

Mailing stuff to people is still so magical, does anyone else feel that? I put these little presents into their containers and just paused for a second, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the items in front of me would somehow move 2,110 miles west of here in three days' time, without my help, or any effort on their part. Neat!

Russel went with Chocolate over Vanilla for his Georgetown cupcake request. I went with Salted Caramel. We both agreed my decision was wiser.

Doesn't brother look fly in his new jeans and the new hoodie I bought him??

Other updates:

Guess what I'm doing this evening?

 I'M PACKING! TO FLY TO TEXAS! TO RUN 26.2 MILES! 

Please oh please let me survive... cuz I'm going with a great crew, and the stuff we have planned for the rest of the weekend assures me it's going to be a weekend to remember! I just might not be able to stay vertical for the second half of it...


This has nothing to do with anything, but I've thought this every day for like the past three weeks and I need to say it:

Country music is ON FIRE right now! 

Like, the quality of music coming out now rivals country's high point in 2002 (the debut of Faith Hill's Cry album, the greatest album to cook to in the history of the universe!!). Here's what I've been rocking out to in the Rover these days (Sorry I don't have Spotify to collate them for you):

Lee Brice, "Hard to Love"
 Eric Church's hilarious"Creepin'"
Hauntingly ironic Kacey Musgraves' "Merry Go-Round" (The first line is basically written for YSAs)
Breezy, happy, "Lovin' You is Fun" by Easton Corbin
Jerrod Niemann's bright and blissful "Shinin' on Me" (you can tell this man loves his musical craft. Also, his jawline=DAYUM!)
Janna Kramer tells a heartbreaking story that everyone who's ever been involved in ward drama understands in "Why Ya Wanna"
The magnificent Zac Brown Band, "Goodbye in Her Eyes," which I just gotta throw up here, it's too good to simply link:

{From June 10th, 2012} Letter to God

Last week RS Pres challenged us to write a letter to someone we love and compliment them. I chose God. I debated whether or not my letter would be appropriate to publish, but then I remember how many oodles of assertions are out there in the interwebs saying that God does NOT exist, and that emboldened me.

6/3/12

Dear Heavenly Father,

I bet when I get to the other side I will feel like I barely got to know you at all while here on earth. I like that you said as much in the scriptures: "For now we see through glass, darkly," "My ways are higher than your ways," etc.

Whenever I try to compose a mental image of thee, the picture that always comes to my mind is the one Mom imparted to me, the same one she holds in her eternally youthful heart: she believes in you as a creature-- no-- a Father, full of love. For her!

And so I feel. It hardly seems fair to know thee as a good and kindly Father, with all the unfairness in the world that makes so many people mad at you, but that is how you bring yourself into my remembrance. Thank you for that gift. And you know what? When I think of you as loving and tender towards me, like one of the kind, caring bishops or stake leaders from my youth, I am inspired to be better, do better, and think better. All because I feel you love me. Thank you.

When I think of the gift of your love, manifested in the brilliance and beauty of your son, and also in every kind word ever spoken to me by your other children, I feel a renewal of my commitment to thee. I love thee and admire thy beautiful works, and I get to partake of a little bit of thy love for thy wonderful children when I remember to serve them. What a work, to create such a family. I'm sorry for our failings, which cause you pain I cannot fathom. I thank thee for every good thing, and every trial, and every tender mercy thou has sent me. I feel so rich at my 26 years of age and I know there is much more to come.

We had a wonderful testimony meeting today. Almost everybody spoke of the hope, and comfort, which they received through thy son. I'm excited to follow him. I always feel a stab of fear after I assert things like that, so I always follow that declaration with the petition, "Please bless me with the courage and ability to do any part of thy will that I won't like." And then I believe- I know- that thou will not fail me.

You are a great God.

Love,
Your daughter,
Lindsey

{From June 12, 2011} Cameron

This week is a big week for me. I'm celebrating the 25th birthday... of my all-time favorite movie!!

It is, quite possibly, history's only perfect movie. And throughout the years, through high school and college and work, my love for Ferris Bueller's Day Off has grown stronger... more importantly, my love for Cameron has grown into something eternal. Cameron is droll, Cameron is sardonic, Cameron has problems... but Cameron rises up to face his foes, namely, his father, the owner of the Ferrari! Here is my favorite scene in the whole movie (sorry for the slight expletive) that no one else seems to appreciate, but gets me ROLLING every time. Again, I love Cameron so much:

Ok, it's hard to just pick one:

{From about 6 months ago} The Westernized Concept of Time

I feel the need to affirm, again, that my life is pretty great right now! I don't know why I am compelled to compose these rather serious contemplations of life on this blog at this moment. I guess it's just part of being empathetic. Ahem.

