Twas Brillig

Trapped.  In the mountains of Utah.  With crazy people (who all share my maiden name).  Help!

I’m at Aspen Grove for a huge Thomas family reunion.  We may or may not live through this.  Cross your fingers for the best… 

Surgery — yes, SURGERY — scheduled for six hours from now.

And, because it has been the most exhausting, rollercoaster, nightmarish, “can’t-I-just-die-now?” hell of a week, I leave you with that.

Google has a crush on me.  Seriously.

Possibly because I have shamelessly flirted with Google.  I confess.  It’s very possible that I’ve been leading Google on for some time now.

This last week, 669 people typed strange phrases into Google, and Google brought them here.  I shall now present 20 of my favorites from this week:

1.  “She’s not vicious or malicious.”

Just delovely and delicious. 

2.  “False kicking sensations when not pregnant”

Awww, sweety.  That’s called gas.  Take a tums.

3. “What is the correct spelling of brillig?”

B-R-I-L-L-I-G.  But you’d be AMAZED by how many people spell it “brilling.”  Hey, it’s all good.  I’ve gotten VERY used to people spelling my REAL name wrong, so naturally it doesn’t surprise me when people spell my pretend name wrong too.

4. “30 year olds that enjoyed Twilight”

Sigh.  Guilty.  I can’t deny it.

5. “When my husband decides to leave me, should I call him?”

NO!  Max out his credit cards, sue him for all he’s worth, and write really nasty blogposts about him.  But DON’T CALL HIM!

6.  “Autism is a result of bad parenting”

Say that to my face.  I dare you.

7.  “Black suicidal fishies”

Um…  really?  I’m sorry?  I’m not sure if there’s medication for your fishies, but I think you should look into it…

8.   “I am stupid and hopeless.”

And this search brought you to my blog?  Should I find that somewhat disturbing?

9.  “I am moody but my breasts don’t hurt.”

Wow, that’s a lot of personal information.

10.  “I think my son swallowed some dry-wall”

Hey!  Mine too! Who knew it was so common?

11. “How can I get a big sister when I’m the oldest?”

Uh… it’s going to be very tricky.

12. “Loin cloths in any dream will do”

I regret to inform you that you will not find ANY loin cloths on my blog.

13.  “Loneliness is a crowded room”

Ain’t that the truth.

14. “My son ate my clownfish”

And I thought MY kid was obsessed with Nemo!

15. “I don’t have any nice things to say about my Grandma at her funeral”

Just say THAT, then.  Honesty is the best policy.  I’m sure that’ll go over really well.  Good luck…

16. “My goat ate its own legs”

Hahaha.  Hahahahahahaha.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  I just can’t come up with another response to this.

17.  “torture device used to take x-rays for babies with pneumonia”

Believe me, we are all too familiar with that torture device around here.  Here’s Isaac in one of those lovely contraptions about two years ago.

18.” What does is mean when your child sets his hair on fire all the time?”

It means that you should probably hide the matches…

19.  “I think I love you… but what am I so afraid of?”

Awww, don’t be afraid.  Lots of people love me!

20.  “I hate that Brillig girl so much.  She’s so full of herself.”

Well, apparently not ALL people love me…

I left out all of the obscene ones.  Sadly (and disturbingly) MOST of the google searches that lead people to my blog ARE obscene! Can you imagine how disappointed the obscene-searchers are when they land HERE?

Anyway, there they are, folks.  My top 20 Googlies this week.

Ooooh, Googlies!  I kinda like that!  What if we did a monthly Googlie award?  Once a month we could all list a few of the funny searches that led people to our blogs, and I’d create a special button to give to the person with the funniest google search each month.  Okay, I’m kinda diggin’ this idea.  What do you think? What if I put a Mr. Linky on, say, the first Monday of each month, and people who play along throw their link in, and then we all vote on the funniest one.  Winner gets a lovely brag-badge.  (Hey, I’d love to offer you money, but seriously.  I don’t have any.)

I’m feeling inspired just enough to throw in a poll here.  (Remember that the voting is anonymous.  While I track almost everything else on my blog, I have no way of knowing who votes how.  So you can’t hurt my feelings.  Even if you try.)

A couple of weeks ago, my husband took our Kia minivan in to be checked out for its 60,000 mile check-up. Those of you who own fine Korean vehicles like mine (try not to laugh…) know that the 60,000 mile check-up is a biggish deal, since the bumper-to-bumper warranty expires at this point.

It is also the Kia dealer’s great opportunity to talk us into servicing things that may or may not need to be serviced, and then charging us an arm, leg, and kidney for these services.

Among these services was our brakes. Apparently, unbeknownst to us, the brakes needed work. Well, since I’m all for having functional brakes, we took the plunge, deciding that good brakes were better than two kidneys any day.

