Se7en Things to Do

They're lofty... but I've got SEVEN weeks, to accomplish SEVEN goals, and yeah... it's possible.  Thanks Clark!

1.  Re-create my own moon landing in the desert of Arizona... with Blake... because it was his idea.

2.  Become a conspiracy theorist and an idea stealer... simultaneously.

(Two birds.  One stone. Catch 22)

3.  Watch all 250 TED talks and then give a speech about it.

4.  Finally have an established relationship status on Facebook that shows up on mini-feed for all my friends to see and ask about with the aid of inquisitive (and ever-adorable) emoticons 

5.  Learn Fergies "My Humps" in American Sign Language and then teach it to all the deaf Young Women in my ward as a service project

6.  Drive around town asking as many joggers as I can find if they need a ride

7.  Memorize and entire episode of Friends and, changing only inflection of voice, communicate an entire day by only using the memorized dialogue start to finish... at work.

7b.  Get fired.

Wish me luck.

Linear Tension

It seems like in the last twenty years or so that lines of good and bad, clear and confusing, do's and don'ts have become so blurred that we don't know what is good for us anymore.

After the wall fell down and the cold war had finally come to a close, America had one, maybe two years of blissful peace.  The bad guys and the good guys became friends.  The fear of communism and nuclear holocausts had been squelched.  Why didn't it last though?  Why didn't my generation ever get to experience this?  Why didn't America--and the world--follow the universally heard sigh of relief with decades of happy peace?  Because the clear enemy had been blurred and people got scared. 

For almost fifty years, we--along with most everyone else--knew who the good guys were, and who the bad guys were.  They even had a name:  communists.  It was great.  "You stay over there under the banner of 'bad' and we'll stand over here under our banner of 'good,' we'll flex our nuclear arms at each other (that we both know we won't use) and at the end of the decade, we'll shake hands and call each other and talk about Berlin."  Those were the days.   

Now things aren't quite so easy.  With the consummation of the cold war came an identity crisis for America.  Because what is Batman without Joker?  Nothing.  He's just an overly manicured stud in a ridiculous costume rescuing attractive women from burning buildings.  Well we have firemen for that.  No one likes a good-looking hero unless he is saving the world.

Finding a Bad Guy

So we had to find a new arch nemesis and his name is terrorism, and he's about as abstract as Pollock. He doesn't have a country, or even a clear definition.  In fact, the definition of terrorism stands as "a person who terrorizes or frightens others."  So, by definition, my Professor when she told me the only way I was going to get a B in her class was to get a 100% on my final, was committing terrorism.  Well put campus on code red and invade the Ricks building.  

The point is, is that I miss the good ol' days of the cold war.  Worldwide tension that came served like a chilled drink with a side of better economics.  A world where batman is sexy and useful, but most of all, a world where the lines between good and bad are as clear as a curtain... maybe even one made out of iron or something.  

Blog Tog, Blag Tag

So... I've been "blog tagged" by my friend Jonathan. Here's the mission shall I choose to accept it: 3 joys, 3 fears, 3 goals, 3 random facts; 1 girl; 1 blog; no tomorrow.  

3 Joys:  

1. A well-placed f-word (not from me, but maybe in a movie or something)

2. Sweet, sweet revenge

3. Free laundry, otherwise known as the "on your honor" dryer in my house that runs without actually insterting quarters, but instead provides a bin where the "honesty" quarters are kept. I think I found some lint and a couple nickels in there once. (sounding pretty righteous so far. Thanks Jonathan.)

3 fears:  

1. Waking up with a dead centipede in between my fingers... again

2. That I might someday take my blog tag seriously, thus revealing my true, less-likable personality

3. That someone might make me choose between performing an interpretive dance to Vitamin C's graduation song in front of my peers or death and then that I'll choose death.

3 goals: 

1. To find a man who knows my mind as well as Google: no, that's not what I said but yes, that's what I meant.

2. To run again. At all.

3. To be the face that starts World War Three: eat your heart out Helen of Troy

3 random facts: 

1. I don't usually do the dishes unless someone is watching.  

2. When I was younger I went into business with myself selling grocery store candy bars for five dollars to my neighbors. My first client asked me what I was selling them for. I said church. He didn't buy any. I learned two lessons from this entrepreneurial experiment: a. Growing up middle-class with a thirst for tamagotchis turns children into liars and b. lying about church turns neighbors into Anti-Mormons.

aaaaaand...

3. I love Jonathan Griffith!

Free as a Caged Word

I understand the anxiety of trying to impress a person in conversation by means of an extensive vernacular. Oh how I understand. Sweaty palms, slacked jaw, numb mind. Saying a multi-syllable word with which you aren't familiar, then the gamble of questioning it out loud. Because of this stress in our lives, we have began (and by began I mean people have been doing this for centuries) to take the safe route to solve this problem by securing our words with the safety net of cliches.

Theory: If the word has been used before in a sentence, by a credible source, then at least I know that context is correct. Thus, a cliche is born.

Examples: "Sweating profusely*", "consummate a marriage", "defy gravity."

Sweating is not the only thing we do profusely. In fact, not even bleeding is enough of a breakaway. Profusely is something that is poured out, almost in excess. So, yes, I sweat profusely when I run more than half a mile, but I also apologize profusely to my roommate for running in her shirt.

Consummate: The poor word has been trapped by drunk twentysomethings in divorce court after a weekend in Vegas. "Have you consummated your marriage?" Such a beautiful word, pigeonholed by sex. I can't say I consummated my homework (meaning completed or made perfect) without some sort of unfortunate misunderstanding.

I defy anyone who may read this to find those words whose wings have been clipped by their own cliche, and imprisoned by their own idiom to free the words whose potential reaches far beyond divorce court and gym clothes.

*Thank you Blake Surratt