As I sit with a few friends and wait for the passage of time (and the concurrent easing of their trials), I am put in mind of the value of time. It's so absurd that when time seems lugubriously slow-- during the passages we would give anything to skip over-- we are told to press on and if possible, be philosophical enough to find value in that time. That is our special challenge, and in it there is joy to be found. Supposedly. 

No, not supposedly. Really! I've felt this before, felt the triumph of sheer, simple, survival. In one of my favorite moments in the thousands of pages of the Harry Potter series, near the end of the final book, Harry muses with keen dread on this phenomenon, too: 

Finally, the truth... Harry understood [...]. He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. How strange that in his dread of death, it pumped all the harder, valiantly keeping him alive. But it would have to stop, and soon. Its beats were numbered. How many would there be time for, as he rose and walked through the castle for the last time, out into the grounds and into the forest? ... As he did so he felt more alive and more aware of his own living body than ever before. Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart?

In a real-time situation of gravity (aka, in the wake of a nasty break-up :), my friend Stephanie once blogged about her similar, sudden appreciation of the sensations in the tips of her thumbs. She'd never realized how sensitive and dutiful they were before, these little ovals that sent her signals, and pumped tiny amounts of blood under their surfaces, every day of her life for the past 20+ years. Miraculous! 

She, like many others, found that only when life has crashed down around you, and you are sent scattering into every part of your being looking for truth, only then do you find immense meaning in simply being alive. And hopefully, eventually, you find happiness and salvation in that discovery.

My best friend's uncle is battling with cancer, and documenting the journey with the wry humor of a seasoned lawyer/father. On his blog there appeared a poem relating to the desire to identify and reach out to the ethereal, the timeless, the meaningful, during trials:

Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing.

Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,

And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream.

And that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space.

Who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless?

And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds?

And is not time even as love is, undivided and spaceless?

But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons,

And let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing.   

Interestingly, the concept of being owned by time, secured in its straits, is limited to the Western world. Did you know that? Until this weekend, I didn't know that. In this month's book club book, The Shadow of the Sun, by Polish adventurer Ryszard Kapuscinski (a challenging, informative travelogue of his 30+ years of interaction with African peoples), he describes the African conceptualization of time thus:

Africans apprehend time differently. For them, it is a much looser concept, more open, elastic, subjective. It is man who influences time, its shape, course, and rhythm (man acting, of course, with the consent of gods and ancestors). Time is even something that man can create outright, for time is made manifest through events, and whether an event takes place or not depends, after all, on man alone. If two armies do not engage in a battle, then that battle will not occur (in other words, time will not have reavealed its presence, will not have come into being).

Time appears as a result of our actions, and vanishes when we neglect or ignore it. It is something that springs to life under our influence, but falls into a state of hibernation, even nonexistence, if we do not direct our energy toward it.

The absolute opposite of time as it is understood in the European worldview.

In practical terms, this means that if you go to a village where a meeting is scheduled for the afternoon but find no one at the appointed spot, asking "When will the meeting take place?" makes no sense. You know the answer: "It will take place when people come."

The author points to the value placed on collectivism by Africans as integral to this way of thinking. On their own, Africans would become lost: starve, be attacked, or die in the vast tangle of their massive continent. Thus they rejected the individualism so highly praised by Western society (America in particular), and instead found comfort passing their days and years as a group, a family. I like this idea. I recognize the fact that the spazmodic moments of time that you really wish you didn't have to go through are eased primarily by one great gift: companionship. Together with God, with friends and family, and the comfort of your own pulse in your fingertips, you carry on.

Prologue to a new project: "Breaking out of the Draft folder"

I found out that blogger keeps all your drafts in their own special folder, and I had a bit of fun going back and reading posts that I'd pulled from publication. Most were pulled because I'd felt they were too open, or too real, to keep up. Looking back at them months later, I actually enjoyed most of them (although, some WERE pulled just because they were total crap). I decided to publish a few of the better open and thoughtful ones at long last. GET READY.