But then, see, Brian brought the van home to me in its newly perfected state and, um, the brakes didn’t work. It’s not that they didn’t work at all, it’s that they were way less responsive than they’d been before. You know, before — when they were broken (and worked) as opposed to now that they’re fixed (and don’t work).

I thought that maybe I could live with the less-responsive brakes (even though I was ticked off) but then I was on my way to take Maddie and Blake to school when a car cut me off (apparently they don’t just do that in Utah) and I SLAMMED on the brakes. And rather than coming to a halt, or even skidding a bit, the van just… gently slowed, slightly.

Miraculously, I didn’t crash into the car that had cut me off. But I now knew that I absolutely could NOT put up with brakes that didn’t stop my van.

So, I made my poor, wonderful, kidney-less hubby take the minivan back to Peak Kia. He dropped it off and picked it up the next day.

“The brakes are fine,” they told him. They then proceeded to tell him that three, yes, THREE mechanics looked at them and they are just fine. One of these fine mechanics even drove the car around for twenty.minutes and pronounced the brakes fine.

Really? Three mechanics? Twenty minutes? Really?

Oh, no. That doesn’t sound AT ALL like an exaggeration, does it?

So, no one did anything with my brakes. It was close to closing time, so Brian felt he couldn’t argue much more with them. Instead, he took the van out, drove it around the block to get a feel, himself, for my brake concerns. It only took him one block to realize that yeah, I was right, the brakes aren’t working well enough, so he drove right back to Peak Kia’s service garage and POOF! Every single employee was gone. Not one soul was left to re-check our brakes. The doors were locked, the lights off, all in the thirty or so seconds that Brian had been gone.

They might as well have taped a sign to the door that said, “Go Away, Brian. We know your brakes are broken, but we don’t want to fix them.”

So Brian brought the van home to me, and poor Brian then had to hear me flip out at him that no one fixed our car.

(Brian really is the victim here: he had to deal with the Kia dealership, the screwed up car, AND his insane wife — all with just the one kidney which, if Kia didn’t hurry up and fix the brakes on our van, he’d have to sell in order to have someone else fix them. Not a pretty picture, my friends.)

So Brian calls Peak Kia AGAIN and insists that someone look at our frickin’ brackin’ brakes. But Brian can’t take time off of work for this again, so I’m going to have to go.

“You’re gonna have to prepare yourself to be a total B,” Brian tells me.

“Don’t you worry, baby. I’ll put on my B face,” I reply. I was kind of looking forward to it, I confess. I love it when I get permission to put on my B face.

“Mommy, what’s a B?” asks Princess Fluffy.

“Well, sweety, ‘B’ is the first letter in a word that mommy and daddy don’t say, but it means a woman who isn’t very nice.”

“You’re gonna be mean? Can I come?” This from Bubba.

As it turned out, yes. Bubba would be able to come, as would Scooby and Isaac (since, um, they’re with me during the day. It’s not like I have a special babysitter for when the Kia dealership is going to treat my family like crap and I have to take the car in for a third time).

Yay. An overweight, frazzled-looking mom in a Kia minivan carrying three kids. Yeah, these mechanics were TOTALLY gonna take me seriously.

It got me wondering. HOW, exactly, does one manage to get car mechanics to take one seriously? I mean, I can’t suddenly grant myself in-depth knowledge  of minivan brakes (think Keanu Reeves in the Matrix:  “I know Kung Fu!”) and if I could, I wouldn’t need the frickin’ brackin’ car dealership in the first place.

No, I just had to make do with what I have.  I decided that looking less frazzled than usual would help, so I put on nice clothes (business like) and sassy shoes, and then I actually DID MY HAIR. I know, right?

Still not sure that my business attire would actually have any effect on the way they treated me, I decided to take it to the next level with a simple pen and notebook in a nice briefcase.  Notes.  For my mommyblog.

When I approached the service counter, I pulled out my pen and notebook and immediately started taking notes on everything that happened. When a man asked if he could help me, I wrote down his name and his question before answering him.

As we began discussing my van’s brakes, he started to give me the same lame argument that he’d given Brian about drum brakes vs. disc brakes. I made a point of writing down every single word he said, making sure he realized what I was doing.

I was prepared for someone to tell me, as they’d told Brian, that three mechanics had inspected the brakes and deemed them “fine.” I would have come back with, “okay, could I have their names please?” And written them down. But it never came to that.

No one asked me what my notes were for, but when they realized I was writing down everything they said, they chose their words much more carefully. Quietly and kindly, they told me that the manager of the service department would personally check my brakes.

As I sat in the waiting room with my three boys, I contemplated the art of being taken seriously. I don’t think I’ve mastered it. I don’t like having to wear my B face. I don’t like spending more time on my hair for mechanics than I spend on my hair for church.