On a related note, yesterday I was talking to my friends Megan and Rachel about the art of blogging. Megan, see the list on the right to find a bunch of DC people's blogs to stalk. :) Rachel said yesterday that she doesn't want to create a blog for the very reason I listed above; she's afraid she's too open. Now, Miss Rachel is one of the most interesting people I know out here: a deep thinker, with incredible style, and a passionate heart. The girl is a linguistic anthropologist, for heaven's sake! She researched the foundations of language! It's mostly for her that I put up the following old pieces, not to persuade her to either make a blog or not, but because her words inspired me to take a deeper look at what I wrote when I was most open. I remember some of these being so fun and/or cathartic to write, and I see now that the act of writing them helped me greatly to coalesce and coagulate my thoughts about certain topics I was very passionate about at the time. In that way, my blog has really been a boon to my personal progression. What I'm really trying to say in this prologue of a post is: I'm glad I'm a writer. That is all.

Gethsemane, by Richards.

Oh, and I found this RIDICULOUSLY good and genuine article by the only Mormon artist I really care for, J. Kirk Richards. You all should read it, especially if you have any kind of opinion on nudity in art:

WHY ARE YOU PAINTING THOSE NAKED LADIES? Or, What makes me think I can go to a nude drawing session on Saturday and then go to church on Sunday?

Boots Vs. Buddies: or, the Social Network Happiness Experiment

If you are reading this, it might be because you encountered this yesterday:

Welcome, newcomers, to my blog, my OTHER hamlet of creative internet self-expression. The Lindsey Grant process is not complete, but it has been institutionalized: I have decided to put exactly $109 where my mouth was.

Now, later yesterday evening, a friend's 6-week old baby looked at me with his giant eyes, and my wallet flew open! And thus, the moneybags mood that I posted about was satiated. But I was so enchanted by your answers, ranging from quotidian needs to hearts' desires (and a few flattering requests for me to come visit... I will be writing to these dear friends especially, shortly). I have decided that I want to return something-- something tangible, something purchasable-- to each of those who commented on that status post. I want to enhance our little ephemeral FB interaction. I regard FB as the world's most seemingly trite but potentially moving website. I want to ground our interaction and see if facebook can, for once, make life measurably better. And that measurement happens to be $109.

Maybe a little backstory might be nice.

It all started this weekend. Your author was chained to her desk, slogging through post-structuralist psychoanalytic feminist readings (the kind of homework assignment that makes your eyes bleed... ok, get bloodshot. You get the idea. NOT. FUN.) To turn my weekend around, I headed to Nordstrom Rack, ostensibly to get new eye make-up remover, aka, a NEED.

Exhibit A: a WANT. A girly, magnificent WANT.

I came out with the world's most beautiful, perfectly slouchy, not-too-brown-not-too-grey, $109 Steve Madden fall initiation boots (See Exhibit A). The guilt for such a purchase was considerably high, being a poor grad student, but I rationalized, thinking of all the mileage I'm going to get out of these boots, and the large gap they fill in my modest boot collection, and how much money I saved by getting them from the Rack. 

(And what do you know, they even matched the sundress I victoriously found on sale earlier in the summer, mentioned three posts ago! See: Exhibit B).

Exhibit B: Taylor Swift, eat your heart out.

 Ok. Fashion part of this post over, for the fellas' sake.

Now, Mrs. Tara T. Boyce was nearest to understanding what happened to me next this weekend:

I hadn't seen the TED talk she referred to, but I had read this article, from the NYT "Your Money" section:

Spending Your Money to Make Someone Else Happy

Spend money on other people, get happier? The article loomed ominously in my mind, right next to the mental image of the Rack receipt in my wallet. I knew there were a lot of people's needs and wants that I could spread out 109 dollars over.

No dice. I am only slightly ashamed to admit that the boots stayed. They premiered at church, to great acclaim from my favorite shoeholics, Jeff and Rich, and then the boots spent the rest of the weekend next to my closet door, so I could see them always (I really am not a big shopper, despite the tone of this post. This purchase was big and exciting for me. Don't judge.). 

I remembered buying a present on the spur of the moment for my brother recently, and I compared the two types of happiness I had experienced from these two purchases. Now, some of you might scoff at me, and I'll probably eat my words later... but the happiness level was about the same, from boots to my bro's gift. :)

And thus began the idea of seeing what exactly another $109 could do for me, happiness-wise, if invested entirely in the needs and wants of others. But how to maximize its purchase potential? How to ensure that it goes towards those within my circle of acquaintance who would welcome it? Enter the self-selecting answer: facebook.com.

And so here we are, twenty something responses later. To Jerry, Lance, Camille, Tara, Josh, Michelle, Jillian, Spencer, Megan (Shaunna, I'm gonna go ahead and say you can take over Summer's wish, sounds like you fit her need perfectly!), Angie, Steph, Taylor, Russell, Auntie J, Shaun/Maria and co., Melissa, and Aunt Diane:

Will you send me your home addresses, either through the comment section below or by email at lindseyannchristensen {at} gmail {dot} com? You might not get what you asked for, but I want to make sure I come through for you. I want to make some people happy. 

(In response to Darci and probably my Mom's concern: don't worry that I'm in grad school and poor. I work full-time, so I'm not THAT poor. And I have the delicious feelings that this will be worth it). And to those who want me to come visit them: I have something extra special planned for you. Send me your addresses, and I'll "see" you later :)

You ready for a little art?

In a very, very old book, Mitralis de officiis, Mr. Sicard of Cremona (1155-1215) traces the symbolic significance of the architectural elements of Christian churches. Windows, for examples, are the "Doctors of the Church," enabling the divine light to the reach the faithful. A little farther down, Sicard also compares the windows to the five senses, which "facilitate the understanding of the Holy Word. [...] The building's walls represent the religious, whose prayer and faith constitute the unity of Christians." (From Eric Palazzo's "Relics, Liturgical Space, and the Theology of the Church," in Treasures of Heaven, Yale University Press, 2010.)

I know this quote refers to the symbolism of infamous medieval windows and walls like these:

Abbey Church of St. Madeline, Vezelay, FR. Built in 1104 A.D.

Stained glass apse in the Basilica of St. Denis, Paris, FR. Built 1135ish.

But as I read I kept thinking of these:

Palmyra LDS Temple.

Doctors of the Church? The five senses helping us understand the Word? I can see it... 

And what about the walls, symbolizing the faithful, the members, united in prayer?

Yes.

Absolutely, wonderfully yes.

I am loving my medieval relics class. I wriggle inside during each seminar with the inner joy of knowing I also believe, like those who lived 1,000 years ago, that Heavenly Father is available to reach and to talk to, as we come to him in certain sacred stone edifices (albeit without a lot of the complicated liturgical elements like saints and relics). I don't know if my professor is religious or not, at this point in my studies I simply assume my professors are agnostic and work backwards from there. At any rate, he teaches about the beauty of reliquaries and basilicas with the gravitas, the reverence, and the awe that such creations deserve. As one who proudly holds a recommend to enter the House of the Lord, the temple of the Latter-Day Saints, I find the serious discussion of architectural and artistic effort, planning, and careful design in worship of God extremely fascinating and, in a way, familiar. To be continued...

Bob Marley, on good men.

Fall always puts me in a lovey mood, reminds me how fun it is to hold hands and take jacket-covered walks together. Here's a few things I've liked about love lately:

“He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you.”

― Bob Marley

Click here for a beautifully illustrated essay about the infamous love affair between photographer Alfred Stieglitz and the visionary painter Georgia O'Keeffe.

 

Speaking of love, guess who turns 3 this week??

Tiny boyfriend!! I've been watching him for more than half his life! It's still strikes me as so random that the thing that will get me through the last year and a half of my master's degree is a little boy I'm unrelated to, whom I'd never have met any other way. I'm sure in ten years this job will seem like a blip on my career radar, but I am grateful for this blip because it has brought so much love into my life, at a time when I really needed it. 

Hooray for tiny boyfriends! And boys that bring you ice cream in the middle of the night when they find out you're neck deep in homework! And boys that will forgo analyzing the minutae of football games to ask you deep questions! (although this weekend it wasn't hard to turn away from our school's craptacular showing at the annual Holy War). Hooray for dancing boys and the blogging boys that bring them to you (Aaron!)

Hooray for boys everywhere!

Dusk of Summer

It's official. In the last 48 hours I have donned a sweater, found my favorite apple pie recipe, AND kicked up leaves. IT IS FALL.