I looked down at my feet and realized that I was wearing purple socks. Just like Donny Osmond. Then I remembered how when I was a little girl, Donny Osmond used to attend church in the same building (but different ward) as us and my Dad would bribe me to go ask Donny Osmond if I could see his purple socks, but I was always too embarrassed to.

“I bet Donny Osmond gets taken seriously at the car dealership,” thought I. Then I remembered that time that Donny Osmond drove me to tunnel singing at BYU in his amazing SUV that probably never needed to be serviced. But I bet that if it did, all Donny would have to do was flash his purple socks and Mormon smile and everyone would fall in line. No one would give him back a car with broken brakes. No sir.

I have purple socks and a Mormon smile…  Why wasn’t it working for ME?

And thus was I totally lost in random thought when suddenly the service desk guy game in and said, extremely politely, “the service manager would like to speak with you if you have a moment.”

(”If you have a moment.”  Hahaha!  No, I was feeling particularly busy in the waiting room just now.  I’m too busy contemplating “What Would Donny Do” to come and talk to the service manager just now.)

The service manager, whose name I wrote down, natch, told me that he inspected my brakes and that they were indeed loose and he and his team have worked on them and tightened them and that now my lovely van stops on a dime.

Well, isn’t that FASCINATING? There was actually something wrong with the brakes! Huh! Imagine that!

I really thought that someone should have apologized to me for all the trouble this had caused me. They could have offered me a year’s worth of free oil changes. They certainly could have acknowledged that all three mechanics who looked at the brakes last time were either non-existent or big fat liars.

But at least I got my brakes fixed. And I’ve learned a valuable lesson. The mommyblogger with a pen is mighty indeed.

Four years ago, I was pregnant, and I was tired.  Not only had this been a long pregnancy, but it had been a hard one too.  I’d puked for 7 months straight, 13 times a day.  I was so sickly.  Brian was in school, working on his master’s degree, while still working full time to support us.  That meant that I never really saw him.  He was always gone.  I was always sick.  And I had 2 very young, rambunctious children to take care of along with all the regular household stuff.

We’d decided not to find out the baby’s gender.  But I knew deep inside that the baby was a girl.  I was certain.  I’d been right about Bubba and Fluffy’s genders, so of course I would be right this time too.  A little girl, to be named Sophia Catherine.

Then one day, I started bleeding.  Since I’d already had a handful of miscarriages by this point, I was terrified.

So, between the bleeding and the severe dehydration from all the vomiting, I was in the emergency room far too often.  And, as you may have gathered, the emergency room is NOT my favorite place.

Eventually, the bleeding stopped, as did the vomiting.

Which is how I found myself ten (yes, TEN) months pregnant.

Princess Fluffy, age 3, and Bubba, age 2, were in the minivan with me as we drove down I-15 on my way to my appointment with my midwife.   I was feeling desperate.  I needed to NOT be pregnant anymore.  I’d determined that I would ask my midwife to break my water.  I knew she’d be hesitant to do something that dramatic.  So, just as I was wording my argument in my mind, my body said POP!  And then GUSH.

Apparently, the power of suggestion is mighty.  My water broke on its own.  Right there on the freeway.

The next few hours were a whirlwind.  Brian rushed home from work, my sister-in-law took my kids, the birthing tub was set up in my living room, and I labored.  And labored.

But that baby wouldn’t budge.

I was fully dilated, fully efaced, and pushing with all my might.  But that baby wasn’t going anywhere.  Now, I’d given birth naturally twice now, and it’s never easy, but this was different.

Hours went by.  The agony increased.

In the meantime, my mother-in-law (who I’d invited) showed up, along with my father-in-law (who hid in the kitchen so he wouldn’t see anything), AND my sister-in-law, AND my kids, PLUS my midwife and two assistants.  This was NOT the quiet homebirth I’d planned on.  It had become a ZOO!!!  Fluffy was content to sit on the couch with my mother-in-law and watch (you know, watch the freak show in the birthing tub in the middle of the room go through the most agonizing pain humans can fathom), but Bubba wanted to get in the tub with me.  He took off all his clothes and tried to climb in, over and over again.  No one was stopping him, no one was redirecting him.

It was total, pure, circus-style insanity.

FINALLY, my tiny baby was born.  It was Brian’s job to announce the baby’s gender.

BOY!!!

Huh-UHHH!

I had to look for myself, and then I had to look again!  But sure enough, “Sophia Catherine” was, ahem, NOT a girl.

He was a boy.  A perfect, gorgeous, AMAZING little boy, who stole my heart the instant I saw him.  He had me wrapped around his little finger.  He still does.  Any trouble he’d put me through was instantly forgotten.  Every ounce of pain was worth it.