Time to take a break from The Challenge to record some of my summer adventures for posterity (/do a little bit of blogbragging, let's be honest). I thought last week that I had had a very dull summer... then I remembered a dinner party on a houseboat in Baltimore Harbor, complete with vuvuzelas, and, tracing forwards from that effulgent evening, I discovered a wild array of glorious, summery good times. In no particular order, here are a few of my favorites:

Jess and I using Olivia like a hot water bottle at the 9/11 memorial one unseasonably frigid afternoon (she makes such a cuddly warm little boo).

Having all of Corolla Beach to myself during a brilliant red sunrise run. Never seen a sea so peaceful.

Teaching my marvelous Relief Society (with crazy visual aids). Always an enormous pleasure (because of the girls, not the visual aids. Although those are a nice creative outlet).

Walking across the majestic Brooklyn Bridge with the family in tow 

Finally finding the gorgeous white sundress, in my size, on a killer sale, in the third Anthropologie I tried- that my friends is what we call #WINNING

Creative 3 point contest in the pool at Duck Beach house #1

Reading the delicious Cutting for Stone while “watching” the boys play volleyball at Duck Beach house #2

The craptacular 88 degree long run Jillian and I hustled through. So happy to be alive after!

Shoe contest with Rich which I lost, badly. That boy loves his Adidas not too little but too well.

Gypsy living for five days while our power was out; thanks bishop of the Crystal City ward, our neighbors, and the Burtons for giving us air-conditioned places to lay our sleepy heads. And for Oliver’s pool for giving us a place to cannonball our overheated bodies.

Doing the tight pants dance after every Heat win and eventually their national championship.

My birthday burger  bar + Brave!

Lovely, fascinating architectural tour of U Street even while miserably sick and snot-nosed

Learning how to snap the football on the field at T. C. Williams High School. Yea, the Remember the Titans school!

Yoga on a stage during the middle of the Hunger Games

Spencer moving into my ward and making all of my favorite girl friends smile.

Tonight, my last roommate dinner with Kelly. She deserves a post of her own, so I will conclude with that one. Curry, roses, laughter, and memories. Me, Kelly, and Kathryn. It's been a wonderful two years with these two women.

{Round 4} Shuffling through my Social Networks.

My task for this post is to take two social networks, bounce them together, and then assign numerical order to them. Faced with the seemingly polarized worlds of Twitter and blogs, which shall I tackle first: the importance of blogs in a twitter world or the importance of twitter in a blog world?

... Neither. I decided that I view both of these social networks as the austere and verbose ends of the same sparkling spectrum of internet self-expression. And ultimately, I characterize Twitter and blogging as two squabbling kids in the middle of a playground presided over by a much more powerful toddler: Facebook.com.

I'm gonna write something about my year-in, year-out experience with social networks tonday. Because here's the thing: by now they have impacted lives, both mine and yours, in meaningful ways, even though, quixotically, they still seem new enough that any attempt to respond to them and their overall emotional impact on our lives in any way that's not ironic seems ostensibly fun-sucking and way too serious. In fact, I feel like a hyperventilating nerd just for starting this conversation. *pushes glasses back up her nose, undeterred, and digs in*

I realized something last night: I associate Facebook with pain. Yes, that is right, pain. I think you're lying if you say you can't relate to this. I log on not out of joy, but out of routine, even after the many "ouch" moment(s) in the past when that person(s) you spent weeks trying to forget popped up unexpectedly one day on the screen, smiling, happy, and in the company of some never-before-seen LDS dating villain(ess) who proves to be much more cunning and virulent at the game than yourself. (Yay for the improved ability to hide old flames' posts!) And what about the recent "ouchie" sensation of jealousy at seeing the pics of freaking spectacular trips taken by my fun and fancy-free friends (Hope you're all having fun in Florida! Say hi to Romney/Ryan for me!)? And of course, this:

Amen.

I joined Facebook in 2005, back when it was still thefacebook.com. That was a long time ago :) I changed my relationship status a few times since then, exchanged some daring messages, put up some hilarious photos with the besties and untagged myself in a few less-than-flattering-but-still-hilarious pics by others. And tonight, settled in on the couch, tromping through the various articles proffered to me by my interesting array of facebook friends during commercial breaks in So You Think You Can Dance, I realized I have almost totally stopped putting anything of value, of myself, on Facebook. I have stopped playing the game.  Facebook has become for me like the dorms in college: fun while it lasted, but after a few mishaps, fights, and flubs, you are ready to move on.