It turned out that our little boy had flipped around right before I went into labor with him.  Which is why no one knew that he was posterior (because when I’d been checked, he was anterior).  But that explained the increased time and pain.

He just wanted to make sure I remembered him, I guess.  He didn’t want to get lost in the shuffle.  He needed to have his own unique story.

It took us two weeks to name him.  I didn’t have any back-up boy names.  I would take him places and people would say, “what’s his name?”  And I would say, “I don’t know yet!”

Eventually, of course, we figured out his name.  He is such a vibrant, happy, wonderful, delightful little boy.

Happy, happy 4th birthday, little Nathan.  We love you so much.

Moving on…

MySpace Playlist at MixPod.com

When I was a little girl, my mother’s musical abilities never ceased to amaze me.  She could play the piano beautifully and she sang like an angel.  She always listened to music in her office as she worked or studied, and on many occasions I would walk past her door and see her “conducting” whatever she was listening to.  Whenever we rode in the car my mom would harmonize with whatever was on the radio — even if it was the first time she’d ever heard the song.  Sometimes (in the midst of earning her PhD in Ancient Scripture, of course) she was the ward Primary music leader, and other times she was the ward choir director.  I joined the ward choir when I was 7 years old, just to be with her and try to create music alongside her.

There was always music in my mother’s house.

The choir I sing in nowadays performed a concert last night and one of the songs that we sang is called “Music in my Mother’s House.”  It’s a cute song, and one that I’m sure most of the choir could relate to, as music seems to be something handed down from one generation to the next.  I confess to getting misty during rehearsals from time to time as I thought about the gifts of music that my mother shared with me.

If you ask my mom where her musical interests came from, she’ll point directly to her own mother.   Her mother, my Gramma Nelda, was an exceptional musician with a rare talent.  Caught up in the whirlwind of life, my gramma never received the worldly acclaim for her miraculous gift that she probably should have.  Instead, she did what she could, as a wife and mother during World War II.  She taught piano lessons and she played the organ at whatever church would hire her, be it Methodist, Baptist, and a number of others.  My mom grew up sitting with her mom on the piano bench turning pages for her.

At my Gramma Nelda’s funeral a couple of years ago, each one of her children spoke about the great blessing that my Gramma’s music was to them.  Their lives were hard.  Their father was an alcoholic.  Money was tight.  There was a lot of bitterness and anger in the family. The music in their mother’s house is what kept them going.  Together as children, they sang and harmonized and played music together.  Each of them received the gift of music from their mother and then passed it on to their children.

My mom sings soprano.  My dad sings tenor.  My brother Jeff sings bass.  And I, of course, sing alto.  After our older siblings left home, my dad, Jeff, and I would all stand around the piano while my mother sat and played the hymns, each of us singing our part.  I love the memories of harmonizing with my family like that.  Musicality doesn’t come as naturally to me as it does to my mom and my brother (not to mention an older sister of ours who is truly GIFTED), but they tolerated me and eventually I learned to read music and sing more or less on key.  More or less…

My mom and I have “our” songs.  Whenever I visit her, we pull out an old copy of “At the River” and we sing it at the top of our lungs — and we suspect that it sounds TERRIBLE to anyone unfortunate enough to overhear us.  But oh, we have such a good time.  There are other songs that speak to the two of us so deeply and personally that we really do wonder if, perhaps, they were created just for us.  “What Sweeter Music” is one of these (hence the inclusion for your listening benefit).  I can’t hear it without thinking of my mommy and getting teary-eyed at all the parts that I’ve seen her get teary-eyed at too.

Recently, my mom and I heard about a CD that we both wanted.  I was about to buy the CD for myself, but my mommy said, “oh, please let me get it for you!”  It just arrived in the mail the other day and I’ve been listening to it ever since — not only enjoying the music, but imagining my mommy enjoying it too.

Music is my world, whether I’m hearing it, playing it, or singing it.  I’m not a woman who expresses emotion easily.  But music brings it out of me.  While a two-hour long tearjerker can’t get me to shed a tear, one great musical chord can make me bawl like a baby.

A few years ago, Brian bought me a gorgeous baby grand piano for Christmas.  We didn’t have money for things like this, but he knew how much music means to me and he knew what a gift it could be for our whole family, so he made the necessary sacrifices.

If we’re all being honest here, I have to confess that I’m not much better than a mediocre (but passionate!) singer, and I’m rotten on the piano.  My poor kids don’t grow up hearing the gorgeous music that flowed from MY mother’s fingertips, but they frequently hear the plink-plunk-plernk of their mom trying to get through even the simplest of pieces.  It doesn’t matter.  They think it’s magical.  They dance and they sing as their little souls react to the sounds of music.

They are growing up loving music, just the way I did.  When I’m getting them ready for the day in the morning, we’re listening to music.  When we’re driving in the car, we’re listening to music.  Music is like air and food.  We couldn’t live without it.

I particularly watch my little Isaac.  His disabilities prevent him from being able to express himself very much.  But just as it does for me, the right music seems to release emotions in him that nothing else can.

One day, perhaps not even in this life, but when Isaac is made whole again, he will be able to tell me, in actual words, what it felt like when he heard beautiful music.  As he unlocks his secret world for me, he’ll tell me what it did for him, how it brought him to life, and how grateful he is that we always had it in our home.  I imagine that he will tell me about days that would have otherwise been unbearable for him.   He’ll thank me for all our music.

And in that day, I’ll point to my mommy and tell him that she’s the one who deserves our thanks.  Then together we’ll throw our arms around her, and then around her mother too!

I remember watching the movie Brigham City a few years ago and gasping when I saw an LDS Sacrament Meeting portrayed, including the prayers.  I felt so uncomfortable watching my religion sprawled out on the screen for all the world to see, for the sole purpose of entertainment.

I’ve been talking about this stuff with a lot of my friends and family lately.  Ever since I watched The Book of Jer3miah, actually.  Jer3miah, as I mentioned in my last post, is dark, speculative fiction set unapologetically in an LDS world.  Jer3miah does all of the things you’d hope for in a movie — it makes you laugh, it makes you take a hard look at yourself, and it makes you sit at the edge of your seat.

On my last post, someone named “Julia” said,

I just feel uncomfortable with some of the “spirituality.” It’s possible that it’s because I’m just not that used to it. But I have a hard time seeing some of the sacred things that I believe in being portrayed in a show.

Nephi, for instance, is one of my all-time scriptural heroes. Seeing Jeremiah go through something similar that Nephi went through seems to trivialize it. I feel the same way about some of the Joseph Smith type things he goes through too. Am I wrong? Does anyone else feel at all bothered by this?

I love her question.  What do you think?  IS she wrong?  IS anyone else bothered by this?

Actually, I know that lots of people ARE bothered by this, through my conversations with Jer3miah’s director and a quick read-through of the comments on the Jer3miah blog.

So what, exactly, is so bothersome?  And why?

I asked Luisa from Novembrance what she thought.  Luisa’s not only a dear friend, but she also writes dark, speculative fiction herself (her most recently published bone-chilling short story can be found here).  Plus, I happen to know that she’s a fan of the Jer3miah shows (because she says so on  her blog).  So I asked Luisa what she thought.  She said,

It’s an interesting question. I wonder if what makes people uncomfortable is the ’spirituality without overt religion’ aspect. That’s the kind of thing that divides the fantasy/sf world pretty dramatically–those who love to see allegory, and those who think that any spirituality that isn’t overtly Christian is of Satan.

There are a lot of people who freak out over Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings — they can’t seem to be able to think in the abstract sufficiently to understand and delight in the allegorical underpinnings present.  Jeremiah’s spiritual experiences don’t dilute Nephi’s; they underline their importance by demonstrating that the stories in scripture can be likened to us all.

Real life is gritty; one of the things I love about Jer3miah is that there is some true grit in there.  Real art is gritty; the sappy non-art that Deseret Book often carries is shallow pablum completely lacking in substance.  Opposition in all things, and all that: you MUST have shadow to make sense of the light.

Interesting, don’t you think? So (since I’ve been wholly incapable of talking about anything else for the last few days), I asked my life-long BFF Kate of Walking Kateastrophe what she thought. Kate hadn’t seen the Jer3miah shows yet, but I always know that I can count on Kate to watch ANYTHING with a cute boy in it. Her response to my question was, “life isn’t reverent. If someone wants to tell a story for once that’s more like true life, it can’t always be reverent. We won’t LEARN anything.  Think of Les Miserables, or The Grapes of Wrath.  Also, remember that Jesus himself told parables to teach us through fiction.”

Great points. And yet, I keep reading things on the Jer3miah blog that totally disagree. For instance, someone there who calls himself Watcher says,

PLEASE no more “promptings.” That is the singularly most uncomfortable thing about this show. The old man’s line at 5:05 [in episode 10], “You followed your promptings” is making light of sacred things… It doesn’t seem to bother anyone that we’re hijacking a member of the God Head for the sake of a conspiracy thriller internet series. How is this not disrespectful?

Is that what they’re doing? And is it disrespectful?