So where to? I have no definitive answer, although I LOVE twitter and blogging. There, I feel free to publish my thoughts, long or short, to an unknown audience without fear of having my freshman year fremeny's perfect life slingshot immediately back at me in lovely Instagram shades of ombre blue and pink.

Why am I writing all of this? There is a happy point, I promise (and maybe I want to sell a few more of you onto Twitter). No. More important: I write to tell you that my retreat from facebook, the conscious disuse of my voice therein for anything of importance, is in itself a message:

I am more than my page. 

1,000 times more. And so are you. We should get together and figure that out in real time.

PS Though probably not coming close, I was hoping for the tone of this post to be similar to that found in the following trailer, which I'm obsessed with for several reasons, not the least of which is the Imagine Dragons song that closes it out.



Here's something I wrote to Michelle-the Bestie about it a while back:

So, Imagine Dragons' single "It's Time" plays at the end of a trailer which I've now watched like 20 times. My favorite line in the trailer is when Emma Watson is wondering why she and all the people she loves choose people who make them feel like crap, and then the main guy says back to her, "We accept the love we think we deserve." The first time I heard it I thought he said, "We expect the love we think we deserve." and I think both statements are true. I started telling myself this week, "Ok. You have kind of been feeling like crap because you accepted half-hearted attention from ____ and told yourself that's all you wanted. This next time around, you are going to expect and hopefully accept someone who treats you as well as you have always dreamed of." It just makes me feel good to have that kind of goal." 

Real time, flesh-and-blood connections and interactions. Much higher stakes, greater falls, funnier flubs, and happier successes. That's what I'm shooting for. *pushes her glasses back up her nose again and hits "publish," which is probably not the best start*

PPS There are probably thirty or so FB friends on my network who GREATLY enhance my daily learning and enjoyment via their routine curation of links, statii, and videos. These will probably keep me coming back to FB for years to come. Fabulous work, SK, BG, JS, CD, BH, MP, JGE, and also to LA, LC, and AM for your eternally refreshing photographs. (You're just the first ones to come to mind, there are others. I do, after all, have a lot of smart friends :).

(11 of 13. So... close...)

{Round 3} Odds and ends of a Jurassic nature...

Topic: Dinosaur Olympics. Now wouldn't that be a sight to behold? I have in my head the fantastical image of a T-Rex arm-wrestling a stegosaurus, losing, and then biting the stegosaurus in half. I would pay good money to see that!! But I wouldn't want to be the one to give the T-Rex his medal.

r

There is a gold mine of T-Rex related sports memes out there, who knew? Here are a few.
This one^ was my favorite because tetherball defeated me too, many times. I feel your pain, big guy.

Did you know Michael Phelps wrote a book? But not just any book. A DINOSAUR OLYMPIC BOOK. Someone buy me this please:

Per the Amazon summary, here is what we learn from Phelps' book:

A champion at the 2008 Beijing Olympics explains the training schedule that allowed him to accomplish the first-of-its-kind feat of winning eight Olympic gold medals. For example, the author states, "I got so strong from training that my legs could press 300 pounds 60 times in one workout. That's 18,000 pounds total, or nine tons! I could leg-press a Tyrannosaurus Rex and 10 velociraptors!" Providing an overview of an Olympian's rigorous preparations, this picture book may be useful for parents or coaches attempting to inspire children.

I already love Phelps, but creating a child's book to motivate young athletes puts him in the same lovable category as athletes from small countries, i.e. Guor Marial, who requested and was granted approval to run the Olympic marathon without a country. He is from the brand-spanking-newly-created country of South Sudan (which had no Olympic committee) and he refused to run for Sudan. Read this summary of his incredible, determined journey for inspiration. I will definitely dedicate a mile or two of my marathon to him. (Personal update: half-way through marathon training! 148 miles run so far! Definitely feeling it in my feet, they've never been pounded this consistently. Oh, another personal update: school starts tomorrow. LAST SEMESTER OF GRAD SCHOOL. Eep. Wish me luck!)

(9 out of 13. BOOM. These are getting harder. But Jordan, a magnificent and kindly writer himself, deserves after-work dessert, and I need a challenge! To be continued...)

Update: I ran around a few museum websites looking for dinosaurs. I ended up learning a little bit about the history of film! From MOMA's website:

Did you know that the first animated film began as a bet between two newspaper cartoonists? Winsor McCay was inspired to create Gertie the Dinosaur by studying the Apatosaurus at New York City’s American Museum of Natural History. He and his assistant drew ten thousand sketches on rice paper, including backgrounds on every page. It premiered in 1914 in Chicago at a dinner party for McCay and his friends—which was the prize for winning the bet!