So, yeah.  I went right to the source, and asked the horse.  I emailed Jeff Parkin, the show’s creator and director, knowing that he hears all of this debate ALL the time! While he’s tried to stay out of the conversation as much as possible and just let people decide for themselves, he was willing to share his thoughts. His entire (awesome) email is published here (with his permission, natch), but here are some of the highlights:

In 2004, we moved from Los Angeles to Provo, and I began teaching at BYU. My intention was never to make “Mormon Films”. But then, I observed something that really disturbed me: right here in Happy Valley there was an extreme bias against any kind of Mormon storytelling. Part of being an authentic storyteller is to imbue your work with what matters most to you–sometimes that’s literal, sometimes it’s symbolic. I find it fascinating that members of a missionary-oriented church can be so sensitive to sharing who they are. The more I’ve talked about these ideas with LDS filmmakers, the more I’ve begun to wonder just how big our persecution complex is, and what we’re so afraid of. Makes me think of a vision that Nephi and Lehi had about some great and spacious building that shames a lot of believers into abandoning their spiritual identity.

Persecution complex!  Wow!  I NEVER thought of it that way!  But he absolutely pegged me there, much to my chagrin!  He goes on to say,

In my classes, I like to discuss whether we should make Mormon films. These discussions are not to convince students that they should make Mormon movies, rather, they are to convince students that they can make films about what they hold most precious if they want to.

And this part kills me.  He says that after a particularly arduous attack about the way spirituality is portrayed in the show, he sent the following email to a friend:

Hahaha. I love it.

Okay, I know that this post is getting mighty lengthy now, and I’ve probably lost a lot of you by now. But I just want to end with Jeff’s assessment of what it is about Mormonism on film that makes us so uncomfortable. Tell me what you think. Is this fair? Do you agree with him?

“The Book of Jer3miah” is unapologetically Mormon. Why? There are many reasons–but for this discussion, I’ll highlight two: 1) Telling stories about Mormons and about being Mormon is not a crime; 2) Telling  a story about Mormons requires being 100% true to their Mormon-ness–this means capturing how they speak, what they do, and what they believe. We have tried to be true to our characters and their beliefs by not hiding them and by not being ashamed of them.    When people watch “Jer3miah” and feel uncomfortable about their beliefs being depicted on screen, my question is, “Why does this make you feel uncomfortable?” My experience has been that the reaction of an individual who is LDS to the depiction of spirituality in the show seems to reveal more about how they see themselves as Mormons fitting into the larger society, and, how they, as individuals, will be perceived, than it does about the actual nature of the show.

And then, one of my favorite things about the whole conversation I had with Jeff is this absolutely honest conclusion:

I will be honest and say that there are many scenes in “The Book of Jer3miah” that make me feel incredibly uncomfortable because they are so “Mormon”. I take this as a good thing. Do I believe this stuff? Yes. Am I ashamed of it? Well…I don’t want to be. So I’m trying to own it.

I know! Wow, right? So tell me, Gentle Readers, what do YOU think? What side of the debate do you fall under, and why?

(Oh, and, um, let’s TRY to keep it civil. Anonymous comments are welcome, but considered cowardly. I mean, really. Come up with a name other than “anonymous.” For heaven sakes, do you really think my name is “Brillig.”  But yes, if you need the privacy, feel free to make up a name and leave the “website” option blank when you comment.)

“Don’t scream,” I said to myself sternly.  I mean, I was watching this movie in a pitch-black theater room with the director and his wife.  How humiliating would it be to belt out a scream in such a setting?

I’m not much of a screamer, to be honest.  Brian always tries to get me to scream by grabbing me suddenly during a tense moment in a movie.  It never works.  I might sweat a little.  My heart rate might increase.  But I don’t scream.

(Brian, on the other hand, screams like you wouldn’t believe.  Hahahaha.  One of my crowning moments was a time when I grabbed his arm during a movie and he shrieked like a 5-year-old girl.  The whole theater turned around to see who’d brought their baby to a scary movie.  No baby.  Just my manly hubby.  And his wife, laughing until she cried.  It was awesome.)  (He’s so going to kill me for telling you this…)

ANYWAY.  There are I am, watching all the episodes of The Book of Jer3miah with Jeff and Jana Parkin, in the state-of-the-art theater room in their basement, trying my hardest NOT to scream.

Honestly, I have no idea how I managed to squelch the scream building inside of me.  My heart was POUNDING.  My palms were dripping (okay, maybe that’s a gross detail you didn’t really need…).  My eyes were bugging.  (Hey, let’s face it.  My eyes kinda bug naturally.  But this was “oops, I think my eyes might have shot right out of their sockets.  Did they hit anyone?” kind of bugging.)

But I didn’t scream.  I’m so awesome.  Instead, I settled for a heartfelt,

“HOLY CRAP!!!!”

Have you guys SEEN this thing?  (Okay, yeah, I know that some of you have, because I’ve read your blogposts on the subject.  To those of you who haven’t, why the heck not???)

I actually started watching Jer3miah online all by my selfypooh.  I watched the first three episodes, but then I had to wait a week for the next episode to go up and then life happened and, well, I never watched any more.  I should have, but I didn’t.

So when I was in Utah a few weeks ago, Jana (who you know better as Charrette) invited me to come over and watch all the episodes in order with her and Jeff.  Wow.  I was completely psyched!

I knew I’d like the show, because I’ve been a Jeff Parkin fan for quite a while now, but I didn’t know it would be THIS good.  I didn’t know that I’d be sitting in the theater room, begging myself NOT to scream!

Besides the show itself, one of the things that I love about it is the controversy.  (I know, right?  Who would ever expect a vegetarian, home-birthing, Mormon democrat to love controversy?  )  See, Jeff is a professor at BYU, and his deliciously creepy webshow is a bit too creepy for some.  The show is set with an LDS backdrop, but the story is intense and even, sometimes, irreverent.  Normally, these things don’t go together.  I, however, think it’s a great combo.

This thing is worth watching.

Currently, there are 18 episodes.  Okay, before you panic, let me tell you that the episodes are short.  Most are about four or five minutes.  Each one moves the plot forward, makes your heart race, and leaves you hanging at the end, desperate for the next episode to start.

So, watch them.  Tell me what you think.  Are they too intense for an LDS audience?  Are they so far-fetched that you can’t enjoy it, or is it a lot closer to reality than you expected?  Go on.  Join the controversy.  And the drama.  And the fun!

(And no, you don’t have to be LDS to “get it.”)

What do I get out of talking about this show?  Nothing, actually.  I just believe in the project, more than I even expected to, and I’d love for the whole world to be watching it.

Okay, so I get nothing out of promoting Jer3miah on Ye Olde Bloggue.  But YOU could get something really cool by watching Jer3miah with your friends, neighbors, and even just strangers you drag in off the street!  I just found out that they are having this contest:

Watch the The Book of Jer3miah http://www.jer3miah.com episodes with all your friends and you could win a flip® pocket camcorder: http://www.theflip.com
It’s easy. All you have to do is throw a party, watch the current episodes of Jer3miah (and why not the finale!) with your friends and post a video to the facebook event page showing us how many friends attended your party.

Videos must be no longer than 1:00 minute and must be posted to the Facebook Event Page: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=84462131273 by Tuesday, June 16 by 11:59 MST.

You can check out the rest of the rules on their facebook page or at Jer3miah.com.  But be prepared for some serious competition, because Brillig needs a new video camera…

Oh, and one last thing, because this is what you’ve come to expect from us here at Brilligville.  After we’d watched all the episodes, Jeff asked me what I thought of the guy who plays the title role.

Before I turned on my brain filter, I blurted out, “He’s GORGEOUS!”

And he is.  He really is.  It’s not just the story line that’s got the world watching this thing…  I bet there’s not a girl on the BYU campus who’s not keenly watching this boy.  Go on.  See for yourself.

~Okay, I know it’s kind of a random episode to post, but I chose this one because A: It’s a great episode that can be watched out of order without ruining the plot, B:  I had a psycho chase me in his truck once while I was on my mission and I had to dive into the bushes to escape (whole nother story, and not totally parallel to this one since, um, the psycho hadn’t just murdered my parents or set their house on fire, but still the scene spoke to me), and C: No one else has embedded this particular episode on a blog and I like to be original…  Or something.~

06: COMING HOME from The Book of Jer3miah on Vimeo.

Melanie J of Read and Write Stuff said, “Okay. My question is why you want to go back to four posts a week. Not that I mind! Just wondering.”

Haha.  Well, Melanie, there are lots of reasons.  I think “feedcrack” is a big one.  I love to write.  I love to blog.  I love it when people READ my blog.  I love to write a blog post at night and wake up to a bundle of comments in the morning.

Oh, how I love comments.  I’ll admit it.  I’m not embarrassed…

But blogging is more than just filling the feedcrack addiction.  I love the challenge of coming up with something new and interesting to say, and I love that frequent blogging causes me to be writing things in my mind all day long.  It makes me look at my life in terms of, “how can I put that into words?”
My husband is a runner.  This last weekend, he ran in the Bolder Boulder 10K race which for him is no big deal.  It’s like going for a walk in the park.  I, on the other hand, am training to run a 5K next month.  It’s KILLING ME.  I have to work at it every day.  A little here, a little there, as I gear up to do something that seems completely impossible.

Writing is the same way.  While I love my blog, it’s not the end-all, be-all of where I want my writing to go.  But it’s great training.  Again, it causes me to have stories running through my brain all the time, and that’s a great thing for someone who wants to grow up to be a writer.