Here is the film, a whole 8 minutes long. Adorable. 1915. That was almost 100 years ago. Enjoy watching history:

{Round 2} People are Crazy/How to Be a Villainess.

God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy.

I LOVE that Billy Currington country song, don't care what anyone says. Although I might sub in "Klondike Bars" for beer. The truthiness of the chorus still hits me forcefully every time: People. Are. Freaking. CRAZY!

Decathletes= CRAZYTOWN.
Ashton Eaton, current WR holder AND an Oregon Ducks runner. Woo!

How many examples have we had lately of people shoving right past the edge of possible into the realm of crazy? Australian eccentric attempting Jurassic Park, USA proving its dominance over the rest of the human race by landing on Mars, and of course, Michael Phelps making 22 Olympic medals look easy. Oh, and the constant rumbling undercurrent of our current and future presidents acting like vengeful cartoon villains on a nation-wide stage (Romney responsible for someone's death? Obama, I hold you in utter contempt).

I kind of want to try on being a vengeful cartoon villian(ess) for a day, see how I fare. Hmm, but what venue? I need a small stage, but one where I could really get dirty... I got it! The Mormon Bachelor! The Olympics of singles ward fishbowl dating games! (7 of 13, to be continued...)


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So I've never actually watched the Mormon Bachelor... do they even HAVE villians? Or is everybody just sweet, good-hearted girls, looking to see if their assortment of quirks correspond to the hero's? That's what I imagine. Even better for me if that is the case. The perfect place for a villainess to make waves!

My hero.

Give me a second to channel the evil powers of my freshman year frenemy and that girl who recently blocked my shot at church. You know who she is. She's in your ward, too, with her stupid laugh and inane conversation topics. Ok. Mormon Villainess mindset perfected.

You can almost hear my evil cackle.

How to be a Mormon Dating Villainess (Note: many of these work equally well for a Mormon Dating Villain)

- Never have any friends of your same gender (unless they are your minions and you send them out to spread malicious rumors).

- Wear the same dress to church that the heroine just bought, but yours is two sizes smaller, tighter, and shorter.

- Answer the door when your roommate has a date. Flatter and flirt with him in the front hall til he can't remember his date's name.

- Upon hearing that someone has had a successful DTR, seduce them into making out with you.

- Conversely, throw a wrench in your current relationship and go make out with someone else. Inform the second party several weeks later that you're kinda sorta almost engaged to someone in Utah/New York/DC 2nd.

-Every boy must take you out somewhere fancy at least 8 times before you let him know it's not going to work out (That is, IF you let him know!).

- Have at least 8 boys cycling through this process at all times.

- Never, ever call back.

- Go out with someone once, inform him suddenly that you're just not feeling it, and make everything AWKWARD!!! EVERY TIME YOU SEE HIM!!! TIL HE MOVES OUT!!!

- Rock out to Glee soundtracks.

- Three words: skimpy. profile. photo.

It's just so cute when they cry!

- Say I love you. Dump him two days later. Take him back. Then do it again! Remember what Bain said: "There can be no true despair without hope."

- Go after the EQP because of all his POWER!

-Dump the sweet EQP and immediately start dating the ward meathead. When asked, assiduously argue that, "He really is nice when you get to know him!"

- Date roommates or best friends at the same time. Get them to duel for you.

- Passive aggression. Employ it in every conversation that don't correspond to your master plan.

- Move into a new ward and steal ALL attention!!

- What's the feminine equivalent of the humblebrag? Oh yea. The complimentfish.

- Testimonies that double as personal advertisements.

- Reveal your beau's very personal secrets or trials to the whole Relief Society!

- When the heroine tells you her Prince Charming finally asked her out, give him a backscratch in church. And your phone number.

- Dump someone at the altar (worth 1,000 Villainess points). 100 extra points if you keep the ring.

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Any others I might add? And yes, I have actually witnessed every single one of these tactics before (except the altar dumping. PS did you know Neal Maxwell was once left at the altar? I bet she regrets it now!!! I like knowing our apostles were similarly stricken with obnoxious, all-too-human trials a few times in their exemplary lives). Like Billy Currington wisely observed, "People are crazy!"