Also, I find the whole blogging thing to be very rewarding.  I write stuff.  People respond.  I make new friends.  Often people’s comments are incredibly helpful, or insightful, or even challenging.  Sometimes I’m feeling petty and lame and people call me on it!  And sometimes I just need a shoulder to cry on, and Bloglandia always offers me their shoulders.

Along those same lines, blogging is very therapeutic.  I have four young children.  If it weren’t for blogging, I would often go for days without having any kind of adult conversation.  This is my “me time.”  This is my adult conversation.  This is my social life.  And you guys have always been there for me.

So that’s my answer.  This is why I blog.  And this is why I want to go back to blogging more frequently.  Why do YOU blog?  What do you get out of it?

Blogging has its perks.

Oh, sure.  There’s the social aspect.  The personal connections made through link-clicking.  Support groups.  Friendships.  Whinefests.

But I’m talking about other perks today!

This past week, I’ve had some amazing things happen thanks to the ol’ blog.  I was invited to a fancy shmancy opening to an awesome museum thingy where all the important people in Denver… plus me… were in attendance.  Seriously.  Mayors, CEO’s, state senators, and a handful of bloggers.  Haha.  That was SO cool, and you’ll be hearing all about it later in the week.   THEN I got to have a personal screening of a ground-breaking film WITH THE DIRECTOR AND HIS AMAZING WIFE!  Like, right there, in their home, in their state-of-the-art theater room.  You better believe you’ll be hearing about this one later this week too!

On top of all of this, I received an advance copy of a book.  Not just any book, folks.  A cookbook that reads like a novel.  No kidding.

I’m not much of a chef.  I mean, I have a handful of tricks that I use all the time.  I have a selection of meals that I make over and over again.  And then, of course, there are the frozen pizzas and the chicken nuggets and other things that shall not be mentioned (*cough* maccaroni and cheese *cough*cough*).  It’s not that I hate cooking.  It’s that I’m not creative or confident enough to come up with cool ideas.  Also, you’ll remember from a couple of posts ago that I am a big fat wuss when it comes to food.

But when  Comfortably Yum: Food for Body and Spirit found its way to my inbox last week, I was so excited.

First of all, I trust the author.   I mean, I know her.  I know her outlook on food.  I know, and share, her philosophy.  I’ve been reading her blog for about two years now.  I’ve even had lunch with her!  And I’ve been known to steal recipes right off her blog and try them the moment they’re posted.  I know that if Luisa concocted it, my tummy will be very pleased.  As will the tummy of my hubby…

And you KNOW what they say about the stomach being the quickest way to a man’s heart.  It is SO true in my house!

I now have to quote an email exchange I had with Luisa right after I read through the book for the first time.

Brillig:  Oh my gosh, I’m loving your cookbook.  Brian and I have been going through it together (since he’s the one who can eat it all.  My current vegan-ness and carb-less-ness restrict a few things for me) and we’ve had a great time.  His eyes are bugging out of his skull as he requests that I cook this and that and so on.  I can’t wait to try some of it and review it properly.  I’m not a great reviewer and I shy away from such things in general.  But this will be a delight.

And I love the stories behind the food along with the funny instructions (like turning on Persian music and swaying back and forth– an essential step).  Haha.  And, as you can tell from this email’s subject, I died over “frickin-do.”  Hahaha.  You’re so stinking cool.  I’m going to have to read every single recipe– even the ones I might never make (since even when I’m not on a diet, I still can’t eat any red meat or fish), I’m going to read through them for the pure entertainment value. 

Love you….

Anniepooh

Luisa:  You know that “frickin do” was just for you, right?  Even though you are one of the few people I know would pronounce “fricando” correctly on first sight.

The vegan thing is a temporary, weight-loss thing, right?  Because you know one of my personal slogans is “Friends don’t let friends become vegans.”  God gave us milk, butter, and eggs because He loves us.

I’m so relieved the cookbook is entertaining–that’s what I wanted it to be.  I love to read cookbooks like novels, and my favorites always have bits of personality scattered through them.  Let me know when you try some of the recipes.

xoxoxo,

Yummy-Lu

Do you see how hilarious she is? And this is just an email! Imagine how awesome her book is!

There are obviously some recipes that I will never try, since I can’t eat any red meat.  Still, do you think I skipped over those recipes?  Um, no.  Never.  Reading this thing is half the joy.

I’ve had so much fun with this.  I can’t wait to try everything in it.  My husband has already highlighted the ones he wants me to try out.  My family is bubbling with excitement over this book!

I can’t even tell you how honored I am that Luisa chose me to get an early look at this book.  Thanks so much, Novey-Lu.  To the rest of you, go get this book.  You will love it as much as I do.  So will your husband. 

The book is available for purchase on Amazon.  You can click right here to order it: Comfortably Yum: Food for Body and Spirit

YUM!!!!!